#i drew this image like 3 months ago before I had even finished this chapter

[hiding-under-the-willow]

Anyways I swear this is the last thing I'll post today, but happy LaHoF Chapter 6 Day 🎉

[maatryoshkaa]

young god | chapter 15

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

word count: 12.0k

warnings: descriptions of violence, sexual assault, mental illness. dark themes and foul language. all information regarding psychiatric conditions or courtroom procedures are to be taken with a fat grain of salt.

description: As Han Jisung’s trial steadily approaches, Hwang Hyunjin struggles to decide where his loyalties lie. Prosecutor Kang is as ruthless as he is greedy, and a startling confession from Yang Jeongin reveals that the ugliest pasts often lie behind the brightest of smiles. Old scars run deep, and all wounds are finally reopened on the day of the trial.

watch the trailer here!

ryu says: “holy h*cking shit.”

15| the devil’s advocate.

“Is Miroh Heights rallying for the death of a 20-year-old orphan? Is justice always this heartless?

“The only existing psychological analysis of alleged serial killer Han Jisung has now been revealed to the public eye, painting a stark contrast with the image of the stone-cold murderer we were all introduced to before. What else is the prosecution hiding? Is Han Jisung at the mercy of a system that has failed him once — and will it fail him again? More on this complex case, next week.” 

You set the school paper down on the diner table. Across from you, Bang Chan gave a low whistle. “Lee Felix, is it? You really outdid yourself, kid.”

Felix grinned. He was glowing, not just from the detective’s praise, but with a light sheen of sweat — you two had woken up at the crack of dawn to deliver the newspapers around town, Felix on Jeongin’s bike, and you and Chan in Woojin’s police cruiser. The delivery boy had even drawn out a map of all the shortcuts he knew, and so you had all made it back to Glow Cafe — where Hyunjin was waiting with fresh mugs of coffee — before noon.

Jeongin scanned the front-page article again, nodding excitedly. “I read the local press’ papers every day while I was in the hospital — this basically goes directly against everything they’ve been saying.” He still had weeks before he was allowed to be discharged from the hospital, but had managed to bribe a nurse into letting him take ‘short walks for fresh air’ during the day. 

“Why’re we fighting against the local media, though?” Hyunjin asked. The barista looked much better now that Jeongin was awake — the colour had returned to his once-pale cheeks, and he had opened the cafe back up for business again. “I mean, what does the news have to do with the trial? Knowing the prosecutor, he probably doesn’t even care.”

Chan shook his head. “The media plays a huge role in cases like these — mass murder allegations, things that’ll implicate the entire town. In smaller cases, yeah, no one would look twice at the news. But for cases like Jisung’s, they’re going to bring in a jury for the trial — and most times, what the jury agrees on ends up being the final verdict.”

“But the jury isn’t supposed to have heard of the case beforehand.”

Woojin grimaced. “In theory. Miroh Heights is a big town, but it’s old — not to mention it’s a campus area.” When Hyunjin still looked confused, Woojin continued, “That all makes it a close-knit community. There’s only so many people who qualify for jury duty — and I’m willing to bet that there’s not a single person in Miroh Heights who isn’t keeping up with Jisung’s case by now.”

“Kang’s a top-tier scumbag, but he’s far from stupid,” Chan mused, reaching for his mug and frowning when there was no more coffee left. “It definitely wouldn’t be beyond him to pull some strings to make sure he gets to choose the people on the jury: the ones exposed to the case — the news — the most—”

You finished his thought for him. “Students. Professors. Citizens.”

“Exactly.”

There was a brief silence. Chan began a side conversation with Felix, and you snuck a look at Hyunjin. He had disappeared behind the counter, and was fiddling with the cash register with his head down.

You glanced back at the table. Woojin and Jeongin were sitting in a strangely awkward silence — the delivery boy’s expression was oddly closed off, you thought to yourself. It was almost...cold, a side of Jeongin you had never seen before. Shrugging, you excused yourself from your seat and retreated behind the bar to where Hyunjin was standing quietly. The barista was idly unrolling packets of coins to refill the cash register, and didn’t look up at you. 

You nudged him gently. “Hey, ‘jinnie.” Nothing. “Hwang Hyunjin, talk to me.”

The long silence was broken only by the clinking of coins, until Hyunjin finally mumbled, “What d’you mean?” 

You sighed, fiddling with an empty coin tube and trying to find the right words. “It’s— it’s a lot to ask for, I know.” You didn’t have to mention Jisung’s name for him to know what you were referring to — your boyfriend’s case hung over all of your heads like a guillotine every second of the day.

Still, your mind flashed back to his sudden outburst months ago, when he had first met Jisung face-to-face in the cafe. His cold, guarded wariness towards the other boy, and how he’d spent the next two months practically soulless by Jeongin’s bedside. You tried to meet his eyes. “You’ve been through a lot.”

The coins were trembling in Hyunjin’s long fingers. “You’ve been through more,” he muttered back. You didn’t have to follow his gaze to know he was looking at the site of your stab wound, hidden under the layers of your sweater. “How’d they let you out so early, anyways?”

“Hey, I was in there for nearly a month — they said I slept for three weeks straight, you know?” You laughed lightly, trying to ease the tension, but Hyunjin didn’t return the smile. “I’m okay, ‘jin.”

Your eyes searched his face for a response. Despite everything, Hyunjin still looked weary — like he had gotten older, more tired. He had seen things in the past few months that could never be erased — you all had. And you knew Hyunjin like the back of your hand — he had been one of the first faces you’d met when you’d moved to Miroh Heights, the unlikely first close friend you’d made. With absent parents who ran businesses abroad, Hyunjin had been on his own for most of his life. You knew how he always kept his worries and doubts to himself, how his polite, casual demeanor hid a heart full of emotions he didn’t know how to deal with or express. 

“Are you okay, though?” Hyunjin asked, finally lifting his eyes to meet yours, and you felt your heart pang at how helpless he looked. “Every time you see something wrong — someone in trouble, you stop at nothing until you can help them. And I love that about you, y/n. I really do—but—” Hyunjin gestured his hands wildly, voice wavering as if he was struggling to get the words out, “You can’t save everyone, y/n.” The familiar words made you shrink back as Hyunjin kept talking. “The last time you tried, you nearly ended up— d-dead. I’m worried like hell, okay?. Worried that if you keep trying to save others, you’ll just be the one hurt in the end.”

“Hyunjin—” You reached out to grab his shaking hands, to calm him down, but your elbow knocked over a roll of coins. They spilled across the floor, making everyone jump and look up.

“Everything okay back there?” Chan called, and you nodded, waving him away distractedly as Hyunjin dropped down to pick the change up. As you knelt down to help him, you heard footsteps approach the counter, and looked up to see Jeongin behind you. Back at the table, Chan and Felix were still talking like newfound frat brothers, but Woojin was fiddling with his mug silently.

“Can I talk to him for a moment?” Jeongin asked you quietly, and you glanced back down at Hyunjin. Jeongin had been sitting the closest to the bar counter, you realised — he had probably heard a good chunk of your conversation. You nodded, placing the change on the countertop, and headed back to the table.

Hyunjin watched Jeongin dive for a quarter that was rolling away. Underneath Jeongin’s sleeves, Hyunjin could see fading scratches peeking out — where the skin had scraped away when he’d fallen to the ground, bloody and unconscious, the night of the attacks. They were nearly healed, but the memory alone still made Hyunjin’s gut twist, and he tore his gaze away.

“Do you still think about that night?”

Both Jeongin’s quiet voice and his question took Hyunjin by surprise, and he couldn’t help but look up. The younger boy’s eyes were soft, gentle — a contradiction to his naturally fox-like features — and it was as if he’d spoken Hyunjin’s thoughts out loud. You never had to explain anything to Jeongin, Hyunjin thought. Growing up with no one but his sickly grandmother, Hyunjin had never truly opened up to anyone before — but Jeongin always seemed to understand exactly how Hyunjin was feeling, and there was something about the younger boy that could always calm Hyunjin down. 

He’d always looked at Jeongin like a younger brother, a bright presence Hyunjin wanted to protect and take care of at all costs. 

Now, Hyunjin found himself wondering if Jeongin had been the one taking care of him, all along.

“I see it every time I close my eyes,” Jeongin finally continued, and the question repeated itself in Hyunjin’s head — that night. The night Han Jisung had killed another student, and sent Jeongin into a two-month coma. The night Hyunjin had woken up to find his closest friend bleeding out on his storefront. No matter how many times the memory crept up on Hyunjin, it still made his blood run cold.

Hyunjin could only nod, swallowing the lump that had formed in his throat.

“Sometimes...I think about how things might’ve been different. If I hadn’t stopped — no, if I hadn’t even taken that shortcut through the Yellow Wood. Or...if I didn’t have to work the night shift in the first place.” Jeongin huffed a soft laugh, then drew quiet. “But we don’t really get to decide what happens to us, huh? One thing leads to another, and the next thing you know, the world’s turned upside down.” He paused. Something in the younger boy’s voice made Hyunjin think he wasn’t just talking about the Yellow Wood anymore.

“I wonder if he...if Jisung thinks about that, too.” Jeongin continued. “How things would have changed if he hadn’t taken that path that night. Or, if he never had to do the things he did...” Jeongin trailed off, and a question was left hanging in the air.

Where did it all go wrong?

It wasn’t like Hyunjin had never seen Jisung in passing — the kid whose bright smile and boisterous laugh masked his strangely wide, dark eyes. Who seemed to linger alone on the streets and in the shadows of murky alleyways after curfew, just wandering. As if the boy was constantly looking for something he’d lost — but had long since forgotten what it was.

“I just...” Hyunjin’s own voice surprised him, but as soon as he got the words out, he could no longer stop them. “I just want everything to go back to normal. The way things used to be. I—” Hyunjin looked around the cafe, letting out a shaky sigh. “I’ve grown up in this town all my life. Maybe I’ve grown scared of change — scared of how it could make me lose everything. Scared of how it could make me lose you guys.” He put his throbbing head in his hands. “Maybe that’s what makes me a coward. I don’t know Jisung. But I’ve seen the things he’s done, and I can’t — I can’t watch it happen again. I don’t think I could take it.” He looked at Jeongin helplessly. “How do you...forgive someone who could have killed you?”

Jeongin was silent, pensive. He picked up the last coin and slid it into the cash register before saying quietly, “Did I ever tell you about my dad?”

Hyunjin frowned in confusion. “You don’t...talk about your family often.”

“Most of the time, I’d rather not.” Jeongin gave a small smile. “But these days, I keep thinking about them. I know people talk about them behind my back — why a freshman has to work delivery jobs all day, and study all night. Why no one came to visit me in the hospital, except for you.” The younger boy shifted his feet, gaze dropping to his hands. “My dad’s in prison. Third-degree murder.”

Hyunjin’s hands stilled, and Jeongin continued talking. “My mum was your typical office worker — real big company, too. We were never that well off to begin with — maybe that’s why she stayed silent about the...the abuse for so long. About the stuff her higher-ups would do to her behind locked doors, when they’d make her stay overtime in their offices.” Jeongin’s voice wavered, and he cleared his throat shakily. 

“I don’t know how my dad finally found out, I...I could never bring myself to ask.” Jeongin was gripping the count[er, knuckles white and voice barely audible. “I’ve never seen my dad angry before. He doesn’t get angry. He’d always take the short end of the stick with a smile, you know? This was the first time he’d ever...picked a fight with anyone.” Jeongin paused, eyes glazed over in memory. “That night, Mum was staying late again. But this time...my dad showed up at her workplace. Burst in after-hours, like a madman. And that night, neither of them came home.

“The police came knocking on our door the next morning. And they told me my father killed three men in a fight. A fight.” Jeongin looked up at Hyunjin now, smiling, but his crescent eyes were filled with tears. “No one cares about an office woman’s sexual abuse story. Not when you have the families of three rich businessmen bribing law enforcement any way they can to keep their reputations clean. You can guess who the lead prosecutor of the trial was.”

“Prosecutor Kang,” Hyunjin breathed, not daring to believe it, but Jeongin nodded.

“The trial was easy. My dad would spend the rest of his life in prison.”

“That’s not fair,” Hyunjin blurted, voice barely a whisper. “They can’t—it’s not—”

“The system isn’t fair,” Jeongin replied. It sounded like he was quoting someone. “It’s been a long time since the system’s chosen morals over money.”

Hyunjin’s gaze wandered back towards the table, where Woojin was sitting, and thought back to the tense atmosphere between Jeongin and the young police captain earlier. “Is that why you and Captain Kim…”

“His parents put mine in prison. It’s more than a little awkward, really.” Jeongin laughed, but the sound didn’t quite reach his eyes. The younger boy always tried to put on a bright face, Hyunjin realised with a pang, no matter the pain he might be hiding underneath.

“I’m not trying to compare my dad to Jisung. Jisung, everything he’s done…” Jeongin shook his head. “He has too much to make up for, I wouldn’t even know where to start. We all knew that going into this.” He glanced over his shoulder at the table where his friends were seated. “y/n more than anyone. If we make Han Jisung out to be innocent, if we try to get him pardoned...that makes us just as bad as Kang.” Jeongin sighed. “But I can’t just watch them treat him like they did my dad. Make him out to be a psychopath, until even he starts to believe it.

“My mum can’t find work anywhere. She doesn’t sleep, barely eats, never leaves the bed because she’s so sick. The doctors all say she has lifelong trama. I don’t want to watch the system...end another life that doesn’t deserve it.” Jeongin glanced behind him. Hyunjin followed his line of sight towards the table, where everyone was chatting. Jisung’s friends — Felix, Chan, maybe even Woojin; and his girlfriend, you. “I don’t want to see what it does to the people that love him.”

Hyunjin was silent for a long moment. The chatter at the table and the clinking of the coffee mugs seemed like background noise as Jeongin watched the older boy take in everything he had said. Outside, students and citizens were beginning to fill the streets as rush hour approached — it was the end of the school term, and the bustle of summer life was humming beyond the glass windows of Glow Cafe.

Before Hyunjin could respond, though, the cafe doors swung open, the CLOSED sign clattering against the glass in protest and making everyone look up at the sudden commotion. A middle-aged woman in a tweed blazer and pencil skirt was marching straight towards the table you were seated at, a younger woman with a notebook stumbling after her.

Hyunjin straightened up, tone professional despite the weary look on his face. “I’m sorry, but we’re closed today under special circumstances—” 

She cut him off impatiently. “Where is Felix Lee?” 

Bewildered, Felix stood, holding out his hand to attempt a handshake. Instead, the woman reached into her bag and slammed down a newspaper identical to the one you already had on the table — the school paper.

“What is the meaning of this?” Her voice was high and reedy as she jabbed a red-nailed finger onto the front page, where Jisung’s article had been printed. “Who do you think you are to publish these—these baseless stories?”

“With all due respect, ma’am,” you responded tensely, “I think you’ll find that this article contains more truth in it than all the articles the local press has published, combined.” 

She turned on you, sneering in disbelief. “Do you know who I am?” You glanced outside uneasily, where a sleek black car was parked.

“Why do rich people always assume we know who they are? Listen, lady, we don’t care—” Chan began, but was interrupted by a sputtering sound Felix made.

“I think we should care,” your best friend choked out. In his hands was a business card that the woman’s assistant had handed him, and the blood had drained from his freckled face. “She’s the head of the local press.”

Everyone fell silent, and the woman smiled slyly. “Precisely. Publishing articles like these…” she glanced down at the school newspapers on the table, clicking her tongue. “Your school should be ashamed of you. An amateur school newsletter, overstepping their boundaries.” 

You saw Felix’s expression darken at her words, ears red. “A good newspaper reports on all sides of the story. We publish the truth here, and nothing but the truth—”

“Why? So you can all bail your psychopath friend out of prison? Do you even care about the implications? Your truth is hindering the investigation of a convicted murderer. People like him should not get their story told. Your truth will put this town in danger if he walks free, you understand? It will get more people killed.” She fixed Felix with a withering look of contempt. “Let me give you a word of advice, young man, if you even think of surviving in this industry—sometimes, you need to know when to keep your mouth shut.”

Your mouth was burning with countless words to bite back with but your tongue stayed stubbornly tied, mind racing. The woman had spoken out loud what you had all thought of at one point, what you had been most afraid of the public believing. You stole a look at Hyunjin behind the counter. The barista was avoiding eye contact, but you knew he had been thinking the same thing. His stormy, unreadable expression made your stomach churn — you knew he had been the most hesitant and unsure of Jisung’s case out of everyone, but seeing it written on his face now made you feel even worse.

Sensing that things were beginning to get out of control, Woojin cleared his throat. “Ma’am, if you’re finished, I would kindly ask you to leave—”

“I have every right to stay here,” the woman interrupted viciously, snatching up the campus newspaper again, “until your journalist friend revokes these articles—and promises not to interfere with the investigation until the trial has concluded.”

You started in protest. “You—”

“I’m afraid that’s not possible.” Hyunjin’s calm voice cutting through the growing chaos made everyone freeze and turn towards the barista. He pushed the cash register shut with a bit too much force, and leaned down to rest his forearms on the bar counter. “I told you we were closed, yes? You have no more business here. If you choose to continue infringing on my property, we can bring this to the police.” His eyes were still stormy as he stared the stunned woman down — but the words coming from his mouth were the complete opposite from what you had been expecting. “Now get out of my cafe.”

“I—why, you—” The woman could only sputter for several seconds as you all stared at Hyunjin in awe, the most self-assured expression you had seen on the barista in ages — as if he had finally made up his mind about something. Behind him, Jeongin had a small smile on his face.

“Preposterous,” the head of the press stammered, taken aback by Hyunjin’s bluntness. Her mouth opened and closed like a puppet’s, but no words came out. Finally, glaring daggers at all of you, she snatched her bag and stormed out in a whirlwind of nauseating perfume, her poor assistant barely keeping up behind her.

The silence lasted for several more moments. Hyunjin was still staring after her with a reserved expression, his shaking hazel pupils the only indication of how nervous he was.

Felix was the one who finally spoke first, the wide grin in his voice breaking the tension. “Hwang Hyunjin. You are the man.”

━━━━━━━━

Opening the door to Bang Chan’s office sent clouds of dust into the stale air, and the detective into a coughing fit. Chan moved to snap the blinds open, letting evening sunlight warm the musty room.

“Bloody hell, Chan,” Woojin groaned as he patted the dust from the coffee table in the corner. “I was joking about your office being a coffin before, but—how did you let it get this bad?”

You, Hyunjin, and Jeongin followed the police captain into the room, taking tentative seats around the coffee table as the detective tried in vain to open a window and clear the stuffy air.

“I haven’t had any new clients since this case was taken from me by that damn prosecutor,” Chan protested indignantly, grabbing a notebook and pen. “I’m taking a well-deserved hiatus. B’sides,” he added, sighing, “I don’t exactly have the heart to focus on anything else right now.”

Woojin grimaced, and looked around the room. “We’re waiting on Felix?”

You nodded. It had been nearly a month since the first article had been released — a whole month since the head of the press herself had come storming into Glow Cafe, demanding for the publication to be stopped. You weren’t sure if it had been the woman’s biting remarks or the newfound support from Hyunjin, but Felix seemed to have hit the ground running, publishing story after story and going head-to-head with every article the local press put out. 

The articles were beginning to pick up steam, too — as soon as the school year had ended, the entire town had begun buzzing with talk about the contradicting stories. You should have felt relieved that your last-resort plan had even stood a chance — but the longer the fight and investigation went on, the more you could feel the stress weighing down on your shoulders. Though removed from the investigation, Chan and Woojin came to you with more and more bad news they were able to overhear with each passing day. The trial was scheduled for next week, and you hadn’t heard from Jisung since...well, since you had found him, bloody and broken, in the back lot of Mia’s Diner.

“Things aren’t looking too good,” Woojin began, expression grim. “The prosecution’s claimed custody of the camcorder footage and Jeongin’s Walkman tapes. Seungmin’s legally not allowed to touch them anymore—not without Kang’s permission.”

Your heart plummeted to your stomach at the police captain’s words. You, Chan, and Seungmin had all been warned separately to stay out of the investigation by legal officials, but that hadn’t stopped you from gathering what information you could. You should have known Kang would find a way to get ahold of all the evidence, but nothing could have prepared you for the sick feeling the confirmation stirred in your gut. 

Chan sighed, tapping his pen on his cheek. “Far as I know, Jisung still isn’t taking a lawyer. The kid won’t even talk to me now.”

“How’s the trial going to work, then?” Hyunjin asked. “If the kid doesn’t take an attorney…”

“It’ll be his word against Kang’s,” Chan nodded glumly. “It’s a trial held under special circumstances. The prosecution will present all the evidence they choose, the judge and jury’ll listen to all the witnesses who decide to come forward, and then they’ll use that to form the final verdict.” He paused, then added, “And if Jisung chooses to defend himself, he has the right to speak, too.”

“Except he won’t,” you interjected, heart heavy, remembering Jisung’s face when he had told you about his parents’ deaths. Jisung had spent his entire life living in the shadow of guilt his childhood cast over him, a self-induced hell he forced himself to relive every day.

“Kang has the jury, the witnesses, and the evidence,” Jeongin thought aloud, the sentence alone making the air feel heavy. 

“We’ve all been called to attend the trial, yeah?” Chan nodded at you, Woojin, and Hyunjin. “Us, Felix, and Seungmin can only come as spectators. Jeongin’s been called in as an eyewitness.” He frowned, counting off his fingers. “The only other type of witness Kang can bring in would be an expert witness. Medics, psychologists, that sort of thing.”

“Kang’s clever — he’ll probably bring in child psychologists or medical specialists,” Woojin noted, frowning. “It’d be easy for them to cherry-pick the evidence to use it against Jisung — especially since he refuses to speak to anyone right now.”

“Haven’t they found anyone for Jisung?” You asked desperately. “His old social workers, foster families —”

“He was abandoned over a decade ago. None of his social workers have come forward.” Woojin sighed. “But you’re right — they have found a forensics specialist to come testify.”

Jeongin perked up. “Who?”

Chan looked grim. “Head coroner Lee Minho.”

Your heart sank. Lee Minho. No one was willing to address the elephant in the room: that Minho admitting to his own crimes would be one of the easiest ways to avoid a death penalty. Except…

“No one on the prosecution knows what Minho’s done, and we don’t have any incriminating evidence against him, either. They won’t believe us, and there’s no way he would confess,” you muttered, remembering the uneasy conversation you had had with the coroner on the rooftop. Minho had been hiding in the shadows of Jisung’s self-destructive crossfire his entire life. From the coroner’s unreadable eyes to his strange, reserved attitude, you had no idea how to guess his next move.

There was a knock on the door, and everyone looked up as Felix walked into the office, backpack sliding off one shoulder. “I have good news and bad news,” your best friend announced, taking a seat on the edge of the sofa.

“Bad news first,” you answered immediately, groaning. Good news was rare these days. “I want to get it over with.” Hyunjin nodded in agreement, looking at Felix expectantly.

“The head of the press is still up our asses, believe it or not. She’s changed her strategy —  they’re making bribes now.” Felix fished a slip of paper from his bag. “Someone came in today — dressed real proper and business-like — and told me that if I halted publications, they’d be willing to pay a pretty hefty sum.” He flipped the slip over onto the coffee table.

It was a cheque, you realised. Chan whistled as he read out the amount. You looked back up at Felix, holding your breath.

“I took the bribe,” Felix admitted, tone apologetic, and your shoulders slumped. Your last connection to the investigation, gone — but Felix kept talking, a glint of mischief in his eyes. “I took the bribe, and we used the money to buy everyone in our department the most expensive coffee on campus. Actually, thanks to them, we pulled an all-nighter and published the last part of your case study this morni—oof!”

Your best friend was cut off when you tackled him into a hug, nearly tumbling backwards as Felix laughed and patted your back. “Felix,” you declared, voice still shaking from how scared you had been, “You are ruthless.”

“One of my many charms,” he grinned, Hyunjin clapping him on the shoulder. Felix pulled away from you, and his hazel eyes suddenly grew serious as he scanned your face. 

Out of everyone at Miroh Heights, Felix had known you the longest — if anything was wrong with the other person, you were always able to pick up on it. Despite your relieved smile, Felix could see how overworked you were — you had been reading up on past cases nonstop, making phone calls, and making notes on the camcorder footage, no matter how much rewatching it traumatised you to the core. From your bloodshot eyes to your pale lips, anyone could see that the upcoming trial had taken the worst toll on you. “y/n,” he said worriedly, “you need to take it easy.”

You sighed, scrabbling a hand through your dishevelled hair. “How can I? I need to keep working on this — I need to be strong.” 

“You’ve always been strong.” Surprisingly, it was Hyunjin who spoke up this time. For the first time in weeks, there was no more anger or bitterness in his voice — only sincerity. “You’re incredible, you know that?”

You tried to give him a small, grateful smile, but even that couldn’t staunch the bubbling anxiety in your gut. “The trial’s in a week. We can’t let up now.”

You could sense the boys looking at you anxiously until Chan finally clapped his hands, breaking the grim silence. “Well, you heard the boss lady.” The detective winked at you. “Let’s get back to work, boys.”

━━━━━━━━

The courthouse lobby was already overflowing with chaos and reporters by the time Prosecutor Kim Seungmin arrived at its doors.

This wasn’t his first time attending a trial, of course, but the scale of it all was what made him uneasy. Citizens of Miroh Heights were huddled outside the gates, catching whatever glimpses of the trial and snippets of information they could. When Seungmin had elbowed his way into the building, he spotted security guards flanking all the entrances.

There was a sign for the bathroom on his left hand side. Seungmin made a beeline for it, pushing open the doors and allowing himself to escape the pandemonium for a couple of moments. As his eyes adjusted to the dim lighting, he saw a familiar figure standing by the sink. 

Prosecutor Kang’s eyes met Seungmin’s through the mirror and the older man straightened up, snakelike mouth curving into a smile. “Ah, Prosecutor Kim. Good to see you.”

Seungmin nodded stiffly as he tried to muster up the courage to walk past his colleague. He could feel Kang’s beady eyes watching him contemplatively.

“Are you still beat-up about the case? You must be,” Kang mused, turning back towards the sink and flicking on the tap. “Don’t get yourself too down about losing it. It was only a matter of time.” If Seungmin didn’t look at him, Kang’s tone sounded almost kind.

Almost.

Kang was here on behalf of the prosecution, with his team of carefully selected witnesses and—Seungmin was willing to bet—jurors. Seungmin had barely landed a spot as a spectator in the trial, alongside Felix, the school journalist. If things went Kang’s way, anything and everything that happened in today’s trial would be completely out of Seungmin’s control. 

“Rookie mistakes,” Kang continued, wiping his spectacles. “It’s to be expected at your age, really—”

Seungmin ignored his passive insult and turned back towards Kang, tone pleading as he tried one last time. “Mr. Kang, you don’t have to do this. Han Jisung—”

Kang barked a laugh, cutting him off. Behind his spectacles, his eyes were filled with equal parts amusement and resentment. “I’m not sure why you young people always have such blinded judgement,” he seethed. “He’s a monster.”

“He’s just a boy,” Seungmin shot back, heart pounding at the way surprise flashed on Kang’s face. He had never dared to challenge his colleagues before — especially not Prosecutor Kang — but he forced himself to stand his ground as Kang finally turned around to face Seungmin. He was silent for several tense moments, slowly drying his hands before picking up his briefcase. Then, Kang’s expression smoothed over as he raised an eyebrow at the younger prosecutor. 

“Not in my court of law, he isn’t.”

He had walked briskly out the door before Seungmin could muster a reply. The commotion outside grew louder before it was muffled again by the closing doors, and the younger male was left in the dark, empty washroom, filled with an increasing feeling of dread.

━━━━━━━━

Jisung jerked forward when the prison bus came to an abrupt halt, nearly slamming his head against the front seat. He tried to shake himself out of his daze and turned towards the window, tired eyes adjusting to the morning sunlight. Outside was the town he had grown up in, and yet everything felt so...different. 

As soon as the bus doors swung open, swarms of reporters surrounded its sides. Two policemen roughly escorted him through the crowd, and he could vaguely register the questions being screamed at him from every angle.

“Han Jisung, is it true?”

“Did you kill all those people? Did you set fire to your own home?”

“Will you plead guilty? Will you plead insanity?”

Insanity? Jisung’s mind flashed to the memory lapses every time he...killed, the gaping black spots in his thoughts, the endless throbbing in his temples that never quite went away. His head was swimming, but his body felt numb. Have I gone insane?

Once they were inside, he was ushered further down the hallway into a side room. A stone-faced clerk in a grey suit nodded at the policemen, then fixed his hawk-like eyes on Jisung’s unfocused face.

“This is him?” He asked dubiously, then cleared his throat. He didn’t move to shake Jisung’s hand. “Well, then. You refused to take an attorney or public defender, so, uh...your trial will be held under special circumstances. The judge will hear the witnesses, the evidence, and anything you have to say. Got it, kid?” 

Jisung couldn’t will himself to form any words. Everything sounded as if he were underwater.

The man coughed nervously. “As long as you cooperate, things shouldn’t be too bad, eh? Although from what I’ve heard about you, I wouldn’t keep my hopes up.”

Jisung could sense the official’s eyes raking him up and down in slight distaste at his silence. As Jisung quietly took a seat in the corner, he could hear the man muttering irritatedly to the guard by the door and chuckling.

“It’s always the messed-up kids, huh?”  

━━━━━━━━

You watched as the courtroom slowly filled with people — reporters and spectators huddling around you, clerks and attorneys taking their places in their respective boxes. You were sitting with Bang Chan, Felix, Woojin, Hyunjin, and Seungmin near the bar, watching the members of the jury shuffle in. They were all somewhat familiar faces — students, professors, and citizens, as Bang Chan had guessed — and you felt a small glimmer of hope every time you recognised someone.

The prosecution’s witnesses were beginning to file in on the opposite side of the room, as well: A stocky boy with a swollen, bandaged nose, and a scrawnier one, also heavily bandaged — the only survivors, you realised, shuddering — from that terrible night at Mia’s Diner. Then there was Jeongin, whose face made you relax slightly. Next to him, though, there was a nervous old woman who you didn’t recognise, and an unfamiliar middle-aged man. And of course, pacing back and forth behind them, like a panther on the prowl, was Prosecutor Kang. 

Every time the doors swung open you couldn’t help but look up, heart hammering in your chest. 

You were really only looking for one person, after all.

Sure enough, the heavy oak door in the corner creaked open, and a familiar flash of golden hair made your breath catch in your throat. Flanked by two stone-faced officers, Jisung entered the courtroom. 

You immediately leapt to your feet, and heard Chan whisper in warning. “y/n.”. The detective’s tone was gentle, but you didn’t have to turn back around to imagine the alarmed look on his face. Your eyes were glued on Jisung, and it took every fibre of your being not to sprint up to him, push past the guards, and pull him into your arms. You were shaking with equal parts relief and horror as you took in the sight of him. 

He’d lost weight, his skin was pale and bruised, but his eyes — you felt your mouth go dry. The eyes you had seen fill with both laughter and sadness, light and darkness, were now completely lifeless. As if he wasn’t really seeing anything at all. You felt hot tears prick at the back of your throat and you clapped a hand over your mouth to keep from calling out his name. You had thought you were prepared, that you would force yourself to stay calm at all costs — but now, as the weight of the situation was finally beginning to sink down on your shoulders, you weren’t so sure you would be able to.

You felt Felix’s hand gently tug at yours, the only thing anchoring you to reality, and slowly sat back down, your hands grabbing fistfuls of your cardigan to keep from shaking.

Jisung found you in the crowded courtroom before you did, and the split second he caught your face soothed an ache in his chest he’d been trying to ignore, like a long-neglected wound. Seeing you alive and breathing — when the last memory he had of you had been one where you were bleeding out in his own hands — sent a bittersweet pang through him, the sheer relief overwhelming him to the point that he felt his own knees buckle. To anyone else, you looked almost normal, he thought — but he would have been a fool not to catch the dark circles under your eyes, your shaking hands, the raw worry that had etched itself into your weary features.

As soon as your eyes flickered up to him, Jisung immediately looked away, a voice in the back of his head seething. Coward. 

His gaze wandered around the room and he was instantly met with a mix of hostile glares and fascinated stares — like an animal that had been chained down. Wherever he looked, dozens of eyes were on him, dozens of blazing lights searing through him and pinning him to the spot. It was almost as if he could hear the spectators’ thoughts, the countless names that the local press had called him ringing through his head. The youngest mass murderer of Miroh Heights. A walking psychopath. The soon-to-be-convicted serial killer.

“Order in the court,” you heard a man next to the judge call out, and a hush swept across the room. The judge — a middle-aged woman in sombre black robes —  nodded. “The trial is now in session. The case of Han Jisung, and the Miroh Heights Murders, Your Honour.”

Kang moved forward and cleared his throat.

“Your Honour, today I intend to prove the defendant guilty of nineteen counts of first degree murder, as well as a history of crimes spanning over a period of thirteen years. This includes eight counts of arson, including the defendant’s own home, and five counts of aggravated assault, including the attack of Yang Jeongin three months prior. The numbers are based on the images of the victims we showed him that he recognised.” Kang gave a deliberate pause, flashing a look of disdain over where Jisung was seated. “He has violated Sections 235 and 435 of the Criminal Code, and the prosecution intends to prove him fit to receive capital punishment.”

Capital punishment — the death penalty. Kang was doing exactly what you all had feared, and his words and self-assured attitude made you feel sick. 

“Does the defendant have any opening statements?”

Your eyes flickered to Jisung’s face — had his expression darkened? His features had stiffened into a cold mask — lifeless eyes, sickly pallor, clenched jaw. It was almost as if he was trying to fit into Kang’s description of him, you realised with a sinking feeling. To your dismay, Jisung stayed silent, and the judge cleared her throat.

“Please call upon your first witness.”

You watched the nervous old woman from earlier wobble forward and introduce herself.

Kang had pulled out images of a familiar crime scene — the burnt-down flat on the outskirts of town, where the remains of a woman identified as a local sex worker had been found. The night of your first date, you thought, grimacing.  “Where were you, the night of this fire?”

“I was making my rounds through this neighbourhood,” the old woman began, fingers trembling as she pointed at the images. “I happen to live ‘round there, and I own some of these flats myself. This woman is—was—a tenant of mine.”

“Did you see anything suspicious prior to the fire?”

The old lady paused. “I thought I saw a boy lingering ‘round the alleyways. Holding his head and stumbling around real bad, pacing back ‘n forth like he couldn’t see clearly. ‘twas near the red-light district, so I thought he was just another drunkard.”

“Could you point to the boy you saw, stumbling through the alleyways?”

The old woman slowly pointed at Jisung.

“And what did you see, at around 10 o’clock, sundown?”

“I-I saw the roofs in my neighbourhood go up in flames. Ran as quick as I could, but the blaze was already too big to stop —” She shuddered. “But through the smoke, I could see the figure of a boy in the fire, escapin’ from the house.”

“Could you point to the boy you saw escaping the burning building?”

You watched in muted dread as she lifted another quivering finger in Jisung’s direction.

“There’s no way she could have seen clearly through all that smoke and fire,” you heard Woojin mutter behind you.

“Your tenant had no prior connection to him — no negative relations beforehand, correct?” 

The old woman nodded. “Not that I know of.”

Prosecutor Kang hummed. “We have no reasons to believe this murder was provoked by the victim. And yet, that night, Han Jisung set fire to an innocent woman’s home — in cold blood. She was an outcast, no family or friends — he likely chose a victim that wouldn’t be missed.” He smiled, turning towards the judge. “That is all for the eyewitness, Your Honour.”

You grit your teeth as the old woman sat back down. Kang had called on his next witness — a chubby, red-nosed man who introduced himself as a child psychiatrist.

“The defendant refused to answer questions during the psychological evaluation,” Kang informed the judge smoothly. “We researched his past thoroughly—”

“Bullshit,” Felix muttered.

“—and reached our conclusions by analyzing the nature of his criminal history during his adolescence. We will also be consulting—” Kang motioned for the two boys to step forward, “His former classmates, who will testify on Mr. Han’s character.”

“He’s insane,” Chan whispered in horror, “He’s letting the kids from the diner attack testify on Jisung’s mental condition?”

“Please state your affiliation with the defendant.”

“We grew up in the same orphanage,” the boy in the buzzcut answered, his voice thick from his swollen nose. “Kid always stuck out like a sore thumb.”

“Did the defendant ever exhibit any strange behaviours during his adolescence?” Kang asked.

“He’d be missing from classes for days,” the scrawny boy piped up. “Always hoverin’ in the corner like a little creep. Sometimes even lightin’ things on fire. Never got in trouble though — always real charming towards the teachers.” 

“Changed his expressions like masks,” the boy in the buzzcut added quickly.

Kang turned towards the child psychiatrist. “How would you describe the mental condition of a patient like Mr. Han, taking these testimonies and the defendant’s criminal history into account?”

“W-well,” the red-faced man began, sweaty brow furrowing. “Starting with his unexplained history of pyromanic tendencies — this destructive behaviour indicates the patient harboured violent habits from a young age. That’s often a strong indicator of various conduct disorders in young children.”

“But isn’t it normal for children to be curious, to cause a little trouble?” Kang smiled — he was playing the devil’s advocate, you realised uneasily. “You surely can’t sum up his fascination with fire as a dangerous condition.”

The psychiatrist nodded. “Of course not. But the patient was able to shift between personas from a very young age — like his classmates have said, he could be cold and reserved to them, but charming and cunning towards authority figures. This constant deception in young children, along with the destructive tendencies, is what often leads to sociopathic behaviour.”

“Sociopathy,” Kang repeated, and turned towards the judge. “Oh, dear.”

You looked on in dismay as Kang kept twisting the case like the strings of an ugly puppet, clearly aware of the way the jury and spectators were beginning to lean towards the prosecution’s arguments. With Kang’s carefully crafted questions directed at nervous, unsuspecting witnesses, everything seemed to point to one obvious answer. Han Jisung was a guilty serial murderer, there could be no question of it. Even the testimonies were beginning to blur together:

He went all psycho on us. 

Laughing like some maniac, like he enjoyed it. 

Murdered my friends for no reason. 

At this rate, you didn’t stand a chance.

Kang needed one more witness — one more witness was all it would take for the trial to shift completely in his favour, and for you to finally lose hope. You looked around the room in desperation and spotted Minho seated on the prosecution’s side, the coroner’s smooth and mask-like expression doing nothing to calm your frazzled nerves. His words from the rooftop rang in your head, sending chills down your spine.

There is little you can do with people who don’t want to be helped, y/n. You’re just like how I was. 

Was that why Minho had cooperated with the prosecution? Because he thought that Jisung was already beyond saving? As if he could feel your gaze burning into him, Minho’s eyes darted upwards to meet yours. You were startled to find that there was something unfamiliar in his expression; something that hadn’t been there the last time you’d met him — like a crack in a mask, a ripple in smooth water. Before you could decipher what it was, you heard Kang’s haughty voice calling Minho up to the stand, and the coroner turned away.

“Please state your name and status.”

“Lee Minho, forensic pathologist and head coroner of the Miroh Heights murder cases.”

“Could you describe the autopsy results of the confirmed victims?” Kang held up a remote and projected images of various crime scenes onto a screen. An uneasy murmur rippled through the jury and spectators at the graphic images — some, like the burned body of the woman, and caved-in skull of the man at the Yellow Wood, you recognized, but there were several more you never had the courage to look at before.

Minho glanced at the photos Kang had projected onto the screen, expression unchanging. You remembered his oddly empty smile when you had first met him, when you had asked him if the endless rows of corpses ever made him uncomfortable.

“I’m sure it did, at some point. Sooner or later, they all start to look the same.”

“Yes. Well, as you can see, the victims’ bodies almost always showed signs of excessive force and trauma. Victim #1, Na Jangmin, was pronounced dead on scene from smoke inhalation and respiratory burns from the combustion of various chemicals found in the science laboratory.” Minho pointed to a gruesome image of a peeling, shrivelled corpse that made your skin crawl.

“Victim #2, Park Beomsoo. Died from asphyxiation. The victim had a high dosage of flunitrazepam — Rohypnol — in his system prior to his death.”

“And what is Rohypnol, Mr. Lee?” Kang interjected.

“It’s a powerful tranquilizer drug. Small amounts are sold as sleeping pills, but high concentrations can cause paralysis, or even loss of consciousness. It’s a common date rape drug.”

“Did the victim consume the drug of their own accord?”

“The concentration is too high to have been used as a sleeping pill dosage. The victim’s time of death was around noon, on campus, so there would have been no reason to for him to consume the drug. We detected traces of food in Park’s body along with the drug, but we don’t know where the drug came from.”

Kang turned towards the judge triumphantly. “Shortly after the drug took effect, the victim was pronounced dead. This was a premeditated crime. The defendant drugged the victim’s food, and slowly suffocated Park Beomsoo to death. Taking the defendant’s mental condition into consideration, Your Honour—” Kang gave a meaningful nod, a dark glint in his hawklike eyes, “I would argue that the defendant may have enjoyed the process of committing the murder.”

It took the last ounce of your self-control not to leap up from your chair at his words. Seemingly unfazed, Minho kept talking. “You can also find strange correlations between the victims. We always deduce signs of brute force exerted, and a pattern of victims: people with a history of abuse, adultery, and harassment. You could say that this killer...hunted killers.”

“The defendant’s M.O., Your Honour,” Kang added, nodding. “The constant pattern of victims and killing styles confirm that these were premeditated murders, habitual murders.”

You felt your heart sink, feeling sick. Beside you, Woojin had his head in his hands. Your last hope had gone down the drain. You should have known the coroner would play along, that he would never give himself in; that Lee Minho was the type to always save his own skin before saving others’— 

“However,” Minho spoke up again, “I’d like to add that all the crime scenes are also always impeccably clean. We observed minimal blood spattering, DNA evidence, and even fingerprints. Some wounds on the victims’ corpses didn’t match the hypothesised murder weapons, and were ready to become cold cases.” 

“Evidence that the perpetrator of these murders was also able to plan their clean-up afterwards,” Kang flashed the coroner a strange look. “Ladies and gentlemen, this only shows that the killer is meticulous and calculated in his attacks. As I’ve said, this is an insidious, long-seasoned killer we have on our hands—”

“You might be wondering why the evidence for this case is so scattered,” Minho’s mild voice cut him off, and Kang looked irritated at the sudden interruption but let the coroner continue. “Why the killings are so sporadic, always occurring at irregular intervals.” He paused, thinking. “Why nothing seems to fit together.”

It took several moments for his words to hit you, and you lifted your head in disbelief.

What? You turned to your friends, who all looked equally confused. 

What is he trying to say?

“I remember recording that the deduced weapon at the Yellow Wood attacks was a hammer, or crowbar.” Minho nodded at the papers in the Judge’s hands. “That’s not true.”

All the heads in the room seemed to snap up in shock at the coroner’s blunt words. You felt your breath stop, and looked over at Chan, whose expression was just as stunned.

“The weapon of choice was actually a stone from the Yellow Wood,” Minho shrugged. The coroner set down the papers Prosecutor Kang had handed him, turning to face the jury. “If you dig around in the lake outside Miroh Heights Hospital, you might be able to find it. Then there’s the vodka from the fire, the knocked-over chemicals in the science laboratory, a janitor’s rope from the rooftop. They were all impulsive weapon choices,” Minho nodded at the judge, “all from the scene of the crime. As if the perpetrator had chosen it on the spot, in a fleeting moment of impulsive judgment.”

You saw Kang sputtering behind him, mouth opening and closing uselessly. The Judge was evidently taken aback, too, peering at Minho from over her half-moon glasses. “What are you trying to say, Mr. Lee?”

“That it should be obvious that these crimes were almost never premeditated.” Minho glanced at the pictures of the crime scene. His voice was quiet — nearly inaudible — but exasperated, as if he were surprised at the words coming out of his own mouth. The entire room seemed to be leaning forward, listening to his words with bated breath. “They were done in the heat of the moment, and someone else had to tamper with the evidence afterwards.”

“How could you possibly know—”

“Because I’m the one who’s been cleaning up after Han Jisung for the past thirteen years.” 

Your mouth dropped open in shock as a hush fell over the room, reporters gasping and scribbling in their notepads. Minho had a small smile on his face as he took in the entire room’s response — how everyone had fallen quiet, speechless at the sudden turn the trial had taken. The smile wasn’t gloating or cruel, you realised slowly. It was filled with a simple curiosity and wonder, like a child who had finally tried something new for the first time. 

Even Jisung had looked up, his eyes widened in surprise. “Minho—” His voice was raw from disuse as he called out to his first friend, his oldest friend —  but Minho only smiled at him and shook his head slightly.

The room was shifting uneasily around him. He should have been scared, Minho thought. He could already feel lies instinctively forming on his tongue, a thousand ways he could backpedal and take back what he had just said. It had become second nature to him, he realised — covering up murders first, and his own emotions second; the two things he had always feared the most. He could hear Kang angrily stammering and calling his name behind him, but Minho ignored him.

The judge cleared her throat unsteadily, fixing her piercing gaze on him. “Why are you doing this? You are aware that a confession like this will lose you much more than your job? That it may very well condemn you to a lifetime in prison?”

“I’m aware,” Minho replied softly, eyes wandering across the room and landing on Jisung’s distraught face. The boy he had clung onto as his only family, the boy who he had both loved and feared for thirteen years. There was nothing left for him to lose. “I thought for the longest time that covering the murders were my own twisted way of...saving the boy. I don’t think I had the courage in me to do much else.” He looked around the courtroom, and his eyes finally landed on you. The girl who wore her heart on her sleeve, but was strong enough to challenge him with a steady voice and blazing eyes. The girl who was an unapologetic contradiction, he remembered, almost fondly. The girl who had reminded him what it was like to be brave, to finally start living for himself.

Yes, he thought. This was the least he could do.

“Han Jisung had nothing to do with the cover-ups of the crime scenes,” Minho raised his voice, surprised at the strength in it. Behind him, he could hear the prosecution stirring, and felt two security guards seize his arms to remove him from the podium. “He is not the depraved killer the prosecution wants you to think—”

“Your Honour, this must be a set-up between the coroner and the defendant,” Kang cut him off furiously, shooting Minho a death glare behind his spectacles. The murmuring of the jury and reporters drowned out the coroner’s last words as he was dragged from the room. “Your Honour, do not be deceived—”

“Order in the court!” The judge banged the gavel repeatedly, holding her head in her hand as if she had a migraine. “The—the coroner’s statements will be deemed faulty, and Lee Minho will be dealt with separately. The trial will continue.”

The silence that settled over the room after the coroner’s outburst was eerie. You could feel your heart still pounding, mind racing over the words Minho had shouted over Kang’s, the almost wistful smile on his face as he let the guards drag him from the room. The coroner had been a wildcard, you thought uneasily, your gut churning with a cocktail of anticipation and anxiety. There was no telling which way the trial would go from here.

“Does the prosecution have any other witnesses?” The judge called out, and you saw Jeongin finally stand up. Words and whispers began flying as he made his way forward to the witness box, the citizens recognising the delivery boy immediately. You glanced over at Kang, who looked more relaxed than ever — and you knew why. Everything from Jisung’s camcorder footage to Jeongin’s salvaged Walkman tapes had either been confiscated by the prosecution, or were in Seungmin’s hands. Kang had been meticulous making sure that the younger prosecutor had no power over the case, banning him from interfering with the investigation for good. 

Which meant that all Jeongin had to sway the jury was his own verbal testimony. One young boy’s word against Prosecutor Kang’s. 

“State your name and status.”

“Yang Jeongin. Um, student at Miroh Heights University.”

Kang looked down at his papers, then back up at the judge. “On the night of the Yellow Wood attacks, Yang Jeongin was biking home after closing shift before he was brutally attacked by the defendant with a blow to the skull. He is the only living witness that has come forward to testify, and the only person who witnessed the defendant’s attack firsthand. Luckily, he was able to regain consciousness after the horrific attack.” He turned towards Jeongin, smiling triumphantly. “What he has to say may well turn the entire case upside down.”

He was clearly expecting Jeongin to give away evidence against Jisung, you realised. After they had told Jeongin that his tapes had been withdrawn from the investigation, the delivery boy had hit a dead end in his testimony. No matter what he said, Kang would be able to find a way to use it against Jisung. Sure enough, he was watching the young boy now like a vulture, ready to pick him apart.

But Jeongin only smiled back at Kang. “Actually, it’s not what I have to say, sir.” When the prosecutor’s face contorted in confusion, Jeongin continued, “It’s the things that you’ve said.”

Before Kang could reply, Jeongin reached into his pocket and pulled out something silver. The guards instantly moved forward, but Jeongin set it onto the clerk’s table, motioning for him to take it. After several moments, the low crackle of speakers connecting began filling the tense silence, and you realised what it was that Jeongin had brought with him. 

A voice recorder.

“He didn’t tell anyone to make sure it wouldn’t get confiscated, too,” Chan realised, eyes widening. “Smart kid. But what could he have possibly recor—”

The detective’s awed voice was drowned out by a recording of another very familiar voice.

“Kim Seungmin. As you may have heard, the serial killer — ah, the Han Jisung case, I could say — has been transferred to me.”

Prosecutor Kang.

The room froze. When you looked at Kang, you saw that all the blood had drained from his face.

“Now, now — don’t feel too ashamed, Kim. Everyone makes rookie mistakes. They may have assigned the wrong case to you, but rest assured — it’s in proper hands now.”

“Is it?”

You winced, peeking at Seungmin beside you when you heard his voice on the recording as well. Seungmin had never mentioned the way Kang treated him to anyone, and the younger prosecutor’s jaw was clenched, but his eyes were blazing. 

Still, you weren’t exactly sure why Jeongin was playing a recording of Kang and Seungmin’s conversation. What could he have possibly overheard, that made him look so confident now?

“Have something to say to me, Kim?”

“I’ve just — never understood the way you handled cases, sir.”

“Seungmin.” You could almost see the condescending look on Kang’s face. “Allow me to share a word of advice. They won’t teach you this in law school.”

Seungmin watched realisation flash across Kang’s face like he had been struck by lightning, but it was too late.

“Your job as a prosecutor is not to judge the defendant fairly.”

“Wh—”

“If you want a smooth career...all you need to do is make sure you’re appealing to the right people. In other words, listen to what the public wants. Please the public; don’t waste a single damn about the defendant. You spent all your precious time worrying your little head over the killer’s motives, and now that we finally have him, you’re still worrying over the severity of his sentence? Murder is murder, Kim Seungmin, and actions speak louder than motives. You can show lenience towards a mass-murderer, or you can sweep his sorry past under the rug and bring closure to dozens of families. Which would make you a richer, more popular man?”

“Your Honour,” Kang stammered, face white, “This is—improper use of evidence, this shouldn’t—” The recording cut him off again, the judge’s face stony as she motioned for the clerk to keep going.

“Is that how you got to where you are?”

“Think, boy. As far as anyone needs to be concerned, the cold-blooded killer is caught, peace is re-established, families are soothed, justice is served once again — and I come out the hero. You saw that boy’s wretched past. Even he can’t handle it. So why poke at wounds that aren’t meant to be re-opened?”

You didn’t realise how hard you were clenching your fists until you felt your palms sting from your nails. The entire room seemed to be holding its breath. Kang looked stricken, pale mouth opening and closing frantically like a fish out of water, but no words were coming out.

“You think you’re being kind? Justice isn’t meant to be kind, Kim. Make up the easiest case to solve, and do everyone a favour.”

The judge stopped the tape, her face livid. The room had gone deadly silent, your own heartbeat pounding in your ears. ““Your job as a prosector is not to judge the defendant fairly?”” 

Kang could only shake his head wildly as she continued, raising her voice, ““Make up the easiest case to solve, and do everyone a favour?” From a faulty forensics expert to this — Prosecutor Kang, what do you have to say for yourself?”

“Your Honour, I—” Kang sputtered out, beady eyes darting around furiously — at Jisung, and at Jeongin. “L-lies! It’s all lies, this is absurd!” He laughed, trying to make himself sound nonchalant, but his voice was weak. “This must be a—a fabrication perpetrated by the defendant—” The room was erupting in chaos now, the jury and reporters bickering amongst themselves. 

You had never seen the prosecutor so worked up before as he continued to protest frantically, “Your Honour, the defendant must have coerced the victim to do this, to—to frame me. Please listen to me, we must conduct another investigation—”

There was a deafening bang as the Judge slammed the gavel down, making the room jump. “There will be no investigation,” she thundered. “Prosecutor Kang, you are hereby removed from the Han Jisung case.” 

Kang leapt up from his seat as officers appeared on either side of the prosecutor, seizing his thrashing arms. “Let go of me! Your Honour! Your Honour, you cannot do this. Han Jisung must be condemned — you cannot let this murderer walk free—”

“Silence!” The judge bellowed, and the last of Kang’s words were drowned out, the heavy oak doors banging shut as he was thrown from the room. Jeongin looked evidently shaken. He had been right. His last existing recording — the unlikely trump card — had flipped the case on its head. You heard frenzied whispers all around you as your heartbeat pounded erratically in your chest. 

“Does this mean the prosecutor’s been fabricating all the evidence? Who can we trust now?”

“I’ve never seen a case like this before.”

“What’s going to happen to the trial now that the lead prosecutor’s been detained?”

The banging of the gavel eventually brought the restless audience to a strained silence. The Judge looked weary. “We need to take an emergency intermission. The trial...will recommence shortly.”

━━━━━━━━

You let the sea of people push you through the courtroom’s double doors, your legs threatening to collapse at any moment. Outside was hardly a breath of fresh air — all around you, cameras were flashing, reporters were gossiping, and officials were arguing. You tried to focus — to process what had happened, but the incessant buzzing of people chattering around you made your head pound so hard you swore your skull was splitting.

A firm hand on your shoulder yanked you out of your migraine, and you whipped around to see Hyunjin. You let out a small sigh of relief. 

“Hey, it might be good to get out of this crowd for a bit,” Hyunjin said, taking in your exhausted expression worriedly. “I, uh, lost everyone, but if we step outside—”

Before he could finish, you both caught sight a blond head bobbing towards you in the sea of people. Felix pushed through, cradling his camera for dear life. His freckled face was sweaty and breathless. 

“Kang—Kang’s lost all power,” he gasped out when he reached you. “Detective Bang’s managed to convince the guards to let him talk to Jisung for a few minutes—”

You had already seized your best friend by the shoulders and spun him around. He instantly got the message and the three of you began elbowing through the hordes of people, Felix leading the way.

The clamour died down to a quiet hum as you reached the hallways, Felix ushering you past an OFF-LIMITS sign. The corridors were nearly empty now, and the three of you sprinted to the end until you reached a heavy oak door. It was slightly ajar. You caught a glimpse of Jisung’s expressionless face through the dim crack, and your hand hesitated on the door handle. 

“I told you and Woojin I wouldn’t give you any counter evidence.” Jisung’s voice was cold and lifeless. 

“And you didn’t.” You could hear the growing agitation in Chan’s voice as the detective pleaded. “But you’ve got to listen to me. More people want you — need you — to keep living, more than you give yourself credit for.”

“Stop, Chan. You don’t have to do this anymore—”

“Han Jisung.” You couldn’t help his name falling from your lips, voice louder than you’d intended as you threw open the heavy door. The guards rushed to block you before you could get any closer, but you pushed back, forcing Jisung to meet your eyes. His were flat, dark, horribly cold.

“y/n,” he replied softly, and you felt your heart break.

“Why are you doing this?” You fought to keep your voice steady. “You have the right to speak for yourself. Defend yourself. You know what they’re saying isn’t true. So why are you letting them keep accusing you?”

“How do you know it isn’t true?” Jisung laughed humourlessly, shaking his head. “Don’t lie to yourself. I did kill all those people, and you know that.”

“I do. But you’re not the psychopath Kang is making you out to be,” you protested. “I know you.” 

“You don’t.” Jisung’s voice was bitter. “You don’t, actually. I’ve always — always hidden parts of myself from you. What you’re hearing from Kang is the closest you’ll ever get. He — he knows me better than I know myself.” He smiled weakly, but it fell flat. “I’ve always been like this, drawn to murder and blood and fire. It can’t be fixed.”

Each one of his words pierced through you like bullets, and you searched his face frantically for a sign, anything left of the rain-drenched, smiling boy from the diner; the wounded, soft-hearted boy you had fallen in love with. Your heart was hammering in your throat as a horrible question echoed through your head. 

Did he mean it?

It was as if Jisung had pulled on a mask, you thought. His face was absolutely still — but for a fleeting moment, you could swear you saw a flash of pain

No.

You had grown to know him, grown to know that he was the kind of boy who was willing to play the part of a depraved monster, just so you would push him away first. 

Jisung stared back at you, and for once, the darkness in his wide eyes no longer scared you. Instead, endless memories were flashing through your mind.

Jisung making you laugh until you choked on Chinese food, and apologising profusely for hours afterwards.

Jisung spilling pancake batter all over your kitchen counter, and feeding you blueberries to make sure you didn’t notice.  

Jisung, holding you in his arms until you fell asleep, hands as gentle as if he thought you were made of glass. 

“You need to go,” Jisung broke your long silence. “Stop hurting yourself. You need to let me go.”

You looked up, taking in his slumped shoulders, the note of defeat in his voice, the facade he had pulled on during the trial, and everything hit you all at once. Maybe it was the stress of the weeks leading up to trial or your hatred towards Kang had finally reached its breaking point. Either way, an overwhelming feeling of sheer frustration was washing away the anxiety that had been thrumming in your veins for weeks, and it left in its place an unbearable, burning anger.

You felt yourself push past the guards as if in slow motion, a voice in your head telling you that maybe this wasn’t the best idea — and slapped your boyfriend across the face.

The slap wasn’t hard, but the sound that rang through the room felt deafening.

“Han Jisung, you are such an idiot,” you yelled. Guards immediately surrounded you, dragging you backwards, but you didn’t take your eyes off Jisung. He was staring at you, stunned,  the stone-cold facade he had put on earlier now cracked wide open. “What do you think you’re solving this way? Do you know how many people have been working nonstop to make sure you don’t get yourself killed?” You could feel hot tears of frustration spilling onto your cheeks. “Your friends want you to stay alive. Your mother wanted you to stay alive. I need you to stay alive.” Your voice was hoarse as you screamed over the guards pushing you out of the room, and the heavy door swung shut with a deafening bang. 

The silence in the hallway seemed to swallow you up, the weight of what you had just said and done crashing down on you like a ton of bricks. You felt your knees finally buckle as you sank to the ground, burying your face in your arms and finally letting all your pent-up tears fall freely. 

Hyunjin and Felix were by your side, exchanging worried looks as they patted your back gingerly. You weren’t sure exactly how long the three of you stayed like that, your exhausted body racking with frustrated, mortified sobs, until you heard footsteps running down the corridor towards you.

“There you are— I’ve been looking for you guys for—” Kim Woojin’s breathless voice made you look up, and the captain did a double take. “Bloody hell, what happened?”

You wiped your reddened eyes furiously as Felix shook his head at the police captain, who was kind enough to take the hint.

“The thing is —” Woojin began again, tripping over his words. It was the first time you had seen the police captain so frantic. “It’s — it’s an emergency situation right now. A mistrial. The head prosecutor’s been thrown off the case, people are rioting—”

“This is a fucking mess,” Hyunjin muttered, but Woojin shook his head.

“No, it’s not,” the police captain exclaimed excitedly, “Not for us. They’re calling for a prosecutor who’s familiar with Jisung’s case to step up, asap. If there’s any prosecutor who was also working on the case—”

As if on cue, the intercom buzzed above you, making you jolt. “The court hearing for Han Jisung and Miroh Heights Murders will be resuming in five minutes. All attorneys, jurors, and participants of the trial, please report to the courtroom immediately—”

“Seungmin,” you, Felix, and Hyunjin all said simultaneously, and Woojin nodded. Felix was already pulling you to your feet, and the four of you broke into a run towards the courtroom.

[wandsandwheezes]

Till You Make It | F.W | CH5

Fake It | The Masterlist

Warnings // SMUT 18+, Hufflepuff!Reader, implied sex, teasing, lingerie, relationship, consent, sexting??

a/n // So im posting this one a day early as there is a chapter 5.5 coming out tomorrow which is pretty much just pure smut <3 once again i have to thank @starlightweasley​ my partner in crime for being my muse while writing this!!

When Fred left that evening after dinner, the under-the-table events still plagued your mind as you threw your head back against your pillow out of desperation. Fred made it very hard for you to concentrate on anything other than him or the feel of his fingers. Substituting his hands for your own didn’t help either, you fell asleep with your lips parted in half pleasure and half agony from missing the man who had been plaguing your thoughts. Chest heaving, shivers running down your spine and fingertips moving only left you breathless for him. You thought that maybe that desperate feeling would leave you when you woke the next morning, to be left in the night but as you walked to a day of appointments, your mind was truly somewhere else, somewhere with him. Each fleeting thought as you hem a skirt or completed your seams only brought you to feel his hot breath fanning against your skin or his stupidly delicate touch, having to take a deep breath just to pull you back to the reality that he wasn’t right there, he was across the street no doubt laughing and joking away like the memory of last night wasn’t plaguing his every thought. 

You were far from the truth. He wanted to storm into your shop like the first time he kissed you, hearing only your choked back moans like a sweet symphony in his brain. George tried to get his attention, only holding it for a few moments before he was distracted again. Fred was meant to be stacking shelves, but the sight of a current Gryffindor quidditch player donning their sweater made all of his thoughts of you race back. 

<< Morning, doll x

>> Fred Weasley I hate you.

<< No kisses? What have i done :(( x 

>> You left me frustrated you absolute git

<< There’s no reason to call me that, petal x

<< I could’ve left you much worse off x

He watched as the typing bubble flashed up on the screen before disappearing a few times. Smirking to himself as he locked his phone, pushing it into his pocket knowing full well what he’d done. You were sighing to yourself as you sipped on the now lukewarm coffee, tapping out the perfect message to retort back at him, but nothing seemed to fit, no matter what you say he would have the perfect witty response to chime back. It hit you, if he wanted to play games you would play along.

>> Wanna see the set I’m working on Freddie? x 

He felt his phone vibrate in his pocket, as he pushed a box of spare products onto the shelf in the stockroom. He checked the message only to feel his heartbeat about to burst out of his chest as it raced that bit quicker. He was alone but the thought of anyone just walking in or catching a glimpse of the picture on his phone drove his feet to his office as he tapped out his message to you. 

<< I’d love that xx

You smiled to yourself as you laid out the garment on the table for him, making sure that it was smoothed out to perfection before snapping the perfectly innocent picture to send to him. You knew that he was expecting more skin, a lot more skin in fact. In his head he was about to receive a tempting photo of his girl, for his eyes only. 

>> (1)  Attachment.

He tapped open the picture with shaky fingers, unaware of what to expect when the image flashed up on his screen, eyes gazing over the lacy fabric not on your body but on the worktop. Tease. He quickly realised what you were doing, huffing to himself as he let his head fall back against the headrest of his arm chair. If you kept up this teasing to and fro you’d drive each other mad by the end of the night.

<< Why don’t you put it on for me, petal? xx

Two hours had ticked by since his last text to you. He found himself checking every notification, praying it was you, even considering sending another message but he stopped himself. He tried as best he could to focus on his work; taking stock, doing orders and serving customers.  Another hour had passed and still no response. He couldn’t ignore the friction in his boxers at the mere thought of you, mind running wild once again, his thoughts alone pulled him through to lunchtime when he could finally see you. 

The way he stormed into the shop, seeking you out in the back room, eyes dark with hunger as he stared you down made your heart flutter. His brow was furrowed and he looked like a man who was starved. You liked the effect that your little charade seemed to have on him, biting the inside of your lip to stop you from smiling. 

“I don't find your little game funny, love." You simply cocked an eyebrow up at him before continuing with your sewing, the whirring of your machine filling the thick sexual tension in the air. There was an undeniable chemistry between you both, that was visible from the way you latched onto each other so quickly. You loved to see this side of him, less dominant but yet so desperate and needy.

“Uh huh,” you hummed nonchalantly as you pulled the material in the right direction, sending the machine whirring once more. Giving him the silent treatment was enough to send him wild. The sound of your machine muffled his steps as he drew closer to you, gentle touches over your exposed shoulder sending shivers along your skin. Your body wanted to give into him, let him have you right across your desk right here and now but the game was all too fun. 

“The silent treatment, really doll?” You looked up at him with a smile as he uttered those words, your hand moving to hold his, pulling yourself up from the chair to fall into his hold, staring up at him with a mischievous glint in your eye. You pushed yourself up onto your toes to press a kiss to the tip of his nose, breathing in the calming scent of his cologne and you did so. 

“Didn’t you like the lingerie, Freddie?” you asked him innocently as you bat your eyelashes, he leaned in to try and kiss you properly but you quickly pressed a finger to his lips, pushing him away cheekily as you giggled.  

“Buy me dinner first at least.” 

And he did, he bought you several dinners in fact. You made sure to dress up nice for him, let him get hot and needy before making him wait. It had now been a month of torture for the poor boy, letting him get by on no more than kisses and a few lingering touches. You wanted him to feel that same way you felt after the night at Lee’s. You swore he would’ve stopped you by now, out of pure frustration but he continued enduring his own torture just as much as you continued dishing it out.

Being invited to watch the Star Seeker’s last game of the season and coincidentally the last game before her wedding, filled you with pure joy. You invited Fred, not that he needed inviting telling him that it would be a nice date, to which the smitten boy agreed. You held hands in the stands as you both cheered alongside George, who was beaming with pride, listening to Lee commentating the game over the arena speakers.

“You know Freddie, this reminds me a lot of our Hogwarts days... I miss being up in the commentators box, it had a much better view, though for what I was looking at, I think I’m in the best seats now.” You leaned up to press a kiss to his ear as you spoke, causing him to chuckle as you moved to press your lips to his, only to be met by his finger against your lips as he mimicked how you had treated him in your shop all those weeks ago.  

“Just one kiss?” You pouted at him as he pulled you into a kiss, your heart leaping. Here Fred was, kissing you in front of everyone; his friends, family, press and every soul in the stadium but he didn’t care. The whole world could watch but he could only ever focus on you. 

It had been a week now since that event, Fred was still on edge with all of the teasing, he had grown to expect It now, waking up to a cheeky message or a voicemail, That was if he wasn’t waking up to your arms wrapped around him. He was smitten by this point, absolutely enamoured by your very presence, he would do anything to make you smile.

“Joining Lee and I tonight, Freddie?” George asked with a small knock to his brother’s office door. He pondered on it before it struck him. If Lee was out, you were all alone, the thought made his heart skip a beat. The days you’d both stopped yourselves, making out like teenagers on the bed before realising your best friend was only in the other room always seemed to kill the mood. 

“You know what, I don’t think I should be mixing with alcohol… A month sober and all.” Fred pled a fair case to his brother, a feasible enough excuse over the want to have a night with his girl. Even that sounded nice in his head, you being his girl. George nodded, suggesting a dinner instead, to which Fred shook his head again with a small laugh. 

“For the love of god, go out, get smashed and please get Lee laid… he’s driving me mental.” George nodded, laugh falling from his lips as his hand reached out to pull the door closed behind him as he went to leave, mumbling a small ‘noted’ and gesturing a salute from behind the glass.

As the evening fell, the rain came with it - a light dreary drizzle and not heavy downpours but still rain nevertheless. You managed to beat the raindrops before they fell, returning to what you called home to strip off the day’s work clothes. Between appointments you’d finally managed to finish and perfect the gorgeous red set that you had started working on all those months ago, discarded on your dressing table as you pulled on a fresh pair of joggers and Fred’s sweater which he had let you keep in all this time, grateful for the company of his scent as you realised this may be the first time you had been alone in the night since you’d left Joe. 

A knock at the front door made your heart pound out of your chest. Half of you wanted to ignore it but the curious half wanted to see who it was. Peeping through the looking glass to be met with the messy ginger locks you loved so much prompted you to pretty much swing the door open and jump into the unsuspecting boy’s arms, your legs wrapping around his torso. 

"Hi handsome, thought you were going out with George and Lee?" You peppered kisses all over his face as you held his face in your hands, fingers splayed against his cold skin yet his actions were more than inviting. You soon found your back pressed against the wall, soft quick kisses soon replaced with deep, passionate ones, lips locked together as if your lives depended on it. His foot kicked the door closed his hands keeping your thighs in place as he asserted his dominance over you. 

"I wanted you. Fuck, I've wanted you for weeks now, doll." You moaned and hummed against his lips with every kiss. It was electric the way his fingers touched you, everything from the cool sensation of the wall against your back to the heat of his shallow breaths fanning against your neck. You were nervous, wanting nothing but absolute perfection with the angel you cared so deeply about. 

Fred really was an angel to you, he helped you feel like a person again. 

“Please say something,” Fred whispered, forehead now pressed against your own. You hadn’t realised just how deep in thought you were until he spoke again, you could have swore you heard his voice crack ever so slightly as he uttered those words of vulnerability. You nudge your nose against his with a smile that leaves a reassured sigh escaping his lips just before you move once more, pulling him into another kiss, immediately feeling him relax as he closes the space between the both of you, effectively trapping you against the wall. 

“Isn’t it obvious that I want you too, Fred?” He chuckled, holding your weight in his arms as he carried you through the halls to your bedroom. He pretended to drop you twice, both times you hit him on his chest, laughing together in the most gorgeous way, creating a harmony of giggles. Each time he feigned your fall from his arms, droplets of rain fell from his soaking hair onto your face. 

“Oh yeah? Obvious is it?” His large hands gave your ass a playful squeeze before placing you on the bed. You leaned up to press a kiss to his cheek, pushing his wet hair back and out of his face. You caught how his eyes stared so lovingly at you, feeling butterflies in your stomach as he gave you his signature toothy grin. You stand from the bed, grabbing a towel that was hooked over the door to dry his gorgeous ginger locks. 

"Sit down, let's get you dried." He blushed as he sat down on your mattress, tilting his head up towards you ever so slightly as you find your place between his legs while his hands rested gently on the backs of your thighs and you swore to yourself that you had never felt such fireworks linger upon your skin as they did with Fred Weasley. Those hands you had admired for so long, those hands that gripped onto his bat tightly during your school years and hit away bludgers and all had you swooning as you gripped the towel. You draped the towel over his head, giving his hair a rough towel dry and letting your fingertips press against his scalp gently through the soft fabric. When you left him to go and hang the slightly damp towel up once more, his gaze caught a glimpse of something bright in the corner of his eye. Upon further inspection from afar, that something bright was a beautiful red lace that had been thrown on your dressing table in a moment of relief after you had finished it. He stood, making his way to them out of curiosity, his fingers taking hold of the soft lace, immediately recognising the feel and the pattern. His breath hitched, gazing upon the sensual piece that had nonchalantly been draped upon your dresser, his gaze hadn’t left the fabric and he hadn’t even noticed you were staring at him with a lingering look in your eye, your heart beat beginning to pick up once more and this time it wasn’t because he was pretending to drop you.

"It's the material you first kissed me on." You pointed out, holding your hands together in front of your stomach that was now experiencing somersaults and that familiar feeling between your thighs welcomed itself once more as you swallowed thickly. 

"I know… Is this for m–" 

"Yes." 

"Put it on then, petal. Do it for me." You could have sworn your cheeks were as red as the lace he was handing you, gripping onto the soft fabric with shaky hands. This was far from how you could have ever imagined your first time with Fred to have come about, a rain-soaked boy showing up at your door and taking your breath away with his kiss. The months of teasing were finally catching up and you had to take a moment to process it all as you retreated to your bathroom. Part of you wanted to change in front of him but more of you wanted it to be a surprise and if you were honest to yourself, part of you needed a moment before you faced him. To look at the reflection of a woman you hadn’t recognised in a long time and say ‘it’s okay’ because it was okay. This was Fred… it was Fred and you, no one else. 

There was something different about the way you pulled the straps onto your bare shoulders, the way your hair frames your face as you dressed. A smile spread across your lips and you blushed to yourself, how long had it been since you had felt like this? Something like this was truly paradise felt on earth amidst the darkness you had long been suffering within. Joe wasn’t here, you reminded yourself as you exhaled and glanced towards the door and you felt reassured by your inner thoughts. 

He had begun to pace about your room as he waited for you to return, feeling an unfamiliar wave in his stomach. Never in his life had he been nervous about intimacy with a woman, but when it came to you he couldn’t help the fluttery feeling that consumed him with every step. Fred had to remind himself that it was you, not anyone else, not Cherry, his exes or one of his lame one night stands. Lastly, it wasn’t the woman he had been pining for ever since he could remember… the one who chose his brother instead of him. It was a woman who he truly felt something for, a something that he didn’t want to ruin. He hadn’t even noticed your return, staring out of the window as he was consumed by his own thoughts. Your arms snaking around his waist as you pressed yourself into his back, snapped him away from his feelings of nerves and self doubt because he had you there. 

“We still don’t have to do this, you know.” You whispered softly as your cheek pressed against his damp t-shirt, his hands coming to cover yours, giving them a reassuring squeeze as he let out a deep exhale. He didn’t have to worry around you, he didn’t have to fear that it was Cherry’s touch masked as yours. He knew that it was you in the way he could have sworn your hearts beat together. There were no words that could have ever described the way you made him feel. 

“I want this.” he mumbled, as he shook his head, mostly at the way a leech like Cherry still was able to plague his thoughts in his most vulnerable moments. Turning in your arms, your eyes meet his face which is plastered with a deep smile, biting the inside of your cheek when you realise that you are stood half-naked but pressed against the fully clothed man. Against the man who had plagued your daydreams years ago and now your thoughts at night. He took your hand in his, stepping away for a moment before lifting your arm over your head to make you twirl in front of him. The sight of you took his breath away, solidifying the thought in his brain that you truly were a goddess. Fathoming that you were his to kiss and hold made his heart race out of his chest.

“You’re beautiful.” He managed to only just choke out the compliment as his other hand found your jaw to pull you into a kiss. Nothing had ever felt so right to him than the crave of intimacy with you right now, you let him guide your bodies, your skin now flush against the cool sheets while he leant over you. Standing up briefly he pulled his shirt over his head, exposing his toned torso that made you feel weak, counting yourself lucky that you were laying down otherwise you would have surely buckled at the knees. 

Fred knew that the minute he had the opportunity to, he would take his time in worshiping every dip and curve of your body, no matter how long or tedious the process was. His hot open mouthed kisses started at your jaw, it was intoxicating to feel him mumble praise between each kiss, telling you about just how breath-taking you were to him and how much influence you had on him. His kisses along your neck left marks not to claim you but to show you just how much he cared without having to say the words. His lips travelled down to pepper kisses down the valley of your breasts, his slow pace made you grab his face with both hands.

“Don’t be a tease, Freddie.” He chuckled, his hands wrapping around your wrists, pulling them away from his face so that he could press a sweet kiss to the insides of your palms, the hint of a smirk hanging off his lips as he did so. His fingertips grazed over your skin as they ran down your arms, sending goosebumps firing over your skin. His laugh sent every good feeling of pleasure through your veins. His hands went to his belt, immediately he thought of all the ways that this could go wrong, the image of your pained expression and the way you cried into his chest sinking his heart once more. He pondered for a moment before he asked, hardly above a whisper, ‘do you want to?’ before gesturing to the belt buckle. 

You felt your heart stop, remembering how you had stopped yourself going this far before, feeling a sense of calm fall over you as you reached to undo the belt buckle. You knew that this gesture alone was enough for you to realise that Fred really did care about your comfort, he wanted you to feel as if you were in control of the situation, not forced or pressured but completely at your own free will to pull away or stop but you didn’t. You slowly unbuckled his belt and pulled it from the loops before setting it down on the bed, smiling up at him. 

“No more teasing, yeah?” You nodded, pressing your lips to his again as your hands found the back of his head, giving the now damp hair a gentle tug. 

No more teasing. 

taglist //  @starlightweasley @slytherinsunrise @gcdric @theweasleysredhair @pansydaisy @vogueweasley @vivianweasley @feetoffthetablee @darthwheezely @thisismynerdyself @witch-and-a-half @loony-loopy-lupinn @rip-us @hopemalfoyweasley @pigwidgexn-deactivated20210125 @softlyqoos @colorfulprofessornickelangel @fandomscombine @satellitespidey @txtdreamss @aaannabbanana  @starkidpotty @mollydarling-hphm @amwithers2001 @asthmax @sarcasticallywitty15 @whizboingies  @rosietoesy

[broken-balance-baby]

forgotten idols and their intertwined destines (chapter 5)

Chapters: 1/2/3/4/5/6/7/8/9/10/11/12/13/14/15/16/17/18/19/20/21/22/23/24/25/26

DAR

The room they were in was cold— naturally, from the winds Kyrat had, they somehow managed to be so cold that they needed a heater. It was a familiar room too, Diego had been old enough to remember wandering haplessly in the palace, waiting for his papa to finish whatever he had with Pagan before being tucked into bed. Now, it was occupied with Pagan sitting down across him, while Ajay walked in with the radio in hand. Bhadra’s knife was in his hand, and he was flipping and turning it with his fingers.

He watched as Ajay sighed, putting the radio down, throwing the vase off the table in front of him.

“I take it she hasn’t been an obedient little girl?” Pagan asked, drinking from his cup. “That vase was a gift, by the way. Diego’s papa and all.”

“We should be out there, fighting back, not here, throwing tantrums like a child.” Diego scoffed. Ajay glared at him, but it was apparent that he was more miserable than he was angry. Diego tried to ignore the tapping of fingers on his shoulders, those invisible forces of his state were a manifestation of his own anxiety; they taunted him. Diego blinked, holding back the urge to brush it away, shifting his attention to the way Pagan had his legs crossed, the pink of his suit and shawl patterned in a way that made them match. 

He remembers being young and meeting the man— pink had always been his favorite color, but the man used to sport gold and white on the side too. Now that manifested into his hair instead. 

Despite his papa squeezing his shoulders right now, the man didn’t seem to say anything. Isabel came into the room, playing with the strands of his hair as he faced Ajay. 

“We need a plan. If they try to lure us again, we have to make sure that we have back up to circle them in.” He said. “Whoever’s leading this is definitely onto something—”

“You wasted that girl then.” Diego said. 

“Her name is Bhadra .” Ajay snarled, “And the leader’s what’s important, second to her.” 

Diego only stared at him, but he got up and moved past Pagan as soon as Ajay left the room. He tucked the knife into his pocket.

“Tio,” Diego said. “Will you join us in our planning?” 

“Oh, go ahead, little one! I’ll certainly be caught up later if your plans fail.” Pagan said, sipping his cup of tea. For the first time today, Diego felt a bemused twitch of his lips before completely dropping it, taking the abandoned radio with him.

The others followed him along. 

The strategy room was a long enough walk, but enough to keep a distance between him and Ajay as he continued to think. Green eyes, dark skin, but a certain stubbornness to that woman named Bhadra made something itch under his skin and he didn’t like it. 

The Dani in his head had been more of a nuisance, though on the worst days she would show up as a walking corpse waiting for Diego to get himself killed. But here, she walked with him, fully formed, with the blood still in her non-existent body, holding onto his arm. 

“I’m sure he’s gonna try and kill you soon.” Dani said, turning her head to him. Diego ignored it. “Hm? Don’t you agree?”

“No.” Diego muttered under his breath. Though he couldn’t shake the feeling, trying to work through these alliances in a way that would make it seem like Ajay wouldn’t be the only one benefitting by the end of it was difficult. Diego wanted to show that Yara was more than capable of handling a threat, just like it was years ago. Months ago, even. He didn’t care for the riches that Kyrat had to offer— he needed living proof of himself, to be stronger, to be dependable as El Presidente. He’s the leader of his people, his army needs to see it. 

This will be that proof. 

“Start here,” Carlos pointed east of the map, then drew a circle over the image. “Then we can attack from the ground up where they’ll think we’ll do it from above.”

“We will need arrows,” Diego continued from Carlos’s thought. “Snipers will only be spotted soon enough. Then from high up we can drop a bomb.”

“I’ll be there to see it happen.” Ajay said, puffing a cigarette. 

“No. I will do it.” Diego said. 

“... And if Bhadra is there?” 

“I will get her to you. If she wants to look for you then you are at risk of it.” 

Ajay contemplated it for a moment, then he nodded. “Fine. I want her alive.”

As Diego blinked, he huffed through his nostrils and put on his uniform jacket. “I cannot guarantee that.” 

And then, he left. 

[pterodactylterrace]

Guys Like You Chapter 6

Title: Guys Like You

Chapter: 6

Chapter Summary: More of a filler chapter, not much Henry, I’m sorry.

Rating: 18+

Warnings: Mentions of abuse, pregnancy, poor self image, bad coping mechanisms, low self esteem.

{Prologue} {Chapter 1} {Chapter 2} {Chapter 3} {Chapter 4} {Chapter 5}

"I already told you, Faye! I don't want anything to do with this!"

"So because I want to keep my babies, you're leaving me? Is that what you're trying to tell me, David?"

"Yes! Shit, I knew you were dumb, but seriously!"

"Excuse me?"

"Are you deaf too, whore? How do you even know I'm the one that knocked you up? You've slept with just about every guy in town!"

"Get the fuck out."

"Don't come crying to me later! You're nothing without me! No one is ever going to want you. Especially once you have kids. Who the hell wants used goods? Have fun living a life of regret!"

Faye jerked awake, her head spinning as she tried to catch her bearings. Did David really leave her just like that? Sure he wasn't the greatest, but he had never lashed out like that before. At least not where anyone else could witness it.

No. David's gone. He has been gone for almost four years now. New life. Starting over. It's all in the past now.

Have to get the baby up before the sitter comes. Work is coming up soon. Life goes on.

"Briar, what are you doing on the floor?" Faye chuckled, crouching down next to her daughter, curled up on her pillow by her bed.

"I'm a puppy." Briar yawned in explanation, holding her arms up to be lifted, promptly licking her mother's cheek as soon as she was up.

"Briar, we talked about licking people."

"I'm not Briar, I'm puppy."

"Ok then, puppy, no licking people. Now what do you want for breakfast?"

"Puppy food."

"Cereal it is."

Feed the toddler, quick shower, get dressed, throw her hair up away from her face, wait for the baby sitter, hugs and kisses goodbye, then off to work. The usual routine she had settled herself into.

Feed the baby, because she's hungry and she comes first.

Shower, because she probably has some sort of mystery goo on her from the toddler.

Get dressed, avoid the mirror.  No one wants to be reminded of how much they've changed. The softness she wasn't used to around her lower stomach, hips and thighs. Her breasts no longer as perky as they used to be. The stretchmarks competing with her tattoo's for attention.

Then, the hardest part of the day. "Ok, Briar, Mrs. Anderson is here. Mommy has to go to work. I love you."

"I love you too, Mommy." Briar responded, hugging her mother tight and kissing her cheek before she was sat back down.

"Have a nice day, Miss Warren."

"I hope she's not too much to handle."

"Never is."

Some days, Faye likes to pretend she's ok. Like she has a handle on things. Like she knows what she's doing and not just blindly stumbling through her life while trying to do right by her daughter.

Other days, she would absently push her sleeves up and her eye would catch on the black lines decorating her forearm, just below her elbow. Some days she's reminded that life is a bitch, and you can't always get what you want. On those days she tried to stay out of her own head, though that rarely worked.

She could slap on a smile with the best of them, but she could never force it to reach her eyes. Her face always remained an open book, free for anyone to read. The past creeps up on you. There's nothing you can do to stop it some days. On a bad day, the ghosts of the past will haunt your mind, echoing the worst days of your life into the void of your shattered heart.

"No one is ever going to want you!"

"You're nothing without me!"

"Who wants used goods?"

"I'm sorry, Miss Warren. There was nothing we could do."

Over and over on a seemingly never ending loop, reminding her of the darkest times in her life.

Why would anyone want her? She's not the same hot twenty six year old she used to be. She was soft. She was saggy. She would never be as attractive as she used to be. Anyone in their right mind would turn around and run once they realized how much she had let herself go.

Days like today were best spent keeping people at a distance. Tell them some story about being tired. Avoid anyone that is going to call her out on her obvious lie. Therein lies the problem with dying your hair obnoxious colors. Among a sea of blonde and brunette, powder blue tends to stick out and make it almost impossible to vanish.

Lie your way out of it. Survive another day. Tomorrow might not be better, but at least it won't be the same.

"Mommy, you're back!" The sweetest sound she could hear all day.

"I always come back, my little love." Faye assured, kissing her daughter's head.

Need to care for the baby. She comes first. She deserves the world. Play time. Dinner time. Bath time. Story time. Bed time. The same after work routine she had established months ago when she decided to drop everything and run.

Her daughter thought the world of her. She would do anything to see her smile. She would wear the stupid costume. She would pretend to be a horsey. She would let her daughter use her as a jungle gym. She would make the same dinner again for the third night in a row for her.  So what if she soaked the bathroom floor during bath time? She was a mermaid, and she wanted to show off her tail. Story time, always an adventure with her imaginative little girl. What world would they find themselves in today? Dinosaurs? Princesses? Mythology? A rhyming book?

Ah, yes of course. Her current favorite, the book about the dinosaur cleaning his room. She was a girl obsessed with dinosaurs at the moment.

"Mommy, where's my Papa?" Briar asked, staring intently down at the page depicting a mother and father watching the dinosaur throw away paper scraps.

"Don't worry about him, sweetheart. He wasn't a nice man." Faye explained, resting her cheek on her daughter's head.

"Can I have a new Papa?"

"Maybe someday, sweetheart."

"Can Spider-man be my new Papa?"

"Why do you want Spider-man to be your new Papa?"

"He's my boyfriend!"

"That's not how it works, silly. If he's your boyfriend, he can't also be by boyfriend! Pick another hero!"

"Batman!"

"Well, he is rich." Faye mused, Briar giggling happily. "Now it's time for bed, my love."

"Ok, Mommy. I love you!"

"I love you too, Briar." Faye whispered, kissing her forehead. The nightlight was switched on and the door was left cracked open, just in case. Now for her seldom used free time.

Should she sketch some more? Finish that painting she started forever ago? Ever since she started a "real" job, her art had fallen by the wayside. She was too drained to do much after work and caring of her daughter.

Maybe some drawing will lift her spirits and keep the nightmares at bay tonight. But what to draw? Not in the mood for still life. Brain too fried for something straight from her imagination. Her usual model was sleeping, and her last few self portraits had been a serious blow to her ego. She just drew what she saw in the mirror. Then, when she was finished, she decided she should have worn more clothing before she drew herself. What was supposed to boost her confidence and empower her as a woman instead left her wondering when exactly she developed that roll when sitting in that position.

"Fuck it. I'm drawing a moose." Faye grumbled to herself, turning the page from her self portrait to a blank sheet. Half an hour later when she was trying to remember what a moose's antlers looked like, she finally picked up her phone. Seven unread messages? That seems like a lot. When was the last time she looked at her phone? Oh yeah, when she got home, five hours ago.

All from one person. So she wasn't ignoring everyone at least. Seven messages, all from Henry. Shit. That's not good.

Are you ok?

You seemed off on set today

You didn't even talk to me

Did you at least make it home alright?

Can you send me a sign of life?

I'm sorry if I upset you or something. Can you please talk to me? I'm genuinely worried.

Please?

Well, fuck. Here she was playing unicorn apocalypse with her daughter, and this poor guy was worrying himself to death.

Sorry, I was drawing a moose

Perfect way of saying "I wasn't ignoring you" while also avoiding his persistent questions about her wellbeing. The good old 'drawing a moose' excuse. Works every time.

I think your moose aged me by ten years. Are you ok?

Just had a bad day

Anything I can do to help?

Squeeze me until I stop struggling and my spine snaps

That's called 'murder' Miss Warren

I knew there was a name for it

Is there anything I can do for you that involves less prison?

Nah, if you're not going to take me out, then I'm not interested

I'm not going to take you out by murder. I will take you out on a date.

Faye froze, staring at her phone. He was just playing around, like he always did. No way he was serious. Henry liked to flirt, and she wasn't about to throw herself at him over a joke. She had more dignity than that. So how does she respond? She can't just ignore him, and taking forever to respond is going to give the impression that she was freaking out over what he said.

She was completely freaking out over what he had said, but he didn't need to know that. Was he just looking to get laid or something? Probably. He had gotten pretty close the last time he had been over. There's a difference between dating and screwing, though. He was probably just looking for someone to fuck while waiting for a woman worth his time to come along. Faye was broken out of her thoughts by her phone going off again, alerting her to a new message. Didn't he know she was busy having an existential crisis?

If you're free on Sunday you can come over and show me that moose your working on

*you're

Smart ass

Sunday?

I'll have to see if Mrs. Anderson can watch Briar

Bring her along. She keeps asking me about Kal

Pretty on brand for her

Sunday?

Sunday.

Sunday. What to wear on Sunday? He was probably looking for a little something something for his time, so something slutty? She got rid of all her slutty clothes after she had Briar in a fit of self hatred toward her new mom bod, so that was out. Besides, he wouldn't have invited Briar over too if he was looking to get laid.

So what does one wear on a casual 'date' these days? She had until Sunday to figure that out.

Tag List:  @Xxxkatxo @Weallhaveadestiny

[ratabrasileira]

The Fox of The Night

Chapter Four

Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | ....

A decade and some years ago, Rhysand was lying on the couch of his house in Cesere. He wasn’t exactly understanding what his inner circle was saying; he couldn’t understand when his head was full of alcohol and his tongue heavy with the taste of it. But he knew, at least, that they were in a post inner-party of a beneficent event to help homeless faes. A useless thing if you want Rhys’ opinion; why to raise an event when he could just invest in the founds? But Mor wanted that way so he would do that way.

“Did you hear about the youngest Vanserra?” The question made by Azriel caught Rhys’ attention. Even with a foggy mind, he could still remember the youngest of the Vanserras; his fiery hair, his delicate features and that nose somehow so familiar to him.

“You’re the spymaster here, why would we hear about him?” Cassian mocked. “By the way, why were you spy–“.

“What happened?” Rhys sat straight and asked before Cassian could finish, he was curious about Lucien.

Azriel leant back in the armchair and looked slightly to Mor, apprehension in his face “His father killed his lover. He flee for another court.”

The room went silent. Cassian carefully observed Mor’s face, who seemed to had gotten paled. The absurd of Beron’s cruelty spread in everyone’s gut, the nausea of it… Everyone in the room knew that it could had been Mor, not exactly to be killed by the High Lord of the Autumn Court, but to suffer from his savagery.

“You know how to cut a clime, hm Az?” Cassian tried to relief the ambient, but Rhysand didn’t let him to “Where did he go? The boy.” Rhys asked.

Azriel only shrugged, still sending careful glances to Mor. But latter was looking at Rhys attentively; even if she was palled, her brows were frowned to her cousin. “Why, Rhys?” she asked.

“Just curiosity”

But both knew it was something more, even if Rhys couldn’t say what it was. Some months later, though, Rhysand was in his office at the House of Wind, in Velaris. It was a fancy room, full of beautiful decorations and a small space dedicated to a weird object full of orbs which was spinning around a bigger globe. Rhys was looking at it when Azriel knocked the door.

“Az. Give me the pleasure.” He greeted, smirking to his brother.

Azriel halted in the middle of the room and looked to the weird object too, understanding his friend’s joke. Rhysand have a strange habit to flirt with him and Cassian, seriously or for fun, sometimes Azriel couldn’t tell. But he said quietly to his brother. “The Vanserra is in the Spring”

Rhys frowned his brows and leaned back into the chair. Lucien Vanserra in the Spring Court, what a waste…

“With Tamlin.” He whispered, more to himself than to Azriel.

Azriel nodded and sat by the extensive desk. Rhysand knew he was wanting to talk to him even if both was in silence. That was his brother, he wouldn’t tell his opinion at first, he would wait until everything was safe to say what he wanted to say. Rhys tries not to think that maybe this behavior of him may be connected to Azriel’s past. His terrible and ruthless past.

“You paid attention to him” And that’s was his spymaster, always observing things around him. Although sometimes Rhys askes himself if Az was really that good; he couldn’t discover the most important thing for him. Maybe he was just blinding himself to don’t see the truth. But Az was indeed right. He had paid attention to Lucien and he was afraid that he would always do it.

“I do”

“Why?” A unique raised eyebrow was the only indication that Azriel didn’t like it.

Rhys got to his feet and let out a breath, before heading to the set of spinning orbs. He passed his finger around the bigger one and said. “He’s interesting. Since young he has interacted with others courts, knows how things work, how to be sneaky, how to be… a good courtier.

“You want him here” It wasn’t a question but Rhys answered it anyway.

“Yes. He would fit here–“

“He is Eris’ brother” Azriel cut him and Rhys knew he was angry. The reason, though, unknown, because Rhys doubted that Azriel’s rage would be that bad.

“So?”

Azriel only looked flatly at Rhysand. Maybe Azriel’s rage is that bad. But Rhys cocked his head and looked with frowned eyebrows to the shadowsinger “I doubt his loyalty is with his brother now, Az”

Now, in time present, Rhysand was trying not-desperately to catch Lucien’s eye in the Summer Ball. His inner circle was talking about something he didn’t want to know, since he was too busy thinking about Lucien. It’s not that he had come specially to see him, but Lucien had sucked his dick with such hungry and yet he wasn’t even looking at Rhys.

But it didn’t stop Rhysand from looking at the redhead boy as fiercely as he could. He just needed to be careful to not enter Lucien’s mind nor to not catch Tamlin’s eyes instead, who seems to be the whole time on Lucien. What had happened between them? Did Tamlin discovered the blowjob and now was pissed and putted Lucien in time out? Actually, would Lucien be that stupidly naïve to tell something about them to Tamlin?

Because Rhys knew the thing that has between them started a long time ago. Exchange of glances that could mean everything or nothing. But Rhys just wanted Lucien to look at him now so he could read what was in his eyes, at least a fucking explanation, because he was starting to feel lost.

He sighed and headed for the table full of summer food. He filled up a glass of white wine and sipped a little, looking to the crowd. Rhysand always thought those balls to be boring; where was the loud music, the chaos of agitated bodies and the low light of the parties? Thanks the Mother he has his friends to bring some joy.

But a par of russet eyes drew Rhysand out from his thoughts. It glanced at the High Lord with apprehension visible, but it quickly moved away. Yet, Rhys wasn’t stopped from going to the owner of the eyes, especially because Tamlin was nowhere in sight. Yes, perhaps now it was time.

So Rhysand putted himself among the crowd, his glass of wine already empty on the table. He slipped between bodies and more bodies, trying to catch Lucien. But Lucien, it seems, didn’t want to be caught. He was coursing on the opposite direction than Rhysand’s. It didn’t sit well to him, although he didn’t show it. Fine, if Lucien didn’t want to know more about him, than he would respect that.

At least try to.

Rhysand isn’t used to people discarding him that easy. Normally, the males and females who he had laid with would search him looking for more, unless it was a one-night thing. But with Lucien…

“Probably not only there”

What the hell did he want with that? Just to tease? Did Rhys read it all wrong? He was starting to feel stupid now. And he doesn’t like to feel stupid, at least not for someone who just sucked his dick and nevermore looked at him.

He was feeling stupid. Why was he caring about the Vanserra after all? He just has a good mouth and a sharp tongue, so what?

So what?

“Who the fuck he thinks he is?” Rhysand though while he went back to the table to get more wine. He would need that.

***

It wasn’t Lucien’s goal to make the most powerful High Lord of all history run after him, but since Rhys wanted to seek him… well, Lucien wouldn’t deny that deep down it was a good thing. He thought that it wasn’t anyone who could put such power over such arrogant High Lord. Still, the image of Jesminda’s body and Rhysand’s wickedly smile couldn’t leave his head.

It’d passed almost a year since Lucien first dreamed about Rhys killing her. He really tried to don’t keep running into that scene every night. Actually, some nights he hadn’t dreamed at all; thankfully to the tonic for sleep that he’d provided for himself. But in others… He couldn’t even sleep.

It was weird to desire someone and still don’t be able to look at the someone face just to appreciate the beauty of it. But every time that Lucien looked at Rhysand in the Summer Ball, he couldn’t stop to remember the High Lord cutting Jesminda’s throat.

It was a good thing, wasn’t it? He wished that he could stop desiring Rhys and it had happened, so why to bother?

Why to bother about his lover being beheaded every night by the male he lusted after?

Lucien ignored the answer that formed in his mind. He knew that he still desires Rhysand. The High Lord always had something upon him and, as the same time that Lucien hates it, he loves how Rhys makes him feel. And if he was going to be honest with himself, he missed the feeling of the lust running through his veins. It was such a glory moment to have everything vanished from his mind in the moment that Rhysand’s cock was in his mouth.

Such a glory moment that he craved for more. But he was scared of more.

Andreas, one of Tamlin’s sentinels who Lucien befriended with, uses to say that what we dream means something important about our life. But what did his dream was supposed to mean? Not that Andreas’ speech makes sense; when younger Lucien used to have lots of weird dreams: houses that flies, statues that used to talk to him about flowers made of candy. What did that was supposed to mean?

Lucien sighed, lent his head on the pillar and let the sun’s rays warm his skin. He’d found an empty place to breathe at the Palace of Adriata. The city was beautiful; full of happy colors and lots of sun’s ray. And Lucien always liked the sun; it would comfort him every time of the day. It would wash out his inner dark that would remain forever in his soul.

But that sun’s ray wasn’t illuminating his dark soul.

Maybe he could ask Rhys to embrace him with his darkness and become fully a soulless person. Maybe the pain would go away as the same way that Jesminda left this world.

He couldn’t endurance it. It was so sad, so lonely without her. Lucien just wanted someone to be with him, to hold him and say that everything will be fine and he’ll be happy again. At least someone to pull his hair strong enough so he could stop thinking about it.

And someone who Lucien knows that could do that was Rhysand.

Rhysand, the High Lord of the Night Court who was seeking him.

Lucien run to the ball room. Maybe he could find him and just… Don’t feel. But when he got there, he didn’t find the dark-haired male among the crowd. When he swept the room for the second time, he realized that maybe it was too late.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Damage Control

Part 7 in Getaway Series

Warnings: nonconsensual sex (oral, vaginal and anal intercourse, violence), angst, general assholery. 

This is dark!(nomad)Steve and explicit. 18+ only. PLEASE HEED THE WARNINGS. I mean it, I’m not gonna tell you again.

Summary: The reader tries to figure Steve out.

Note: This is shorter than usual chapters in this series but we get the plot moving towards the end and we’re getting so close y’all. So I hope you enjoy this installment. I might not get to post much this weekend or whatever because I have a lot of ish coming up so thank you for reading and for your patience.

Anyways, hope you all enjoy and let me know what you think as always. Love ya <3

...

It was almost a week since the barbecue. Steve had yet to return for another night of torment. It was almost concerning. Before, he dropped in almost every other day to relish in your suffering. You wondered what kept him, not that you longed for his return. You even hoped, by some chance, that the world’s greatest fugitive had been caught. 

Well, you’d know if that happened. Everyone would.

You splendoured in the daydream as you sat at your desk. After what he’d done, you only wanted one thing. More than just him gone, you wanted him dead. He had taken more than just Ethan, now he’d turned your own family against you. You hadn’t spoke to Gia or your mother since Sunday. It was too humiliating.

You thought of the headlines; the new reels. Captain America in cuffs, the man’s arrogant blue eyes averted in defeat. You smiled and played with your pen. That would be sweet...if only. 

But why not? He was still the most wanted man in the world. Hunted by more than just his former comrades. Steve Rogers had made many enemies in this world. You sat up and your chair squeaked. You glanced around at the office as if another would see your thoughts. Was it possible to bring down the former Avenger? Not on your own, of course, but maybe there were others who could help.

In all this, you’d forgotten that this man was not supposed to be in your life. He was supposed to be in prison. He belonged there. He’d earned it since his exile. Yet, even if you ridded yourself of his oppression, you’d never get back what you lost. What he’d taken from you. But perhaps you could keep him from taking even more.

You slid your chair closer to your desk and minimized your task center. You opened the browser and peeked around again. You swallowed and typed into the search bar. News stories from months ago popped up. The search for Steve Rogers was still in effect but no sightings reported. You scrolled past the hashtags and image results and clicked on the first link.

Stark Industries. Iron Man himself was leading the manhunt for his former ally. The newly repentant superhero eager to atone for the collateral damage of his heroic acts. You tapped your finger on the mouse and read. If you did this, there was no turning back. If you did, it all became deadly.

Well, what was life when it was like this?

You scribbled the number on a post-it and cleared your history. You closed the window and turned your headset on. The first call was easy; second-nature. But with each minute you became more distracted by the pad. The nerves fluttered in your stomach and made you nauseous. 

What would you say? What could you say? Steve Rogers ruined my life. Oh, and I’ve been fucking him. Well...it’s complicated. You finished your sixth call of the day and excused yourself to the bathroom. You tucked the small paper up your sleeve with your cell in the other. You locked yourself in a stall and shakily dialed the numbers, hesitation as you hovered over the call button.

The line picked up and you blurted out the words clumsily. "I know where to find Steve Rogers."

-

When you got home that night, he was there. You didn't acknowledge him as you set your purse on the table and kicked your shoes off. You didn't even look at him; his presence a speck in the corner of your eye.

He was stretched across your couch, his feet propped up on one arm and his head against the other, arms up and bent behind it. You went about your after work routine. 

You changed out of your stiff pants and blouse and pulled on a pair of sweats and a loose tee. You doubted you'd keep them long. When you reentered the living room, he turned his head to watch you. His hand slipped down to rub his crotch. His jeans bulged with his anticipation.

You cringed and he reached out to you. "Come here."

You stared at him. You slowly walked over to the couch. He pressed his hand against your thigh and snaked it around to grab your ass as he drew you closer. He squeezed and you flinched.

"Still sore?" He asked. You didn't respond. "Don't push me now."

"No." You answered. He didn't need to know that you were still tender every time you sat down. That he had fucked you so hard that you didn't get off the mattress until your alarm for work. He didn't need to know you had cried in the shower too.

He smirked. "Good." 

He tapped your ass and pulled his hand back to his jeans. He lifted his ass as he undid his fly and pushed his pants down. His cock sprang forth and he fell back with a sigh. "Hmmm," He eyed you as he gripped his cock and reached to you with his other hand.

"I'm trying to decide…" He picked at the elastic of your sweats. "Pussy, I think." He poked your vee with two fingers and wiggled his cock. "Right, come one before I change my mind."

You clamped your lips shut as you shed your sweats. You hooked your leg over him and he grabbed your hip as he guided you into place. He aligned himself and pulled you down. It hurt as he entered you. You were dry and tight. He groaned as you strained against him until he finally bottomed out.

"Fuck," He hissed and held you down. He pressed his thumb to your clit and rubbed. "What's the matter, hmm? You miss me?"

You bit down and stared behind him. You couldn't look at him as the tingle began to bloom beneath his touch. Your thighs clenched around him and you let out a deep breath. He moved his hand back to your hip and guided you.

He rocked you slowly as your arousal spread. The noise of your wetness repulsed you but fed your body. You slid up and down his cock faster and faster. He grabbed your ass and kneaded it painfully before drawing his hands back behind his head.

"Keep fucking me," He smirked as you slowed.

You gripped your thighs and kept your hips moving. His eyes were on your pussy. He delighted in the sight of him inside you. You panted and puffed as you rode him, wishing for it to be over even though you knew once was never enough.

"Come on," He grabbed your hips suddenly and brought you down as hard as he could. He lifted you and slammed you back so that he hit his limit each time. It was painful and yet it sent ripples along your spine. "I see it. You're gonna cum. Go on."

You shuddered and wrapped your fingers around his wrists as you tried to slow. He kept you in motion, your flesh slapping against his loudly. Your muffled moans broke loose and you tossed your head back and whined. 

You squeezed his wrists as you orgasmed and your body shook wildly. Even as you descended from your high, he didn't quit. He fucked you harder, used your body without a care. Even as he grunted and came, he didn't stop. Not until your thighs were sticky with cum.

He eased you down and stayed inside you. His hands fell and lingered on your thighs. He reached up to tweak your nipple and chuckled at your flinch.

"When I was away, I watched our little video." He grinned. "Very hot."

You hung your head in shame but said nothing.

"I was just visiting a friend but fuck the time dragged by. Thinking about that ass. About those stubborn little frowns, the way you snarl when you know you're going to cum even when you don't want to."

You tried to push yourself off him but he held you there.

"Uh-uh," He warned as his fingers spread across your thighs. "You can't run away now, girl. You can deny it all you want but we both know you fucking love this." He tilted his hips and poked your cervix painfully. "Ethan knew it too."

"I told you not to talk about him." You growled.

He slapped you. Hard. He gripped your throat and threatened to squeeze tighter. "And you don't make the fucking rules here. Goddamn, you're a stubborn bitch."

"And you're an asshole," You rasped.

He chuckled darkly and let go of you only to smack you again. You batted away his hand and he caught your wrists. 

"You're fucking fiesty today." Your nostrils flared and you tried to pull away. He barely noticed your struggle. "Fuck, you really want me to send our little romp to the boy? Think he'll watch it all the way through? Or you think he'll cry like he did before?"

You stopped and stared at him. Disgust, hatred, despair. You closed your eyes and sighed. He let go as your strength drained from you. All your anger slaked away and you were left weak and pliant. He always won.

"Now be a good girl and clean me up," He patted your thigh and waited. 

You climbed off of him. More cum seeped down your thighs and his cock twitched. He was growing hard again. His length shone with your juices and you shuddered as you turned to him. 

You took his cock and bent over him, trying to hide your face as your lips met his tip. He stiffened as you opened your mouth around him. His fingers tickled your side as he hit the back of your throat. 

He hummed and you forced yourself to take all of him, almost gagging as he slid down your throat. Your entire body tensed and you drew back. His fingers danced along your skin and you pushed yourself back down.

"Don't stop till I cum... don't leave a mess now." 

You almost choked at his words. You hated the control he had over you, the way you so eagerly bent to him. You used your hand in tandem with your mouth, your jaw ached and your throat burned. You gulped and gasped as his fingers sank into your waist and he groaned.

His other hand went to the back of your head and he guided you faster. Your spit dripped down his cock and around your fingers. You struggled to breathe but kept going. Just be done, just be done.

He came with a sudden spasm. He sounded surprised and he pushed your head until he was down your throat entirely. You slapped at his stomach as you fought to swallow around his cock. His cum slid down painfully and he let you go only as tears pricked at your eyes.

You pulled back and stood. You touched your throat and coughed. You wiped your lips as you panted and your head spun dangerously. You were so dizzy you almost stumbled. Steve caught your hand and kept you from backing away.

He sat up and turned his legs over the edge of the couch. He released you and rubbed his thick thighs with a smirk. “Turn around.” 

You turned your back to him. You shook your head, thankful you could hide your grimace. He grabbed your hips and forced you back, nearly taking you off your feet. You bent your legs as they hit his and he brought you down into his lap. You hovered over him as he lined himself up with your ass. You planted your hands on his thighs and pushed but he didn’t relent.

“Just relax, it’ll be easier,” He pulled you down until his head slipped inside. It was just as painful as last time. You whimpered and he pushed further. “Fuck.” He swore as he sank into you. “You’re still fucking tight. Shit.”

You strained around him and whined. It hurt terribly. You still felt the pain of the last time. His hands snaked down your hips and over your thighs. He hooked his fingers beneath your legs and brought them up so that they were bent almost flush to your chest. He leaned back and lifted you easily.

He slid in and out as he thrust below you. Slow at first. Testing you. Relishing your feeble cries. You were helpless in his grasp as he rocked his hips into you. Helpless to the peculiar waves that began to build and build. The pain faded as it had before and you were stunned by the new sensation. The intense and overwhelming cluster of pleasure.

He sped up until he was slamming into you mercilessly. His breath was hot against your scalp and he worked below you. Your hands were on his as he folded you in half, your body bounced against his. 

“Steve…” You gasped. “Please...st-stop…”

“Stop?” He purred in your ear. “Why?”

“Please…” You were in a haze. You’d never felt this much pleasure at once and it scared you. It scared you that this man you hated so much always found a way to dissemble you entirely. “Sto--” Your breath rushed out and you were left speechless as your eyes rolled back. You quivered as you leaned your head forward and your orgasm constricted every inch of you. “Oh, oh, Steve. Steve…” He didn’t waver as your moans turned to sheer ecstasy, “Yesssss. Oh my god!”

You yelped as you were suddenly turned and he pushed you down onto the couch cushion. He stayed inside of you as he crushed you beneath him. Your legs were trapped under you as he pounded into you, a hand on your shoulder and another on your head as he pinned you down. 

“Yeah, you like that, don’t you?” He snarled. “You fucking slut.”

He rutted into you as his breath hitched and the entire couch shook beneath you. You clawed the cushion as another wave washed over you. You came again, your voice trapped in the couch as he held you down. He slowed but his thrusts were just as hard. Measured and sharp as he came with long growl.

He shuddered and stopped entirely. Your body spasmed as it buzzed in the afterglow. You plummeted back down as he pulled out of you and the couch shifted with his weight as he fell back. Slowly, you pushed your legs out from beneath you and kept your face hidden against the cushion. He slapped your ass and you squeaked.

“Don’t let me go soft now, girl.” He chuckled and your stomach turned. You opened your eyes and sat up shakily. 

It wouldn’t last forever. Just a little longer.

-

He didn’t leave. You sat and stared at the super soldier, his bare ass to the wind as he snored on your couch. You expected him to go as he always did, but he didn’t. When he finished with his desecration, he’d let you go and you’d gone to get your robe and hide the bruises and fingerprints that marked your skin. When you returned, he was asleep.

You waited an hour. He still didn’t wake. You frowned and retreated to the bathroom. You kept the door open and stared at him as you twisted the faucet. He was still there. You showered, sore and achy as the heat sank into your bones, and you emerged to find he remained. 

What was his game?

You tiptoed to your purse on the table and pulled out your phone. You gulped as he turned over. His hand fell to the floor and you were unsurprised to find him erect. In his sleep, he was insatiable. He snored even louder as he rolled onto his back. 

You unlocked your phone and opened your camera. Your heart raced as you watched him. Oddly peaceful despite his depravity. You neared him quietly and angled the lense to his face. You steadied your hand and snapped the picture. You quickly retreated and hid the phone behind you as if he would awake at the silent shutter.

He still did not rouse. You licked your dry lips and scurried to your bedroom. You sat on the edge of the mattress, a shiver ran through you as your towel threatened to fall away. You quickly typed in the address and opened the page. You scrolled past the phone number and clicked on the email. 

Submit your tips to our online support to aid in the hunt for dangerous fugitives.

You sighed and clicked again. Your phone call had been less than successful. It was hard to believe a woman from a small city in a different country had actually found the Captain America. They took your tip but sounded less than convinced and you doubted the phone call they promised in return would come. This would seal it thought. This was your smoking gun.

You attached the file and wrote out your claim. The same thing you’d told the operator. I know where to find Steve Rogers. You added your name and your phone number. You hoped this wasn’t some strawman helpline. Hoped it wasn’t some shell set up by Stark to keep his name pristine. You hit send and sighed.

You cleared your history and deleted the photo. You set your phone aside and stood to pull on a night shirt and hung your towel in the bathroom. His snores were almost comforting. He was asleep; harmless. 

A thought flashed in your mind. You looked at him from the doorway. You could do it. Take care of it yourself. But if he woke, you’d be dead. The whisper faded and you went back to your room. 

You laid down and let out a whimper. Your body hurt. You pulled the blanket over you and buried your head in the pillow. Sleep was unlikely but you just needed to rest. To try to forget.

-

You couldn’t recall falling asleep. It was late though and your head pounded as you came back to the surface. There was a weight across your middle. You were on your back, your shoulders cramped and your neck sore. It was an arm; his arm. Steve laid beside you, snoring as he had the night before on your couch.

You sat up suddenly. Recoiled from his touch. He growled and rolled over. He grumbled as he woke and his blue eyes found you. 

“Fucking Christ,” He swore. “What the fuck?”

“What are you doing?” You hissed. “Go.”

“I’m trying to fucking sleep.” He rubbed his eyes and yawned. “Couch was too small.”

“Mmhmm,” You muttered doubtfully. “Well, I gotta work.”

You stood carefully. You gripped your back as it twinged and you gritted your teeth. You felt like shit, probably looked like it too. He draped his arm over your side of the mattress and you saw the twitch beneath the blankets. You turned away and slid open your closet.

“Call in.” He said. You froze and glanced over your shoulder. “Come on. You’re tired and...you’ve got work to do here.”

You shook your head and pulled out a pair of pants. “I can’t just call in. I need to pay my rent, my bills, buy groceries.”

“I said call in,” He barked as he pushed the blankets down. He cock stood and he stroked it with a sigh. “You’ve got two minutes.”

You hugged and tossed the pants on the floor. You snatched your phone from the night table and stormed out of the room as he continued to play with himself. You stopped dead as you saw the notification that bubbled up on your screen. 

Stark Industries. Re: Fugitive Report. [Urgent].

You quickly swiped away the alert and dialed your work number. As the line connected your mind raced. You’d have to wait until he left. What if he didn’t? Well, he had to go eventually, he always did. 

The other end picked up and you cleared your throat. “Hey, Donna, yeah it’s me, I can’t make it in, I’ve been sick all night. Yeah, yeah, I think it might be contagious. Okay, yeah, thanks.” 

You hung up and locked your phone. You turned and stared at your bedroom door. Could you really take on Steve Rogers?

[split-n-splice]

Oop, a longer chapter. Bear with me.

[Chapter Guide | FFn | Ao3]

40. Whose Side – 3

Her foul mood was expected, but her curt greeting still stung like a viper bite.

“I-I’m sorry I’m late,” sputtered Drakken, glancing at his bitter passenger. Making up excuses was a lost cause, but the feeble explanation tumbled out of his mouth before he could think to match her callous attitude. “I slept through my alarm, a-and I got distracted, and then you didn’t answer when I called so I figured I had best come check on you, but you weren’t home—”

“Drakken,” she interrupted tersely with a voice cold and sharp as ice.

He gulped. “Yes, Shego?”

“Shut up.”

He bit his cheek to silence an objection. The van idled a moment more as he studied her dark glare fixed dead ahead, her arms folded tight across herself and the faintest hint of green glimmering from between her fingers, visibly containing how upset she was at – at him? What had he done? Besides forget to pick her up from Buckley’s again? He wracked his brains quickly, but decided figuring her out was best saved for another time.

Attempting to appease her didn’t suit the image he was going for. He’d have to work on it. Nonetheless he couldn’t stop himself from piping up. “It’s not too late to pick up some Chow.”

Shego was silent.

Drakken turned the van around and said nothing of it when she dug out a pack of smokes from her pocket to light one up. He certainly kept his eyes off her every time she brought it to her lips to take a puff. Or he tried to, anyway.

By the time he’d navigated his way back to the Cow-n-Chow, she’d relaxed enough to kick her feet up on the dash and tune the radio. That came as some relief, but he knew better than to believe the danger had passed. Drakken was ready to order her usual for her when she spoke up, requesting salad instead. Erring on the side of caution, he ordered her usual anyway, which she tucked into and finished without a word before demanding another stop for a video rental.

He anticipated being presented with a dark and ominous film, but instead she returned to the van dully announcing she could use a laugh, and flashed the cover of a detective comedy. He had mixed feelings about the whimsical man in the picture, but ultimately decided it wasn’t his movie to watch and so the only opinion he spared was a grunt.

“Anything else?” could have been asked a little more nicely, but she could have answered a little more crossly too so he counted his blessings.

“Yeah. Do you have popcorn back home or should we pick some up?”

A sound of frustration snuck out of his mouth, but at least he could nod.

She’d get her popcorn and movie, and he – he had a backlog to catch up on. If there was any urgency to complete projects though, he quickly forgot about it when Shego’s fingers curled around his arm as he made to cross the tech lab to head downstairs. Weak against her pull, he followed her lead with nary a word in defiance.

He barely stifled his protest when he was shoved down onto the couch, his shoulders feeling strangely sunburned where she’d pushed him. “Shego, I can’t—,” was all that made it out of his mouth before her cold stare shut him up. He sat stiffly in place for a minute, contemplating ways to get out of a goodie-goodie comedy he already owned a copy of. He told her where the popcorn was when asked, but otherwise kept his lips zipped tight as the buttery aroma warmed the stale air.

Shego still wore the same stony glare as she wordlessly turned down the lights, popped in the tape, and threw herself down on the far end of the couch, guarding her bowl of popcorn she didn’t seem keen on sharing.

By the light of the previews, Drakken dared to watch her from the corner of his eye – and before they were over, he’d found the gall to unzip his lips. “Do I need to build a brain tap machine to figure out what has you so…so…,” pissed off would not be a safe choice of words, he decided as Shego’s glare turned to sear through him. “Because I can and I will.” How hard could it be? Like a lie detector, but more in depth, right?

“Stay. Out. Of my brain,” she ground out. Slumping further and drawing her knees up, she added in a small grumble, “Jackass.”

He didn’t know what he’d done to deserve her ire, but he knew a brain tap machine was off the table. For now.

Drakken crossed his arms and willed his gaze to stay on the television, but it strayed once more as scenes he’d seen before played out. She couldn’t be that angry at him for being so unfashionably late, could she? Puzzled, he stared until her jaded gaze darted to him, if only for a split second.

He hardened his own frown on the television, willing his arms to unfold, bracing himself to stand on the count of three – or ten – or one hundred. He made it to the count of sixty-five when he bit the bullet. His butt was lucky to have made it an inch from the cushion when a hand snapped out, nails digging into his shoulder. He could smell the trace of fabric smoldering beneath Shego’s palm, and felt the tremble before she retracted her grip and stuffed her hands in her armpits to hide the faint green glimmer emanating from her palms.

Swallowing and setting his jaw, Drakken stared down the moody young woman who did not appear to be enjoying her movie whatsoever. “I have better things to do with my time than—,” he began tersely, but of course was interrupted by his puzzling company.

“Lipsky, you are going to watch this normal movie with me, on a normal couch, on a normal television,” she said, her voice bearing a threat of consequence if he dared defy her. “And it’s going to be – I’m going to be—,” she was swallowing hard then as if to gulp down the frog in her throat, batting her lashes to blink away – oh for Pete’s sake, were her eyes misty?

This wasn’t a tearjerker movie, but he glanced to the television anyway as some silly, borderline obscene, gag played out.

“Yes?” he carefully urged, playing the odds she might shed a little light on the situation.

Shego all but blew up on him, flipping the bowl of popcorn balanced on her knees in the process. “NORMAL!” she shouted in frustration, and in the dim light, he caught a glimpse of the green embers fizzling and oozing from her palms as she clawed the air as if she wished to wring someone’s neck. “I want to feel normal! Just for a little while. So please. Forget about anything outside of this room for the next ninety minutes. Just shut up. Shut up and watch the fucking movie with me.” Given the daggers she shot at the television, it was a wonder she didn’t pelt it with plasma.

The startling outburst had Drakken pressed to the far corner of the couch, but at least she didn’t paw at any tears. She looked as though she’d rather throw punches before she let tears roll down her cheeks, though he was sure he saw the threat looming by the rapid flutter of her eyelids. He studied her as she curled into herself again.

He scoffed and gestured to his own blue skin. “Normal? Shego, normal is something people like us aren’t likely to be getting back,” he blurted out, much colder than intended. Even if true, once the words left his mouth, he braced to be struck with a punch, or maybe a glow-laced punch, or maybe hands around his throat, or—

Shego drew a shuddering breath and continued to glare at the television as though that would be enough to let out whatever pent-up frustration he was caught in the crossfire of. “It’s not just that,” he barely heard her grumble into her knees.

“Then what?” Drakken carped. She’d said shut up. He should have listened.

Thankfully a reprimand – verbal or physical – didn’t come, though he was so braced for one he was starting to cramp up. Shego was quiet for a long moment, until finally she exhaled slowly as though to calm herself. He swore he could see it, like breath on a chilly morning or a thin wisp of smoke after taking a drag. “It’s personal,” she said decisively.

In that case, whatever business she had with his television and couch tonight was none of his. Before second thoughts could weigh him down again, Drakken stood and played deaf to her displeased grunt behind him. He glanced to the door. He did have things to do. But he also had something he’d wanted to show her. He’d even tried to tell her so earlier, but she’d been determined to make him sit and keep her company.

“Do you mind if I—”

“Yes,” she snapped.

“You don’t even know what I was going to say!” he griped back, barely without whining, and pinched the bridge of his nose before trying again. “I think you’ll like it. I was really looking forward to showing it to you.”

It was the truth. He’d intended to show her the rare orchid sometime this evening, ever since she’d asked about it on the ride to Buckley’s Brew. And right now, she sure looked like she could use something to lift her spirits. Though there was also a risk, given the funk she was in, that she could destroy the specimen without regard to its value or the lengths he’d gone through to construct the miniature biosphere to grow the picky plant in, let alone the seeds he’d acquired in a high-stakes gamble. With a little work under the scope, the plant he’d genetically-modified himself months ago had been brought to bloom years ahead of schedule.

Shego’s misty-eyed glare burned into him for a long moment before she gave a stubborn sniff and reached for the remote to stop the movie with a loud crackle of white-noise filling the room. “Whatever,” she said coldly. “I’m going to get dressed for bed.”

It was barely six in the evening – but Drakken refrained from bringing that up as she shouldered past him. Her burnt mattress and linen had yet to be replaced. He desperately hoped that by tomorrow, his couch wouldn’t need to be replaced too. He frowned down to the marks she’d left on his coat, blue fabric singed black where shoulder pads ought to be, and discarded the victim of his volatile hot-tempered accomplice over the back of a barstool.

He slowly counted to three – only three – before leaving his living quarters and into the tech lab. Already, Shego was nowhere in sight, but as he passed down the hall toward his office, he heard the shower running. He tried not to slow or pause or lean toward the washroom door, but he didn’t make it past in time to miss a distinct sniffle inside. She couldn’t possibly be that upset he’d failed to pick her up from Buckley’s. Personal, she’d said. Then it was none of his business, he reminded himself, squaring his shoulders and stalking off for his office once more.

She wanted to be normal, she’d stressed. What was that supposed to mean? Drakken again wracked his brains. What was her idea of normal? Was she homesick? Did she regret passing up her opportunity to rejoin her brothers? Just a few nights ago, when he’d mistakenly brought his own personal woes to her, they’d sat together in front of her television and she’d drowsily reminisced about piling up on the sofa for family movie nights, failing to console him through his acceptance that he may never see his own family again – though he could barely relate to whole idea of family movie nights as an only child. Did she miss that? Not being alone? He knew she had four brothers, at least, and a father, and presumably a mother too – in other words, some aspect of her normal was a sizable family. He was only one person, and he was not crowding henchmen into his quarters to substitute for a family. Androids and henchmen had to be a sorry substitute for family anyway.

Drakken stopped at the bottom of the staircase, sighing wretchedly and rubbing at a crick in his neck.

It was quite possible he was off the mark, but if she wouldn’t tell him what was on her mind and he couldn’t devise any mind-tapping devices to get to the bottom of it himself, he was left to speculate. Unfortunately speculating was bound to give him a headache. Leaving Shego to sort herself out was possibly for the best, he decided, but he still turned for his desk to retrieve the orchid he’d left there.

He froze in his tracks when he lifted his eyes from the stone floor to see an uninvited figure sitting sidelong in his office chair, holding the glass pod containing the plant. Unplugged from what was essentially its life-support system, the delicate little biosphere was scarcely more than a glorified flowerpot, but it was still infuriating to see the intruder turning it over so carelessly.

The wave of alarm washing over him had Drakken scanning the room, frantically questioning where he’d had that blasted intruder alert button installed. That’s right – it was at the CCTV system desk across the office, in convenient reach of any henchman on security duty. Why didn’t he have a henchman stationed there anyway? He should know better than to let his guard down with a perceived threat in the area! He grit his teeth, inwardly berating himself.

“So,” cooed the young woman behind his desk before he could storm up to her. “Who’s this for?”

Frozen, Drakken couldn’t help a nervous gulp. There was no way she could know he’d brought it up from the basement for Shego. Then again, maybe she did. He thought out loud sometimes, and this stranger had the gift of invisibility to make spying a breeze. “Shego,” he growled through his teeth, though it wasn’t so much an answer as it was the irate wish for his accomplice to be beside him to explain the woman’s presence.

Miss Kimbley arched an eyebrow and smirked. “She doesn’t go for flowers,” she informed as if offering a helpful piece of information. “Oh, but try a fish dinner!” she recommended instead, smiling wider and chuckling, though Drakken failed to see what was so funny as there was certainly nothing comical about the territory she was suggesting. Even the henchcrew was strongly advised against cracking jokes of such nature.

Cheeks warming over, Drakken fixed a grimace on his face and hoped it was enough to mask his fluster. He sputtered something indignant and incoherent before he could stop himself, and he bit his tongue with a grunt and tried to form the words right before he spoke again. “What are you doing here? How did you get in?” he demanded, crossing the room to yank the spherical biosphere from the intruder’s hands. She was Shego’s acquaintance, but he was certain Shego wouldn’t have willingly invited her in.

The woman shied back just a little bit at the bite in his tone, but then she rose to her feet, pushing the biosphere aside to stand toe to toe. Drakken decided to set it down for safety’s sake, though the thought occurred too late to cradle it in his arms and make a mad dash upstairs for Shego. Instead he glanced across the room toward the CCTV desk, wildly seeking the button to sound the alarm, and lurched back from the fingers spreading over his chest.

“I have an offer for you, Mr…?” said Miss Kimbley, but he recognized a honeycoated tone when he heard one.

“Drakken,” he hissed. He batted the hand away, taking a swift step back toward the staircase – and most importantly the alarm button across the room. “Dr. Drakken.” Hadn’t he clarified that earlier? Alias or not, maybe he shouldn’t be giving his name out to a potential Global Justice spy. Even so, if she had something to offer, she had something to gain, and it was practically reflex to inquire, “What do you want?”

Despite another step back, the intruder was invading his space once again. “Better question,” she chimed, giving the bottom of his tie a tug. He snatched her hand this time, and tried not to consider how cold her fingers felt compared to Shego’s, which he could so often feel warming him even through his gloves. She didn’t let up, clearly not taking the hint nor offence to his scowl and raised lip. “What do you want, Doctor?”

Impulse urged him to snap at her that he wanted her out of his lair. The woman was trespassing, therefore posed a threat, and he was inclined to trust Shego’s judgment that he ought to keep his distance. Which was hard to do with his back against the wall. His mouth was dry. Where was that button? Better yet, where was Shego?

“Whatever she’s offering, I can do better,” said the confident pretty little thing before him in a voice that made his stomach give a sickened flip-flop. An odd shimmer like a mirage glazed over the woman and she was gone – to the naked eye, anyway. He knew better than to believe she had left, not when he still felt the invisible touch running down his stomach and—

If he hadn’t had a reason to panic before, he certainly did at the first tug of his belt.

“Hands off, missy!” snarled Drakken, leaping to the side and stumbling over his own feet. He reached for his waist – everything was in place – and just to be sure everything was in order, he tucked his shirt in a little neater.

The ghost of Shego’s past was visible again, down on her knees, a chafed look on her face for a split second before one of deep consideration settled in its place. Her gaze strayed from him as he regained his composure, her hazel eyes darting to his filing cabinet. One of the drawers had been pulled open. Had she been rifling through his files? Without a doubt, if she was here to spy.

“You need a thief, right?” she said, taking a stab at finding his sweet spot from another angle. “Assassin? Watchdog? I’m your gal.” She stood, gesturing to herself.

She most certainly was not his gal. He didn’t have a gal. And even if he did, even if Shego – Drakken stopped that thought in its tracks and gnashed his teeth, hoping his glare was as menacing as the ones he practiced in the mirror. But by the slow bat of the intruder’s fake eyelashes, it was not.

“I’ll have to get back to you on that,” he ground out, gesturing to the stairwell to signal it was time she took her leave. If she couldn’t take the hint, then he didn’t need someone on his crew who needed it spelled out for them.

Priscilla Kimbley glanced from the stairs to him, the calculating look still set in her furrowed brow. “Look, man, I need a change of pace,” she said pointedly, taking a step closer once again, but he squared his shoulders and balled his fists and she paused. Hopefully intimidated. Hopefully thinking twice about trying underhanded persuasion a second time. “Looks to me like Shego struck gold here. I saw some of your shit in the basement. Pretty wicked stuff.” Her wry smile was back. She couldn’t still be pushing for what he thought she was, could she? She didn’t look like the henchwoman type. She wouldn’t last a week in villainy.

Drakken glanced across the room to the button again. He could press it now, and Priscilla could be gone by the time the henchmen assembled, and if Shego was still in the shower – well, whatever the case, the intruder would be long gone before anyone could hope to catch her.

“Shego is more than I can handle, thank you,” he said stiffly, stepping toward the stairwell and nodding up it. He needed this woman out of his lair, before Shego could see her and he risked having another catfight on his hands. “Goodbye, please leave.” If only it was that easy. She understood the hint. No one was that stupid.

She still took her time sauntering over to him. “Yeah, I guess you’re right,” she said flippantly. “She’s not even giving you one-hundred percent.”

True, he wasn’t taking advantage of his accomplice’s full potential, but she did what he asked of her and that was enough. He still couldn’t stop his brow from scrunching as the intruder passed him and took the first step up. He nearly reached out to snatch her by an arm. “What do you mean?” he all but demanded.

The young woman paused to glance back. “She’s on drugs,” she answered simply, as though it were obvious.

And maybe it was obvious to anyone who knew the troubled superhuman. He’d like to think he knew her well enough. He’d smelled evidence on her before, and she’d made a friendly offer the other night and had the paraphernalia and everything. “I am aware she smokes—”

Priscilla Kimbley laughed, the single bark echoing up the stairwell, and she clamped her mouth shut as if only realizing now how well sound traveled in the lair’s stony corridors. “Nah, not that kind,” she said, toning it down to little more than a giggle. She set her hands on her hips, beaming down at Drakken, and he hated having to tilt his head to look up at the woman standing several steps above him now as she explained. “This shit puts her out cold. And I do mean cold. Total chill pills. Those megalomaniacs pulling the strings of that little superhero team of hers use it to keep her under control. I can get you some, if you wanna mess with it.” She gave a nonchalant shrug, as if offering to give him some miracle drug to control someone as dangerous and unpredictable as Shego was no big deal.

“I-I know about that too,” he bluffed. But did he really? He’d had a suspicion she’d been taking something, but it could have been anything. Truthfully he hadn’t given it much thought, but he wracked his brains quickly now.

When she’d first arrived, she’d skulked through his lair half-asleep occasionally, sometimes grumbling about withdrawals late at night amidst her unique issues – issues which were just now proving to be not as benign as he’d thought, if her crispy mattress had anything to say about it. If such a drug did exist, why in the world would she be back on it? Was she relapsing? She couldn’t be. She’d been so excited to use her full power when he’d made her the enhancing gloves – why would she self-sabotage herself to turn down the heat? Where would she have even gotten such a drug?

Drakken’s mind didn’t finish reeling through the possibilities before he blurted, “She doesn’t take them anymore—”

The intruder scoffed and reached into a pocket, producing a little orange bottle. She rattled the contents. “And you believed her?” she jeered down at him.

Drakken made a reflexive grab for the bottle but the woman held it out of reach with a wicked snicker before surrendering it without further difficulty. He couldn’t believe his eyes. It had to be just a bottle of aspirin, but the label – bearing a bar code and dosage with the instructions Take with food before bed, prescribed to simply Shego – looked legitimate enough, even if it didn’t clarify what the drug was. He trusted his accomplice leagues more than this shifty intruder, and he trusted her not to weaken herself – not to mention, if she was taking it, then she would have to be in contact with the supplier, Global Justice, and there was no way—

“I’ll let you sleep on it,” said Priscilla, interrupting his doubtful train of thought. She smiled again as she backed away up the staircase. “Roofie her if you don’t believe me. Only way you’ll get to have a little fun with her.”

He had plenty of fun with Shego – Vegas and the stolen station wagon were still fairly fresh in his mind – but as the words sank in, he concluded that spray painting graffiti and pushing cars off cliffs wasn’t the kind of fun this woman was suggesting. He opened his mouth to object, to defend himself or Shego or them both, but the intruder had vanished in the blink of an eye.

Maybe Shego hadn’t been over-exaggerating when she’d said the woman was not a friend. Maybe she’d had every reason to attack her when she’d arrived on her doorstep.

Stupefied for a second too long, he was late in diving up the stairwell, reaching out to grasp at open air, hoping to catch the invisible lady in his lair, but his hand met only empty air. “I am not drugging my partner in crime,” he hissed out, knowing she must still be near enough to hear him, and strained to listen for the slightest breath or shuffle of retreating feet.

He heard nothing.

Still clutching the pill bottle in one hand, daring not stow it in a pocket lest the intruder merely steal it back – invisiblity had to grant an innate talent for pick-pocketing – Drakken climbed the staircase a few steps more, his free hand outstretched and feeling uselessly for the invisible intruder. When he decided it was a lost cause, he let his hand fall and he snorted his frustration. An invisible woman who didn’t want to be caught would be a challenge to catch without a full sweep of the lair with infrared goggles, and he simply didn’t have enough for every henchman, nor did he have his own handy.

“I am not drugging Shego,” he repeated to himself, though as he returned to his office, pills in hand, he had to wonder how often she drugged herself. He tried to guess how many pills were in the bottle – the label specified 30 – and wanted to believe that most, if not all, were still accounted for. Where had Shego even gotten the pills? Had she brought them from Go City? She couldn’t possibly still be in contact with that rotten Global Justice – that would make her a spy, wouldn’t it? He trusted her not to be a spy. He knew it in his gut! Her brothers, on the other hand…

He shook his head but it didn’t clear up the plague of second thoughts he had now about his partner.

Drakken dropped himself down in his desk chair and pushed up his glasses to rub his weary eyes until stars burst behind his eyelids. Friday night, Shego had behaved especially strangely. He didn’t want to consider the possibility it wasn’t just the alcohol to blame – but he’d been sober enough at the time she’d stolen his cheese to make out her cursing to herself about needing to eat with something she damned with enough profanity to make a sailor blush. Looking at the bottle of pills now, the instructions take with food served as a jigsaw piece he didn’t want. The puzzle was coming together and he didn’t like the picture it formed.

How had Priscilla Kimbley gotten hold of Shego’s medication anyway? Were they working together, conspiring against him? No, of course not. Shego clearly had a beef with the woman, and she reminded him at every opportunity.

He’d very much like to believe Miss Kimbley was pulling his leg, but evidence pointed to Shego’s use of the mysterious medication. He shook the bottle around again and counted carefully – recounting at least two more times for good measure. There were a few missing. So what? That was proof of nothing. That Kimbley woman could have easily stolen a few. And if Kimbley had stolen them from Shego, then she would be missing them.

As Drakken was battling to convince himself that his companion wasn’t taking some strange chill pill provided by Global Justice, soft footsteps descending the staircase made him jump.

It was only Shego, in her googly-eyed owl pajamas and soft green slippers – not the sight one would expect in a lair of all places, but regrettably a sight for sore eyes nonetheless. Her hair was still damp, and her voice was a little on the hoarse side when she croaked, “Hey,” in greeting.

Drakken didn’t realize how fast he could move until he’d stuffed the bottle in his pocket and come to stand beside her. “Are you ready for that movie now?” he blurted, though he wasn’t eager to watch it himself, if he was being honest. Somehow it felt like an appropriate change of subject.

She sniffed, nose stuffy, and gave a weak smile. “I’unno,” she said with an effort at dry wit, “are you ready to be cute and cuddly?”

His legs felt weak and his heart thrummed meekly against his ribs. He wasn’t cuddle material nor did he strive to be cute, yet the prospect she might think so gave him an itch to try it out anyway. “I-I’m—let’s not get ahead of yourselves,” he stammered with a nervous smile.

She reached out for his arm, fingers curling delicately into his sleeve. She didn’t inadvertently burn him when she touched him this time, though by the look of concentration skewing her face, she was trying hard not to. “You wanted to show me something?”

In that moment, he tried to forget just how nice she smelled fresh out of the shower, and tried to think of how lovely the orchid did instead. And then he sharply reprimanded himself – because giving the orchid a whiff when his nerves were high would only heighten them, and he didn’t need any mood enhancers, for good or for bad, at a time like this. Neither did Shego, for that matter, but he turned back for his desk and the biosphere anyway.

“Now, it’s not for keeps,” he warned, gesturing to his desk and the flower on it. “But it looks nice, no? Y-you probably shouldn’t sniff it. It has strong effects on the brain. Amplifies – uhm – maybe when you’re in a better mood.” The blossom was largely unstudied, but by what he had gathered, the potent flower could act as ecstasy or it could plunge a person into depression, and cause any number of wild mood swings depending on the circumstances.

He went on to explain the exotic pink blossom to her, the lengths he’d gone to cultivate it, and its potential – but she looked bored the entire time his mouth was moving. Maybe that Priscilla woman was right, he considered, disheartened as he set the biosphere aside. Shego really didn’t seem all that impressed by flowers, even flowers as difficult to grow as genetically-modified orchids in climate-controlled biospheres. He made a mental note to find some she did like – and corrected himself that it was only to prove Shego’s indifference wasn’t withstanding among all flowers. No one hated flowers that much, except maybe the odd villain or two who utterly despised healthy ecosystems.

Shego pulled at his sleeve. “Okay,” she said, sounding bored to death. “You like gardening. Great. Can we go back upstairs and play pretend now?” She seemed more stable now, at least.

Drakken couldn’t help a sigh. “Do I have to pretend to be cute and cuddly?” The idea still had him uncertain. Especially the idea of cuddling – a possibility seeming realer by the moment, and with her no less – well, it made his insides do a nervous jig. There were more productive ways to spend his time, and yet he was compelled to bend to her will.

She flashed an impish smile. “You don’t have to pretend.”

“Good.”

“Because you already are, flower boy.” She turned away then with a small laugh at his grunt of indignation.

Despite what should have been an offence to his villainous ego, he followed her back up the stairs. His smile on her back faded though, and he reached almost involuntarily for his pocket and the pills in it. Pills prescribed by Global Justice.

Keeping his eyes up, he studied the back of her head, eyes inadvertently drawn to something that stood out against the sheet of black. Maybe he just hadn’t walked close enough behind her to see them before. There wasn’t much to see there on the back of her head – except, of course, a grey hair or two he hadn’t noticed until now with her hair damp and sticking flat around her shoulders.

Following Shego back to his quarters, Drakken tried not to stare too hard. She seemed too young for grey hair, but he was mindful enough to keep the thought to himself. She wasn’t older than she said she was, was she? No, of course not. He’d first met her as an awkward teenager – well, technically she still was a teenager – but it was only four years ago or so that he’d first encountered her. She’d been in rough shape, but thinking back, she’d still been very much a kid then. He hadn’t been in the best shape himself either, and he’d been in even worse shape when he’d ditched her at that lonely rest stop in the middle of nowhere.

Something about that fateful day echoed at the far reaches of his mind, just out of his grasp. Something about Subject B.

Drakken mulled it over as he made a fresh batch of popcorn while Shego sheepishly swept up the mess she’d made earlier.

It wasn’t until she was sitting on his couch, awaiting his return with the bowl, did it finally resound clearly in his head and out of his mouth. “Subject B is liable to break down in a matter of years,” he muttered incredulously to himself, staring down at the grey strands standing boldly against her unnaturally iridescent raven locks.

The thought of cellular damage crossed his mind. If her body hadn’t adapted to her alien power, the plasmic fire would have destroyed her years ago as surely as it would have anyone else’s who came in contact. Thankfully the first round of researchers had clearly been wrong about her – try as she might, Subject B hadn’t destroyed herself during the metamorphosis – but that didn’t mean they were entirely wrong, either. Without a so-called chill pill to suppress the flame, was she still at risk of hurting herself? Had Global Justice been doing her a favor by regulating her alien glow in some way?

Shego glanced back at him innocently, tearing her eyes off her movie. “What was that?” he barely heard her ask.

“Nothing,” he answered quickly, sitting down awkwardly on the far end of the couch, the bowl of popcorn set on the one cushion between them.

He tried to face the movie and eat popcorn one puff at a time from the palm of his hand while his companion snacked by the handful. He didn’t make it long before his eyes slid across to her, the thoughts still wreaking havoc in his head.

She caught him staring. “What?”

“Nothing,” he blurted, gaze snapping away briefly. “Um. Actually.” He was sitting on the pill bottle in his back pocket. He shifted, but it didn’t make his rear feel any better. Unabashedly studying the woman in her pajamas now, the question “Are you on any special medication?” escaped his trap.

Shego quirked her brow at him, suspicion fleeting on her face, but she laughed awkwardly. She took a guess, “Like…what? Birth control?”

He had to dismiss that one the best he could, awkwardly scratching at his neck. “Ah, no. That probably couldn’t hurt, but no, I mean – what I’m asking is – I’m just wondering if you’re taking anything. That’s all.” He swallowed and waited.

She dropped the wry playful act, her glare hardening on him. “No,” she denied, though he could hear the lie laced in her tone alone. “What makes you think that?” She needed to work on her deception skills.

“Nothing. Nothing, just…” Drakken blurted, realizing he was just as bad. His own pulse thundered in his ears. If Shego had put Priscilla up to giving him the pills, she’d be expecting him to come clean, wouldn’t she? And if she hadn’t, she’d have to expect him to return the stolen item. And if they were stolen, and if she was on medication, then maybe she needed them. “Well, actually, you said something the other night. And I just thought, if they help…maybe you’d want these back. I believe these are yours.” Swallowing doubt and anxiety and anything else, Drakken fished out the bottle from his back pocket and held his hand outstretched, bottle in his palm for her to take.

Shego’s eyes locked on the bottle. She reached for it but withdrew her hand just as quickly, wringing her fingers. “No, thanks. I don’t need that shit,” she spat – only to change her mind in the next instant. Before he could argue it or retract the offer to return the medication, she snatched up the bottle and jumped to her feet.

“It might be for your own good, Shego,” he called, leaping up to follow her to the kitchen. Her hands were emitting green cinders as she fought with the child-proof lid. He smelled melting plastic. She was heaving for breath. She was angry. What was she so angry about? It was a damn good thing he hadn’t let her sniff the flower.

“Fuck off!” she shouted vehemently, chucking the bottle with full force in the general vicinity of his sink. The half-melted bottle shattered, little white pills scattering. Before the pills had even stopped bouncing, she scrambled forward to collect him, cursing to herself. “Whose side are you on anyway?” she snapped back at him, voice cracking, as he approached the kitchen island.

“Yours!” Drakken blurted in reflex. “I mean – I thought – I thought you were on mine, is what I mean. And if they help you, maybe you should—”

“No,” she spat. She was trembling, throwing every pill she found into the sink under the running tap. She slammed cabinet doors to find the switch for the garbage disposal. “No, no, no,” she repeated to herself, to every pill she disposed of. He heard her counting them under her breath.

Once the distraught superhuman was sure that every tiny pill had been thoroughly destroyed and washed down the drain, she hovered over his sink, shaking her head as she ran her glowing hands beneath the steaming stream of water while the garbage disposal snarled tirelessly.

Drakken was quiet for a long moment, standing cautiously on the other side of the kitchen island though he knew he wasn’t out of the danger zone. Once her tremors had subsided somewhat and the steam had stopped billowing, he crept forward, daring to stand beside her and shut off the faucet. When he reached for her shoulder, he was just about zapped by the energy radiating unseen from her body.

Despite the shimmer of unchecked green glow glistening over her skin, Shego turned sharply toward him, her face thudding into his chest and arms constricting around him, squeezing the breath out of him in a bear hug comparable to his mother’s. The only difference was Shego was not his mother, and her body burned like a furnace against him, namely her hands digging into his back. He winced. The plasma burns eating holes in his shirt would need lotion later.

Bearing it, Drakken squeezed his eyes shut, choosing not to look so closely at her grey hairs, evidence she might very well be breaking down in some way. She was certainly breaking down on an emotional level, anyway. Cute and cuddly, he reminded himself as he gingerly held her by the shoulders, desperately hoping to channel whatever cute and cuddly part of him she’d been hoping for tonight even if it wasn’t his normal.

He knew the third degree was coming when his companion went rigid and roughly shoved him back, an accusatory glare written across her face. Drakken didn’t wait for her to demand answers before opening his big mouth to spill the beans.

[fangirl-ramblings]

Pairing: Charles Smith x F!reader story

Summary: The story picks up just after Jack has been rescued from Angelo Bronte & the gang are celebrating the happy occasion - though not everybody in camp is in a mood to celebrate

Tags: Possible spoilers for the end of chapter 3 / part of chapter 4. A little bit angsty, a little bit nsfw, but then some fluff to lighten the mood

Notes: This is the first story I ever wrote for the RDR2 fandom and looking back on it...it's certainly is far from perfect, but I'm still proud I took the leap to share it with you all. Hope you enjoy

~* Tumblr Masterlist *~

Sweet Dreams

The seats around the campfire were starting to fill up fast, so you sat on the ground next to Javier, as he started to play his guitar.

Shit, poor Sean – shot dead in the middle of Rhodes. You weren’t there of course, but you’d walked past Arthur’s tent one day and saw he’d left his journal open on his bed. Curiosity had gotten the better of you so you wandered over, but as you approached, you wish you hadn’t – the sketch Arthur had drew showing the young Irish lad’s split skull had haunted you for the last couple of weeks every time you closed your eyes.

You reopened them only when you felt somebody nudge you with their leg and you looked up to see Arthur standing next you with a drink in each hand

You looked around at all the smiling faces around the campfire and try to think when was last time everybody was so happy & carefree; it decided it probably wasn’t since Sean was rescued from bounty hunters a couple of months ago.

“You okay y/n? “ he asked handing one of the bottles to you

“Yeah, I think so” you answered before taking a long sip “suppose I’m just tired”

“Already the party’s just begun?!” he laughed as he walked off to check on everybody else.

The truth was a bit more complicated than that, and you were finding it had to paint on a smile & pretend everything was okay, especially when you were sat in front of the scene that hurt you the most.

You watched as Abigail cuddles Jack, as if she’s never going to let him go again, before you turn your attention towards Hosea & John. Both wearing wide grins as the older man gives John a pat on the back.

You had known eventually it would come to this; when you have somebody like Hosea, a master of charm, gently persuading John to do the right thing by his son, it would be only a matter of time before John listened to his head instead of heart. Yet you always had held out hope that one day the two of you could still run off into the sunset, perhaps far away so there’d be no going back this time.

But now that last fleeting moment of hope had suddenly vanished as saw John follow Abigail & Jack over to Pearson’s wagon and actually make pleasant conversation with her.

“Ay, Ay, Ay , ay canta y no llores, ay, ay ay ay” You try to join in alongside everybody else, but you’re too distracted. It was a small moment, over in a split second but you saw it, Abigail had turned to John & touched him lightly on the arm and for the first time since you returned to camp you noticed he didn’t flinch or scowl at her – in fact he placed a gentle hand on her back as she rose with the boy. You closed your eyes again and this was now the image plastered in your mind. The Marstons looking like a proper happy family

“Ay, Ay, Ay , ay canta y no llores, ay, ay ay ay”  the words rang in your ears. You spoke no Spanish, but when you heard Javier sing it for the very first time, you felt moved by the song and has asked him what did mean

“Sing and don’t cry” he had explained, but right now you felt like the opposite so you downed the rest of your bottle and stood up & excused yourself from the group

From here you could still listen to the events of camp – right now you could just about hear Dutch speaking to Arthur about Tahiti - but you were far enough away to left alone in your thoughts, not that you really wanted to go down that dark path.

You’d been sitting there for no more than five minutes, sobbing gently and taking swigs of alcohol, when you heard footsteps approach and then stop right behind you. You wiped your cheeks & turned your head around to see a shadowy figure topped with a white hat looking at down at you

Walking into your room on the ground floor of the house, you located your satchel and rummaged about before finding exactly what you were looking for – a bottle of gin. Taking the stopper out with your teeth, you opened the back door and sat down on the quiet patch of grass.

“Can I help you Mr. Bell?” you asked

He had piqued your interest

“How so?” you replied arching an eyebrow

“I was thinking more along the lines of I could help you Miss (l/n)?” he drawled

“Tsk, I’d rather go swimming with the alligators if it’s all the same to you” you replied before turning back round to finish off your drink

“I doubt the alligators would go anywhere near you stuck-up frigid bitch” he huffed marching back towards his tent.

“A pretty girl such as yourself, upset and by sitting on her lonesome – I thought maybe I could introduce you to a friend of mine. A real good friend who’d know how to make you moan in ecstasy rather than misery” he responded pointing to his crotch

After emptying the contents of the bottle down your throat, you were starting to feel a bit light headed, so you closed eyes once more and leaned back onto the ground. You could hear the voices from the other side of camp getting louder by the minute; a few rowdy songs being sung by Karen, Uncle & Grimshaw accompanied by Javier, Arthur drunkenly greeting everybody in his path and laughing at himself whenever he shouted Lenny’s name and Molly having a go at Dutch yet again.

Frustrated that you couldn’t just fall into a drunken stupor, you clenched your fists & pounded them into the ground – though it took you a few seconds to work out why the ground felt soft & squishy & had made an “Ow” sound

“Sorry, Charles” you slurred

You opened one eye and saw Charles crouched over rubbing his foot

“It’s okay Miss (l/n). It’s my fault that I didn’t see you down there”

“Are you okay?” he leant over and helped you sit up, only for you to wobble again “Here lean on me” he told you as he sat next to you

You did as you were told and took it upon yourself to place your head onto his chest.

“Stop with the Miss (l/n) nonsense” you told him as you tried to prop yourself up on your elbows, only to fall back down into a fit of giggles “Ooops”

You could tell by looking at Charles that he had a strong frame, but you were  stunned to feel how muscular his chest was and found yourself wondering what exactly was he hiding under his shirt

“Erm… you know that you just said that out loud” he blushed

“Did I? I don’t think I did”

He laughed at your drunken logic and thought it would be easier to just agree with you for the time being

“Anyway Miss (l/n) …” you cut him off

“(y/n), My name is (y/n)” you lifted yourself up to face him “You’ve known me for several months now Charles, you don’t need to be so formal with me all the time”

You smiled at him “That’s better” You found yourself focusing on his scars

“Sorry, *(y/n)*” He empathised saying your name as if it was something foreign to him “

“How did you get them?” you absent-mindedly ask as you traced them with your fingers. You feel him pull away slightly.

“Charles Smith” you sigh “a man who says so much by saying so little” He looks at you with bemusement and you stare back in his deep dark eyes, “but then again why do you need to say anything when you can let actions speak louder than words” 

“That’s a story for another day” he teased

You found you gaze was now focused on his mouth & you started moving slowly towards him. You gently placed your lips on his and was pleasantly surprised to feel him kiss you back. Without breaking you straddled his lap and draped your hands around his neck while he wrapped his around your waist whilst you both continue to explore each others mouths.

“Not like this” he shook his head “I’m not going to take advantage of you when you’re drunk”

You decided this wasn’t enough, so you moved your hands over his chest, working your way down slowly taking in the contours of his body. As you you finally reach the top of his trousers and started to unbuckle his belt, you found his hands over yours moving them away. You looked back at him with a confused look

“Trust me I want this” you plead, moving your hands back towards his area

“I want this too.” He lifted you off him and stood up. The sizeable bulge in his pants agreed with what he was saying. “But I don’t want either of us waking up in the morning filled with regret” 

He took hold of your hands and helped you stand up. You was still a bit wobbly, but that passionate kiss had sobered up you enough that you could walk, even it had made your legs turn to jelly. He placed an arm around your waist and helped guide you back to your room.

As you entered, you looked around and saw that none of the other girls had retired for the night yet, so it was just you & Charles standing there. He helped lower you onto the couch you were calling a bed and you leaned forward and pulled his shirt closer to you so you could kiss him again. He lingered for a few seconds before stroking your cheek and kissing your forehead

“Goodnight (y/n). Sweet dreams”

“Goodnight” you blissfully responded as you lay back down. 

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

You closed your eyes and for the first time in several weeks you did indeed have sweet dreams

A follow up to this story can be found here

[jade4813]

A Lie, Told Often Enough, Chapter 16

Author Notes: Inspired by @fallinginloveinaflash‘s AU prompt. All credit for the idea goes entirely to her.

Title: A Lie, Told Often Enough

Rating: NC-17

Synopsis: Iris just landed her dream job at a PR firm and her first assignment is reforming the bad boy image of celebrity artist Barry Allen. He’s overly cocky and well-known for being a playboy, but Iris has never met a challenge she couldn’t handle.

Chapters: 16/?

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

In the fuzzy, warm glow of that state between sleep and awake, Iris sighed and reached out for Barry, wanting to draw close to his warmth. Her brow furrowed with dismay when the back of her hand brushed found nothing but cold cotton where his body should be. The incongruous absence was enough to pull her out of her hazy dream, and she frowned slightly as she blinked into the morning light. She glanced at Barry’s side of the bed and sighed at the smooth, untouched blankets. Now that she was awake, she remembered that he was away on tour. He hadn’t slept next to her for over a month. It would be at least another month before he did so again.

Knowing there was no chance she would get back to sleep now, Iris arose and threw on a tattered old robe she’d found in Barry’s closet. It did little to ward off the morning chill, but she imagined it smelled like him, so wearing it made her feel better. She still wasn’t used to these long days spent without him, and she wondered if she would ever grow used to them again. Ignoring the tiny voice that reminded her she would have to do so once this charade was over, Iris headed into the kitchen for some coffee before grabbing her laptop and preparing to start the day.

As she had every day for the past month, Iris immediately searched for updates on Barry’s tour. Not long ago, she would have done so to see how her PR strategy was working. Now she did so because she missed him. She would never tell him that this online perusal felt like her only tether to his present life. Although they exchanged texts during the day when he had the free time to do so and he called her before taking the stage every night, she was careful to keep her tone upbeat, her questions general, letting him drive the conversation. She tried not to let him know how much she missed him, telling herself that she didn’t want to make him feel bad for being gone so long. But, of course, she was also scared that she would say too much and betray her feelings for him.

BARRY ALLEN DISHES ON MUSIC, LOVE, AND HIS BAD BOY IMAGE AFTER SOLD-OUT CONCERT IN CHICAGO

The headline was the first to pop up when Iris searched for Barry’s name, so she clicked on the link and started to scan the text. It wasn’t long before she saw her name.

“The star, notoriously reluctant to talk about his personal life, opened up about his recent engagement to fashion icon and burgeoning philanthropist, Iris West. When asked about the criticisms regarding the speed of his engagement, he admitted, “I suppose some people might think it was fast, but if you ever met Iris, you would understand. She’s the most amazing person I’ve ever met. I didn’t expect to fall in love with her, you know, when we first met, and now I realize I never thought I could love someone as much as I love her. I know it probably sounds cheesy, but she makes me want to be the best person I can be. She grounds me. Like a lightning rod. And from the day we met, I’ve carried her with me. She’s in every song I write and – okay, I’m embarrassing myself now, aren’t I? You can tell me if I am. I just miss her, you know?”

When asked what it’s like to be on the road for so long, he explained, “It’s exhausting, of course, but there’s no better way to get out and meet my fans. I always meet such incredible people on the road. This time, though, every stop on the tour is one step closer to getting home to [Iris].”

Iris smiled, lingering on the word “home.” She wanted to believe his words were true and not just pretense, all part of the charade. She wanted him there with her. With a sigh, she tore her attention from the article to look at her schedule for the day. She was supposed to attend an event for charity that evening, which would not only allow her to network for Mason but would help her bring attention to a worthy cause. But when she checked on the details, she saw in e-mail in her inbox informing her that, due to an extensive kitchen fire at the venue the evening before, the event was being postponed.

As soon as she read the words, she flipped back to her calendar again, her breath catching in her throat. When she saw her schedule was free until the following evening, she grinned and almost bounced up and down in her chair as she searched for airline flights. For a moment, she considered texting Barry to let him know she was coming but decided in the end that it would be more fun to surprise him.

Her flight booked, Iris raced to the bathroom to shower and pack for her upcoming trip. She couldn’t wait to see the look on Barry’s face – or to fall asleep in his arms once more.

The roar of the crowd washed over him, and Barry bounced his weight onto his toes, throwing open his arms as he threw a grin towards his sea of fans. There was so much about touring that he hated. But these moments on stage – when the cheers and roaring excitement seeped into his skin, making his heart pound and his blood race – made the bad food; antiseptic, impersonal hotel rooms; and the endless, grueling hours on the road almost made it all worth it. If only he didn’t miss Iris so much that his longing was a physical ache.

“How is everyone tonight?” he yelled into the microphone as he strummed the first note to kick off that evening’s set. The crowd roared again, and he bowed his head and began to play. The song ended, and he started to joke with the audience until his bass player caught his attention and nodded offstage with a smile. Confused, Barry followed his gaze, his heart skipping a beat when he saw Iris.

She was dressed in torn jeans and a t-shirt from one of his old shows, pilfered from his bottom drawer. When he caught her eye, she threw him a cheeky smile and a wave. Barry stopped his story mid-word, tempted to race to her side. Instead, he turned to the audience and said conspiratorially, “You’ll have to excuse me, but it looks like my fiancée has decided to surprise me.” The crowd cheered, and he threw them a smile and then looked back at her and tossed his head, silently inviting her to join him onstage. She narrowed her eyes and shook her head.

“I think she’s shy,” he murmured into the microphone, eliciting laughter from the crowd. “Maybe she needs a little encouragement?” The crowd roared, but Iris didn’t move. “If I play a song for her, do you think I can convince her to come out here to give me a kiss?” He glanced at Iris again and she laughed and stuck her tongue out at him. “But what should I play?” he asked, his eyes locked on hers.

Iris lifted her eyebrows and threw him a teasing grin, and he lifted one arm, encouraging the crowd to shout suggestions. But they only suggested his songs, and he was afraid that would somehow reveal too much, that she would realize how much of her was in his songs if he sang them to her. The audience quieted when he grabbed the stool nearby and perched on the edge. Throwing his band a slight shake of his head to let them know not to play along, he began to strum his guitar and turned so that he could watch Iris as he sang softly into the microphone.

“When the rain is blowing in your face, and the whole world is on your case, I could offer you a warm embrace. To make you feel my love.” He threw Iris sheepish look, hoping she liked the song, and saw that she was biting her lip, shifting her weight back and forth. He continued, “When the evening shadows and the stars appear, and there is no one there to dry your tears, I could hold you for a million years. To make you feel my love.”

Iris didn’t tear her eyes from his as she stepped forward. A slight murmur arose from the crowd when she appeared onstage, but it was muted quickly as though they were afraid of ruining the moment.

“I know you haven’t made your mind up yet, but I would never do you wrong. I’ve known it from the moment that we met. No doubt in my mind where we belong.”

Iris stopped a few feet away, and Barry stood. His band started to play softly as he lifted the guitar over his head and placed it aside. Then he stepped closer to her, his mind only on her as he continued to sing.

“I’d go hungry, I’d go black and blue. I’d go crawling down the avenue. There is nothing that I wouldn’t do. To make you feel my love.” He lifted a hand and brushed her hair back, stroking the soft skin of her cheek as he continued, “The storms are raging on a rollin’ sea and on the highway of regret. The winds of change are blowin’ wild and free. You ain’t seen nothin’ like me yet.” He drew her into his arms, pulling her tight against him, and she curled her arms around his neck and melted into him as he finished his song, his voice barely above a whisper.

He could have been singing to her alone, and it was only the presence of the microphone that spoiled the image and made his voice carry across the crowd. “I could make you happy, make your dreams come true. There is nothing that I wouldn’t do. Go to the ends of the earth for you. To make you feel my love.”

As the song ended, he bent, bracing her with his arms as he lowered her into a deep dip. His mouth crushed against hers, and the roar of the crowd pressed against them like a physical weight. The roar grew louder the longer they kissed, but Barry barely noticed. His heart lighter just having her in his arms, he finally put her back on her feet. Pressing his forehead against hers, he shrugged out of his trademark coat and slung it over her shoulders, whispering, “Baby, I missed you so much.”

Later, after returning home, to her loneliness and her responsibilities, Iris would close her eyes and relive the feeling of Barry’s arms around her. His lips against her skin. His song as it washed over her. She would remember how he sang the words like he meant them, and how he looked when he came to her after the show, his hair damp with sweat.

She was waiting for him in his dressing room backstage. In a moment of impulse, she’d stripped out of her clothes, dressing herself in nothing but one of the towels he so hated as she waited for him. It was barely enough to cover her chest, tantalizing glimpses of skin peeking through the folds. As the door slammed behind him and he reached behind his back to lock it, his gaze swept over her. Then, in two long slides, he was across the room, lifting her into his arms. He stepped forward and pressed her against the wall, sliding a thigh between her legs to hold her in place as she tore his shirt over his head.

“You’re right,” he growled, yanking the towel open until it fell on the floor at their feet. “I love these towels.” And then his mouth was on hers, his hands caressing her skin, his head bowing as he licked the soft swell of her breasts.

They made love there, against the wall, their hands and mouths desperate as they held each other. She moaned when he moved inside her, willfully losing herself in his touch. She tightened her legs around him, rolling her hips to meet his thrusts. Gasping his name into his ear in lieu of the words she didn’t dare say.

When she first returned home, she would think of those moments when she was alone in his bed, trailing her hands over her body and pretending that they were his. Later, she would try not to think of them, cursing her memory and her imagination, that she could no longer separate fantasy from recollection.

She would also try and fail not to think about the next morning. Their sleepy embrace when she awoke in his arms, never wanting the moment to end. Greedy for each other, they made love all morning, only reluctantly stopping when she realized she would miss her plane.

When she grabbed her bag and headed for the door, he stepped behind her and wrapped her in his arms, ducking to press a kiss against the side of her neck. As she lifted her hand to run her fingers through his hair, he murmured against her skin, “Listen. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking, and I think...when I get back, we should talk. About our future. There’s something I-I need to tell you.”

Alone in the dark, she would dwell on those words, mulling over the weight of them. Whispering them in the night to feel how they tasted in her mouth. She wondered at his tone, imagining pauses and emphasis where there had been none.

“I think we should talk,” she whispered into her pillow. Had he stressed that word, a dramatic portend of what was to come? Had she been so blind, so giddy to be in his arms that she’d missed it? Or was her mind playing tricks on her now that she realized what he had meant? “About our future? About our future?”

She groaned, pressing the pillow against her mouth the muffle the sound. She had mulled over those words, weighing them over and over in her mind, until she could no longer remember just how they had been spoken. But did it really matter?

It didn’t. Because the next time she saw him, he broke her heart.

[eikyun]

Eishi Tsukasa Essay; how I met him, and 10 reason why I love him

Caution: it will be pretty long. Please bear with me >_<

In this post, I’m going to spill out all of my feelings I have for this guy. Stay away if you hate him, okay :) Hating Eishi is a bad civilization :p

I met Eishi 3 years 9 months ago, exactly at November 2015. After I finished watching the 1st season of Shokugeki anime, I was interested to read the manga. For the most thing I was more curious about the rest of Elite 10. With the information I got from Google, I clicked ch 119 and... tada~ At a manga panel, I saw a beautiful white haired male sitting while drinking a cup of tea.

“Wow, he is hot.” I mumbled. Yes, I was attracted to his looks at first glance. He is totally my type, appearance wise. Two next pages later, the cool, collected guy I saw before suddenly turned into an anxious, shy dorkie boy. 

“Is he actually the 1st seat?? Omg this is getting interesting.” I thought. How could soggy guy like him can gain the highest rank in the friggin Totsuki Academy?? This fact tickled my curiosity more, I wanted to know more about this guy. I skipped to ch 132, where Soma and Megumi met Eishi in his booth (I read the chapters in order later, though). It was more emphasized that our 1st seat is a true introvert, and a perfectionist. This guy... is very similar to me. 

He automatically jumped into my most favorite SnS character. No, he became my most favorite anime/manga character at that time.

After I read SnS until the latest chapter (ch 145), I eagerly waited for his next apperance. When ch 148 released, I saw him on a pretty big panel, sitting leisurely while watching the Souma vs Eizan from the screen... my heart skipped a beat, my lip drew a wide smile. What’s up with me? I just knew him for like... less than a month, and yet I felt like an idiot when I saw him. Did I... fall in love?

It took 4 months until his next appearance (ch 161). I was extremely happy to see him again, and I couldn’t wait to know about him more and more. During that Souma vs Eishi battle arc, I learned more about Eishi, I was amazed that the way he talked... the demeanor he showed... is very similar to me. I never met a 2D character (or perhaps irl people) who shared a lot of similarity (personality wise) with me. I felt more kinship with him more than with Megumi, who is also a shy character. This fact just made love him even more.

***

From ch 118 until Le Dessert ch 1, plus Betsubara 6 and 7 and some extras, my feelings for Eishi remains same. Here’s my 10 reason why I love a chef named Tsukasa Eishi.

1. Let’s start from the shallowest thing; looks. Yes, he is undoubtly good looking, I’m sure everyone must admit it! Nobody can resist that beautiful pale lavender iris with outstanding long eyelashes, combined with that gorgeous shining white hair... Oh, how ethereal. His fair skin, slender and long fingers, his alluring neck, his collarbone, his body shape, his waist— aaaaah ok ok I’ll stop >////< in tl;dr, people would fall in love by his looks alone, but when they find out his true self, who knows?

2. Fashion sense. I know you guys might find his flying necktie weird, but I admit, it looks so damn cool on him. Not to mention, I love how he wears his uniform, both school and chef one. The unbuttoned collar, half-rolled sleeves... What an unexpected style for a shy boy like him, huh? But I don’t care, if it makes him looks hotter, I’ll take it~ Not to mention the collection of casual outfits he has. He’s not on the fashionista tier for sure, but he still has good sense. Well, I can say that he looks good on everything.

3. His voice. This is something I admitted way later. At first I wasn’t too fond of Akira Ishida’s voice on him. Too ‘husky’ for me, I thought. However, the more I hear him talking on anime, the more I’m used to it, then it grows on me. Now everytime he speaks, my heart throbs faster. The power of love is too strong haha.

4.      The adorable gap moe! Gap moe! Gap moe! Eishi’s gap moe is... too cute and irresistable >///< I’m sure people’s first impression of him is... a cool, elegant, and handsome guy... he must be a very cool guy like heroine’s love interest in shoujo manga or Korean drama! Who knows if he’s actually a huge dork! He can show you his anxious, worry-wart side at unexpected time, wrecking his previous prince-like image completely. What a gap! Would he stay calm and stoic everytime people surround him? Please don’t scare this soft guy, he would be freaked out and get nervous >_< 

His gap is also shown by his demeanor towards people. If it’s someone he barely knows and cares, he wouldn’t bat an eye, hence you call him an absolute selfish guy. However, he shows his care towards someone close to him. Just look how he treats Rindou (hmph, I’m so jelly :<) I’m sure he’d super sweet to his girlfriend and treat her like a princess, if he has one someday! >_<

5. If he is that spineless, is he actually an incompetent guy? Hell no! You all must know that he’s one of the best chefs in the series! If you’re going to deny this, you must read/watch a wrong series lol. He had sit on the throne of 1st seat of Elite 10 for freakin’ two years (there’s a plot hole about this, but regardless he gained the 1st  seat on 2nd year or 3rd, my point still stands). The more amazing thing is, he gained it not by magic or ahem, plot no jutsu. Many said that he’s a natural genius chef, however, he worked hard for that sweet 1st seat. You can reread/rewatch the whole of SnS to prove his competence in cooking.

6. His elegance. French cuisine as his speciality alone proves that. His dishes always have luxurious presentation. The taste? If only I could actually taste it... ;_; Throughout the series, it’s proved that he never fails to make a lot of people amazed. Not only by his dishes, people are also enthralled by his elegance in kitchen. The way he keeps composure while cooking, the way he interacts with ingredients, the way he set the plating of his dish... it’s like watching a prima ballerina dancing in an opera. Oh, not to mention, his nickname sounds elegant and noble as heck! Let me say it; Weiss Ritter der Tafel! The White Knight of the The Table!

7. Have I said he’s a hard-worker? Sure he is. Since junior high, he had set his goal to be the 1st seat of Elite Ten, and he didn’t just sit down for the whole of his time in Totsuki. He was famous as ‘Teacher Crusher’ for his effort to drag teachers nearby to try his countless test dishes. 

Even after he gained it and graduated from Totsuki, he still aimed to be a better cook! Can’t you just imagine how persistent—I mean, hard-working he is? His hardwork isn’t limited to cooking only; he is a diligent boy in general. As he got the 1st seat title, he didn’t throw his responsibility down to the rest and walk away like a boss. He hates paperworks and especially public speaking, yet he’s responsible enough not to ignore his duties. People might see him as a doormat for letting himself doing Rindou and the others’ paperworks, but not for me. Who’s the selfish one then? :p 

He deserves my highest respect for his hard-working nature and being responsible.

8. His innocence— I mean, it’s more like his naivety. This trait might be irritating for some people, and in Eishi’s case, it lead him to earn the ‘bastard/asshole’ title by those who misunderstand him, due to his incompetence to understand people’s feelings. It’s emphasized by the fact that he tends to be straightforward, both in words and act. 

His naivety makes sense, he lacks social/communication skill since he’s an introvert (not all introverts sucks in social skill, though). He doesn’t interact with a people much. Eishi’s own world is just around cooking and nothing else lol, that’s why he’s focused on his own cooking and prioritizes it above anything else. Sounds like an autistic person, you say? Maybe. As someone who has a tiny bit of autism, I understand this side of him well and I can’t blame him for that. I always find myself being busy in my own world, and I tend not to interact with people much. I’m not saying that he’s diagnosed with autism, no. He might have a bit of it, just like myself. So don’t blame him for forgetting Kuga after his match with him, he was just way too busy in his own world XD

Talking about innocence... isn’t he also actually an innocent, adorkable boy? I mean, he seems to have a relatively pure mind. He never actually means to harm people. If the others think so, it’s mostly a misunderstanding. He might be blunt with his words, but he’s just being honest, you know. He never lies. 

Please give him a chance, I believe he’ll grow to be a better person in future.

9. The previous point has connection with this one, his introverted nature. I can say he is 90% introvert. Isn’t it obvious? He is undoubtly shy boy, hates public speaking, easily gets nervous in front of a lot of people, prefers to cook alone, lacks of social skill... he is socially impaired, Rindou said so. However, he tries to overcome his social anxiety for the sake to be a better chef. Isn’t it great?

As a fellow true introvert, I find Eishi very relatable, thus I feel a deep connection between me and him. Every time I feel anxious in front of people, I think of Eishi that he would feel the same and imagine that we would overcome our shared obstacle together.

10.  Eishi isn’t Tsukasa Eishi without his dominant trait: perfectionist. 

Let’s start with the fact that his blood type is A. People with this blood type (including me) tend to be perfectionist and organized. You can search more about it on Google, and you’ll find out that Eishi fits most of A-type traits! You might see his obsession for perfection a bit annoying, but that’s Eishi for you. Everything he does must be perfect. He’s someone who makes plans and he wants to follow those plans completely. It leads him to be a hard-worker, but it also makes him prone to stress and worry. Is being a perfectionist a good thing? Yes, but it would drain yourself if you’re way too obsessed with perfection. Eishi seems... quite perfection obssessive. I’d say it’s way too much because I don’t want to see him being trapped in the endless loop of reaching perfection and drained him both physically and mentally. I’m also a perfectionist, but not as much as him, yet I understand how painful it is. I love this side of him for another reason; he always has a clear goal; honing his cooking skill to be perfect, and works hard for that. I’d prefer someone like that than a hopeless person who has no goal in their life. I admire people who try hard to reach their dreams. Also, he always gets things done properly and never try to be half-assed.

My conclusion: Eishi isn’t perfect, despite of being obsessed with perfection. He isn’t a perfect husbando material, but he’s perfect in my eyes. He has flaws and weakness, but I’d embrace those and keep loving him. I love you, Tsukasa Eishi.

[mirkwoodshewolf]

New Year with the band; Queen x reader

Hello people of Tumblr and HAPPY NEW YEAR!!! I was hoping to have had this done last night but time got away from me so I finished it this morning and so for my first fic of 2019 I present to you another part of my Rock Angel series. This is a pre-Rock Angel fic right here so this is counted before “Set it all free” when you the reader are still the intern to Miami. And after seeing Bohemian Rhapsody for the 2nd time last night, I just had to do this fic and I may have another chapter up soon, hopefully. Anyways I hope 2019 is a great year for everyone and that everyone stayed safe after last night and are taking care of themselves post-New Year celebration.

Warnings: None except for INSANE FLUFFY FEELS.

Taglist *open*:

@phantom-fangirl-stuff

@onebigfangirlworld

@mr-badguymercury

@labessieisallama

@starswin

@naturalswifty89

@isabella-bby

_____________________________________________________

*December 31st, 1980*

This has been a crazy three months and here I am in Freddie Mercury’s house with a whole bunch of strangers plus the rest of the band and their wives to ring in the New Year.  Of course Adam didn’t want to come even though I tried to convince him to come, but he said that he was just too cool to be around a band like Queen.

It was 15 minutes till midnight and 1981 would soon be here.  I was at the food table trying to get a second plate of brownies and basically fill up on sugar to keep myself awake.  Most of the people were already hammered beyond anything else so I had to walk over some of their unconscious bodies till I finally reached the guys.

“Ahh there’s our best girl!” Freddie praised at he held his glass up almost as if he were giving a toast.

“Oh stop it Fred, I literally just saw you five seconds ago.”

“Five very long seconds.” He whined as I playfully shoved his shoulder.

“Isn’t that your second batch of sweets already?” asked Brian.

“Sugar keeps me up, otherwise I’d be asleep in the corner hours ago after all that I’ve been through this semester.” I said.

“But I thought you loved us? Guess we were nothing but a stress factor to you then huh?” Deacy snapped clearly teasing me as I noticed a glimmer of mischief in his eyes.

“No, no, no, no don’t you guilt me Deacy! You know I love you guys! This has literally been the best semester I’ve had, I just can’t believe in a couple more months I’ll be done and then I won’t see you guys till your next tour before Miami clears my internship credit.”

“I can’t believe you’ll be leaving us after our tour, I feel like you should stay here with us even after the tours done. I’d miss you too much darling.” Freddie said as he leaned over and hugged me close to him before kissing my cheek.

“In all seriousness love, maybe you should cut back on the sweets, you’ll crash faster if you keep eating sugar, take some of these,” he then handed me a couple of his celery sticks and baby carrots. I looked at him with a ‘seriously’ look as I said.

“Really? Veggies Bri?”

“Less you want cavities for the new year I suggest you eat those. Otherwise I’ll have Dr. Taylor here take a look at your mouth since he studied dentistry.”

“Wait for real?” I asked as I turned around and faced him.

“This whole time we’ve known each other and you never once bothered to listen to what I did in school. Really (y/n) what kind of friend are you?” Roger said in a mocked hurt tone.  I threw my baby carrot at him which made all of us laugh and we continued to chat till the midnight hour drew closer.

Time sure does go by when you’re having fun with friends because now as everyone gathered to watch the ball drop live from New York City. We were just 2 minutes away to ring in the New Year and as everyone began the countdown, the anticipation was growing as it got closer and closer.

10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1

“HAPPY NEW YEAR!!” Everyone cried out as horns were blown, confetti was thrown in the air and couples kissed each other to ring in the New Year.  Bri, Rog and Deacy kissed their wives to celebrate the new year, Freddie was off god knows where by now meanwhile I just sat there alone.

I sure wish Adam was here to ring in the New Year.  I mean he used to be romantic at first at the start of our relationship, always buying my flowers and leaving little poems every time he’d leave the flat, but now for some reason he thought the romantic gestures were too corny and lame for him all of a sudden, could threaten the new “Rock” image he’s been trying out.

So I secretly knew even if I did bring him, he wouldn’t go for a New Year’s kiss.  Which sucked because the believer of romance that I am, I always thought sharing a kiss with the person you loved, meant you’d have a full successful relationship in the years to come.

At least that’s what I always saw in my parents every New Years.

I sighed solemnly and decided to stop out of the craziness of the party and just have a moment to myself.  I sat along outside in the garden of Freddie’s house along the bench and just stared up into the sky.

“Happy New year mum and dad. I sure wish you could be here to see it.” I said to myself solemnly.

“Something wrong love?” I heard Deacy’s voice say. I turned around and saw the guys standing behind me all looking at me with concern.

“No, not really. At least anything serious.” I said.

“You sure?” They all came and sat around me. Deacy to my left, Brian to my right, Roger sitting in front of me and Freddie standing behind me with his hands on my shoulders every now and then squeezing them assuringly or massaging them.

“Yes, I promise guys nothing’s wrong just….missing my parents is all.”

“While we can see that’s true, there’s something else going on too. You got a little awkward once people started kissing each other, is this because of Arsehole?” Roger said.  I looked at him and said.

“His name’s Adam Rog,”

“Is there a difference?” he questioned. I scoffed at him shaking my head softly.

“I don’t know guys, I thought that maybe I could for the first time get a New Year’s kiss with the first boy whom I’ve ever allowed into my heart ever since my parents died. Oh if only you guys first knew him you’d know he was romantic like you lot are, but lately he’s just called off anything that could damage his ‘badass hard rock exterior’. I don’t know, maybe I’m just a sap.”

“There’s nothing wrong with being a romantic. Neither gender should feel shame for being or hoping for a little romantic gesture in their life. Take me for example, the best guitarist of the greatest band. Makes his wife breakfasts in bed even when it’s not Mother’s Day or her birthday. I do it because I love her.” Brian said.

“And me, silent bassist John Deacon. I wrote ‘You’re my best friend’ for Veronica. Because that’s who she is and will always be to me. Not just the love of my life, but also my greatest and most treasured friend.”

“And even though we’ve broken off the engagement, Mary will still always be the love of my life. No matter what, which is why I wrote Love of my life for her, because that is who she is and will always be to me. Even though we’re no longer romantically involved with each other.” Said Freddie.

“And even though I’ve gained the reputation for ‘bad drummer boy of Queen’, for Dominque I’m willing to do anything for her. Whether its treating her to a spa day or even a day off from the kids.”

“And that’s what makes your wives and Mary so lucky to have met guys like you. I….just wish I had that guy now.”

“You will love, one day.” Deacy said as he gently placed his hand on the top of my shoulder and gently stroked it with his thumb.

“Until then you still got us, in fact.” Freddie cupped my face and had me look up at him and he kissed both my cheeks and continued, “Consider that your New Year’s kiss from me to you, darling angel.” I smiled up at him as he released my face from his hands.  I then felt my head turn towards Deacy and he said.

“Happy New Year poppet, here’s my kiss from me to you.” He then kissed my temple before I felt him lean his face against mine giving me an additional butterfly kiss. He backed away as Brian said.

“Don’t forget about me,” I turned towards him and he cupped my face much like Freddie did. He first leaned in and gave me a soft Eskimo kiss as his forehead touched mine which always made me feel safe and loved. He then gingerly kissed the center of my forehead and it was then I turned to Roger.

He grinned up at me and said.

“You know the drill, get into these arms you little imp.” I grinned at him before getting off the bench and hugged Roger. His strong arms wrapped around me instantly giving me a big, warm bear hug as I liked to secretly call them.

I felt him repeatedly kiss the top of my head and felt him rub my back.  But then I felt him starting to poke and lightly pinch around my sides, oh shit not again!

“Rog no!”

“No you’ve ended last year with a frown, when you should’ve been smiling. So that’s my first New Year’s resolution, to get you to smile.” He said with a mischievous grin as he kept tickling me. I squirmed around trying to escape Roger’s grip but it was iron clamped.

“Rog….stohahahp!”

“Nah I don’t think so.” He said as he kept tickling me.

“You know Rog, I think you and I are sharing the exact same resolution.” Deacy say.

“No! Nohohoh Deacy don’t…..NOO!!” Soon I had both Roger and Deacy tickling me.

“For being total opposites, seems they’ve agreed on one thing.” I could hear Brian say.

“Indeed.” Stated Freddie.  

“But who says they get to have all the fun?” suggested Brian.  As I kept trying to escape from both Rog and Deacy, suddenly I felt four more pair of hands start to tickle me.

“Guhahahahys stohahahahhap you’re kihihihihlling me!!!”

“Will you start off the New Year with a smile little angel?” Freddie asked.

“YES!! YEHEHEHESS!! JUST PLEHEHEHEASE STOHAHAHP!!” And with that the tickling ceased.  I panted heavily trying to regain my breathing and I said, “You guys are devils I swear.”

“Well that was rather rude darling.” Freddie said.

“Does that require punishment lads?” Brian asked.

“I say it does.” Stated Roger.

“Agreed.” Said Deacy.  The four of them looked at me ready to start tickling me again when I shouted.

“No! No! No! No! No I’m sorry! I’m sorry! Okay I’m sorry I surrender!” They all smirked at me laughing softly.  I then looked at them and said, “Thanks for cheering me up though guys.”

“No problem love, we’re always here for you when you need us.” Brian said as he gently stroked my hair.

“Happy New Year, my four best boys.”

“Happy New Year, our little rock angel.” Freddie said. I smiled at them and I went up to them and the four of them brought me to the center once more but instead of a tickle attack, it was a Queen group hug.  

1980 was a roller coaster year for me, but the best thing that came out of it was the fact that a girl like me, an ordinary college intern music student got to call the biggest band in all of History, my family.

Hell I can’t even imagine what 1981 was going to bring that could make this year seem just like any ordinary year.

[alitheamateur]

The Grind- Chapter 14

Several days after my return to the city, and routine normalcy, I was required to attend a conference for Colton’s next match. I had no excuses for absence this time, nor did I want them. I thought sure I may upchuck the chicken salad I chose for lunch earlier, but I didn’t want to run away this time. Proudly showing him that life indeed did keep rolling despite him cowardly bowing out. This recent feeing of courage lifted me mentally, & I very much intended to set him ablaze with regret, and torture, and longing all the same. The cliché “look what you lost, imbecile.” Moreover, I wanted to prove that despite the hot mess I had been not so long ago, I was going to find myself again. I was going to manage drinking a cup at The Grind without wanting to burst into a screaming tantrum, and I wouldn’t have to take an alternate route commuting to work every morning just to avoid the drive by Mac’s. I knew I couldn’t erase him, for obvious reasons, but I found hopeful comfort in knowing he would fade in time. 

I reached the location making decent drive time despite the expected sea of traffic in attendance. Shoulders haughtily held high, dressed to the nine in a relaxed, yet very flattering olive-green jumpsuit I had ordered online weeks ago. Thin straps, a waistline cinched with a loosely tied built in belt, the hem grazing the lower region of my calves just as intended to display strappy nude 3 inch summer wedge. This special location much more glamourous and upbeat than the typical local boy fights in Pittsburgh, which meant more media, more cameras. Colton’s title match against Mendez may have been etched as a loss on his record, but not to be considered the same for his career. His execution, ferocity, as well as sheer God given talent landed all industry eyes on him, resulting in quite the busy schedule for Ritter and his team.

I slipped carefully in a row towards the back of the room, before turning myself directly round into the aisle to march toward the rows nearer the stage. I wasn’t there to lurk in the shadows, I wanted my presence to be fully known to him once he arrived. Colton holding the winning favor for the match, his opponent made an entrance first. Jon Ryker, a middleweight contender from the coast of North Carolina held the size of an undeniably future champ, but the record of just another mediocre kid with a tendency for rage. He took a seat quietly, the public highly aware he was the type to fly under the radar despite the frequent snippets from his sessions he posted to an Instagram account. As a matter of fact, he was much like Colton in the aspect of a hatred for the spotlight.

Next, it seemed a wind of his attendance brushed over me in the seat, causing goosebumps to raise over my exposed sun-kissed skin. At first, I subconsciously dropped my head to glance down at my feet, avoiding the initial moment of eye contact with him in over a year. But, it was bound to happen, might as well be sooner than later. I raised my face, not letting my eyes go straight towards him, but the general direction of the side entryway first. Then, inevitably, my stare found him, seeing him not looking at all as homely and unappealing  as I had hoped on the drive over. A fight of this magnitude leaning more over the proper side of the fence, which meant the attire was more professional & buttoned up than I knew Colton cared for. Which meant he was going to be himself as usual, and go boldly against the grain in typical Colton Ritter fashion. He wore a motorcycle manufacturer screen tee, indigo washed jeans that sat low on his hips, and that leather riding jacket he placed over the back of his seat, making it clear he’d likely rode the bike. The image of him speeding carefree through the streets under city lights, and starry summer skies made me shamefully weak even then.

Miraculously, I was able to remain apparently unnoticed for several minutes after the questions commenced. Everyone had went about their business with the asking and answering while I waited in the wings. I prayed maybe I’d be incognito altogether until I stood for my question, but the events didn’t play out by that hand exactly. The fifth row, directly in front of me, a gentleman two seats down was called upon by Colton to proceed with his inquiry. When he finished his thought and sat to his seat, the  Pretty Boy Punisher, which now seemed to be a household name, kudos Liv, you savvy girl, you, huffed out in thought on how to proceed with his response, all the while sliding his eyes around the room erratically. 

That is until he saw something familiar. Someone familiar. The fuzzy hairs on the nape of my neck stood at attention, recognizing the feverish look  tossed upon me. I watched the color drain entirely from his usual rosy cheeks, his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down with his thick swallow of utter disbelief. His teeth scathed over the bottom of his lip, and his smoky eyes widened a bit. He appeared to have seen a ghost, much like the ones that frequented the halls of my apartment. Only now, there were no ghosts. This was reality. The first time we’d beheld the other in the flesh since the collapse. Through my darkly dilatated pupils, I could see the very real agony in his expression now that the shock had dwindled away. The arm he had randomly settled on the tabletop now raised upward, his large hand stroked over the lines of his mouth in a worrisome manner. 

The regret and yearn that I so longed to see in him, assuming it would bring a swell of much needed, childish satisfaction, didn’t do so in the least. Rather it drew up from the well of my own personal sadness buried deep in my gut. My face felt dazed, and afar off in a land of psychedelic sorts. I saw reds, and static black in my peripherals, like my recent grief was coming to life and engulfing me.  Fearing the entire room was observing the exchange, I looked away swiftly, seeing as he didn’t have the heart to do so first. Embarrassment in the public eye wasn’t something he needed right now, and I wasn’t about to let myself be the butt of the gossip column speculation either. Although a tabloid photo in this outfit wouldn’t have been the absolute worst thing…. After he was able to scramble some form of sentence together for the previously speaking reporter, I figured since the cat, the painfully awkward, very large cat, was out of the bag, I might as well take my turn and get it done. I slipped up a requesting hand, and he pointed nonverbally to me.

“Um, Mr. Ritter, I just wanted to know, with a win under your belt from only a few months back, do you feel like you’re coming into this matchup with some extra momentum?” He cleared his throat, nervously locking, and unlocking his fingers together. I waited, and waited, then waited some more patiently through his worrying ponder for an answer. I imagined his blood heating, and every vein under his skin erupting with hot pressure.

“Uhm… Thanks for the question, Liv. Thank…. Thanks for coming. It’s good to see you.”

Shit, Colt. Way to spotlight the elephant in the room

“I uh, I feel good about that last win, yeah. I definitely needed the morale boost after all the shit I had going on……. After the um, after the loss against Mendez, I mean. With the continued support of my team, and a loaded effort, I feel like maybe we can come away with this one too. But, I’ve come to realize that getting every win isn’t what’s important.”

Are you trying to tell me something Ritter? You needed a morale boost after Mendez, sure. But that hesitation, and the shifty eyes you gave said otherwise, right?

Off I went down the rabbit hole of my thoughts again, analyzing subliminal messages that were nonexistent, I’m sure. It’s true what they say about the first time you see an ex post breakup, especially if one still is still pining with every cell over the other. Pining against my better judgement, but pining in every way.

When everything had come to a close for the evening, following the fists raised, nose-to-nose photo op of the fighters, I was ready for nothing else but the quiet solace of my apartment to recover from the forced overdose of emotion I endured. Colton nearly plowed through anything in his path, including Mac who had given me a knowing, and sympathetic nodded hello, to retreat back into his cave. My original thinking always leading me to believe he may well have meant those crude words he’d jeered at me the night at Mac’s. But after witnessing his demeanor with me, it seemed maybe he hadn’t originally aimed to say them out loud in such a callous manner.

…….

Colton snagged the victory the following night, and the post-conference was heavy with the same stomach churning, weighty, discomfort for both my ex and I. Only this time, a bystander had detected our lingering looks, and the quivering of words when we spoke only about his win.

Enter Tia.

I was snaking my way through the scattered crowd toward the nearest exit, when a petite, yet very firm hand clasped around my wrist rattling the tightness of my watch.

“Running from something? You jumped up out of your seat like the room was on fire,” the female stranger spoke. “I’m Tia, by the way. Liv Elliott, right?”

She was absolutely stunning in the most unlikely way. A frame standing of about 5 foot, which is probably a generous estimate, creamy caramel skin. Her raven black, silky hair braided into tight rows atop her head, and the lightest, most electric shade of baby blue eyes I had ever seen.

“Uh, yeah? I’m Liv Elliott. Have we met?” She’d turned loose of my arm to reach forth in a hand shake.

“Oh no, no. I’m just familiar with your work. I’m actually a fighter here in town! Clearly I haven’t quite made a name for myself yet.” She giggled, and curled her shoulders up around her neck as if to sink her head into a turtle shell.

“Don’t be silly! It’s just, if your matches aren’t really advertised or spoke about, I don’t usually know about them, ya’ know? It’s very nice to meet you, Tia.”

The woman seemed to relax a bit at my reassurance. When I stepped away from the conversation, she was abruptly on my heels.

“Would you want to have a drink, Liv? In all honesty, woman to woman, it kind of seems like you could use one.”

I’d had worse offers in the last year, and she seemed nice enough. Especially to a hermit like myself who had yet to form anything closely resembling an actual friendship in this city.

“You know what, Tia? I think I would like a drink. You know a place close by?” “Next door, there’s a decent lounge in the hotel lobby.”

She led the way to the ground floor of the contemporary, blue lighted bar at the neighboring hotel of the fight venue. On the way I complimented her shoes, and she suggested I try the Long Island Ice Tea. We opted for a two seater booth rather than the bar top since the fit and length of my skirt would indeed show more than desired if I hiked up onto a stool.

“So, Tia. How long have you been competing in the ring?” I sipped the excellently recommended Long Island.

“That’s a really long story, “ she chuckled. “But, to sum it up, pretty much my entire life. I started Brazilian Jui Jitsu when I was about 6 years old, and it all sorta stemmed from there. My dad was an instructor growing up, so it was something I came to instinctively love the way he did, I guess. What about you, hm? How did you get into the  media side of the cage?”

This girl was oozing a contained edginess, and I had already decided she was cool as hell 3 sips in.

“Not to sound redundant, but that’s kind of long story as well. Only mine probably isn’t as enjoyable as yours if we’re being truthful.”

“Ah, I see. That story wouldn’t happen to contain a character by the name of Colton Ritter by any chance, would it?”

Busted. But in reality, how could Colton and I not honestly expect people to pick up on the oh so clear connection between us? Especially considering the circus of exchanges the last two days. “That obvious, huh?” I scrunched my nose in humiliation, letting my back relax onto the white, padded booth.

“ ‘Fraid so, Liv. You two were absolutely locked in on each other in there. Not to mention the way the poor sap looks at you. Anything you wanna talk about?”

Tia and I chatted in the hotel bar that night till the hour closely approaching 2 a.m.. I’d given her the high points of what played out between Colt & I, leaving out many of the juicy particulars for another time. No one would every hinder the thick as thieves, near 16-year bond that I had with Sara, by any means. However, Tia seemed to be proving herself someone I could have to fill her shoes when I needed a friend closer to home. I duly noted all the positives having a friend like her would entail. She was fiercely self-assured, bold, an exceptional listening ear, and most importantly, she had brilliant taste in shoes. She would become all the things this lonely, imitating city girl was missing here in Pittsburgh.

The upcoming months drew us tightly knitted together; you could say inseparable. Her loft apartment was only a measly 8 miles from mine, and the café where she waited tables in the evening was a short walk from my office. Tia Larkin would make my apparently sad life much more amusing from that night on.    

 Dating was teetering nonexistent, if you even consider one set up, courtesy of my oh so pushy, new friend, actually dating to begin with. She painted a very accurate description of him as part of her strenuous efforts to convince me to “get my fine, successful ass back out there.” His name was Luke, he was 23, and a personal trainer at the gym she frequented in.

“He’ll fit right in with your weird fetish for chiseled, rugged Abercrombie models with trust issues, Liv.” She’d teased.

Apparently, I had a type now? The reluctancy nearly caused severe outbreaks of wheezing panic the night I was dressing to meet him. In all honestly, it wasn’t fair that the poor guy had to follow in the very existent, very large shadow of Colton. I mean, I wouldn’t want to be the one attempting to fill those shoes. Appearance, wit, talent in the ring, or the bedroom for that matter… I felt as I was just setting him up to fail miserably. But, in hopes to raise my still somewhat broken spirit, and get Tia the hell off my back, I was going to give it an A+ effort.

He’d sent a text, (strike one) sending directions to the bar downtown, (strike two) whereby he wanted to me. There wasn’t at all any problems with the bar itself, but I had just enough small town in me to consider a bar very tasteless in the matter of first dates. Reason one, being the environment is entirely and distastefully too loud for any form of decent conversation, let alone two people who don’t know the first thing about each other. Secondly, I just felt it was a lazy copout. No sincere thought went into planning a date in a local bar. There was no romance. No allure. I fancy a dirty planked wooden floor, and a sloppy game of pool as much as the next gal, don’t get me wrong. But as far as first impressions go, it was just a no for me. Or, was this just my subconscious picking this Luke guy apart like a starving vulture only because he wasn’t the specific fellow I wanted to be spending a rowdy evening at the pub with….

It was a sticky summer evening, and clearly a casual date, so I cast little consideration on an outfit. Ripped denim shorts, and a quarter sleeved, v-neck top, beach waved hair.  I closed the locked door of my car turning towards the bar entrance when I spotted someone jogging across the busy street in my direction. There was no denying he was blessed in the looks department, but in a more boyish way than Colton. He had very subtle features, and large almond-shaped eyes. There was no whiskered shadow to his face, or visible scars, and his build was missing that broad, muscular shoulder set I had grown a liking to in regard to the male body. He fit the bill of personal trainer though, with toned, yet modestly sized arms. When he reached my car, he immediately swallowed me into a hug after leaving a formal kiss to my cheek.

“Liv, I’m guessing?” he raised in question.

“How incredibly embarrassed would you be if I said no?” I half grinned to appear joking, and was afraid he almost didn’t catch the humor when his own smile wilted a bit.

“Oh, not at all. See, I make a habit of kissing random, beautiful women in the middle of the street.”

Okay, kid. Touché on the playful banter. “Noted. But yes, I’m Liv. Liv Elliott. It’s very nice to meet you Luke,” I introduced.

“And you as well, Liv. You wanna head inside, or we can wait for the next girl in the street I’m going to kiss to show up?”  

TAGS: @torialeysha @eap1935

[barnes-dameron]

No Mistake, Just a Happy Accident (Ch. 8)

*not my gif*

Poe Dameron x Reader (Jane the Virgin AU)

Summary: Your life couldn’t be more on track. You’re on track to graduate from college, you had an amazing relationship with your mom and grandma, and you had an even better relationship with your boyfriend of two years, Finn. It couldn’t be better. But after a medical malfunction, you find yourself pregnant with another man’s child; and that other man is your boss, Poe Dameron. You’re life gets turned up side down when this happens, but you try your best to look on the bright side.

Word count: 1.2k

A/N: Got caught up and loved Jane the Virgin, and I thought this would be interesting with Poe. Changed the story up a bit, but I’m excited. It’s a bit shorter than my other ones... Taglist open.

“And there’s the feet, and then there’s the head,” the doctor said, pointing out the little features on the screen. 

You felt Poe’s callused hand gently squeeze your own, causing you to look up to meet his smiling face. It’s been about 3 weeks since your kiss with Poe, and you couldn’t be happier. You’ve been on multiple dates with Poe, and by “dates” it was more like shopping for the baby. Despite the lack of romantic atmosphere, you learned a lot from Poe; his past, his family, his business, his ambitions. He seemed different from the Poe of three years ago, but he still had the charm that caught your heart. You returned your attention to the screen, looking at the monochromatic images of your baby. 

“Can you tell the gender?” you asked, squinting your eyes a bit to try and make out the sex from the obscure image. 

“Yes,” the doctor replied, shuffling through the papers in your file. “Would you like to know today?”

“No,” Poe interjected, causing you to glance up at him. He pressed his lips into a thin line, shrugging his shoulders. “I want it to be a surprise. Gender doesn’t matter, as long as it’s healthy, right?”

“Well yeah,” you said. “Are you sure? You’re not a little bit curious?”

“I mean I’m curious,” he pondered. “But I like the thrill and excitement when the baby comes. And we only have two months left, you can wait, right?”

“Yeah,” you assured him. “We can wait, only two more months.” 

“Two more months,” Poe whispered, bring his face centimeters from yours. You pressed your lips into a smile, trying to contain the excitement that always bubbled up inside you whenever Poe was near. “And our little baby will be here.”

Poe smiled before pressing his lips to yours. It was short, but the sweet taste of his lips were ever embed in yours. 

“Is this something that I have to come to?” Poe asked, swinging a balloon that he’s been blowing up back and forth. 

“You don’t have to,” you stated, setting down a napkin wrapped silverware next to a plate. “But if you want to go out and grab a drink with your friends, then go ahead.”

Poe let the balloon go, and watched it fly around the room in a scattered pattern. Today was the day of your baby shower, which your mom and grandma insisted that you have. Poe, being Poe, encouraged your relatives since he thought it was a great idea to get friends together and enjoy the fact that you’re bring life into the world. You mom made sure that you didn’t plan anything; she didn’t want to stress you out since you had school to finish and the baby on the way. You hated the idea of people not letting you do anything since you were pregnant. They treated you as if you were made of glass, a little push and you could break. Poe was the biggest one. As soon as you started showing, Poe practically forced you go on maternity leave from the restaurant and made sure you didn’t lift anything over five pounds. It sucked at certain points, but you learned to pick your battles. At least your mother let you help to set the place up. 

He laughed quietly before going behind you, wrapping his arms around your middle and rubbing his hands over your swollen belly. He rested his chin on your shoulder, taking in the sweet scent of your perfume. 

“I’ll stay,” he whispered softly into your ear. “I want to see these people’s faces when they hear our story.” 

You couldn’t help but laugh. Seven months ago, you were engaged and pregnant with another man’s baby through a medical mishap. Now you were in love with the father of your baby. It was certainly a turn of events. 

“It would certainly be interesting,” you said.

Guests came, and stared in awe and confusion as they listened attentively to Poe and yours story. Poe was right; the expressions on their faces were priceless. Other than the storytelling, the shower was going great. Everybody seemed to enjoy themselves with the food that D’Qar was serving, the games that your mother organized, and taking turn of feeling your belly. 

In between talking and going to the bathroom (which you did often), you watched as Poe talked to old friends and fellow employees of the restaurant, his eyes lighting up when he talked about something that interested him. A smile always crept across your face when seeing him like that. You looked down and rested your hand on top of your belly. God, you hope that this little baby growing inside you would have the excitement of life just like it’s father. 

“Y/N,” you heard your mother say, interrupting your thoughts. “Come over here, and open the gifts.”

Grabbing a glass of water, you approached the chair that was awaiting you next to the table filled with gifts and presents. One by one you read aloud every card and opened every gift, holding up multiple objects showing the crowd that replied with oooo’s and aaahhh’s. Poe stood in the back, watching you open every present. He never thought that he would have this after his accident; a woman that he deeply loves carrying his child. To him it seemed like a dream, and he hoped that it would never end. 

At that moment, the bang of the wooden door of the private room hitting the wall drew everybody’s attention away from you to the figure in the doorway. You looked up, your heartbeat quickening as your stomach sank to the ground. Finn stood in the doorway, his gun in his holster and his badge displayed for all to see. He scanned the room before laying his eyes on a particular person. 

Finn took long confident strides as he approached Poe, grabbing his shoulder and slamming him on a nearby table. You watched in horror as Finn produced handcuffs from his belt and cuffed Poe’s wrists together by his back. 

“Poe Dameron,” Finn began. “You are under arrest for suspicion of gang involvement and violence with the First Order. Anything you say can and will be held against you.”   

You stood up from you seat, and tried to make your way through the small crowd of people. 

“Poe?” you exclaimed, trying to get his attention. “Poe!”

“Y/N!” he shouted back. “Stay where you are!”

Poe turned his shoulder, giving a death glare at Finn.

“Stay where you are,” Poe repeated. “This won’t take long.”

Finn tugged Poe off the table, and began to push him towards the doors. Poe looked towards his assistant, resisting Finn’s advances for a moment.

“Call my lawyer,” Poe commanded his assistant before allowing Finn to push him again. 

You watched as Finn shoved Poe along down the hall, leading him outside of the building to an awaiting cop car. Every step they made as their figures were slowly receding out of view was a crack in your heart. Once Finn and Poe left, the eyes of the guests slowly turned back towards you. Air couldn’t reach your lungs; a breath was caught in your throat. You sat yourself down on the closest chair as the room around began to sway to and fro. You placed a hand over your heart as you tried to bite back a sob that was threatening to be let loose. Tears stung in the back of your eyes as you began to process what just happened. But the question is...what just happened? 

That’s it for chapter eight! Let me know if you want to be tagged. To be continued…

Taglist: @that-girl-named-alex @multific@lilrockstartitan145 @samanthasmileys @i-said-goddameron 

[mamaredd123]

A Taste of Something...New

A/N: It’s been awhile since I posted anything on here and for that I offer my apologies. Writer’s block and life in general have been wreaking havoc on my creative tendencies. But I do have a brand new little tale to share with y’all and I hope you enjoy it. Not exactly sure how long this one will be but I am already 3 chapters in. Hopefully y’all will stick around and see how it plays out.

WARNING: can’t think of any in this chapter.. if you spot any please let me know and I’ll tag them though

WORD COUNT: 1566

PAIRING: none yet... the best is yet to come

Mama’s Master List

Mama’s Tag List 

Just as a gentle reminder, if you happen to enjoy this (or didn’t), leave some feedback or even hit the reblog button. We all know how great it feels to get some feedback from our writings.

‘I'm gonna work late again tonight baby’

She read the text and then sat the phone down almost nonchalantly. Same words, another day. She knew he had to work, had to get the job done to put the money in the bank to pay the bills. Somehow, after seven years of this, it had just become monotonous. It was just words.

Was he actually working? Was THIS job that important? Just last Saturday he had promised to take her out to eat, finally a date night, but work had delayed him and they had missed their reservation. The one question that nagged her more than anything though, even after twenty-three years, was did she even really care?

Glancing over at the phone, with a slight hesitation, she picked it up and texted back her usual response.

‘Ok… try not to be too late.. love u’

Within seconds she got her “love u” text back and she knew he was done communicating with her for the night. She would not hear anything else from him unless he woke her when he came home in the wee hours of the morning.

Recently, she had been having these thoughts more and more when she got his recurrent texts each night, always the same theme, work. It hadn’t always been like that between them. They had met and fell in love early in life, such a joyous thing! He had been so full of life back then. Even after the kids were born nothing had changed. He used to always make sure he was home in time for dinner, he planned all their family vacations, and even surprised her on more occasions than she could remember with small weekend getaways for the two of them.

Presently, she was forty-three, both their kids grown and out in the world on their own. Now it was just him and her. Mostly, it seemed like it was just her. He very seldom was even home at night before she fell asleep. This should be the best years of their lives! They should be enjoying a few years (hopefully about five or nine years) before grandchildren and then spending the rest of their lives entertaining the younger generation with tales of laughter and words of wisdom. With life, there's always some obscure twist of fate though.

Her days and nights seemed to run together, with blurred lines, each one appearing to be a mirror image of the one before it. She would get up each morning, get him dressed and out the door. The rest of the mornings, she spent tidying up the house, maybe a load of laundry, and taking care of any bills that needed to be seen to. Her afternoon’s were just as exciting. Usually, she would make a quick run to the grocery store for a few items and if she really wanted to do something thrilling, she might even stumble into the local Walmart for a little window shopping. Then she would return home and prepare a dinner that would not be eaten hot.

After all of the ‘wife chores’ were done, however, she made the rest of each day her time. In between binge watching and casual surfing on the net, a few months ago, she had stumbled across a website that shared, which was new to her, fan fiction. Between all the things going on in her life, the new obsession of her new favorite show, and obviously her freedom, she was immediately hooked. Fanfiction! Who would have thought! She remembered the eighties and the nineties so she knew all about fangirling over someone, or so she thought.

So here she was sitting alone, again, in the middle of the night. She was all bundled up in the covers of their bed, computer up and running, and scrolling through her new favorite internet site. Reading the stories she stumbled upon drew her back to her high school fantasies. In the nineties, yea she had her crushes on the favorite celebrities but even in her wildest dreams, never had she ever some up with some of the stuff she was reading tonight. That was really saying a lot, really, cause the things that she thought of doing with Marky Mark HIMSELF (and still thought about doing today), well, they definitely made her blush when she thought about them. But.. these stories she read! There were things described in them that she had never even thought possible and she had been married FOREVER, or so it seemed.

Finishing the latest tale of unabashed lust, she shoved the laptop away from her. Leaning back on her pillow, she looked over to his side of the bed. The emptiness of it seemed to weigh even heavier tonight for some reason. She tried to think back on any given day/night when things seemed to change between them. Nothing stood out. Not one single moment. Except this one. A deep sigh escaped her as she realized she really did love him. That was why she was here, alone, every night, by herself. But was that enough? Business was good. She always tried to make sure nothing interfered with that. The kids were as good as they were gonna get. She always made sure he had clean clothes in the morning, a clean house or at least a semi clean house, a cold beer in the fridge, and something to eat when he was hungry. Doesn’t sound like much but that was basically all he ever asked from her all these years. If you thought about it, she really had it made.

Shaking her head, she climbed out of bed and headed to the kitchen. This way of thinking was definitely not a good thing, not if she was going to find a way to find some kind of passion, lust, love, anything to salvage her marriage. She grabbed her tumbler and filled it with ice. Reaching for the cabinet door, a small voice echoed in her head ‘all you do is drink yourself to sleep every night’. Shaking her head again, she reached in the cabinet and pulled out the bottle of bourbon. She filled the cup and mixed in the coke with zero hesitation well maybe a second's hesitation when she rethought about how she was trying to figure away to salvage her marriage. Taking the first sip, however, always felt like a open act of rebellion, even though no one was there to see it. She really didn’t drink much, usually a couple of drinks at night, maybe a glass of wine or two.

The thoughts running through her mind weren’t very productive as she moved from the kitchen and back to the bedroom. ‘Screw him’ was the basic principle of them. Most of these long nights, she felt like she was spinning out of control. One second, desperate to fix her marriage and breath life back into it. The next, angry as hell at him for always leaving her alone. Getting back under the covers, nursing her drink, she pulled her computer closer. She had to get out of her own mind, she thought to herself as she settled down to read some more fanfiction. Instead of going to her notification page to see who had posted another chapter of delicious, flesh devouring, sin ridden fiction, she chose to scrolled the main page. Maybe she would find a few new authors to stalk.

The first thing she noticed was a post from one of her most favorite authors stating that she was attending a comic con, in her state! This woman, oh man, she had been reading her stories since the day she joined the site. There was a lot of hype going on about the convention she realized as she read through the comments on the post. The entire cast of the show was going to be there! Out of curiosity, she opened another browser and looked up the convention. To her surprise, it was actually being held here in town. The thought of meeting any of the cast would be delightful but also possibly meeting her? Would he care if she went? Would he even notice she was gone? 

She glanced over at the empty side of the bed and sighed deeply. She longed for romance like the ones she read. She hungered for some passion in her life. She ached from the loneliness. Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was the emotions, who can really say what compelled her but she clicked on the Buy Tickets tab and bought herself a gold package! He would probably kill her when he realized how much she had just spent but oh well. She very seldom ever asked for anything from him. She finished her drink, tucked her laptop away for the night, and settled down in the bed. Her dreams that night, for once, were not bleak or dismal. Instead, they were full of delicious fantasies. 

                                           ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When he came home that night, he found her balled up under the covers with a soft smile across her face. He paused and watched her for a few moments. It had been a long time since he had seen her smile like that. Quietly, he slipped out of the bedroom, gently closing the door behind him. He would sleep on the couch tonight so maybe he wouldn’t disturb her.

Random Tags (gonna try to do an updated tag list soon... maybe.. hopefully)

@megansescape @madamelibrarian @chelsea072498 @jayankles @feelmyroarrrr @docharleythegeekqueen @crowleysdemonknight @motleymoose @sumara62 @mrstheorossix3 @evansrogerskitten @waywardjoy  @dwaynii @jensen-jarpad  @deathtonormalcy56 @supernatural-jackles @ruprecht0420 @charliebradbury1104 @relmi-llorrac @wonderange @sandlee44 @tom-is-in-my-tardis @kmb99t @summer-binging-spn @posiemax @ohmychuckitssamanddean @thedevilinthedetails @bohowitch @tmccarney @dragon-tail @suli155 @mrsbatesmotel53 @petrovadixon @thewalkingmombie @mogaruke @spontaneousam @uniquewerewolfsuit @firstlady36 @goldenolaf25 @lunarsaturn88 @babypieandwhiskey @impalaimagining @sis-tafics @chaos-and-the-calm67 @inmysparetime0 @idreamofhazel @nichelle-my-belle  @firstlady36  @bohowitch @whispersandwhiskerburn  @leatherwhiskeycoffeeplaid @ilostmyshoe-79 @roxy-davenport @mrsbatesmotel53 @plaidstiel-wormstache @spn-hetalian-from-Hogwarts  @carribear31  @captainemwinchester @watercolor31 @sea040561 @jerk-bitch-and-an-angel  @impalaplots @faegal04 @missjenniferb @tardis-full-of-fallen-angels @emoryhemsworth  @isnt-the-blog-youre-looking-for  @tattooedmomster13 @sardonicpsycho @dwgrl1903  @tankcupcakes @atc74  @like-a-bag-of-potatoes @iwantthedean @paintrider13-blog @d-s-winchester @death2thevirgin @just-a-touch-of-sass-and-fandoms @ellen-reincarnated1967 @just-another-busy-fangirl @waywardjoy @winchesterprincessbride @willowing-love @redlipstickandplaid @mirandaaustin93 @kiranagoya 

[icantloseyou]

Freedom to Live Chapter 2

Second chapter is here! Warning: Spoilers for the entire game

6 months after Markus won freedom for his people with a song, the androids are learning how to live with their new independence. But with a missing Jerry causing worry and an anti-android group out for blue blood, the delicate balance of peace could soon be shattered. Connor will need help from his partner as well as the former members of Jericho if he’s to solve the case before it’s too late.

Chapters: 1 / 2

Read on AO3

Connor took a moment to review the digital case file while Hank drove them to the Android Housing District, a note had been added by the technicians reviewing the corrupted code samples taken from Blaire. It stated that the virus was unique and unlike anything they’d seen before, it had infected the primary processor responsible for all major motor functions and then hidden itself behind a wall of sophisticated encryption. The technicians believed it would be almost impossible to remove without the decryption key, which would likely be stored in whatever device was used to transmit the virus.

In other words, Blaire would remain effectively paralyzed until they found the people that attacked her. Connor upped the priority of the case to critical before closing the file, opening his eyes to see that Hank had just pulled onto West Avenue.

Connor recognised one of the androids waiting on the sidewalk as Josh from Jericho, they’d spoken a few times, mostly about literature as Connor wasn’t equipped with any knowledge of fiction but was fascinated by the subject. Josh had jumped at the chance of a willing student, confiding that he sometimes missed teaching.

As they drew closer the other android turned from talking to Josh to watch their approach. ‘EM400’ Connor’s system identified, he’d had some contact with the various Jerrys over the past months and he knew they possessed a shared neural interface, so this one would likely know him regardless of whether or not they’d actually met.

“Looks like you were right about the cases being connected.” Hank parked the car on the side of the street before getting out. Connor followed and greeted Josh who’d walked over to meet them.

“Connor, Lieutenant Anderson.” Josh nodded to Hank, who raised a hand in acknowledgement.

“You should know there’s been a development, we think one of the Jerrys may have been with Blaire at the time of the attack.” He gestured to the Jerry next to him, who stepped forward to elaborate."

“Sometimes Blaire spends time at the Orphanage, we see her there. She’s very nice.” He looked upset, clearly worried about both of his friends. “We, um, the one of us that is missing, saw her yesterday.”

“I thought you guys were always connected, didn’t you see what happened here?” Hank asked.

“No, we share information periodically. Check in with each other, send updates, that kind of thing. The last connection we had with him was at 3:48pm yesterday afternoon.” “But you think he was with Blaire at the time of the attack?” Connor prompted, drawing the Jerry’s attention. “Yes, we sometimes walk home with Blaire.” He nodded enthusiastically. “Our apartments are in the same building and we like talking with her.”

“So this wasn’t just a random attack, they must have taken the Jerry for a reason. But why?” Connor glanced at Hank, who shrugged back. He turned to Josh. “Can you show us exactly where you found her?”

Josh nodded grimly, and led them to a nearby alley between two tall buildings. Mercifully the rain had stopped, and the proximity of the buildings seemed to have sheltered the alley from most of the water. In the daylight the path was well lit, but Connor calculated that in the evening the location of the nearest streetlights would do little to illuminate the narrow corridor. It was the perfect place for an ambush, which suggested the attack may have been pre-meditated: the perpetrators were likely aware of their target’s schedule and route home.

A quick scan revealed a few drops of evaporated blue blood, although the small quantity suggested that there wasn’t much of a struggle. That made sense if the attackers had used the same type of device on both Blaire and Jerry, and on closer inspection it seemed likely the blood was from a scrape sustained against the wall when they’d lifted the prone android from the ground.

“Got anything?” Hank walked into the dank alley, having finished taking the details from Josh.

“Yes, I believe those responsible for the abduction may have known where the Jerry would be and when best to strike.” Connor replied. Hank raised his eyebrows in surprise.

“You think they were tailing him?”

“I believe it’s possible.” Connor nodded, before turning to Jerry. “Do you think you could check your combined memories and see if anyone stands out? Anyone unfamiliar that may have been following you to and from the orphanage.”

Jerry closed his eyes, it took only a moment for him to connect to the others and filter the memories with the parameters Connor had provided. His eyes snapped back open and landed on Connor.

“There was someone, a woman. Several of us have seen her, but none of us have spoken to her.” He held out his hand, the simulated skin receding to reveal the grey plastic underneath.

Connor did the same and grasped Jerry’s arm firmly, eyes sliding closed as the data transfer initiated. Several images of the same caucasian woman popped into his head, she looked to be in her mid-thirties with dark shoulder-length hair. Her expression was tense in every image, she certainly had the look of someone planning a crime. Connor checked the images against the DPD database and a result pinged almost instantly.

Name: Karen Bates // Unemployed

Born: 06/28/2003

Criminal Record: Destruction of Personal Property

He sent a request to the precinct for a copy of the file for the crime in question, before opening his eyes to see the others watching him expectantly.

“I got a hit, she’s a previous offender so her address should be on file at the precinct.” As if on cue, Connor received a response from Haley with the file attached. He checked it quickly and turned to Hank. “Karen Bates, she was arrested 2 years ago for damaging her neighbor's property. She destroyed his PL600 model android.”

“Well this lead just became a lot more promising.” Hank replied, “So what; this woman attacks two androids in the middle of the housing district, and then carries one off with her?”

Connor ran a quick calculation.

“No, EM400 models weigh around 189lbs - a woman of Karen’s size and stature wouldn’t be capable of lifting him without significant difficulty. And if he was dragged there would be marks left behind on the ground.”

Hank sighed, “So she must’ve had accomplices. Jesus, what exactly is going on here?”

Connor considered the facts they’d gathered so far, but there wasn’t enough to come to a solid conclusion yet.

“I’m not sure, but I think we should obtain as much information as possible before confronting Miss Bates. I want to check the orphanage, if she really was following them it may be possible to pick up her trail, and we need to find out if Blaire got a look at the attackers.”

“I can accompany Lieutenant Anderson to the Care and Maintenance Facility where Blaire is being treated.” Josh interjected.

“And I can take you to the orphanage!” Jerry spoke up, looking at Connor expectantly. Connor knew the location of the orphanage, Markus had transferred a map of the district once they’d finished designating the various buildings, but he suspected the Jerry would feel better if he felt like he was helping, so Connor merely gave him a grateful nod.

“Alright, then it’s settled. You keep me updated on any developments.” Hank slapped a hand on Connor’s shoulder. “And no unnecessary risks - none of that heroic bullshit, you hear me?” “Of course, Lieutenant.” Connor replied with a hint of sarcasm that elicited a grunt from his partner.

“You keep an eye on him.” Hank pointed at Jerry, who lifted his hand to his head in a salute, before turning to follow Josh back to the car.

Hank pushed down the anxiety he felt from leaving Connor to continue investigating without him. Realistically, he knew the android could take care of himself, he’d witnessed his fighting skills firsthand. Not to mention he was a damn good shot, although he still refused to carry a gun. But his tendency to put the mission above his own wellbeing was what worried Hank, the kid had a reckless streak that only seemed to get worse the more human he became.

He couldn’t help but feel protective towards his partner, even before they’d truly become friends. There was something about seeing Connor in danger that triggered the paternal instinct inside Hank that he thought had died with Cole.

If someone had told him a year ago that he’d have an android living under his roof; reading his books, and walking his dog, he would’ve laughed in their face. But 6 months ago Connor; with his newfound ability to feel, think for himself, want things for himself, had been so confused and unsure of what to do next. He’d betrayed his creators, willfully failed his mission, and severed himself from their influence for the first time since his activation. Hank had taken one look at the lost, dejected expression on Connor’s face before inviting him to stay at his house. They’d never actually decided that the move was permanent, but after a couple of months it had just become the new normal.

Connor had insisted that he didn’t need much space, that he could spend the nights powered down on the couch in the living room. But after Hank had nearly had a heart attack seeing the man’s silhouette one night when he got up for a glass of water, he’d insisted Connor move into Cole’s old room.

He hadn’t touched the room since the accident, even the bedspread was covered in a layer of dust. But in a way it was cathartic to stop pretending the door at the end of the hall didn’t exist, to pack the books and toys carefully away in boxes. Connor was meticulous in the task, delicately wrapping every item with a kind of soft reverence that brought a lump to Hank’s throat. But if he noticed the tears Hank hastily brushed away with a cough, he had the sense not to mention it.

The room had looked bare at first, but Connor had slowly started to fill it with various things he’d collected. Books, many given to him by Josh, the others pilfered from Hank, were now lined up perfectly on the shelf. A small potted plant sat on the bedside table, next to a framed photograph. It was a photo of Hank and Connor, taken the day they solved their first case after returning to work. It had been a gift from Haley, as a thank you for his efforts in gaining androids the right to employment. Hank had complained about how old he looked in the picture, but Connor had merely stared at it, led spinning yellow, before giving Haley a large, genuine smile. He’d thanked her profusely, and kept hold of the frame for the rest of the day, before placing it carefully in his room when they arrived home. It didn’t occur to Hank until later that it was likely the first gift he’d ever received.

“It’s left here, Lieutenant Anderson.”

Josh’s voice brought Hank’s attention back to the present, and he turned the car into the small parking lot outside of the Care and Maintenance Centre Facility. Previously an abandoned care home for the elderly, the building had been repurposed to serve a new purpose for the androids. Inside, a slightly harried looking receptionist greeted them, and Hank noted that she was the same model as Haley, although her hair was styled shorter.

“We’re here to see Blaire, has there been any change?” Josh asked. The receptionist’s response was cut off by the man emerging from the nearby doors. Simon pushed through the doors with his back, arms full with several bags of blue blood which he deposited on a nearby trolley.

“Josh, Lieutenant, we’ve been expecting you.” Simon greeted them with a smile, and gestured for Hank to follow him down the hall, Josh staying behind to talk to the receptionist.

“Blaire hasn’t regained any further function, we’re told by your experts-” Simon nodded to Hank, “-that she’s unlikely to get any better until we can examine whatever it was they used on her.”

“Well Connor’s working on it, and we’ve got a lead, but we were hoping she might have seen something. Don’t suppose we’ll be able to ask her, though.” Hank was starting to think this was a wasted trip.

“Well actually,” Simon opened a door on the right that led to a room filled with complex machinery surrounding a bed, where Blaire was laying connected to several monitoring screens. “We’ve just concluded that the virus isn’t transmittable from android to android, Amelia was about to connect to Blaire. She’ll be able to check her memories and tell us what she saw.”

Hank recognised the blue-haired Traci model from the Eden Club when she looked up from her chair next to the bed when they entered the room. Simon nodded to her, and she reached over and took Blaire’s hand. Her eyes closed for a few moments, before she gasped, her hand recoiling in shock.

“She was with Jerry, they were walking but they were attacked from behind. She didn’t see anything.” She looked up at Simon, who had put a comforting hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

Hank sighed as Simon reassured the troubled girl, he hoped Connor was having better luck.

This chapter was originally supposed to have more plot, but I got a bit carried away with the Hank and Connor flashbacks! I guess the plot will have to wait until next chapter haha

likes and reblogs are very appreciated! :)