#and it’s going to be a real life escape from one of the hardest chapters of my life to date

[halfratsalready]

In two weeks, I’m going to be sitting in Madison Square Garden with my best friend, in the same fucking room as Brennan Lee Mulligan, Zac Oyama, Emily Axford, Lou Wilson, Siobhan Thompson, Brian Murphy, and Ally Beardsley while they play dnd, and despite the fact that I’m in a very difficult chapter of my life right now that makes it very hard to see any brightness in the future, good god does it feel good to know that I’m going to be in that position in only 14 days.

Gauntlet at the Garden you are going to change my life, even if just for an hour or two, and I absolutely cannot wait 🌃✨

[januaryembrs]

THERE'S NO SIGN OF LIFE | Spencer Reid x Prentiss!Reader [3]

Description: The one where you grieve Emily together (+ the one where you kiss him)

word count: 7.9k

trigger warnings: okay so this chapter is exactly how it sounds, heavy in themes of grief, depression, anger, slight ideation of the world being better without bugsy (as if), DRUG USE (once and not addictively and not by Spencer!), mention of Spencer being horny, mention on blood and drinking.

authors note: this was just supposed to be a little filler chapter for the next one where the real juicy shit happens and long story short it became nearly 8k words of pure angst until the last minute when I decided to stop hurting you all. please don't hate me, promise a big boy chapter is coming up.

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'Doctor, look into my eyes.

I've been breathing air, but there's no sign of life.'

The team had fallen into chaos since Emily died. Hotch thought that just five little stages of grief weren’t quite enough to summarise what they were going through.

Morgan was pissed off by the smallest things, had flipped shit just that morning because the printer had jammed. He'd gone through two mugs and a keyboard in just two weeks in his tempers that had certainly seen better days.

Penelope’s eyes gleamed with unshed tears she was trying her hardest to choke down, to wipe away so fast she could pretend to still see her computer screen, but Hotch didn’t need to be a profiler to see the way her sleeves were smudged with mascara, sodden through 24/7. 

Rossi seemed resigned, tired, his breath smelled faintly of the strong whiskey he saved for special occasions, his hair unkempt, as though he hadn’t slept until the early hours, or if he had it had been unrestful. He took more frequent breaks, came back smelling like the cigars he kept in his desk drawer for the bad days, and he sighed as if the world beat down on his back, like he’d been asked to choose between stopping world hunger or saving the environment. His chest was heavy. His face was tired of losing so many friends he loved.  

Spencer was working himself to the bone, his desk piled with books (even more so than usual), his fingers twitching by his side more often, as if his brain cells had been dialled up to a thousand percent, which was saying something when it came to Reid. In fact the only thing out of ordinary was the fact he was constantly checking his phone, the sight of which had Pen dropping her coffee on the rough carpet, which she had promptly then excused herself with watery eyes over. Yes, he actually knew how to use technology, which he had been so vehemently against for years, until the team realised it was because one very important member of the team had been using her sick days for three weeks now. 

They knew he was looking after her, that he would bring her dinner and make sure the cats were fed, but they had no idea she had all but moved in with him, Niko and Sergio included. 

Yet he found himself checking the screen every twenty minutes or so for signs of an update, even just a thumbs up or a little sign that said seen under his good morning texts. He was scared he’d wandered too far into boyfriend territory, it certainly felt that way when he would come home to see her bundled on the couch, nose deep in one of the books he would leave out for her, how her eyes would light up just the tiniest amount to see him home. She rarely cooked, he knew she didn’t even touch the food in his fridge no matter how much he reminded her she needed to eat when he wasn’t there, to which she usually just nodded at him and buried her head in his arm to escape the scoldings. 

Things were different with her here. He knew she was vulnerable, lost, he saw it every time she came crawling into his bed from where he’d set her up in the spare room, or when Sergio made himself home on her lap and she squeezed the cat to her chest in quiet tears. Usually he would have squirmed out of her grip, he had always preferred Emily, but these days he just let her sob with a docile blink at where Spencer watched her from the other end of the couch, and pretended not to notice when his fur was sodden and messed up. 

Spencer had felt something for her before, the weeks, months even leading up to Emily dying, but with her here, needing him all the time, holding him tightly when he needed to grieve himself, making herself at home in his personal space, he was sure she knew it too. There was no way she didn’t know how he felt. 

But the topic was too heavy, too complex to bring up with her mourning her sister, it would rip the carpet out from beneath her feet, and no matter how heavily, besottedly, how deeply Spencer felt he loved her, he would never do that to her. He couldn’t. 

He had always loved mind games, but loving someone so much you couldn’t not tell them, only to not tell them because you loved them so much felt like a whole paradox even he couldn’t wrap his big brain around. 

So they stayed where they were. She had good days, though they usually looked like said reading on the sofa with nothing but a strong cup of coffee in her stomach. And then she had bad ones. And the bad ones made him scared, so scared he had no choice but to get help. 

Penelope came over the Friday evening with Spencer after work, kitted out entirely with nail polishes and gems, the box set of Barbie movies, a hot chocolate mix she swore by, three tubs of ice cream, face masks, Teen vogue with a Never have I ever section ‘Begging to be answered’ and of course, her Pièce de résistance, her makeup kit and joke fluffy handcuffs for them to tie down Reid and give him a makeover. 

“Hello my handsome gentlemen,” She greeted Niko and Sergio who rushed to the door on instinct, knowing Spencer always gave them each a big handful of treats upon arriving home, “Auntie Penny is here for a super girly evening, no boys allowed,” 

“Am I not invited?” Spencer asked, faux hurt flashing on his face as he shut the door behind them, though his eyes were quick to scan around his living room for any sign of her. There wasn’t, not even a single pillow was out of place, and he knew it had been another day of skipped lunch and breakfast.

“You are, of course you are, I just didn’t want them to get jealous,” She whispered, her brown eyes taking in the too perfect apartment and the lack of the Prentiss girl, “Is she sleeping?”

“No,” He said without checking, because he knew she rarely slept nowadays unless she was in his bed with him, “I’ll go get her,” 

“Okay,” Some of the joy died out of her tone when she heard his voice soften sadly as she set her bags down on the kitchen counter, “I’ll get the hot chocolates ready!” Penelope tried to recover in that perky tone she used to cover up when something hurt her. 

He just hoped this had been the right decision, that he wasn’t pushing her too hard. 

Knocking softly on her door, he let himself in when he heard a small murmur on the other side, and as he suspected, she was curled into a small ball under one of his blankets, her hair wet, her pyjamas in the laundry basket. She had one of his shirts on and some boxers he had noticed had gone missing, but he would never hold it against her. 

She had showered while he was gone at least, and her breath was minty fresh as he crept over the woolly rug and kneeled one leg on the bedside. 

“Hey,” He started softly, sweeter than honey, his cadence somewhat hopeful as he leaned over her and stroked her hair that was still damp. “You got up! Did you eat anything?” 

She looked up at him with tired eyes, but she reached out with both her arms to embrace him gently, like she’d been waiting all day to have him near again. 

“I had a couple biscuits and some coffee,” Her voice was raspy, and it was the first he’d heard her speak in a few days. “I’ll try better tomorrow, I just was a bit tired today-”

“No, no, that’s great,” He rushed to comfort her, to stop the apology that was coming his way whenever she didn’t take care of herself the way he wanted her to, “Penny’s here to see you. She’s here for a girl’s night, if that’s okay?”

Bugsy attempted a smile, though she seemed hesitant, but he thought that was probably just the way her expression was these days, like everything hopeful had been sucked out of her. 

“I’ve missed Penny,” She said, and he knew she meant it. She nodded finally, and he leaned over her to give her a proper hug for putting on a brave face, feeling her nuzzle into his chest at the contact. She sniffed the air for a second, before whispering into his ear, “Is that chocolate?”

He chuckled, stroking down her back and pulling her up into a sit. He’d gotten used to her being pliant under his touch, and he only wished her being so receptive to his advances would be under other circumstances. 

The urge to grab her face and kiss every bit of hurt out of her was growing harder and harder to shove down with every day he saw her so soft and wounded. He wasn’t good at knowing what to say, but for her, he was trying to be. The only alternative was kissing her silly, until the pit she’d crawled into was warm, just warm all over, and she came back to him in one piece. 

“Yes, it’s chocolate. Now come on, before she starts the movie without us,” He breathed gently, helping her out of bed, pretending he didn’t hear the way her joints cracked with the first sign of movement in hours. “Wait a second, pants,” He reminded her, tossing her some sweatpants from the floor, which she shoved on blindly. He didn’t mind her walking around like that if it meant she were comfortable, but he didn’t want her to give Pen a scare. 

A ghost of a smile teased on her lips as he led her out the room with two hands on her shoulders, seeing the blonde woman light up like the fourth of July at the sound of the two of them approaching. 

“Bug!” Penelope called, mid way through distributing a hefty amount of whipped cream and marshmallows on top of three mugs. Spencer watched the second her eyes widened slightly as she took in the girl’s appearance, trying frantically to cover it with an even wider smile, rushing to hug her tightly. He saw the minute she realised she felt so different in her arms; lifeless, heavy, rooted to the spot, like any contact with someone other than the gentle Spencer-touches she was used to made her lock up. 

She looked sick, like she hadn’t known fresh air in weeks, or like she’d pulled three all nighters in a row, or like she would be able to watch a ten car pile up and not bat an eye. She looked dead. She felt dead in Penny’s arms. 

The thought of it made her squeeze her tighter, until she felt two arms cuddle her back firmly. 

“I see Spencer has been treating you well,” Pen said, because she was avoiding the subject of Emily, and the way Bugsy looked exhausted, and the way she saw how scared Spencer was when he’d come into ‘the bat cave’ that afternoon to ask for her help. 

Bugsy attempted another smile, nodding slightly as the blonde drew back from their hug, and she saw the worry she tried so desperately to hide as she took in her face. 

The girl’s skin was dull in a way they’d never seen her before, her expression tired, her bones creaky, like someone had reached down her gullet and plucked her soul right from out of her chest, snatched it there and then. Penelope saw why Spencer looked so worried. 

“He’s been great,” Bugsy replied simply, her eyes finding Spencer’s where he shadowed behind her, worried she would faint on the spot from all the movement. She’d not been eating anything other than what he encouraged down her throat, but he supposed a handful of biscuits were better than nothing. 

She felt the bottomless pit that used to be her heart rip open just that bit further, the way it had done slowly the past few days, eating away at her skin. She knew she could never ever repay Spencer for everything he was doing, knew the odd few times she’d managed to collect herself enough to be there for him when he cried could never amount to how he hovered over her every second he was home. 

But where she should have felt guilt, there was nothing, there was just nothing left of her. 

He seemed to notice the slip, the way he always did, and she never did tell him how perceptive he was as he stroked over the back of her hair, leading her with a warm hand on her upper back to the sofa where Pen had already laid out the movie selection, had already grabbed the hot chocolates that were quickly melting onto the coffee table, where Niko was waiting with an eager pink tongue to collect his share, where he settled her down and wrapped her in a blanket as if he was swaddling a baby, where he let her take the middle and him and Pen on either side as Fairytopia lit up his living room with hot pinks and rainbows and flowers and magic. 

And even though she had yet to crack a smile, a real one at least, she seemed content, not entirely uncomfortable with the evening as Penelope commandeered one of her hands to paint her nails a shiny blush colour  ‘to match the evening’. Spencer thought for a minute she might have just needed some girl time, something no matter how many cuddles and sweet words he whispered could never give her. Maybe that was all she’d needed. 

Maybe she would get through this without entirely crumbling.

It wasn’t until the next day when even showering was too big a feat for her, when she had only two mouthfuls of the blueberry pancakes he’d made her before she apologised with watery eyes that he realised how stupid he was for believing it. 

It wasn’t until she said she wanted to move back home by herself that he really started panicking. 

JJ took her out for a picnic in the park the following weekend. The guilt was eating her up alive about hiding Emily’s secret, and from what Pen had told her, she wasn’t doing good. She wasn’t even doing bad; she was barely hanging on by a thread. Hotch had said she would be a flight risk with her sister gone, had said they would need to keep an eye on her as much as they would the rest of the team, but for Emily’s safety she couldn’t tell her the truth. JJ could only stand back and watch as the girl they all knew crawled into something dark inside herself and barricaded the door closed. 

Spencer had taken the nice approach with her, never forcing her to do anything she didn’t want to or asking too directly, as had Penelope. They’d both tried letting her open up by herself, which had only resulted in the girl taking about five steps back and even starting to shut out Reid, something which they all saw tore him up even more than seeing her wasting away in his spare room. He spent more days at hers, crying harder than she had seen him even when he was struggling with opioids. Crying for Emily some of the time, but mostly crying for the fact he was entirely helpless now she had moved out, like the one thing that had held him upright until then had left in a guilty mess of ‘sorry’s and dead eyes.

So she instead took the approach of telling Bugsy she needed help. Because if there was one thing that had always been able to bend her will, it was someone else needing her. 

JJ thought about reminding Spencer that Bug would come back if he took the same route, if he just told her how badly he needed her instead of her feeling like she was simply a burden on his life. But she knew he wouldn’t hear it, he would only blame himself more. 

So she’d told Bug she was struggling with looking after Henry alone while Will was working away, that he’d been asking for her since she’d come to his second birthday party with the biggest stuffed whale toy he’d ever seen. It was a white lie, Will was home more days than she was, but Henry had been asking for ‘the bug lady’ every time he played with his teddy. And it worked like a charm. 

So they sat in the warm April breeze, Bugsy reading on her stomach as JJ carefully nudged a punnet of fat, red grapes her way, hoping she would take the hint and swallow a few. 

It wasn’t until Henry came diving over to them from where he was collecting snails by their shells that Bug even showed any sign of pulling herself out of the book. 

“Buggy!” The little boy called, his tongue struggling with the complexity of the ‘gsy’ sound, and she looked up at him with a tired smile on her face that JJ saw right through immediately. “Buggy, look,” 

She held out her hand, and he gently placed a common land snail in the palm of her hand, no bigger than a quarter, who happily slid over her fingertip with a squishy sensation. 

“Thankyou, Henry,” She replied, her eyes trailing over the shiny slime he left behind over her palm, his tiny antenna eyes googling up at her. “What should we call him?” 

“Sid’d’snail,” Henry replied like it was the most obvious thing in the world, crouching next to her to watch him crawling over her chipped pink fingernails.

“Hi Sid,” She chimed, and JJ watched her face drop into a completely emotionless expression the second Henry’s back was turned to find Sid a friend. 

She felt it clawing at her throat to come out, Emily’s alive, Emily’s alive, come back to us please, please come back to us because Emily’s still alive. JJ was watching her rot in front of her very eyes, and better yet she had the power to stop it with those very few words. 

She could put an end to all of this, she knew how badly it had hurt when Ros died, her older sister, her whole world ripped from her the way Emily’s ‘death’ was doing to Bugsy. She would have given anything for someone to have turned to her and said ‘Jennifer, your sister is still alive. Jennifer, it was all a trick, a hoax, a ploy to keep you safe. Jennifer, Ros is still here, alive and breathing and living her best life in Paris of all places.’

But she couldn’t. She couldn’t betray Emily like that, and knowing, no matter how much of a relief it would come, would put Bugsy in more danger with Ian Doyle and whatever other enemies her sister had made at interpol than she could have ever realised. 

So instead, JJ just ran a gentle hand over her hair that warmed in the sun, and started braiding parts of it absent-mindedly, like they were two girls in a playground waiting for hometime.

JJ stayed quiet, and watched Bugsy get worse. 

Aaron came over to her apartment at 8am sharp. He’d found JJ and Penny in floods of tears in the women’s bathroom when they were due to start the presentation of the latest case and they were nowhere to be seen. Spencer had become detached, quieter with every day that he checked his phone and saw no reply, but had mentioned he’d seen them go into the bathroom together as he got his morning coffee, only for their boss to see the two of them clinging to one another with wet cheeks and before he could even ask, Penelope splurged that Bugsy hadn’t messaged in four days and was refusing to open the door, and that even Spencer asking so sweetly, something that was usually her kryptonite, had failed to draw her out. 

Aaron was convinced if this didn’t work he was kicking down the door himself, even if it meant filing paperwork for a necessary home visit. 

Aaron Hotchner, surprising to no one, was soft on the youngest Prentiss girl. He’d watched her grow for four years straight, had come to her of all people in his hour of desperate need, and felt every second of her grief as if it was his own because he, like JJ, knew he had the power to stop it all but couldn’t. 

He called her name through the door first, her real name, loud yet anxious, along with a firm knock. When he heard nothing back, he rapped on the wood louder, “Bugsy, I know you’re in there. The team are worried about you, they’re worried you’re hurt,” 

Nothing. 

And it wasn’t just the team that was worried, it was him too, if his heavy fists banging even harder were anything to go off of. 

“Bugsy, if you don’t answer I’m sending for the SWAT team and asking them to ram this door down,” He said, with not a trace of a lie in his tone. Because he wasn’t lying, not by a long shot. 

He heard footsteps then, and she appeared through a small crack in the doorway, not open enough for him to see the mess in her living room, but enough to see the way her entire face looked like a cadaver. 

He fought back against the guilt choking him from the inside out.  

“Stop yelling,” She murmured, almost bitterly, “You’re scaring the cats,” 

“You’re scaring us,” He countered back, in a tone that was a little too mean, but from what he heard, soft and gentle wasn’t working, “Please, just let us help you, stop pushing everyone away,”

“That’s a little pot calling the kettle black there, Hotch,” She said in an equally harsh tone, her face scrunching into a frown, and she nearly slammed the door on him right there and then. 

“Get your work out clothes on, we’re going for a run,” He ordered, and it was only then she notices his sport shorts and trainers. She scoffed in his face. He was quick to shove a foot in the door before she actually could swing it shut on him, ignoring the way he nearly yelped as it trapped between the wood, “I’m not asking,” 

“Fuck off,” She spat, and he bristled at her choice language, but he saw the way her eyes told him everything he needed to know. She was a roadkill on a sidewalk waiting to be put out of her misery; she didn’t want to be prodded and poked at and ordered around, she wanted out. 

She wanted to go quietly, without a fight. And it was for that reason, he put up more of a struggle. 

“You are coming outside with me, even if I have to drag you down the street myself because this is not how it ends for you.” Aaron barked back, forcing the door open with one of his large hands as if it was nothing.

“Of all people, I would have thought you would understand, Aaron,” It was like she had slapped him in the face, though he thinks maybe that would have hurt less, and it was only then he saw her eyes had welled up, and her bottom lip was quivering. It was a horrible sight, it twisted his guts like he’d been stabbed by Foyet all over again, but it was better than the nothingness that was there before. 

“Ofcourse, I understand,” His voice softened, his hands coming up to gently rest on her shoulder like she was breakable china beneath his palm, “You think I don’t know what it’s like to want to hide away and never face a world without Haley ever again? I can’t, even now, imagine the rest of my life with her gone,” His throat clogged with emotion he fought off, because he refused to have both of them crying in her living room when he was meant to be the one pulling her out of it, “But I do it because Jack needs me-”

“No body needs me,” She said emptily, ignoring the way Sergio wrapped his tail around her leg and meowed loudly as if to tell her otherwise. 

“Yes we do,” Hotch insisted, seriously, damn near ready to shake her on the spot to knock some sense into her, “We need you, and better yet we love you. You may have lost your sister, but you still have a family waiting for you, Bugsy,” 

And that was it, the single crack that broke the dam. Before he knew it she had launched herself into his arms in a fit of tears, clinging to him tighter than he thought she could for someone who looked so weak and perished. 

He just held her close, feeling his own stray tears drip down his nose as his shirt got wet through. In another life, maybe he and Haley would have had a daughter, and maybe she would have reminded him of Bugsy, maybe his heart would soften to putty just the same way it did with her. The same way it did for Jack. 

And eventually, when she dried her face, and quietened Sergio down, she went to put on her gym gear and one of Spencer's hoodies she’d stolen and felt too guilty to give back, and they went for a run.

If there was one thing Rossi knew better than his whiskeys, it was how to cook a good carbonara. And if there was one thing Bugsy needed more than anything at the moment it was a buttload of carbs and cheese. 

Aaron had been taking her running every morning since that day, and even she had to admit the fresh air and exercise did her good, made her feel stronger and less like the women they find in body bags at the beginning of a case, made her feel like maybe, just maybe, she could get through the rest of this. 

It wasn’t going away overnight, not by any means, but she looked healthier, and her exhaustion meant she got more sleep too, but what remained was a hunger that she was filling with cereal and instant noodles that Rossi knew he had to put a stop to immediately. Instant noodles should have been outlawed with crack and underaged drinking, he would proudly tell her. 

So he invited her over for a cooking lesson, or as he would put it, she could watch him cook and eat as much as she wanted at the end, if she promised to never buy those awful microwave ramen ever again. And she’d agreed, because she felt her appetite coming back every day (and she knew where he kept the good white wine).

“Now as entertaining as this is watching you drain my stash of Sémillon, why don’t you chop up that pork and I’ll get started on the sauce.” He handed her a sharpened butcher’s knife, and the thin slices of seasoned ham, turning to use the stove for just a few moments, “You’re gonna add the cream in until it becomes thick, like cough mixture running off your spoon,” 

“Thick and creamy, you got it,” She chimed in, her fingers slicing the meat into strips, “Did you want this as diced or Julian?”

“Do you mean julienne?” 

“That’s what I just said,” He chuckled into the pot, his chest warming to hear some of that old bratty teenaged sass returning to her tone. He bet she would have run rings around him if she was his kid. 

“Diced, if you would,” David said, using a wooden spoon to stir in the thick cream little by little until the container ran empty. 

“Yes, Chef,” She hummed in response, flipping the chopping board around to begin slicing them the other side, “So, I’m guessing if I asked to try some of that Sauvignon I saw in the fridge, your response would be- oh motherfucker-”

David frowned, “Maybe not so harsh on the tongue but-” He turned around when he heard a hiss, and he quickly understood why she’d thrown the expletive out there. 

Her hand ran red with thick blood, dripping quickly down her arm, ruining her shirt. He didnt even care that his hand carved indian wood chopping board was permanently stained, or that the meat was contaminated, or that the blood trickled a little too quick over his floor, only that her eyes seemed suddenly far away as she did nothing to stop the cut gaping. It had caught her in a trance, one she was not even aware she had been sucked into until he grabbed a towel and headed for her. 

“Emily, no! Emily please, I need medical in here, we have an agent down! Emily, please, please don’t, please- Someone get medical, she’s bleeding-”

David’s hands grabbed a hold of her bloodied palm, wrapping it tightly in the cloth, so harshly it knocked her out of the daze she was in, dragged her out from the last time there was blood all over her hand, when it had been Emily’s blood, when she could do nothing but freeze like she had now. 

“I’m fine,” She said on a reflex, even though he hadn’t asked, he had just acted, pulling her towards the cupboard where he kept the first aid kit, “David, I’m totally fine, it’s just a little scratch,”

“You have to let me go,” Emily had gasped. "Let me go, Bug,"

“David, I’m fine, stop worrying,” She said again when she saw him fussing, hoping he couldn't see the way she’d started shaking, and if he had, she wondered if she could play it off as the adrenaline rushing to fix the wound. 

She knew she was on thin ice with the lot of them after her talk with Aaron. Like he said, they were her family, and family’s took care of one another. She couldn’t live with herself if she kept burdening them so much, kept them from grieving their partner just as much as she was; she loved them too. 

Bugsy was trying to get better, she really was. Sometimes it was just a little difficult, like now when she could still see Emily’s butchered body infront of her as if she were little more than that joint of pork she’d been julienning. 

“It’s okay to get hurt sometimes, kid. You don’t have to lie and pretend it doesn’t hurt if it does,” David said, sitting her back on the breakfast table, holding the bloodied cloth up where he was unravelling a spool of bandage and some rubbing alcohol. 

She shut up then, and she wondered if she was really that see through or if David was just that good at his job. They stayed silent, except for the moan of pain she let out when he doused her hand in the solution, pulling the skin closed tightly and wrapping it taut enough for her to feel her heartbeat in her fingertips. 

“It’s okay if you need a little help once in a while,” He continued, his movements gentle and careful, worried he’d spook her with the first real conversation they’d had in a long time. Rossi had always been closer to Emily than he had her, and maybe it was the fact he lost the few chances he had to be a father, or just the fact she reminded him so much of her older sister, but being with her felt like part of the wound in his chest was the one being treated. “Rather than being afraid to ask for help, remember this: When you ask someone to help you, you are actually doing them a tremendous favour by giving them an opportunity to feel needed.” 

“Is that a David Rossi original, or did you get that from one of your self help books?” She sniffed, hoping he didn’t see the way her expression had fallen, or her throat caught with an apology, or how she hid it with a small smile. 

“Richard Carlson.” He replied, pinning the end of the bandage in tight enough it wouldn’t snag. He sighed, looking at the girl who started guiltily at her fingers, reaching behind her for the corkscrew, “I’ll go get the Sauvignon, you order us a pizza. Just please god, no pineapple, that’s just as bad as instant noodles in my books. That’s like asking Da Vinci about bitcoin, it’s madness,” 

And that was the first time she properly laughed in weeks. 

While Derek was more than equipped to schmoozing the ladies when he wanted a date with them, he had not been ready for this when he’d asked Bugsy to go to the club with him.

She had been doing better, Rossi had said. She had seemed stronger, that was what Hotch had told him. Spencer said they’d even gone for coffee together. He left out the part where it felt awkward and almost like they were seeing an ex, though that of course would be impossible, because they were never dating. At least as far as he knew anyway. 

It had been going fine, they’d gotten two rounds of drinks, had been chatting and she’d even been giggling the more the alcohol hit her. She was looking more like she used to, and it almost all felt like a horrible dream hearing from the rest of the team the state she was in. 

He’d turned his back for a second, for two damn seconds, and she’d been whisked away by some frat boy, and come back to him with a crazy happy look in her eye that he didn’t notice until an hour later. 

“Where did you go, kid?” He’d asked, and she’d shrugged like it was nothing. 

“Needed the bathroom,” She said, and he hadn’t even noticed it was a lie until the light struck her eye for more than a couple seconds and he saw just how dilated her pupils were, like the blackness swallowed her iris whole, and the way she buzzed on the spot with more energy than she’d had in months. 

She was supposed to be getting better, and she was trying, really she was. 

But she couldn’t stop seeing the blood on her hand, couldn’t stop seeing Emily’s face now she could actually sleep again. 

Spencer was half way through his fourth re-read of War and Peace, in its original Russian translation, when he got the knock on the door. 

It was 10pm, he muttered to himself, who was bothering him at this time. 

But of course, as luck would have it, it was the one person who he hadn’t stopped thinking about, the one person who he hadn’t stopped thinking about for the past three years. 

“Spencerrrrrrr!” She chirped, and immediately alarm bells were ringing in his head, her fingers linked with Morgan’s as if he’d all but pulled her to his apartment from the cab. 

She wasn’t stumbling, and she smelled a little like alcohol, but not so much that her inhibitions would be completely destroyed, so he knew it wasn’t that. And Derek looked guilty, a serious kind of guilty like he’d suggested they take a drive on a motorbike with no helmet, or go chasing unsubs unarmed. 

It wasn’t until she flung her arms over his shoulders, and he’d pulled her inside, Morgan following behind with a nervous clear of his throat that he realised what it was. 

“Spencerrrr, I missed you! I missed you so much, Spencer!” And usually he’d love the way she said his name, but this time it was tainted, too false, too electrified. It barely even sounded like her, he hated the way his heart still pounded out of his chest at the fact she pressed herself so close in that little clubbing top of hers, those tight jeans. 

“What did she take?” He ignored her little hums of a song he couldn’t hear, the way she pushed herself even further into his body in a way he knew too well felt like a warm hug throughout her entire being. “Morgan!” 

Spencer had never snapped at him, not since his own days on whatever it was he was doing, and Morgan ran a hand over his face as she nuzzled her nose into his neck. 

“I don’t know, I swear. I turned my back for two seconds to get us another drink, and next thing I know this senior is hitting on her and she’s shoving gum in her mouth and coming back towards the bar- I don’t know what it was, I swear I thought it was gum, man,” Derek rushed, hating the look of desperation in Spencer’s eyes as he yanked her away from him with a small mewl of protest from her mouth. 

“Hey, hey, sweetheart, look at me,” He murmured, and she did, and he saw almost immediately the way her pupils were the size of saucers when she stared at him, crazed and intoxicated, “Do you remember what you took? I need to know so I can keep you safe,”

“You always keep me safe, so safe with Spencer,” She giggled to herself, trying to pull him back to her, but he wouldn’t budge, not until he got a real answer, “Come on, I’m going to be fine, it was just a little Molly, nothing to worry about. Kid even gave me a half for like ten dollars because he said I was reeeeeal pretty. Do you think I’m pretty Spence? I think you’re pretty, I think you’re super pretty,”

They felt themselves sigh in relief, because while still a drug, half of one pill shouldn’t really do much, especially if it was the cheap stuff going around frat houses that the DEA was having a field day with. 

Morgan looked at Spencer, where he let her shove her face against him once more, wrapping his arms around her back and feeling her sigh in relief that she was back there under his warm touch, and they shared the same thought. 

This never happened. 

Because if it did, it meant opening a can of worms Spencer had tried for years to shut tight. It meant acknowledging that the reason Morgan came to him and no one else was because he knew Spencer would know how to handle her when she was coming down in an hour or so. It meant acknowledging why Spencer would know that, and why they hadn’t acknowledged it the first time around. It meant their jobs would be on the line, and so was hers, and as much as she was struggling at the moment, they knew she just slipped up, and that this wasn’t who she was. They knew she could be better, that Spencer would force her to get better, because if the only other option was having her turn into who he used to be, then he was handing in his notice first thing Monday morning. 

That wasn’t an option in Spencer’s books, nor was it in Morgan’s. 

So Morgan left with a little pat on the back of her head, claiming she was a little troublemaker, though he hadn’t quite sounded as teasing as he’d intended and more bitter, and leaving Spencer with her to minimise the damage. 

Bugsy let him lead her to the spare room that once was hers, but she didn’t quite care enough to say anything other than, “I missed you so much,” As she pushed her face into his neck more. 

He sighed, sitting her down on the bed, knowing where she’d left some of her makeup wipes in his bathroom. 

“Stay right here, I’ll be right back,” But she whined again, making a grab for his hand, which he quickly avoided, feeling mean for it the moment he saw her face scrunch in hurt. He stroked her hair behind her ear, watching her melt under his touch, and it almost felt like nothing had changed, like she had never moved out, and like she hadn’t just burst back into his life after popping a bit of molly and turning his evening upside down, “I missed you so much, too, Bug,”

And he wasn’t lying. Not even a little bit. 

She looked up at him with those dazed pupils, as big as dimes as they batted up at him dreamily, and some awful part of him always wanted her to be looking at him like that, like everything he ever did in his life was perfect and he was a god among men. Like she was seeing her favourite movie for the first time on the big screen, when in reality he was just wiping her makeup off her face and handing her spare clothes to change into so she could sleep off the come down. 

It wasn’t until he tried to leave again to go get her some water that she put up a real fight, one that couldn’t be fought off with a gentle touch (he tried), and she was quick to grab his wrist, tug him closer to her. 

“Bug, I’m getting you-”

“Come lay down with me, let’s talk. I love talking to you, why haven’t we talked in so long?” She said like every barrier she ever put up had come tumbling down and her mouth was a free for all for her every thought. 

Spencer smiled despite himself, his honeycomb eyes soft as he shuffled to lay beside her, and they stared at one another, heads against the same pillow, and she looked soft than an angel laying on his bed waiting for a response. She looked happy for the first time in a long time, and he hated how much it suited her. 

“You moved out, remember, bug? You said you wanted to go home and I didn’t want to stop you,” He said gently, like he didn’t want to upset her. But she just giggled and shook her head like he’d told her a joke. 

“Oh, yeah. But I didn’t really want to go home. I wanted to be with you. I want to be with you forever,” Bugsy giggled to herself, wiggling her toes inside her socks and running a finger up his arm gently as she lay on her side, “I missed you so much,”

His brow furrowed, “What do you mean you didn’t want to go home?” But she wasn’t listening, she was tracing over his face with her fingertip, running over his nose gently, past his full lips that quivered under her touch, “Bug,” 

“Hm?” 

“What do you mean you didn’t want to go home? Why did you leave?” He asked again, and she looked back up at him with a shrug, shuffling closer to him, so close he could feel her breath fan over his cheeks. 

“I thought here with you was my home. I wanted it to be.” She said, her fingers finding their way into his nightshirt, “But I felt too guilty being so sad all the time, like I was getting my sad all over you and you couldn’t do anything about it because I was the loser girl with the dead sister you had to look after,” 

His eyes burned with emotion, and he willed himself not to cry, because suddenly it made sense why she had pulled away so fast. She looked at him like he’d hung the damn cosmos in the sky; had he not even paid attention to the letter she’d written Emily. She felt like she was dragging him down, the way she felt about everyone in her life, and decided to cut herself free before she took him with her. And look where that had landed her. 

He felt like a fool. 

“No, no,” Spencer whispered, pulling her into his arms, because he was scared that come morning she would take a million steps back and up and leave him all over again, “That’s not true, that could never happen, you hear me? I liked taking care of you, I wanted to take care of you.” 

“Really?” She asked hopefully, her face soft and dream-like, “I liked taking care of you too, when you would let me,” 

It was true he had tried to push his own feelings on the back burner, besides the few times the dam had cracked and he wound up with his head in her lap receiving the brunt of the affection that evening. He didn’t know why he ever doubted she would have wanted to do that; when he had his migraines she had done nothing but love on him until he felt full to the brim of her warmth. 

He felt himself chuckle, and she shuffled entirely into his arms then squashing out any last molecule of space left between them, and his hand slid over the back of her head, fingers rubbing softly into the nape of her neck which only made her moan loudly, entirely unaware of how sensitive her skin was from the molly. 

“That feels nice, Spencer,” She hummed, her thighs straddling his own as she squished herself against him more, “You feel so nice, I love you so much.” 

He would be lying if he  said the sounds she was making didn’t shoot straight to his dick, and hoped more than anything that she couldn’t feel how it pressed against his stomach angrily. His heart beat rattled loudly, and he swore she had to be able to hear it.

“I love you too,” Spencer sighed, wishing he could have said this to her sober. Wishing she wouldn’t shut him out so easily, wishing he’d pushed her walls a little harder. 

Then she did something he wasn’t expecting. It took all of two seconds for him to close his eyes and hum in content, where her hands were playing with the soft of his waist, and his fingertips stroked her jaw gently, but in a quick movement she planted her lips on his in a soft, sweet peck that he barely had time to register was happening before he pulled away in shock. 

She kissed him. She had kissed him. 

And he wanted her so badly, wanted her in every way it was possible to have someone, wanted to kiss her so hard his face went blue and his lips went numb and his throat burned with lack of oxygen. But he would never dare do anything when she was like this; vulnerable, intoxicated, unaware that the pill she’d taken had acted like a truth serum.

“We’re so silly,” Bugsy giggled, and for a moment she looked twenty two again, like the girl that had answered the door to him in college in nothing but her boxers and a shirt, with her metal music playing so loud he could hear it ringing in his ears minutes after she’d switched it off. She looked like his Bugsy again. 

Spencer chuckled with her incredulously, feeling his face on fire from her action, feeling like a weight had been lifted off his chest that had been immovable for months, because as hard as her come down would hit her, things seemed different now, like they actually had a kicking chance of getting through the grief together. 

But before he could say anything else, her eyes had fluttered shut under the warmth of his palm, and she had drifted off to sleep. 

He guessed he’d have to tell her tomorrow. 

–

taglist:

@release-your-sweets @smileykiddie08 @caramelised-onions@the-tpd-bau @stephthepeach @sunflowersndpeaches @sammy-4103 @starmansirius @yeonalie @delusionallooney @hades-disappointment-child @sadbae-33 @mdanon027 @swag13r @frickin-bats @bilesxbilinskixlahey @mindfullycriminal @mrsbellastyles @nilopillo @imagines--galore @bluejaysaysstuff @imaginexred @flow33didontsmoke @sadbae-33

[carlsangel]

an ultimatum (g.i.t.w, ch.4)

carl grimes x fem!reader

warnings: none

masterlist here!

other chapters here!

“An ultimatum? Are you kidding? Seriously, what do you think this is?” You almost shout at him in a whisper, making sure not to draw the attention of the horde into your direction. You were angry, he stole your gun and was basically holding it hostage. Meanwhile his entire community was at risk, but also he put himself in danger to come get you. Even though your answer would be no. “This is life or death.” He explains, but you knew that already. “Yeah no shit. So go home.” You turn to leave, but he grabs you before you can go. “I’m not leaving unless you come with me.” He says quietly.

Something tells you he won’t let this go. “You don’t have to stay, just until the horde is dealt with.” He’s getting seemingly more convincing and you’re trying your hardest to oppose. It’s not like it’s the worst deal in the world, you’d get real shelter and maybe a real shower…and food and everything else. But there’s a large possibility you’d lose it all.

Right now you have nothing left to lose. You don’t want that risk again.

Your thoughts were interrupted by the groans of the dead, snapping you out of it and you turn to see there’s a large number of walkers coming your way. You had limited time and had to make your decision now. A life of luxury in the world you live in, or putting yourself at risk of another heartbreak. But, he had your rifle. All your thoughts conflicted each other and they began to get closer and closer. “We need to go. Right now.” He turns to leave but you almost freeze. He’s able to snap you out of it. “Cmon.” He says with urgency.

You both start to move to the back wall where there’s a large crate, allowing you to hop the fence easier as long as you’re boosted. He does his best to help boost you and you steady yourself against one of the support beams to pull him up after. So you’d escape the dead again, but this time you were in Alexandria. You saw people walking around, it felt somewhat unreal that you were actually there.

It’s like you’d been walking on a movie set almost. It was morning so people were walking around like everything was completely normal. You watched Rick give his speech the other day, he’d told them to act as normal as possible with just some precautions. You felt so out of place, although you were excited to see the insides of the mansions these people had been living in. Carl mentioned how unreal it felt at first. He leads you over to his house and you step inside, the unfamiliar aroma you’d only smell when around Carl flooded your nose. It almost brought you comfort, the thought scared you a little.

He led you through the house and you look around and how open the space was. “I’ll go get your rifle, it’s in the armory. Just stay here and um…you can go to up my room if you want. You’ll be able to tell it’s mine.” He nods at you and makes his way out the back door which is near the stairs. You take note of that and head up the stairs. You go down the hall and look through the rooms, one with a larger bed and another with a crib. At the way end was his room with posters on the walls that weren’t picked out by him but a small pile of comics on the bed. You sit in there and you think for a while.

Is this what you wanted?

─── ⋆⋅ ꒰ა 𐚁 ໒꒱ ⋅⋆ ───

You wait on his bed, reading whatever comic it was that was there when he later comes back. He looks around to spot you and he just stares at you for a moment, not quite saying anything. He just likes having you inside the walls, it’s almost like it’s a relief he doesn’t have to worry about you anymore. You’re right in front of him, and nothing bad could happen to you.

Meanwhile in your head all you can think about is your rifle in his hands. You basically shot up to grab it from him. You look at it, inspect it rather and pull back the slide which is no longer jammed. “When did you fix it?” You ask putting the strap over your head to lay the rifle on your back. “The day you gave it to me.” He sort of shifts his weight awkwardly and you stare at him. He knows he’s in for it.

“Are you fucking kidding?” You almost laugh, you’re amused by it shockingly which gives him the impression he’s able to as well. “I needed an excuse to find you again.” He tells you. “I know you don’t like the attachment thing. But that’s not…it’s not living. Yeah you’re alive…but you’re not living.” He looks at you so intently. You almost feel bad for everything. Plus everything you’re going to do in the future.

You nod silently. He smiles as he feels like he’d finally gotten through to you. He then realizes he’d been a terrible host. “Oh, I should have clothes for you. I know you didn’t want to stay here long but I should take care of you while you’re here, right?” He laughs softly and drags you back down the hall to the bathroom. “Oh it’s fine, you really don’t have to-” He cuts you off. “I’ll be back.” So, he leaves downstairs to the laundry room. He’s quite ecstatic, he’d finally convinced you to stay and give him a chance.

He closes the lid of the drying machine and walks back up. Once he returns to the bathroom, you aren’t there. Instead you’re back outside. You find bolts stuck in a fragment of the wall and you climb up the way you entered. You plop down onto the floors to find that the walkers from earlier had cleared. So you make your way to the east wall.

Carl was back at home relatively heart broken. He was happy to take care of you, he wanted to treat you well after you went through years of being put through the worst pain one could imagine.

And you ditched him.

You didn’t want to. If anything you would’ve loved to stay, but it began to hit you and it almost freaked you out. You believed if you loved him too; if you cared about him, he’d die. It’d happened to everyone else. He just didn’t understand that. There was no way for you to explain it without sounding irrational. He wanted to understand you. That’s all he wanted from the beginning.

So he searches the house for you. Then starts his way to walk through Alexandria to see if you’d gone somewhere else.

It wasn’t until you were nearing the edge of Alexandria again when you heard a loud creak, then a crash. You’re more east of Alexandria’s gates, but you climb a tree to see what you expected to happen. What always happens.

The old church near the gates had fallen over the wall, destroying it and allowing hundreds of walkers to flood in. You settled on a branch steadily and pulled your rifle up to your eye, looking through the scope for the person you’d unfortunately cared for the most.

You spot him in a heartbeat.

a/n: hey guys do u like my new user >_<

tag list: @zomb-1-egutzz @lunarnightt @ilikestrawberriesandwomen @hiro--aoki @h00d-tr4sh @callsignwidow @lilyglasergrimes @smollbean42905 @deadgirlwalkingx @txrasbae @lalaloopsie12309 @crusadecherryblossom @violetashfall @zombiigrll @amanita-raine @prettylittlevampire12 @shadowybasementmiracle @junkyard-juno27 @th3-3d3n-g4rd3n @sophiaatwdluver

[pennyellee]

CHAPTER IV - ustulation

LACRIMOSA | MYG MAFIA YANDERE AU

pairings: mafia leader!yoongi x f!reader genre: mafia!au, yandere au, historical au

summary: Their interlocking gaze served as a butterfly effect on his heart, stirring it to the core. She, in turn, only dreams to find a way to escape. But perchance, over time she might forcefully learn to love the man who has taken so much from her.

Thus unfolds a twisted tale of love and loss, of hope and despair, of life and death. The music reverberated through the dimly-lit streets. Tears of sorrow, weeping symphony - reflects the hurt, the scars that linger deep within and the wounds that never healed. Lacrimosa.

chapter warnings: minors dni 18+ | mafia au, dark!yoongi, mafia!yoongi, yandere, kidnapping, mentions of God, blood, incision wound, fictive mafia clan traditions, manipulation, possessive/obsessive behaviour, angst, mentions of death, overwhelming, violence, threats, intimate encounter, kissing

beta read by @chaoticpuff17

word count: 5,6K

disclaimer: this story is purely fictional, it does not depict real-life events or involve any actual members of BTS. This story will contain depictions of violence, blood shed, death, mentions of abuse, smoking, alcohol drinking, illegal activities, old social norms and traditions, which we do not condone.

m.list CHAPTER I CHAPTER II CHAPTER III GAME OF GO CHAPTER V

ustulation (n.) a burning lust

In the hidden embrace of a secluded mountain valley, a village of hanoks stirred to life on a tranquil winter's morning. The air was crisp, a symphony of silence. The Song of the Dead toned down for some time.

The dawn’s gentle light bathed the valley, wisps of mist from the frost-kissed earth, adding an ethereal veil to the scenery she watched carefully from the closed window.

The majestic mountains, ancient pines and stoic rocks stood as sentinels of the valley's serenity. She could see them from this side of the house. Y/N sighed, holding a cup of tea in her two small hands, warming herself up on this chilly morning.

“Is something bothering you, my love?”

Yoongi had tried his hardest the past month to get under her skin. There were times when he thought perhaps, she would welcome him into her heart one day. However, her repeated escape attempts made him think otherwise. He was giving her the space she needed with carefulness in every action he took. The young leader knew well that she wouldn't be able to escape while they resided here, in the core of the village. That did not stop her though.

As if nature herself wished to bestow a gift upon him, the first snowflakes began to descend from the heavens just as they were returning from that unfortunate, eventful day in Seoul. The snowflakes floated gently, even now, like fragile dreams.

“Are you feeling well? You spent a lot of time in the snow yesterday.” He murmured after she didn’t grant him an answer to his previous question. They had to postpone the wedding as the snow and frost reigned, making it unsafe to pass through the tunnels. The passage was being cleared by workers for more than a week now. Time seemed to stand still as they absorbed the grace that enveloped their world.

“I feel fine,” she muttered back, not even looking his way at the table.

“I’ve been good to you, haven’t I?” He asked, demanding to speak to her.

“After all the stunts you pulled, you’re still free to roam around without anyone guarding you. Not speaking of the fact that I’m letting you sleep alone—” he was going on rumble.

The young leader is patient, but he longed for her more than ever. The fact that they’re still not newlyweds, and he cannot show love to every inch of her body, make her swell with his child, was frustrating him beyond repair. She had let her guard down once and allowed him to take the chance and kiss her on the cheek, startling her yet again.

“—you’re so blinded,” she said suddenly, turning back to face him.

“Excuse me?” said he, very surprised.

“You go on about how you’re good to me, how this is God’s doing, and that I should be grateful—” she threw her hands in the air, frustrated by his demanding nature.

While the leader thought he was granting her the time she needed, Y/N felt more and more anxious every day. Her heart is still itching to be free, yet she cannot stop thinking about what her selfishness would cause if she indeed managed to escape.

“Well maybe if you didn’t run every time, I tried to show you affection, I wouldn't have to remind you of all this.” He spat angrily, smashing the chopsticks on the table, standing up.

“I’m patient—” said he, getting closer to her standing form by the large windows. “—but I swear to God, you’ll disobey me again, and that’s where my hospitality ends, Y/N.”

“I just—” she stammered, making him stop in his attempt to close the distance between them. “I’m scared,” she whimpered. Y/N didn’t know why these words came out of her, nor why there were tears. All she felt was exhaustion.

The scarred leader’s expression softened. Is she finally confiding herself to him, opening up?

“My love…” He approached her, taking the cup from her shaking hands, putting it aside and lastly taking her face into his hands, his thumbs wiping her tears away.

“I can make you happy. You just have to let me in.” He whispered, moving his face closer to hers. Y/N knows they will cross the boundary sooner or later. The winter is making it impossible for her to both run away and survive. Should Y/N listen to her mother’s words and let him make her his queen? The older female’s proclamation circled her mind at night while listening to the cracking of wood in the fireplace.

“Please let me in, dove.” He pleaded again, his eyes filled with sincerity and longing.

And once she nodded her head in approval, he didn’t hesitate to press his lips softly against hers. Time stood still, and the world around them faded into a blur of insignificance. Their hearts pounded in sync for a brief moment. She felt a warmth she couldn't admit, even to herself. Y/N wanted to hate him so much. Despite her inner conflict, she could sense the unspoken longings from his side, his desire to deepen the kiss carefully without overwhelming her. He wished to never let her go and feared that she would vanish in his hold. His lips were tender and tentative, like the brush of a butterfly's wings upon a fragile petal. Y/N knows he is holding himself back. The kiss was addictive, momentarily lifting the burden from her chest.

As he went to slide his hands on the swell of her heart-shaped bottom, a sudden cough interrupted the intimate moment. Y/N quickly pulled away, feeling shame and embarrassment wash over her caused by the sudden intrusion. She stole a single glance at the man standing by the door, grinning mischievously. Her cheeks turned crimson as she felt shy and exposed, but the young leader kept holding her in his embrace, not letting her go so soon after their first shared kiss.

Smiling like a teenager, he said: “What’s going on Hoseok-shi.” Y/N could imagine he is smiling widely as she had observed when she apologised to him for hitting his head with the stone. He waved it off quickly stating ‘I would be a fool to not forgive my new sister.’ She pretended not to be affected by his words, but it made the man she was to marry smile even more mischievously.

“I need to speak to you, and Y/N should get ready for Hyung’s wedding,” Hoseok said, his eyes gleaming with some secret knowledge.

Y/N exchanged a puzzled glance with Hoseok before nodding and extracting herself from the young leader's embrace, her cheeks still flushed from the kiss. Uncertainty hung in the air as Yoongi let Y/N go and walk away, admiring her graceful figure.

“What?” Yoongi asked, turning his attention to his trusted friend, who wore a smirk that hinted at hidden amusement.

“Nothing,” Hoseok replied, still smiling under his nose.

“Shall we?” Yoongi said, collecting himself and walking towards his brother.

“You won’t fancy what news I bring, brother.”

Silk banners fluttered in the breeze, announcing the joyous union to all who ventured near. The bride, a vision of grace and elegance, is adorned in a hanbok of flowing silk and intricate embroidery.

The groom, dressed in the timeless attire of a traditional hanbok, stood tall and resolute. His eyes fixed unwaveringly upon his beloved, as though she embodied the very essence of his being — a force that fuelled his heart.

Amidst the enchanting spectacle of celebration, the weight of tradition resonated with each uttered word.

The outside picture portrayed the unbreakable bonds of family and the beauty of two souls finding solace in one another. Y/N, however, couldn’t help but have a feeling that the poor girl the doctor was marrying did not find herself at the altar because of true love but fearful coercion. It reminded her of her circumstances — a pawn in a larger scheme.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm golden glow upon the snow-covered land, Y/N sat beside her to-be husband, observing his unusual joy. Accordingly. Today, one of his brothers was finally taking a wife and his bride in a momentary vulnerability that had allowed him to share a tender kiss with her, amplifying his joy to an even greater extent.

Her ears perked up once she heard the celebration of the union before her. She couldn't resist side-eyeing the other brothers she had encountered over the past month, and her gaze locked with Kim Namjoon, Kkangpae’s right-hand man.

Y/N remembers Kim Namjoon. His piercing, cold gaze bore into her soul, especially so during one of her escape attempts, when he forcefully brought her back to the main house, reprimanding her for disobedience.

‘I can either give up my life to save you or I can be your enemy Y/N.’ Namjoon had warned her on a night when she sought solace near the fireplace in Yoongi's office, wrapped in blankets to warm herself even more. She was rarely allowed in this sacred room unless her actions demanded attention.

That night, Yoongi was dealing with business matters. He came back to the main house to her shivering and crying form. It is breaking his heart every time he sees her in such a state but simultaneously, he wishes she would cross the border of submissiveness and obey him.

Y/N ignored his warning just yesterday when she attempted to run away again. Hence, the gaze. If she was afraid of his next steps, she wouldn’t let him decipher that.

She snapped out of her mind as Yoongi rose from his seat, taking her hand to help her up. Y/N looked at him with a mixture of confusion and concern. He gently nudged her behind him, positioning himself as a protective shield. She looked around her, seeing that everyone else was still seated. Their looks show emotions —excitement, joy, and pride.

Her confusion heightened when Yoongi began unbuttoning her fur coat that was hiding her long red qipao, and panic swelled within her.

"What are you doing?!” She whispered in distress.

“Behave.” He whispered back to her, leaving the coat open revealing her breasts and tummy.

Leaving her standing close to him, he held her hand tightly, as if afraid she might flee at any moment. Y/N noticed that Namjoon's attention had shifted to Seokjin's new bride. The bride's trembling form approached them, and Y/N observed the gleaming knife in Seokjin's hand, quickly realizing what was about to happen.

It whispered promises of power, of secrets that could be revealed with a single stroke, but it also carried the weight of consequences and a toll on the bearer's conscience. As the girl's hand was carefully sliced with the knife, Y/N couldn't help but empathize with her pain. Her father had a similar tradition; however, women weren’t involved; she was still left in the dark about her role in all this.

The girl then knelt, extending her bloodied hand toward the leader, reciting her pledge of loyalty to Kkangpae Min. Yoongi covered her hand with his other one, acknowledging her devotion and signaling for her to continue with the moving tradition.

The leader then used his left hand to guide Y/N forward, leaving her yet again puzzled and bewildered. A moment later, she gasped with shock as she felt the girl's bloodied hand touch her lower belly. Yoongi held her firmly in place, preventing any instinctual step back.

"I, with my blood, pledge my loyalty to you, Min Buin. Blessed be the fruit of your future legacy, Kkangpae Min," the girl recited, her words carrying both reverence and a touch of melancholy. The significance of the moment and the responsibility it bestowed upon Y/N left her grappling with a maelstrom of emotions.

“Well you handled that well,” a voice came from behind her, and Y/N turned to find Namjoon standing there, watching her by the fireplace in Yoongi's office. She had been curious when he would approach her, knowing that Yoongi had gone to check if the tunnels were passable.

Y/N couldn't quite discern the tone of Namjoon's remark—whether it held irony or genuine praise. Such was the enigmatic nature of this man.

“I suppose,” she muttered, hugging herself for comfort.

“I personally thought you’d slap her hand off. Such an act would undoubtedly stir up trouble,” said he as he settled down in one of the armchairs.

Her mind replayed the events of the pledge, and she confessed truthfully, “I was too shocked to do so.” The new bride's pledge of loyalty to her and her empty womb had caught her off guard, leaving her uneasy.

“Your father is not demanding newcomers to pledge loyalty?” He asked, curious about their inner circle practices. She smirked, sensing his attempt to pry.

“Yes, but not to my mother,” she revealed.

“You hold an important position within our ranks,” the right-hand man noted. “And that, my dear, is why we are having this little conversation.” Y/N looked up, finding him extending a glass filled with what she presumed to be rice wine or soju.

“I genuinely want to be your friend Y/N—” he said while passing the glass to her. “But you’re very hard to please, princess,” he exclaimed.

“By ‘wanting to be my friend’, you mean the part when you threaten me again,” she retorted with a scoff, alluding to his past warnings.

“That is a necessary evil,” he conceded. “But on a serious note, Y/N,” he drew closer, taking a seat slightly further away to grant her personal space, “Why?”

“What do you mean, why?” she asked, feeling dumbfounded by his question.

"Is life here truly so terrible that all you can think of is escape?" he sighed, genuinely curious about her state of mind.

“Not all I can think of—” she began, trying to defend herself.

"Oh, so you did not attempt to escape just a day ago, and two days before that, and so on," he interjected, pointing out her recent attempts.

“What do you want to hear from me Namjoon?” she countered, feeling the pressure of his questioning.

“Hoseok hyung overheard your conversation,” he finally gave away the one piece of information he sought to address “What are you afraid of?”

Y/N gazed into the dancing flames, his words echoing in her mind. Memories of the recent kiss with Yoongi and the ensuing events flooded her thoughts. She felt her spirit on the brink of collapse, her attempts to escape repeatedly thwarted, causing harm to others in the process. Y/N was exhausted.

“I suppose I expected my life to take a different trajectory than this,” she admitted, reflecting on her circumstances.

“I can assure you that this will be the best that ever happened to you—” Namjoon insisted, trying to be reassuring.

“And that, Namjoon, is where my disbelief lies,” she interrupted him, peering straight into his eyes. He sighed, running a hand across his face, expressing a sense of frustration mixed with genuine concern.

“You didn’t give it a chance!” He raised his voice, unable to hide his emotions. He wanted this clan to function as it did for countless years and what’s more, he wanted his hyung to be happy.

“I’m going to ask you once again, and I want the truth,” he implored, trying to get to the heart of the matter. “What are you so scared of?”

Y/N decided to remain silent, knowing that her response would likely incite further frustration from him. "Is it sex?" he suddenly asked, shocking her with his explicitness. "Are you scared to be punished for your sins?”

“Don’t be ridiculous!” she returned his rage, denying his accusation.

“Am I?” he continued probing.

“Yes, Namjoon! You are! You think I’m this shallow?!” she lashed out.

“No, but all you let us see is the shallow version of you. Apart from this morning,” he declared, referring to a rare moment of vulnerability she had shown.

“And it wasn’t meant for anybody to hear nor see that,” she snapped back at him.

“I understand your reasoning, Y/N. But we’re your family now, you don’t have to shield yourself against us,” he pleaded, hoping to break down her walls.

“He loves you, Y/N,” Namjoon continued, trying to make her see the sincerity in Yoongi's feelings.

“That’s very hard to believe too.” She remarked, still sceptical, looking right through his eyes. He took a deep breath, lifting his hand to touch his face.

“Alright, let’s make a deal,” he proposed, catching her by surprise and piquing her interest.

“About?” She asked, curiously.

“Give it a year,” said the right-hand man. By making a deal with her, he is going behind the back of his leader and, even more importantly — his dearest friend. Nevertheless, he felt obligated to do this for him.

"If you're still 'scared' of whatever you say you are, and this is not the life you'll be comfortable living, I'll personally see to it that you'll be transported to America," he promised, leaving her momentarily speechless.

“What is the catch?” Y/N wasn't naive. She knew there must be some ulterior motive.

"You'll stop being a flight risk. If you attempt to run again, the deal is off, and I will personally eliminate each person foolish enough to aid you since your arrival—one by one, ending with your cousin," he stated, laying out the condition.

Her heart pounded in her chest as she absorbed his chilling words. Her mind raced as she contemplated her choices. "That's the only condition?" she asked, ensuring she understood the terms before giving her answer.

"Well, naturally, I expect you to genuinely give it a chance, meaning that you will accept Hyung as your husband, leader, and lover," he emphasized the last noun, urging her to take his words seriously. Y/N stopped for a moment to collect her thoughts together.

“This is a one time offer Y/N. I won’t be this generous again,” he added. She struggled to read him, but she couldn’t. Namjoon was well known for being unpredictable — a quality that made him a perfect fit as the right-hand man. No one could ever say with certainty what his next move would be.

“Fine,” she finally relented, her voice barely a whisper. Namjoon extended his hand, sealing the deal with a firm shake. He leaned in closer to Y/N.

“I trust that you’ll be on your best behaviour from now on.” He whispered to her. There were so many emotions in her eyes right now that she was working hard to process. She barely nodded and averted her gaze down. Y/N couldn’t bear to look into his intimidating eyes no more.

“Very well,” he murmured, his gaze still fixed on her. “The tunnels have been cleared, and the wedding will take place this week." He told her.

Y/N's heart skipped a beat at the mention of the impending wedding. She was praying that perhaps she has more time to think of what to do with her situation. According to Seokjin, who came to visit and spent some time on occasion with her when his leader could not, the tunnels wouldn’t be cleared out until the end of December, giving her another month in total.

“Brother!” exclaimed Namjoon suddenly, breaking her train of thought. Y/N followed his gaze to the sliding door, where Yoongi stood, undoing the cufflinks of his shirt, the suit jacket already gone. "I was just telling Y/N the good news," Namjoon smiled at him.

Throughout this month, Y/N observed the strong brotherhood among Yoongi's most trusted and closest men. The deepest connection Yoongi shared was undoubtedly with Namjoon, which explained why he was the right-hand man.

Yoongi displayed a particularly protective nature towards his younger brothers. She had yet to meet Jungkook, the youngest, who had been recently assigned as captain of the front unit, as she overheard. On the other hand, Jimin was more involved in the open, managing the front business and whatever lay beneath it. The Chosen Hotel was highly popular among Koreans but was eagerly open to international guests too. Y/N suspected that the true core of the business was settled elsewhere, and she was eager to uncover it.

Seokjin, recently married, primarily served as the inner family's doctor. However, the Min clan also faced a shortage of actual medical staff like, so he had to run between the sanctuary, as she had learnt this place was called, and a front hospital.

Taehyung remained a mystery to her, despite seeing him in family pictures and hearing Yoongi mention him occasionally. He was supposed to represent the law in Yoongi's business dealings, ensuring the safety and legitimacy of their operations, including the handling of illegal earnings. Therefore, Taehyung is the safety pin of this organization. Whomever fucks up, he is there to defend them.

And lastly, Hoseok, a surprising contrast of joy and darkness. Y/N was taken aback that such a buoyant personality could be involved in such sinister activities. He was the arsonist who also took care of assassinations. Additionally, the clan engaged in money laundering, and Hoseok was responsible for collecting debts, often involuntarily.

Her eyes swelled with tears she was refusing to let out. Yoongi’s eyes met Y/N's, and she could see a mixture of concern and worry flicker across his face. A silent understanding passed between them, and they knew that they would need to have a private conversation later.

“Well, it seems you two need more privacy,” said Namjoon while he was collecting himself from the cushion he was sitting on.

“Did Tae call?” Yoongi asked before Namjoon could leave. “He did before Hyung’s wedding, to send his good wishes and—” he gazed over to Y/N who was carefully listening to their conversation, hanging on every word.

“—and?” Yoongi asked as he unbuttoned his shirt, a sight she had seen far too often for her liking. He was not shy with her; he could easily undress before her without a second thought. His attempts to walk in on her while she was changing didn't go unnoticed either, though she made sure to show her displeasure by throwing vases at him to keep him out.

Only now did Y/N remember the glass of alcoholic beverage that Namjoon had offered her, remaining untouched in her hands. She decided to take a sip, trying to ease her nerves before the conversation she was dreading.

“—and everything went well, as expected,” said Namjoon observing her as she downed the burning soju.

“Send telegraph to Wang and other families. We’re leaving for Chosen in two hours.” Y/N straightened herself, eyes wide open in disbelief.

“W-what do you mean in two hours?” She stammered. It was just past eight when she gazed at the clock on the wall. That would mean they'd depart at ten and arrive in Seoul around midnight.

"—I thought they just cleared the way. Why are we—" Yoongi cut her off abruptly. "I am waiting no more," he said firmly, locking his gaze with hers, leaving her in shock once again.

"On your way, please inform the maids to pack, and I want the cabin ready," Yoongi instructed Namjoon, who memorised every task with a sense of responsibility, seemingly disregarding Y/N's shattered spirit in the wake of this sudden rush.

“Can we at least talk about it?!” she raised her voice, causing the two men to stop in their tracks. They exchanged knowing looks, making it clear that this was non-negotiable. Yoongi clicked his tongue, biting his cheeks from inside, then turned to face his fiancée with a deceptive sweetness in his tone.

"Of course, my love," he said.

He nodded to Namjoon, who immediately took off, glancing at Y/N with a silent reminder to behave.

“What’s wrong?” Yoongi asked nonchalantly as if this were a perfectly normal scenario.

“I don’t know, do you think this is right?” Y/N kept her tone tense, signalling her discontent.

“Nothing is more right than this,” he answered, pouring himself a drink while taking her empty glass and refilling it with soju.

"Yoongi—" she began to protest, but he didn't let her speak further, having heard her excuses countless times.

“No Y/N. I’m not negotiating this time. We’re getting married tomorrow afternoon and that’s final,” he stated sternly.

"You could at least wait a day! Do you think everyone will just jump because you said it's happening right now? And more importantly, let me mentally prepare for it?!” Her frustration grew, and she gestured wildly, almost knocking over the refilled glass that Yoongi handed her.

“They are already in town. The telegraph is just a confirmation that it will happen tomorrow.” Her distress and panic were understandable; she had believed she had more time than a few hours.

“And you didn’t think of telling me first?!” she raised her voice even higher. That she was in distress and panic was very understandable. Y/N thought she had more time than a few hours.

“No, because you were finally letting me in—” said he, downing the contents of his glass in one go.

“You knew this would happen for a month, and you would have had more time to prepare yourself if running away fifteen hundred times a day wouldn’t be on your mind,” he fired back, raising his voice at her, and immediately asserting dominance.

"I'm getting very tired of this. One step forward and ten million miles back, damn it!" he cursed, slamming the glass down on his desk in frustration. The tension in the room was palpable, and Y/N felt her heart sinking as she realized that her hopes of a slower pace for their relationship had been shattered.

“I have a very easy solution to that—” she said, raising herself to stand up to him.

“—Let me go,” she emphasized every single word, her frustration boiling over, and momentarily forgetting about her deal with Namjoon.

Her emotions were running high, and she went to pull the ring off to prove her point, but he forcefully grabbed her right hand, stopping her in her tracks. Anger filled his eyes as he crossed his other hand, grabbed her by the back of her neck, and crashed his lips onto hers, pressing their bodies against the nearest wall. He didn't give her a chance to catch her breath as he passionately bruised her lips.

He let go of her hand once he was sure she wouldn't resist. With his now free hand, he lifted her leg, wrapping it around his waist, squeezing her ass cheek, making her yelp and by that creating an opening to slip his tongue into her mouth. Y/N had no idea how long their intimate encounter lasted, but she could feel her head spinning from the lack of oxygen. Just as she managed to stop his other hand from slipping under her dress, aiming for her pulsing heat, he parted from her, both of them breathing heavily.

“I’m sorry. I got carried away,” he apologised, his eyes fixed on her now swollen lips. Y/N was taken aback, her head still spinning, and she couldn't think straight. He had such a powerful effect on her, and this aspect of life was entirely new to her, having been kept away from such experiences.

"I wish, —" he started, nibbling at her lower lip while he continued to speak, "—you would acknowledge my love for you." Yoongi kissed her again, not giving her a chance to recover or speak up, moaning softly into her lips.

"We are too close. I will never give you up.” he declared, wiping her tears away gently.

“I can’t have you running though—” he leaned into lavish attention on her neck, placing butterfly kisses up to her jaw and stopping at her lips again—

"I'll overlook this lapse of senses if you keep up this good behaviour, my love, but the next time you disobey me, I won't only discipline you; someone will lose their head.”

She trembled against him, feeling lost, scared, and vulnerable. Her breath hitched as she tried to speak up. Yoongi was beyond himself for getting her into this state where she didn’t dare to oppose his words and stopped fighting him. If she won’t let him in willingly, he will force her to open up to him.

“I told you to not take that ring off your finger ever again.” She remembers the words he uttered to her in the garden where he proposed to her. That she agreed still feels surreal to her. Running got her nowhere, but she still had a selfish feeling inside her that he was bluffing and wouldn’t dare to seriously hurt anybody.

“Now be a good girl and apologise for disobeying me.” He tightened his grip at her waist, finally staring right into her teary eyes. Y/N felt lost, scared and vulnerable. Her lips were trembling, and her breath hitched again once she opened her mouth to speak.

“Shhh, it’s okay baby, just say it.” He cooed, lifting his hand to caress her cheek gently.

“I-I am sorry,” she finally sobbed. If there was one thing the scarred boy excelled at, it was getting his way. He smiled at her, pleased with her response.

He smiled at her. “That’s more like it, baby.”

Y/N longed to curl up in her small apartment, where she resided while studying at college. She desperately wished she could turn back time.

“I have something for you,” he said suddenly, looking for any sign of curiosity from her. Yoongi stepped away to his desk, leaving her pressed against the wall, hesitant to move an inch. He opened one of his drawers and pulled out an envelope. Y/N couldn't make out the handwriting, but her eyes widened as she recognised it.

“Your aunt entrusted me with this letter when we came to the conclusion that you should be mine one day,” he said, holding the envelope in his hands. Y/N desperately wished that the answer and a solution to her fears would be contained in that envelope. She was mulling over the platform of this match-making her aunt orchestrated.

Wang Xiaoqing very much upheld the meaning of her name in the time she lived. Blessed with intelligence. And she was a fearless mafia wife who brought pride to her late husband. There are other intriguing things about Y/N’s beloved auntie. Xiaoqing is by far the only member in her large family tree that married for love. Y/N admired her aunt and, perhaps, seeing that it was possible to marry for love, made her blindly believe she could also have the freedom to choose her partner.

She dreamt of a little house in the woods, not far from a lake or a small town. Growing some goods in the garden, by night sitting near the fireplace, the love of her life holding her. She would work in a nearby hospital, or study overseas to become a doctor were all part of her fever dream. She knew it was unlikely to come true, given her family's ties to the syndicate.

But she could least dream about it. For a moment, when she was on the ferry to Jeju Island, she thought she would make it. Y/N knew the risk she was taking once she entrusted her well-being to Chan-yeol. She knew his role was insignificant and not a threat to any syndicate and it wouldn’t certainly attract Yakuza, but she was also aware that he could have been the only one to send her to the far land. She believed that God chose this path for her instead of being an arm jewel to some Yakuza brute.

Reality snapped her back from her swirling thoughts as he put the envelope back in the drawer.

“W-what are you doing?” she asked, taking a step forward.

“I will give it to you—” he promised “and tell you everything you want to know—” locking the drawer with a key.

“—After you’ll walk the aisle to me, without any of your misfits,” he finished his sentence.

"To strengthen your cooperation for tomorrow, I'm having your cousin and her husband at gunpoint during the ceremony," he added, making her scream in protest.

"I won't do anything stupid," she pleaded, tears streaming down her cheeks. "Just let them be, please. They have little son, Yoongi.”

“I know, that’s why they are the perfect bargain to make you obedient. If this doesn't work, you still have other family members—," Y/N couldn't bear it any longer; she closed the distance between them, standing just inches away from him.

“If you would love me—” she started but before she could finish, he grabbed her waist and pulled her even closer, pressing his body against hers. She could feel his torso and lower body. He bowed down next to her ear.

“I’ll stop this necessary coercion when you’ll learn your place, my love.”

Yoongi loved making her squirm and overwhelm her. He was basking in the effect he had on her. The fact that she will be his wife in less than twelve hours was a source of satisfaction for him.

“You were my woman for a long time now, and you will be my woman till death do us apart.”

I N T E R L O G U E

“—And you’re certain that the man is on his way to Seoul.” The leader inquired of his trusted friend and partner, seated in the quiet confines of his home office.

“Yes,” Hoseok affirmed with a nod.

"Is there any additional information that I need to be aware of?” Yoongi's voice carried a hint of tension, his teeth gritted in anger.

"As of now, there's nothing more to report," the younger male replied, keeping the conversation concise.

“Do you want me to eliminate him?” Hoseok offered, waiting for his leader's command.

“Not just yet, I was hoping to have the pleasure myself.”

to be continued

author’s note: so here we are at chapter IV!! ♥ Thank you all so much for for sticking around chummers ♥ They kissed and much moreee!!! We'll see what we'll happen next. I hereby promise to post the chapter sooner than the end of Semptember, or I hope so xD Tho I have some wips to write and if I'll finish some then I'll post something new too ♥

Massive shout-out to Bex, the queen @chaoticpuff17, for beta another chapter!

Love you!!!!

Don't be a silent reader, comment, re-blog, heart, asks are more than welcome ♥

keep in mind - I'm not an expert on chinese, korean and japanese culture, but I tried to research everything realistic I wanted to add to the story. Nonetheless, take it as a fiction.

let's be friends chummers ♥

lots of love,

𝖕𝖊𝖓𝖓𝖞𝖊𝖑𝖑𝖊

taglist: @beautifulcloudfestival - @chaoticpuff17 - @honsoolgloss - @jingerbreadoutofstock - @moscow778 - @januara26 - @dinosolecito - @yoongislatinagff - @xyahrinx - @hi12345567 - @nochuel - @deltamoon666 - @bbkissme99 - @darkuni63 - @nansasa - @sazsazsaz - @missmin - @strxwbloody - @royallyjjk - @jaiuneamesolitaiire - @shadowyjellyfishfest - @bbgniecyy - @elayne321 - @seojunandsoju - @bun-27 - @whipwhoops - @wobblewobble822 - @whofan88 - @haneyyy - @lostgirlinthewoodss @secfir @btspurplesky @elleflying07 - @pamzn - @megseungmin

[stylesispunk]

"I couldn't want you anymore" part 5

Artist! Joel Miller x Florist! Reader

series masterlist | previous chapter | next

summary: when Sarah's mom comes back into Joel's life to fight for their past relationship, Joel needs to convince her he is in a happy relationship with the florist next to his gallery in order to make her go away. The problem is, that he and the florist can't stand each other's guts or that it's what he thinks.

warning: age gap (Joel is 36 and reader is 28). Remember that "Bee" is reader's nickname, fluff, some feelings are being confessed (again), angst (poor reader) mentions of an accident, and conflicted emotions.

a/n: This one is more than 6k. I don't love this one as the last one, but I wanted to deliver this one to you. Sorry for the drama during this chapter, I was PMSing haha. Reblogs and comments are always appreciated, please share your thoughts with me, I love reading your comments and send ne any ask if you want ❤️ Sorry for any grammar mistake.💌 p.s the first line is a reference to all too well 😭

masterlist

After 3 long months in the grave. The flowers died of thirst. The place that once seemed full of life, now it was an empty street of broken pieces left behind by your ghost, and for Joel, passing by your shop every day seemed to be the hardest task of his life.

As time passed by, the cobblestones outside your shop remained empty, echoing the silence of what once was the first page of you and him. Joel couldn’t help but wonder how he had let something as precious as that slipped through his fingers, a regret that would haunt him for a long time to come. 

Meanwhile, you found yourself far away from the streets of that life. Still in town, but trying to leave behind any trace of him and the painful memories of the night Joel broke your heart.

Your place now was next to Connell. After your castle crumbled, he was there, and before life separated the both of you, he fit in your life. He built the fire to kept you warm after the storm that left you stranded, and both of you had made the decision to give your love story a second chance. This time, taking tiny steps to build a steady castle. After all, he acted like a prince, taking you out on dates, and expressing his affection through gestures that left you feeling unworthy of his kindness. 

 You had become someone you weren’t. The one with the knife, a liar.

And these few weeks leading up to your new life in London were fulfilled by different emotions. You were busy taking care of some things, closing down your flower shop, and making arrangements for your upcoming journey. It was a bittersweet time filled with farewells to old friends, packing up your life, and starting to write the pages of your new book.  

But you still thought of Joel, the memories of him were hard to erase. He remained a lingering presence in your thoughts. You could still see you both lost in those memories, but it was never real. You shared something that didn’t work beyond words and fake actions for the world to see. And you just hated your persistent temptation to ask what would be different if you had never let those three words escaped from your lips. You may still have moments together, he may still have been part of you, but at what cost?

During the course of these three months, Lily and Tommy got together. The news left you speechless at the beginning. You were happy for them even when it was unexpected. You never saw the signs or you were just mesmerized by the other Miller to even notice Tommy was making his way through your best friend’s heart. Now, they were building their own love story, creating a heartwarming contrast to your journey. Their relationship served as a reminder that love could be found in different places. 

But for you, moving on wasn’t easy. The pain of a broken heart, mixed with the sweet memories you were leaving behind alongside the life you once knew, weighed heavily on your mind. And the biggest fear heightening over your shoulders was the intense fear of hurting Connell. 

Connell, the one thing you did right in your life. The man you knew you wanted to marry once you met him, who had always treated you right. The thought of causing him to regret you because of pain was almost unbearable.

You knew he deserved nothing but happiness, and you wondered if your relationship with Joel had permanently damaged your capacity to truly commit to and reciprocate his love.

Of course, you loved him, but you just weren’t in love with him.

And you found yourself almost every night deeply sighing in the middle of the night, wondering if Joel was still up thinking about you the same way you still thought about him. And you bet he thought you still hated him, even when you had spent the last three months thinking about the minimal chance of him coming back to you, asking for your forgiveness, and stopping you from going to another country to start a new life. 

But after three months, he had gone radio silent, and you were dreaming about him touching your face, asking if you wanted to try it for real this time.

And you despise yourself for it.

You had Connell giving you all his love, and you were becoming a knife ripping his heart.

Connell had been the one in charge of helping you to sell your shop, as you didn’t want to spend the time in that place and accidentally running into Joel.

Saying goodbye to the place you made so many memories was hitting hard on you, and you could see the love and concern in Connell’s eyes as he told he had managed the sale. Nevertheless, he spared you from details of the buyer’s identity and only walked straight to your room without uttering more words. He carried the weight of this decision on your behalf.

the next day, when he was supposed to go to the shop and give the new owner the keys of your now ex-flower shop. An emergency call prevented him from going, so he told you to go instead. 

And you couldn’t lie, even when you had decided to distance yourself from your shop and everything associated with your past, the thought of saying a final goodbye in person didn’t seem like a bad idea. You wonder about the new owner's identity, the person who would now hold the keys to a place that had been a special of your life. 

As you stood outside the shop, you took a deep breath to steady your trembling hands, so you stepped inside. The familiar scent of what was left of the flowers that once adorned the place, and the soft glow of sunlight streaming through the windows, made your heart break at the thought of leaving. 

But in the end, your eyes fell upon the last person you expected to see, Joel. He seemed just as taken aback as you were. 

“Bee,” he said, softly,  making himself believe you were in front of him.

Your name seemed foreign slipping through his lips, the same ones brushing over your skin not long. 

You even feared speaking and risking another goodbye.

For a moment, time stopped, as if the world outside these walls didn’t exist. Your heart pounded in your chest.

Your heart raced as your eyes locked onto his, and a mix of emotions surged within you.

"Joel," you finally managed to say, your voice carrying surprise. His presence stirred memories, both beautiful and painful, and it was hard for you to face them. "What are you doing here?"

Joel hesitated, his eyes searching yours for a sign of understanding. "I… Connell sold your shop to Tommy” he said. 

Your heart constricted at the mention of Connell selling the shop to Tommy. You knew there was more behind that statement. You had gotten to know Joel to know he was lying through his teeth right now, but you had rather ignore that feeling settling in your heart. 

He cleared his throat. “I didn’t know you’d be here.” 

"Tommy bought the shop?" you asked, trying to wrap your head around the situation.

Joel nodded, his gaze never leaving yours. "Yes, he did. He thought it would be nice since you love this place so much.”

That stirred a mix of emotions within you, but you pushed them aside for the moment. “And why are you here instead?

“He couldn’t make it and I thought Connell was coming” Joel answered, "But it’s nice to see you.”

The tension in the room was palpable, and the weight of unspoken words hung heavily in the air between you and Joel. The past few weeks, becoming in three months , had left their mark, and you weren't sure how to navigate life with those permanent wounds. 

Joel's presence, felt so strange to you now. The familiarity of his face, his voice, and the way he looked at you brought back a flood of memories of the stolen kisses you found yourself missing so much. 

“When are you leaving?” He asked, knowing that this would be the last time he was going to be able to have you in front of him. 

“In a week” you answered shortly. 

Joel's heart sank at the confirmation. He had everything in his hands to prevent the end of your story, but he didn’t want to stop you from finding peace and happiness in the arms of a man who truly deserved you in every way. You had chosen to start a new chapter in London with Connell, and he was the character from a chapter you were leaving behind.

He looked at you, searching for something in your eyes, a glimpse of the love you told him you felt for him. But it was hard to read your emotions. You felt a foreigner before his eyes. 

"I see," he replied, trying to hide the pain in his voice.

The room felt heavy with unsaid words and unfinished written pages. You both had left things unsaid, Joel especially, and the future was uncertain. You couldn't help but feel the pull of what once was, even as you tried to move forward with your life.  

Joel realized he had to make his peace with your decision. He had been given a chance to say those three words, three months ago, and he had to accept that he had ruined his opportunity with you. Your upcoming goodbye was a reminder that time was running out for him to say what needed to be said.

"Bee, I won't hold you back," he said, his voice gentle. "But before you go, there's something I need to tell you."

Your gaze met his, and you could see the sincerity in his eyes. There was a vulnerability in him that you had rarely seen. Joel's next words would be crucial and may be a turning point for both of you.

As Joel was on the edge of saying something, the door chimed softly as it opened.

It was Connell. His entrance created an unexpected interruption, and the atmosphere grew tense.

You shared a brief glance with Joel, and the weight of the unspoken words lingered heavily.

Joel addressed Connell first; his voice laced with an attempt to save you from any problem. "We were just saying goodbye.”

Connell acknowledged this with a nod but couldn't shake the feeling that he had walked into something else.  

“I thought you were busy,” you said to Connell, walking to his side.

“I finished earlier” he gave you a small smiled as he touched one of your arms “You can wait for me outside” he told you, trying to give you reassurance.

You nodded, glancing one last time at Joel, the tension remained inside the room, and the words Joel had been on the verge of sharing with you were left hanging in the air.

And you finally exited the room, saying your last goodbye to Joel without uttering a word. 

Once you left the shop, Connell spoke first, his voice carrying a serious tone "Joel, I know you want her to forgive you, but I want you to know that she's important to me and I love her."

Joel nodded, understanding the weight of Connell's words. "I know, Connell. And you've been good to her. I've seen that."

Connell hesitated, searching Joel's eyes for sincerity. "She deserves to be happy.” 

Joel's gaze was unwavering as he replied, "I know she does. And if that means she's happier with you, then I won't stand in the way."

Connell kept silence for a moment. “You didn’t tell her, did you?”

Joel shook his head.

“Thank you. She would have killed me if she knew I sold the shop to you”, Connell said, with a tint of humor in his tone. 

Joel managed a small smile at Connell's comment. It was an attempt to lighten the atmosphere even though the underlying tension remained. "I wouldn't have wanted to give her another reason to be mad at me."

Connell nodded in understanding. "I appreciate that, Joel. I just want her to have a fresh start, free from all this mess”

Joel's gaze turned thoughtful. "I want that too, Connell. She deserves to move on and be happy."

Connell looked at Joel for a moment. “You made her happy too. Don’t blame yourself too hard, Joel” 

Joel met Connell's gaze, gratitude and sadness intertwined in his eyes. "Thank you, Connell. It means a lot to hear that from you."

The two men shared a silent moment, the weight of feeling they both share for you intertwined lives somehow.

Joel took a deep breath, finally breaking the silence. "I should get going. You both have a new life to start."

Connell extended his hand, and Joel shook it firmly. "Take care of her, Connell."

Connell nodded; his grip steady. "I will, Joel. And you take care of yourself too."

With that, Joel turned and walked away, leaving behind the memories he shared with you inside this place, the first stolen glances, the fighting, the laughter, and the cups of coffee you left for him every morning. All that being left behind, buried.  

As Joel stepped out of the shop, he turned and locked eyes with you for what felt like the last time. The weight on both of your hearts hung in the air. In that fleeting moment, your gazes held longing and hurt. You were the tear hanging inside his heart. 

And Joel's eyes searched yours for a final glimpse of love. He had wanted to say so much, but the timing had never been right, and now it was too late, but he hoped that you’d find your way back in the end. 

You met his gaze with sadness and understanding. There was something about him that made your heart clench. He had been the man who touched your soul before your skin, and how would it be possible for you to forget about that?

You offered a small nod, and he returned it in kind, sharing that secret language you both learned, as a silent goodbye. 

Was that “I love you” the worst thing he had ever heard?

And then, as quickly as it had begun, Joel turned and walked away, disappearing into the distance. The chapter you had shared was closing, and as he faded from view, you knew it was time to look ahead, to embrace the new beginning that awaited next to Connell miles away. 

Connell watched that unspoken interaction and sensed the weight on your shoulders. He walked over to you, and gently pressed a kiss on your forehead, as a tender gesture, a silent promise of a future without wounds to take care of.  With his kiss, he silently looked for reassurance that you weren’t having second thoughts. 

.....

The warmth of the evening had set the perfect backdrop for a dinner in the backyard. You and Connell had prepared a delightful spread of chicken, grilled vegetables, and a bottle of wine that Connell had selected for sharing with your friends. Lily and Tommy sat around the wooden patio table, the soft glow of string lights overhead casting a warm glow.

As Tommy and Connell got engrossed in a conversation about their favorite sports teams, you and Lily found yourselves drawn to the quieter solace of the backyard. There, under the starry sky, you could speak without being overheard.

You looked at them, attentive, with a serious expression, your eyes reflected the soft, flickering light.  

Lily glanced at you; concern etched across her face. "A penny for your thoughts, Bee bee?” 

You took a deep breath, “I think I’m a little bit nervous about next week.” 

Lily's eyes filled with understanding as she listened intently. “Nervous about London? Or leaving Joel behind?”

Your gaze shifted, and you looked at Lily with surprise. It was as if she had read your thoughts, as always. You nodded slowly. "Both, actually.” 

Lily leaned in closer, her voice a soft, comforting murmur. "Bee, it's okay to have mixed feelings. Leaving behind a place and someone who meant so much to you is never easy. But it's also the beginning of this new adventure with Connell."

You sighed, feeling grateful for Lily's understanding. She made you feel at ease with your racing thoughts. “I just wish it were simpler, you know? I don't want to hurt anyone. I couldn’t forgive myself if I hurt Connell” 

At that moment, your and Connell's gazes met from the distance. He gave you a big smile which you mirrored, but it didn’t reach your eyes. 

You felt Lily’s hand on yours as a gesture of reassurance. “You have a big heart, Bee. Connell loves you for who you are. Trust in that."

Lily's words were a soothing balm to your worried mind. Her support and the warm of her friendship alongside the starry evening created a special moment in her last days in this place. You knew that leaving the past behind was never a straightforward journey, but it was reassuring to have a friend who understood your complexities.

As Connell's gaze met yours and you exchanged smiles, once again, you realized that your anxieties didn't mean you loved him any less. The weight of the past could coexist with the past, and maybe you could learn how to fall in love with him again. 

Joel managed a fragile smile, and he held your hand as if it were the lifeline he needed at that moment.

Sarah and Tommy lingered in the doorway, watching the two of you with tiny smiles on their faces. 

Joel spoke softly, "I'm sorry for worrying you, Bee."

You shook your head, your voice filled with genuine concern. "Don’t say anything” you said as you laid your head on his chest, as if hearing the beating of his heart would reassure you, he was going to be okay.

As you leaned your head against Joel's chest, seeking comfort in the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, you didn't notice Connell watching the two of you from the hospital lobby. His expression was unreadable. There was concern, understanding, and a tinge of jealousy. 

Connell had supported you through everything since you both were eighteen years old, and he loved you deeply. But seeing you in this moment with Joel stirred emotions within him that he couldn't fully process, leaving a siren in his mind.

Sarah and Tommy decided to leave the room, giving the two of you some privacy. Joel's hand gently rested on your back, his fingers tracing comforting patterns down your spine as if his fingers were brushes tracing lines on your back.

Joel spoke again "Bee, I know I've made a mess of things, but I want you to know that you mean a lot to me. More than I can put into words."

You didn't respond with words. Instead, you tightened your grip on him, holding him close, and Connell remained in the background, his thoughts and feelings his own, as you and Joel found peace in each other's presence. 

Once you were back home, you were awfully quiet for Connell’s like. He had seen the way your face sparkled when you were with Joel in his room, how you held him tight, and how you seemed terrified at the thought of losing him.

It was the moment in which Connell realized he wasn’t the one anymore, but he didn’t want to admit it. He wanted to hold onto the memories. 

“Hey, are you okay?” He asked you, trying to make you talk.

Connell's voice pulled you out of the storm inside your mind since your arrival from the hospital. You turned to face him, offering a faint smile that didn't quite reach your eyes.

"I'm okay, Connell," you replied, though your tone carried a hint of sadness. "Just a lot to process."

He nodded; concern showed across his features. "I understand. It's a lot to take in. But you know I'm here for you, right?"

You appreciated Connell's support more than you could express. He had been a rock in your life. It was just the reappearance of Joel after these three months and the accident had stirred up a multitude of feelings you thought didn’t exist. 

"I do,” you said, reaching out to take his hand. "You've been amazing, and I love you for that."

Connell's smile brightened at your words, and he squeezed your hand gently. "I love you too” he declared as he kissed your temple, as a way to find reassurance. 

You hugged Connell tightly as if to reassure yourself that you were still grounded in the present, even as the past loomed large in your heart and mind.

But for Connell, the pages were clearly written and he knew your heart didn’t belong to him anymore. 

One week later, and the night before your departure for London, everything seemed bittersweet around you. You were finished packing what was the last of your belongings, and the weight of leaving your life behind was the heavier suitcase you were carrying.

During the last week, you didn’t see Joel. All the updates about his recovery were through Lily, and the only thing you knew was that he had been dispatched from the hospital today.

You really wanted things between Connell and you to work out, so you made your promise to not see Joel again in order to do that. That night in the hospital was the goodbye you needed, and that was it. He was okay, so you were okay. You had bled, but your wounds would heal sooner than later. 

Nevertheless, Connell had been watching your movements for the last few days, and now, as you were carefully folding your clothes and going through the last-minute preparations. He found the strength to speak up. 

"There's something I've been thinking about," Connell began, his eyes reflecting the depths of his feelings.

You paused in your packing, looking into Connell's eyes, eager to hear what he had to say. "What is it?”

Connell took a deep breath, struggling to find the right words. " I don't want to be the reason for your regrets."

Your heart pounded in your chest as Connell spoke, tears welled up in your eyes. 

“You love him,” he said in a breathy voice. 

He wasn’t thinking about himself anymore, or where you would go after this, he was thinking about you. 

“Connell, we’re leaving tomorrow. I’m with you and I love you” you whispered, trying to convince him, and mostly yourself at the same time. 

Connell nodded, his own eyes brimming with tears. "You love me, I know, but you’re not in love with me.” 

You wiped away a tear, your voice trembling. "Connell"

“You’re in love with Joel and he is in love with you”, he declared.

As much as he was devasted by the thought of letting you go, he wanted you to be happy. He would give you everything, even when he would be a little in between for a while.

You shook your head. “He isn’t.”

“Then why did he buy your shop?”

“What?” Your eyes widened. You felt shocked and confused. “Why?”

Connell reached out and took your hand, his touch warm and reassuring. "I think he did it because he thought you would come back and because he is in love with you.” 

Connell gazed at you with a mixture of sadness and love. "And I love you enough to let you go” " He said “You need more time to figure things out, and I don’t want you to go with me if you can’t do that.”

His words pierced your heart. 

“I don’t want you to hate me,” you said, whispering. 

Connell chuckled softly, Connell squeezed your hand gently, and then he cupped your face with his hand to look at you in the eyes. “Nothing you say or you do would make me hate you” You leaned in his touch and hugged him tightly, crying on his shoulder.

“I love you more than I could express.” You mumbled.

Connell held you tightly, his embrace filled with love, even though he knew it was time to let you go. His heart was heavy.

And the next morning, with one last, lingering kiss, you and Connell let each other go. You watched him boarding the plane, and as it took off, your eyes watered, you let your tears fall down your cheeks.

That plane carried Connell away from your life again, and you held onto the final image of Connell, offering a gentle wave and a bittersweet smile, muttering an “I love you” at you before disappearing from your sight. 

Once you got in your car, you felt the weight of your emotions pressing down on you like a heavy blanket suffocating you. All the love, guilt, sadness, and anger crunched your heart, leaving you alone with your thoughts. 

In the spare of seconds, Joel came to your mind and you felt anger surging through your veins like fire. You couldn’t help but blame him for ruining the opportunity you had to move on. You questioned yourself why you still wanted to go back to him and why he was coming back to you in your dreams as if he wanted to taunt you, and your frustration grew.

With a burning feeling settled in your chest, you made your way to Joel's house. You couldn't understand why he had bought your shop, why he had disrupted your life once again, so once you arrived, you stormed out of the car, determined to confront him. 

 You stood at his doorstep, your knuckles brushing against the wood, your heart pounding in your chest. When the door opened, there he stood, still bandaged from the accident. He looked surprised at seeing you here. 

"Joel," you began, your voice laced with anger. "Why?”

His brows furrowed, and he stammered "Bee, I thought you'd be on a plane to London with Connell by now."

You met his surprised gaze with anger. "I was supposed to be, but Connell stopped me from it.” 

Joel seemed surprised, but something in his gaze showed relief at knowing you would still be here. He stepped aside, allowing you to enter his house, and you both moved to the living room. The familiar surroundings seemed to echo with memories of your last time together. The three words you confessed to him, the way he broke your heart, and then you walked out of his life. 

“Why did you lie to me?” you demanded “Why did you tell Tommy bought my shop, when it was really you?”

You were met with silence.

“Why did you buy it, Joel?” you shouted. 

“Because I knew you would come back to me,” he said, as a matter of fact. Simply as if he owned you.

Your anger flared at his audacity. "You can't just manipulate my life like that, Joel! You can't decide things for me without even asking” Your voice suddenly deepened. “And for what do you even want me?” you asked “For playing with my fee-“

Joel's lips crashed onto yours, and for a moment, you were stunned into silence. The kiss was intense and filled with all the longing and regret Joel felt. 

As he pulled away, his eyes bore into yours with an intensity that took your breath away. "I bought the shop because I couldn't bear to see you go without a chance for us to make things right."

You were caught between anger and desire, your heart racing from the sudden kiss. "Joel, you can't just kiss me and expect everything to be fixed."

He reached out to cup your face, even with one of his hands broken, his thumb gently tracing your cheek. "I'm not expecting that, Bee. I just needed you to know that I love you”

 Torn between your anger and the lingering love you felt, you took a step back, away from his touch.

“What?”

“I love you,” he said, not taking his eyes off you. “I’m in love with you.” 

Your eyes and mouth were wide open, but you still managed to shoot him a glare. You could pretend you didn’t hear him and leave. You didn’t trust yourself right now, but his big brown eyes prevented her from walking away.

He told you he was in love with you.

Your voice wavered as you replied, "Joel, you can't just say that now. Not after everything that happened."

He took a step closer, his eyes searching yours. "I know I should have said it earlier, and I'm sorry for all the pain I've caused. But it's the truth, Bee. I love you, and I'm willing to do whatever it takes me to make things right."

You struggled to maintain your composure, you were shocked,

“Are you going to say something?” he whispered. 

 "Joel, it's not that simple” you spoke

He nodded, his expression earnest. "I understand that. I know we have a lot to work through, and I'm willing to take the time and the effort.” 

Your heart ached at his words, and the internal battle you had been fighting raged on. "Joel, I need time to think and process all of this. I can't make any promises right now."

Joel reached out to gently touch your arm, a silent plea in his eyes. "I'll give you the time you need, Bee. Just promise me you won't leave” he said, cupping your face.

You found yourself relaxing with his presence and touch, by nodding your head as a silence promise. 

 "Okay,” you whispered.

Your head was a thunderstorm of infinite questions running through your head. You had so many, but you didn’t know where to start. 

He smiled at you, and that made you lose your mind and you don’t know what to do, what to express, or how to act. 

“I’m glad you’re okay” you whispered.

Joel's smile held a genuine warmth, and his thumb traced soothing patterns on your cheek. "I'm glad I'm okay too, and I'm grateful you're still here."

The two of you stood there in a moment of fragility as your eyes locked onto Joel’s.

You had to go before you lost your mind, and you needed space to clear your head. You took a step back, your gaze not quite meeting his. 

"I need to go now, Joel. I need time to think."

Joel's expression showed understanding, and he nodded. "I get it, Bee. Take all the time you need."

You turned and headed for the door; your steps were slow as if a string was pulling into him. The weight of what started as a simple game between you two, the confusion of the present and the uncertainty of the future were heavy on your shoulders. You needed time to heal your scars, to figure out what your heart truly wanted.

Before leaving, you glanced back at Joel, and for a brief moment, your eyes met again, unspoken words flowing in the air. Then, you stepped out, leaving behind the man who had both broken and mended your heart, and who now waited for your decision.

It was his time to wait now.

a/n: Okay, so now he bought the shop because he knew she was going to come back to him somehow and he wanted to have it for her because the flower shop was important to her and after all, he has the keys to her heart (yes, as cheesy as it sounds). Now, he has to fix everything and suffer a little because the reader (bee) has to be loved. btw I'm already thinking about the next fic

tags: @joeldjarin @borhapparker @fatima-marisa @kirsteng42 @paleidiot @harriedandharassed @runningmom94 @pedr0swh0r3 @ssacharcoalgrey

[chroniclesofskz]

Gamer girl

At a buzzing gaming convention, Y/N, a passionate gamer girl, unexpectedly captures the attention of the charming Lee Felix. Amidst the excitement of the event, their playful banter evolves into an undeniable connection. As they team up for a gaming competition, Y/N’s skills and fierce determination draw Felix in deeper.

Chapter 1: The Glow of Pink

The soft glow of Felix’s laptop filled his dimly lit room as he eagerly awaited Y/N's latest livestream to start. He’d marked the date on his calendar, a small ritual he’d stuck to over the past few months. As soon as the stream began, he felt a surge of anticipation, the kind that comes only when something exciting is about to unfold.

Y/N appeared on screen, her vibrant pink hair framing her face like cotton candy. The colorful setup around her encapsulated her coquette style, with pastel decorations that effortlessly captured her fun-loving personality. Felix found himself smiling as she greeted her viewers, her energy radiating even through the screen.

“Hey, my lovely gamers! Are you ready to dive into another adventure?” she chimed, her voice bright and inviting. “Today, we’re tackling the hardest level yet in ‘Fantasy Quest!’ Make sure to grab your snacks, and let’s do this!”

Felix couldn’t help but be captivated by her charm; her smile was infectious, and the way she made everyone feel included made his heart warm. He leaned closer, feeling a sense of camaraderie with her, as if they were embarking on this virtual adventure together.

Her voice blended perfectly with the upbeat background music, creating a soothing atmosphere as she expertly navigated her character through forests, dungeons, and epic battles. As she faced challenges in the game, Felix watched her react with a mixture of determination and humor that had drawn him in weeks ago.

“Come on! Really?” she exclaimed, her expressive face mirroring the frustration of her in-game character. “Why can’t I just get past this level?”

Felix chuckled along with the other viewers. “Don’t worry, you got this!” he typed in the chat, hoping she’d see his words of encouragement among the flood of comments.

“Thank you, Anonymous Gamer!” Y/N replied, her bright eyes scanning the screen. “You’re right! I will not be defeated!”

Every stream felt like a sanctuary, a delightful escape from his idol life filled with choreography, fan expectations, and media scrutiny. There was something extraordinary about watching someone as authentic as Y/N, and every laugh they shared felt like a connection, even if it was a one-sided screen affair.

That night, after the stream ended, Felix sat back, still riding the high from Y/N’s infectious energy. His heart fluttered with the possibilities of what it might be like to meet her, to share a real-life moment filled with laughter and joy instead of pixels and screens.

As the days passed, he found himself increasingly intertwined in the gaming world, following Y/N more closely on social media, liking her posts, and occasionally commenting. It became a game of its own—how to show his support without revealing his true identity.

When Y/N announced that she would attend GigaCon in their hometown, Felix felt a rush of excitement sweeping over him. “This is my chance!” he whispered to himself, a mixture of adrenaline and fear coursing through him. He knew he had to go, but he sought a way to attend without revealing who he was. What would she think if she discovered he was a member of Stray Kids, a renowned idol?

Felix painstakingly plotted his disguise, pulling on a simple hoodie, a cap, and a mask to shield his identity. The hustle and bustle of the GigaCon venue was more exhilarating than he had anticipated. Bright lights, colorful booths, and excited chatter filled the air, wrapping him in both warmth and trepidation.

As he wandered through the familiar environment of fans and cosplayers, he could see gaming enthusiasts connecting and forming friendships. But at the same time, he felt the distance that came with his celebrity status, which had kept him in a bubble that felt tangible yet invisible.

Finally, he spotted Y/N at her booth, engaging with fans as they took selfies and chatted. She was vibrant and captivating in person, just as she was on screen. For a moment, he simply stood there, taking in her enthusiasm and the way she lit up the room.

“Okay,” he murmured to himself, “this is it.”

Gathering his courage, Felix stepped forward. “Hey! I’m just another gamer who really enjoys your streams,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady as he approached her.

Y/N looked up, and for a brief moment, Felix held his breath, waiting to see her reaction.

“What’s your name?” she asked, brightening even more at the interaction.

“Just call me… Nameless Gamer,” he replied, infusing a playful tone to his words.

“Nameless Gamer? What a cool name! So what do you like about gaming?” she asked, leaning in closer, intrigued.

And suddenly, it felt easy. With a natural flow of conversation, Felix felt the tension from before ease as

he spoke with her about their mutual love for gaming. They discussed their favorite titles, gaming strategies, and even the nerves that come with streaming. Felix was amazed at how they clicked; each laugh and shared anecdote wove a thread of connection between them.

“Honestly, I think the best part about gaming is being able to share those moments with friends or fans,” Y/N confessed, her eyes sparkling. “It’s like we’re all in this together, cheering each other on.”

Felix nodded, feeling a warmth spread through him. “Exactly. It’s refreshing to connect with people over something we both love. It feels so real.”

As they continued conversing, Felix felt the weight of his secret beginning to pull at him. He wanted to show Y/N who he really was, to let her see the man behind the mask—the guy who had been cheering her on from afar.

After a pause, he took a breath, his fingers fidgeting with the edge of his cap. “Y/N, I actually have something important to tell you,” he started, heart pounding in his chest. “I’m not just… any fan.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “What do you mean?”

In that moment, Felix glanced around, ensuring no one was watching. “I’m actually in a band called Stray Kids.”

The instant her eyes widened, he held his breath, waiting for her reaction. Time felt suspended as the words hung in the air.

“Wait… you’re Felix? Like… the Felix?!”

He nodded, anxiety creeping into his chest. “Yeah, that’s me. I know it’s a lot to take in. But I wanted to meet you without all the idol expectations, to connect with you as just… Felix.”

For a moment, she stood there, her mouth slightly open as she processed his words. Her shock melted into a radiant smile, one that lit up her entire face. “Oh my goodness! This is unbelievable! I’m such a huge fan of yours!”

He let out a relieved chuckle, feeling the weight lift off of him as a grin spread across his face. “Really? I’m glad to hear that. Honestly, I’ve been an admirer of your streams for a while now.”

Y/N giggled, her cheeks tinged a lovely shade of pink that made Felix’s heart race. “I can’t believe it! I always thought you were a cool dude, but now I know the truth!”

As their eyes held each other, a comforting silence enveloped them, filled with an unspoken understanding. Felix felt an electric pulse between them, a connection that transcended their initial encounter. It was like they were living in one of those moving K-dramas, where two destinies collided in the most perfect of moments.

Yet just as the atmosphere turned intimate, Y/N glanced around nervously, breaking the spell. “Aren’t you worried someone will recognize you? This is a huge crowd.”

“Yeah, it’s a little nerve-wracking,” Felix admitted, but the thrill of excitement and the warmth of Y/N's presence overshadowed any fear he might have felt. “But I’m here for you. I just wanted to connect without the glitz and glam, you know?”

“I get that. But it’s hard not to feel some pressure with who you are,” she replied, her voice slightly hesitant. “I’ve always been a little intimidated by idols.”

Felix felt his heart sink for a moment at the thought. “I get that, but I promise I’m just a guy who loves gaming. I don’t want my status to change how you see me.”

Y/N smiled shyly. “Well, you’ve succeeded so far. I mean, I’m still here, aren’t I?”

Felix laughed, feeling a sense of relief wash over him. “Well, I can’t let this opportunity slip away. Can we, like, team up for a game sometime? You know, partner up in the streaming world?”

“Absolutely! That sounds amazing!” Y/N exclaimed, her excitement bubbling over. “We can do co-op streams together! Just imagine the chaos!”

Felix grinned, exhilaration coursing through him. “I can’t wait!”

Gamer girl P.2

[lilacxquartz]

PRETTY LITTLE TRINKET

harpy shoko ieiri x f!reader

plot: while lost at sea, you find yourself saved by a monster yet unable to leave

summary: with the pirates dealt with, something strange happened to you, changing you in an impossible way — a/n: suggestive scenes in this one

chapter 5 of 5 • previous chapter > masterlist • chapter directory • ao3

Final Chapter. Freedom

You woke up a bit later; your mind still racing with questions and yet no solid answers—your body continuing to ache as it contorted and twisted into something new—into something uncertain.

The pain travelled excruciatingly slowly but it all felt very much real. Feathers sprouted from your arms and legs in uneven patches, with the sheen matching the radiant shine of your own distinctive features. Slowly, your form fanned out into something cohesive with your feathers elongating and your joints snapping and shifting into something much more bird-like.

Shoko watched on with an unreadable expression, her aloof and almost guarded state of mind replaced with something raw and frantic. Internally, she was panicking, the change hitting her the hardest. Suguru and Satoru parked away at a distance, their usual remarks absent as they watched on with a cautious stare.

Suguru let something slip after a while though, the curiosity getting to him, “This hasn’t happened in centuries,” he murmured, still perplexed by the sight.

Satoru idly nodded, unable to take his eyes off of you. “Yeah, but I suppose it has been enough time,” he agreed, “you know how the island is with picking people.”

The two on-and-off muttered their musings, their commentary nature not going unnoticed by Shoko who was a much more on edge than they were. Her mind was all over the place; what with your attempted escape, your life being in danger, and then finally, the acceptance. In truth, she wasn’t quite sure what to think exactly—but a calm discussion over the current events wasn’t something that she could comprehend just yet.

Her golden eyes glinted with something possessive as she locked her focus on you, still feeling conflicted as the pain seemed to consume you. Suguru tried to approach you to get a better look with no ill intentions in mind, but Shoko snapped at him as soon as he had tried.

“Don’t,” she warned, taking a protective step to hide you as if shielding you with her body. Her wings flared in a silent warning, hinting that she was not to be messed with right at this moment.

Suguru’s eyes narrowed and Satoru’s expression grew concerned at the sight, unsure how to react exactly to her hostile demeanour towards them both.

“Relax,” Suguru tried again, “I just want to take a closer look—she’s in pain isn’t she? She at least deserves an explanation.”

“Which will come soon,” Shoko shot back in a defensive tone, her words coming out sharp. “Just… just stay away for now.”

“Shoko…?” Satoru tried, his curious blue eyes searching hers for answers only to find none. “Since when were you like… like… this?”

Shoko didn’t answer, looking for an out instead. With a swift motion, she yanked you away by the wrist, tugging you toward the direction she had in mind. The two didn’t try to intervene, but they watched warily from a distance as both of you soon faded from sight.

You hesitated to be dragged off into the distance but you felt too weak to complain. You didn’t fuss all that much either as she secured you into her nest once more over the cliffside. Her talons kept you locked into place, grounding you into position. You sat there for a good, long moment, just barely adjusting. Your new form felt clumsy to adapt to and somehow foreign, despite it being your own body.

Her eyes suddenly snapped to you, appearing to be wide and panicked, as if searching you for answers. “Why?” she finally asked, breaking the tense silence. “Why… why would the island do this to you—to me? You’re supposed to stay human… not become… this.”

You flinched at her tone, unsure as to how to proceed. “Shoko, I-I—”

“—don’t,” she hastily cut you off, wincing at her harshness, giving herself a moment to calm down. “I-I don’t want to lose you… not like this.”

You tilted your head in confusion. “Lose me? Shoko? I-I don’t understand. I’m fine. I feel fine. Just different… and besides, I want to stay here, with you. For you.”

The admission of your words however didn’t soothe her rising panic, although it did make her freeze. She replied again with a rigid tone, her voice shaking just a little, “Y-you don’t understand,” she almost whined in a pleading manner, “this is not just about you staying or you changing—it’s about the island—it’s… claiming you,” she replied in a strained flurry of barely coherent words. “W-was I too forward? Did I do this to you?”

She then paused again, her eyes locked onto yours as though searching for answers.

You didn’t have any yourself, but you tried to remain calm for both of your sakes. “I-is it bad if this is happening?”

Shoko let out a breathless scoff, unsure where to even begin. “Not for me, no. Definitely not. But for you? Oh, maybe. I don’t know—it might be!” she admitted, her voice laced with a hint of manic despair. “I just don’t want you to regret this, okay? Once you turn, then you can’t go back.”

“I-I won’t, I promise,” you tried to assure, “maybe if the island chose me then it’s because it can sense that I want this too, right?”

Her breath hitched but she still didn’t seem fully convinced just yet. There were too many conflicting factors, but she tried to force herself to calm down at long last, settling on pulling you closer and wrapping her wings tight around your body as though to shield you away from the world.

“Okay, then…” she murmured, trailing off in consideration, “if you stay, then I’ll keep you safe,” she promised, “from the island and from anything—anyone else.”

You nodded, feeling relieved that she seemed to be much more at ease now. “So… w-what actually happened to me?”

Shoko looked at you for a moment, taking note of the feathers that now made up most of your body before continuing. “The island isn’t exactly normal,” she began, “it’s alive and it chooses who can stay and live here, so if someone survives the seas, then the island challenges them and if they survive again—it changes them so that they can adapt to stay.”

You tilted your head again curiously. “And it chose me…? D-do you know why?”

She hesitated. “You survived through the shipwreck, didn’t you? You were the only one who lived through that entire ordeal—most people don’t make it this far, you know. They’re often dead by the time they reach the coast,” she tried to explain in a way that made sense, “it has its own way of deciding… of testing. If you ate the fruit here and drank the water without getting sick, then that should have been the first sign. Honestly… even I should have known,” she added with a light scoff.

“So… I’m becoming like you?” you asked, your voice tinged with both apprehension but also excitement.

Shoko at last let slip a soft smile, finding the situation just as disbelieving as you did. “Yes, just like me. Like them. I believe that the humans call us harpies?”

So… you were going to be a harpy? A harpy. You let that word linger in your mind for a moment before uttering it out loud. “A harpy…”

Shoko nodded as she leaned in, trying to comfort you at long last. “It’s not as scary as it sounds. The island is very… accommodating. It gives us everything we need. The only issue is that it’s tucked quite far away from the rest of the world, that’s all.”

“Ah,” you laughed lightly. “I suppose that I did want something like this in a way—an adventure that is. I kept dreaming forever of just… leaving everything behind and I guess the fact that this happened was just the world setting it up for me, huh? I just didn’t think I’d have to grow feathers to get there.”

Shoko laughed, seeming more genuine that time. “I suppose that it isn’t exactly a common outcome, but… if you’re willing to make it work, then I will do whatever I can to help you.”

You nodded quietly, letting everything that had happened to you thus far settle and sit in the back of your mind for a beat. There was still an underlying tension present in the air, but it seemed to be slowly thawing into something warmer—something more inviting, and as you settled off into a nap again—the weight of the changes exhausting you, you couldn’t help but feel that all of this perhaps wasn’t that big of a nightmare as it all seemed.

Shoko kept a close eye on you after that, keeping a mental log of all of your changes. A strange energy coursed through your veins, on occasion making your body glow with a vibrant blue aura, injecting your soul with the power of the island.

And after a while, you woke up once more; feeling much more energetic, sharper, and ultimately different.

Shoko, who was still regarding this whole situation with a hint of caution took note of your well-rested state and straightened her back as she watched your eyes flutter open. “Are you—do you feel okay? Better?” she asked.

You hesitated for a moment as you gave your body a quick look, settling into a nod. “Yeah…. Yeah, I think so. I just feel different…? But it’s not a bad different. Maybe it’s good?”

Her jaw tightened at the information, her eyes scrolling over your body as if searching for something that might have gone wrong or looked out of place. Without a hint of warning, she leaned forward to inspect you physically, as if to ensure that you were put together right and that nothing went wrong during the process.

Noticing her fussing, however, you tried to reassure her, “I’m fine. Really.”

Shoko didn’t answer just yet, continuing with her inspection. Her hands palmed around your feathers, tweezing at their tips before finally settling down.

“Okay good,” she decided, repeating the words again and again as if to calm herself.

Just as you thought it was all fine at last, however, Shoko’s anxiety gave way to fascination and then somehow morphed into some sort of obsession all over again.

“You… should be able to fly, right?” she asked, having an idea in mind.

You gulped at the prospect. “I-I think so? But I don’t think I know how.”

“Your instincts should help you,” she replied without skipping a beat.

Your expression quickly grew nauseous and uneasy as you peered off the edge of the cliffside. “L-let my instincts help me by just going for it and hoping for the best?”

Shoko nodded. “I’ll be right here.”

Albeit hesitantly, you shakily stood up and took a step forward. Rather than diving off the deep end, however, you simply just tried to jump up instead, flapping your wings wildly as you struggled to catch the air. At best, you hovered around for maybe a couple of seconds before plummeting into the nest.

Shoko laughed a little at the sight. “Close, but you need momentum to make it work.”

You nervously laughed back. “Momentum…? What do you mea—”

Without warning, Shoko gave you an ‘encouraging’ push forward, sending you falling down the cliff. In a fit of desperation, you tried to flutter your wings as fast as you could, gliding into a sliding sweep, keeping yourself just barely hovering in the air as you struggled to keep it all up.

“There we go,” she smiled, but then let her proud state drop, watching as you stumbled into a hasty crash landing soon after, making a swift drop towards the cliff where the jagged ends met. She dove in an instant to swoop you up, not letting you collide with the sharp rocks.

“You’re fine, y-you’re fine,” she assured you as she tucked you back into the nest, although it sounded as though she was trying to comfort herself more than you, “that was good for a first try.”

“Y-yeah?” you nervously laughed, your mind ripe with adrenaline.

Shoko hummed in agreement before getting another idea. “Here, um,” she muttered, requesting your attention, “watch me for a bit, okay? It’s all about catching the wind and letting it guide you.”

You bobbed your head in silence, taking note of her practiced movements. The way that she effortlessly flew through the harsh wind was both terrifying but also mesmerising to you, however, when she gestured for you to come to join her, you were once again feeling like the life was soon about to drain from your body.

“A-ah, I-I don’t think that I should—” you stammered, but then a gust of wind fluttered from her wings and shook you out of place, encouraging a practical approach once again.

Slightly panicked, you flapped your wings in a fit of desperation once more, although you tried to imitate her actions this time instead. Warily, you let the wind carry you away that time, choosing to listen to your newly acquired instincts instead.

“See?” Shoko called out to you in mid-air. “Just like that—you’re doing so well,” she praised, guiding you safely back to the nest again, “you’re becoming one of us now—I can feel it.”

You breathlessly nodded once more, clinging onto the solid structure of the nest with a deeply sought gratitude, not wanting to leave the ground for a bit. You wanted to fly again, but you needed time to even work your way up to such a thing. It was all still so insane that you were something different now, something that went beyond your understanding of the world at all.

Shoko stared at you as you recollected your breath, her initial worry successfully gone. “You’re still okay with this, aren’t you?”

“I guess I am,” you confessed. “No more being a human, huh?”

She hummed, taking in your new form, pulling you close once more.

You considered it again. Maybe it was all completely fine after all. Things might have been different now, but it wasn’t the worst thing that could have happened to you, all things considered. You could have died for one, but the island chose to give you a chance. So be it then—becoming a harpy—why ever not?

A silence brewed in the air for a moment longer and then all of a sudden, the tension that had long been simmering away in the background had finally snapped. Shoko gambled giving into her feelings, leaning forward again, reading into the situation with some fresh hope. With very little warning let alone a chance to prepare, she pressed a longing kiss against your lips, pulling away to see where it could all take her.

For a moment, you were left stunned, but then to her surprise (and yours), you reciprocated the gesture—albeit messily. It all felt so heated, so desperate. Nothing quite made sense but you almost didn’t want it to. All you knew was that it felt right to be right where you were—it felt right with her, and when you finally pulled back, her amber eyes locked onto yours, seeming much more intense than before.

“You’re mine, yes?” she not quite asked, but claimed.

Shoko then reeled you in even tighter, straddling over you and grinding herself into your lap. Her hands explored your skin almost obsessively as if trying to trace and map out every single curve and contour wherever she could.

“I want to make things up to you,” she whispered into your flesh, “I want to make you feel good for a change—I shouldn’t have prolonged your misery before—that was wrong of me, so let me help you feel good.”

You hummed in agreement, although you were slightly dazed. Her actions were so smooth and precise, making you feel warm on the inside and out. Little phrases and words rolled off her tongue as she murmured sweet nothings into your ear, every bit of her tone laced with adoration and praise. “So beautiful,” you heard one point. “All mine,” you heard at another time.

Her fingers explored lower and lower, settling right in between your legs, pushing apart to gain entry into your sensitive sex. You gasped at where she was headed but soon welcomed her exploration—not wanting even for a second to turn her away—allowing her to massage your clit with her fingers, slowly drawing out all sorts of pleasure from within your core.

“Do you feel good?” Shoko asked, seeking your validation, seeming pleased when you nodded along. She continued however she could, running lazy circles over the point all the while you quickly grew flustered from just how much she worshipped you with her touch—peppering your flesh with a flurry of kisses.

A moment later, she dipped her fingers into your sopping heat, curling the digits in all of the right spots that made you see stars. Shoko seemed to revel in the moment, your clear arousal like the highest given praise. The way that your lips quivered as you slowly came undone played in her ears like the sweetest melody as you let out all sorts of beautiful sounds.

“Let it all out,” she whispered against your lips, pulling you close towards her body as she continued, keeping a thumb lodged over your clit, running delicious circles while two of her pointed fingers worked themselves inside of you, “give into me.”

You whimpered out rolling whines and barely uttered breaths alike, bucking your hips almost involuntarily to give into the blissful sensations she offered—almost dizzying yourself at the feverish pitch she set—feeling yourself become like putty in her hands. A tight, almost coiling feeling pinched away in your lower stomach, tweezing radiating waves of sweeping pleasure that quickly consumed you.

“I want to feel you come undone from my hands and mine alone,” she continued to purr, plunging her fingers in and out of your dripping cunt, feeling as you began to clench around her pointed touch—fluttering out in ecstasy—pushing yourself towards the point of no return. “No more holding back now.”

You whined out one final time, feeling your body rise to an intense feeling of exhilarating joy, riding her fingers all the while an almost brutal climax overwhelmed you, rendering you into a puddle of relaxed, exhausted bliss. Shoko then pulled you in close, withdrawing herself from your heat as soon as you couldn’t handle a second more, wrapping her arms tight around you once again, letting you settle off into a deep, much-needed sleep once more.

“Sleep, my pretty girl,” she whispered, cocooning you into her wings, screwing her eyes shut with intense want but also need, “I’ll be there when you wake up.”

~~~

The next morning felt surreal, but you were very certain that what had happened last night, had in fact, actually happened. You woke up with a warm tingly sensation in the pit of your stomach, still reeling from last night. Shoko was already up, sitting by the edge of the cliff as watched you wake up.

“I should probably go apologise to my idiots,” she muttered out just loud enough for you to hear, getting ready to fly off towards the island just up ahead. “Come with me?”

You felt more confident that time around for some reason, despite your rocky start with the concept of flying. Somehow, just even spending a night in your new form started to feel more and more correct.

“Okay, let me try…” you nodded, talking yourself into the act.

With Shoko’s added encouragement, too, you were able to launch yourself off the cliff with more natural ease that time around. Flying was still new, still awkward, and even unpredictable, but it was unlike anything you had ever experienced before and for that short journey that had transpired from the cliffside to the sandy shores, you thought you were doing okay—but then you tried to land.

Just barely settling on the coast, you clumsily tumbled onto the soft earth below right where Suguru and Satoru lounged. They both regarded you for a moment before bursting to a fit of laughter, their eyes wide with entertained mockery.

“What was that?” Satoru laughed, propping himself up to his elbows, his long frosty wings stretching lazily behind him. “Did the wind trip you over?”

“Maybe she meant to do that?” Suguru teased a little. “You meant to crash, right?” he asked you directly that time.

Before you could even begin to respond, however, Shoko had landed just beside you, drawing their attention towards her instead. Her eyes immediately narrowed and although she didn’t reply to their jabs right away, her tense demeanour looked so deadly that they both sought to straighten up and drop their teasing smiles in an instant.

“Stop it,” Shoko huffed, brushing the sand off of your feathered form and helping you up, “she is still learning… okay?”

Satoru rolled his eyes but yielded. “Yeah, yeah. We’ll play nice. Promise.”

Suguru sighed too. “Fine, I’ll be good. It’s just we’re still… adjusting to all of this,” he gestured towards you, “it’s not every day that the island chooses someone, let alone someone like her, but…” he strained himself, trying to be polite, “if she’s one of us now, then I’ll learn to deal with it. For your sake.”

Shoko then, for once, seemed slightly awkward for a change. She cleared her throat, trying to figure out how to apologise for her behaviour just a day before. “Uh, look… about earlier, I’m sorry for how I acted—”

“—you’re forgiven,” Satoru replied first with Suguru humming in agreement just a second after.

“Yeah,” Suguru added, “this whole situation is weird, we know. You probably handled all of this better than either of us ever could.”

“True,” Shoko replied with a smug undertone to her voice, as if pleased to hear such high praise.

“J-just don’t do it again?” Satoru warily asked, seeming almost afraid to catch another death glare from her. He thought that she was oddly terrifying when she wanted to be.

“I’ll make no promises,” she replied in that same sort of arrogant tone.

Satoru slightly winced but laughed nervously at her promise. Suguru in the meanwhile chimed in with something more, “Anyway. If the island really wants her to stay, then she needs to be a part of it,” he said, tilting his head towards the blue skies above, “how about it?”

“I’m still a bit rusty,” you admitted apprehensively, understanding the hint.

“You’ll learn,” Suguru replied, sounding oddly assuring.

Shoko smiled at the idea, her fingers creeping along your skin as though to encourage you even further. “You wanted to be free, right?” she whispered so only you could hear. “So let us show you exactly what that means.”

You nodded, following along with her as the four of you took to the skies together, darting up impossibly high before swooping back down at a hurried rate. Shoko flew close to you to keep you in her sights, occasionally brushing against your skin with a comforting touch while Satoru zipped ahead, trying to show off however he could, teasing Suguru in the air who responded with exasperated glares.

At first, it still felt just as terrifying as when you tried it all yesterday but then it started to feel closer to how it felt this morning. Shoko guided you with warm ease, her voice sounding calm as she gave you tips on how to control yourself in the air, and soon enough, you managed to find your way just as she had hoped, finally relaxing in the middle of the air.

The feeling of flight—of weightlessness—of being close to her was intoxicating and just as freeing as you had hoped. The prospect of your old attempts to escape now even seemed silly. No longer were you bound to the limits of your old life, soaring as high up and as far as you pleased, cruising through the blurring coast for what seemed like hours and when the sky at last, seemed to dim, the four of you landed back on the familiar shores once more.

Shoko herself close to you, while the other two settled nearby, watching the sun begin to set.

Her eyes glowed with adoration and wonder, perhaps even something more—it was too early to tell. “You still want to stay, right?” she asked, her voice low and soft.

You nodded, leaning into her shoulder, your eyes drooping shut. “Of course. Forever, right?”

Shoko could only let out a breathless laugh, her entire body settling with relief but then quickly buzzing with anticipation as she leaned into you with her eyes closing too. “That’s right. Forever.”

You finally relaxed, properly that time, not just because you were tired—but because finally, you could do so whenever you wanted to.

Although it was unconventional, you finally had somewhere that you belonged.

this has been a part of lilac’s jjk bite sized yandere nightmares

[inawearyworld]

free if you truly wish to be: chapter v

the power of a found family heist saves the day (six of crows who??) (god these summaries have become rather unhinged over the course of this fic huh)

2023!wonka x oc, this chapter ~2.3k

just wanted to say thank you to all you lovely people who've read and loved this fic! please lmk what you think, like reblog yadda yadda yadda. i'm euphrasiepontmercy on ao3 if you want to see any more of my near-embarrassingly escapist writing :) there will certainly be more wren coming in the form of playlists, pinterest boards, drawings, etc

so much love <3

part four fic masterlist

The next day, for half of a moment upon awakening, she thought the whole past month had been a dream. That she’d go on living in her unpierced golden cage, that there was nothing revealed and nothing to reveal, that things could be fine for a little while longer.

Then she heard the blaring vocal warmups of the comedian who lived down the hall.

…Okay, then.

It’s real.

She stayed up in Piper’s room, hoping to escape notice from the owners of the establishment, whom she’d never seen but hated due to their imprisonment of her friends. She’d warned them all the previous night that the Chocolate Cartel had seemed about to propose a surely sinister deal to Wonka-regrettably all but Noodle, who was asleep, and who she thought would probably take the hit the hardest, whatever hit that might be.

She wasn’t sure where to go from here.

Willy had wound up under the thumb of men who would gladly destroy him, the wash crew was nowhere near the freedom they deserved, and she herself was disgraced and thrown out by the only practical lifeline she’d had for two years, the man she’d thought she’d loved.

She realized, though, that the chain of actions that led to finally standing up to Felix was the first thing she’d done in two years that she didn’t regret.

That new sense of assurance, though, wouldn’t put any food on her family’s table.

Or her own.

And still, the thrumming in the back of her heart took the form of olive eyes, soft curls, and chocolate-dot freckles. How much danger was he in? Had he really lost all hope? 

Was he even alive?

The only venture she’d made that morning was a careful one to Lottie’s room; the telephonist had snuck her a bit of gruel and told her she could borrow some of her clothes for the day. When she got back to Piper’s, she heard a large clank against the wall, and opened the window to investigate.

She was met with those same olive eyes, accompanied by a tired but teasing smile.

“We have really got to stop meeting like this.”

Relief flooded her so thoroughly that every rational thought momentarily disappeared, and suddenly Wren realized that she was kissing him.

And that he was kissing her back.

And that he was very precariously perched on a very tall ladder.

“I, ah…”

She trailed off, struck speechless by the haze in his expression that could be described in no way but adoring.

“You’re alive,” she breathed. “You’re here.”

“So are you.”

“And you feel the same way?”

“Very much so.”

Apparently unable to form any longer sentences, they fell into shaking, half-disbelieving laughter.

“Wrap it up, Romeo, a person can only keep this steady for so long,” came Piper’s voice from below, and Willy laughed again.

“Alright, I-well.”

“Yeah?”

She watched him run through the events of the past hours in his mind as he tried to sum it up, and he quickly shook his head.

“Come on down, we’ll all explain what happened. Then we need your help to rescue Noodle.”

~

And so they did. Once the whole crew had been informed of all that had happened, they planned and began to carry out their heist, and Wren-while still fully aware of the danger-allowed part of herself to be thrilled at finally having adventures with a found, created family like she’d read about all her life.

There were a few variables, of course-there was a plan for if Willy and Noodle were caught by the Cartel and a plan for if they weren’t, which, of course, they were. Wren flitted through various windows enough to throw a surely-still-reeling Felix slightly off his game, enough that he’d gladly drown his thoughts in the planted Hoverchocs. She also misdirected those who somehow weren’t distracted by the giraffe, allowing the Oompa-Loompa to enter the cathedral and do his part.

What she wasn’t expecting to do was help him to rescue the pair from death by chocolate.

She’d started to make her way out of the cathedral when she heard a shout of “thank you, little orange man!” from under the ground. Puzzled, she’d looked down to see a chocolate-drenched Noodle and Willy gasping for breath under a circle of glass and flooring as the brown liquid receded. She startled, then quickly came to her wits in time to break the surface and pull each of them through, all three falling into each other’s arms.

“What-”

“Oh, God-”

“What on earth-”

“Thanks, Wren-”

“What happened?”

“The plan,” Willy said, pausing to clear his throat of chocolate, “ran into a few setbacks.”

“I can see that.”

“But,” and here he reached into his vest to produce a large and somewhat soaked envelope, “I brought you this, from the vault.”

Wren opened it carefully to see that its contents were luckily mostly untouched by chocolate. Half of them she recognized as what she’d sent to her family, the things that Felix had withheld, but the rest of the envelopes were graced with her mom’s handwriting.

She’d thought she’d cried more in the past days than ever before, but apparently there were still plenty of tears left, and they all threatened to break loose upon that sight.

They’ve been writing to me all this time.

It was devastating and hopeful all at once. Her husband had spent two years keeping her from contacting her family and keeping them from the reassurance that she cared, but now that she had the letters, she could finally start to make things right.

Also in the massive envelope was a shinier letter, addressed to her from the city’s opera house, stating that a new artistic director had been hired: one who didn’t live in fear of the Cartel, had programmed Romeo et Juliette for the upcoming season, and wished nothing more than for Madame Fickelgruber to play the second title role. Not because of her association, not her relative fame, but her.

She hurriedly looked at the postage date; it wasn’t too late for her to write back and accept.

It’s not too late.

The thought, and its application to just about everything, filled her with light.

She didn’t know why Felix had kept all of this instead of throwing it out; possibly to feed his own ego, to know that his wife was in demand but he was the one that had her. Whatever it was, Willy had found the truth and held it even when he’d thought all was lost, and given it to her the moment he’d had the chance.

“And we found out why Slugworth was acting so weird,” Noodle said excitedly, still catching her breath. “We’re related, if you can believe it-but my parents really did care-and my mom, we-we found her!”

“Oh, Noodle, that’s wonderful,” she gasped, pulling the girl into a hug.

“Yeah, Willy managed to find her name in the ledger-but even after that, he kept looking around the vault until he found that envelope. Said it was for you-that we’d find your family, too.”

Tears brimmed in Wren’s eyes as she nodded to the girl with a smile of sweet solidarity. She then looked over to meet Willy’s gaze, more grateful than she’d ever been, and saw that he’d been watching her with a compassionate blend of sympathy and shared hope.

“Thank you,” she breathed, and kissed him again, heedless of the mess. “I know this will come as no surprise, but-”

“I taste like chocolate?”

“I could get used to it.”

“Okay, WE GET IT,” came Noodle’s laugh, “you like each other, it finally happened, hallelujah. Now-look!”

They all turned to the door to see the unmistakable silhouettes of the Cartel, and Willy grinned. It was time for the final phase of their plan.

The three misfits helped each other off the ground and made their way to the cathedral’s entrance, just in time to hear Prodnose’s “in which they died” followed by the men’s laughter.

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”

All heads turned at his voice, and Wren grinned to see all three chocolatiers pale at the sight of them.

“Wonka!” shouted Slugworth.

“Florence,” formed Fickelgruber.

“What?” piped Prodnose.

“Officer, would you kindly take a look at this?”

Willy handed the ledger he’d held to Officer Affable, and Noodle smiled as she stepped forward.

“It details every single illegal payment these men have ever made. Thousands of them.”

“Affable, don’t listen to her. She’s lying,” the Chief said, but Affable had already opened the ledger.

“Well, of course she is,” said Slugworth, his clear nervousness betraying him. Wren smirked and looked back to Affable.

“She’s not, sir. She’s absolutely right, it’s…incredible.”

The Chief blinked, then tried as he might to take back control.

“Oh. Well. Then it sounds like a case for the Chief of Police. Give it to me, Affable, I’ll take it from here.”

“I can’t do that, I’m afraid, sir.”

“And why’s that?”

“Because your name’s written down here, sir. A lot. Gentlemen, you’re under arrest,” he said, addressing the Cartel with the latter statement.

Slugworth nodded slightly, his eyes widening, and barely turned to his colleagues when he spoke to them.

“Run.”

And run they did, but they didn’t get far. Gasps went up in the crowd as the Chocolate Cartel took to the air once again, and the other trio strolled down to the base of the fountain.

“Wha-what’s happening,” Slugworth cried, “why are we airborne?”

“You didn’t eat any of those chocolates, did you, Mr. Slugworth?” Willy asked, knowing full well that he’d won.

God, certainty looked good on him.

“Why?”

“Because they’re Hoverchocs! Delayed action. But extra strong.”

“Florence!-” Felix called, the adrenaline of flight having pitched his voice up nearly an octave as he grabbed onto Prodnose’s leg with one hand and reached to her with the other. “Just forget it all, my pet, I’ll forgive you in time, don’t worry, we’ll get rid of him again and all will be well-”

He always was one for the dramatics.

And that’s something I can easily match.

She looked straight at him, made a show of removing her wedding ring, held it aloft until it glinted in the sun, and let it go, allowing it to tumble through the air and land directly on the edge of a convenient storm drain.

Felix let out a strangled gasp, his eyes not on her but rather trailing the expensive ring as it fell. From his vantage point, it was gone forever in that drain, and she was happy to let him believe that; she’d pick it up later and send it to her family.

Though, perhaps, with her dream off to a real start, she’d finally be able to make her own way in the world and help to support her family on her own accord.

That thought was sweeter than any amount of candy.

“You think you’re so clever, don’t you, Wonka?” Slugworth was saying. He went on to rattle off assurances on how the Cartel could still defeat him, a frantic gloat of their societal power over him, but Wren barely heard it; she was becoming progressively more distracted by Willy’s slight and slowly growing smirk.

“I wish I’d thought of that.”

Then, with something close to darkness, he looked up at them through the chocolate that framed his eyelashes, and Wren thought for a moment that she might faint.

Noodle gave her signal, the ground started to rattle, and Wren’s heart beat faster and faster.

No going back now.

She took a last look at Felix, feeling strangely sorry for him despite herself. In another world, perhaps, he could have been given the space to regard his humble past without shame, could have used it to become a more compassionate person.

Then she reminded herself that, in this world, he had tried to kill two people and had possibly already killed many more, spent his life prioritizing appearance over literally anything else, lied to her countless times, and allowed his chocolate monopoly to uphold an elitist society.

And this world was the one she lived in.

And this world was the one in which the frozen fountain burst with chocolate, rocketing the three men who’d clung to it up and out until they were sailing through the sky.

“Don’t worry, gentlemen!” Willy was calling to them. “You’ll come down eventually, I think. Probably.”

He then turned to her and whispered, “they will.” Through all of this, he still refused to completely harm anyone. The bare minimum, perhaps, but more compassion than the Cartel would have faced opposite any other foe. She smiled and squeezed his hand in silent thanks.

With that, he threw a few ingredients into the chocolate fountain, causing it to sparkle as it never had before, and invited the crowd to enjoy.

As the wash crew came together in relief and celebration, Wren realized that the teasing phrase she’d spoken earlier had more meaning than she’d originally known.

She could indeed get used to this.

~

Not too much of a time later, that same group stood in that same town square on those same cathedral steps, but there was something different in the air.

The Cartel had indeed come safely down from the skies after a few hours on that fateful day, and had promptly been arrested by the newly appointed and much more just Chief Affable of Police. There was more color in the town, more music; everything had seemed a bit lighter, or maybe that was just how it felt to be genuinely living in love.

Because now, Wren Matterson was able to write back and forth with her family again. Now, she was in rehearsals for a role she adored. Now, she was coming into a state of self-empowerment unlike anything she’d ever known. Now, she spent time not perched restless on a fainting couch, but laughing with and learning from a better group of friends than she ever could have imagined, and had even worked together to reunite one of them with her own mom, which they were just about to do.

And right now, in this very moment, Willy Wonka, with tears of grateful closure in his eyes, carefully broke apart his mother’s last chocolate bar, handing a piece of it to each of these dear, dear friends. He then looked to Wren with an expression she was still bowled over by every time, and reached into his pocket.

With a soft but sparkling smile, he opened his hand to reveal an emerald-wrapped, heart-shaped almond milk chocolate.

So, no, Wren Matterson was no longer fine. She was so much better than fine.

She was free.

[melishade]

Attack on Prime The Future Anthology: Burying the Dead

Main Story

Halloween Anthology

Winter Anthology

Autobot Anthology

New Age Anthology

Okay everyone, since we are one chapter away from ending Attack on Prime, I have decided to add a new anthology that's more slice of life oriented. Since the Autobots, the humans from Earth, and the AOT crew are finally going to be spending some time interacting with one another, I thought that I would write an Anthology series about their shenanigans together. The first one is obviously going to be a little bit heavy, but the next ones should be a little bit light. So let's have some fun before wrapping up the story.

TW Burial. TW Blood

Erwin watched as Levi, sitting in his electric wheelchair, popped open the wine bottle and poured it out on the blood-stained ground in front of them. It was just the two of them at the sight of the final battle, a barren wasteland of giant footprints. Levi stated that he remembered the spot that Kenny was killed and wanted to pay tribute to the man. His actual remains were gone, blood being the only thing that existed. They weren't sure if the remained were gathered or picked off by birds.

Levi stopped pouring when there was only a little bit left before drinking the rest from the bottle. "This wine is garbage. Is this the one he really liked?"

"It was the one he would always steal," Erwin recalled.

"Well, he was a cheap man," Levi proclaimed.

"...Did you two talk when we were in the Paths?" Erwin asked.

"We did," Levi answered, "...we cried a little...didn't really make up though, but we came to an understanding. I was more elated to see my mom."

"What understanding was that?" Erwin asked.

"He cared," Levi replied, "He had a shit way of doing it...but if it wasn't for him, I would have died a long time ago. Just wish he didn't try to kill me."

Erwin hummed in response. "He did help keep my sanity."

"By annoying the shit out of you no doubt," Levi quipped.

"It runs in the family," Erwin smirked.

Levi let out a small chuckle. "Well." His smile faded, "Wherever he is, and wherever everyone else is...I hope their living good lives."

===

Meanwhile

Gabi, Colt, and Falco continued to cry in each other's arms, sitting in the city where Reiner had perished, according to Annie: Shinganshina. Gabi was crying the hardest, lamenting the loss of her cousin and not even getting the chance to say a proper goodbye to him. Meanwhile, Annie and Pieck were sitting a good distance away, side by side. Pieck's cane was resting on her shoulder.

"There's no real place to bury him," Pieck lamented, "Liberio's gone."

Annie couldn't help but scoff at that. "Eldians were never given burial rights."

"We can have them now," Pieck retorted, "Thanks to Optimus."

Annie sighed in defeat. "Sorry...I wasn't able to save him."

"Oh," Pieck hummed, "I thought you hated him."

"You saw us talking and making amends," Annie reminded, "A little messed up that he didn't bring Gabi into the Paths to say goodbye to her cousin."

Pieck hummed in agreement. "I should have confronted Primus about that. Why didn't he bring her in to allow her to say 'goodbye'?"

"Sounds like a pretty forgetful deity," Annie proclaimed.

"He had other priorities though," Pieck defended him, "...I did ask him about our families and whether or not they might be alive."

Annie couldn't help but feel guilty at Pieck's explanation. "And...?"

"He said he didn't see them in the Paths, but that a lot could have happened in those moments before he ended the power of the titans," Pieck explained, "I don't know if our families have survived, and I don't want to get their hopes up...or mine...but..." Tears started forming in Pieck's eyes. "God, I hope they did."

Annie hesitated for a moment, but slowly reached her hand out and placed it on top of Pieck's. Pieck flinched at the sensation, but didn't swat her hand away.

"...I acted selfishly and I'm sorry," Annie apologized.

"Don't be," Pieck reassured, "You had the opportunity to escape Marley. I would have taken that deal in a heartbeat too."

"But I don't deserve this," Annie confessed, "I don't even deserve to be alive. I-..."

"...You don't think you deserve it? Then earn it," Pieck commanded her, "We were given a second chance, Annie. We can't waste it."

===

The Next Day: Ragako

"Connie was my best friend," Sasha began her eulogy, "After my first day of training, after being called 'Potato Girl', I didn't think I'd make many friends in the Cadet Corps. Connie was the third person to come up to me, after Historia and Ymir. He started teasing me about the incident, so I made a bet with him on who could perform on balance training." Her eyes fell to the ground, "I don't remember who won, but...we became pretty close after that."

Sasha chuckled. "We'd always goof off or try to have fun during training. After Trost, I would have thought both of us would've run to the MPs, but us two idiots somehow ended up in the Survey Corps. We tried to make the best out of a horrible situation....Ragako is what killed him...and killed me too...He was the only surviving member of his village, and we all tried to help him pick up the pieces. We tried to give him hope. We tried to help him pick up the pieces. But even then, he still tried his best to smile."

Sasha looked behind her to see Connie's closed casket covered in a green cloak with the Survey Corps emblem. "You were my best friend. You were the brother I never had. You kept me happy and sane, and we looked out for each other. I hope one day that we can see each other again, we'll go through all sorts of crazy shenanigans together."

Sasha kissed her fingers before placing them on the covered casket. "Goodbye, Connie. I hope you're with your family."

As Miko played a melodic but somber tune on an acoustic guitar, Arcee picked up Connie's casket in her bipedal mode and gently lowered it into the hole they dug up at the center of the village. One by one, members of the Survey Corps dropped a single flower on top of the casket. Optimus then scooped up the dirt in his bipedal mode and filled up the hole, the Survey Corps performed their salute, with Arcee joining in as well. Meanwhile, Jack and Rafael performed the U.S. salute and Miko stopped playing the guitar to give everyone a moment of silence.

Sasha couldn't help but start crying in the silence, trying so desperately to wipe away her tears, but she couldn't. Jean reached out to her and hugged her, causing her to cry in his shoulder for comfort. Jean found himself starting to cry too, lamenting the fact that Connie was gone.

Jack noticed the way that Arcee was looking over at Sasha in shame before walking up to her. "You okay?"

"...I made a promise to her father that I was going to protect Sasha as best as I could," Arcee began, "But I should have done that for Connie too. I've seen the way he cared for his mom when she was still a titan, clinging onto that hope she would one day become a human again...but now all the people of Ragako are gone. And soon the village will be too."

"I'm not going to let that happen," Historia swore, "We're going to turn this place into a memorial, and do everything we can to keep the memories of the people that used to live here alive. They deserve that."

Sasha sniffed at that. "Thank you, Historia."

Armin turned his attention to Mikasa, who was now holding something in her arms. It was...it was the cat gift that she got from Hizuru for him. She was holding it with such love and care.

"Are you...going to take the gift back?" Armin asked.

Mikasa shook her head. "I'm going to give it to Sasha later."

Armin nodded at that.

"...I actually didn't know what to get him as a gift when I was in Hizuru," Mikasa confessed, "Kenshin was the one who decided on the gift. And I just lucked out, about Connie liking cats...I never knew him that well in life...not like Sasha did...and I regret that."

"Mikasa, it wasn't your fault," Armin insisted.

"I could have been a better friend," Mikasa declared before turning to him, "I'll be better. I promise."

Hanji rubbed the back of their neck in exhaustion, trying their best not to shed any more tears. They saw that Optimus was taking great care to pat down the dirt before walking up to him.

"How are you feeling?" Hanji asked.

"...I am managing," Optimus admitted.

"At least that's more honest." Hanji was relieved at his response, "At the very least, Connie will be the last soldier that died in a world of titans."

"I do hope that there is no more bloodshed in this time of peace," Optimus prayed.

"Me too," Hanji agreed, "...Hey, I know Megatron wasn't that close to Connie, but shouldn't he be here out of respect?"

"He informed me that he had another matter to attend to, and have a conversation long overdue," Optimus explained.

===

Willy stared off into the distance over the edge of the cliffside where Lara made her final stand. He was watching the sun set over the water, and felt the cold wind in his hair and on his face. He closed his eyes, trying to meditate and calm his mind, but all he could remember while being here was his sister running into the crowd to buy time for the people to flee.

"Dear." Willy felt a hand sneak into his own before clasping it. He turned to see his wife looking at him with concern.

"I'm fine, Victoria." Willy raised Victoria's hand up with hers and patted it. They both looked behind them to see some of the guards and even Ray there, trying to make some plans to build a memorial for Lara.

"Your father would be proud of you," Victoria reassured.

Willy sighed at that. "Lara was the one who restored the Tybur name. And here I am, still trying to play politics instead of forging an actual path for change...not like Optimus...or even-!"

The guards gasped in surprise, forcing Willy and Victoria to look back and gawk at the sight of Megatron transforming into his bipedal mode and dropping down right in front of them...holding a silver hammer.

"What are you doing here?!" Ray demanded.

Megatron didn't reply to him, and instead slammed the head of the hammer into the ground, he let go of the handle, and the hammer was able to stand on its own.

"What is this?" Victoria couldn't help but asked.

"Lara died a Warrior's death, so she will be honored as a Warrior," Megatron declared, "I...found this from a formidable warrior who fought in my line of work...I did have to clean it up first."

"That's...so sweet." Victoria was stunned as she approached him, "Thank you."

Megatron nodded in response before turning to Willy. "We need to talk."

Willy sighed in defeat. "Yeah, we do."

Moments later, Megatron had activated his holoform and was now looking at Willy face to face, making all of the other humans nervous. The silence was broken when Megatron sighed in defeat.

"I will let you hit me one time." Megatron held up a finger.

"E-excuse me?" Willy stuttered.

"It probably won't affect me that much, but I'm assuming that you have some pent-up aggression against-!" Megatron grunted when Willy sucker punched him in the jaw, causing him to stumble back in surprise.

"Dear!" Victoria exclaimed.

Willy tried to ignore the pain in his fist, not used to actually engaging in a fight, but the pain was too much and he began to yell, shaking his hand to ease the pain.

"Damn it! I thought the human forms were hollow or something!" Willy yelled at Megatron.

Megatron rubbed his cheek. "The holoforms are a little bit more complicated than that."

"Oh for fuck's sake, I don't care about that!" Willy swore, taking everyone off guard, "I thought you were my friend! I let you into my home and let you train my sister! I was stupid to give you government secrets and research and now you want to play nice like nothing is wrong!"

Willy rubbed his knuckles and hissed in pain. "I mean...was any of it real?!"

"...if it wasn't, I wouldn't have saved you the day you declared war," Megatron declared, "I would have let you die."

"Well then I'm sure you were somehow tracking me on the train to get close to me-!"

"That was by chance," Megatron cut him off, "Meeting you was strictly by chance and I just played my cards right. Honestly, I'm surprised I even got far."

Willy grimaced. "You know why you got so far with me."

Megatron narrowed his eyes at Willy before closing them.

"Part of me should blame you, when I should just be blaming myself," Willy admitted, "I was just so happy to finally have someone treat me like an equal, I-!" Willy gritted his teeth, "But it's clear I don't even know you at all. And now my sister's dead, and did you even know that she liked you?!"

"Yes, she told me, and I told her bluntly that she was not my type," Megatron answered.

"Oh, as a cover no doubt because how could you tell her you were the-!"

"No I was being candid with her. She was too quiet and reserved for my tastes," Megatron answered truthfully.

Willy's mouth hung open at that. "W-what?"

"I might have lied about my identity to you, but many of the things I said to you were not false," Megatron explained, "I even tried to find subtle ways to influence you to achieve peace or even open communications to Paradis. Initially, I didn't think I would care about you, or humanity, now I'm one of its saviors."

Megatron looked back at the hammer. "And so is Lara."

Willy's expression grew sullen at that. He should be happy Lara restored the Tybur name, but he would rather have his sister here. "I heard you talked to her in her final moments. That you told her that she was formidable warrior."

"I did," Megatron confirmed, "I might have been obscure about my origins as Matthew, but I did come from a place of violence and bloodshed. Warriors and gladiators were survivors. They were respected. Lara earned my respect."

"...Thank you for the tribute," Willy could only muster, "I still don't forgive you."

"I'd expect nothing less," Megatron accepted with a shrug, "But I am certain we will be in touch."

Willy watched the holoform disappear, scaring everyone else in the process. Willy managed to catch a glimpse of Megatron's alt mode flying north, no doubt heading back to the island.

(And we are off with The Future Anthology. I do have a list of ideas, but you are more than willing to submit your recommendations for this one. The next one will hopefully be about Halloween. If not then Día de los Muertos.)

[whinlatter]

author's note | chapter 7: caged 🪽

thank you for reading chapter seven of Beasts! this chapter, we see the fallout from the controversial punch, watch harry and ginny go through about ninety bottles of ink writing precisely one bazillion letters to one another (my loves), and fret as the residents of grimmauld place fight a losing battle with pixies that may or may not be a metaphor for our characters’ own multiplying traumas, chasing everyone around and refusing to be contained. pray for our babies, for no-one is thriving - let's chat chapter seven! (plus a sneak peek of chapter eight, which includes a letter from a character yet to make his Beasts debut...) 👀

✨ spoilers for this chapter below the cut  ✨

writing notes and headcanons:

vibes: this chapter, i wanted the vibes to be claustrophobic, tedium, all hogwarts, real focus on ginny and her restlessness and over-it-ness, her starting to write a lot, both to harry and to others, and her starting to push the boundaries and rebel now she's lost her sense of purpose in returning. (@pocket-lilacs brought up pandemic-era uni vibes of 'what is the point of studying when all this is going on' and that is exactly the energy here). the politics is more a backdrop to ginny's arc in this chapter, though the thicknesse trial has uncomfortable echoes for gin's own set of experiences, and i'm having so much fun but also banging my head up against the wall/grappling with turning up/turning down the volume on the different macro/micro plots in different chapters to try and get different effects and to follow ginny's own engagement with the Big Questions of the postwar wizarding world. scale is hard, who knew!

quidditch: by far the hardest part of this chapter to write was the quidditch scene. it was 3000 words long originally, and i had to go at it with a sledgehammer to bash it into bits, dump most of it, and then just keep the most important parts to fold into this much quicker, punchier scene. the worst part of writing is spending days crafting a section and in doing so learn that you don't need it lmao. so yeah that's why this chapter was a week late. this one was a nightmare but we got there in the end lmao

the forest detention: our first flashback to the war year at hogwarts! why haven't we had more? answers on a postcard, all will be revealed, including the context for the silver trio's forest detention, but for now will just say the fact that snape sent the gang into the forest with hagrid for detention after stealing the sword has a) always had me in a chokehold because all of the endless ginny/forest foreshadowing but also because i've never been satisfied with the explanation that the detention was just an obvious easy option. can't wait to share more !!!

harry and ginny: all i want to do is write more letters for those two. 'sneaking out of grounds, booze, leather gangs' - that was how @madammalkins23 summed it up beautifully, getting at the vibes i keep coming back to with both of these characters: the sirius-black-shaped elephant in the room, basically. escaping from hogwarts with buckbeak? the risk being what makes it all fun? harry fixing up the motorbike? fighting a war against grimmauld place and getting on the whiskey? the looming shadow of molly weasley? it's truly giving padfoot. the idea of harry and ginny in cahoots, as partners in crime, really kept me going when writing this chapter - like, what if harry for the first time did have another person in his life who was of the 'fuck it' school of thought? (i even went back and read that jkr short story of sirius and james on the motorbike lol). basically, the sirius echoes just sort of ended up writing themselves, as they always seem to do in this fic. when it comes to the letters, it's striking to me that in canon harry is very preoccupied with who does or doesn’t write to him - at the dursleys', but also after sirius' death ('It’s just hard,' Harry said finally, in a low voice, 'to realise he won’t write to me again.' - HBP). i've never really got fics that have harry as a non-loquacious letter writer in the post-war period, especially to ginny - harry seeks huge comfort and reassurance in getting letters from people who care about him, and channels his worries about people he's close to into letters, especially people he views as family (sirius, ginny). that harry and ginny would become a bit emotionally codependent through letters seemed in some sense a natural choice, basically, and although they're still being very avoidant, in some ways, i think they're building a foundation towards becoming each other's person in ways that's important. (i am putting together a sirius and ginny parallels meta playing with these ideas and character-trait overlap that i'll share hopefully soon, so stay tuned on that one)

why won’t ginny open up? by far the question i've been asked most this week! i am really really excited and happy about the arc i’ve got in store for ginny on this question, so don't want to reveal too much, but there have been some beautiful insightful guesses in the comments section about why ginny is struggling to come clean with harry or her family. here we see harry begin to see through gin's defences, a little bit, but also show his own blindspots that come from him not having asked the right questions or always probed about her interior life before now. i'm always so grateful and blown away by the trust readers have put in me to deliver on all these protracted question marks but this week especially i felt v glad for readers' compassion towards these characters and especially for ginny and hermione, as they fuck up and get it wrong and struggle yet still get grace in the comment section. both are on a journey, but i know more impatient readers could be sick of waiting for them to get there, so just to say i am really glad everyone is getting it and seeing where both characters are at with empathy and kindness, because ofc what they’re both doing is frustrating (and, when it comes to gin, harry is beginning to think so, too)

plus thicknesse: had a long chat with @saintsenara about ol thicknesse, because he's kind of a baffling figure - ex-auror who gets successfully imperiused, becomes minister and then goes on to actively commit horrific war crimes while under yaxley's control. what's fun about the trials, though, is that you can use them as a conduit to raise these big moral questions for postwar wizarding society - in thicknesse's case, it's questions about agency, free will, and culpability, in ways that has real implications for ginny's reflections on her own experiences. so cheers pius love u

harry's patronus: i am salivating at all of your theories for this one - obviously i'm saying nothing for now, but keep them guesses coming, i live for em! and if you guess right, i'll come up with some kind of prize lmao

detention, career advice (and graves' apathy): back in the site of former detentions, ginny shows her remarkably sparse knowledge of wizarding careers in a scene that i hope shows her trying on for size different role models/authority figures and seeing which ones she feels most like. (i like the idea that ginny would actually be a bit interested in being an auror, if only she'd been in of age and able to benefit from kingsley's hiring amesty after the battle). having ginny hover over the idea of being an unspeakable was particularly important for me, because i like the idea of the dept of mysteries being quite a formative space for her (i feel like all i do is say 'wait and see!' but... i have things to do and say with this dimension i swear!) graves is like, do what you want, babe, i don't care. i'm here for the pension, frankly

michael corner: 'surprise bitch!' - michael corner, probably. do i think michael and ginny were mates after the breakup end of ootp? no i do not. but i have always been so struck that ginny and michael must have actually spent a lot of very intense time together during DH as die-hards in the DA (michael is the only character we hear whose torture by the carrows after attempting to rescue a younger student is described as particularly severe, which i think suggests his level of commitment to the cause). readers will recall my open disdain for michael corner up til this point - i have described him as the jack berger of hogwarts quidditch, for my satc fans - but i'm afraid to say i have now decided i quite like him and am excited for him to rock up in person real soon. i think he's a know it all softboi but with a goodie core. also as a writer there's something quite refreshing about bringing in a character who is an ex who probably can see through some of ginny's shit by virtue of having spent a lot of time with her but no longer needing to/caring about impressing her, placating her or keeping her on side lol

hermione: alaskanastro left a comment that summed this up: 'Man, Hermione is really just doubling down on the whole "I'm going to try desperately to control something in life to feel like I'm in control even if it's my friend's life" isn't she? Or at least trying to'. yep, that's what she's doing! we still don't know all that hermione's going through, but this hit the nail on the head fr. i feel bad that this fic is ginny pov at this stage in its arc, because i think ginny sees hermione in a particular way rn (their final conversation in this chapter really speaking to these tensions - ginny does not want to feel mothered, at least not by hermione...), but these two have a long way to go to get to a point of mutual understanding. wanna write a meta on their friendship soon, hopefully will get chance to before i finish chapter 8. but anyway - wonder what's going on with her and ron... hope we find out soon... hope someone tells us... :) :) :)

everything but the ghoul: the dumbest pun, but had to use this joke in a chapter where ginny skips school (everything but the girl's most famous song is called 'missing'... get it)

songs from the playlist for this chapter:

girls getting grouchy and teenage in their feelings is the big ol mood this week:

the middle of the world - nicholas brittell | sidelines by phoebe bridgers | difficult by gracie abrams | simulation swarm by big thief | crisis by elizabeth m. drummond | delete forever - grimes | chinese satellite (copycat killer version) by phoebe bridgers

i did promise a sneak peek didn't i...

From the desk of the MINISTER OF MAGIC Whitehall, London Dear Ginny,  I hope you’re well. I’d like to meet with you on Saturday the 12th of December at 11 o’clock. It’s important that we’re discreet. Please vanish this letter after reading. Sincerely, Kingsley

[squiishiichaos]

Nest Fellows Ch. 3

A KevRiko Collaboration with @noomyart, posted in 6 parts.

Summary: Kevin Day and Riko Moriyama have been the Sons of Exy for as long as they both can remember. They've always been one & two, King & Queen, master & pet, future founders of the perfect Court, but what if there's also something more hidden beneath the surface? What if, when push comes to shove, instead of veering down separate paths, they summed up their parts to fight the system meant to contain them?

Trigger Warnings for:

Graphic Depictions of Violence

Mentions of Jean's abuse

Sexual Content

Tetsuji Moriyama being the absolute piece of shit he is

(Credits to @noomyart for the Art in this chapter)

Chapter 3: San

Press tours might as well be wings as far as Kevin was concerned. They were the only excuse him and Riko ever got to leave the Nest, accompanied only by some handlers and the paparazzi. But outsiders were easy to deal with after several tense weeks of practice and the endless preparations around the upcoming banquets. Mid-season was always the hardest part of the year. New Ravens in September meant new indoctrination and learning curves to deal with.   Punishments punctuated any time new partners broke obvious rules. It was up to Riko and Kevin to keep the team in line and teach them the ropes, beating Edgar Allan ways into fresh minds. 

But the escape of a far away morning show meant that the Master was left to handle the Ravens on his own, allowing Riko and Kevin a rare amount of freedom. When he was young, Kevin was tempted to squander it–to convince Riko they could sneak away from their chaperones with just a couple practiced lines and quick feet. “We could go to Japan,” Kevin had once suggested, “back to the school where exy first started. I bet if we asked real nicely, the Master might even tell us where he first met Mom.”

Riko had scoffed at him from his place against his side. He had been in one of his rare docile moods–placated by a sleeping Jean on the couch and a subservient team doing as they were told. “We tried that before,” Riko had answered evenly, “he never told us. Besides,” he glanced up at Kevin and touched the number on his cheek, “we are the heirs of exy. Wherever we are is where exy thrives. The Nest is as good a home as any–better even. We both know you would die without a court within arm’s reach.”

That was supposed to be the end of it, but Kevin couldn’t stop thinking about it. The furthest they had ever traveled was for away games and talk shows, stopping for brief interviews between practices and classes–never where Kevin could visit historical sites or ancient monuments. It was enough for Riko–reading about these things in books and magazines–because he didn’t know any better, but Kevin did. His mother had taken him to castles and burial mounds during their time in Europe. Between her time spreading the good word of exy and getting new leagues set up, she had introduced him to ancient battlefields and taken him to museums housing all the artifacts his young self could have ever wanted to see. Now that he was under Tetsuji’s oppressive care, the closest he got to historical was the first edition Edgar Allan Poe collection stored in the Master’s library. 

It was suffocating and dreary–emphasized by every one of these press tours. He found himself asking, why doesn't Riko want more?   Why couldn’t he be angry at his shitty lot in life like Kevin and Jean? Why couldn’t he see how easy it could be to escape these goons and use the numbers on their faces to get cars or flights or shelter? “Wymack will take us in,” he stopped himself from saying because he knew exactly what Riko would tell him. 

“If he wanted you so bad, he would’ve fought for you. Face it, Kevin: I am the only one for you. I always was and I always will be.”

But Kevin now knew that wasn’t strictly true. He had Jean, even if their friendship was reliant on Kevin playing both sides of it to maintain its sharp lines. He couldn’t stop Riko and he couldn’t fix Jean, but he could be something for them both. Jean trusted him with his recovery and comfort after rough nights, and Kevin was well aware what keeping his favor meant in the long run. Especially now that they shared French between them–their own dirty little secret. It would definitely rock the boat if Riko ever found out, but he needed the insurance, just in case.

“Look, Kevin!" 

He was pulled from thoughts of conjugations and all the new vocabulary Jean had slipped him before the trip by Riko’s excitement. Glancing up, it took a moment to find him where he stood at the window of a Sporting Goods  boasting all the latest and greatest equipment. Exy racquet decals were plastered amongst hockey sticks and basketballs, surrounded by posters of baseball legends posed mid-swing, their signatures in marker-white just above their shoulders. Riko was in front of the latest batch of exy promotional posters plastered on the glass, staring starry eyed at the sight of himself and Kevin side by side, numbers on display and racquets in gloved hands. 

Kevin would never not be amazed by the power of editing. Whoever finished the gloss of this poster made sure to bring out the color of his eyes to something like a precious emerald, giving Riko’s dark eyes just a touch of ruby to better fit the red accents of their otherwise black Ravens jerseys. The Edgar Allan mascot flew menacingly overhead with the school’s banner hanging victoriously behind it. Their empty hands were clasped together by their hips around the shape of an exy ball, gloved fingertips laced just enough to keep the tiny thing from falling during the shoot.

He remembered posing for it and the brilliant flash of cameras going off in every direction, but he never thought it could amount to this. Not when the photographer had them switch through a dozen different poses, including their signature forehead touch reserved for the court.  And the pose where the two of them sat together on a throne–the Undefeated Kings of Exy, that one said. It featured Riko in the seat of his throne and Kevin on its right arm. Riko’s legs were crossed, his cheek in his hand and his piercing stare daring any would-be challengers to try their hand at his throne. Kevin wore the expression of a Knight–fierce and loyal to his King.

Riko touched his fingers to the glossy poster and ran them down the length of their visage, wonder in his bright eyes. “It’s us,” he said, glancing up at Kevin in awe, “we look so good .”

No matter how many times posters were printed of them, no matter how many times Riko looked at them with that same awe and adoration, Kevin would never get over how, for that brief instant–right when Riko saw the fruits of their labor on full display–every bruising practice and restricted diet could be worth it for the happiness in those eyes. “It will look even better on your wall,” Kevin said.

“We need to sign it,” Riko said, suddenly maneuvering for the door, leaving Kevin and their handlers no choice but to follow. It took only one look from the cashier at the desk for recognition to flare in her eyes and a blush across her cheeks. Riko put on his best cocksure grin and greeted, “I’d like to see your full supply of Raven posters.”

“Y-you’d like to–w-what?" She gasped, choking on a near hysterical laugh.

Riko leaned closer on the counter and smiled fondly. “And a marker, if you have one.”

“I, umm, haha–one moment, please–” She turned from them to presumably go call the manager of the store.

Kevin favored Riko with tired bemusement. In exhausted Japanese he admonished, “You could work on not blindsiding people.”

“It’s fine,” Riko answered with fluent ease, waving off his annoyance. His smile went crooked when the manager on duty came to the desk with two markers and a box of merchandise on his shoulder shortly thereafter. He placed them down on the counter, then offered a hand and a greeting. Riko shook first, greeting him, “thank you for stocking our posters here. We apologize for dropping in uninvited.”

“Nonsense,” the man boomed. “Not every day we get Riko Moriyama and Kevin Day in our store, let alone willing to sign things for us! You guys in town for business or pleasure?”

“Can’t it be both?" Riko drawled with trained ease. The man laughed and he clarified, “we have a show in the morning. Today is for sightseeing.”

“Oh, well, feel free to take a look around. Shirley,” he told the cashier, “store-wide discount on anything they buy–fifty percent!”

“Nonsense,” Riko dismissed, “we can afford a little purchase here and there. Besides,” he eyed the first poster in the box and said, “I’d be willing to compromise for a copy of each of these." Then he tapped the side of the desk to call Kevin to him and they went to work signing the posters, making sure their 1 and 2 were always right next to each other in that familiar marker-white.

Once they were done and Riko had a copy of each poster in his possession, they left the shop and went to the nearest convenience store to wait out the last hours before check-in for the hotel. As per tradition, Kevin waited for the appropriate foods and amenities to be purchased before he escaped to the rack of postcards and searched through the options, flicking through shots of landscapes and sunsets with a spot of annoyance at all the grainy stock images. He wanted something memorable to give Jean–something scenic–to go with the little magnet he already picked up from the bin by the registers.

Riko leaned in against his shoulder to glance at the various options, too, fingers gliding over a couple of the less appealing choices. His thumb and forefinger closed over the image of a mother duck and her ducklings wading across a lake beneath a beautifully cloudy sky. Kevin eyed it a moment in hesitation before Riko gave it a little shake and let it drop. Kevin caught it with clumsy hands and Riko turned as he said, “We both know he’ll at least appreciate that one. Now, hurry up–check-in starts in fifteen.”

Kevin took the card and appreciated what little privacy Riko allowed him while he jotted a message for Jean in mixed Japanese and English. He was too cautious to dare throw in what French he could manage, opting to keep their secret safe while they could. Knowing that his partner likely would read this, he also kept the message brief and cordial. ‘You would love it here’, he wrote, ‘Riko and I are having a fantastic time. Just wait until you see the new posters we acquired’. He signed off with his premier signature and put his usual number 2 into the mix. With a final ‘we’ll see you soon’ at the bottom, he went to the counter and purchased both the magnet and the card before pocketing them on his person and following their caretakers back to the hotel.

It was an eternity of signing papers and finalizing arrangements before Riko and Kevin were funneled off to their room amongst a horde of rabid fans who got wind of their stay in town. They were both offered markers to sign various autographs for the paparazzi before being carried away to their private room. Two bodyguards took up their post outside, staying there long after Riko shut and locked the door behind him. 

While Riko flopped onto a bed and sighed off his public persona in a huff of aggravation, Kevin found the remote for the TV and flicked it on to ESPN. The banner for the segment read, is it time for a showdown between the Kings of exy ? beneath a host of speakers gathered about a round table like the knights in Arthur's Court. Kevin’s blood went ice cold when the person speaking said, “...is just better! Based on height, stats, and unpredictability, Kevin has shown himself to be a force to be reckoned with! Riko is good–we can all agree on that–but the number on his cheek can’t determine his ranking forever!”

A man at the table, picked up, “They chose those numbers when they were, what? Eight? That was before they were looking at going Court in their late teens! Every pro team in the league is looking at the two of them and running numbers. Kevin is just behind Riko, but we know he has the potential to best him with a little more encouragement! What I don't understand is why Coach Moriyama doesn't just admit it already!”

A woman on the panel scoffed. “ I would think that part is pretty obvious,” she grunted. 

“ I think,” a third speaker argued, “ that we should stop debating stats and put them to the test! If Coach Moriyama is worth his salt, he’ll put them both in front of a net with a bucket of balls between them and we’ll see exactly who the better striker–”

Kevin didn't realize Riko was right next to him until the TV flipped from the news and onto a rerun of the most recent match between Penn State and the Trojans. He was grateful for the distraction, and scared by it. Especially when Riko sat on the comforter beside him and laced their dominant hands together. 

Right and left. One and two. The Kings of exy, bound to be the rulers of the Court one day. 

Kevin glanced at Riko and squeezed his hand. “Hey,” he tried as docilely as he could.

Riko kept his eyes on the TV and boredly muttered, “You must text Knox about his footwork against Saroninski. It's bad enough Wang stripped him of the ball three times.”

Kevin wasn't sure if Jeremy was a safer topic, but he latched onto it all the same. “I did–the day of.”

Riko hummed his approval and leaned in against his side. Kevin felt all the tension in him leak out against the affection in the head that rested light on his shoulder. “Good,” he commended. “I'm thinking he could make a good offensive dealer.”

Kevin glanced sidelong at him and said, “But he’s a Striker.”

“The Perfect Court already has two strikers,” Riko dismissed. Kevin’s heart stopped in his chest, choking silently on his next breath. Riko ignored the fear–the want –in his bright green eyes. “But we haven't secured a dealer yet. If anyone can teach him the ropes properly, it’s us.”

Kevin swallowed around his thick tongue and tried, “You’re not–”

“I see how you look at him,” Riko said with only a small amount of bitterness. “He is a good player–if not a little too soft for my tastes. My sources say he was quite the aggressive little thing in high school exy. If we can draw that out again, he will fit right in with our Court.”

“But–”

“I know,” Riko smiled at him, “the Trojans would not be your favorite team without him." Petting his cheek, he leaned in close and whispered against the flesh of his ear, “Biased.”

Kevin’s cheeks flared with color and Riko chuckled at that silent betrayal, nose ghosting against the flesh of his neck. “You can have him,” he said, “if we can convince him to join us. I know all the dirty little things you want to do to him. With him,” he enunciated, punctuating the words enough to brush his tongue against sensitive nerves. “I'll even let you have him all to yourself. Your own little pet.”

Kevin shakily released his breath and tried very hard to ignore how his heart rattled excitedly in his chest, rocketing blood away from his rational mind and down to his midsection. He shifted under the pooling heat between his legs, willing himself to ignore it until it went away.  Riko pressed his free hand to his thigh and gave the skin a hard squeeze. “You don't have to hide from me,” he whispered. “Didn't I tell you already? I know, Kevin.”

“I'm sorry,” Kevin breathed because he didn't know what else to say.

“Don’t be sorry,” Riko chided, fingers ghosting across his thigh, closer and closer to swollen flesh. Riko shifted so close he was almost in his lap. Kevin finally looked at him, taking in the dark hue of lust in his eyes and the slight crook of his lips. “Don’t hide from me, Kevin.”

“I'm not,” Kevin started, but Riko leaned in closer, breath mingling with his own. He was close enough that Kevin could probably purse his lips and feel the touch of skin on skin, but he didn't. Instead, he glanced at the door in silent worry. 

Riko touched his chin, fingers rising to his cheek, and said a quiet, “He’s not here to stop us." When Kevin still hesitated, his other hand crossed the barrier, fingers resting hot over the bulge between his legs. His lips brushed the corner of Kevin's own. “You wouldn't hesitate if it was Jeremy.”

Kevin tried to flinch back, but Riko’s grip was bruising. It forced him to look into that dark pit of jealousy where he couldn't hide the hurt those words brought him. He said, “Jeremy has nothing to do with this.”

“I bet,” Riko breathed, “you wish I was him. I said I could give him to you and it made you like this .” His fingers squeezed Kevin’s hard length to a bolt of pleasure. He nearly shoved away from it until Riko said, “You can pretend I’m him. Do all the dirty things to me until you have him.”

Kevin groaned and finally shifted to rest his forehead to Riko’s. It was different without their helmets on. He felt exposed, like Riko could see all his thoughts on a neon blinking sign. Amidst the worry flooding him and the fear of discovery–the reminder that the bodyguards were right there, just beyond that door–there was also a hot lance of need only growing with every second Riko kept hands on him. 

For the first time in a while, Kevin used his larger size to press into Riko, setting him back on his haunches, daring to rest a hand on his hip. “What if I don't want to pretend?”

Riko met his gaze, eyes only dipping to look at his lips once before he said a husky, commanding, “then fuck me .”

Kevin tightened his arm around his waist and tossed Riko back onto the bed, immediately pressing him back into the borrowed comforter. Their lips crashed together like magnets, forces drawn together by an unstoppable grip. As dominating as Riko could be on the court, his mouth opened submissively for Kevin’s tongue, a small sound slipping from him with their first taste of each other. Kevin growled at him in a bid to stay quiet, but he didn't dare part from Riko when his hands had such a tight grip on his hair and one leg was already wrapping around his hips to hold him in place.

As if Kevin needed a reason to stay. After all these years together, orbiting one another in some unending dance, it felt impossible to wander farther than even a room away. Riko was as much a tumor as he was an essential organ he needed to survive. His breath was Kevin’s. His every heartbeat was one of his own. They moved in perfect synchronicity–tied together by a fucked up fate that kept drawing them both back in with every new rise and fall. As much as they could hurt each other, there was something just as fierce in the way they kissed.  Like this moment could be their very last night on Earth. Like they needed each kiss to survive. And maybe they did. Kevin certainly felt like he did.

He couldn't get enough of the way Riko chased him, using his grip on his hair to draw him back in any time he tried to stray more than a breath apart. For his part, Kevin wanted to be free to leave marks. He wanted everyone to know that Riko was his. To hear the hitch of his breath when his teeth sank into the fragile skin of his neck, or his wanton moans when he sucked purple marks onto every inch of his collarbone. He couldn’t–he knew that–but it didn't stop him from ducking his hands beneath Riko’s shirt and pushing it up to his chest, raking his nails down his exposed skin in parallel lines of trailing red. 

Riko’s head tipped back with a moan at that one and Kevin immediately silenced him with a hand on his lips. “You have to be quiet,” he ordered him. He expected the King to be pissy and bite at his palm, but all he did was glare, breaths hot and moist on sensitive skin. Kevin favored his rare show of obedience with a soft kiss to the back of his hand. “Just like that,” he whispered, “ Riko.”

Riko moaned–quieter this time, and completely pliant beneath him. Kevin’s teeth barely grazed the skin of his cheek, right over his tattoo.  He trailed kisses down his jaw and further along to ghost more across his neck. Every brush of lips over skin made the man beneath him shiver, fingers tightening in his hair.  Riko’s body came alive with the press of Kevin’s arousal right against his thigh. Kevin shifted that tiny bit to rub their lengths together and nearly covered Riko’s throaty groan with one of his own.

“Fuck,” Kevin gasped, pushing himself up to hover with his dominant hand right by Riko’s head. His King willed him back in with what he could only call a whine, but Kevin ignored him to adjust himself into a better position. He pried the hand off Riko’s lips to encourage his other leg open around him and eagerly anticipated Riko’s needy:

“Why did you stop?”

“I didn't stop,” Kevin retorted, favoring him with a pointed stare. To answer the next question on his lips, even before he could ask it, he shifted his hips again and rocked them steadily against Riko’s own. This time, it was Riko's own hand that clamped tight over his traitorous mouth, stopping a cry before it could leak out and end everything before it could even truly begin. “You told me to fuck you,” Kevin said, “and I am.”  He rocked his hips again in emphasis.

Riko whined his disapproval of this new cocksure Kevin with a bitchy, “Don't you dare use semantics on me.”

“Why not?” Kevin lowered down to his ear, teeth light on the lobe of it, and whispered hotly, “I think you like it.”

“I-I do not,” Riko whined.

Kevin nosed at his cheek and moved his hips again, earning himself another of those breathy moans. This time, he really didn't stop. He was too high on pleasure to think when the friction of their bodies together was enough to light every one of his nerves up like a live wire. It only got better when Riko reached between them to undo their jeans, pulling them both out of their pants with remarkable ease. He held his hand up to Kevin’s mouth, who obediently licked a long stripe up the length of it, watching with rapt attention as Riko took hold of both their lengths and glanced at him expectantly.

Kevin didn't need words to see a greenlight when he got one. His hips moved faster now, more desperately, chasing each jolt of slick skin against slick skin. Riko’s hand moved in perfect time with him, cupping their heads together when Kevin drew back and stroking to their bases when he pressed in. Kevin wanted to watch how their bodies moved together so perfectly, but looking would make this too real and he already knew this could only ever happen once. Because once could be forgiven, but twice?

“ Kevin,” Riko moaned, drawing eyes to the black depths of his hooded stare. Kevin dipped down to kiss the man who caused him so much pain–who brought him so much life–and devoured him like he could somehow eat away all the decay between them and leave only this. He knew he couldn’t, but for tonight, he could at least pretend that everything could be okay. That this didn't have to be a one time deal.

“Are you close?” He rasped against his lips, “I want you to come for me, Riko–just for me.”

Riko actively tried not to obey his request, squeezing his eyes shut against the mounting pleasure, but Kevin wasn’t having it. He thrust against him with a purpose, rocking Riko into the covers with each one, pushing him closer and closer to the edge. He kissed him again when that voice threatened to sing his name, swallowing his every plea and praise and whine. He dropped his other hand to take over where Riko’s was getting sloppy, holding them together in a tight grip, trying to imagine it was only his cock fucking into his fist and failing. Because Riko was falling so sweetly apart for him and he didn't want it to be just him.

“Tell me,” Kevin whispered against his lips, “tell me I’m yours.”

“Y…you’re mine…”

“Tell me,” he ordered, “that you’re mine, too.”

“Always,” Riko gasped, “always yours…”

“Now come for me,” he ordered and felt a spark of pride when Riko’s head fell back against the pillows and his spine arched off the bed. He bit on his own fingers to silence the deep groan that wrestled from his chest. Kevin only made it that much harder to stifle when he once again ran his nails down Riko’s exposed abs, milking every spurt from him with every frantic and needy thrust of his hips. 

Riko didn't let him last long behind him, using the first of his strength to return just to reach beneath the cocks fucking into their fists and cup Kevin’s balls. “Now you, Kevin,” he gasped breathlessly, “do not deny me.”

Kevin couldn't even if he wanted to. As soon as that thumb ran over such sensitive skin, he ducked his head down against Riko’s neck and moaned into his flesh as he thrust three hard times against his partner and released every last drop of his strength onto his stomach.

They collapsed together, panting from exertion and feeling better than they ever possibly had. It was short lived before someone knocked on the door and ruined everything. 

Riko groaned his annoyance and yelled at the door, “We’re going to sleep!" He whispered for their ears only, “Leave us alone.”

“We’re still alone,” Kevin dared to mutter, glancing sheepishly at his King, “and we do need to shower…”

Riko’s smile was sharp and hungry. “Go get the water hot. I’ll be right in." And just as Kevin got up to do as he was told, Riko drew him back for one final kiss of the night and said, “this can never happen again.”

Kevin nodded against his forehead and muttered a disappointed, “We both know it won’t,” before he got up to get everything prepared in the bathroom.

[iidsch]

Omoriposting in the year of our lord 2024 but I'm watching a video on it and first of all half of the video length's is about the incredibly long delay(s) and how upset the original kickstart backers were, which is something important to mention since it was a shitty move on Omocat's behalf to keep the backers out of what was going on behind the scenes and not replying to them when they demanded updates and refunds, but is that really worth 20 minutes? This person said everything that there was to say about this topic in like 10, the remaining time was just repeating the same thing over and over again. Genuinely a waste of time to make this video 40 minutes long and dedicate half of it to something that honestly doesn't even have anything to do with the game itself? Again not excusing Omocat's actions, but this youtuber wasn't even one of the backers and paying so much attention to this issue takes away time from talking about the actual game.

But my second and bigger complaint is the youtuber's criticism about the Headspace sections, arguing that they are filler content and not as interesting as what happens in the real world. And while I agree with the second part, and I can see some people feeling like the Headspace drags on for too long, labeling these chapters of the game as "filler" demonstrates that this person didn't understand their purpose. Yes it's devoided almost completely of any story content, because it's the place where Sunny runs away from real life, it's his form of escapism. In fact, in the very first Headspace episode AND prologue of the game, the section ends the moment a memory from real life leaks into his idyllic dream - when Basil finds the photo of Mari. And this happens every single time Sunny hides in Headscape: as much as he wants to bury his past and his trauma, he can't keep it underground forever as it eventually resurfaces again and again.

Not to mention that the Headspace sections reinforce the game's horror sequences and moments, because the colorful scenery and overwhelming, child-like positivity make you forget you are playing a psychological horror. By the third Headspace section you probably have already figured out it's going to end with something scary, but the first two times it catches you by surprise. The contrast is what makes it so unexpected and so successful.

And Headspace provides *a lot* of context about the most important piece of the game: the protagonist. Discovering how Mari's death affected everyone makes the story more poignant, especially given the gigantic feeling of guilt Sunny carries in his heart, but ultimately the thing that brings forward the real tragedy of the story is how affected Sunny. How he completely isolated himself and pushed everyone away, while dealing with a major trauma all alone. How he ended up forgetting everything that had happened in an attempt to protect himself from depressive and suicidal thoughts. How he got himself trapped in this loop of never wanting to face and overcome his trauma and thus being unable to progress for four long years. How close they all used to be until this event broke all of them in different but equally sad ways, hitting Sunny the hardest as he is what caused the rupture between them.

All of this is shown in Headspace. Through Basil's disappearance, which kickstarts the happy-go-lucky adventures that Sunny and his friends - permanently stuck in their childhood years - go through in each section. Through the conversations with Daddy Longlegs in Lost Forest that provide important context about how Sunny dealt with the trauma and how Headspace came to be. Through his friends slowly forgetting about Basil, a consequence of Sunny attempting once more to destroy any evidence of what happened in his perfect world. Through the flowers Basil plants in his garden, a representation of each member of the group. Through the life excerpts you read in the library. Through the encounters with Branch Coral, Abbi and the Stranger. Through the hangman game. Hell, even through small, almost imperceptible details on your first run, like a jump rope and a text saying "you did it", or a tree stump with Something on it.

Also for the love of god people need to stop looking for "plot holes" everywhere and realize that sometimes things just happen. Obviously massive kudos to people capable of building perfect crime scenes where everything is controlled to a T, and it's true Mari's death has some loose ends that could have been tied better. But when your obsession with plot holes has you asking for an explanation as to why two kids would be hanging out together in a house other than "because that's what kids who are friends do sometimes" you really need to stop and go back a couple of steps.

The youtuber wonders if the parents didn't know about the "fake suicide" while also showing the scene in Black Space where Sunny's dad cuts down the tree, and I'm almost certain at some point it's revealed Sunny's parents discovered what he and Basil did, probably because of the autopsy. And this (person whose gender I don't know) is dedicating the video's conclusion to saying "well how come his parents didn't realize Mari died of a fall??? clearly there are a gazillion ways in which they could have found out about the fake suicide (even though Sunny's parents found out about the suicide, not just in a direct, explicit way which is what you're supposed to do to create good storytelling). huh I guess this is a plot hole". The youtuber even went and found examples of real-life kids committing murders far more intricate than what happens in Omori but his parents not immediately realizing Mari's suicide was fishy is a plot hole?? I'm 💣🧨💣🧨💣🧨

And how is all of this super improbable - Basil being present during the death and his parents not noticing she didn't kill herself for days/weeks - but not Mari's cause of death which has a very tiny chance of happening. Like I'm pretty sure the percentage of people who die from falling down the stairs is below 1%. And that's the goddamn point!!!!!!! That's the horror of the story!!!!!!!!!! Killing someone you so dearly love in an accident!!!!!!!!!! That if Sunny hadn't pushed her she wouldn't have fallen down!!!!!!!!!!!! That Sunny never meant to kill her and now that will haunt him forever!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! That no matter how much he wants to be forgiven that will never happen because you can't bring people from the dead and thus his only way to improve is to forgive himself first and learn to live with the guilt!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Why do people never get the most important part of the game!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[thevoiceofthebard]

Chapter 6 - Ralof II: Before The Storm

Sundas, 17th of Last Seed 4E201 Late Afternoon

Ralof

I have a problem, a voice in my head slurs as I look into my flagon of mead. Empty. Another voice slurs, Yes, the problem is that my cup is empty. "Orgnar. Another pint."

"You sure about that pal? You're already three pints in."

I slam my cup onto the bar, perhaps harder than intended. "Are you the barkeep, or my mother? I don't see any tits on you, so fill the damn cup! If you'd seen what I'd seen this day, you'd be looking for Oblivion in the bottom of a cup as well!"

If my outburst phased the man at all, his apathetic face sure doesn't betray it as he takes my cup to the tap. "Fine. But don't blame me when you throw your septims up later outside." As he returns the full cup to me, he asks, "And what was so terrifying that it'd cause such a fine soldier as yourself to drink mead like water?"

"A dragon, you old goat!" Damn my drunken mouth, I spit it out without thinking. This at least seems to startle the stoic barkeep. His eyes widen, and I notice old Delphine stop sweeping and stiffen as well.

"A dragon, eh?" Orgnar scratches his stuffy beard. "Sure you were sober when you walked in here?"

Before I can retort, the last voice I want to hear sounds from behind me. "He's telling the truth." Bloody Hadvar. Of course. He walks in, sitting at the other end of the bar. "A gods-honest dragon appeared at Helgen. The town's little more than a pile of rubble now.

Of course, the bastards believe him immediately. I suppose an Imperial uniform gives you credibility regardless of the claim. I see Delphine turn white and dash into a sideroom, and Orgnar offers Hadvar a drink.

"Honningbrew," Hadvar responds.

"Pah, why not just order a mug of milk if you've not the stomach for a real drink." The insult has both men bristling, and I take my drink and myself to a nearby table. The stumble might have taken some of the bite away, but damned if I'll sit in the company of damned traitors.

The tavern is mercifully empty as I nurse my Black-Briar Reserve in silence. Though I know it won't last, this close to evening. It was unseasonably warm, and you could count on the locals whetting their parched throats with a mug or two after they finish their day's work. For some reason, it reminded me of my time with the Stormcloaks. We trained under a bastard of a man called Galmar Stone-Fist. Every day we trained damn near nonstop from dawn to dusk. And every day, he made sure we trained hardest when the sun was highest. Sad we'd need to be ready to fight at any time; "Your enemy won't care if you're too hot to put your shield between you and them." Spent weeks constantly exhausted before I got used to it.

Yet for all that, it seems old habits die hard. One measly dragon attack and I fall back into old patterns. It's familiar. And calming. Then someone drops on the bench beside me, interrupting the calming familiarity of my drink. "By Talos, can't you tell when a man wants to enjoy his drink alone?"

"You don't look like you're enjoying much of anything right now." Godsdamned Hadvar. Never learned to shut his mouth for anything. "The Ralof I used to know would've been blustering on about his escape from near-certain death. Regaling his story to everyone in town."

"What do you want, Imperial?"

He pauses a moment. "Company."

I scoff, but since he seems subdued now, I go back to my mug. A few moment pass in silence, the first few villagers starting to trickle in from their mills and fields. Amazing how careless they seem; even without knowing about the dragon, it's as if the sleepy town has been unaffected by the war. A bloody war, right under their noses. Blessing there, else someone might have called the Imperials to clap me in irons again. How easy it might be, just to stay here and resume the simple life I led before I enlisted under Ulfric.

"I don't hate you, you know?" It took me a second to realize Hadvar was speaking to me. The look on his face almost seems... Wistful? "For joining the rebels... Sorry, the Stormcloaks."

"What are you on about?"

He chews on his words before speaking again. "I know you probably despise me for joining the Legion. Expected me to defect once Ulfric's call went out. But I don't hate you for becoming a Stormcloak. You followed your heart and you went out to make a change. Hell, maybe I even envy you. I was always content to follow orders. Even as lads, you'd be the one making up the adventures we acted out."

Had I drunk anymore than I had already, I'd have assumed I was hallucinating. Unfortunately, I was sober enough to consider his words. A few hours ago - was it only hours? - we'd been set to tear out each others' throats. But was it truly because we hated each other?

"If you had asked me this morning," I said, "what I thought of my old childhood friend Hadvar, I would have made Talos himself blush with the obscenities to pass my lips. I considered every Imperial godless bastards, guilty of allowing or helping the damn Thalmor of every crime they committed. Hadvar's grip tightens on his mug, and I watch his face steel up.

"But... Now I remember... Or you just reminded... You're all people, same as me. You helped save all those townsfolk from that great black beast. You joined the legion to try to change things, no different than I. And you'd be an even greater traitor by betraying the oaths to your cause solely because of your cowardly commanders." I grin at Hadvar. "Come now, if I truly wanted you dead, I'd have let that dragon carry you away this morning."

I must have surprised him, as he takes a moment to retort. "And here I though you were just saving Talao and I was in the way."

"Might have helped." We chuckle together, and just like that, it's as if we are young again, sharing a mug. Only now the ale isn't snuck out from under our parents' noses. And for the next few hours, we forget that we might find each other opposite our blades on the field of battle soon.

Chapter 5 - Sven I: Before The Storm x Chapter 7 - Balgruuf I: Before The Storm

[imagine-this-doesnt-suck]

Dead Doves were Born to be Eaten

YellowJewl

Summary:

For people that have been asking for a part two to sleeping with Spiders, I hope you're happy you little nasties. We're back and gorier than ever It's fucked, real fucked. But let's face it, a part of you always has been. Long before you met him. Maybe you were born a monster. But the thing is, even monsters crave a connection.

Notes:

If you are my friend please don't read this. It's not a reflection of who I am, just some horny fucked up shit I wrote. That being said, I'm a Feitan simp and the spirit of Halloween's wh*re possessed me to write this.

This first chapter is a bit of background for our Y/N, Feitan will return in ch.2, this is the same Y/N from sleeping with spiders

Chapter 1

You remember every year as the summer months transitioned into the cool, unforgiving autumns of your youth, your father and your older brother would leave to go on their annual three week hunting trip. As the only daughter you remained uninvited to the deer hunt every year, as your father fed you excuses like 'you're too young' or 'you have to stay home with your mother and the baby, keep em safe sweetheart' or this one's rich, 'it's just something for me and your brother, you wouldn't have any fun."

But lo and behold, after his tenth birthday, when the leaves began to brown on the trees, would you guess who was finally invited on your father's hunting trip? You all sat around the breakfast table, your little brother pokes at the runny egg that lays atop of his bowl of rice as your father tells him what fun the three of them are going to have. You have yet to say anything on the matter but, your older brother from across the breakfast table gives you a knowing look before he looks to your father and rolls his eyes. 

If you were more mature and a bit more empathic, you might feel the slightest bit of pity for your old man. All his life he wanted to be a hunter. A poacher hunter like his grandfather before him. Even learning the tiniest bit of nen in his youth, training his hardest before he was finally able to take the exam.

He failed three times.

Three years in a row, came and went before your mother, his long term girlfriend at the time, finally announced that she was pregnant and he was to give up this foolish endeavor and get a real job. He of course reluctantly agreed.

Still the man clung to his dream with a subtleness that your mother could never really call him out for. Whether it be keeping up with hunter news, signing your older brother up for endurance training in hopes that he could one day secretly show him nen, or dragging him off to the woods to hunt. The man had only this one escape from his dull life, and that was to push his dreams and aspirations onto his sons. Too bad for him that his eldest was a lazy pervert, banned from his university for harassment, and his youngest, a timid recluse who despised leaving the house. Both of them could give less of a shit about his dreams.

His oddball daughter, being you of course, wasn't even considered when it came to training whoever it would be to carry your fathers torch that in truth, he himself never never got to hold. And it wasn't as if you met any of your mother's expectations. You were just the quiet girl who never went anywhere without her sketchbook. Nothing special and always overlooked. Even at this moment.

"I'll go." You say as you stare straight at your father. He turns to look at you but swiftly turns away, uneasy under your gaze.

In his cowardice he can't even look you in the eyes as he rejects you. Instead he stares down at his breakfast as he says, "We've been over this, sweetheart. You wouldn't like it anyways. Camping outside, with the bugs, wouldn't you much rather stay at home with your mother?"

"No." You answer honestly and apparently a bit too quick for your mother's taste as she swats the back of your head and scolds you. Ignoring her, you continue on "You've always said I was too young or it was just a thing for you two" you say as you gesture between him and your older brother. "But now you're letting the brat go?" You receive another swat as your mother tells you not to call your brother names.

Your father opens his mouth to make his argument but your older brother cuts him off, "Come on dad, she really wants to go. Besides, with more people there, it'll take the pressure off Jr. here." He says as he ruffles your baby brother's hair beside him.

With a sigh, and despite the glare he was receiving from your mother, he finally relented and said, "Fine."

That is what brought you to the Fall you spent swaddled in a large camo jacket and an orange vest as your family was huddled up in a deer stand.

Your father lectures your little brother for the thousandth time about gun safety and how to hold the contraption. Your eldest brother looks like he's half asleep as he lazily chews on a strip of beef jerky. 

You kneel by the window of the deer stand, peering out towards the lush forest. Its once verdant green leaves were now far and few between as nature ran its course and gave way to the auburn reds and warm oranges of autumn. The air was crisp and the cold bit at your nose as your eyes grazed the picturesque landscape before you. As you stared out intently, a cool brown shade swept across your vision, a detail so small that you had almost missed it. You had spotted a deer through the thick brush of trees.

Your breath caught in your throat. You hadn't expected to see one so soon. Quickly, with shaky hands you lift the rifle that up until then had been sitting useless in your hands. You steady it and take aim.

Meters away from your position in the stand, the deer stares back at you.

You feel a rush of adrenaline flow through you as your pulse begins to quicken and you can hear the blood pumping in and out of your vascular valves, in your ears. You're ready.

Your finger finds the trigger and you pull back the bolt that until now had been locked in place.

A shot rings out, breaking the silence of the forest and causing a cluster of birds to take flight and flee from a nearby tree. Your father's head whips around ready to scold you for taking a shot without permission.

You calmly wave him off, "I took a shot. It fell." You say with a shrug. Masking the raw excitement fueling you in the moment.

"What?" Your father asks in confusion.

 "It fell. Did I get it?" You answer back.

Your father sighs and looks at your little brother, who's chewing on a piece of jerky in his lap.

"You know how dangerous that could have been, don't you? If your mother heard about this-"

 "But I got it." You repeat, waiting for him to congratulate you.

You're not exactly sure why, but his expression softens a bit as he nods at you.

"Good job."

 The four of you trek out into the forest to retrieve your kill. It takes a bit before you finally smell the steely scent of blood fill the air. Your family is silent as you walk through the woods.Your older brother walks alongside you, his hand on your shoulder.

Your father walks behind, with your younger brother clinging to his leg.

Just as you reach what you think will be the young stag you had shot, your father stops dead in his tracks. You brother gasps, and you stare blankly ahead. Yes the deer you shot lay dead on the forest floor but not forty feet away is a horrific sight that will haunt your family for years. A corpse of a hunter leaning against a tree as five deer surround him, eating his remains.

The man has been shot through the head, and his face looks as though he's aged twenty five years in the past week.

You find yourself unable to look away.

His face is frozen in a rictus of pain as he leans against the tree, the five deer still tearing at his face.

Even as a child you knew that expression, and it would not be one you'd soon forget.

Your little brother begins to sob in fear. Your older brother wraps you in a hug in order to shield your eyes from the sight. But you keep looking at it. You don't want to look away.

"Oh god, oh god, oh god." Your baby brother sobs as he buries his face in the crook of your dad's elbow, trying to hide from the gruesome reality.

"It's okay. It's going to be okay." your father says to him but it is all white noise to you as you are ingulfed in the moment. You we're unable to tear your gaze away from the corpse, in fact you don't think you wanted to even if you could. The sight of the corpse became an almost religious experience. You didn't know it yet but, this is the day that would become a catalyst in your life. The day changed you forever, and the real you had begun to awaken from her slumber. 

You look back towards your family, who are now staring back at you, now noticing your intense gaze. You hear your father clear his throat uncomfortably and say, "We're heading back to the house."

_

Your mother had been understandably pissed. She forbade any future hunting trips as she sobbed about how her children were probably traumatized forever. You had never seen your mother that mad. Not even when you had broken your arm on the playground and it had been cast in plaster did she yell at you that way. She was practically seething, her shouting at your father made her voice hoarse and the sobbing she would resort to every ten words made her sound like a dying animal.

But you didn't really care all the much in the long run. Having made her lose her temper with you multiple times before, you figured the storm would pass. And so you three kids went to bed with the sound of your parents arguing in the background. Your older brother had cornered you in the hall later that night to tell you it wasn't your fault but you were pretty sure he had only said it to reassure himself. He wrapped you in one of his usual too tight hugs that always went on a bit too long and made you squirm uncomfortably before letting you go and giving you a solemn look.

Brushing the encounter off, you made your way to the robin egg blue painted room to tuck your little brother into bed. Jr. was abnormally quiet for the whole routine before you leaned down to kiss his forehead and wish him a goodnight. He shrunk back at your touch.

"Don't touch me." He said, spitting up at you.

You gasped at the action. Never before had he ever done any of the sort to anyone. The normally shy and docile boy had been so quick to judge. It had caught you off guard. Wiping the saliva off your face you take a deep breath and regain your composure. It had been a long day and you figured that you would give the kid room for error in such a turbulent time. You brush the hair out of his face, "It's going to be okay."

 "No!" He growled at you, "Youre a monster, someone was dead and you don't even care. You were excited, weren't you? I saw. I saw you."

 You smiled softly at him, pretending to ignore him, "I love you, little man. You know that?" 'I love you' had come to become the turn of phrase in your household that one would throw out when they were finished with uncomfortable discussions. A white flag thrown out onto the field to keep the peace. It didn't mean that you thought you were in the wrong it was only said to placate your opponent. Your little brother only looked at you in disgust.

All that to say that you truly did love him. You really did. You loved your entire family. But you knew that you were different and they might never understand. You were a monster. You were the devil. You took a deep breath, trying to calm yourself down.

"I know you're scared, little man."

 "You're a monster." He repeats.

You didn't argue back. There was no point in it. Instead you held his hand and looked him straight in the eye. "I know. But even monsters want to feel a connection." You say before turning off his nightlight and leaving the room.

Eventually you would find your connection.

It wouldn't be human. It wouldn't be your family. It wouldn't be your friends.

But someone a lot like you.

You were a monster.

He was the devil.

[lestapiastrisgirl]

Overdrive

by nitaekook | 2/? | NR | 6,829

Unable to stay away from Miyagi, Iwaizumi returns to his hometown under the weight of old memories and unfinished business. As he navigates familiar roads and encounters Oikawa in the tense, unspoken aftermath of their past, Iwaizumi is forced to confront the choices that separated them. The ache of nostalgia and regret lingers as he begins to question if his path away from Miyagi—and Oikawa—was ever truly the right one.

-

Chapter 2 - Crossroads

Iwaizumi wasn’t able to make it to the race the following week. Couldn’t force himself to face Oikawa again so soon after assaulting himself with old wounds. But Bokuto didn't let that curb his enthusiasm. Iwaizumi needed this. So he sent over a message every time he got word of an upcoming race. 

-

The road stretched on, a seemingly endless ribbon of asphalt winding through the hills as Iwaizumi left Tokyo in the rearview. It had been years since he’d driven this route, since he’d headed back to Miyagi—his hometown, a place that felt more like a memory than anything real now.

The thought weighed on him as he settled into the drive, his fingers tapping a steady, anxious beat on the steering wheel. Tokyo’s lights had faded hours ago, replaced by the soft glow of stars and the occasional stretch of empty fields on either side of the highway. There was a stillness out here that he wasn’t used to, a kind of quiet that Tokyo never allowed. Out here, there was nothing to distract him from his thoughts.

He wasn’t entirely sure why he was doing this, why he was driving hours away to an underground race in the middle of nowhere. The logical part of him said he should’ve stayed in Tokyo, focused on moving forward, on putting distance between himself and everything he’d lost. But something else—the same pull that had gnawed at him since that first race—kept dragging him back.

Miyagi. Just hearing the name in his mind brought up memories he hadn’t asked for. Late nights working on a rusted-out old car in his parents’ driveway, the scent of pine drifting through the air, the hum of cicadas in the summer. And Oikawa. Always Oikawa, laughing too loud, challenging him to another stupid bet, calling him Iwa-chan like it was the most natural thing in the world.

He scowled at the thought, his grip tightening on the wheel. Oikawa had been everywhere back then. Back when they were still just kids who thought they’d outgrow this place, who thought Miyagi was a cage they’d one day escape. They’d both been so hungry to leave, to chase something bigger. He’d left, alright—chased his dreams all the way to Tokyo, to the high-speed tracks of MotoGP.

And he’d lost it all just as quickly.

The familiar ache in his leg flared up, a dull reminder of what he’d left behind, of the career he’d watched slip through his fingers the day his bike hit the asphalt. He’d thought that losing racing was the worst of it, that leaving behind the adrenaline and the thrill would be the hardest part. But it was the quiet that killed him the most—the silence that filled his days, the hours stretching on without purpose.

Tokyo had felt like a fresh start once. But now it was just a place to exist, to go through the motions. His sponsorships, his appearances… they were empty obligations, reminders of a life he’d lost. The more he tried to move forward, the more hollow it all felt.

So here he was, driving back to the one place he’d sworn he wouldn’t return to. He’d left Miyagi to escape it, to find a future that was bigger than this town. But something kept calling him back. Maybe it was the race—the way the engines roared in the night, the thrill of watching drivers take risks he couldn’t anymore. Or maybe… maybe it was Oikawa.

The memory of Oikawa’s car came to him unbidden: the sleek, deadly machine he’d built from scratch, tearing through the track with ruthless precision. It hadn’t surprised Iwaizumi, not really. He’d always known Oikawa was relentless, that he threw himself into everything he did with an intensity that left everyone else in the dust. Watching him race was like watching him shine in a way Iwaizumi hadn’t seen in years. Like he was home. Like he belonged here.

And then there was that smirk, that easy confidence as he’d looked at Iwaizumi and teased, calling him Iwa-chan like nothing had changed between them. That was just Oikawa, wasn’t it? Acting like he knew everything, like he could see right through him.

He grit his teeth, clenching the wheel tighter. Oikawa was part of Miyagi, and Iwaizumi had left Miyagi behind. Or, he thought he had. And yet… here he was, miles away from Tokyo, driving down dark roads toward something he couldn’t quite name.

As the car sped through the night, he couldn’t help but wonder what he was looking for out here. Was it the race? The rush? The chance to feel something other than empty? Or was it the pull of the past, of unfinished business, of words left unsaid and memories that clung to him like smoke?

The thought of seeing Oikawa again made his chest tighten. He wasn’t sure what he’d say if they met, if he could face that knowing smirk again. But maybe it didn’t matter. He wasn’t here for Oikawa. He was here because… he didn’t know why. He just knew he couldn’t stay away.

The sky lightened slightly as he crossed the border into Miyagi, the familiar landscape rising around him, silhouettes of hills and scattered trees cutting into the horizon. A pang of nostalgia hit him, sharper than he expected, and he forced himself to push it down. This wasn’t home anymore. He was just passing through.

Ahead, he could see the faint glow of headlights in the distance, clustered beneath a rusted overpass that he vaguely remembered from his teenage years. It was a different kind of race here—quieter, rougher, with no crowds or city lights to soften the edges. Just racers, shadows, and the thrill of speed cutting through the cold night air.

Iwaizumi parked along the edge of the lot, away from the others, hoping to blend in. But as he stepped out and pulled his hood up, he could already feel the eyes on him. The whispers started, recognition sparking across familiar faces, old locals who remembered him from high school, people who had probably watched his rise and fall from afar. He tried to ignore it, focusing instead on the cars lined up under the bridge, their engines humming in quiet anticipation.

And then he saw it—Oikawa’s car, parked just outside the main cluster. Sleek and black, with new modifications gleaming under the faint light. The sight of it made something twist in his chest, an uncomfortable mix of irritation and admiration. Oikawa was here, too, rooted in this town in a way Iwaizumi couldn’t understand.

It was like he belonged here, like he’d never wanted to leave.

And maybe that’s what bothered Iwaizumi the most. He’d always seen Miyagi as something to escape, a place too small to hold him. But Oikawa… Oikawa had made it his own, bending it to his will, finding a thrill in the very streets they’d both once tried to leave behind.

Iwaizumi clenched his fists, forcing himself to take a steadying breath. He wasn’t here for Oikawa. He was here for himself, for… something he couldn’t quite put into words. But as he walked toward the starting line, the familiar buzz of engines and the scent of gasoline filling his lungs, he couldn’t help but feel like he was stepping back into the past. Into something he thought he’d left behind.

And, against all logic, he couldn’t bring himself to turn around.

The first cars roared as it revved, their engines rumbling as the crowd gathered closer to the starting line. Iwaizumi stayed back, watching the scene unfold from the edges of the lot, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jacket. It was strange, standing here alone. Last time, he’d had Bokuto’s endless enthusiasm and Akaashi’s quiet support to buffer him, but now he was left to his own thoughts. Every familiar face seemed to cast a longer shadow, whispers drifting through the crowd as people nudged each other and glanced his way.

He was starting to regret coming. The pull that had dragged him here from Tokyo suddenly felt flimsy, like he’d only shown up to make himself miserable. Standing here, back in Miyagi, surrounded by the ghosts of who he used to be—it was suffocating.

But before he could turn and make his way back to the car, a familiar figure appeared in his peripheral vision.

Oikawa.

Iwaizumi’s chest tightened. Even in the dim light, he could see the tension in Oikawa’s frame, his smile pulled tight and almost brittle as he approached. It was a sharp contrast to the easy swagger from the last race, the careless smirk that had taunted him in Tokyo. This Oikawa looked guarded, his expression too controlled, his laugh too practiced as he greeted Iwaizumi with an exaggeratedly casual, “Iwa-chan!”

Iwaizumi could see right through it. He knew Oikawa like the back of his hand, knew when his smile was fake, when his laugh was forced. And right now, Oikawa was putting on a show. The smile didn’t reach his eyes, and his voice carried a hardness that Iwaizumi couldn’t quite place.

“What brings you all the way out here?” Oikawa’s tone was light, but his words were clipped, each one like a subtle jab. He folded his arms, tilting his head with an arched brow, the perfect picture of polite indifference. “Didn’t think you’d bother coming this far for a street race.”

Iwaizumi forced himself to hold Oikawa’s gaze, ignoring the prickling discomfort in his chest. “Guess I had nothing better to do.”

Oikawa’s mouth twitched, a faint, almost mocking smile crossing his face. “Right. Nothing better to do.” He laughed, a hollow sound that barely left his throat. “Must be nice, huh? Just dropping in whenever you feel like it, Tokyo hotshot and all.”

There it was—that bitterness, crackling just beneath the surface. Iwaizumi could feel it in every tight smile, every clipped word. He knew Oikawa too well to miss it, but he couldn’t help but misread the reason behind it. The hurt in Oikawa’s gaze felt like resentment, like the sting of jealousy that Iwaizumi had left this place behind to chase their shared dream on his own.

He clenched his jaw, a flicker of defensiveness sparking inside him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Oikawa shrugged, the gesture casual, but there was a sharpness to his smile, his gaze never quite meeting Iwaizumi’s eyes. “Nothing at all, Iwa-chan.” He said the nickname with a twist, his tone almost mocking, like it was something distant and childish. “Just surprising, is all. Didn’t think you’d care much about this world anymore.”

“Maybe I still do,” Iwaizumi shot back, feeling a flicker of anger at the implication. “Just because I moved doesn’t mean I stopped caring.”

Oikawa’s smile tightened further, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly. “Right. Because you’ve been around so much, huh?”

The words were like a knife, sharp and cutting, and Iwaizumi felt a surge of guilt clawing at his chest. He’d left Miyagi for Tokyo, for the thrill of MotoGP, for a career he’d thought would be everything he’d ever wanted. And in doing so, he’d left people behind—Oikawa among them. He’d always known that, on some level, but he’d thought Oikawa would understand. They’d both wanted out, hadn’t they? They’d both wanted more than Miyagi could offer.

“Don’t act like you didn’t want the same thing,” Iwaizumi muttered, a defensive edge creeping into his voice. “We both wanted to get out of here. We both wanted something bigger.”

For a brief second, something flickered across Oikawa’s face—a flash of hurt, raw and unguarded, like he’d been struck. But it was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by that same brittle smile, tight and controlled.

“Sure, I wanted more,” Oikawa replied, his voice steady but hollow. “But I didn’t abandon everyone to get it.”

The accusation hit harder than Iwaizumi expected, and he opened his mouth to argue, to say that it hadn’t been like that, that he hadn’t meant to leave anyone behind. But the words caught in his throat. Because maybe, on some level, that was exactly what he’d done. He’d left, he’d chased his dream, and he hadn’t looked back.

Oikawa’s gaze softened, just for a moment, as if he could see the conflict swirling in Iwaizumi’s eyes. But he quickly masked it, his expression hardening as he took a step back, crossing his arms in a defensive stance.

“Well,” Oikawa said, his voice laced with a bitter edge. “Maybe now that your career is over, there’s nothing holding you in Tokyo anymore. City living isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, huh?”

The words hung in the air like a challenge, hitting Iwaizumi harder than he wanted to admit. They carried a sense of finality, like a door closing on everything he’d worked for, like a reminder of the failure he couldn’t escape. He felt a flash of anger, sharp and hot, but it was quickly swallowed by a wave of guilt, heavier and colder, settling in his chest.

Before he could find a response, Oikawa turned on his heel and walked away, his posture stiff, his shoulders tight. He disappeared into the crowd, blending in with the shadows, leaving Iwaizumi standing alone with the sting of his words echoing in his mind.

Iwaizumi clenched his fists, feeling a knot of frustration settle in his chest. He hadn’t expected to come out here and get dragged back into old wounds, to have Oikawa of all people twist the knife like that. But as he watched Oikawa’s figure fade into the distance, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d missed something, some unspoken truth simmering just beneath the surface.

He told himself that Oikawa was just bitter, that this was about Miyagi and racing and the dream he’d left behind. But a small, nagging voice in the back of his mind whispered that it was more than that—that Oikawa’s hurt ran deeper than just a grudge over who had left first.

But Iwaizumi pushed the thought away, crossing his arms as he turned back to the starting line. He was here to watch the race, not to get tangled up in Oikawa’s mind games. Whatever had gone unsaid would stay that way, at least for tonight.

And yet, as the engines roared to life, he couldn’t shake the ache that Oikawa’s words had left behind. It gnawed at him, raw and unresolved, like the sting of an old wound he’d thought had healed long ago.

The engines were just starting to rev up, headlights casting ghostly beams across the dark countryside, when Iwaizumi turned on his heel and walked away. Oikawa’s words still rang in his ears, biting and bitter, echoing with a finality that he couldn’t shake. “Maybe now that your career is over, there’s nothing holding you in Tokyo anymore.” Each syllable settled in his chest like lead, the weight of it pressing down on him until he felt like he couldn’t breathe.

Why did I even come? The question gnawed at him, harsh and accusing, as he strode back to his car. He hadn’t been able to answer it on the drive out here, and he sure as hell couldn’t answer it now, standing on the edge of a race he didn’t belong to, surrounded by people who’d moved on without him.

The moment he slid into the driver’s seat and slammed the door shut, a wave of relief washed over him. The suffocating air of the race was gone, replaced by the quiet, familiar solitude of his car. He didn’t bother glancing back as he started the engine, the hum steady and reassuring as he pulled away from the lot, leaving the starting line and Oikawa—and everything he couldn’t face—behind.

He drove aimlessly, letting the dark, winding roads of Miyagi carry him. The town was quiet, the streets empty, only the occasional streetlamp illuminating his path. He hadn’t planned on coming back here, to this place that held so many pieces of him. Yet here he was, swallowed by the night, haunted by memories he’d tried to bury.

He passed by the old high school, the familiar building looming in the dark. The sight of it tugged something deep in his chest, a hollow ache that spread as he remembered the countless afternoons spent there with Oikawa—skipping practice to work on a beat-up car in the back lot, racing each other down the deserted side roads. They’d shared dreams back then, dreams that felt as big as the world.

Iwaizumi clenched the wheel, his knuckles white. They’d both wanted to leave, hadn’t they? They’d wanted more than Miyagi, more than these quiet streets and small lives. But why, then, did this place feel so full of him, of everything he thought he’d left behind?

As he drove, he began to notice other places that felt stitched into his bones, landmarks that were woven with memories of Oikawa. The small diner on the corner, where they’d spent hours planning their futures over cheap coffee, Oikawa’s eyes always shining with that boundless excitement. The beach on the outskirts of town, where they’d watched the sun rise on graduation night, talking about all the things they’d do, the places they’d go.

It was suffocating. He’d left to escape all this, to be free of the weight that Miyagi held over him. But now, with each turn, he felt himself sinking further into the past, the memories pulling him under.

And then, without thinking, he found himself at that place.

The old overlook on the hill, quiet and secluded, with a sweeping view of the town below. He hadn’t been here in years—he hadn’t allowed himself to come here, hadn’t wanted to face what this place meant. But now, staring down at the familiar stretch of town, at the glimmering lights of a life he’d tried to leave behind, he felt the ache in his chest swell until it was unbearable.

This was where he’d first realized it. Where he’d first felt the spark of something he couldn’t put into words. He’d been here with Oikawa, years ago, just the two of them, sitting side by side under the stars. They hadn’t spoken, not really, but they hadn’t needed to. They’d just been, sharing the silence, letting the night settle around them.

And in that quiet, he’d known.

It had crept up on him slowly, a warmth that started in his chest and spread through his whole body. He’d looked over at Oikawa, his face barely visible in the darkness, and felt his heart twist, a longing so fierce it had left him breathless. He’d realized then, with a certainty that shook him, that he loved him.

And he’d kept it to himself.

Because, in the end, he’d made a choice. A choice to leave, to chase the future he thought he was supposed to want. He’d thought Oikawa would understand, thought that maybe… maybe Oikawa would choose him, too. That he’d leave this town, that they’d both step out into the world together, unstoppable, side by side.

But Oikawa hadn’t come with him. Oikawa had stayed, and Iwaizumi had gone alone, leaving behind everything he hadn’t been brave enough to say.

The bitterness of it cut through him now, sharper than any pain he’d felt on the track, deeper than the ache in his leg. There was no surgeon’s scalpel that could cut it out, no painkiller strong enough to numb it. This was a wound he’d carried with him all these years, hidden under layers of ambition and denial.

He leaned back in his seat, staring up at the stars, his vision blurring. The choice had felt so clear back then. Stay or go. Small town or big dreams. But he hadn’t realized what he’d left behind until it was too late.

A hollow laugh slipped past his lips, bitter and broken. He’d run, back then. And he was running again now, driving through these empty streets, trying to escape the weight of his own mistakes, the guilt of all he’d left behind.

But the memory of Oikawa’s words stayed with him, sharp and unyielding. “Maybe now that your career is over, there’s nothing holding you in Tokyo anymore.” He hadn’t realized just how deeply he’d hurt Oikawa. He’d thought the bitterness was jealousy, the resentment of someone left behind. But maybe… maybe it was more than that. Maybe it was personal.

Iwaizumi clenched his fists, feeling the pain settle in his chest, raw and jagged. He’d thought he was chasing a dream, that leaving Miyagi was the only way to find himself. But now, staring out over the town he’d once called home, he wasn’t so sure. The emptiness he’d been running from had followed him all the way to Tokyo, growing heavier with each mile.

And as he sat there, surrounded by memories he couldn’t escape, he felt the weight of his choices pressing down on him, more suffocating than any crowd, any race. The realization that he’d made the wrong choice, that he’d left the one person who mattered most, gnawed at him, a pain no physical wound could match.

After a long, quiet moment, Iwaizumi turned the key in the ignition, letting the engine purr to life. He had no destination in mind, no plan, just the steady hum of the car and the dark road stretching out before him. But as he pulled away from the overlook, he knew one thing for certain.

No matter how far he drove, no matter how much he tried to leave it all behind, Miyagi—and Oikawa—would always be there, waiting, tangled up in the heart of everything he’d tried to run from.

[ladystormcrow]

3: What’s your favorite line of narration?

4: What’s your favorite line of dialogue?

5: What part was hardest to write?

11: What do you like best about this fic?

For Trio Sonata! :)

3) It's a bit petty, but I'm not keen on when fanfic portrays Christine as being completely ignorant about sex and anatomy (as a lower-class girl who's traveled and worked as a performer since childhood, it's very unlikely she would have been that sheltered, especially after she started working at the opera), so this line in Chapter 3 is my commentary on that: That statue of Apollo on top of the Palais Garnier left precious little to the imagination.

I'm also fond of this one, from Raoul being creeped out by Erik's more realistic mask in Chapter 4. Raoul doesn't know the term "uncanny valley", but he definitely knows the feeling: He would almost have preferred Erik’s real face, ugly as it was. At least that one belonged to a human being.

4) I do enjoy this line from Chapter 1, where Raoul's trying to convince himself to go along with the plan: “I suppose helping him escape isn’t the worst thing we could have done. After all, he can hardly keep terrorizing the opera house if he’s not there anymore, can he?”

5) Believe it or not, the part in Chapter 8 dealing with Christine's search for her village was actually very hard to write, just because I felt like it was extremely boring -- "And then they hung out in Uppsala for a month or so, looking at books and maps and writing letters" seemed like kind of an abrupt letdown after all the excitement in the last few chapters. It didn't really start to work for me until I decided to make the "Death playing chess" fresco (which is based on a real fresco in Täby Church, near Stockholm) more plot-relevant, and also after I started doing more research into the history of the Protestant Reformation in Sweden, plus some other historical details (the part with Christine being told to stay in the reading room so she won't distract the male students was inspired by real accounts of how women in libraries were viewed at the time). The end result may not be action-packed, but at least it's educational!

11) Oh man, that's hard to decide! But I really love history, and I have a big weakness for the Victorian era, so I definitely love getting to include all the historical details I researched and tie them into the plot (one of my favorites is Le Chouette's photo of Erik from his time in Persia -- in real life, Naser al-Din Shah was a photography nerd who took many pictures of his wives and children and their various servants, so it makes perfect sense he'd have taken one of Erik, who wouldn't have been in a position to refuse being photographed).