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maatryoshkaa · 4 years ago

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young god | chapter 16

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

word count: 14.3k

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

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

watch the trailer here!

16| the prisoner’s dilemma.

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

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

I need you to stay alive.

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

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

Chan sighed. “How are you feeling?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Chan—”

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

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

━━━━━━━━

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“S-sir, you can’t—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

━━━━━━━━

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“February 22nd, 2005.”

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

“June 3rd, 2006.”

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

“December 31st, 2009.”

The day everything had gone wrong.

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

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

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

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

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

“He’s a lost cause.”

“Problem kid.”

“Impossible to treat.”

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

Lee Minho.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Emptiness.

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

“Minho, can we go home?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The psychiatrist looked weary and defeated. “Correct.”

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

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

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

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

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

That’s it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Can you identify this boy?”

Nodding, Jeongin pointed to Jisung.

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

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

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

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

Jisung was carrying Jeongin’s body.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You really are a psychopath.

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s this?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why did all these people fight for him?

Why had his mother died for him?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Han Jisung, you are such an idiot.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

━━━━━━━━

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

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

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

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

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

“That poor boy.”

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

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

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

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

“Has the jury reached a unanimous verdict?”

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

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

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

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

No one in the jury had moved to stand up.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

━━━━━━━━

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Never change, Prosecutor Kim.”

━━━━━━━━

“Prosecutor Kang, look this way!”

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

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

“Did you bribe your own witnesses?”

“How many other cases have you tampered with?”

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

“You’re the liar.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Goodbye, Han Jisung.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You were his first love, after all.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“...I’ll be waiting.”

ryu says:

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

i’ll see you in the epilogue.

953 notes · View notes

riasei · 5 years ago

Text

Forever

pairing: takami keigo x fem! reader

warnings: slight angst, cursing

word count: 6,015

note: It has been one (1) day, and I am already back. however, I apologize to my sinners, but there is nothing nsfw about this. I am the biggest simp for keigo and when this idea popped in my head I just had to write it out. Fun fact: my psych class got a peek of this because I accidentally closed tabs while sharing my screen during a zoom conference :) I’ve never wanted to die more.

summary: keigo begins acting weird after the two of you attend a friend’s wedding.

°✩❇✩°

The aroma of soft citrus fills the air as you carefully spray some of your perfume at the juncture of your neck. With a delicate whiff, you take in the scent, enjoying the smell of fresh lemon and the tiniest hint of vanilla. Strong arms come up behind you, wrapping around your waist, pressing your back flush against a lean chest.

With a giggle, you paw at the arms. “Keigo, you’re going to wrinkle my dress!” You shout, attempting to pry his figure away from you.

Your stubborn lover nuzzles his face into your neck, his scruff slightly tickling you. “But you smell so fucking good,” He groans. You can feel his teasing grin against your soft skin, his hot breath fanning against you.

“If you keep this up, we’re going to be late.” You warn, a pout etching its way onto your face.

The man breathes in your scent deeply before pulling away from you, his arms giving you one last squeeze to your waist. In the vanity mirror, you can see Keigo smiling at you with complete adoration, his brilliant eyes drinking you in. Your formal dress is your favorite color, and it complements your skin tone beautifully. The outfit doesn’t necessarily hug your figure, but it accentuates you in the best way possible. To Keigo, you look absolutely ethereal.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.” You hum, picking up a tube of lip gloss and looking into the mirror as you carefully apply the product.

The blonde chuckles, his playful expression never faltering. “Trust me, I have enough pictures of you to last a lifetime. But, no picture could ever do you justice.” He murmurs.

Delicate pink blossoms on your cheeks, rivaling the blush you applied earlier. “You have the audacity to say that to me while you’re standing there looking like that?”

Keigo tilts his head, bringing his hand up to adjust his suffocating tie, the fabric the same bright vermillion as his wings. His earrings glint in the fluorescents lights of your vanity. “I’m glad you like it, Doll, but this shit is so uncomfortable.” He groans, meeting your gaze in the mirror.

You smile sympathetically, pressing you’re your lips together to blend the gloss on your lips. “It’s only for a few hours, after that, I promise you won’t be in that suit for much longer.” You suggest, raising a brow.

The hero hums, placing a sweet kiss to your temple. “Remind me why we can’t just not show up and instead skip to the good part?”

“Because our friends are getting married and they want us to be there, that’s why.” You deadpan, flicking your boyfriend’s forehead.

He yelps dramatically, pulling away from you and covering his forehead. “Seriously,” You roll your eyes, clicking your tongue. “You call yourself a Pro-Hero?”

Keigo begins to pout, preparing to launch into one of his tangents. However, before he’s able to talk your ear off, his phone begins to ring. He fishes it out of his pocket, staring in surprise at the screen. “Oh! It’s the groom himself.”

The blonde answers the phone cheerily. “Kamui, having second thoughts? If you feel like bolting, I can totally drive the getaway car.”

You nearly facepalm at Keigo’s idiotic greeting but resist the urge in fear of smudging the makeup that took you hours to perfect. Silently, you work on touching-up your hair while your boyfriend speaks on the phone, his tone swiftly changing.

“Alright, calm down. Just talk to me, what’s going on?” He reassures, wings ruffling slightly as he begins to pace around the room.

The room is silent on Keigo’s end for a few moments before Keigo begins yelling into his phone. “Listen, I’m getting pissed off listening to your doubts. You’re really acting like this on the day of your fucking wedding? You should’ve thought of this shit before proposing, dumbass.” He snarls, eyes narrowing.

You immediately turn around, shooting your boyfriend a menacing glare. Being nervous is perfectly normal, especially on such an important day like this. Only when Keigo catches your downcast eyes does he seem to shrink into himself, barely noticing just how harsh his words were.

“Ah, Kamui, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that, don’t listen to a word I just said.” The blonde frantically apologizes, eyes darting around the room.

More silence passes before Keigo speaks once more. “Listen, being anxious is normal, I’m sorry for dismissing you. But I don’t think you have to worry. You’ve told me countless times just how much you love this woman. She’s the one for you.” He soothes, voice starkly different from just moments before.

After several moments, Keigo bids a goodbye before hanging up his phone. He avoids your eyes as you make your way across the room, stalking over to his timid form. “What the hell was that about?” You wonder, poking a finger into his chest.

Keigo shifts uncomfortably under your piercing gaze. “I don’t really know,” He mutters, ashamed. “I guess his doubts just didn’t make much sense to me.”

Your mouth twists into an unfriendly scowl. “I would be just as nervous as him on my wedding day!” You declare confidently. The way Keigo stiffens at the mention of marriage doesn’t go unnoticed by your watchful eye. “He has every right to be anxious. He’s promising his life to someone else today. That’s a huge deal. Cut him some slack, okay?”

You reach a hand up, cupping your lover’s cheek in your hand. He instantly leans into your touch, eyes fluttering shut at the contact. He nods his head meagerly at your request, eyes opening when you press a small kiss to his cheek. Keigo gazes down at you with conflicted eyes, a tsunami of emotions washing over him all at once.

“Is everything alright, Kei?” You question, snapping the man’s attention to you.

His first instinct is to muster up a toothy smile and say some corny joke before musing your hair, confirming that everything is fine. But he doesn’t. You know him too damn well to fall victim to such a lie. Instead, the blonde hangs his head, exhaling slowly. “I don’t know…” He trails off.

Eyes softening, you wrap your arms around his waist, enveloping the man in a comforting embrace. The thought of wrinkling your dress doesn’t even cross your mind. “Do you want to talk about it?” You ask, stroking calming circles at the base of his wings.

“Not right now, Birdie.” He sighs, savoring your touch.

The way you’re so patient with him, never forcing him to talk. The way you are so quickly able to make him feel comforted and loved. The two of you have been together for years, and yet your affection and love never ceases to surprise him. How could someone as perfect as you love a bastard such as himself?

Keigo is the first to pull away, helping you straighten your dress as he separates from you. “Well, if you ever feel like talking about it, I’ll be right here, okay?”

The blonde presses an affectionate kiss at the top of your head. “Okay.”

~~~

Loud cheers erupt through the reception as Keigo makes his way up to Endeavor, asking him for a dance. You desperately wish you had pulled out your phone in time to capture the No. 1 hero’s expression when your boyfriend so seriously extended his hand to him. The poor fiery man looked absolutely horrified and disgusted all at once.

In the end, the two men ended up sharing a very awkward and hilarious dance due to the immense pressure the crowd was putting on Endeavor to accept. As soon as Endeavor took Keigo’s hand, Present Mic, the resident DJ, immediately switched the song to something intimate and slow, which only added to the mortification of the Todoroki.

The two men sway together, awkwardly stepping on one another’s feet. Your boyfriend does his absolute best to annoy the living hell out of his fellow hero, and you have a feeling that the media is going to have a field day with this. Towards the end of the song, Keigo being Keigo, has to go out with a bang. He uses his feathers to lift up Endeavor into the sky before dropping the man, sending him plummeting down to the floor only to be caught in your boyfriend’s arms.

Laughter explodes, no guest is able to contain themselves at the sight of the No. 1 hero being carried bridal style in the arms of the winged-hero Hawks. You have no doubt that someone managed to take a video of the moment, which will most definitely end up on tomorrow’s news.

Endeavor is seething, escaping your boyfriend’s clutches as fast as possible. He gives a loud roar, screaming at Keigo, who dons a shit-eating grin. The red-haired man storms away, heading towards the bar for a much-needed drink.

You can’t contain your giggles as Keigo walks back over to you, slinging an arm around your waist. “Do I have anything to worry about?” You laugh, eyeing the blonde through your peripheral.

His smile widens. “I don’t know… Enji does have quite the ass.”

Playfully, you slap the hero’s arm before leaning up to kiss him. The two of you break away laughing, eyes gleaming under the twinkle lights decorating the venue.

Someone clears their throat, and you look towards the front of the area to see Present Mic speaking into the microphone. “After that beautiful display… it is now time for the bouquet toss! Unmarried ladies, gather round to see just who is going to be getting hitched next!”

You turn, pressing a sweet kiss to Keigo’s jaw before slithering out of his grasp. “That’s my cue,”

The blonde gulps, and his eyes drift to lock onto anything but you. He shifts in his spot a takes his bottom lip in between his teeth, nibbling slightly. You quirk your head and begin to walk back to him, preparing to ask what’s wrong. But, before you have the chance, you’re being whisked away by an eager Mt. Lady.

A small crowd of women gathers together in the middle of the dancefloor, all ready to participate in the bouquet toss. Kamui’s newlywed wife smiles at everyone before turning around, her dress swishing behind her gracefully. With a small count off, the woman throws the bundle of flowers behind her, several poorly wrapped daises flying onto the floor.

Several women dive for the flowers, some going as far as to even push others around. You halfheartedly walk forward, hands outstretched. Just as you’re about to retract your hands, the soaring flowers begin their descent right into your grasp. The sharp thorn of a rose pricks your thumb, but the shock of catching the flowers outweighs the pulsating pain.

A few people gasp, and others cheer when they see you’ve got the bouquet. Some of the women who ended up diving desperately for the flowers groan, offering meaningless congratulations. You giggle at the flowers, searching the crowd for Keigo’s expression.

You find him in the same spot where you left him, expect, his expression isn’t much of what you thought it would be. His eyes are wide, and his crimson wings twitch slightly. From that place you stand, you can see the blonde gulp, his eyes trained on his polished dress shoes. All eyes are trained on the two of you, considering it is widely known that you two have been together for quite some time.

Numerous men go up to your boyfriend and clap him on the shoulder, teasing him by saying he needs to start preparing to propose, alluding to the superstitions behind the bouquet toss. It is widely thought by many that the woman who catches the bride’s bouquet will be the next one to get married. While you don’t necessarily believe this, you can’t help but feel hurt by Keigo’s obvious discomfort. Is the thought of marrying you that repulsive?

Gingerly, you walk over to the blonde, hiding the bouquet at your side. He does his best to smile at you, the corner of his mouth twitching with visible effort. His mouth opens to make a smart comment, but all he can do is stare at you, eyes drifting to the flowers being held tightly in your grasp.

Kamui, the groom from today, walks up to the two of you, not picking up on the palpable tension. He swings an arm around Keigo’s neck and brings the man into a headlock, rubbing a fist against his head. “Look at you! Am I going to need to yell at you like you did to me on your wedding day, Hawks?” He chuckles, eyes glinting with mischief.

Keigo pales. “Uh, I don’t think there will be a need for that.” The blonde manages to choke out.

“Are you sure? Because believe me, I have a lot to say to you.” The groom teases, finally releasing your lover.

The winged man takes a moment to compose himself, readjusting his tie and straightening out his suit jacket. With one final punch to the shoulder, Kamui leaves to mingle with his new in-laws.

You toss the bouquet on the table you and Keigo had been assigned to sit. “Can you believe that?” You wryly laugh. “Some people actually believe we’re gonna get married soon just because I caught those flowers.”

Keigo quirks a brow at you, noticing how off your tone seems. He takes a breath, exhaling deeply before reaching for your hand. Your finger interlace with his, your smooth and delicate hands molding perfectly against his worn and rough ones. Keigo squeezes his hand around yours, instantly providing you with the comfort you didn’t know you needed.

He murmurs your name softly. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too, Keigo.”

~~~

Drops of water trail down from your hair, wetting your shirt and causing the cotton fabric to stick to you uncomfortably. With a groan, you get up and head towards your shared bedroom with Keigo in search of something dry to change into. You’d neglected to dry your hair after showering, and you are now very much regretting that decision.

In the corner of the room lies a stack of laundry that neither of you has worked up the motivation to put away. Languidly, you throw off your shirt and look for another one. In the pile of clothes, there are none of your items, and with one quick glance in the hamper, you realize that you have exhausted your usual sleepwear.

Shrugging, you reach for one of Keigo’s casual shirts and throw it over your form. It’s a plain black tee with a small white design near the breast. It hangs lowly on you, the sleeves slightly too big for your form.

You walk over lazily to flop onto the bed, snuggling under the plush duvet. You whip out your phone and begin to scroll randomly through social media. Meanwhile, your boyfriend is still showering. Typically, the two of you would shower together, but for some odd reason, this time Keigo decided he would conveniently be busy while you were washing up.

An article pops up on your feed, its title relating to Kamui’s wedding. The media sure does work fast, considering the wedding only ended a few hours ago.

Bored, you tap the article with your thumb. As the webpage buffers, the water shuts off in the bathroom, signaling that your boyfriend should be done.

Skimming through the article, you find that it is quite detailed. There must have been someone from the news there, despite the fact that Kamui and his wife were adamant only close friends and family attend.

The article talks about the beautiful ceremony, noting how the groom ended up sobbing while reading his vows. It, of course, also mentions Keigo’s dance with Endeavor, including a video of it taken from someone’s social media. You giggle at the sight, the memory fresh in your mind.

Behind you, Keigo drops into bed, snuggling up to your back. He rests his head in the crook of your shoulder and rests his hands on your waist, looking at your phone with you. Pressing a soft kiss to your bare shoulder where his big t-shirt had fallen from your form, the hero laughs. He sees the video of him and Endeavor playing and sighs contentedly.

As you keep reading through the editorial, now with Keigo reading with you, your breath nearly hitches when you come up to the next section of the article. A huge picture of you holding a bundle of flowers fills the screen. Behind you, Keigo shifts lightly.

Thumb swiping along the screen, you read the text under the unnecessarily huge photo.

UPCOMING HERO WEDDING?

This evening, at the wedding of Pro-Hero Kamui Woods, talks of another upcoming hero wedding have begun. Number 2 Hero Hawks has been in a longtime relationship with his girlfriend for several years, and tonight she was pictured catching the bride’s bouquet, which according to popular superstitions, means the couple will soon be married.

According to inside sources, the couple seemed ecstatic. While there are no videos available, some guests report that our beloved winged-hero expressed great joy at the sight of seeing his partner catching the flowers.

The couple has been together publicly for nearly 4 years now, but some suspect they were together for much longer before actually announcing their relationship. These two love birds have been dating even longer than Kamui and his own bride, which makes some think that a wedding is long overdue. An anonymous source we interviewed after the wedding said Hawks definitely agrees! According to them, Hawks has been on the hunt for a ring for a few months.

Stay tuned and consider subscribing to our newsletter for the best Pro-Hero news.

You snort unattractively after finishing the article. “What the fuck is this supposed to be?”

Keigo doesn’t respond, his grip on your waist faltering. You shut off your phone, placing it on the bed. Turning around, you face the blonde. “Is everything all right?”

He grits his teeth before choking back a grimace. “Yeah, of course. I just hate seeing the media make up shit about us.” He explains, rubbing the back of his neck.

Despite not fully believing the response, you accept it. “Me too,” You roll your eyes. “I can’t imagine how it must be for you, always being in the media’s eyes. I swear, I’d go insane.”

The blonde huffs, his face relaxing, grateful that you aren’t pushing him. “Yeah, it fucking sucks, but I think I’ve gotten used to it over the years. But trust me, I did want to go insane at first.”

You nod your head, stifling a yawn. Keigo smiles at you and reaches out a hand to stroke your hair. “You should go to sleep, Doll.”

You sigh at the soothing feeling of Keigo’s fingers massaging into your scalp. “So should you,”

Pursing his lips, the hero turns his head away. “I would love to, but I have a report I need to finish.” He explains, sitting up in bed.

With a groan, you take the corner of his shirt in your weak fist. “Don’t you always have someone at your agency do that for you? Just come to bed with me.” You whine.

“What are you talking about,” He teases. “I’m an independent man. I always do my own work.”

You hum, eyelids drooping. “Yeah, sure you do.”

Keigo gets up from the bed and comes around to your side, leaning down to press a kiss to your temple. “Goodnight, Birdie.”

Moments later, you slip into a dreamless sleep. Before Keigo can even exit the room, he turns around to look you over, seeing your lips parted with soft breaths and eyes closed shut. He smiles down at you softly before heading into the living room to work on his report.

When you awake the next morning, your boyfriend is already gone at work. There’s a dent in the bed next to you, so you have the comfort of knowing that he didn’t stay up all night, but it makes you uneasy that he left so early. Typically, Keigo will wait for you to wake up before heading into work, and if he’s forced to go in early, he will always send you an explanatory text message.

Except, this morning, you wake up and he’s gone with no message. You don’t want to feel paranoid, especially since this is the first time Keigo has done this, but you can’t help the sinking feeling in your stomach.

Around his break, you shoot your boyfriend a simple message, asking if he’s doing alright. For a few minutes, he simply just reads your text message. It takes a while before he responds with a confirmation that he’s doing just fine, along with a simple apology for not be able to greet you in the morning.

Quickly, you send back a message telling him it’s no problem. Feelings of guilt start to creep up on you as you wonder why you’d been so worried. It’s not like you don’t trust Keigo, but he was acting quite strangely yesterday. Was he mad at you? Is that why he left early?

You shake your head, ridding yourself of your anxious thoughts. No, your boyfriend wouldn’t do that. At the beginning of your relationship, maybe he would’ve, but over the years, you two have learned to communicate seamlessly with each other. If he was upset, he would tell you, He always does, and this time is no different.

Later in the day, you order some food and wait for Keigo to come home. He’s usually a latecomer, considering his job is more demanding than most. At first, you aren’t worried when your boyfriend isn’t home by 7:00. Although that is when he usually arrives, you remain unfazed. It’s quite likely that he just got stuck at the agency.

However, when it reaches 11:00, you start to twitch. Every few minutes, you open your phone to check for new messages, and your leg begins to bounce with anxiety as time continues to pass. Out of genuine concern, you send Keigo another message asking if he’s okay.

Your phone shows that he never even reads it. You then leave a phone call, followed by a very worried voicemail. Did something happen to him? Did he have an encounter with a particularly nasty villain? Just as you’re about to call the front desk of Keigo’s agency, the lock on your front door clicks.

In the blonde walks, his hair in disarray, no doubt from flying. You breathe a sigh of relief at the sight of him. Upon seeing you up, Keigo’s eyes fly open. It is nearly midnight, and you’re usually asleep by now. He rushes towards you.

“Doll, what are you still doing up?” He asks, pressing a hand to your cheek.

“I was worried, you never stay this late without texting me. I thought, I thought that something had happened.” You explain, words slurring together with the overwhelming need for sleep.

Keigo curses himself. “Fuck, I’m sorry. I’m fine, baby, I swear.”

You smile, eyes drooping. “Good, I don’t know what I’d do if something happened.” You managed to mumble, barely comprehensible.

The hero picks you up in his arms and holds you close to his chest as he walks to the bedroom. Carefully he places you in bed, tucking you snuggly under the covers and kissing you goodnight.

When you wake up the next morning, Keigo is gone once more. Although, this time, he’s texted you like he usually does.

This time, when he isn’t home by 10:00, you opt to go to bed without him. Faintly, you remember waking up to him coming home in the early morning, only for him to lull you back to sleep with his soothing voice.

For weeks, it’s the same thing all over again.

Keigo leaves to work before you wake up, stays late at work, and comes home after you’ve gone to sleep. The cycle is brutal, and every time you try to confront your lover about it, he skillfully avoids the question.

Unpleasant thoughts soon invade your mind, plaguing you every second of the day. Is he actually mad at you? Are you not enough anymore? Did Keigo find someone else? At night, you can’t help the tears that leak onto the mattress as you sob, wondering just what you did wrong. There must be a reason for his obscure behavior, and the only connection your brain can make is that you are somehow at fault.

You endure several weeks of avoidance before you work up the courage to confront Keigo.

Instead of going to sleep at your regular time, you stay up, waiting for him in the lounge. A blanket is wrapped tightly around you, comforting you as you wait for your boyfriend.

However, you can’t help but fall asleep as it becomes late. You spent so much energy worrying and stressing over confronting Keigo that you wore yourself out mentally.

Hours later, you awake in bed. It isn’t the time you usually wake up, far from it. The bright light of your phone nearly blinds you as you pick it up to check the time. 3:00am.

Looking next to you, Keigo isn’t in bed. There isn’t even a sign that he tried to rest, the sheets still undisturbed.

Tears threaten to fall from your watering eyes, but before you can begin to cry, you hear a noise coming from the kitchen. Gingerly, you walk out of the bedroom, rubbing sleep away from your bloodshot eyes. Sitting at the kitchen island is Keigo, in his hand an empty glass. Next to him sits a bottle of whiskey.

Immediately, Keigo looks up, having heard your light footsteps. His eyes widen at the sight of you awake at such an ungodly hour.

You sigh at him, taking the seat next to him. You snatch the glass from his hand and pour yourself a drink, downing it in one go. If you’re going to talk to him right now, you’re going to need the liquid courage.

“What’re you doing up?” He croaks out, watching as you gulp down the alcohol.

You laugh dryly. “I could ask you the same thing.”

Uncomfortable silence envelops the two of you.

It’s been weeks since the two of you have seen each other properly and had a decent conversation. Most of your interactions, as of late, have been dull and forced.

Next to you, the blonde shifts in his seat, his wings shuddering slightly. You purse your lips. Is he really that uncomfortable just being around you? The thought makes you want to scream. What the hell happened to the two of you? Where did everything go so unbelievably wrong?

Choking on a sob, you lay the glass down on the table and abruptly rise from your seat. You exit the kitchen and head to the lounge, plopping down onto the couch and burying your hands in your face.

The legs of Keigo’s stool scrape the ground as he pushes back his seat, rising to chase after you. Instantly, he’s at your side, placing a hand on your shoulder, thumb rubbing soothing circle into your exposed skin. You hate how much you nearly tremble at his touch after being denied of it for so long.

Tears stream down your face, rolling down to your chin and staining your nightshirt.

The blonde whispers your name softly. “Hey, what’s wrong,”

You look at him miserably, and immediately Keigo feels bad for asking. He absolutely knows what’s wrong, and he clenches the fist that rests at his side. Of course, he fucking knows why you’re crying. He knows because he’s the reason why.

“Keigo, I-“ You sob, taking a moment to wipe away your tears. “Did I do something wrong?”

Keigo’s heart drops, his own eyes beginning to water. Before he can even begin to express how wrong you are, you continue to talk.

“Do I not make you happy anymore?” You weep, voice breaking. “Is there someone else?”

The hero’s eyes immediately widen, and he grabs your hands, clasping them between his own. “No!” He nearly shouts.

The volume of Keigo’s voice stuns you. “I would never do something like that to you, please, believe me.” He begs, desperation lacing his voice.

You swallow heavily. “Then what is going on, Keigo? You can’t keep me in the dark anymore! I’m sorry, but I need to fucking know.”

Instantly, the blonde’s heart shatters to pieces. For a moment, he can’t even respond to you. The only thing he can manage to squeeze out is a broken, “I love you, so much.”

“You certainly have a way of showing it, then.” You snap back, eyes sharp.

“You’re the love of my life. I love you so much that sometimes it fucking hurts,” He cries, hot tears beginning to well up in his eyes.

The pure desperation and despair lining his voice is heartbreaking. You meet your boyfriend’s eyes to see that he is now crying just as much as you.

Keigo takes a deep breath, trying his best to compose himself. “You are so amazing that sometimes I can’t even believe you exist. You deserve the world and so much more… and I’m afraid that I can’t give that to you. I’m afraid that I can’t give you what you want.”

You shake your head, peering up at the broken man in front of you. “Keigo, what are you talking about? You, you give me more than I could ever ask for, more than I deserve.”

Biting his lip, Keigo turns his head away. “I want to be with you forever. I want to spend the rest of my damned life with you.” He responds firmly, turning back to look you straight in the eyes.

Color flushes to your face, and your heart skips a beat at his declaration.

“But… I can’t marry you.”

His words hit you like a physical blow. They cut deep into you, tearing you up from the inside out.

“What?” Is all you can manage to ask, eyes searching his for any sort of answer.

Keigo takes a hand to run it through his hair. “It’s not just you, I can’t marry anyone. I just fucking can’t, okay? And I’m so fucking sorry that I made you so miserable by avoiding you, but I just couldn’t bear the thought of you leaving me when you found out that I can’t get married.” He admits.

Your breathing starts to slow, as do your tears. “Keigo, what do you mean you can’t get married?”

A loud sob echoes off the walls as your boyfriend folds in on himself. He trembles against you, and you rush to wrap an arm around him. “I just can’t… there’s too much that can go wrong, and the thought of it is more terrifying than any villain I’ve ever faced.”

Tenderly, you brush a strand of blonde hair behind his hair. Shakily, Keigo continues. “My parents were ruthless drunks. They had the most dysfunctional relationship in the goddamn world, and it messed me the fuck up. As a kid, it was so damn confusing to see two people who claimed they loved each other fight and hurt each other, then to have them team up to hurt me.” He trembles, clutching onto you like a lifeline.

“Then, when my amazing parents basically sold me off to the government, I was often cared for by this other family. They were just as bad as my actual parents, if not worse. They bonded over making me miserable, hurting me helped them grow closer. It was fucking disgusting.”

You’ve heard snippets of these stories before, but Keigo would always stop himself before talking about his parents. Now, you understand why. Tears begin to fall from your eyes once more at the thought of the man you love so much being hurt by the people who were supposed to protect him.

“Not to mention, if we were to ever get married, I could never guarantee your safety. The Hero Commission hates our relationship, remember how they threatened you when we started dating? Imagine what they would do if we were to get married…” He trails off, choking back a lump in his throat.

As Keigo takes a few moments to compose himself, you bring your hand up to wipe away his tears, cupping his cheek and pressing a sweet, lingering kiss to his face. This action only seems to break him even more, as your boyfriend begins to whimper, pulling away from you.

He cries out your name in sorrow. “I’m so sorry I avoided you. I just, I didn’t know what I’d do if you left me when you found out.”

You still at his words. “Keigo, I would never leave you, not over something like this.” You explain, stunned as to why he thought you would do so.

“But, at Kamui’s wedding, you seemed so excited when you caught the bouquet, and you even talked about getting married one day.” He recalls, eyes puffy and cheeks streaked with lines of salt.

You take your lip into your mouth. “Yes, I did all of those things. But they don’t matter anymore. Not to me.”

The blonde jerks away from you. “Don’t do that! Don’t you dare sacrifice your happiness and the things you want just for me.” He stresses.

“That’s not what I’m doing at all,” You try to clarify, reaching out to the man again.

Keigo avoids your touch. “Yes, you are. You just said you’ve thought about marriage and now you’re saying it doesn’t matter? Please, save me the heartache and don’t lie.”

Frustration races through your veins at the thought that Keigo thinks you’re lying. “Okay, yes, I have thought about marriage. When I was younger, I used to imagine my wedding. In middle school, I had a Pinterest board for my dream wedding. I admit it!” You raise your voice slightly.

Keigo shrinks back at your tone and words. He almost begins to prepare for the impending, ‘this isn’t going to work out,’ but it never comes.

Instead, you force the blonde to look at you as you continue to speak. “But, even though I did all of that, it doesn’t matter to me anymore. Do you want to know why?” You ask fervently. Keigo nods slowly in response.

“It doesn’t matter anymore because I am with you. I’d be lying if I said I haven’t imagined us getting married, but now that I know it’s not what you want, I don’t care.”

Confusion flashes over your boyfriend’s face, and you recognize it immediately. “What do you mean?”

You smile softly. “I mean that as long as I’m with you, I don’t care what the hell we are. You are the love of my life, and I also want to spend the rest of my life with you. I don’t care if we spend our relationship together married or not, because as long as we are together, it doesn’t matter.”

The hero stills at your words, slowly drinking them in.

“It’s you that I want, not a wedding. I’m perfectly fine being your girlfriend for the rest of our lives as long as you and I are together.” You continue breathily, eyes searching for Keigo’s for any sort of reaction.

A few moments pass as Keigo fully digests what you’ve said. His silence nearly scares you, but all of your worries are washed away when he frantically grabs your face and pulls you into a passionate kiss full of love and fervor.

When Keigo pulls away, he leans his forehead against your, a single tear rolling down his cheek. “Fuck, I don’t deserve you. I love you so fucking much.”

You breathe out a laugh, closing your eyes. “I want to be yours, Keigo. Forever.”

The blonde chuckles against your lips, going in for a chaste kiss. “Forever doesn’t sound too bad.”

#hawks #pro hero hawks #takami keigo #bnha #mha #keigo #takami keigo x reader #hawks x reader #bnha x reader #mha x reader #reader insert #x reader #my hero academia #boke no hero academia #hawks imagine #angst

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alias-b · 4 years ago

Text

sins of my youth. 012

Billy Hargrove x OC! Evie Fenny~ Also posted to my AO3

Summary: It was common knowledge that Billy Hargrove hated Hawkins. Hated Cherry Lane. Even loathed the strange girl next door. Evie Fenny wasn’t too fond of the chaotic Cali transfer either. An awful high school tradition sparks a chain of events that changes everything, ultimately bringing two frayed souls together.

A/N: Hey all! Billy and Evie continue their strange mating ritual. TW: Mentions of past abuse and student/teacher relationship. Heavy petting. SMUT. Phone sex. ;)

TAG LIST OPEN. Chat with me if you have the time xoxo

Chapter 12: Cupid and Psyche

Evie groaned the next time she woke.

Pain blared like the morning sun streaming on her face. Flames licking supple cheeks.

Billy gone in the bed upon turning over.

His scent apparent all over her damn sheets. Seeped into the pillows. Aramis. Hairspray. Paco Rabanne Pour Homme. Evie wondered if Billy liked to leave parts of himself where he goes. An impression similar to hands in wet concrete.

Sometimes a warm body pressed up against you was the only thing reminding you that you were here.

She curled around his pillow to inhale. Felt butterflies flutter her stomach. Landing on delicate organs to decorate them in jewel toned wings. Iridescent glows that washed harsh reds away.

Evie wondered what it would be like to crystallize. Utterly.

Feet touched the floor to leave such fantasies aside. Those butterflies decayed upon seeing her face in the mirror. Hissing, fingertips gingerly touched the skin on fire. Upset welts around her puffy eye. Lungs gave a shudder before Evie was scrambling to replace the emptiness.

Needy fingers went for her drawer and pulled out a box labeled “FB + EF.” Pushed all the way in back hidden under sheer and lacy panties. Hands clicked around the little pieces of jewelry she wasn’t able to wear in the open until she lifted a brooch to the light. A sparkling ladybug.

Fredrick got for her during the first month of that magical summer. They went to some dirty adult party three cities away where people in their twenties and thirties were doing cocaine out in the open. Evie shared a tab of acid with Fredrick that unlocked her entire psyche. Draped herself into him to watch colors spin along the TV. Felt his hand palm her breast before they found a room.

“Do you think I’m fat?” Evie asked between kisses, coming down from her trip and sweltering with heat. Trembling too hard.

“What?” He actually laughed into her mouth, came out and pulled her body flush. “You’re not fat, love, you’re so beautiful.”

At the time, Evie wasn’t sure how that answer made her feel worse.

But, the lady bug pin was now scuttling into her stomach. She nearly broke the drawer with her clenched fists pushing it down.

Exhale.

Oh, how she moaned like a wanting slut that night. Rode Fredrick hard and turned over afterward for him. Started to cry when he tried to take her home afterwards because she didn’t want to go.

Didn't want the dreaming to end. She wanted to stay wrapped up in him forever.

It was their first fight. He screamed she was being a child and manipulating him. They both shouted about telling her mother the truth.

Evie really started to sob that she hated him and he just held her wrists and kissed her deeply. Softened suddenly as she fell into his arms. Told her she was too pretty to be so upset. That she had a hold on him. That he was starting to fall deeply and madly in love with her.

And that made her feel like a god.

They ended up back at his place. Evie got home the next day to Mona hiding her pack of smokes behind a picture of Dolly Parton. Not asking where her daughter had been all night. Just said to get ready for her next talent show.

Hungover, Evie still won the prize money that went into some new clothes, her future fund, and fresh paint for the salon. Talent scouts cooed to keep growing.

“Evie!” A knock startled her daydreams. The drawer smacked shut. Heather poked her face in and frowned. “Oh, honey...you need some more ice on that. We made pancakes.”

“We?”

“Steve and I. Billy went home to shower, he had to give Max a ride somewhere. Come on, eat some breakfast.”

Evie changed, rubbing her throat on the way out. Steve blinked at her and tried not to wince.

“I know it’s not pretty.” Evie pressed her lips.

“You saw me after Hargrove kicked my ass.” Steve reached over the little island counter to give her chin this encouraging tap. Darling smile curling. Heather put a big plate down so Evie slid onto a stool.

“Thanks, sorry I passed out last night.”

“Ice cream will be a good pick me up later.” Heather kissed Evie’s good side. “Want us to stick around today?”

“Ah, we can hang out tonight. I gotta clean up and I wanted to go talk to Billy about something.” Evie took a bite and sighed. Steve and Heather exchanged looks. “Nothing happened. Perverts.”

A beat before laughter erupted. It felt so needed this hour

** ** **

Evie tried to use makeup to cover the easier welts. Felt useless with her eye socket the size and color of Jupiter. A huff before she flicked a brush aside and stood. She left Blue on the couch before venturing out. Frost and slush marked the unforgiving winter outside. Evie had waited until Neil’s car left and crossed over. Knocked.

Susan poked her head out.

“Oh, Evie, I... Dear, what happened?” Susan’s wedding ring caught the light as she touched her lips with worry. Red hair piled up upon her head and a sea foam sweater dress.

“I slipped on the ice.” Lashes batted. “Sorry, I caught you in the middle of something.”

“No, I was unpacking the last few boxes in our garage. Shifting some furniture. Think we’re finally moved in. I was just going to change and catch the bus, our shelves are bare.” Susan held the door back.

“I was here to see Billy, is he…?” Evie trailed off when she heard it. The blasting music from the farthest bedroom. Shut tight.

“Yes, in his room. Evie, he’s… He’s in a mood and might not come out.”

“A mood?” Evie studied the woman. Thin hands clasping so hard that they paled.

“Maybe a friendly face will be good.” Susan decided, not convinced but too polite to turn Evie away now. “Go on ahead.”

It appeared Max was out with friends. Susan disappeared into the kitchen after gesturing so Evie crossed down the hallway. Knocked and wasn’t heard. Pounded harder.

“I’m busy, Susan!” Came the bark.

“Not Susan.” Evie shot right back. There was a curse before some scrambling and the door yanked open. Billy in a white tank tucked into some jeans with grey socks. Lax. Chain shifting as he breathed. “You look real busy.”

Eyes screwed up at her. Seemingly irritated.

“What are you doing here?”

“You left, I just...wanted to hang out. Talk, I mean.” Her feet shuffled before she matched his taller posture. Chin lifting.

“Getting clingy on me.”

“As if you have any business talking about that.” She joked, arms crossing.

“I spent the night in your bed. We shot the shit, I’m not your boyfriend.” His clipped tone etched some surprise over Evie’s face.

“Okay, asshole, when and where did I ask if you wanted to be my damn boyfriend? You going to ease up a little bit? I don’t need that.” Evie flared and he sucked in his cheeks before pulling her into his room and shutting the door. “The fuck is your problem all the sudden?”

Billy had gone to turn the music down a bit, head craning to see her pressed into his door. One of his hands was idly rubbing his ribs. Some of their anger died. A tense expression crossed his face.

Evie realized she’d never really seen the inside of his room. Smelled like Billy. Smoke, hairspray, and cologne. Random plates and beer cans with smashed cigarette buds. A little vanity made of crates. Near empty shelves. Weights laying round. Laundry mostly in a basket propped up in the corner. Curtains that were really clipped up sheets. Something somber about it all. Like nothing was his. Like he had to make the space livable. Bearable.

“I don’t plan for guests.” He plucked up a pack of cigarettes.

“Bullshit, I see girls climbing in and out of your window.” Evie lightened the tension. Billy hitched as if he might chuckle. Felt guilty instead.

“Well, help yourself to a seat.” Billy kicked back into a beaten brown couch so Evie nudged her shoes aside and joined him on the other end. “Well?” He lit himself a smoke and scratched his chin, eyes on the window.

“About last night, that stuff I said...”

“Weren’t drunk so you can’t take it back.” The white hot cherry pointed to her.

“I’m just saying," Evie gestured at air, "it was a lot.”

“Me beating the fuck out of our second period teacher was a lot.” Billy got his cigarette snatched before he plucked it back. “Think of your pretty voice, yeah?”

Evie pouted, made this rumbling sound at him before she sat back.

It clicked in Billy’s head.

“You’re looking to drown your sorrows. Finally something I can really help with.” Billy reached over the couch and came up with a bottle of amber liquid. There was an unmistakable sound of the front door closing, signalling Susan had left.

“Heather and Steve wouldn’t approve.” Evie took the bottle anyways. Gulped.

“Easy, jesus.” Billy drank after. One quick swig. Watched her bring her legs up to cross them. Leggings and a thick, violet sweater with wool socks. Curls spilling. “Small drinks, don’t be an idiot.”

“Strong words from you.” She sipped that time. Savored the woody burn as it went down.

“Don’t I know it?” He puffed. Evie offered him the bottle and sighed, relaxing before she spoke.

“Did Fredrick cry when you hit him?”

“Like a bitch.” Billy exhaled smoke. “Drove past his place after I dropped Max off at her friend’s. Cleared the fuck out.”

“Oh.” It still ached. This person who touched her life was suddenly gone. Maybe never to return. Like her father. It should have been a fucking comfort and instead everything ugly swimming under Evie’s skin pushed to the surface.

“Did you like it?” A whisper.

“I always do.” He spoke, drank about it. Evie thought back to leveling Tannen’s face. Silently agreed. Wondered when he would break his chains to get revenge.

“Do you think I’m fat?” Her tone droned next.

“Why are you asking me stupid questions, Evie?” Billy’s cigarette was hanging lazily from his lips. Bold, crystalline eyes appeared bored at her as an arm came up on the couch. She blinked at him.

Evie liked that reply. She was fat. She was pretty, too. She hoped. They can coexist. Billy could just be crass about it. Obscene.

She enjoyed that about him, too. Even if she wouldn't admit it.

“Do you think about fucking me when you masturbate?” She said in the same controlled tone.

Billy choked, almost inhaling his lit stick, and spit it on the floor. Still coughing, his head snapped with bulging eyes. Stepping on the cigarette to kick it under the beaten sofa.

Pride swelled.

“What the fuck, Evie?” He set the liquor aside. Evie was on her feet lightning quick so he got up also. Just as quick. “Hey, why’d you come here?”

She had the door open when his palm smacked it shut. Evie spun there, pressed between him and the wood. Billy breathing into her space. One arm still outstretched. Too intent.

Evie thought for a moment, she heard his pulse begin to race.

Her heavy eyes flashed at him. Waiting there for something to crack.

And then trembling fingers dipped and clicked the lock on the doorknob without breaking eye contact.

This shrewd look crossed his eyes. Filled his whole expression with neon light.

God damn, he was just too beautiful. Stunning like ethereal Cupid about to revive Psyche with true love's kiss after their trials. Wings unfurling all delicate and feathery. They both crystallized.

“I should go.” Evie said without trying. Not moving an inch. Billy dropped his arms and stepped back to see her. Flicking his eyes before he let his light burn. Leaned forward and bit the inside of his cheek. A rasp.

“Take your fucking clothes off.”

Evie threw herself at him.

Knocked Billy back into the bed while their lips collided. The boy caught fire. He pushed her to turn them over. Already shoving between her legs. So hard, he figured he might blow his load right there. Evie’s lips on his neck made it worse. Made him moan until his leg shook like a dog’s would.

Yeah, it had been awhile.

“Fuck.” Billy pulled up, left Evie pawing for him. Fingers under her sweater to yank.

“Wait.” Evie gasped out so he stopped. All her fervor hid under the bed. Unable to meet those eyes.

“What?” Billy sat back on his knees. “Scared I won’t like what I see?”

“It’s too bright in here.” She turned to let the sheets fall over the blinds. Went for the other.

“Leave some light. Wanna see you.” Billy batted his lashes as he said that. Made her melt. Quickly, he pulled his own shirt off. Flashed the reason for all this anger earlier. Splotchy bruises along his ribs where Neil’s knuckles pushed in for whatever reason he picked that morning.

Evie paused to see them. Saw Billy’s rock hard chest sink in. Reached out and got her wrist snatched. Gentle as can be.

“Don’t worry about it.” His eyes averted.

“Don’t worry about mine.” Evie asked so Billy cupped her face and pushed her back into the sheets. She paused only to sit up and remove her top. Covered in fracturing rosy marks across fleshy curves. Before she had a chance to get insecure, Billy cut in.

“Leggings, too.” He winked, snapping the fabric. She scowled instead.

“You first.” Evie undid the loop of his belt, teeth tugging at her bottom lip as she did. Billy felt himself shudder. Stood up so she followed.

They stared at each other. Didn’t touch and undressed there in the too soft lights down to their underwear.

Billy’s eyes followed the swell of her breasts. Everything about Evie was plush. Dark curls hung over her shoulders. Really looked like a twisting goddess from a painting. She had her hands in front of her stomach and dropped them when he crossed. Inching her back into the wall.

A hand cupped her jaw before their lips opened. Arms went around his shoulders. Unafraid that he was looking at her in daylight.

Alive. Both of them felt alive.

Billy pressed further, let their bodies melt together. Tested how she felt against him. Flesh on flesh.

Several sensations erupted the moment his mouth was on her neck. Clouds bursting with rain. Fireworks splashing the night sky. Petals unfurled within Evie’s stomach. Gemstones grew out to crystallize. She wondered how pretty she’d be if Billy took a chisel to her flesh. Cracked the shell open. She ran her hands over his arms and felt the soft hairs there. Pulled him even in closer.

Fingers slid one bra strap down. Evie coaxed him further with digits woven into golden curls. Maybe Billy had a point about her being molten because she was about to spill hot between his fingers.

He came up. Moaned into her mouth. Palms gripping at flesh. Like he had to feel all of her at once. Evie bit her lip, neck craning back so he could inch lower again.

Billy Hargrove is about to fuck me, she could have giggled, and I’m going to fuck him hard and thoughtlessly.

She hitched a gasp just as his fingertips inched into cotton panties. Got ready to pull him back into bed.

Billy’s head lifted. The earring dangled almost violently when a door slammed. Evie’s dreams were sent scattering before they frozen together. Marble.

Water pouring over red hot iron to elicit the tempering sizzle.

“Fuck.” Billy recognized the sound. “Fuck. My dad.” He kept saying, pushing Evie’s clothing at her. “You need to go. Out the window.”

“What?” Evie barely had time to get dressed while he helped her. Both of them bursting at the seams. Billy yanked his jeans up and got the window open. Guided Evie over it as she was still forcing her sweater on.

“Billy!” Came a bark at the front of the house. Stomping followed. Evie plopped into the snowy grass with a groan as Billy dropped her shoes into her lap. Evie scrambled back up around the back of her house. Slammed the door and fell back against it like she had to hide too.

Lungs sputtered.

“What the fuck?” Her cheeks were an obscene cherry shade. She felt Billy all over her. Ached all between her thighs even in wet clothing. Huffed because she was unfucked and her sweater was inside out. “Shit.” Evie scrambled to her bedroom. Blue scuttled out to a food dish as Evie jerked the curtain open. Couldn’t see anything in Billy’s room.

Her phone rang.

“Yes?” A cry into the receiver.

“Cute that you worried for me.” Cool and even. Almost macho.

She puffed, sinking.

“Shut up.”

“Guess my dad’s beer run wasn’t as long as I thought.” Billy blew air out his lips. “Was hoping he’d be working today. They cut his hours down this week for some reason. Made him real fucking happy.”

“Come over here.”

“No, I’m locked in for playing my music too loud and for being disrespectful this morning. Gotta wait till later, he’ll get drunk enough and forget.” Billy reclined on his bed. Something horrible there because he was used to this. Music was playing softer behind him. Mingling with Neil in the living room watching some show play on. “You’re...intense.” His blase attitude and joke almost set Evie at ease. She fell into bed, eyes rolling.

“Uh. So, are you." A beat. "...Were you surprised?”

“Yeah, actually. I had you figured for a shy, little birdie.”

“Everyone thinks that about me. I sing and dance. I like sex and stage lights. I get mad. I’m not shy. Maybe at times about my...but, I get over it. Women can be as intense as men in the sack, you know?” Evie sounded insulted.

“Don’t worry, I’m a quick learner.” He’d mused. “Learning new things about you every day.”

Evie couldn’t explain why that made her blush. Hard. The silky timbre of his voice lulling her into genuine security.

“Learned that I can make out your accent more when you’re sleepy, on the phone, and in lust.”

“In lust? Shut up.” She mocked. “Don’t have an accent. You probably can’t even tell the uptown and downtown accents apart in N'awlins.” Ah shit. Billy found that hilarious as Evie cringed.

“That so, N'awlins?” Billy countered. “Just say the word, bayou, for me.”

“...That’s a hard pass. Are all Cali boys this insufferable?” She rolled over to swing her legs up.

“We are, actually. But, I am the prettiest.” His smile dazzled with no one to admire it. Evie saw it in her mind and wanted to just toss him over town.

“I’ll give you that for admitting it.” A breath followed. Evie toyed with one of her curls. Tugged. “I had you all shaky there.” His tongue clicked.

“No idea what you mean.” That cheekiness she enjoyed dripped from his rich tone. “Bummed, I was this close to seeing your tits.”

“They’ll be the same later. I think. I don’t know, I always thought they were shaped funny.” Brown eyes turned to the ceiling as she rolled back. one arm behind her head.

“Later, she says. Huh. And I’ll be the judge of that. I’m a professional and I’m not picky. Any shape is good, I’m in this for the taste.”

“Sleaze.” Evie pouted and a chuckle sounded. Billy sighed. "How'd you get my number, by the way?"

"Begged it from Heather on my way out. I can be smooth." He said. “You really want me over tonight? Steve and Heather won’t approve, am I right?”

She let out an aggravated sigh and Billy smiled again to himself. Imagined that scrunchy pout she liked to make. Fingers tapping his bare stomach.

“I mean, we can…hang out. Nothing wrong with that.”

“Like you came over just now to hang out, chica?”

“I didn’t come over just for that.”

“Sure. As if you also didn’t wet your blue panties for me.”

“You’re so gross.” Evie rubbed her legs together. Remembered his hands worshiping her flesh. Her flesh that she was conditioned to hate. Adjusted the phone and licked her lips. “Don’t make me regret this.”

“I’m just saying we can easily pick up where we left off, Evie.” The name rolled sinfully from his tongue. She swallowed. Flashes of Billy across her brain. His peachy tanned skin. His gold curls. His lips kissing her.

“Remind me where that was? Landed pretty hard there when you pushed me out the window.”

“Shit, yeah. About that-”

“I get it.” Evie didn’t need to make him explain. “I didn’t land on my head. Still raw from…” Where Fredrick tossed her into the wall. They both went silent. Just listened to each other breathe. Evie gave this dreamy sigh. “I like...your arm hair and I like the way you smell.”

He laughed.

"You're a funny girl, Evie."

"It's just...that intensity you have, I don't know. You are pretty." She rubbed her face. "I don't know what I'm saying."

“Your perfume goes right to my dick. You know that, too.” His joke lightened them both again. Evie rolled her eyes. “Explains why you practically crawl into my skin at night.” Billy remembered suddenly that he’d spent two nights with Evie and hadn’t screwed her. That was a rarity.

“You snore a little. Couple of grunts. Sorta adorable.”

“Don’t even get my started on how dead silent you get.” Billy’s eyes trailed over his room. He could still smell her honey amber scent lingering. Hummed into the pillow. Obsession by Calvin Klein. Odd scent for a teen, but matching him in intensity and she wore it so subtly. All they could do was battle and weave together. Obsession and Aramis. This strange dance he was thrilled to continue.

“Never answered my question.”

“Already forgot it. Was it where we left off or what I’d do to you next?” Lips curled as her breath hitched. “Let’s see. I had you against the wall. Moaning so pretty. Lipstick smeared.”

Evie almost didn’t speak up when he paused before...

“And?”

“And I was gonna keep kissing down your tits. Get the rest of your clothes off. Tongue my way over your sweet nipples. Stomach too, I like to cover all the ground I can. See how shy you really are.” He licked his lips and Evie’s eyes got heavy.

“Not so shy when I tell you to keep going.”

“No, I guess not. Not until I push your sensitive thighs open, I bet you’d quake and purr. Blush like you clearly are now.”

Evie realized she’d been holding her breath. Didn’t even fight him. Clutching her sweater as he spoke so casually.

“It’s a real fucking tragedy. Me, waiting longer before I find out how you taste. That’s all I’m saying.” Billy’s breath was labored on the other end. “Still with me here, Angel?”

“Is...this your private line?”

Another snicker.

“Obviously. Why?” Billy had his jeans open. Bit his lip while he pooled arousal around his tip. Watched it trickle down into his stomach. Again. No reply. “Answer was yes, by the way… What you asked early if I thought about you. I do a lot. Fucking you. Eating you out. I knew you were a hair puller, we have that in common.”

“Not sure I trust you to last and get the job done with how worked up you get. All the trembling, it was kinda cute.”

“You clearly haven’t ridden my tongue.”

Fuck him.

“You have to actually stop talking to do that, Billy.” Evie laughed in the open and Billy smiled brighter, eyes crinkling. He walked into that one. Idly, she ran her fingers up her thigh. “Between you and I, I never let guys eat me out.”

Billy stopped to sit up.

“No shit?”

“It always made me nervous so I stopped them when they tried. All the mouth action comes from me.” Evie had sat up on the other end too. “I’m pretty good actually.”

“You’d let me fuck that beautiful mouth after I taste you?” He’d cooed. “Betcha that lipstick won’t look half bad on my skin since you never did start buying waterproof.”

“I guess it’s only fair.” Evie dropped her tone. “Still think you can’t handle it.”

“There’s the ego I was hoping for.” He shook his head. “But, I have to say, sweetheart, you’re missing out. That’s the real crime, not letting yourself get tongue fucked once in a while. Do you not know how to treat yourself?”

Evie mashed her face into the nearest pillow.

“I can’t stand you. I shouldn’t have said anything.” She muffled and Billy only laughed again, laying down. Imagined how cherry her lips and cheeks must have looked. Thought about tracing his thumb over her wet mouth. Smeared in slick red.

“Don’t get shy on me now. We established you weren’t.”

“It’s weird.”

“Not weird. You just let a guy kiss down and nature takes over.”

“It’s not that simple with me.”

“Sure, it is. Let me walk you through it. Take your leggings and panties off.” He licked his lips. “C’mon, we got time to kill now.” There was some shuffling.

“It’s not a big deal,” Evie undressed anyways, “it’s just...I think about the angle and guys looking up and seeing my stomach and I get freaked out.”

“Sweetheart, my mouth will be buried in your pussy, I ain’t worried about your flesh. I’m more worried about my technique. These things you get so worked up about. Guys really don’t give a shit, the good ones anyways.” His vulgarity sent these fizzles all down her nerves. Actually made her feel better. “You just...tip your head back and enjoy it. Although, I don’t mind a little praise and eye contact. Make me feel like a good boy for once.”

“And I can’t like...play with myself to help?”

“You can, but just relax and let me take over. You can trust me to make you feel good, Evie. Might be nice to give up some control.”

He had no idea that he’d hit a nail on the head.

“So, kisses. Thighs open.” Evie settled into the pillows, free hand twisted into fabric with a cool breeze on her thighs. Breasts rising. “Would you use your fingers too?”

“If you ask me sweetly.” Billy saw beads of precum all over his abdomen. Throbbed and tried not to grunt. “I’d like to. I’d like to lick my way inside you. Hold your legs open and kiss your clit until you’re begging for more. Love the view of you. Spread open and wet for me. Like how you feel.”

“You’ve never been with a girl my size.” Evie broke into his daydreams.

“You don’t know that.” He paused. It was true.

“Yes, I do, Billy.” Evie didn’t know why the thought was stark and gnawing. “I’m bigger than you. Wider. Maybe even heavier.”

“Bet, I can lift you just fine.” He rubbed his face, eyes searching. “I liked it. Touching you. I wasn’t shy about it, was I? Fucking soft. I’m not used to that against me. You’re warm and when I squeezed you against me, I wanted to throw you on my bed so fucking bad. Can't explain it.”

She went silent so he found a joke.

“If it makes you so nervous, I promise to let you suck me off after.”

“A dashing gentleman if I ever saw one.” She broke out of the nerves.

“Just think about it, Evie. You ever just take the time to appreciate how wet you made someone? Up close. It's a thrill.” Billy hitched as he palmed himself. Evie swallowed a lump.

“Are you…?”

“Am I, what?” Billy’s labored breathing made it obvious, but he wanted her to say it.

“Did I make you wet?”

“Jeans are ruined for the day.” He offered, husky under the music. “Should have risked hiding you in the closet.”

“We would have so been caught.”

“His problem.” Billy gruffed, changed the subject to work himself up. “Two clasps away from those tits. I won’t forget that.”

“Maybe I’ll play with them since you’re not here to.” She moved a hand under her sweater and Billy outright groaned.

“What do you taste like?”

“I recall you predicting heaven.” Sarcasm etched out. “It's possible you’ll find out if I’m in the mood again. I could be just now realizing this was a lapse in judgement.”

“Ah huh.” Billy gave himself a few strokes. Evie listened to him sigh too soft and husky in her ear. Pictured him atop her. Rock hard and moaning. Gorgeous like Apollo. Sun streaming upon his back. Illuminating curls.

She slid her fingers down. Hitched a sigh because she was soaked and aching.

“Would you kiss me after I sucked you off?” Evie played with herself. Let him hear the moan.

“With tongue. You could spit directly into my mouth for all I care. In fact, I might like that.” Billy hummed, tone changing to give an order. “Slip your fingers in if you haven’t already. I know what you’re doing, Evangeline.”

“You were doing it first.” Evie’s head pressed back into the pillows. She spread her legs and drew circles into herself, pressed two fingers in and moaned.

“Who’s fucking you right now, Angel?”

“Oh, you.” She was forward about that. Heart thumping. “Want your mouth and hands.”

“Told you.” His head tilted back. Tried to stay immersed in the lingering scent of her. “Play with your clit again. That’ll do until I get my tongue on you.”

Evie cursed that time. Accent lacing her tone. It made him smile brighter.

“If I had it my way, you won’t play with yourself at all. Know that? You want to get off, you just come to me and let me take care of you.”

“What a chore.” Evie sped and started to rock into her own touch.

“I’m always up to the task.”

Billy worked himself on the other end to every little mewl and sigh. Dirty talk went out the window as she gasped. Started to build herself up. Pictured Billy slicked and surrendered against cotton sheets. Stunning and batting his lashes while he opened his mouth and pumped his fist.

“Get yourself there, Angel, don’t wait for me.” He heard her curse louder and almost drop the phone back. With Billy’s little murmurs of dirty encouragement, she rubbed perfect circles. Imagined his fingers and tongue. His sly eyes and those fucking lashes. Muscles bulging hot under her grasp. Evie cried out, succumbed there and hitched to shake and shudder. Billy closed his eyes while she got off. Couldn’t wait to be the one who got her there.

“Fuck, Evie. You’re killing me.” One fists jerked up and down. Unable to get close because he was distracted with her. “I can’t...fucking shit. I was almost there a moment ago when you were here and now, ah…fucking hell.”

“Sounds like you need help.” Evie stretched like a cat against her pillows. Still trembling.

“Or another hand.” He sighed. “Or a mouth. Think about how you’d leave that red lipstick all over my dick.”

“I got an idea. If you give me shit, I’ll end you.” Evie pushed her blissful body up. “Come up to the window.”

“What…” Billy shoved a sheet aside to see her. Out of breath and curls sticking all over. Blushed and fucked. Gorgeous. “What are you doing?” He was still slowly jerking himself to keep the momentum. Evie looked around the grass and shrubbery. Rolled her eyes before lifting up her shirt and moving the bra down.

Billy’s mouth dropped along with his phone so she giggled as he disappeared to grab it.

“Fuck!” Billy caught himself and returned.

“Are they everything you pictured?” She bit her lip and winked. He was dead intent on her tits. Mouth open. Working himself harder.

“Push them against the window.”

Her hard, dark rosy nipples pressed there and Billy moaned. Wished he had them in his hands. Wished he would fuck her mouth and shoot his load on them.

“Yes, Evie, fuck.” He submitted. Almost sounded like a zombie. Under her spell. Typical boy. Working himself until… “Gonna cum.” Strings of release hit the wall as Billy dropped the phone again to finish. Evie still heard his muffled moans on the end and brought herself back down, giggling at the same time Billy fell into his pillows.

“Did I lose you, Billy?”

“No, but if you could pick my balls up off the floor, that’d be great.” He puffed and felt around for a tee to clean up with. “Okay. I’m gonna say this. We’re going to fuck. Hear me? I am going to fuck you. Can’t today. But, it's happening.”

“So certain. What, are you spent already?”

“Not gonna plan that far, we hang out as you say...and see what happens.” He caught his breath. “Can’t do it here and your two guards are going to be on you this week.”

“You thought awhile about this.” Evie licked her lips, still fixing her bra in place. “Maybe my common sense comes back.”

“Maybe you admit you’re warming up to me again. Sizzling fuse.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Evie rose out of bed and paused to sigh. Tone shifting. "Billy?"

"Hm?"

“What if he comes back?”

“He’s scared. He won’t. I stopped him.”

“I feel like I’m going to be constantly looking over my shoulder. You know?” Evie didn't want to touch the floor again.

“Then, I guess I know where to stand for your attention.” His quip had Evie biting her lip. Roses bloomed up her thighs and cheeks. “I also left my number under your lamp, by the way. Use it.”

Evie blinked and lifted it to see a torn slip with his handwriting. Slippery bastard.

“Yeah, I got it.” She bit back a smile. “I’ll...ah, see you later, Billy.”

“Yes, you will.” He paused. “One more question. More of a courtesy.”

“What?”

“Preferred method of birth control? Have a couple rubbers. I’m clean, by the way. But, are you an in or out type of girl?”

“Also clean. And I’m an avid user of the pill, smartass. Use that information however you like.” She hung up, leaving Billy to laugh on the other end. He brought the phone away, still so stupid happy. Dreaming himself away.

Psyche went through so many trials for Cupid. Billy wondered about the after. About Eros picking up some trials of his own to keep a girl that tangled him so ardently. About how it felt worth it down to the beating core. All’s fair...

Evangeline Fenny might really be the end of him.

~~~~~~~~~~

Thanks for tuning in!! That was actually my first full phone sex scene, it's so fun to write these two and their weird dance. I just love them more by the chp. xx Stay and chat with me if you can! As is open :)

TAGGED:: @80sbxtch @nottherightseason @orxhidshavana @alagalaska @alongcamedolly @kellyk-chan @10blurredsmoke10 @stanley--barber @charmed-asylum @unmistakablyunknown

#billy hargrove #Billy hargrove x oc #Billy Hargrove imagine #billy hargrove smut #billy hargrove fanfiction #billy hargrove fic #mine #writing #SOMY #Angel Fenny #billy x angel

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sonickedtrowel · 4 years ago

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1, 2, 4, 10, 20!!

Tell us about your current project(s) – what’s it about, how’s progress, what do you love most about it?

Oh boy so I’m sure I must have mentioned it at some point but I won’t turn down a chance to ramble about it again: me and @regalpotato are working on a Day of the Doctor rewrite and I’m pretty psyched about it! Basically, Eight is there rather than War (although War does make an appearance!) and also River is there, because Duh, and there are other Things going on that are different from the episode/novel, but that’s spoilers and also still partially cooking in my brain, lol. It’s at 11k-ish right now but still pretty early in the story, too early to probably say what I will love most. But I’m having a ton of fun with it, especially the dialogue, and currently torturing Ten in every way I can think of. You know, lovingly torturing. For the most part.

That is the really big thing I’m excited about, but I do still have two prompts left from a couple weeks back (I didn’t forget you, anons!) and those are milling around in my head too waiting for inspiration to strike. 2. Tell us about what you’re most looking forward to writing – in your current project, or a future project

No secret that I love writing multi-Doctor / River stories, and in fact having somewhat recently finished an 8 and 11 / River fic I will have to be on my toes to not repeat myself too much haha. But I just love getting everyone together and letting them yell at each other for a while - the best honestly - and then later we get Revealing Conversations about Feelings, as well as POV changing chapters. Not to overhype it but! I think it’s gonna be fun! Putting the rest under a cut because I am long-winded lol.

4. Share a sentence or paragraph from your writing that you’re really proud of (explain why, if you like)

Hmmm I’ll pick something I like from the WIP that’s all my writing - this is from Night of the Doctor with Eight and Ohila, but it’s diverged from the original script here and iirc pretty much all new dialogue for Eight. I don’t normally write this sort of Doctor speech because I’m usually doing romance, but I can hear Paul McGann righteously shouting/soliloquizing in my head so I’m pretty happy with it: *** “What would you have me do?” the Doctor hissed. “What does your broken prophecy foretell? That I become one more loyal soldier in Gallifrey’s glorious army? I can join this fight and take a thousand lives, die a thousand deaths, and this war will still go on. The universe doesn’t need another soldier!” “Not a soldier,” said the Sister, “a warrior, with the power you’ve refused to wield. You could have destroyed the Daleks before they were even created.” “Yes, I could have done. And I didn’t, because I have no right! Whatever it is you think you can turn me into, Sister, you’ll continue to be disappointed. Because there’s one person who is always needed in a war: a good doctor, willing to help whomever they can. No matter if they’re despised, or called traitor— no matter who they lose or how many times they fail! There will always be more lives to save, and I’ll be there, helping, wherever I can. I only hope I’m strong enough to carry on doing it half as well as another doctor I knew.” ***

(Yes of course we have Liv Chenka references!) 10. How would you describe your writing process? It takes me forever to get ideas, but once I have a sort of general amorphous direction for the story and an emotional starting point for the characters, I just jump in. And then I keep getting shower thoughts about more and more stuff happening and what was supposed to just be some fun fluff starts growing a plot and getting wildly out of hand and this is just my life. I am very much not in control. 20. Tell us the meta about your writing that you really want to ramble to people about (symbolism you’ve included, character or relationship development that you love, hidden references, callbacks or clues for future scenes?) Ohhhh this is such a good question! Definitely going with There is a love I reminisce because there’s a lot going on under the surface in that fic and not all of it stated super explicitly. So um, huge spoilers below if you haven’t read it!

Manhattan and Trenzalore (both times) are essentially retconned, through a combination of River’s innate abilities and Eleven going around the timeline trying to do better after being confronted with his shortcomings in TNOTD. How the Doctor survived Utah is explained and it’s not because he was in a stupid robot. It spawns an implied post-Library reunion with River, Eleven and the Doctor’s oft-referenced and never quantified or named children from Gallifrey. It implies a different resolution to the Hybrid thing and an alternate series 10. And of course it uses BF’s far-superior Ravenous 4 plot twist to preemptively annihilate the timeless children crap, and a combination of Ravenous 4 and Doom Coalition 4 to make River basically a time goddess. But maybe my favorite thing was giving life to this headcanon of mine. IT CANNOT BE REFUTED! They’ve never said ANYTHING specific about his family so it’s free real estate baby!

*** “Yes, sorry to harp on about this, honey, but I think we can discuss the regeneration semantics later,” River cut in. “You’re saying I came back from your future to your distant past and just… stayed?”

“Well… yes, I think so. There were certain things we couldn’t discuss. I had always just assumed that I’d reached the end of my last regeneration and you weren’t too pleased with that, so… You know, describing it now, it does seem very irresponsible. But I don’t recall having any complaints.”

“No, I shouldn’t think you would.” River smiled, but her mind was racing. “How would that even work? Eventually, we’d come back round to when we first met on your end, and what, I wipe myself out of your memories? Selectively, for your entire lifetime? I think you might notice a little thing like that.”

“I suppose you must have had a plan for it, but I can’t remember it now. I just remember the two of us, together through the centuries.” He smiled fondly and River felt like the ache in her chest would strangle her. “I remember our family.”

“Our what?” she cried, as the older Doctor had a sudden choking fit.

“Our family. Our children and…” Dread slowly dawned on the young Doctor’s sweet face. “Oh, please, no,” he whispered. “Don’t tell me they’re… No, this happened! It happened in both versions of my memories!” He looked to his older self, panic-stricken. “Tell me you remember!”

“You had a family,” River soothed, as Babyface stumbled over his own tongue. “It just wasn’t with me.”

“What?” he laughed incredulously. “Who else would it be?”

“Your first wife, sweetie. I’m your second. Well, the second one that counts.”

“No, that’s— I’m sorry, that’s nonsense.” He turned to the older Doctor again. “You can’t tell her, is that it? Because she hasn’t done it yet? I’m sorry, River, maybe I shouldn’t have—”

“No!” Babyface shouted, finally collecting himself. “Yes, we— I had a family, on Gallifrey, before I ever left. River wasn’t there, obviously, because that’s not how anything works!”

“Who, then?” the young Doctor demanded. “Who was your first wife?”

“I— I— she was—” He opened and closed his mouth silently, looking increasingly horrified.

“You don’t like to talk about it,” River explained. “She passed away.”

“Yes, but just between me and myself,” the young Doctor pressed on with an utter absence of tact that made it easier than ever to see this was the same man before her, “who was she? And your children, what were their names?”

River hesitated, watching as the older Doctor wrestled with himself. These were details not even she had ever asked him for. She knew the general outline, of course, and that was enough. It was a hurt so deep and so impossibly ancient, she couldn’t truly imagine how distant it must be for him now. No sense in forcing him to open that door and dwell on it again.

“I, I don’t,” he finally muttered, looking almost fearful, “I don’t talk about it. I don’t think about it.”

“You’ve forgotten them,” the young Doctor said, voice low and furious. “How could you?”

“S-Susan,” Babyface stammered, wide-eyed. “I left Gallifrey with Susan.”

A relieved smile flashed across the young Doctor’s face. “And where did you suppose she came from?”

“No, she… I don’t…” Chair legs scraped abruptly across the tile as the older Doctor bolted up from his seat, white-faced, and stumbled back from the table.

“Doctor?” River stood, her hearts racing.

His eyes met hers for a split second, the strange terror in them sending a chill through her, and then he was gone like a shot.

“Doctor!” She made to chase after him, but his younger version was still clasping her hand.

“He’ll be fine,” he reassured her. “He’s just working it out.”

“Working it out?” she repeated, too stunned to reach out and grasp for the obvious. She turned to him in a daze. He smiled, and for a fleeting moment she fancied she could see the long contentment of a life she’d never dared dream of, etched in each little line on his older, younger face.

“I told you, River.” He laid his other hand over hers, warm and steady. “It was always you.” ***

#thank you so much for these they were great questions!!#i need to like shut up though these are such long answers lollllll #amillionmillionvoices

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shadowdianne · 4 years ago

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hello there, do you have any advice on what to do after being stabbed in the back? it's for a friend

Hello my friend. Uhm… about being stabbed in the back you say? I certainly don’t know how that could be correlated to ANYTHING on my recent posted stories. (xd)

(Don’t despair tho. How about something like… this?)

A/N In order for the right part of the actual fic being understood we need to look back to a previous written moment that is actual canon on our little story. I’ll mark when the actual moment ends and the fic starts but I’d say that it’s going to be quite obvious. If you have any doubts regarding lore and why are we doing certain things don’t hesistate on asking Xd Also, did I get it right H? Was that your tumblr, darlin’? 😉

A/N2: This happens BEFORE our current situation and backs up the reasoning behind Freya’s weakness against psychic damage and how Jericho and others have learnt to maneuver through it. In case M hasn’t sent you this one.

She wasn’t entirely risen by the voices whispering at the other side of the closed door; she didn’t truly have the memory of when she had awoken, to be honest. Just a blur of morning light and scurrying shadows that had become clearer the longer she kept her eyes open. It hurt to breathe, though, and there was a phantom pain at the height of her diaphragm: as if something had punctured it enough times for her lungs to heave.

She was surrounded by softness; the quality of the sheets that covered her good enough to make her remember the bed that had been hers back at her parents’ home and she curled her hand around a fistful of the fabric while pulling it closer to her face. The scent that permeated them, however, wasn’t the salty one from the bluffs back at her childhood home but herbs and remedies made out of lavender and night jasmine and she inhaled it as her mind kept on swirling.

There was something there though; a vacancy, a haze, that made her swallow, uncomfortable, as she heard Allura’s voice at the other side of the door. Urgent; worried. The answering one was Ireena’s; much calmer, subdued, and accompanied by a set of footsteps so light she suspected no one but someone accustomed to Jericho’s way of walking would have heard. Pressing the tip of her tongue against the back of her teeth, she focused once again on the haziness that tinted her mind.

She remembered some things; the fight against the creature. Vera’s awful way of trying to make it look towards her direction as she brandished her new sword, the one she had managed to buy from the poor merchant they had helped a few towns ago. She also remembered her own magic; feral and blue-colored, as she had called forth Sehanine’s power. The moons had shone between the clouds, their light growing brighter the longer she kept the connection open, circling her, penetrating her, filling her, until she had expelled it towards the fangs of what seemed about to devour them all.

She had heard a screech, a sound so high she had winced while wishing to have had the thought of covering her ears. And then…

Then nothing, darkness.

There had been other moments when she had felt the anguish rising up her throat, clawing its way up her flesh, ripping through her muscles. She had usually needed a few days under Jericho’s care to fully come back, complaining all the time as the tiefling tried his best to make her see that it was good to admit that she needed external help. A thought so risible that she now wanted to laugh yet again.

She could recognize a psychic attack when there was one. The numbing pain, the excruciating memory of her own alive status, the throbbing of wounds that weren’t hers but should have. She glanced down, at her fingers and the white-hued knuckles as they grasped the sheets; she was naked down them, she could feel the graze against her bare skin and, glutton as she was for punishment, she opened and peeked down, at the tattoos that were visible from her angle: starry and dark against her skin. A spill of ink against a white piece of parchment.

She skimmed her fingers from her free hand down her collarbone, reveling on the goosebumps she created on its wake. It was a strange sensation, almost as if it was something occurring to someone else, someone that was connected to her but just far enough for her mind to still feel deliciously numb. She wondered, and not for the first time, if she could keep the numbness forever, at least until she died.

Perilous thoughts, worrisome, but still ones she liked to entertain. Or, better, ones that never quite left her no matter how many times she pretended otherwise.

A sudden yell at the other side of the door, the echo of Ireena’s voice as she said something in that dialectal version of her own druid cant, made her halt, the cobwebs her thoughts were diluting as dew under the morning light. She moved her hand back up, covering herself once more and inspecting not her immediate surroundings but the room she was in.

It was one of Allura’s. Not the same she had stayed in during her first weeks back in Emon after…

After.

The bed was more spacious for once, the windows opening up to a second-level balcony and the details on mahogany made it quieter than the one filled with books and golden details she remembered from her last stay. Door at her left, closed and covered with etched sigils and a small yet probably enchanted chest at the end of the bed itself completed the room. It wasn’t much. But she suspected that had been the whole idea of leaving her alone.

She still could remember her screams and cries the first time she had opened her eyes after a psychic attack, the way her lungs had stopped as she had cried her heart out, as she had called for the gods, any gods, to take her soul and give the world back the ones that had been lost. Jericho had found her that day, mud up her knees, fingers dirty and bloody, magic dripping out of her in thick rivulets of energy that turned black everything they touched, sucking on its life-force, leaving it dry.

*“For the glory of the Twelve Allura, I merely was trying to help her!”

“I know that! But I also told you that we should wait a little bit longer before exposing her to your potion, you even said it so yourself; it’s still very early on the trials. We don’t know if it will have any consequences on her psyche…”

“Worse than the ones she has every time some kind of monster starts to thrash around on her head? Yeah, I’m sure whatever I give her will be worse than that.”

“I’m not…”

“She is awake.”*

Freya wasn’t entirely sure how Jericho always managed to known when she was awake, or how he could tell from the other side of the door but as soon as his voice filtered through the door, she jumped and went directly to the chest, sheets falling down around her as she fiddled with the lock until it opened. Inside, a new set of clothes welcomed her. Allura’s, probably, or that one friend she insisted she needed to make amends with -was it Kyma? She wasn’t sure-. Nevertheless, and despite them being maybe too tight on some places, she knew there was no point on pretending to be asleep no more after Jericho’s words. They would probably check up on her soon if she didn’t make any obvious noise and, despite the numbness and the slow realization her tongue and throat indeed felt weird, as if something akin to belladonna had been shoved into it a little while ago, she didn’t want them to worry. Or ask if she was alright.

She should have been more careful; probably. That’s what Vera would say with a scowl adorning her stupid face.

Sighing as she pulled the sleeves down her forearms as much as she fabric allowed her, she kicked the floor a few times, testing the deer-skin boots. Flexible, but the obvious scarring around the ankles told her that they had been fitted to withstand heavy armor rather than the lighter one she was accustomed to wear.

Definitely not Allura’s.

She stopped once more as the whispers at the other side of the door resumed once more, subdued and soft as if both the magician and the druid had decided that she shouldn’t know what they had been talking about until then. A potion had been mentioned. Ireena’s potion.

It wasn’t as if she didn’t trust the woman: her mentor had proven to be incredibly wise. But also succinct and not very forward if she considered she didn’t need to know apparent obvious details. And last time she had gotten a taste of belladonna…

Shivering at the burst of pain that particular memory brought with her, she walked towards the door, reaching for it, while glancing at the disarray she had left the bed in. She could always gain some more time if she made the bed, of course, but she wasn’t feeling entirely like it and she suspected there would truly be no point. Turning on the knob, she noticed the sigils glowing once before they died once again, the spell one she couldn’t quite recognize, made out of a magic she wasn’t knowledgeable of. Uncomfortable by the situation, the half-elf stepped outside the room only to be stopped once more by Jericho’s arms as the tiefling hugged her.

He smelled of leather and burned oak and there was very little else of him she was able to focus on before he took a step back, his hair in more disarray than usual as he took into her face, hands falling at his sides. At his back, still glaring at each other while seated around a table in where three teacups rested -cold, probably, due to the lack of steam rising from them- Allura and Ireena sighed at unison.

“Next time you try a new trick I’m going to tie you against a tree.”

Jericho’s voice made her glance at him once more, a smidge of a smirk on his lips despite the worry on his eyes. He was trying, that much she could tell, to appear non-fazed but they knew each other good enough and if there was something Freya hated was such obvious attempt at subterfuge. Rolling her eyes, she shoved into him friendly enough for it to be non-threatening, while she still addressed the two other occupants of the room.

“You gave me a potion?”

The air in the room froze and it became visible for a moment as the question made Ireena growl on her seat before she, too, rose. The tint on her skin seemed paler than usual, blue veins coloring her neck, bulging on her forearms, as Allura mimicked her.

“I found a way of keeping your outbursts at bay. Since you won’t stop adventuring.”

Allura crossed her arms at Ireena’s words. There it was, the protector’s need, the will Freya could recognize as it had once upon a time been hers. Not anymore though, not with the same intensity.

The ones she had longed to protect and care for were dead. But while she recognized the forlorn thoughts as the aftershock of a psychic attack the scarring pain wasn’t crippling her. Something was keeping her functional.

She swallowed, tasting the belladonna once more, the mix with it and something else, something she couldn’t quite place but in her mind it left a silver tray of magic and frozen leaves.

“What do you mean?”

[On with this!]

-.-

Jericho’s groaned as both he and Freya stepped outside Allura’s tower, the sun high and biting every shadow high-noon light couldn’t quite reach in-between the pebbles that covered the otherwise soft-looking road. His muscles were sore, wooden, and he messed up his hair always conscious of the two small horns that jutted from atop his forehead. He had barely gotten any sleep last night and the discussion and posterior conversation full of magic lingo that had happened once Freya had woken up hadn’t exactly helped to the blaring headache he had been sporting ever since he had insisted on getting the druid checked with the Archanist.

At his back, Freya sighed, eyes dull and expression contrite. The half-elf had barely spoken after Ireena had explained the tonic she had given her had been readied with a situation like the one they had suffered in mind. The first time Freya had woken up, memories, and nightmares mixing in a far too real attack, Jericho had been at loss. A feeling he didn’t quite enjoy. Not ever and especially not when Freya was involved. Knowing there were steps in place in order to evade a repeat of the moment when he had gotten a whiff of how utterly broken Freya had been due to the loss of so many calmed him. Yet, he, as always, found himself weary of the use of a tonic, a potion. He knew enough of them to know they were useful and needed and he wasn’t proud enough to lie and say that magic wasn’t something that needed to co-exist with maybe the less overt ways his own kind used but there was something there, out of his reach, that made him glance back at Freya once more as the half-elf raised her head towards the sky.

He wondered if she was thinking on transforming back on her white crow form and fly away. It was something she did sometimes when the pressure became too much and lucidity was needed. He suspected that, if it wasn’t for the bruises and ghost-like appearance the druid sported, he would have already been left with a flurry of feathers and the taste of magic at the back of his throat.

“How bad it was?”

Freya’s voice echoed as she started to walk, leaving the tower behind while starting the descend of the quite step path that curved down towards the less flamboyant part of the city. She wasn’t looking at him per se, but at her own boots, as if trying to gauge how much everything had been hit once her eyes had been blind to the world. He used that moment to take a gulp of air, reminiscing even if he quite didn’t like to at the moment where he had seen her fall.

“Not as bad as other times.” He finally answered, voice subdued. And it was true, after all. The attacks were still terrible, full of blood that wished to be spilled, but there had been a soothing-like feeling there. As if the moons that fed Freya’s magic had been conscious as well. He truly didn’t have a proper channel with Sehanine and he suspected the goddess wouldn’t truly answer him if he asked but he could guess that the deity had been there, accompanying him as he had moved among the battlefield with only one goal in mind: get Freya to safety. “But…”

“Yeah, yeah, you will tie me to a tree if I ever try to pull something like that again.”

Freya’s voice was tinted now with amusement despite the obvious tiredness in the way her muscles shagged and Jericho couldn’t do anything but smile at that as the half-elf turned and, reaching ever so carefully, arranged his hair once more, giving a quick tug to the tufts of hair closer to his horns. He always tried to play the passable human rather than the tiefling side. Most due because it aided with the blending on a city like they were and his own addiction on not being in the spotlight. However, the white-haired druid always tried to mess that ideal as much as possible, twinkle on her eyes.

“Maybe not tying but I’ll definitely think of something.” His own response was followed by his right hand as he grabbed her wrist, as gently as possible but pressuring her skin just enough. A hug that wasn’t entirely given, not with the situation they both were in.

Which made him consider the conversation he would like to have with the half-elf at some time, at some point. Not now, though, not with everything that was and were. Vera said it: He liked to play safe. No bets were ever won without knowing for a fact they would turn out profitable. He was a rogue, after all, he never liked the concept of something failing.

And, he thought as Freya bumped into him before moving away once more, that was precisely why he waited. He liked her. But, what if…?

What if.

[Enjoy the chaos. I’ll certainly will]

#the tag that keeps on giving #Freya #Disaster Party #Anonymous #wellitkindabackfired

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faee-riee · 5 years ago

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let me see your soul; pt. I

let me see your soul;

SoulMateAU! OCs

\\ where everyone sees in black and white until they meet their soulmate.

TRIGGER WARNING: A few swears, but other than that, none !

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

It was depressing, to say the least - to witness people halt in their tracks as they meet eyes with a total stranger then suddenly, sparks fly. It is a monumental moment in every person’s life: they meet their lover, they can start a family with their lover, they can turn grey with their lover. However, they obviously do not know the risks of locking eyes with their lover.

Elena rested her chin on the palm of her hand as she peeks out the window at the tops of people’s heads, trying to find a subject to illustrate. Her gaze locks onto a couple parting ways, seemingly, for good. The girl walks away as the boy stands dazed. He stares at her shrinking form until she disappears out of his life completely. He looks heartbroken and that is exactly what ignites the fire inside of her. Elena’s brows furrowed together and she gripped her stubby pencil.

What’s the point in dating another person if you know they are not the one? Were they really soulmates? Is it possible for a soulmate to be unrequited? If so, is this man really heartbroken or is he just going through the notions? Either way, it’s just more wasted time that you could be using to do something more productive. The fact that some people pretend to be, bothers me. They don’t know what heartbreak looks like; and, they should be elated that they don’t.

Elena feels her pencil snap from the pressure that has been put on it in the midst of her irritation. She doesn’t need to look down to process what happened, instead she allowed her eyes to close as she sighed in frustration, “You’re kidding me.” She opens her eyes and gets up from her task chair to walk across her studio to where she keeps her graphite pencils. Passing by the door, she glances out to see her dad’s slumped form in his armchair. Elena frowned to herself by continues to open the drawer containing her regular graphite pencils. After tugging at the handle of the drawer, she groans at how light it feels and runs her fingers through her hair before looking inside.

“Empty. Okay. This is fine,” reaching for the other drawer, “Anything is okay. I’ll make do with whatever I find.”

She prays that it is filled with graphite sticks, pencils, pens, anything - but, alas, nothing. Deflated, Elena truds back to her seat and rests her head on her desk. Her lips involuntarily assumed a pout as she thinks back to her dad - she’s never seen him look that down before. Minutes pass by before she gets up and heads to her closet. She psychs herself up as she changes to go out to buy another bulk of her art supplies. Usually, she would ask her dad to buy her art supplies when he goes out to buy groceries but he hasn’t been in the mood to go outside. The food stashed at their house has been diminishing slower than normal so they did not need to head out as often. Elena deduced that her father had not been eating properly and chastised herself for not realizing sooner. She makes his favorite foods constantly, but it’s still never enough for him to finish a bowl. At the dinner table, she would look into his eyes and see a piece of his soul missing as each day goes by. His facial expressions lost its warmth: his soft dark hair, his smile, his dimple, his laugh lines. All of them were replaced with short strokes of depression etched onto his skin. Elena hated seeing him like this, and she hated her mother even more for making him like this. She has tried to convince him to go out and meet new people, telling him that maybe there was a mistake but, this would only bring up emotions that she would rather keep subdued.

------

Her father’s eyes crinkled into slits, “No, listen to me, Elena. Your mother was my only shot. She was my person! My love! She left with all the color! This shouldn’t have happened -- no, this doesn’t happen! Who else has experienced something like this? No one! This is a predestined thing, and you know you fucked up when it turns out that you and your soulmate aren’t meant to be.”

“But dad! Who says that she was your one shot? Who says that--”

“No, Elena. Please, hear me out,” his sharp eyes softened considerably as he regarded her tense stance, “Her leaving isn’t the only thing that saddens me. It’s you.. You had to witness this, and you had to adapt to my behavior. I can no longer see the vibrant explosions of your work that you created. Your heart and soul. While you couldn’t see them the way I saw them, I saw you in your artwork. Along with that, I lost the colors of your warm brown eyes, your olive skin, your long black hair. That hurt my heart because all of those colors were you! All of them, painting or appearance.”

He let Elena process what he said and continued when he saw tears form in her eyes, knowing that she needed to hear this for her own good.

“I wasn’t able to hide the hurt and, I’ll admit, I let it get the best of me. But seeing you notice and start to use more colorless mediums that I told you about, just so I wouldn’t be sad made me realize that you had hidden yourself for my sake.,” he stood up from his chair and walked over to Elena to embrace her, “I’m sorry I got angry earlier.”

“Elena hid her face in her father’s chest, “It’s okay, dad, I’m sorry I pushed.”

“I don’t want you worrying about me like this, honey. Could you do that for me?”

“I can’t promise you that. I’m sorry.”

“I know, baby. But please try? I hate seeing you like this more than anything.”

“I’ll try my best.”

------

Elena stared at her reflection for a few more minutes and then grabbed her sketchbook before heading out into the kitchen to see which groceries she needed to buy. Okay, potatoes, carrots, chicken broth, what else..? Her dad slowly stood up, “You’re going out?”

“Yep. Ran out of some art supplies-- well, actually, all of them. But! I thought I’d restock on food while I’m out.”

Elena turned around and her dad was at the kitchen island, taking note of what was gone in the fridge, “What else do you need?”

“No, dad. Sit back down,” she pointed back to the chair and threw a playful glare at him, “I’ll be the one getting all the stuff today.”

Her dad smiled softly, “You don’t need to, I can do it. I know you don’t want to risk going outside.”

“I never said that you can’t do it,” Elena rolled her eyes, I know that you shouldn’t, “I’ve been in this house the majority of them time, that window really blocks where most of the action happens. So, I had the brilliant idea of actually putting myself in the action for once.”

She closed the fridge and smiled at him, “I’ll be fine. I’ll be out and back in no time, you wouldn’t have even known I left.”

“Why are you taking your sketchbook then?”

Elena walked over to the keyring and grabbed the spare key and put on her sunglasses, “I’ll be in the action this time, remember? I’ll do rough sketches of things and come back home to add more details.”

She walked up to her dad and stood on her tiptoes to give a kiss on his cheek then headed for the door. Once she stepped out, she realized that she actually truly missed being outdoors. While her parents were together, seeing how in love they were - it made her long to be in a relationship with someone like that. So, as a little girl, she always wanted to be outside staring at random boys around her age until she locked eyes with them. Of course, none of them were the one as she still sees in shades of black and white. Once her mother left them, she refrained from going outside as much as possible for two reasons. First being so she could stay and keep an eye on her dad to the best of her abilities, and second is to not risk ending up like him. She walked down the sidewalk until she turned onto the main road where all the businesses were. Elena waltzed through the doors of her local grocery shop and navigated herself to the vegetables. At times like this, she wondered if seeing in color would really make a difference. Words like Orange, Green, Vibrant, and Dull were just words. She knew basic things like, the sky is blue, grass is green, trees are brown, and clouds are white. But they meant nothing because she couldn’t manifest what she’s never seen. She picked up a carrot that did not look physically deformed and gave it a light squeeze to see if it was spoiled or not. Because she couldn’t rely on color, she depended on her other senses to make sure she was not buying potentially poisonous ingredients. She tossed a few more into the basket before continuing the same process with potatoes.

Elena rounded the corner into the aisle containing the chicken broth. Okay, a little rectangular carton with a picture of a chicken shouldn’t be that hard to find, right? It was. The relatively short length of the aisle seemed to drag on forever as there were multiple small rectangular boxes with a picture of a chicken. She browsed each row on the self reading the titles since she did not recall any unique features of the one they normally buy. Her walking back and forth in the same row did garner some unwanted attention.

Things like, “Poor girl, remember when we had to live like that?

“Colors really change the game.”

“Isn’t she like, twenty-one? How has she not found her soulmate?”

“I’m so glad I have you now.”

“I don’t appreciate color enough!”

They were poorly whispered around Elena. She heard every single comment, but she carried on with what she was doing until she found what she was looking for. Smiling softly to herself, she placed the chicken broth into the cart and grabbed a few more for good measure so she doesn’t ever have to do that again. She made her way to the self check-out, as she wanted to desperately get away from the eyes of those who saw her earlier, and paid for her items then immediately beelined to the exit. Elena peered into her bags to recount her items as she went through the doors only to run into a wall, effectively knocking her and her things to the ground.

A voice appeared, “I’m so sorry! Let me get those for you!”

Elena’s eyes saw a hand frantically grab for her sunglasses and her gaze couldn’t help but trail up the person’s arm until she met with this person’s eyes.

“Oh shit.”

She stared at this man’s face as it slowly started to warp into something unknown to Elena. Something new and scary - but so refresing!

“Definitely not what I thought my soulmate’s first word to me would be. But that works, too. I’m Adolfo.” He bent down to pick up the other items before he reached his hand out and patiently waited for her.

Elena’s mind wanted to start a war with her subconscious, but she put it on hold as she processed more colors becoming more saturated. She doesn’t know what she’s seeing, but she wants to see every single bit of it. It started with the color of his eyes, his skin, his hair, then it moved to the color of his shirt all the way to his shoes. Before she knew it, all her surroundings had painted themselves in all the colors known to mankind. She looked up to the sky, blue. Then to the trees, brown - her eyes went to the grass surrounding the base of the tree and jumped back up to the leaves on the tree, and green? A clearing of the throat from behind her made her take his and and jump up, apologizing profusely to the individual who wanted to get past them.

Her mind clicked and Elena whipped around to face the man who was flipping through her sketchbook, “Oh god. I said that out loud didn’t I?,” she was mortified.

He looked up and smiled, “You sure did, cutie. What’s your name?”

“I’m sorry, it just slipped out of me. I’m.. Elena.”

He cocked an eyebrow, “And that’s your real name, correct?”

“Of course! What makes you say that?”

“You hesitated.” Adolfo shut her carefully shut her sketchbook and handed it to her.

“Oh...”

“Well! Nice to meet you Elena, like I said before: I’m Adolfo. Your elated, and less talented, soulmate.”

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

Author’s Note: It’s been awhile. Writing got rusty, but with all this online learning classes, an opportunity to write more stories came up. Revised the first part got tired on the rest :p This is actually supposed to be a short story for my english class, but I think I’ll make it into a series? Who knows. Hopefully through this, I improve some more and get better ideas!

I hope that you guys are staying safe and calm. If you are struggling with something and just need to vent, I’m here if you’re comfortable with that. I won’t push. In any case, if it’s more serious (because I know that some people are in unfortunate circumstances) please, don’t hesitate to seek help. People are here for you in this time of need, and they care for you.

Below, I’ll list hotlines that you or someone you know may need:

National Suicide Prevention Lifeline: 1-800-273-8255 National Domestic Violence Hotline: 1-800-799-SAFE U.S. National Domestic Violence Hotline: (800) 799-7233 The Trevor Project: (866) 488-7386 Crisis Text Line: Text ‘START’ to 741-741 National Runaway Safeline: 800-RUNAWAY (800-786-2929) True Colors United: (212) 461-4401

Stay safe and Take care. -s.

#soulmateau #ocs #writing #story #oneshot #drabble #writing prompt #random #fluff #angst #love

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actuallyspencerreid · 6 years ago

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A Thousand Words

A/N: This is the longest thing I’ve ever done but I just didn’t want to break it into multiple parts. I really like this one and I hope you guys do too!

Requested by You already know! @mantlereid (one day Imma release all of her original requests and y’all can tell me if you think I stuck to the script or not lmao.)

Word Count: 2.7k

Tags: @the-unfortunate-fangirl @cynbx @princesswagger15 @obsessivereader36 @hearts-to-the-sky @mantlereid @dreamxcollide @qu3n-elizab3th @hiya-imthatgirl @literallyprentissstwin @bauboywonder @everyday-imfangirling @spencerreidreads @spencerreidobsessed @alixcharmedworld @writer-of-camelot @grubler

-----

The office was oddly quiet. The team had just gotten back from a case, so everyone was catching up on paperwork. Of course, you’d finished yours already because you actually like paperwork. Unfortunately though, that meant that were just fiddling your thumb. JJ had taken a few days off to be with her family and Tara was doing a psych evaluation in Chicago, so you didn’t have anyone to talk to.

Your boyfriend sat across from you, eyebrows pulled together as he filled out his reports. You grabbed your camera and snapped a few candid shots.

“Smile.”

Spencer looked up at you, irritation etched on his face. “Don’t you have paperwork to be doing?”

“I finished a few minutes ago.” You looked at him through the lens of your camera and snapped a picture. “Plus, you look so pretty when you’re focusing on things.”

You took a few more shots as his head dipped back down to focus on his paperwork. “Stop, (Y/N). I’m serious.”

“C’mon Spence, just one smile.”

“I said stop!” He startled you, slamming his pen on his desk. “Your stupid hobby isn’t helping anything! It’s not changing anything! Seven people are still dead and their killer is still on the loose! Come out from behind that camera and smell the dead roses for once!”

You could practically hear you heart beating in your chest, eyes welling with tears. Spencer never snapped, especially not at you. Everyone around you had stopped what they were doing to look up at the source of the commotion. Minding your surroundings, you swallowed thickly and stood.

“I’m sorry.” You whispered before disappearing towards the break room.

“What the hell was that?” Matt asked him quietly.

“She’s always in my face with that damn camera.” Spencer didn’t look up at his colleague, almost afraid of what he would see.

“She’s your girlfriend!” Matt was trying to keep his voice down. “Reid, we all see a lot of bad things out there. Taking photos of you and this team is how she copes with it. Sure it’s a little irritating at times, but it’s how she gets through the day.”

“You screamed at her and she’s the one who apologized.” Spencer actually looked up at Luke. “You gotta apologize man.”

“Research confirms that women tend to apologize much more frequently than men do. Recent studies have shown that this is because they feel that they commit more offenses, when in reality it’s just society dictation of what is considered offensive from men and women. Men are just as likely as women to apologize for a given offense, but their threshold for what they consider an offense is lower.”

Matt and Luke shared a look of disbelief before both rising from their seats. “You’re impossible man.”

Matt made his way to the breakroom, where he found you picking at a muffin as tears slowly fell down your face. He took a seat on next to you and placed a comforting hand on your back.

“Are you okay?”

You shook your head, reaching up to wipe your face. “You would tell me the truth, right?”

“Of course.” You looked over at him with a small smile.

“Are you guys irritated by my photography?” You were almost scared of his answer, but you needed to hear it.

His next words were hesitant. “Sometimes it feels like you’re being a touch oblivious. I don’t agree with what he did, but he’s kind of right. Pictures of us aren’t going to erase what’s going on out there.”

You nodded, standing. Wiping away the evidence of your meltdown, you took a deep breath and thanked your coworker. Matt tried to call you back, tried to reassure you, but you just thanked him and headed for Emily’s office.

“I’ve finished with my paperwork. Is it okay if I go home?”

“Of course.” She gave you a sad smile. “I heard what happened. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” You left before she could ask anymore questions. You were careful not to look at Spencer as you made your way to your desk and grabbed your things.

“(Y/N)...” he started quietly as he watched you carefully pack your camera.

“Don’t worry about it.” You bid him, Matt and Luke farewell before leaving briskly.

-----

The next day at work was quiet. JJ and Tara were still gone, so you decided to spend the day going over a few of your unsolved case files in a Penelope’s office. You were knee deep in the middle of a slasher case when Spencer stepped in.

“Garcia, can you --” He stopped when he saw you. “(Y/N). I didn’t know that you were here today. Your camera wasn’t on your desk.”

“Cold cases.” You gestured towards the board you’d set up and turned back to it, effectively cutting off the conversation. He searched his mind for something to say to you, but decided against it.

“Did you need my help, Boy Wonder?” Penelope grabbed his attention. He nodded, gathering himself to return to his task. You purposely ignored their conversation, racking your brain to connect the dots in your case.

When he left, you released the breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding.

“He’s so smart, but so dumb.” Penelope tried to make you laugh, but it didn’t help all that much. Your heart still ached after what happened yesterday. You’d spent the night alone at your apartment for the first time since you’d started dating Spencer. Getting ready for work that morning, you’d made the conscious decision to just leave your camera at home.

“He was right though.” You sat next to her, leaning your head on her shoulder. “Nothing I do is going to erase the fact that there are people out there dying. I’m an FBI agent, not Annie Leibovitz. My job is solely to stop the bad guys, not record the good ones.”

“Oh Sugar Plum.” She stroked your hair gently. “Don’t let this job make you jaded. If taking dumb pictures of these dumb people that you love is what makes you happy, then to hell with what they think. Find a new muse and move on.”

You smiled, turning to press a soft kiss to her cheek. “I love you, Penelope Garcia.”

“I know.”

-----

Leaving work that night, you tried to slip out of the office without anyone noticing. No such luck.

“Hey hot stuff!” You groaned silently as Luke drew attention to you. Turning, you gave him a strained smile. “We missed you down here today. Tara just got back from Chicago so we were gonna go pick her up from the airport and head out for a drink. You in?”

“Thanks, but I’m exhausted.” You left without another word.

He turned to Spencer, but the doctor just gave him a shrug. “I tried to talk to her. Twice. She shut me down both times.”

“Try harder.”

Spencer looked at the photo on his desk. It had been an anniversary gift from you just a few months ago. You were smiling at the camera, but he’d been looking down at you with as much love as he could feel. It wasn’t the picture that got to him so much as the frame, gold with the words “You’re My Forever” imprinted at the bottom. Sighing, he quickly gathered his stuff and ran after you.

“(Y/N)!” He reached out to stop the elevator doors from closing, slipping in next to you.

“Dr. Reid.” You addressed him quietly.

“Your place?”

“Sure.” Neither of you spoke again as you walked to your car and drove home.

“It’s a bit of a mess.” You kicked your shoes off as you stepped inside, hanging your jacket up on the back of the door.

He took your bag from you. “I’m sorry about screaming at you yesterday.”

“It’s fine.” He followed you to the bedroom.

“It’s not fine, (Y/N).” He sat on the bed as you disappeared into the closet to change. “This last case really got to me, but I shouldn’t have taken out on you. I’m sorry.”

“Forgiven.” You wouldn’t meet his eye as you stepped back into the room and began picking things up from the ground. He watched for a moment before sighing in frustration.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, Spence.”

“No something’s up.” He stepped in front of you before you could bend over again, hands on your arms. “Tell me what’s going on in that head of yours.”

“Stop pushing me Spencer!” You yanked away from him, crossing your arms over your chest protectively. “You apologized. I forgave you. What more do you want from me?”

“I want you to talk to me!” He ran his hands through his hair in exasperation. “You haven’t said more than a handful of words to me all day. No one even knew you were at work today, and when they realized that you were, they could see that you were acting weird. I’m trying to be understanding and talk, but you’re pushing me away! First the stupid pictures and now this. I don’t know why I put up with any of it!”

He stormed out. You broke, crying when you heard the front door slam. You chucked a pillow at the door with a scream. Climbing into bed, you cried yourself to sleep yet again.

-----

You woke up to the sound of your phone going off. With a groan, you reached for the device.

“Hello?”

“Hey sunshine.” Your mind perked at the smooth sound of Derek’s voice. “Want to come open your front door for me?”

“Should be unlocked.”

He hung up. You heard the door open, then heavy footsteps. There was a dip on the bed as he sat at the end. “Where’s the Kid?”

“Don’t know.” You sat up, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. “Fight last night. He left.”

“Garcia told me that you guys might be having some issues?” You sighed, nodding. “Why didn’t you call? I don’t live that far.”

“You have a family of your own to worry about.” You reach out and gave his cheek a loving pat. “Thank you for coming, but I can take care of my relationship issues.”

“Oh I’m not here because of your relationship.” He help up his phone and it took a moment for your eyes to adjust. “I’m here because I got an event reminder on my phone about a certain genius’ birthday party tonight and I came to see if his lady needed any help with set up.”

“I forgot about his party tonight!” You scrolled through the notifications on your phone, noticing the multiple messages asking if the party was still on. “Spencer hates parties anyway. Is it too late to cancel?”

“Definitely.”

You closed your eyes and fell back against the pillows. “Give me ten minutes to get dressed. Then we can go to Party City.”

-----

Spencer stared at your apartment building as the sun began to set behind him. When he’d gotten the notification on his phone that morning, he’d debating calling you about it, but decided not to. He knew he was being unfair and childish, and it was time for him to face the music.

“You’ve got a real good woman up there.” Luke stepped up next to his coworker, arm linked to Penelope’s. “Don’t lose her.”

Spencer nodded and let them walk in front of him and up to your apartment. The door was slightly ajar and he could hear music and laughter coming from inside. He was hesitant to follow Penelope and Luke inside, and they were all surprised by what they saw.

There were pictures hanging all over the walls on strings of lights. Some were candids, some were posed. As the trio moved closer to the living room, the photos got more and more recent. Spencer immediately realized that they were telling a story, their story, in chronological order. Before he turned the corner to the living room, he was stopped by the photo you’d taken yesterday of him working.

All of the chatter ceased when he stepped into the room. His eyes locked onto yours quickly.

“I’d already developed them.” You explained. “I didn’t want them to go to waste. Plus, I figured if anyone saw anything they liked, they could take them. I’m sorry if you hate it. I just wanted to do something special, I’m sorry.”

Spencer’s heart ached as his eyes swept the room. There were bigger prints framed around the room, primarily featuring him. Guilt filled his chest and he had tears in his eyes as he realized just how talented you were. Before today, you very rarely showed the pictures that you took, for fear that they weren’t as good as you thought them to be.

“I need some air.” You whispered before he could say anything, stepping away from the group and out onto the balcony.

“I’m an asshole.” His voice cracked as he looked at the team.

“Only if you stay in here.” Spencer gave Will a nod and quickly followed you out into the brisk October air.

You heard him come out. “I’m sorry if you hate it. I’ll take them all down before the night is over.”

“Don’t.” You turned to him and his heart broke when he noticed that you’d been crying. “Don’t take them down. They’re so beautiful.”

“No, you were right.” You shivered slightly, wrapping your arms around yourself. “It’s stupid and irritating.”

He stepped close and pulled you into him. “No I wasn’t. I was upset and being a jerk. What you’ve done tonight shows beauty and talent and dedication and I’m the world’s biggest idiot for not seeing that. Nothing I could ever say or do will ever being able to convey just how sorry I am for what I said to you. I don’t want you to feel like you have to hide who you are from me.”

You relaxed into him, wrapping your arms around his waist.

“I love you so much.” He kissed the top of your head as you gently swayed together.

You could have stayed there forever, but you heard the balcony door slide open a few minutes later. You both turned to see Matt standing there with a small smile.

“Were you guys planning on freezing out here or were you coming back to the party?” You both laughed.

“Give us a second.” Spencer turned back to you and pressed a soft kiss to your lips. “Thank you for my party.”

“I can’t take all the credit. Derek came and lit a fire under my ass this morning.”

“Maybe I should go in and thank him.” You laughed as your boyfriend wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. He lead you back into your apartment, where your friends were dancing around playfully.

As the night wound down, you gave everyone a tour through the photos. It helped that Spencer had an eidetic memory as he helped to fill in any story gaps that you might have missed. Everyone shared a moment of silence for Hotch, who had taken Jack on vacation a few days ago and therefore was unable to make it to the party. By the end of the night, half of your photos had disappeared.

“This party was beautiful,” JJ said as she hugged you at the door.

“The photos were amazing.” Will pressed a soft kiss to your cheek before shaking Spencer’s hand. “Might have to hire you to get some shots of the boys.”

“Anytime.”

You leaned into your boyfriend as the last of your friends left. He tried to lead you to bed, but you stopped him.

“I got you a gift, but I wanted to wait until we were alone to give it to you.” You stepped into the closet and retrieved the neatly wrapped book. Hesitantly, you handed it to him.

He very carefully unwrapped it. On the cover was the same photo of the two of you that sat on his desk, a golden SR engraved on the bottom right corner. He slowly flipped through the pages that were filled with photos of the two of you. There was small accent and captions on some of the pictures. He didn’t realize he’d been crying until a tear dropped onto the laminate page.

“This is beautiful.” He whispered as you sat next to him.

“You know what they say.” You reached up to stroke his cheek and he leaned into your hand. “A picture is worth a thousand words.”

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marshmallow-phd · 7 years ago

Text

The Experiments

Genre: Sci-Fi, Thriller, Experiment AU

Pairing: Fem!Reader x Exo (????)

Summary: You were a med school graduate who just wanted to help research cures for the world. Instead, what you got was a dream job at EXO Applied Sciences. That is, until you discover the secrets of Level Sixty-Six and the nine inhabitants that are stored down there….

Warning: Slight mention of torture, mild cussing

Part: 1 I 2 I 3 I 4 I 5 I 6 I 7 I 8 I 9 I 10 I 11 I 12 I 13 I 14 I 15 I 16 I 17 I 18 I 19 I 20 I 21 I 22 I 23 I Final

No matter what position you tossed and turned to get comfortable in, you just couldn’t fall asleep. Your brain plagued you with imagines of that soft, frightened creature you met today being whipped, beaten, and electrocuted. The looks of pain that seemed forever etched into the faces of Junmyeon and Eighty-Eight mocked you from behind your eyelids.

Frustrated, you bolted up right and threw your pillow across the room, knocking your TV that hung from the wall out of its alignment. Giving up for now, you tossed your covers off of you and stomped out of the bedroom to the kitchen. The cold night air tickled your legs, sending goosebumps up and down your skin, but you were just too exhausted to care.

After searching your cabinets for your night-time tea, hoping that would be enough to get your system to shut down for a few hours, you sat at the counter and waited for the kettle to start whistling, informing you that the water was bubbling.

You looked around your apartment in the streetlamp light that leaked in through the windows. Since you weren’t one for decorating, there wasn’t much around you. The living room had a couch and a chair, the obligatory coffee table and a standing lamp. A hip-high bookshelf held the many movies and novels you owned and you’d paid a little extra to have your TV mounted on a swivel so you could adjust it for when you were cooking in the kitchen.

A round dining table that could only fit about two people comfortably (not that you ever had guests over anyway) took over the small area to the left of the kitchen.

The walls held only about three or four pictures of your family. In the middle of them was a larger frame outlining the photograph of a beautiful curly-haired girl in her early teens with sparkling eyes and a smile bright enough to light up a rainy day.

Would she be proud of what you were doing?

The high pitched squeal of the kettle saved you for the time being from answering that question. You poured the scolding water into your favorite mug, letting the tea bag soak for a few minutes before you started sipping away.

When you were done, you rinsed out the mug and triple checked to make sure the stove was off. According to the clock on your microwave, you had about five hours before you needed to be up for work. Well, at least that was better than no sleep.

Your eyelids were already becoming heavier as you shuffled back into your room. The sheets were cold from being exposed to the fan you kept at night. Curling up as tight as you could, you willed your brain to shut off, just for a few freaking hours.

After waking up to your alarm, you couldn’t exactly say that you were well rested, but you did finally get a few hours of shut eye.

Not completely caring about how you looked, you just ran a brush through your hair before tossing on a pair of tight fitting pants and a nondescript long sleeve shirt. While Nada just preferred to change into scrubs as soon as she arrived, you couldn’t stand the scratchy feeling of the material against your skin. There wasn’t much of a dress code beyond the lab coat and that most of your skin was covered. On other floors, you’d even seen some of the guys wearing character shirts with regular jeans. You tried to stay more on the professional side, but you still liked to be comfortable.

There was nothing special about the drive to work. Most people still didn’t know how to operate a motor vehicle and should have their licenses taken away. If only they knew how to use their turn signal.

At the front desk, you waved to the receptionist who simply gave you a nod as you headed for the elevator. Marcus arrived shortly after you did. A yawn stretched out his face and he moved his head side to side to stretch out his neck as the two of you waited.

“Long night?” you asked, trying your best to make some sort of small talk to fill in the silence. It wasn’t your strong suit, casual, shallow talking, but once you got Marcus started, he mostly filled in the gaps himself.

“Just couldn’t sleep,” he answered. “I think it might be time for a new mattress.”

The elevator dinged and the two of you stepped in. Thanks to the system, you both had to swipe your badges before the door would even close.

“Have you tried memory foam?” you suggested.

“Nah, that’s too soft,” Marcus waved the thought away. “I’m not a ‘sleep on a cloud’ type person. Hey, I heard that you’re holding some sort of therapy sessions with the patients down there? How’s that going?”

“Oh.” You hadn’t realized that that bit of information had become public knowledge. “I’m honestly not quite sure. They aren’t what I expected.”

“What? No gills or tails for you?” he teased.

Unfortunately, you couldn’t find it in you to laugh along. “No, they look perfectly human.”

“Well, they are.”

Marcus’s reply surprised you. Work was not a typical conversation the two of you had and you definitely had never spoken about the men living in the basement. Marcus wasn’t a bad person, but you were still taken aback by how sympathetic he sounded towards them. Most of the guards and orderlies - really everyone who worked on level sixty-six - just thought of them as experiments. They’d been desensitized to who they were. A path you might have taken if you hadn’t fought to speak with them or ever met Sixty-One at all.

The elevator arrived before you could continue the discussion. Marcus went left to the security office while you headed for the lab. Typically when you arrived, a to-do pile was already laid out at your station, put there by Dr. Wang who always seemed to be there earlier than you and stayed later than you did. Sometimes you wondered if she lived down here as well.

Today, however, there was no such pile for you. In a bit of a panic, you searched around your designated area thinking maybe it somehow grew legs and shifted its position just to mess with you.

“Good morning, Dr. (l/n).”

The sudden appearance of Dr. Wang startled you, causing you to hit your head on the edge of the table.

Rubbing the now sore spot, you greeted, “Good morning, Dr. Wang. Are you just now getting here?”

“No,” she said. “I’ve been here a while. Are you looking for something?”

“Oh, well, um,” you glanced around one more time, making sure you really didn’t miss it. “I can’t find the work I’m supposed to do today.”

Dr. Wang smiled. “I haven’t assigned you any. I’m curious about your findings in the subjects’ psyches, so I want you to spend the next few days finishing up your initial interviews. Everything else can be held off until then.”

“Okay.” You read Dr. Wang’s face, wondering – worrying if she was catching on to your empathy for the patients. But she was giving you free reign for the next two days to talk to them without worrying about making it back to the lab in between. “Are there any that are scheduled for tests that I should be aware of?”

“Zero-Four, Ninety-Nine, and Twenty-One won’t be available until this afternoon, but there should be no problems with the others.”

That left Sixty-One open for you to interview first just like you’d hoped. You wasted no time gathering up your notebook and heading out of the lab towards the other hallway. The orderly let you right into the cell without question.

Sixty-One was awake this time, pacing back and forth the small length of his cell. At the sight of your entrance, he stopped.

“You’re back,” he said, shocked.

You were a little embarrassed at the fact that he remembered you, even though he was supposed to be in a drug-induced haze back then.

“Yes, I am,” you replied.

He folded his arms. “Are you back for more blood?”

Shaking your head, you sat down in the chair provided. “No, just to talk.”

Sixty-One frowned in confusion. “You want to talk?”

“Mhm,” you smiled, hoping he wouldn’t fight you too long. “Think of it as a first therapy session.”

“Thirteen years and they’re just now concerned if their tests have messed us up mentally?” he sneered.

“I haven’t been here the past thirteen years,” you said. He tilted his to the side, making his ears stick out even more than they already were. It was cute and it made your small, reassuring smile grow into an amused grin.

Accepting your retort, he sat down on the bed, his long legs out in front of him as he rested his arms on his knees.

“So, what exactly is it you want to dissect in my brain?”

“Tell me how you got here and what you’ve experienced so far.” It was the one question you’d been dying to know the answer to, but hadn’t felt it was appropriate with Junmyeon or Eighty-Eight. There was something different about Sixty-One. Something that wasn’t yet closed off.

“I don’t know,” he shrugged as he rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s become blurry over the years. I just remember waking up in a large room. Back then, they kept the twelve us together. Occasionally, they’d drag one of us out for testing, and we wouldn’t see them for days before they came back. No one ever remembered where they went during those times. It was terrifying and we didn’t know what to do. Only Junmyeon kept us sane. He looked out for all of us.”

You wrote down shorthand notes, taking in every little detail, making sure to catch whenever his expression changed at each memory he recalled.

“But Kris wanted to do more than just sit around and wait. So, he took Luhan and Tao and staged a revolt.” Sixty-One’s face grew angry and his eyes began to water. “Idiots. They didn’t make it far. After that, we never saw those three again and eventually we were separated. ‘For our own good.’”

A silence fell between the two of you. You weren’t sure where to go with the conversation from there. There was nothing you could say that would be comforting and, as far as he was concerned, you were part of the enemy.

“Look, Sixty-One–”

“It’s Chanyeol,” he corrected.

You smiled just a bit, his willingness to tell you his name giving you hope. “Well, Chanyeol. I know that this is frustrating.” You paused. “Do you miss them?”

He nodded. “Every day. We weren’t just strangers thrown together. We became like brothers. We looked out for each other.”

The two of you were becoming more relaxed as the time went on. He told you of how the first time his temperature spiked, he thought he was on fire. He’d panicked and fought everyone to the point where they had to sedate him for three days. From then on, he was always warm. It was something he just had to get used to and live with. Sometimes his temperature would spike out of nowhere and he’d break out in a ceaseless sweat. The doctor’s insisted that his body had adapted to the changes and he wasn’t in danger, but he didn’t believe that. “It scares me sometimes,” he admitted, “when I have an episode. I was having one the first time you came.” He gave out one short laugh, rubbing the back of his head. “Is it dumb that this is actually kind of working? I haven’t really talked to someone in almost two years.”

“No, it’s not dumb,” you reassured him. “The need to communicate and interact with other people is just part of our nature.”

He scoffed, leaning back on the bed so his back was against the wall with his arms crossed. “I think our natures are a bit different.”

“Not really. Even the lone wolf is constantly searching for a pack.”

Those large round eyes looked up at you. The corners of his lips pulled down as if he was trying to wrap his mind around something.

Your watch beeped at you and you sighed, knowing your time was up. You had to put a limit on the sessions today if you wanted to make it through them all.

“I have to go now,” you told him. Chanyeol’s eyes widened and he reached out, taking a hold of your right arm.

“No, please don’t go.”

Pity coursed through you as you took in the desperation in his eyes. Placing your free hand over his, you made him a promise.

“I’ll come back. You’ll still have someone to talk to. But now I have to talk to the others as well; your brothers.”

Seemingly comforted, he left go, nodding his head. “Goodbye, (y/n).”

“Goodbye, Chanyeol.”

You felt horrible as you left his cell and shuffled into the hallway. Maybe this wasn’t the best idea. The more you spoke with them, the more your heart hurt.

Going over the list, you tried to decide which one to visit next when you heard laughter coming from the direction of Ten’s cell. The door was just slightly ajar, letting the sound escape. Running without thinking, you stormed into the viewing room, appalled at what you saw. The laughter was coming from the orderly stationed there as he leaned back in his seat with his hands behind his head like he was watching a movie. On the other side of the glass were two guards standing on either side of Subject Ten, who was tied to the chair, shirtless.

The guards took turns cutting and stabbing at Ten’s skin, gleeful at the spilled blood. Your jaw dropped as each injury healed miraculously in front of your eyes. Ten’s face remained emotionless, staring at nothing while this torture took place. Your own blood was boiling in your veins.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

The orderly nearly fell out of his chair, just realizing you were there.

“Oh, um, we were just–”

“I don’t even want to hear whatever bullshit is about to come from your mouth,” you barked, fighting the temptation to kick him right where it would hurt the most. “Open this damn door, unless you want me to have both your job and theirs.”

“Y-yes, doctor.” He slammed his hand down on the button to unlock the door and you marched into the cell.

The first guard saw your hateful glare and dropped the knife. It hit the concrete with an ear ringing chime. As soon as the other guard saw you, he ran behind his buddy.

“Tell, me,” you said in an eerily calm voice that scared even yourself, “did you have orders to do this? Or did you think you could just get away with this?” Neither of them answered. “You’d better say one way or the other, or I’ll make sure this goes on record. How do you think Dr. Wang is going to feel about this?”

“Th-there were no orders, Ma’am,” the first one stuttered.

You raised an eyebrow. “Oh, really? Then why did you think this was okay?”

For two grown men who had almost thirty centimeters of height on you and at least an additional hundred pounds, you took in a slight amusement at their cowering.

“We were just bored,” the second guard argued.

Disgusting. Your self-control was on the verge of disintegrating. “Bored? Well, then I guess the next time I’m bored, I’ll just tie you to a chair and see where the fun is in stabbing you over and over again. Does that sound like a fair deal?”

The first guard stepped forward. “Please, ma’am–”

You held up a hand. “Save it. From now on, stay away from all the subjects. If I catch you back here, I’ll fill out every single incident form I need to in order to get you fired. Got it?”

They both nodded and hightailed it out of there.

Once alone, you knelt down and untied the ropes that held Ten captive.

“Are you okay?” you asked, staying crouched down as you glanced up at him.

He said nothing, still not looking at you. His features were pointed and smooth and you wondered what his face looked like when he smiled. Just like the others, he was in top shape and there wasn’t a single mark that would have suggested he’d just been inflicted with wounds for who knows how long.

“My name is (y/n),” you said softly. “I’m a doctor here. I know it might not mean much with what I just said, but I’m sorry. Something like this isn’t supposed to happen. And I promise it won’t ever happen again.”

Finally, he looked at you. “Are you here to take me for more tests?”

You shook your head. “No. I’m more interested in what’s in here.” You gently tapped the side of his head. “There’s no poking or prodding involved.”

“Everyone says there’s nothing up there,” he said gloomily.

“Now, I doubt that.” You tilted your head. “I think there’s a whole a treasure trove up there that’s just waiting to be found.”

Something with what you said registered with him and he gave a small, crooked grin. It was enough to reveal a previously hidden dimple in his right cheek. The revelation made him seem so childlike, you wanted to protect him even more.

“Why don’t we both sit on the floor and start our session there, hm?”

He nodded, sliding off the chair and sitting down in front of you with his legs crossed.

“Now,” you placed your notebook in your lap, pencil ready, “why don’t we start with your real name?”

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misterclandestine · 7 years ago

Photo

My Favorite Stuff from 2017

It’s been a tough one, but there was a lot of awesome stuff that made it easier. Here are some of my favorites in no particular order.

DAMN by Kendrick Lamar, Album - The World felt different once this was in it. Kenny’s 4th release proved he’s just as thoughtful, agile, and hungry as ever.

everyone’s a aliebn when ur a aliebn too by Johnny Sun, Book - You can go through this hybrid graphic novel/picture-book in one sitting, but there’s so much to chew on here that I recommend taking time with this story, which follows Jomny, a misspelling aliebn sent to earth to study human behavior. The brief, direct interactions simply, & hilariously reveal everything beautiful and tragic about what it is to be alive.

Abstract: The Art of Design, Series - This Netflix series drops you into the lives of 6 masterful creators moving through subcultures of artistry (i.e Footwear Design, Illustration, Stage Design). Each revealing their varying methods, ideas, and joys about creativity. The standout episode follows Christoph Niemann, an illustrator for the New Yorker, and his blue-collar approach to his work.

Game of Thrones: The Spoils of War, TV Series - Though this season was rushed, clumsy and arguably unrecognizable from the compelling and prestigious drama that has unprecedentedly impacted our culture, you won’t find a more gripping hour of television. You know a show is wilding out when you don’t know who the hell to even root for anymore (Get em, Drogo! Wait, not Bronn! Wait, not the incestuous child killer!)

Insecure: Season 2, TV Series - The show you didn’t know you needed. Issa Rae’s hilarious dramedy paints a picture of what it’s like to be young, ambitious, unapologetic, lonely, intelligent, sexy, successful, and losing.

Last Week Tonight with John Oliver: Season 4, TV Series - Oliver’s weekly recap simultaneously manages to be enlightening, funny, depressing, and hopeful. His takedown of Alex Jones was one of the most satisfying things I consumed all year.

Do Not Disturb by Drake, Song - the final track of More Life, a surprise ‘mixtape’, samples ‘Time’ by Snoh Alegra, and is one of his most personal songs to date. Without a chorus, he raps for 3 minutes about not needing romance, fear of irrelevancy, and the quickening passage of time. Gracefully shifting between insecurity and arrogance with dizzying fervor, Aubrey continues to capture the emotional woes of an entire generation.

Get Out, Film - Jordan Peele’s directorial film debut is the rare instant classic, and it’s not because it has one of the most crowd-pleasing endings of all time. The satirical, social commentary cloaked in the guise of a horror comedy, refuses definition, and peels back layers of race, and class previously untouched in cinema.

Melodrama by Lorde, Album - With a kajillion pounds of pressure on her shoulders to follow up one of the best pop debuts of all time, Ella delivers. She croons on top of Jack Antonoff’s unruly production about heartbreak, fame, and the feeble impact of acclaim. As one Twitterer put it “I gain an extra chromosome when the beat drops in ‘Sober II’.

mother!, Film - I can’t say I enjoyed this movie because it was the second most excruciating sit I had at the theater all year (kudos to Justice League), but it left me SHOOK. It’s clearly allegorical, but what makes it masterful is that the way you take this movie in is colored almost entirely by your own personal experiences.

Master of None: Season 2, TV Series - A perfect double-feature to Insecure (give me a shared universe where Dev and Issa are a power couple). Ansari’s relentlessly entertaining series accomplishes what every second season strives for. It tops the first, while redefining and expanding itself. The show is tirelessly committed to the experiences of ‘others’ (a deaf person, a lesbian, a non-believing muslim, service workers in NYC etc.) It’ll leave you crying, laughing, and hungry.

Split, Film - When we’re lucky, films hit ya with “SURPRISE, muthafucka” moments that Jesus himself would not see coming. Shyamalan’s second hit in a row (after a run of all time duds) ends with one 17 years in the making. The iconic villain terrifyingly played with razor-sharp swiftness by the world-class James McAvoy is the icing on the cake.

Isaiah Thomas, Athlete - If not for Russell Westbrook’s record breaking response to Kevin Durant’s betrayal, the “King in the Fourth” takes home the MVP. Watching him play through tears the day after his sister died in a car accident will stay with me forever. His 53 point performance on her birthday a few weeks later starkly reminded me of the unifying, powerful spirit of sport.

Moonlight’s Best Picture Win - I’ll begin by saying that I really liked La La Land. A month after we swore in Don, we got it wrong again… psych! I’ll never forget the roller coaster of emotion that came over me in this moment. Barry Jenkin’s tale told through 3 untraditional acts (titled ‘Little’, ‘Chiron’ & ‘Black’) was gorgeously shot, flawlessly acted, and supremely helmed. It arrived at a time we needed it most and Mahershala Ali FINALLY got his shine.

Coco, Film - We got one shot this year, and we NAILED it. This breathtaking portrait of Mexican culture demands to be seen on the big screen and illuminates the importance of dreams, family, and tradition. No manches!

‘No Man’s Land’ scene in Wonder Woman - There were two times in the theater this year that I felt that sinking drop of a roller coaster in my belly, this was one of them. Gal Gadot and Patty Jenkins must be emboldened and protected at all cost.

Woody Harrelson, Actor - The rare movie-star actor quietly had a phenomenal year, further etching the grooves of his name into Hollywood lore. His turns in The Glass Castle, The War for the Planet of the Apes, and Three Billboards in Ebbing Missouri prove he’s STILL at the top of his game. I’m shocked that his heartbreaking portrayal of a drifting, alcoholic yet whimsical and passionate father in The Glass Castle hasn’t gotten more attention.

S - Town, Podcast - The colder you go into this one, the better. All I’ll say is that you’ll step away from this one feeling some type of way about people, the feeble sustainability of the planet, and clocks.

The World Series, Sports - The. Best. Ever. After being devastated by Hurricane Harvey, the Astros grant Houstonians some restoration via their first World Series Championship in a thrilling 7-game series that was literally witnessed by the World.

The Keepers, Documentary Series- This 7 episode series documenting the varying controversies surrounding the Catholic Church left me epiphanized about what it means to remove the seemingly impenetrable powers of institutions. Targeting one single individual, or a group of individuals or an organization won’t get it done. We must take down the viral ideas themselves.

Bladerunner 2049, Film - Aside from being wondrously constructed technically (you won’t see better production design or cinematography - give Deakins his Oscar now dammit), this story about a robot serves up a surprising amount of soul. Denis Villeneuve, solidifying his auteur status, delivers a nostalgic yet entirely unique follow up to the beloved sci fi classic.

‘Throne Room’ scene in The Last Jedi - This was the other time I felt like I was falling in the theater. Despite considerable problems, Rian Johnson showed us stuff we’ve never seen before in the SW universe. It’s the showdown you dream about as a kid.

The Big Sick, film - Kumail Nanjiani’s autobiographical story of how he met his lover is sorta the woke edition of Meet The Parents. Like Dev on MON, Kumail struggles to blaze trails while upholding loyalty to family and falls in love for a white girl along the way. Ray Romano and Holly Hunter turn in a pair of the year’s best performances.

Big Little Lies, Mini Series - I resisted the marketing for this one initially: dissatisfied, rich folk in Monterey. But the re-teaming of Jean-Marc Vallée (Wild, Dallas Buyers Club, Demolition) & Reese Witherspoon seemed promising. Momentum grew with each weekly installment (I overheard people theorizing whodoneit in restaurants), which is refreshing in the Netflix age. The leads are all stellar (believe the hype about Kidman) and Zoe Kravitz proves she should be working more.

Creature Comfort by Arcade Fire, Song - A painful examination of youth that’s equally heartbreaking and melodic.

Homecoming Season 2 - The fictional podcast about the remnants of a government coverup of a failed rehabilitation program for distressed veterans makes some questionable narrative choices in it’s second season and Oscar Isaac is absent throughout most of it (likely due to a loaded schedule). He does “appear” at the end of the second episode ‘CIPHER’, in a brilliant usage of audio storytelling, and it left me in puddles.

Mindhunter, TV Series - We all know Fincher is a technical maestro, but I don’t think he gets enough credit for being a complete storyteller, which he clearly is. The 13-episode made-to-binge Netflix series based off the book by the same name follows Holden Ford, an idealistic FBI profiler, and Bill Tench, played by Holt McCallany subverting every macho character role he’s ever taken on as a highly intelligent, hardened fed, as they attempt to break ground on our understandings of serial murderers. All of Fincher’s trademarks are there with sprinkled elements of Seven, & Zodiac.

Tyler the Creator’s Tiny Desk Concert, Podcast - I enjoyed ‘Flower Boy’, but didn’t find myself returning to it. That all changed after this. In a year of fantastic TDCs (i.e: Thundercat, Chance the Rapper) Tyler’s stands out. With help from a pair of stellar background singers, his array of talents are on full display, namely: composing and orchestrating melody and harmony.

Colin Kaepernick, Athlete - it’s not about the flag or the military don’t @ me.

20th Century Women, Film - Released wide in January, it remains one of the year’s best. Set gorgeously in 1970′s Santa Barbara, Mike Mills’ deeply personal tribute to motherhood, women, & outcasts overflows with heart.

Kamala Harris, (D) CA Senator - She is so bad, can we get started on the 2020 bumper stickers now?

What Now by Sylvan Esso, Album - ‘Hey Mami’ from their 2014 debut popped up on my Pandora one day and I was IN. Amelia Meath’s angelic vocals layered over Nick Sanborn’s unpredictable production is sublime. The “Echo Mountain Sessions” include dope af live recordings of the album’s standout tracks.

Logan, Film - The Wolverine movie we deserve also features a star-making performance from Dafne Keen and an unrecognizable Professor X. With a decade between the last time he inhabited his iconic portrayal of Charles Xavier, Sir Patrick Stewart strides (wheels?) back into the role with award worthy tact.

Fargo Season 3, TV Series - The best season yet and that’s really saying something. David Thewlis is haunting as Varga, the creepiest, most frightening villain in the series’ history and a collection of top-tier thespians rounds out the rest of the cast. There’s also a moment in one of the later episodes similar to the ending of ‘Split’ that’s a real delight.

Mr. Robot Season 3, TV Series - Showrunner Sam Esmail moves us through this complex dystopia, which has begun to bear resemblance to our reality lately, with complete CTRL. We see Mr. Robot AND Bobby Canavale like never before. That oner episode is pretty cool too, but it’s not even the season’s best.

Other Notables: Patton Oswalt: Annihilation, Girls Trip, The Leftovers Season 3, Glow, Twin Peaks: The Return, Ingrid Goes West, BEAUTIFUL THUGGER GIRLS by Young Thug, Add Violence by NIN, Good Time, Stranger Things: Season 2, Legion, Dunkirk, Crashing, NO ONE EVER REALLY DIES by N.E.R.D, 4:44 by Jay-Z, Dirty John, Wind River, Dear White People

FYI: I still haven’t seen/listened to a lot of stuff, namely all the big award contending films.

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lexicalberries · 4 years ago

Conversation

me: OH MY GOD OH MY GOD

fic: Vic gave forth her sultry laugh, "Wrong, Counselor", and that made him laugh, "I'm thirty nine, cowboy."

fic: His eyes bugged out of their sockets, "There is no way in hell you're almost forty, Victoria!" He truly couldn't believe it.

fic: "Well, I ain't lying", she said with a laugh, "Ever dated an older woman before?"

fic: The look in her eye let Jason know that she was instantly interested in…getting to know him better. He was never one to rush with a woman, but in her case, he might make an exception.

me: WEEPING

me: I JUST SLAPPED MY HAND OVER MY MOUTH BECAUSE

fic: Vic was riding on top of this younger man, having not felt like this in...forever. He was young; he was strong, he was...hung like you wouldn't believe. All of it currently deep inside Vic at the moment.

fic: Gorski had never done her like this. She wouldn't even think about Sean in this category, and Eamonn and Travis couldn't compare.

fic: "Oooh, God, Jason, I wanna ride you all night, cowboy!"

me: done. her. like. this.

fic: Jason could only groan in pleasure. He had dated a few women, and had some great sex with a few, but this woman...was a women.

me: she was, indeed, a women

fic: He'd never seen a woman with such an insatiable lust, and who electrified him like Vic Moretti. The fact she was fourteen years older than he was-almost forty!-had just made it more incredible.

me: almost forty! practically ready for the old age home!

fic: Their first gyrations went on for over an hour, both showing an incredible amount of stamina as they humped and thrusted and bounced."

me: that sounds really painful?

fic: Their first mutual orgasm had literally blown the roof off of Jason's apartment

me: literally

me: i sure hope he lives on the top floor otherwise they've probably just killed his neighbours

fic: The match went six rounds that night, neither one relenting, neither one slowing down, neither one thinking about this beyond the concept of mindless fucking.

me: i mean it sounds like they're boxing? i'm so confused now.

fic: After that first night of wild gyrations, Vic had spent nearly every part of a day or night letting Jason screw her every which way.

me: people actually think this is sexy? no don't tell me. i don't want to know.

fic: As she played with his half-flaccid, distended flesh

me: on one hand, that makes no sense. on the other... ew.

me: i accidentally caught some cady/jacob action in my skimming. i regret it very much.

me: also: why do people in this fandom assume that the only guys vic's ever dated are the ones we know about on the show? i mean, she had a life before she married sean for fuck's sake.

fic: On Walt's last visit to his therapist, she had advised him that she felt he was back to where he needed to be to again become a productive citizen on Absaroka County.

me: yeah that's totally how therapy works

fic: His entire demeanor had changed in the year or so he had been going through the intense emotional and physical rebuild that he had desperately needed."

me: overhaul your engine or your psyche in one year or your money back!

fic: they had to completely tear him down, then build him back up to leave everything behind that had taken place.

me: so he's the bionic man with amnesia?

me: writing protip: making your characters' dialogue do your lengthy exposition for you is actually worse than just narrating it.

fic: After a good five minutes, Vic backed off a bit, finally speaking, "Travis..." she faltered again, I'm so sorry I lost our baby..." and Vic cried loudly again, "I'm sorry I failed you and our baby.""

me: OH MY FUCKING GOD I AM GONNA STAB A BITCH

me: in other news, everyone in this dreadful fic keeps calling her victoria. why? whyyyyyyy

fic: When they sat down, Henry grabbed Vic's hand, still twinkling at her, "I have so missed your beautiful countenance in my establishment. It is is wonderful seeing you again."

fic: Vic put her second hand on top of Henry's, "It's good to see you, my dear sweet friend."

fic: Vic's smiled left her face for a few moment, "I'm so sorry I left without saying goodbye, Henry", and once more, her guilt about the past rose in her eyes.

me: now i'm gonna barf

me: walt finished the cabin steps in season 4 NOT 5 YOU TWIT

me: my eyes are starting to hurt from rolling them so much.

fic: As they were talking, Vic noticed a glimmer in Walt's eyes that she never remembered seeing before, yet she recognized it immediately.

me: of course. because of magic.

fic: It was something deep and sincere, and with a fullness of expression that she realized was how she used to look at Walt when she realized that she was in love with the man.

me: what, did she take a selfie when she was looking at him once or something?

fic: She knew then she had always looked at him in awe, and that same awe was etched over Walt's face now.

me: so you're saying walt has fallen in love with himself. okay then.

fic: "No, Cady", she said, not able to hold it in any longer, "I'm staying with Walt."

fic: The line went quiet.

fic: "Oh", Cady said in surprise, but the continuing silence from her friend were if a booming voice had called out,

me: sure fine whatever

fic: and Cady's eyes went wide, "Oh! Oh, you mean...oh my God, Vic, it's happening, isn't it?"

me: it's a little freaky how excited she is about her dad getting laid

me: i'm just saying

fic: "Gotta love women's intuition, Vic laughed to herself"

me: what intuition? you LITERALLY just told her

me: holy shit i am so horrified right now i actually feel gross and it's not funny anymore just icky.

me: damn it i was scrolling past the sex! i shouldn't have had to read that!

me: that was unexpectedly traumatic and now i don't know what to do with myself to erase the last six minutes.

#hag's writing advice

0 notes

v-vamps · 7 years ago

Text

What are you getting at? - Tristan

Tristan // imagine

Anon requested: Helloooo! Could you do a very angst fight with Tris but the fluff ending? Pls pls

// it’s a lil fluff at the end, enjoy!

It was a Friday night in and you were beyond bored. You decided to text your boyfriend Tristan to see if he wanted to spend some time together, seem as your time was precious as he would be on tour again soon.

You: Hey babe, are you about tonight? I’m bored and by myself 😩

You put your phone down on the coffee table in your living room and watched tv while you waited for his reply. An hour passed and he had still not replied, but he had read it. Why was he being so ignorant?

You: If you don’t want to hang out Tris, that’s fine. Just let me know, so I’m not hanging on for you

You hit send before your phone pinged with a text, but it was from James, not Tris.

James: Heyyyyyy, you up for a chat? I’m in the mood for pizza

James had been your friend for many years, and was the reason you and Tristan got together in the first place. He thought you would be perfect for each other, so set you up on a blind date. Since you and Tris had grown closer, you hadn’t really hung out just the two of you. It made sense for Tristan to be there with the both of you seem as you were all friends. If you were honest with yourself, you missed your quality time with James, and you did feel kind of guilty, so you decided to reply. I mean, why not? It’s not like your boyfriend was replying.

You: Hey hey hey, come over! I’ll order the pizza

James: Be there in 10!

You ordered the pizza, and true to his word, James was on your front doorstep in 10 minutes. You smiled and hugged him as he came into your flat.

“Hey, you, it feels like forever since I’ve seen you.” He smiled.

“You saw me on Wednesday!” You laughed at him.

“Yeah but you know what I mean. It’s never just us anymore, Tris is always with us,” He saw your face falter slightly at the mention of his name, and he began to back track, “I mean, not that there’s anything wrong with that! You know I love both of you! It’s just not how it used to be… not that I want to go back, I just- “

“James!” You interrupted him giggling, “It’s fine, I know what you mean, and I’m sorry that I haven’t made much time for ‘just us’ recently.” You half smiled at him.

“Don’t be silly! I understand!” He smiled back.

It was amazing how comfortable and happy James made you. Everything was purely platonic, obviously, and you had forgotten how much he could make you laugh just by remembering old inside jokes you shared. Your pizza came and you ate it, laughing the whole time and silly things he was saying.

After a good few hours of nothing but stomach hurting giggles, you decided to calm it down with a movie. You let James decide as you checked your phone, but there was still nothing from Tris and he had, yet again, left you on read. You had no idea why he was being so rude, and tears came to your eyes but you pushed them back when James finally played a movie.

He didn’t say anything but he could tell you were upset, and he knew better than to ask you while you were fighting back tears. So instead, he just wrapped an arm around you, and continued to watch the movie. You leaned into him, silently thanking him by putting a hand on his chest. You stayed like that for ages, before you both fell asleep

“What the fuck is this?!” A loud voice woke you up with a shock.

You opened your eyes to see Tristan stood above the both of you, anger etched on his face.

“Oh, hi Tris.” James grumbled whilst rubbing his eyes and moving away from me, “We must have fallen asleep.”

“And why the fuck are you cuddled up to MY girlfriend?!” Tristan shouted again.

“He was comforting me.” You mumbled under your breath. You really could not be bothered with this conversation now. Tristan was too angry, and you were too hurt from him ignoring you all night, and to top it off, poor James was now stuck in the middle of it.

“Oh really? I bet he comforted you real good.” He sneered at us.

James looked at me and we exchanged a look of confusion.

“What are you getting at Tris?” You asked, your temper rising. You knew exactly what he was getting at.

“What I’m saying is, you thought you could shag about behind my back, with none other than my band mate. Who else have you fucked behind my back? Huh? Have you already gone through Brad and Con? Or are they next on the list?” He seethed at me.

“How dare you.” You said, narrowing your eyes at him. “James was comforting me because you’ve been ignoring me the whole night, despite the fact you’re going on tour again next week. James could be bothered to reply to my messages, unlike you. James could be bothered to turn up, unlike you. And James can be bothered to care when I’m upset, unlike you Tris!” You shouted at him, your voice rising with every word.

James was looking very uncomfortable by this point, looking at the stand of unfolding in front of him.

“I’m going to go because you guys need to talk this out. Tris, even if she would cheat on you, which she wouldn’t by the way, I would never do that to you. It hurts that you would even think that about me, or about the others. I’ll see you later.” He half smiled at me before leaving your flat, and you managed to throw him an apologetic smile before he left.

“I can’t believe your accusing me of this.” You mumbled, looking at the ground, your suspicions rising, “I mean, you’re the one who’s been acting strange, ignoring my texts, avoiding me.”

“What?” He breathed, unable to look me in the eye.

“Where were you tonight Tristan?”

“I was out.”

“Out where?”

“Why do you want to know?”

“Where were you Tristan?!” You screamed at him.

He gulped. He had never seen you this angry.

“I was psyching myself up,” He spoke softly, “I was psyching myself up to come and ask you something.”

He reached in his pocket, revealing a small velvet box, and inside was a diamond ring. All the air left your body.

“I was going to ask you to marry me.” He said, finally looking up from the floor. “I would still like to ask you to marry me.”

“But you think I’m a cheat?” You interrupted him, folding your arms.

“No, I don’t! I’m sorry! I don’t know, I just,” He sighed and looked back down to the floor, fidgeting with the ring box, “I just saw you two together and I was scared that you might have finally realised that you were too good for me. I was scared, okay? I’m sorry.”

It broke your heart seeing him like this, because you knew the feeling. You never thought you were enough for Tris. He deserved someone perfect, and you were far from perfect.

“I’m sorry too Tris.” You whispered, walking towards him, “I’m sorry I said those things.”

You were in his arms now, looking up at his beautiful blue eyes.

“It’s okay. I guess we have some things to work out, don’t we?” He chuckled slightly.

“I guess so,” You smiled, “but I’m sticking around to work through them, with the man I’m going to marry”

His eyes lit up, and a smiled stretched across his face. “You want to marry me?”

“Yes. Of course, I do.” You giggled.

Tris brought his lips to yours and kissed you with the most intense passion, gripping your body to his. You parted to catch your breath.

“Don’t think you’re off the hook though,” You said, and his face faltered slightly, “you still have to apologise to James.”

“Oh God, do you think he hates me?”

“No babe,” You smiled, “he’ll be happy for us.”

requests are open xo

#tristan evans #tristan evans imagine #tristan evans one shot #the vamps #the vamps band #the vamps imagine #the vamps imagines #tristan evans imagines

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itscooltobefanficy · 7 years ago

Text

Feeling Alive- Part 8

Summary: Dance school!AU (or the Step Up/Pride and Prejudice mash up nobody asked for). Bucky Barnes is forced to take twelve hours of commercial dance classes to pass the year- and that just happens to be your regular weekly dance class.

Introduction

Part 1 (Slow Hands)

Part 2 (Stay)

Part 3 (There Will Come a Time)

Part 4 (Weapon of Choice)

Part 5 (Came Here For Love)

Part 6 (Where the Sky Hangs)

Part 7 (When Can I See You Again?)

Manhattan

Pairing: Bucky Barnes X Reader

Chapter 8/?: Manhattan

Word count: 2789

I am SO PSYCHED for this chapter (and I usually try to leave a few days between each update to give people time to read the latest part but I COULDN’T RESIST). Trust me. It’s a good ‘un. Anyway we broke 50 notes on Part 7?! Whaaaat?! Given that I’ve never written one of these before and this ain’t *technically* my fandom I’m astonished to even get one stranger interested in reading this story and I’m so grateful to you all <3 (all the songs featured are linked to the appropriate YouTube video in case you haven’t heard them before/just want to listen anyway)

B: is Sunday eve ok for you?

B: or we can ditch the film night on Sat

Y: I’m on the night-shift again Sunday so it will have to be the latter

Privately, you think it will give your group of friends enough ammunition for gossip for the next three weeks, but decide against sharing that with Bucky. Just in case- just on the off-chance- that you’re reading this situation entirely wrong.

Regardless of how Bucky’s interpreting your invitation, you’re in a state of nervous excitement for the whole day. You decide, then immediately refute, what you’re going to wear at least three times. You tidy and re-tidy every inch of your tiny flat. Your stomach seems to be full of spring-loaded frogs at a rave. Eventually you put on your most comforting music and make a start on the soup.

The doorbell goes just as you put the pot on to simmer, and you jolt in surprise.

Stay calm, you tell yourself, don’t freak out. Then you take a deep breath, calmly put down the oven glove, and head downstairs.

Bucky’s stood on your doorstep, dressed in a t-shirt and his usual loose trousers. Your heart feels like its blooming at the sight of him.

“Come in, then,” You say. “I’m just up the stairs. And for once I don’t have to say excuse the mess. Your room was freakishly tidy, by the way.”

Bucky snorts behind you. “Steve’s very neat. I guess I’ve picked it up by osmosis.”

“And were those his drawings?” You remember the torn-out pages from a sketch-book, showing everything from detailed caricatures to sketches of ballet poses.

“Yeah, he’s something, right?”

“Yeah! They’re amazing. I must remember to tell him that next time I see him-” You hold open the door to your flat and gesture for Bucky to step inside, “- Welcome to my humble abode.”

Nerves prickle under your skin as Bucky surveys your one room residence. It’s hardly fancy- your salary doesn’t allow for anything ostentatious- but you fell in love with the tall windows and the high ceiling, and never mind that the bathroom is so small that you can brush your teeth, shower and use the toilet all at the same time, and your bed is only separated from the rest of the apartment by a painted screen you picked up in a market when you moved in. It’s your place, and you’re very fond of it. You eye Bucky, waiting for his reaction.

“This is… very you.”

“Really?” You can’t help the surprised exclamation jolting out of you. Somehow, that wasn’t what you had expected him to say. He turns towards you and gives you that lopsided smile.

“Yeah. Don’t ask me to explain it, though. It just is.”

You roll your eyes and find yourself relaxing. “An irrefutable fact, huh?”

“Yep.”

You snort, then gesture towards your tiny dining table. “Take a seat, the soup should almost be done.”

Bucky doesn’t move. “Sure there’s nothing I can do to help?”

It’s silly that such a tiny thing can bring a blush to your cheeks, but the offer of help makes something sweet and warm wriggle around in your chest.

“I guess you could lay the table? If you’re determined to create work for yourself.” You bury your face over the saucepan before you can turn any more red. “Cutlery is in the left-hand drawer.”

There’s a rattle, then the clatter of metal as Bucky sets to his task. “Don’t tell me where the bowls are,” He quips, “I’m going to figure it out myself.”

Honestly. “You can consider it your noble quest to earn the prize,” You tease.

There’s the briefest of pauses, then Bucky answers you. “Does that include the favour of the fair maiden?”

For a good few seconds, your thoughts aren’t even properly coherent. If you had to voice them, they’d probably sound like Eeep! Or the garbled noise people make when they swallow their tongues. Inexplicably, you have a hysterical urge to grin.

“I’m making you food,” You finally manage, the smile evident in your voice as you stare at the hob, “I think that’s already pretty favourable.”

You dare a look up at Bucky: he has two bowls in his hand, and a grin you haven’t seen before on his handsome face. Before the moment can mangle your breath any more, you sigh with as much exasperation as you can muster. “Come on, soldier! Otherwise I might think you’re slacking on your quest.”

“As the lady commands,” He says, in a ridiculously overblown voice, and you laugh. One of your favourite songs comes on through the speakers of your laptop, and, without even thinking about it, you start to bob in time with the beat.

“Ride it on out like a bird in the sky ways,

Ride it on out like if you were a bird,

Fly it all out like an eagle in a sunbeam,

Ride it on out like if you were a bird,

Wear a tall hat like a druid in the old days-”

“Wait,” Bucky interrupts your muffled singing, “Did he just say like a druid in the old days?” You just grin and sing a little louder.

“Ride a white swan like the people of the Beltane,

Wear your hair long, babe, you can’t go wrong.”

“Steve’s always on at me about my hair,” Bucky starts bopping from side to side where he’s standing beside the table, “Says I should commit either way, long or short.”

“Catch a bright star and place it on your forehead,

Say a few spells, baby, there you go,

Take a black cat and sit it on your shoulder,

And in the morning you’ll know all you know.”

You turn the gas down to the lowest setting and move away from the oven to give yourself a bit more space to dance. Wanda would absolutely not approve of the moves you’re doing- it’s absolutely without style, taste, or sex-appeal- but there’s something very liberating about dancing, every so often, like your dad. You hop from foot to foot, nodding your head and waving your arms about, sketching out silly moves taken from Grease and flimsy guitar solos. Bucky’s smile grows wider every time you catch a glance at him.

You wiggle around in a circle, doing your worst Elvis impression. “I bet you’re just genetically incapable of dancing badly. It’s programmed into you.”

Bucky’s eyebrows raise. “Really?”

And then he’s doing the absolute worst approximation at a groovy walk you’ve ever seen, and you nearly double over laughing.

“Wear a tall hat like a druid in the old days,

Wear a tall hat and a tattooed gown,

Ride a white swan like the people of the Beltane,

Wear your hair long, babe, you can’t go wrong.”

And then you’re dancing with Bucky in your kitchen, both of you attempting to outdo the other with your most appalling moves and laughing so hard there are tears leaking from the corners of your eyes. When the song fades out, you have to reach out a hand to support yourself.

It lands on Bucky’s shoulder- just as the next song starts playing, and your stomach seems to drop down a rollercoaster loop as you recognise the tune.

Soft piano, a delicate melody…

“I’ll take Manhattan,

The Bronx,

And Staten Island, too…”

Your eyes are drawn to Bucky’s face like a magnet. His expression is in the act of softening, and it nearly stops your heart.

“It’s lovely going through,

The zoo…”

Bucky swallows; you can see the action of it moving his throat. His voice is somehow gentle and serious.

“Would you care to dance?”

In the background, Blossom continues to sing, oblivious to the fact that your heart has somehow acquired helium balloons and is floating away on them, right up to the ceiling.

“It’s very fancy,

On old Delancey Street,

You know…”

“I would,” You say, unable to manage anything finer, but Bucky doesn’t seem to mind. Unsure, you take your hand away from his shoulder, but he catches it with ease and holds it snug in his own. With the other, he laces your arm over his, until you’re cradled close to his chest, feeling the curve of his shoulder under your palm and the heat of his skin where your palms meet.

Let lips meet, as hands do…

A misremembered scrap of Shakespeare floats through your head, and you can feel your face flaring.

“The subway charms us so,

When balmy breezes blow,

To and fro…”

Bucky carefully sways in time with the steady, honeyed beat, and you can’t think what to think. Your mind feels like it can barely extend beyond the parameters of this perfect, perfect moment; like you’re full to the brim, overwhelmed, surrounded. And yet, strangely, you’re not scared. You hold your breath.

“The great big city’s a wondrous toy,

Made for a girl and boy…”

You know that this feeling, this sensation, all parts both physical and mental, will be etched onto your brain forever.

You’ve felt like this before, your brain whispers, but it’s small and indistinct. This time, it’s different, you tell yourself. This time I know it’s right.

“We’ll turn Manhattan,

Into an isle of joy.”

You let your breath out slowly, so it turns into a sigh. You let your head drift down until it rests, comfortably, on Bucky’s chest. The fabric of his sweater is soft against your cheek. You can feel the air shuddering from his lungs, ruffling the top of your hair as it escapes. You let yourself relax. Let yourself be held.

It feels pretty good.

You stay that way for the rest of the song, gently revolving on the spot. You know that it would be an easy thing for Bucky to throw in a few simple moves- spin you out, maybe, or rock back so you separate- but you wonder if, just perhaps, he doesn’t want to let go of you as much as you don’t want to let go of him.

Eventually, Blossom’s voice lingers on the final stanza.

“I’ll take Manhattan…”

You freeze- then slowly lift your head. Bucky is just inches away. His eyes are glittering, warm and inviting. It would be the easiest thing in the world to just-

“Uh!”

Your eyes bug open in surprise. The horribly familiar, funky, utterly ironic bassline jumps out of the speakers.

“You don’t have to be beautiful!

To turn me on!”

Bucky’s lips quirk at the corners. A tiny snicker bubbles out of him. And then you’re both laughing again, if possible, even harder than before.

“I just need your body, baby,

From dusk ‘til dawn!” Prince continues to sing, as, by some unspoken agreement, you both separate a little.

“Right, food!” You say, still giggling. Actually, you don’t know whether to laugh or cry- but in this moment, your optimistic instincts are clamouring for attention. Surely, surely, another moment will come. You reach for the saucepan (innocently simmering for the last ten minutes) and find the ladle on the side.

“You don’t have to be rich,

To be my girl!

You don’t have to be cool,

To rule my world!” You sing along without really being able to help it, dishing up.

“Ain’t no particular sign I’m more compatible with-” Suddenly, Bucky’s leaning over your shoulder and your heart jolts-

“I just want your extra time and your- kiss!”

Bucky swoops in and lands a kiss on the apple of your cheeks, right where you must be blushing the hardest. Then, before you can react, he steals the bowls from the counter and spins round to set them on the counter.

“Sneaky,” You say, trying to hide how fast your heart is racing. Bucky just smirks.

“I saw my moment.”

“Musical prompting for a date,” You snort, “Who’d have thought.” You sit down opposite him and reach for your spoon. “Go ahead, I think you’ve earned it.”

Bucky nods, then follows your lead.

After the initial complements for your cooking (which are really overblown, given that soup is just throwing ingredients together and wielding a blender), you relax into friendly conversation.

“How long have you been working at the library?” Bucky asks. You frown, trying to work it out.

“Nearly two years now? I used to study at the university but- well, studying wasn’t really for me.” That sentence is the shorthand for the endless cycle of panic attacks, dissociative episodes and social anxiety that chewed you up and spit you out during your first year. Still, you don’t want to bring the mood down. Bucky, however, gives you a small frown.

“You’re smart, though.”

“What makes you say that?” You’re honestly curious. Bucky raises one eyebrow.

“You just spent the last five minutes explaining the Dewey Decimal system to me.”

You huff a laugh and acquiesce. “It wasn’t the academic stuff that was the problem. It was the pressure. Thankfully my parents were OK with me dropping out.”

Bucky nods, looking solemn. “I’m glad.”

“Did you ever think about doing something that wasn’t dance?”

“Uh, kind of?” His expression closes-up, just a fraction, and you instantly back-pedal.

“I didn’t mean to pry-”

He shakes his head, seemingly relaxing. “No, you’re OK. It’s not a big secret. Nat calls us old men enough of the time…” He pushes a hand through his hair, sitting back in his chair. “I actually started at a professional school when I was seventeen. Back home, with Stevie- we basically grew up together. I was a couple of years ahead of him. I had just been offered a job with a company- but Stevie dislocated his knee.” Bucky’s face grows dark. “It’s the kind of injury that can write off a dancer. He needed time to rehab, so I turned down the job. Dropped out with him.”

Bucky looks pained. “At first, it was fine, but- I’m not proud of it, but turning down that contract ate me up for a while. I travelled around. Worked dead-end jobs. Fell out of touch with Steve. Then, one day, out of the blue, I get this call, and Fury’s offering me an audition spot for his Academy if I can pull myself out of the gutter.” He shrugs. “So I got on a bus, and came here. Saw Steve for the first time in over a year- he wasn’t even mad at me, just pleased that I was back. We prepared together. So,” He gives you a wry smile, “If you hear Nat mention that I did the hardest audition piece the Academy has ever seen, you should know that Steve was only narrowly behind. And we both had to get scholarships.”

“And you did?” You ask. You’re confronted with that weird feeling of someone revealing another facet of their personality, an important piece of their past. Hardly thinking about it, you reach across and gently touch Bucky’s wrist. The smile he gives you is a small slice of the sun.

“We did.”

“And Steve’s knee?”

Bucky shrugs again. “Seems OK so far. Most dancers have injuries, though. I had surgery on my bicep last year- the tendon sheared off the bone, they had to reattach it.”

You snort, mildly horrified. “And they say ballet isn’t tough.”

“Well, they haven’t met Nat,” Bucky says, and you both laugh.

“Right,” You say, pushing your chair back, “I promised you Wreck-It Ralph, and I intend to deliver. Don’t worry about the washing up, I’ll do it in the morning.”

“If you say so,” Bucky says, carrying his bowl to the sink. “Where do you want me?”

What a question to ask, you think, but stifle all of the incredibly inappropriate responses that threaten to burst out of your mouth.

“Ah, beanbag or sofa. Up to you.”

Bucky flops down on the sofa and smiles up at you. “Not often I can get in the corner.”

“One of the perks of my place,” You say, as neutrally as possible, pausing the music and clicking to access the DVD. “I wonder how the others are getting on?”

“Fine, I’m sure. I’d have heard if they’d torched the place.”

“Are they likely to do that?”

“Nat will when Sirius dies. She hates that scene.”

You grimace. “Don’t we all.”

The DVD finally fires up and you walk around to balance the screen on the tiny table in front of the sofa. You hesitate for the briefest moment, before sitting down right beside Bucky and leaning gingerly against his side. In a heartbeat, he lifts his arm so that it rests along the cushions behind your shoulders.

“OK?” You ask, and he smiles down at you.

“Perfect, doll.”

You smile, and lean forward to press play.

AN: YASSSSSSS. I’ve probably just revealed a decent slice of how weird my music taste is, but oh well. That was a lot of cute anyhow, and I really hope you liked that! (I seem to be allergic to writing dates properly so if that irritates you then sorry) You know where to find me visa vi tag list. Love to all <3

Tag list: @learisa; @vintagesaph; @debzybrazy; @madeofstarsdust; @beingcrushedbysociety; @plumsforbuck2016; @buckybabybaby; @seb-styles; @youtube-obsessed-duh; @casdoesntunderstandthatreference; @sunnycolors; @imthemishamigo; @themarvelousmaximoffs; @blonde0n; @smaug-the-homedog; @gabby913; @sexyashmike; @fuckinxqueenx; @velociraptorinae; @frnkensteingrl; @tattooideasforthefuture; @inlovewithnovels; @ipaintmelodies; @whimsicaldreaming; @olicia-leeshy; @xxamix; @xxblackteabinchxx; @v-ickie; @imnegativetillbepositive; @lilythelionflower; @witchinghour24; @hollycornish; @lucyvaughan-omg-; @thel0stpr1ncess; @kur0k1tsun3-blog; @siobhanrebecca; @thighs0fbetrayal; @ur-an-indiana-boy-sonny; @fungk17; @da363; @sorryidontspeakgrounder-world; @burtheimperium; @fandom-writes; @farawell

Part 9

#bucky x reader #bucky imagine #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes x reader #I wrote a thing #Feeling Alive #Feeling Alive Part Eight #I think I'm sticking with this header guys #It seems appropriate #Hope you enjoyed that backstory unlocking moment #I always enjoy writing those scenes

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cocoarosalia · 7 years ago

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Rocking the Cradle Chapter 8: Meeting Grandpa Gabe

He really had only meant to be nice. Not saying that he didn’t want to help take care of his own daughter, but at the moment he hadn’t really considered all that came with the offer. Like getting her a bed, and have proper food available...and her wanting to meet his father.

That last one though he was struggling to come to grips with.

He was sure that his father would never harm Eloise. At least, not physically. No, it was more the emotional trauma that he had grown accustomed to that concerned him more. It’s a lot for a child to take when your own father neglects you and is just never around, it’s why he made such a dedicated effort to be in every aspect of Elly’s life not just the big events.

So overall, he was pretty shook about the whole damn thing.

And Marinette was doing literally no better.

How do you tell someone that A) their crush and project partner just agreed to take your adoptive daughter off your hands for the weekend and B) That crush’s father also happens to be one of your fashion icons? Of which you will probably meet? How might they react to that?

The answer? Not too terribly well in all honesty

Sleep became a fantasy along with unicorns and good grades. She spent every night designing and redesigning the perfect outfit for Elly, sewing and stitching making sure it laid beautifully on her petite frame. She even etched her name in gold on her blue jean button up top. It took forever and she was pretty sure that she looked like a raccoon but all that mattered was that Elly looked her absolute best.

That friday morning the sleep deprived heroine woke her daughter up early with the smell of sweets, did her hair up nicely in a pretty red bow sprinkled with glitter and got her all dressed up for the day. When she stepped back to take a good look at her she had to admit that she did a damn fine job.

Elly was dressed in a blue jean style button up top with red tipped sleeves. She wore a dark blue skirt that complemented her fair skin beautifully and the cutest pair of cheetah vans you ever did see. As far as Marinette was concerned the sleepless nights were worth it.

The day went smoothly with Elly receiving compliment after compliment on her designer outfit, and she couldn’t feel prouder. Even Mari was walking with a bit more confidence in her own top and skirt combo. If this was the feeling most moms feel when matching with their children then she could totally see herself doing it more often.

Then that confidence got sucked right out of her when the first step to the moment of truth came around.

The end of the day showed up and all three were standing at the corner waiting for Adrien’s car. Both parents were visibly twitchy and could not find a way to stop twitching. Her papa kept twisting his ring back and forth while his partner kept fiddling with her hair which laid free from its red bonds.

And it Elly’s opinion it was silly and strange.

Just then a shiny black Rolls Royce rolled up in front of them. Its silver hood ornament shone brightly in the spring sun and there was shimmer that coated the exterior as if it were fresh right off the dealer’s lot. Adrien grimaced ‘I thought I told him not to take out anything flashy. Ugh I must look so douchey.”

He went to turn to Mari and Elly to apologize for the pageantry but it was pleasantly surprised by the response he saw.

There was his “Wife” giggling up a storm at the silliness over the whole situation but then there was his Eloise’s reaction.

You could not tell this girl anything that would ruin her day. Her mouth was agape as she stared at the sparkling black rims. She couldn’t look at anything long enough for fear that she might miss the next great thing about it.

“Papa are you a king!?” She demanded “Only kings and princes and princesses like in my book are this rich!”

The golden haired boy laughed “I am no king sunshine. That would be your grandfather. I am just a prince” little green eyes stared back at him in confusion, but he continued “However, since you are my little girl that does make you my princess”

Marinette took a pause from laughing when she heard the word “princess” leave his lips. For whatever reason, an alley cat hero passed through her mind for moment. She shook it off and just labeled it as her being sleep deprived.

Suddenly a large looming figure exited the car and stood before them. Marinette’s maternal instincts (that she wasn’t fully aware that she had) kicked into high gear as she tensed to prepare for a grab at Eloise.

“Hello gorilla” Adrien said simply. He knew the huge man must’ve looked terrifying to them but assured his partner that everything was fine. The behemoth raised an eyebrow and pointed a meaty finger at the two females, giving the rich kid a look that asked if he wanted him to get rid of the two.

“No need gorilla, this is my family for a school project. This is Marinette my ‘wife’” He put air quotes around the term wife so that the behemoth doesn’t get the wrong impression “And this is my little girl Eloise. Say hello honey.”

Eloise approached the large man to give her greetings and in response he squatted down and leaned in close for a closer look at her. This did not help her mother’s nerves as her hand twitched in anticipation for a grab. The man looked absolutely paralyzing with his massive frame and stoic face it was no surprise that he’d be chosen to protect the heartthrob of parisian high school girls.

But the little girl was hardly afraid of the man. In fact, she was fascinated by him.

To the point where she just booped his nose.

The Gorilla was nowhere near ready for that and just froze in place, mouth dropped to the ground.

But, Elly just laughed “Hi! My name is Eloise! You have a really funny face.”

And as if out of nowhere, Adrien saw something that he wasn’t even aware could happen.

The gorilla had a light pink hue scattered across his face. His heart simply melted at her innocence and how fearless she was toward him.

“Are you gonna take us to see ‘the king’?” She whispered the last part, not sure if it was meant to be a secret that her papa was basically royalty

The burly bodyguard looked at Adrien, unsure of what she meant but he just mouthed that she meant his father.

The gorilla used his massive hand to give the assumed princess a pat on the head and then a dutiful salute signaling that he would not rest until they got to their destination.

He held open the car door and the makeshift family got inside, Eloise basically jumping in to see how fancy the inside was.

One lively car ride later they unloaded themselves from the black chariot and Elly gave a very animated farewell as the man once considered a terror gave a small wave back from his position by the car. He could feel tears coming to his eyes as he could not get over how cute the small sunshine child was.

As Adrien held open the door for the two ladies to enter they were met by his second most dreaded obstacle.

Nathalie, His father’s assistant

She seemed to be preoccupied by her tablet, no doubt filling his schedule with shoots and appearances that he had no interest in, so he and Marinette tried to sneak past to just get to his room.

Eloise had no such intent.

“Hi there! Whatcha lookin’ at?” she said as she struggled to climb into Nathalie’s seat and look at her tablet.

The assistant almost leapt out of her seat, startled by the little voice. When she looked down she couldn’t comprehend why there was a 5 year old in her seat looking back at her.

“Who are you?” She asked cautiously as she tried to calm her now erratic heartbeat.

“My name’s Eloise! Who are you?” She replied cheerily as if she was just reporting on the day’s weather.

Nathalie narrowed her eyes still unsure as to what was happening. “I am Ms. Sancoeur, The assistant of Gabriel Agreste. How did you-”

“I know that last name!” the small blonde child interjected “That’s my Papa’s last name! You must be the king’s adviser!”

“Papa?” the now highly confused woman questioned “King?”

She then looked around and found a very nervous Adrien attempting to sneak around her desk to retrieve the little girl.

“Stop right there!” She demanded, making him nearly jump out of his skin “You will explain right this moment what is going on here and for your sake it better be good”

He sighed, upset that he got caught. He then collected Elly into his arms and went to stand next to an equally nervous Marinette. “Nathalie this is my family for a school project. Marinette and I are partners and we are fostering Eloise here for the year.”

The older woman was skeptical “And this was all done without a notice or a permission slip to a parent”

“I’m 18 now I didn’t need it. Also I attempted to mention it to you and my father to which I got a very passive response. Nathalie was taken aback by his unwavering defense.

Although she tried to deliver a response he had decided that he no longer wanted to hear it “Listen I’m sure my family is eager to relax for a few moments before we get started on my daughter’s bed and things so we will just take our leave.” He then ushered the three of them up the large staircase to his room to escape anymore questioning, at least for a little while anyway.

All that was left was a very confused Sancoeur staring at the staircase where the little trio traveled. She took a moment to think. She considered the model’s brazen behavior toward the situation and came to the conclusion that he must’ve began to grow up finally. She sat down at her desk, resuming her work with a proud smile on her face.

“Wait a minute” She paused “BED!? AS IN SLEEPING HERE!?”

*Upstairs in Adrien’s room*

He was starting to look emotionally drained as they finally got into his room. He collapsed on his bed as Marinette set little Elly down to explore.

“You ok?” She said gently as she took a seat beside him on the mattress. Adrien took a long slow breath as he stared up at his ceiling just trying to get over the event with Nathalie and psych himself up for the inevitable meeting with his father.

“Yea I think so, I just hate that Elly had to see that. I try to interact with him and let him know what’s going on in my life but if it’s not modeling he has no interest in hearing it. I could never forgive myself if I she ever felt that way towards me. That’s why I make it my mission to hear everything she has to tell me”

She hummed understandingly to her partner’s problems but then said something that hadn’t crossed his mind. “Well I’d suggest looking at her right now cause I can promise you that’s not at all how she’s feeling”

Adrien sat up in his bed to take a look at what Mari meant and he had to admit, there didn’t appear to be an neglected bone in that little girl’s body. She ran up and down spiral staircase, pressed all the colorful buttons on his arcade games and pressed her face against his window overlooking the street. All the while rambling about how she couldn’t wait to rule a kingdom of her own.

“Eloise has had a hard life.” said the bluenette “We don’t know anything about it but I’m sure we can agree that it wasn’t the life that she deserved. But if I know anything about that little girl from the few weeks we’ve spent together it’s that she absolutely adores you. Every morning she asks where you are and how soon she can see you. You make her so happy and for me at least that’s proof enough that you’re a good dad.”

He just sat there on the bed beside her, amazed and feeling a growing sense of joy fill his heart. Had his little girl really felt that way about him? Was he really doing right by her? Millions of insecurities ran through his head until he heard a little voice call out to him.

“Papa, look! The people outside look soo super tiny from up here and you can see so much more than at mama’s house.”

Her excitement shook him out of his funk as he walked over and scooped her up onto his shoulders “You can see even more from all the way up here.”

Eloise laughed in utter glee “Hey daddy what if we went up to the second floor and I was up on your shoulders”

He pondered over the idea for a minute “I don’t know. Let’s go up there and find out.”

“Maybe let’s not do that, there is no way that’s safe” said a very concerned Mari from her now standing position by the bed.

“There’s no need to worry Mari” He replied with a very cheshire like grin “It’s not like I’m gonna let her fall”

And just like that they climbed up the steps and Eloise was on Adrien’s shoulders laughing giddily at all the height and leaning over to get a better look.

And it wasn’t like the hidden heroine didn’t trust him, she knew he would sooner give up his own life for hers. However, unexpected things had a tendency to happen.

Like his door slamming wide open.

And a very upset Gabriel Agreste storming through yelling out his name.

Yea...things like that could happen.

The startling noise made Eloise jolt backwards, causing Adrien to lose his footing and tilt backwards. Marinette could do nothing but watch in horror as she foresaw him falling right on top of their little girl. The feline hero’s instincts kicked into overdrive however as he suddenly gripped the little girls shirt, whipping her from around his neck and clutching her tight to his chest as he fell onto his back beside the railing.

Everyone’s heart was racing at a ridiculous speed. Eloise’s for almost being crushed, Adrien’s for almost crushing her, and Marinette for having to watch the whole thing. The concerned papa checked all over Elly’s body to make sure she was alright and luckily other than a now wrinkled shirt she was perfectly fine.

“Hello? I am talking to you” commanded a very aggravated Gabriel. His son sighed and climbed down the stair holding his daughter close.

“Yes father, how may I help you?” he replied

“Why did I have to hear from Nathalie that you not only have a female in the house without my permission but a child here as well” The model flinched at his father’s words

“I tried to explain to you that they were coming but you were too busy to acknowledge it”

“Well clearly I am here now so let’s hear what you have to say”

Elly could feel her Papa’s grip on her get tighter as anger began to well up inside of him “This, father, is apart of the school project that I was trying to tell you about. Marinette is my partner and together we are fostering and co-parenting Eloise here for the next year. So in a way, this is your granddaughter.”

Adrien placed Eloise down on the floor and told her to go give a proper greeting. She was scared by the man’s irritated mood and inched only halfway to him.

“Hello there, my name is Eloise” Gabriel narrowed his eyes at her as if analyzing and debating whether or not to acknowledge her existence

He chose the latter

“You ditched your scheduled shoot for this?” The frightened girl ran to her mother and hid behind her red skirt, gripping her legs

“I will not allow you to neglect your duties just because you feel the need to play house.” He put up a single hand, silencing any protests from his son before he even made them.

“It was foolish for you to even consider participating in this frivolous project when I am certain you are aware of your busy schedule. Now then I am off to my study for work and when I return I expect all these boxes and these two ladies to be gone. Am I clear?”

He didn’t even wait to respond as he just turned on his heels and walked right back out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

If Marinette and Eloise weren’t there he’d punch something he was so pissed right now. Anyone could tell from his shaking form that he was containing a lot of pent up feeling. But before he could do anything drastic a small hand grasped his.

Adrien lost every ounce of rage in him when he looked down into Elly’s face. She looked worried about him which hurt his heart more than anything his father could ever say to him. But when her wavering little voice came to his ears it broke into a million pieces

“Papa” she said “Are you ok? It’s ok if you were scared, I was too”

All the feigned strength he had built up left him as he sat against the wall and pull his little girl in close to his heart. Marinette sat next to them and just rubbed his back in comfort.

“To be honest sunshine, I was really scared.” he said against her hair “But having you around made me brave. It’s kind of one of your super powers.”

Elly was delighted by the declaration but paused again “Will that man make us leave? I really wanted to stay with you”

He pulled away and gave her a reassuring smile “Not at all sunshine I have too much planned for you to go back with your mama. However, while you’re here you must be careful not to run into the dragon king ok?”

Mari held back a laugh as her daughter all of a sudden was intrigued by what she heard. Eloise asked what he had meant and her papa dutifully explained.

“That mean old man used to be the noble king. But, after losing his queen his heart grew cold and scaly like a dragon’s and he’s been like that ever since.” The little one was amazed and told him that she thought he was the bravest prince she ever met for living with him.

“I don’t want to break up a sweet moment but what are you gonna do about your father he told you that we had to amscray by the time he got back” whispered a very concerned Marinette into Adrien’s ear as their little girl was dazed in delight.

A sly and proud grin slipped across his face “If I remember correctly he asked if I thought his instructions were clear. Well, as far as i’m concerned...they weren’t. Besides, I promised you a break and my little sunbeam a fun weekend. If there’s one thing I always do dear lady that’s keep a promise.”

For the second time today she felt a pang of deja vu hit her but brushed it off insisting to herself that she was just imagining things.

Feeling satisfied with his plan he rose up from his seat, help Mari up and carried Elly over onto his bed.

“Alright sunshine, me and your mama are gonna start putting together your bed do you think you can entertain yourself until it’s all done?” Blonde hair bounced up and down as she nodded dutifully.

But then 5 minutes passed by, so she decided to draw

Then another 10 minutes, so she read some of the books her grand mére bought her

15 minutes went by and she was playing some of the games on her papa’s computer

By the time 20 minutes came and went, Eloise was bored out of her skull and she needed something else to do

She peered over at her guardians and unknowingly took a long look at her papa as she thought back to earlier

‘That king was really mean to daddy for yelling’ she thought resentfully ‘He made him upset which isn’t nice at all.”

But then her heart waned a little ‘but papa did say that he’s only this way because he was sad that he lost his queen’ Her eyebrows furrowed ‘I can understand why he’d be sad but he still has my papa! And having my papa is the best thing in the world to me”

Her mind was made up. She had to make her grandfather see just how great her papa was and she was determined to succeed no matter what.

So while her parents were busy figuring out which screw goes to what board, Elly packed her lemon lamby backpack with her drawings, crayons, everything else, and snuck out into the tall hallways.

“It’s just like a castle” She said to herself, astonished. She had only read about places like these in the books back at the orphanage so she would’ve never thought she’d actually end up staying in one someday.

As the explorer ambled down the walkways she took pauses to peek into random rooms. She found massive bathrooms, spacious bedrooms, a dining room, and even a fabric room she thought her mama would simply adore. But, still no sign of the dreaded king.

She thought her search was all in vain until she came across a room with tall etched glass doors. From top to bottom the panes were filled with drawings of models in high end fashion. It was so beautiful that it looked like dolls were dancing along it’s delicate frame.

Eloise looked in between the sketches of models to find an immensely focused Gabriel drawing out his 4 sketch of that afternoon.

She cracked open the door and slipped inside, undetected. She debated for a moment how to go about making herself known. She couldn’t come up with anything useful so she did the best thing she could think of:

“O mighty dragon king I wish to speak with you!” She announced loudly in the hollow office

Gabriel whipped his head around toward the source of the noise and found a very resolute 5 year old staring back at him

“You are not allowed to be here child, go back to your mother” He sneered at her, annoyed that he was being pulled out of his work for something so foolish

But the little adventurer came too far to give up and go back now (Plus she was avoiding the scolding she was sure to get when they realize she’s gone)

“I have a name you know. And I’m sure you heard it.” she asserted

“I don’t think I did and I don’t think I really care. Go away child I am busy.” The white haired man turned back around and continued his work.

Elly huffed, this king is so RUDE. She had always been taught to be a good person and be nice to everyone but how can she be nice when he’s being so difficult?

She considered giving up but remembered the one sure fire way to get him to notice her

She placed her backpack by the door, crawled underneath his desk and hoisted herself up onto the seat and into his lap.

“Hi there!” she exclaimed damn near giving the old man a heart attack

“WHAT DO YOU WANT CHILD!?” he fumed

“Firstly, for you to say my name. It’s very easy. ‘Eloise’ see?” she slowly sounded out each syllable of her name to get the point across “If you want Elly also works for me”

Gabriel was positively speechless. It was clear from the get-go that she didn’t know who he was but to just approach him like she was really his granddaughter took him for a complete 360 loop.

Nonetheless, he conceded and humored her. If for nothing more than to get her out of his well coiffed hair. “Very well Eloise. Why did you come here? Do your parents know that you’re here?”

The green eyed little one flinched and recoiled slightly remembering that her parents probably haven’t figured out that she’s missing yet. “No they don’t know, but that’s not important right now! I’m here on the perilous mission to transform you back into a noble king!”

He raised a confused but intrigued brow

Elly took it upon herself to explain “My papa told me all about you. I know that you were once a kind and noble king always making everyone happy. But, ever since you lost your queen your heart has grown cold and scaly like a dragons.”

‘So that’s how he views me huh?’ Gabriel thought to himself. He knew that his relationship with his son was strained but to him that was simply the price of success and that was far more important.

“I am here to show you that you don’t have to be sad anymore because you still have my papa” She said, proudly smiling up at the white haired gentleman.

“You do realize that you are just an assignment don’t you?” He said coldly “You’re just another project that he has to complete for a grade”

He simply couldn’t understand why this girl was so adamant about his perception towards her “What do you care anyway it’s not as if you’ll be around long enough for any of us to make any kind of lasting impression.”

‘There, that should make her understand. Now maybe she’ll go away and I can get some work done”

Instead however, Eloise gave him a look that he was not expecting.

She look highly unimpressed. As if his biting words were nothing more than just him listing off the day’s special

She then climbed off his chair, grabbed her backpack and climbed back on. She reached into her bag, pulled out a sketchbook and started to flip through pages.

“This is Nana and Grandpére” she pointed to a drawing of Sabine and Tom “Every morning while mama is busy getting my stuff they slip me an extra croissant before we leave”

She flipped again “This is Auntie Alya and Uncle Nino. They fuss all the time but when they do get along we listen to music and talk about ladybug stuff”

Drawing after drawing she told him about the different people in her life and what they do for her, even the Gorilla who she thinks probably gives the best hugs.

But then she turned to a photo of him. It was crude and his clothes were every color under the sun it seemed like but even he had a smile and crown atop his head.

“I drew you too, see? I don’t know a whole lot about you yet, but I do know one thing. I only draw things that are good, so I know for a fact that you have to be good. It’s just that right now you’re feeling really sad because you don’t have someone telling you that you’re good.

She closed the book and turned to face him with a brilliant smile

“But don’t worry!” She said enthusiastically “You can just tell yourself that you’re good and you’ll be ok! And if you want, I’ll tell you that you’re good too.”

Gabriel was at a shear loss for words. Ever since losing his wife the only people he spoke too were clients and employees that simply told him anything that’ll either secure their job or their business staying afloat. But this girl, she meant what she said.

But far more than her words, what shook him most was how much she looked like Adrien when he was her age. How was that even possible? How could a child, sharing no blood with the man before her, look so much like his own offspring. And yet, there she was, looking more and more like him the longer he stared.

The silver haired man smiled

Eloise smiled back and turned back around to let him work

“Oh and you’re not allowed to call me Eloise anymore” She declared matter of factly

“Very well, Elly it shall be” He retorted

“Nope, not that either”

He sighed “Did your father have anything to do with your difficult behavior?” She giggled at that quip “Fine, what would you like to be called?”

She shrugged her shoulders “You choose, I like getting new names.”

Gabriel looked around his desk and noticed the feathered dress he had been designing for a client, but then looked down to see her golden blonde hair freefalling down her back.

“You will be my little Tweety then. Your hair is gold and squawk like a noisy bird.”

Again she couldn’t control her giggles but accepted it all the same

“Then you shall be my Ye Ye”

He raised an eyebrow “Where did you learn Chinese Tweety?”

“From a book Nana gave me. Plus, I hear it from her sometimes when she talks on the phone.”

He gave her a pat on the head and just decided to instead just enjoy his new granddaughter. She wasn’t going anywhere for awhile it seemed so why fight it.

So they did lots of things together in that short time. They talked about ladybug, drew pictures of things they liked, and he even showed her an old photo album of Adrien when he was her age. In return she showed him some of her mama’s sketches. He made a special note of her style and talent.

In short: Gabriel Agreste was absolutely in love with his granddaughter.

*Meanwhile in Adrien’s room*

“Um Adrien, where is my child?”

Adrien finished pounding in the last screw on Elly’s new bed “What an odd question. She’s lying right on my b-”

But she wasn’t there

She hadn’t been there for a good hour and a half

“Ok...this is bad. Like...really, really bad” he said trying (and failing) to remain calm

Marinette, however, dumped all rationale out the door “OH MY GOD SHE’S MISSING! WE LOST OUR LITTLE GIRL! WHO KNOWS WHERE SHE COULD EVEN BE!?”

“M-maybe she just went to the bathroom”

Pale hand gripped Adrien’s shirt with dear life “YOU HAVE A BATHROOM INSTALLED IN YOUR ROOM WHY WOULD SHE GO OUT THE ROOM FOR THAT? SHE HAS NO CLUE WHERE IT IS!”

Ok clearly Mari is not the calm one during an emergency

But this was no time to be calm

Adrien and Marinette raced around the room calling out Eloise’s name and every other nickname they had for her. When there was no response they bolted out of the room and down every hallway possible, checking every room and praying that they’d located their lost little one

*Back with Elly and Gabe*

Screams could be heard from every corner of the house. Eloise visibly froze as she came to realize that she was finally found out.

“You really gave them no notice as to where you were even going did you?”

She shook her head “I didn’t want them to worry.”

“Well that clearly didn’t work out did it”

Elly tucked her knees into her chest. Gabriel sighed in annoyance and gave her a warm pat on her head.

“Let’s go return you to your parents before they rip apart my house shall we?”

*Back again with our hero*

It was useless. They looked everywhere but still no sign of her. Even a HAIR would give them some type of hope, but they received nothing.

They were each about to slip off somewhere secluded to transform and comb the city clean when…

“Please tell me you’re joking”

There was Adrien’s father standing in the doorframe of his room carrying a very guilty looking Eloise in his arms.

The flustered parents rushed to her to see if she was alright

“Calm down” The older Agreste said “She just came to my office and we had a long chat about things. She even convinced me on certain topics.”

They looked at him, utterly loss to whatever it is he was talking about. He turned to Marinette first.

“Ms. Dupain-Cheng I assume?” He stated

She instantly straightened to attention

“Eloise-” he felt a tug on his sleeve and was met with an irate glare “My apologies, Tweety here, informs me that you made these designs.”

He handed her a design she had made for when Elly has her first birthday with them. Honestly it was one of her favorites as it looked like it would have the most challenge. Dipped in fuschia and floral the gown was crafted straight out of a garden fairy tale with its lace embroidered neckline and cap sleeves. It’s chiffon skirt would look like a blooming rose once Elly would spin in it. She’d be a princess, just like how her mother always saw her.

“I must say that these are quite refined for someone your age and judging by my conversation with this little one you seem to have the work ethic of an up and coming competitor.” Her face flared red as he gave a bow of respect “I expect great things out of you Ms. Dupain Cheng”

Marinette was utterly speechless. Absolutely nothing could come from her mouth except just a squeaky and high pitched “yes sir!”

Then it was Adrien’s turn

Gabriel stepped up to his son, his face stoic and unreadable. Adrien was again nervous but brave in front of his daughter.

“I find it highly irresponsible that you allowed this little girl to run rampant in our home.” You could see the model’s eyes drop in disappointment as he awaited yet another scolding “Honestly, my granddaughter could’ve gotten hurt and that would just be tragic”

Ok, he was not at all expecting that

“But after spending just one hour with her I can clearly see why.” Now he was looking right up into his father’s face confused as all hell “I couldn’t seem to get rid of her once she decided to stay. So stubborn this one, it’s a surprise you even keep up with her.”

The hidden hero finally caught on to his father’s intent and snickered warmly “Trust me you should see her when she’s mad. She’s impossible.” Elly fussed “Hey!” in protest

“Regardless, I’m proud of you son. You seem to have made yourself a lovely little family here. Your mother would’ve loved to see it”

The smile he got back from his son warmed his heart

He leaned down to an increasingly giggly Elly “There you little pest” He stated “was that ‘good’ enough?”

She affirmed his query with a warm pat atop his head

“Very good Ye Ye”

God he can never stay upset with this girl and he somewhat hated it

Even still, he didn’t overstay his welcome as he turned on his heels and proceeded to walk out the door. But, as he walked out the door he took a pause and looked back on the little family scene

And for moment he saw himself and his wife hugging and fussing over a tiny, happy Adrien no more than 5 years old.

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