#i might still write this....like it's in the back of my mind.

[lovscb97]

railway (b.cc.) ༉‧₊˚.

╰┈➤ˎˊ˗ TRACK 001: part of the step out series

synopsis: you didn’t mean to get tied up with your best friend’s ex-boyfriend, but sometimes all you can do is hold on tight for the rough ride ahead of you, even if it means going against all the pre-written rules of friendship.

tags: best friend's ex!bangchan x fem!reader, angst, forbidden romance, mutually toxic relationship, morally grey characters, chan and reader are both kind of awful, mention of other idols (rest of stray kids, stayc, enhypen, etc), oc as chan's ex-girlfriend (aeri), mentions of alcohol and drinking, kissing, use of nicknames (baby, darling, etc), very brief pussy slapping, possessiveness, mild dacryphilia, car sex, fingering, sir kink, squirting, jealousy, slight exhibitionism, bathroom sex, unprotected sex, rough sex, degradation (bitch, slut, etc), dirty talk, very brief mention of strength kink, mirror sex, breeding kink, creampie, brief choking, slight overstimulation, etc

theme board: www.pin.1003 / song link: prod:b.cc

wc: 7.85k

add. notes: welcome 2 the first course >:] i've offered my insights n analysis on railway alr but delving into the meaning of the song n creating a whole fic based off of it was very intriguing for me esp cus i don't usually write based off of music i listen to. i knew i wanted smth wrong to put out but i don't like infidelity n the usual story on toxic situations is tough to pull of so i decided to go down the more 'scandalous' route of sorts n make chan ur best friend's ex instead :3 there's a pinterest board i made for all these fics which for this one u can find linked above to grasp the aesthetics of it n i'd recommend reading this while listening to railway ofc. as always plz make sure u watch out for the tags n dni if ur a minor. also sidenote but aeri (the oc) is not meant to be seen as giselle from aespa but rather i just used that name bcs it's pretty lol just thought i'd lyk that. either way i hope u all enjoy! 

. . .

19:23 PM from: dni!!! Wyd? 

you swallow thickly at the sight of the text which lights up your screen, eyes zeroed in on the simple three letters which still hold thousands of words worth of meaning in themselves when combined. if it weren’t for the rubber case at the back, you reckon you would’ve dropped your phone with how instantly sweaty your palms become upon having received the message. the way you’re staring at your app, maybe even enough to bore holes into the words displayed back at you, doesn't go unnoticed either, and you barely manage to pocket the device as quick as you'd pulled it out just in time as your best friend approaches you. 

“everything okay? you look kinda pale.” aeri frowns once she’s in front of you, voice laced with concern so sweet that it almost makes bile rise up your throat as you attempt to lean back against jake’s kitchen counter to stabilise yourself. she doesn’t seem to buy the eventual shaky nodding of your head that you offer after realising she’d just asked you something that required an answer, but even if she wants to probe you further, she doesn’t, deciding to immerse you in conversation about something your other friends had told her; another one of her gossip sessions with yoon and jungwon, you presume.

her storytelling fades into background noise at some point, for you can’t ignore the heavy weight of the object tucked away in the back of your jeans, still incessantly burning and buzzing with notifications you know you shouldn’t pay half a mind to. you’re well aware that they’re all most likely from the same person; the one individual you shouldn’t and have no right to indulge and mix with to this day; whose bedsheets you’ve found yourself tangled up in late at night alongside dirty noises slipping past both your lips; the very man who remains as sin personified in the storyline of your current life, and honestly might stay that way for as long as you live.

or in other words, aeri’s ex-boyfriend, chan.

your best friend met chan in her final year of university, bumping into him on chance encounter outside her lecture hall and exchanging textbooks by accident. chan had been all smiles when she’d invited him to lunch as an apology for the mix up, often tagging along with her after that until soon enough, they grew close enough and began seeing each other romantically. he seemed to treat her well for the most part, and you were happy for aeri that she’d found a good man worth her time and effort in the world. she’d drag you with her on their outings one too many times, and you’d gotten to know him from those instances, finding him to be a decent match for her.

unfortunately, all good things come to an end, and the spark between them started dwindling. you’re not sure what exactly happened, only able to recall bits and pieces from what aeri had told you mid-sob on your calls about her previous lover slowly becoming distant nearing the final stages of their relationship, so you’ve always just thought it was a mutual decision to cut ties for the betterment of each other. according to her vividly detailed breakdowns though, chan had been the one to suggest calling it off first, and everything came to a screeching halt three years down the line with much screaming and tears from her side. to an extent, their split did shake up things a little between all your mutual friends, but it also didn’t fully stop everybody from engaging with each other. all this brings you to your current situation— waiting in jake’s apartment for the rest of your friends to arrive for a random party he’d decided to plan on a whim.

“yo, guys!” speak of the devil, you think, tugging yourself out of your thoughts as you turn your body to let jake’s figure come into view. he beams at you like a big puppy, his hair flopping in a way that loosely resembles dog ears, and you remember after a split second that that’s just how your friend is referred to as in your group; the resident golden retriever. he parades up to you and aeri as one too, his vibrant smile lighting up the atmosphere in a way that you can’t stop relief from flooding your system at his presence.

“how are my favourite girls doing this fine evening?” he smirks, his usual flirting the same as always, causing aeri to roll her eyes as you chuckle. “har har up yours, sim.” she sticks her tongue out, prompting jake to do the same as he ruffles her hair, to which she shrieks. “oh, by the way,” jake perks up as if he’s just thought of something, completely ignoring your best friend smacking him on the arm lightly over his actions. “y/n, would you be so kind as to get the pack of beer from my car?” he pleads, doe eyes twinkling under the light of the room. 

you’re about to groan in protest, not wanting to go back out in the cold and freeze your ass off for a measly few cans of alcohol, but the front door swinging open accompanied by the all too familiar voice you’ve grown acquainted to fills the air, making your stomach drop— chan. chan is here. suddenly, you’re not too opposed to getting far away, and you quickly nod your head rapidly in agreement, not bothering to wait for the way jake lights up at you accepting his proposal before snatching the keys from his hold and darting towards the lift. 

chan’s jaw tightens at this. he barely manages to catch a glimpse of you from how you rush out past him, not even able to take in your outfit or face in the dashing haze you leave in. he points his thumb to where you had exited, bluffing something about helping you when jake responds how you’d gone out to grab the load of drinks he’d been too lazy to heave upstairs himself. nobody makes any work to question him when he turns on his heel to catch the elevator himself, thinking nothing of his usual gentleman-like behaviour.

nobody except for a pair of eyes lingering on his disappearing frame that neither one of the visitors in the house manages to grasp onto.

meanwhile, you quickly find yourself in the outdoor parking lot of jake’s building, hugging your shivering body tightly in an effort to warm yourself up against the chilling wind that blows past the trees. the sky has basically turned dark by now, but the streetlamps hanging overhead on the sides of the pavement serve as enough illumination to carry out your task. your breath comes out in heavy smoke to the point you can see it, and you try your best to spot your friend’s car as soon as possible, cheering internally when you manage to do so. after having jogged on over to it, you enter the key into the trunk lock with trembling fingers, twisting it until that same latch you’ve grown used to feeling with your own vehicle opens and makes way for you to push up the boot lid. 

you’re about to hook underneath to manoeuvre it open, that is, until a sudden cold hand tugs on the bare skin of your arm, making you jump out of your own flesh. you open your mouth to yell out loud, ready to alert your friends a few floors upstairs that someone is trying to kidnap you potentially when that same hand clamps over it. only when your vision stabilises in your dimly lit surroundings do you recognise chan in front of you, and you feel your shoulders physically drop as you put down your defences, glaring at him when he removes himself.

“why the hell would you sneak up on me like that? i—“

“are you avoiding me?”

his question comes out gruff and annoyed, causing you to blink at the way he’s glowering at you in suspicion. his arms are crossed against his chest, hiding the black button-up you’ve seen him wearing and committed to memory one too many times from how it clings perfectly onto his chiselled shoulders and biceps. it makes you gulp, but you attempt to hide your affected reaction anyways, delivering a scoff in his direction which only makes chan grit his teeth at your attitude. “so what if i am? you know damn well either way without needing me to spell it out for you.” you bite back, moving to turn around when he catches you by the elbow, leaving you to scowl at him.

“what’s gotten into you? just a few days ago, we were fine, yet now you’re ignoring my texts?” he narrows his eyes, holding you in place so you can’t budge away from him. you let out a faint tch at his words, more so at your own susceptibility to succumb to his advances, but chan tongues the side of his cheek after assuming you’re just being blatantly disrespectful towards him. his voice drops to a lower, seductive tone as he speaks up again. “need me to remind you again? you came over last saturday and humped my thigh before squirting on my tong— hmph!“ 

“god, yes, i fucking remember, okay?” you exclaim in a whisper after having slapped a hand over his mouth this time, eyes darting around frantically to make sure no one heard that. “could you be any more louder? jesus christ.” chan peels you off of him shortly afterwards, his expression souring at the way you address him. something about the anger in his features makes your own rise, and you feel any or all remorse you'd experienced prior to seeing him in person today vanish, replaced with a bubbling hatred of sorts.

you and chan began your weird affiliation with one another around two months ago, exactly a few days after he and your best friend broke up. to this day, you don’t know why he made a move on you, much less why you yourself reciprocated it. sure, you’d always found him objectively attractive when he and aeri were together, and while he may be your exact match of an ideal type to a tee, you would never think to act on the growing tension you experienced for him, especially when he was in a long term commitment with the closest person in the world to you. 

it all happened in the most random of occurrences too. you still remember meeting him the night you were out at the convenience store to run errands, catching him hunched over a table in a hoodie and messy hair with two bottles of soju in front. he’d flashed you a polite smile and offered to drink together, which realistically, you should’ve declined. you should’ve turned the other way in disgust and walked out on him to tell your best friend what he’d attempted to do, regardless of whether that would’ve led to something or not. instead, you found yourself in his bed that day, moaning his name as he ravished you under the moonlight streaming through his curtains in your combined drunken craze.

the next morning had been full of hiccuped cries, chan cradling you in his arms despite the scalding touch of his hold gnashing against you and leaving metaphorical imprints that you would never be able to scrub off. each time he soothed you, rubbing your back and kissing your hair, you felt the waves of guilt wash over harsher than the last. he continued to reassure you throughout anyways, telling you it’d be okay and that no one would have to know. blindly, you’d believed him, promising yourself and him to never act on either of your arbitrary lust by not letting go of your inhibitions.

that was the first lie you told yourself. 

“y’know, i’m really not a fan of this whole backtalk towards me.” chan criticises, and you laugh bitterly after picking up on his audible disappointment as it hits your ears. “see? there it is again. maybe i’ve gotta teach you some manners, hm?” his tone is sultry once more, leaving you fighting the urge to flush under his gaze. you ultimately lose though, wanting nothing more than to punch him in the face with the way he snickers at your cheeks reddening crimson. instead, you try retain the little dignity you have left as you push against his chest, scanning your parameters with paranoia when he steps closer to you.

“we can’t.” you mumble, clearly slipping. chan’s only response to that is a breathless huff, warm against your face as you peer up at him through your lashes, finally getting a good look at him. he’s wearing his signature hoop earrings today, hair brushed down so his bangs fall over his forehead. the collar of that same dress shirt he’s got on is popped despite a few buttons being undone, leaving the styling choice to highlight his collarbone. that same milky skin you’ve ghosted your nails over multiple times hides underneath the black fabric, leaving you to shiver at the memories of it. it also doesn’t help that the way he towers you is sending your mind reeling into submission way too easily, and you only manage to shake out of it when his fingers trail down to wrap around your wrist, allowing you to feel the cold metal of a ring you recognise all too well press into your joint—

the same half of a promise ring you’d helped him pick out for aeri a year ago.

the realisation that he’s still wearing it hits, and combined with the once again forming shame in the back of your head, it all makes you want to shove him away in favour of storming out of here to tell your best friend everything once and for all. a part of you can sense undue jealousy simmering inside at the fact that he’s still got a piece of her with him too, something you know you have no right to feel, but you try ignore it to your best ability. “chan, we can’t.” you repeat with a hitch in your breath, more so for yourself than him. and yet, you don’t even believe your own words, finding the less rational and weak side of you surrendering to the temptation chan tantalises in you; it overshadows whatever morality you have left.

“d’you really want me to stop?” he breathes out, body sagging far too close into yours for it to be friendly, although you suppose none of your interactions since starting this scandalous relationship have ever been that. his fingers, the very same ones bearing the ring on them, move to wrap around your throat, forcing you to tilt your head up and lock eyes with him. goosebumps prick your skin when you catch sight of the way his gaze is hooded, orbs swirling with black desire he’s begun to reserve only for you in these coming weeks. “because, if you want me to stop, i will.” chan points out. “say the word and i’ll turn around. out of sight, out of mind.” he makes a statement out of it by retracting his hand from you, but the very distinct whine you let out is all the confirmation he needs to press his mouth to yours.

kissing chan always feels like playing with fire. it scorches, and singes, and sears, reducing you to a burnt crisp, yet you can’t help but yearn for the flame he ignites in you. even the way he’s clutching onto you now, pressing forward with a fervour only you bring out in him, has his lips moulding against your cherry stained ones despite not fitting as perfectly as you’d want them to. the two of you are by no means a compatible match for each other; neither of you has made a single good decision ever since you began indulging in whatever you’ve got going on, but you also can’t help but crave the scandalous nature of everything. you’re truly a despicable pair, you think.

“get in the car.” chan’s voice cuts through your thoughts when he pulls away. he doesn’t even give you time to think when he walks over and opens the door, gesturing inside to the warm confines of the backseat. ideally, you shouldn’t, you know you shouldn’t, but alas, you’ve never been one to listen to yourself, instead finding your legs scrambling and following suit to shuffle into jake’s vehicle before the weight of your actions even sinks in. chan’s hot on your trail too, and before you can even get comfortable in the cramped space, he’s returning to making out with you, fingers roaming greedily around the expanse of your skin. 

“t-they’ll know we’re gone.” you stutter, moving your face out of his reach to try and stop chan’s movements when it finally dawns on you that your friends had sent you out on an errand you’d taken far too long to complete by now. chan’s only response is to grunt though, tugging you back in for another smouldering kiss that knocks the wind out of your lungs. his hands grasp, pinch, and squeeze whatever part of you they can, until he’s finally decided that he’s had enough foreplay, opting to cage you underneath him and hike up the tight, red dress that’s adorning your body for today’s occasion. “i’ll be quick. i always am.” he winks, and you’re too far gone now to understand that he’s responding to your previous comment, a fact that only makes him chuckle.

“wore this to tease me, yeah?” chan clicks his tongue at the way he has to practically peel off the bottom half of your clothing, the snug fit of the fabric around your curves leaving nothing to the imagination as he bites his lip. he debates whether he’s glad you chose this outfit to show off for him, or if that pisses him off because it means everybody gets an eyeful of your figure; he decides on the latter. “wanted to slut yourself out for my attention? all you had to do was ask, baby.” you shake your head with a whimper, and he raises an eyebrow at your reaction. “d-didn’t.. didn’t wear it for you.” you manage to breathe out, which proves to be the wrong answer because next thing you know, his hand is coming down to smack your clothed core.

you yelp at the sting of his actions, teary eyes blinking up at him in a way that makes chan’s boxers tighten. he’s so close to losing his composure, but he holds back for your sake, not wanting to let you see his cool slip. “is that so? i guess you’re just a dirty girl then.” he sneers, yanking down your soaked panties in one swift motion, leaving you to gasp as the cool air hits your sticky folds.

chan wastes not even one second, knobby digits dragging through the wetness he’s not surprised to find whatsoever. he spreads it over your clit, getting you messier than you already are, especially from the way you appear to leak even more arousal from his movements. he touches you until you’re twitching under his hold, biting back the sounds that threaten to escape you, which seems to be a fact he doesn’t approve of from the way he pinches your nub between his fingers; you cry out softly from the rush of stimulation it shoots through you. “eyes on me.” chan growls, sliding his hand down to circle your oozing hole before he’s abruptly shoving two fingers inside.

“fuck.” you moan this time, loud and clear. this seems to satisfy him, seeing as he rewards you with a steady pump of his digits thrusting into your heat. his speed in fingering you increases quickly, and it isn’t long before he’s scissoring you open, the sloppy sounds of your juices slicking up his fingers and echoing in the stuffy space of jake’s car. you’re probably staining the leather of the seats, but neither you nor chan seem to care about that right now, not when he’s knuckle deep inside your wet cunt and you’re making such pretty noises all for him.

“just filthy, aren’t ya? getting finger fucked in the back of your friends car. i bet your dumb little brain can’t even understand what i’m saying right now.” chan mocks, his tone laced with a level of condescension that only makes you buck your hips up to chase his movements. you know he’s completely right too, because the way he’s thrusting his digits inside you, stroking your warm walls with the tips of them has you seeing stars to the point you can’t even respond back something snarky in return. “all you’re good for is being a nasty toy for sir’s use, hm?” you barely even register his question, only remembering you need to answer him when he pulls his wet hand away to smack you once more, this time over your swollen bundle of nerves.

“y-yes, sir. only a toy for you. jus’ you.” you mindlessly slur out, and chan groans at that. not even a moment passes before he’s sinking his fingers back inside you, curling them up to massage that rough spot which always has you clenching down on him. his expression twists to a smug one when you jerk forward instantly. bingo, he thinks. “that’s that spot there, yeah? the one that has you losing yourself on me?” he coos, but his voice drips with a smidge of venom you can’t quite fixate on just yet. instead, you nod dumbly, spasming around him as you try grind upwards to chase the rising sensation of your climax. 

chan leans into your frame, one hand splayed flat onto jake’s backseat above your head to maintain his balance whilst his body hovers over you. by now, your eyes are clenched shut, but he can’t even find it in him to get mad at you over that, not when you’re dribbling down his wrist and mewling so pretty under the glow of the night as he works you towards your orgasm. “c’mon, baby. cum f’me. wanna see you cum so pretty for sir.” he encourages, jaw locked with concentration. 

it only takes about one or two flicks of his expertly trained thumb pressing on your puffy clit, combined with the pads of his fingers hitting your g-spot with terrifying accuracy, before you’re shuddering through your climax. a small, clear stream of liquid sprays out the sides of where he’s got you plugged up, and he pulls his hand away in favour of rubbing you over to coax out the last remnants of your high. your quivering body thrashes when he tries to draw out the remaining few droplets again, weakly bringing your arm up to push him away gently when the shocks of overstimulation begin to take over. chan dips down to place one, final kiss on your lips, smooching down to your chin as a way to say you did well. his actions make you heart beat out of your chest, but you don’t say anything about the domesticity of them. 

you wonder if he ever treated aeri like this after having been intimate with her.

“go in first. i’ll clean up the car.” chan clears his throat after a short while, not daring to make eye contact with you as he quietly pulls your underwear back up your legs. you watch in silence while he sits up, looking for a rag to fix the mess you two made when that same awkward air you’ve gotten used to facing with him enters the atmosphere, leaving you to try and ignore how it tugs at the strings of your soul as you give a curt nod. “don’t forget the beer.” you remind him before swinging the door open to step outside, finding yourself back in the nipping cold of the winter night.

you try and stand on your wobbly legs to straighten out the creases of your dress, paying no mind to the way your skin echoes with the ghost of chan’s previous touch. behind you, you can hear him rolling down the windows to let the musky smell of sex out of jake’s backseat, and you almost dare to sneak a glance back until deciding against it, knowing it’ll just hurt more. instead, you close your eyes and take a deep breath, opening them to land on the small balcony of your friend’s apartment where the rest of your group seems to have already gathered from the silhouettes you can see through the foggy glass. your conscience feels heavy with the weight of the knowledge that aeri is up there too, but you brush it off, just like all the other times you have.

i didn’t do anything wrong, you tell yourself, i’m still in the clear. that’s the second lie you’ve tried to believe in these last two months. a long sigh escapes your lips at that realisation, but you bite it down when making your way back inside the building, choosing to rack your brain on what shitty excuse you’ll have to provide this time for being gone so long.

. . .

to your surprise, nobody bothers to question why either you or chan disappeared, simply whisking you back in conversation about unrelated topics when you walk in through the door a few minutes before him. as per usual, your heart still feels heavy when you watch aeri laugh at something heeseung and sieun are arguing over, but you cover it up by letting out a noise of amusement yourself, hoping it throws off any suspicion that might be directed your way. you don’t bother turning your head upon hearing jake’s delight at the sight of chan entering his apartment with the very much requested pack of beer too, deciding to force a smile at whatever point heeseung is busy making over looking back no matter how much your body itches to do so.

it’s even worse how from the corner of your eye, you can see aeri shifting uncomfortably on her feet at her ex-boyfriend’s second arrival, her expression dropping in the slightest so as to not draw attention to herself, but it’s still enough for you to notice. it only makes the weight of your actions dawn on you further, and you can’t help but let your mind wander as to what she’d say if she knew what truly went on behind closed doors. despite your best efforts to bury those thoughts beneath you though, you know there’s nothing you can do to make amends to the problems you’ve created yourself. after all, you’ve got to reap what you sow.

the party continues to kick in on full swing after that, with you and aeri both doing your best to keep your distances from chan for all too different reasons. it doesn’t help that you can feel someone’s stare raking across your figure throughout the duration of the evening, and when you finally do decide to sneak a glance in that direction with expectations of finding chan ogling you over, you’re met with a different answer—

for it isn’t you he’s busy looking at, but rather your best friend that’s been glued to your side since the beginning of the night. 

he averts his gaze as quick as he’d cast it when you catch him, seamlessly blending back in discussion with whatever nonsense changbin is rambling about this time, acting like he hadn’t just been getting an eyeful of his ex-girlfriend moments prior. you also don’t miss how he fiddles with the old ring that adorns his right hand, long fingers twisting it around the middle digit in a way that’s reminiscent of his past behaviour, or at least based on what you’d often find him doing back then. 

his actions spark a memory deep from the confines of your brain, one you wish you hadn’t remembered as the vision of chan asking you to help pick out promise rings for him and aeri crosses your mind. it was raining heavily that day, but he’d insisted that the two of you go out in secret anyways so he could buy his then girlfriend a token of his love and appreciation. he’d claimed you knew her taste the best and could therefore help in selecting a better possible gift for their upcoming anniversary than he ever could. 

you’d hesitantly agreed, and although you weren’t sure how it would all play out, you later found yourself sharing an umbrella and visiting various jewellery stores to point out all the designs you knew your closest friend would adore. chan had settled soon on a matching pair for the two of them, beaming in your direction with a bright smile that left you weak in the knees despite however much you tried to hide it. a few days later, aeri excitedly showed off her own silver band to you, buzzing about how he’d chosen the perfect present that she couldn’t wait to replace with a real one in their future; you couldn’t help then but think if he ever told her it was all your idea instead of his.

“hey, can you hold my phone?” your best friend’s voice cuts through your inner replay, and you blink in a daze to find her facing you, expression innocent. “hyunjin asked to play beer pong, and i don’t have any pockets to put it away in safely.” she explains at your confused face, but all you can do is nod as you robotically outstretch your arm to take it off of her. unfortunately or fortunately, that’s when you notice it—

the same matching ring on her hand.

aeri doesn’t pay you any attention when she drops off her device into your awaiting palm, not even realising you’re zeroed in on the jewellery that decorates her left hand with a fire burning in your eyes that you’re both ignorant of. you don’t stop gaping even when felix shakes your shoulder, asking you what you’re so fixated on before leaving you be under the impression that you’re probably just drunk out of your head. meanwhile, you’re still frozen in place, everything around you seeming to slow down.

why is chan wearing a ring he bought for his ex-girlfriend two years ago to a party he knows she’s going to be at? no, why does said ex-girlfriend also have her matching pair of the ring on her hand at a party she too is aware he’s going to be present for? much less, why are either of them hung up on each other to the point they’re carrying around reminders of their past relationship with one another? you know the answer to all these questions, but you don’t wish to sit and delve into them in fear you might throw up at the conclusion they’ll give you. instead, all you can do is squeeze the can of seltzer you’d spiked in your hand dangerously tight out of unwanted emotion, enough for some of the liquid inside to spill out. you can’t be bothered to care about it though, just like how you can’t be bothered to care about how anybody in their right mind could probably see you gawking at chan right now.

you watch as he cracks up at a joke seungmin makes, his head falling back in a fit of laughter you’ve been a happy witness or recipient of multiple times, yet this time it fills you with emotion that you don’t wish to identify in fear it’d mean something more than what you’re capable of confronting right now. even so, you can’t stop the train of questions invading your thoughts at the view in front of you. did he laugh like that with aeri? smile so wide with her? couldn’t help the joy that spread across due to her presence? maybe that’s why he came today, because he couldn’t take his mind off of her, especially seeing as he was wearing a symbol of their time spent before right now. 

but, what does that say about you in this picture? were you just a scapegoat to escape all those feelings for him? had you been one this entire time, only deluding yourself into thinking what you both had translated into a situation deeper and could potentially progress into one even more had things happened under different circumstances? the more you think, the more you feel nauseous, and you can’t stop yourself from diverting your gaze to where your best friend is, observing her concentrated face as she attempts to aim a ping pong ball into one of the lined up solo cups. your eyes involuntarily flicker to the ring on her finger once more, its evident shimmer reflecting in the light causing you to clutch your drink tighter. 

you’re not a jealous person by any means. you know your boundaries, hence you know chan isn’t yours. he isn’t an object you can own, and neither are you to him. that was the unspoken agreement you both nodded on when you got into this entire ordeal— you’re both free to see other people openly in front of aeri as long as it’s not each other, because the latter you manage in secret despite the shame that surges in you two upon doing so. it doesn’t matter if you wish to stake your claim on him, to see the marks you leave on him evident on his skin the next morning for him to show off other girls who think they stand a chance at him taking them to bed. it doesn’t matter how much your heart aches when you wake up to the blanket strewn aside from his absence, the sheets long gone cold to indicate that he’d left hours ago. it doesn’t matter how much you wish to cling onto his arm in public and profess your.. feelings for him in front of everyone else.

it simply doesn’t matter, it never did. chan’s never been yours, and he never will be anytime soon.

20:51 PM from: Myself meet me at the upstairs bathroom in five

you punch in the message before you can even think, watching it turn from delivered to read in a matter of seconds. the three dots next to chan’s side of texts appear, indicating that he’s typing, but you choose to lock your device rather than waiting like a dog to see him reply. instead, your feet lead you to your designated location, taking one step at a time leisurely as opposed to in a rush so as to not draw unwanted attention to yourself. right as you reach the door handle, your phone pings with a familiar ringtone.

20:52 PM from: dni!!! Reacted with “👍🏻” to your message

you sigh. tonight was going to be a long night.

. . .

skin slapping. heavy panting. low grunting. 

that’s all you can hear from where you’re splayed across the sink in the small confines of jake’s bathroom, aside from the occasional thumping of music booming from downstairs. if you strain your ear enough, you’ll be able to make out the lyrics to the cliche song that’s come up on shuffle, but you honestly lack the mentality to care about that right now, especially considering the way chan has your legs pushed apart in favour of drilling his length into you. each thrust is rapid and fervent in nature, seeming to knock the wind out of your lungs to the point you don’t even realise how loud you’re being until his hand comes up to shove two fingers in your mouth. “be fucking quiet.” he sneers, leaving you to drool everywhere. the only reaction he spares when you try muffle out an apology is a sickening smirk at that too. 

“needed this, didn’t you, slut? always need to be filled with some cock like a bitch in heat.” chan chuckles, but there’s a dark edge to his voice that sends shivers crawling up your spine. he presses down on your tongue with the pads of his fingers, and you can’t stop the garbling of spit choking past your lips from the way his thickness nestles deep inside you. each heavy drag of his dick against your rough walls leaves you clenching and attempting to buck your hips forward, but you can’t even manage that with the grip he has on your waist. the mere idea that all chan really needs to restrain you is the simple strength of his one hand sends your mind reeling, so much so that you don’t even realise he’s speaking to you until the hand that was previously in your mouth pulls out to slap light and wet against your cheek.

“i asked you a question, whore.” chan growls, the sound resonating warm within your stomach despite the mean undertone to it as his movements still. you blink up at him in confusion at this point, doe eyes brimming with tears that threaten to spill from the loss of pleasure in a way that has chan damn near finishing. it doesn’t help that he’s buried to the hilt currently, hissing painfully at how you squeeze down on him in involuntary instinct. for a split second, you swear you see the ridges on his face soften, and the manner in which he looms over you feels filled with more comfort than intimidation, but that smidge of emotion vanishes as soon as it arrives. “i said,” chan’s tongue swipes over his bottom lip. “do you wanna get caught?” you rapidly shake your head no at that, and chan cocks his head to the side.

“oh, really?” he muses, nails sliding over to dig into the supple flesh of your thigh, making you whine out loud. “‘cause with the way you’re making so much noise like that, i’d have assumed the opposite.” with a click of his tongue, his actions resume. luckily, all that escapes you is a loud gasp this time, an anxious clamp of your palm over your mouth barely covering up the rest of your lewdity. you wish so desperately to refute, to plead him in favour of slowing down and having some mercy, but the sensation of his bulbous cockhead slamming roughly into that one spot only sends stars in your vision and prevents your previous desires. 

your body jerks in chan’s hold even more when his same hand still lubed with your saliva finds it way between where you’re connected, leaving you to suppress a pathetic whimper that longs to bubble out of your throat as he presses the tips of his fingers to your swollen clit. his touch is harsh, filled with an overwhelming need to make you burst at the seams, but the fear that lingers in the back of your head refuses to let you fall apart so easily, not when aeri is barely a flight of stairs from your vicinity. chan decides he isn’t fond of the silence you’re giving him though, pulling out with a quiet mumble for you to get down and face the mirror. he sheaths himself back in just as quickly, setting an unforgiving pace from the seemingly more accessible position, and this time, you really can’t stop the long drawn out moan that escapes you. 

“j-just like that, yeah, baby? all those filthy noises are just for me, aren’t they?” he sounds more delirious this time, presumably drunk off the essence of this situation from the possessive gibberish he’s spouting, just like he always does in the heat of the moment. unfortunately for you, you’re no better than him, nodding furiously in agreement as you babble high-pitched and breathy. “so good, sir! s-so, so fucking good, feels so good! wan’ cum f’you, p-please. ‘m a good girl, please lemme cum, please, please, please.” small stutters spew out of you mid-sentence, but neither of you can be bothered by them, too wrapped up in the throes of all-consuming passion and contempt even to register what’s being said. 

“such a nasty, nasty girl.. getting fucked by your best friend’s ex. don’t you feel a-any shame?” chan groans almost wearily in midst of his lust-filled haze, eyes catching yours from the reflection of the mirror that’s displaying you getting absolutely wrecked right now. the sight of you so fucked up and in bliss, no coherent thought visible by the looks of your dazed expression and tongue halfway lolling out— it all has him burning with hot, rampant hunger. hunger for you, hunger to claim you. “look at yourself.” he rasps, fingers clutching at your chin to force you into meeting where he is. “look how dirty you are, fuck. what would she say about you wrapped so warm and snug around my cock? hm? think we should— ah. think we should call her in and find out?” 

the tears that were brewing in your waterline are streaming down your face by now, horrifically mimicking the disgusting manner in your wetness seeping and dripping down chan’s balls. you feel awful. downright terrible and tainted, forever branded by the searing touch of chan’s skin grazing against yours because that’s what you are, that’s what you have been for the past two months. down from the night you let him lead you into his sheets, following the countless occasions you found yourself returning there, and finally falling to now, your underwear strewn across the tiles of jake’s bathroom as you spread your legs for the same man who broke your best friend’s heart; the same man who you’ve let into yours after very consciously disregarding the repercussions of your actions. 

you’re truly a loathsome piece of work.

“think she’d like to watch me fill this pussy up? watch me shoot my load deep inside you over and over again until i’m sure it’s taken?” chan mutters, hot breath fanning against your sweaty neck. “maybe i should breed this stupid cunt full of my seed and send you back out there with it spilling past your legs. that way, every time you sit down, you’ll feel it inside you.” the mental image of his release lodged in your walls as you’re surrounded by all your friends, surrounded by the one person you’ve both been hiding from, all of them oblivious to the way he’s staked his claim on you except for the shared knowledge between you two and you two only— it has you quivering to the point you physically keen in his hold. chan, however, just laughs sadistically at your reaction. 

“you’ll feel it as a reminder of me, yeah? a reminder that you’re just as terrible as me. coming to me to get this slutty cunt stuffed even though you know you shouldn’t.” he continues to whisper. “after all, it takes two to tango, darling.” chan makes it a point to tilt his hips up in an effort to ensure his mushroom tip hits your g-spot with precise force, all the while breathlessly uttering more sickening words in your ear in hopes of fulfilling your need for relief. 

surely enough, the combination of his cock shoving itself past your opening and his guilt-inducing remarks that only make you sob harder work you up to the point of no return. all it really takes after that is one touch of his thumb to your pulsating nub to eventually have you seizing up in no time, your pussy messily tightening and gushing as your high crashes over you in large waves of ecstasy. it seems to trigger him too, because by the time you even realise you’re there, chan’s twitching and leaking spurts of thick cum inside you. there’s so much of it that it trickles past where he’s got you plugged up, and you barely comprehend yourself pushing a hand near your oozing hole to catch it on your fingertips. 

you both come to slowly, ragged breathing that fills the air growing quieter to pair with the musk of the room. chan’s gaze is still trained on you through the mirror, unreadable just like always whenever you’ve made the same mistake again, but you take the opportunity in this instance specifically to raise the hand that’s collected his seed in it to your mouth, proceeding to lick up the droplets of his excess release. even though you don’t catch his stare in the reflection, you can still feel it burning holes through your head, a fact that only leaves goosebumps rising over your skin. it’s only when you pull your hand away once more to catch the last of his remaining cum that he decides to finally interject, grabbing your palm in his coarse one with hooded eyes. they’re blown out when he tugs your back flush into his chest, the impact leaving his length pushing deeper inside, and they’re blown out when his fingers wrap around your neck to give it a slight squeeze, the little loss of oxygen making your mind spin.

“you think that’s funny? teasing me even after i just fucked you? after i left my mark on you and made sure you know that you’re mine?” chan murmurs, lips sultrily ghosting the shell of your ear. you want to fixate on what he’d addressed you as, let it marinate in your thoughts and brood over it for the next weeks to come even if it was just an absentminded slip of the mouth, but your focus is interrupted by the moving of his hips against yours picking up once more. the previously repeated actions send his dick driving into you again, breaching your cervix and pressing deliciously into every nook and cranny in a way that has you nearly losing your footing, but chan is quicker to hold you up with his free hand. “w-wait, ‘m still sensitive.” you manage to tremble out at a particularly well-placed graze of his cock, but chan doesn’t seem to care, grinding into you even more eagerly at your admission to the point you struggle to keep the sounds spilling out you at bay.

there’s a resounding knock on the door all of a sudden, one that makes your breath hitch and your chest twist in uneasiness. some part of you feels wary and on edge, and you would assume chan’s movements would halt at that, but he doesn’t show any signs of stopping, ignoring your frantic attempts to make him do so by holding you in place instead as he begins to pick up the pace. “s-stop, we’ll get caught.” you heave out upon the noise of skin slapping rising in volume. you do your best to stand your ground, to avoid the gradual closing of your eyes and the mushy fog of your brain clouding over in euphoria, but it’s to no avail. you’re about to let go of your inhibitions completely, to forget about what had just happened and throw caution into the wind in order to lose yourself in the moment, until—

“y/n, i know you’re in there with chris.”

. . .

comments and reblogs are always appreciated! <3

© all rights reserved to @/lovscb97, do not plagiarise, translate, re-upload, etc 

[girllblogging777]

𝐵𝐴𝐶𝐾𝑆𝑇𝐴𝐺𝐸 𝑆𝐸𝑅𝐸𝑁𝐴𝐷𝐸

↳ famous mattheo riddle x journalist reader

↳ 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡 : 1.5k

𝑠𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦 : falling for the lead singer of the band… except you should keep things professional

(part 1 here, you don’t necessarily need to read it)

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

the final chords of the silver dominion’s encore reverberated through the venue, the sound rippling through your chest like a heartbeat. the crowd roared its approval, screaming for more even as the stage lights dimmed. you stood on the edge of the chaos, still reeling from this evening’s events. the review you were supposed to be writing felt impossibly distant, as if the energy in the room had swallowed it whole.

you had been trying to focus all night. trying to keep things professional. but since you had interviewed the band earlier, mattheo riddle hadn’t been able to keep his eyes off of you. his dark gaze locking onto yours, his mouth curling in that infuriating smirk, it became harder to remember you were supposed to be working.

the opening notes of one of their most famous songs began and the audience erupted, screaming the lyrics before mattheo had even sung the first line. he smirked at the noise, but when it was time for the verse, he stumbled.

he should have sung “I’ve been searching for something I’ll never find,” but instead, he hesitated, his lips parting as if the words had completely slipped his mind. the band played on, unfazed, but mattheo looked straight at you, his smirk turning sharp as he improvised.

“she’s got me tied, got me blind,

can’t think straight, she’s all on my mind.

should I blame the music, or blame her smile ?

guess I’ll be lost for a little while.”

the crowd roared, hands in the air as if this was part of the plan, but you knew better. mattheo gave you a pointed look, his grin crooked and entirely too self-satisfied as the crowd screamed louder.

your cheeks burned, your heart hammering as he turned back to the mic and slid seamlessly into the real lyrics, the moment passing like smoke. but when his lips twitched into another smirk as he looked over his shoulder, you couldn’t stop the breathless laugh that escaped you.

prowling the stage like he owned it, the collar of his shirt loose enough to reveal the ink trailing across his chest, mattheo riddle looked like a vision. but he had missed his line on purpose. and the worst part ? he knew it had worked.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

later, as the lights began to rise and the crowd reluctantly started to disperse, a man in a headset approached you. “you’re the journalist, right? the one from earlier?”

you nodded, half-expecting him to tell you to leave or remind you about some press embargo. instead, the tall man gestured toward the backstage area.

“you’re asked backstage. follow me.”

your heart leapt before you could stop it, heat rushing to your cheeks as you scrambled to follow him. the narrow corridor was dimly lit, the air cooler than the packed venue but still buzzing with energy. your guide led you to the band’s dressing room where you’d already been today, pausing outside the door.

“go on in. they’re just wrapping up.”

you pushed the door open cautiously. the dressing room was cozy but chaotic : guitar cases, empty beer bottles, and discarded jackets were strewn across the room. theo and blaise lounged on the couch, laughing about something while mattheo stood off to the side, towel slung around his neck, his brown curls damp with sweat.

the moment he saw you, his face lit up. he stepped away from the others, his lips twitching into that same crooked grin that had been haunting you all night.

“you made it,” he said, his voice warm and low as if there had been any doubt.

you shrugged and tried to play it cool. “didn’t want to miss the chance to see what goes on behind the curtain.”

mattheo chuckled, running a hand through his hair. “careful, you might ruin the mystery.”

“you’re assuming there’s still mystery to ruin.”

that earned a genuine laugh, and he took another step closer. his demeanour had completely changed, he was acting much more confident than when you’d interviewed him. “fair. so, what did you think of the show?”

“it was…” you paused andsearched for the right words, but his gaze was so intent it made it hard to think. “it was great. you were great.”

his smirk softened into something more genuine, his voice dropping as he said, “you know, I’ve done a lot of interviews, but there’s something about you. felt it the second we met.”

the air between you seemed to shift, the noise of the room fading as his words settled over you. “i-…”

“oi, matty boy!”

the door banged open and enzo, the band’s bassist, barged in, grinning like a mischievous child. he was carrying two beers, one of which he immediately handed to mattheo. “you gonna stand here making heart eyes all night, or are we celebrating?”

mattheo exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face. “enzo-”

“oh, don’t stop on my account,” enzo teased, flopping onto the couch with the grace of someone who knew exactly how to kill a moment.

you couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head as the tension dissipated. “I should probably let you celebrate,” you said, taking a step back.

mattheo caught your wrist gently, his touch sending a jolt of heat up your arm. “don’t go.”

his voice was quiet, but it was enough to stop you in your tracks. you glanced back at him, your pulse racing.

enzo made a dramatic gagging noise. “merlin, you two are painful. I’m getting out of here before I choke on the sexual tension.” he grabbed his beer and sauntered out, leaving the two of you alone.

mattheo huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “sorry. he’s an idiot.”

“seems like a good friend, though,” you offered, trying to ease the lingering awkwardness.

“he is,” mattheo admitted. then his gaze softened again, his thumb brushing lightly over your wrist. “but I’d still rather it just be us right now.”

your breath caught as he stepped closer, his other hand coming up to rest lightly on your waist. his eyes searched yours, as if giving you one last chance to pull away.

when you didn’t, he leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that was slow and deliberate, like he had all the time in the world. It wasn’t rushed or frantic. it was careful, full of unspoken promises.

“so much for keeping things professional,” you murmured when he broke the kiss to catch his breath

mattheo grinned, his voice a low rumble. “screw professional. this feels real.”

his thumb brushed over your cheek, his gaze dipping to your lips again as if he couldn’t quite get enough. he looked like he was craving another taste of you, but the touch of his calloused hands felt strangely soft. “you know, I’m not usually this forward, but I can’t stop thinking about what it’d be like to take you out. just you and me. no cameras, no interviews. what do you say?”

your lips curved into a soft smile, your voice breathless. “I’d say yes. definitely yes.”

he grinned at that, his hand sliding to the back of your neck as he pulled you into another kiss. it was deeper this time, more insistent as if he couldn’t help it. his lips moved with a deliberate intensity that left you dizzy, his other hand resting firmly on your waist, pulling you flush against him.

the air grew warmer, the distance between you nonexistent as his mouth left a slow trail along your jawline, his breath hot against your skin. your pulse quickened as you tilted your head back, his lips brushing the sensitive spot below your ear. “is this where I remind you I’m supposed to be writing an article about you?”

mattheo’s lips hovered over yours, his breath warm as he whispered, “so… what’s the headline gonna be ? ‘lead singer of the silver dominion is one hell of a kisser’?”

you couldn’t help but laugh softly, your fingers sliding into his damp curls. “more like, ‘lead singer of the silver dominion is insufferably cocky.’”

his grin widened as he leaned in, brushing his mouth against yours in a way that made your knees weak. “as long as you include the part where I absolutely ruined you tonight.”

your cheeks flushed and you pulled him closer, voice laced with equal parts challenge and desire. “guess I’ll need a bit more material to work with, won’t I ?”

he chuckled, the sound vibrating against your skin as his hands gripped your hips. “you’re definitely not getting into writing anytime soon anyways. I’ve got other plans for us right now.”

the door was still closed, the muffled hum of the venue beyond it fading into nothing as the heat between you built. mattheo pressed you back against the wall, his lips finding yours again in a heated kiss.

oh yeah, you were definitely gonna be busy tonight…

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

a/n : hey pookies, it’s been a while ! haven’t had much time to read lately but here’s a little something to keep you entertained

tell me if you wanna be added to the tag list ! @redeemingvillains @leona-hawthorne @shiftingwithmars @tateshifts @rose-of-the-grave @clar2aa @iris-qt @sp7-mr @deadghosy @deadsnakey @helendeath @jolly4holly @larmesdevanille @dexoq @shiftingwithleah @sunkissedscribbles @chelawrites @myunperfektstorys @yikesitslush @slut-for-fictional-men @romantasyreader28 @witchsrecs @mattiesgf @reidol0gy @kenjikishimotoswifey @2dloveshp

[alsofoundinpeas]

Beyond the Window

Summary: With her package plan a success, the only thing standing between Y/N and Spencer now was his job. But as soon as he returned home, nothing would hold them back from finally acting on their feelings—this time, with no windows in the way.

CONTENT WARNINGS: 18+ MDNI!! This fic is intended for adult audiences. Some might consider this dubcon (talk of Spencer watching reader through her window but reader had wanted him to) so please be aware of that! Fingering (f!receiving), oral (both m and f receiving), unprotected P in V sex (birth control mentioned), overstimulation/multiple orgasms (both m and f receiving), dry humping (if you squint), creampie (fuck I hate typing that), minor corruption kink, heavy praise, Virgin!Spencer, Sub!Spencer (he is pathetic and LOUD in this FYI), Soft Dom!reader, Perv!Spencer and Perv!Reader (they're back at it again LMFAO). Both fluffy and smutty. They match each other’s freak your honor!!

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader/afab!reader

A/N: Anddd done! This was, to date, the filthiest thing I've written so I'm nervous but I also loved writing it LMAO. I hope you guys enjoy part two as much as I enjoyed writing it :') I'll be putting out more sub!Spence in the future, but for now I hope you guys like this!! As always, please let me know what you guys think and if you do enjoy it then please like, reblog, and share it with your friends. <3 Thank you and I love you all!! :)

Spencer was certain the universe was playing a cruel, twisted prank on him.

It was the only explanation for being called into work early on a Sunday morning when he was supposed to be off. The night before, he’d gone to bed without replying to Y/N, hoping to come up with the perfect witty, flirty response the next day—when his brain wasn't a pile of mush. As he hurried to pack a go-bag and get dressed, Spencer cursed under his breath for waiting. Now, he’d have to send a hasty, jumbled apology and hope that Y/N would still want him to come over when he got back.

While Spencer drove—a task he loathed but had no choice in, given the lack of time for the metro—Penelope briefed him on the case details. The team was being sent to Wyoming to assist with a rapidly escalating unsub, which explained the need to get there quickly. Spencer couldn’t help but feel a twinge of guilt as Penelope spoke. Even with the case's urgency, his mind kept returning to Y/N.

“Reid?” Penelope sighed, then tried again. “Hello? Earth to Reid?!”

Spencer snapped back to reality, his face flushing as he cleared his throat. “Sorry, I got distracted. What was the last part again?”

Penelope's laughter echoed through the phone. “What’s keeping your mind so busy? Besides all your usual genius stuff, that is."

Spencer groaned, knowing that the blonde wouldn’t stop pressing until she got an answer. With a heavy sigh, he reluctantly began to explain.

"There’s this girl who lives across from me, and I’ve had a crush on her for a while… We’d run into each other a few times at the library and the coffee shop near my place, but recently, a package of hers ended up at my door. I took it to her yesterday morning, and we ended up hanging out—" He paused, swallowing hard as his mind drifted to what had happened that night, but he quickly pushed the thought aside. "Anyway, she texted me to come over again, but then I got called in for the case. So, yeah, she’s just been on my mind."

Spencer winced as a loud squeal erupted from the phone, quickly followed by the sound of enthusiastic clapping.

“Spencer! That’s adorable! What’s her name?”

“Nope. Not a chance. I know you’ll look her up and start stalking her!” Spencer protested as he pulled into the parking garage. “Look, I just got here, so I’ll see you when we get back. Please keep this between us for now, alright? I don’t need everyone hounding me about it while we have a case to focus on.”

Penelope groaned dramatically but gave in, sighing in playful annoyance. “Ugh, fine, lover boy. You just ruined all my fun,” she grumbled. “Be safe, my sweet angel, and tell Derek to call me when you guys land!”

Spencer finished the call and hung up, swiftly typing out a message to send to Y/N before he had to go in. His thumbs clumsily pressed the buttons as he hurried, letting out an annoyed sigh as he fumbled with his flip-phone. He’d never been a fan of modern technology, but if getting a new phone meant it would be easier to talk to her, he’d consider it.

Good morning! I hope you slept well. Apologies for the late response. I’d love to come over, but unfortunately, I’ve been called in for a case. Would you still like me to come by once I get back?

Spencer gave a nod to himself, hit send, then gathered his things and stepped out of the car.

Y/N paused when she heard her phone ding, toothbrush still in her mouth. She quickly finished brushing, swishing mouthwash as she walked to her room to grab her phone. Returning to the bathroom, she spat out the mouthwash before finally glancing at the waiting text.

A small giggle fell from her lips as she read Spencer’s message, leaning back against the sink as she responded.

Of course, Spencer. Only if you want to :) xoxo

He texted like an old man (which wasn't surprising, considering his wardrobe). She thought it was charming. She placed her phone on the bathroom counter and stepped toward the shower to start the water, a smile still playing on her lips from his message.

A content sigh fell from her lips once she stepped into the hot stream of water, letting the water relax her tight muscles.

As her soapy hands began to wander her body, her mind wandered back to Spencer and just how deliciously pathetic he’d looked stroking himself to the sight of her. Honestly, Y/N had worried she’d scared the poor guy with her message after he’d watched her the night before, so seeing his text was a relief. Now, she just had to wait for him to return from his case—and then he’d finally be all hers.

The week crawled by, each day stretching on painfully, leaving both of them restless and longing for each other's company.

Each night when Y/N came home, she’d glance out of her curtains, hoping to see that Spencer had returned, only to let out a quiet sigh when she found he hadn’t. She couldn’t remember ever being this excited to see someone before. Something about Spencer had her completely hooked—not just his looks, but the man behind them. After spending time with him, she was eager to uncover more about the sweet, brilliant person who lived across from her.

Another four days went by before the text she’d been waiting for finally came through.

Hey pretty girl, we just landed so I’ll be home in about an hour. Are you up for some company?

Y/N arched a brow as she read the message, re-reading it a few times to make sure she wasn’t hallucinating. That didn’t sound like Spencer at all… but she was too eager for him to come over to worry about it now. She’d figure out who actually sent it when he arrived.

With a small grin, Y/N typed her reply, then set her phone down to get ready and tidy up her apartment.

“Morgan! Come on! Are you serious?” Spencer griped, swatting at the man in an attempt to grab his phone back. “What did you say to her?”

Penelope had (accidentally) let it slip to Morgan that Spencer was, in her words, "dating but not dating this super cute girl who lives across from him." Naturally, she’d ignored his requests for privacy, tracked down the tenant list for Y/N’s building, and found her online after figuring out she was the one. So, when Morgan glanced over Spencer's shoulder and saw the carefully composed message he’d written, he snatched the phone and sent something entirely different.

“Relax, kid! I’m just helping you out. You’re going to scare her off if you keep talking to her like a geezer,” Morgan chuckled, tossing him back his phone before standing from his seat and stretching. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

Spencer sighed, shaking his head in frustration before unlocking his phone to check the message. He cringed at what Morgan had sent, but then his heart skipped a beat as he read Y/N’s reply.

Come over whenever you’re ready, pretty boy. I can’t wait to see you. :)

Spencer’s face flushed as he brushed off the curious looks from the team, eager to get off the jet and head home to drop his stuff off—then straight to Y/N’s. A mix of nervousness and excitement churned inside him, his hands trembling as he started the drive home. It felt surreal to him, knowing not only that she was excited to see him, but that she wanted him just as much as he wanted her.

A firm knock at the door pulled Y/N’s attention from the couch, a bright smile spreading across her face as she jumped up to answer it. "Coming!" she called, quickly unlocking the door. When she opened it, Spencer stood there, looking a bit nervous and holding a bag of takeout from her favorite diner.

"Oh, Spencer," she murmured, her gaze softening as she noticed the bag. "You’re so sweet! You didn’t have to get dinner—I was planning to order something when you got here." She stepped aside to let him in, closing the door behind him and taking the bag from his hand so he could slip off his coat.

Spencer waved it off with a sheepish grin as he followed her into the kitchen. "I wanted to," he said. "I noticed you ordered from them a lot and thought it would be a nice surprise." His eyes widened in panic. "Not that I’ve been, like, stalking you or anything! And, um, I'm sorry if I didn’t pick the right thing. I can run back and grab something else—"

“Spencer.”

Y/N sat down the plates she'd gotten out for them and silenced his nervous rambling by gently cupping his cheeks. Spencer froze mid-sentence, his mouth slightly open as he looked down at her. She smiled up at him, softly stroking her thumb along his cheekbone.

“You did perfect, sweetheart,” she reassured him, her gaze flicking to his lips for a moment before meeting his eyes again. “It was so thoughtful of you to pick up dinner. I'm sure I'll enjoy whatever you ordered. Thank you.”

Spencer swallowed, his heart pounding at the feel of her hands on his face. He drew in a deep breath, steadying himself before he whispered, “Of course.”

Y/N smiled, brushing her hand over his cheek one last time before turning back to plate the food, which looked and smelled delicious. Once she finished, she headed to the fridge, glancing back at Spencer. "Wine, water, or soda?"

"Water, please. Thank you."

Nodding, Y/N poured herself a glass of wine and then filled one with water for him. They walked into the living room, both of them buzzing with anticipation for what was to come later. They sat side by side, enjoying the warmth that came from being pressed together as they began to eat.

"So," Y/N started, laughing softly before continuing. "Who texted me from your phone earlier today? Unless the grandfather ghost inhabiting your body decided to take a rain check."

Spencer groaned in embarrassment, chuckling awkwardly as he glanced at her. "Sorry about that… that was my co-worker, Derek. And best friend too. He accused me of 'talking to you like a geezer' and decided to try and do better himself."

Y/N laughed even harder, putting her fork down to take a sip of her wine before replying. "I knew it wasn’t you!" she said with a triumphant grin, then paused, a new realization dawning on her. "You talk about me to your team?"

Spencer hesitated, finishing his bite slowly before taking a drink and nodding. "Sort of… I told Penelope about you, and then she mentioned it to Derek. I’m sorry—i-is that okay?" His fingers pushed his glasses up, a nervous habit of his.

It was more than okay. A giddy feeling rushed through her at the idea of him talking about her to his co-workers, recalling how he'd mentioned during their first hangout how much he valued them. She nodded, nudging him with her shoulder gently.

“You apologize too much, Spence. It’s totally fine. If anything, I’m flattered,” she admitted with a grin.

It didn’t take long for them to finish eating. Once the plates were cleared and placed in the sink, Y/N turned to Spencer, a small smirk playing on her lips. Spencer swallowed, leaning back against the counter, his eyes locked on her with a mix of curiosity as she began to speak.

"Do you watch every girl you're interested in through their window? Or am I just special?"

Her tone was playful, not angry or accusatory, but Spencer still tensed, stumbling over his words as he tried to explain himself.

"I swear I didn’t mean to come off as creepy or anything," Spencer stammered. "It’s just… from the moment I met you in the library, you were so captivating. And when I found out you lived across from me, I couldn’t help myself—"

Y/N's gaze softened as she realized just how nervous he actually was, and she took a step forward, shushing him with a finger to his lips.

"Spence, hey. Look at me, sweetheart,” she murmured, her arms loosely wrapping around his neck. She waited until their eyes met, then continued, her fingers gently twisting the hair at the nape of his neck. “I was just teasing. I wanted you to watch. That’s why I left my curtains open.”

Spencer’s eyes widened at her admission, a shaky sigh escaping his lips as he recalled every time she’d left her curtains open. All this time, she had wanted him to watch. The realization sent a strange warmth through him, and he carefully placed his hands on her waist.

“So, was the package at my door part of your plan too?” he breathed, his expression a blend of lust and adoration as he looked down at her.

Y/N's answer came in the form of a nod and a smug grin. Spencer chuckled, his nerves easing the longer he held her in his arms.

"I didn’t think you’d ever make a move, so I decided to take matters into my own hands," she said softly, still grinning as she met his gaze, mirroring the admiration in his eyes.

Spencer wrapped his arms around her, drawing her closer. “Is it wrong to say I’m glad you did?” he murmured, his hands gently caressing her lower back through her shirt. “You’re just… perfect. I was afraid you wouldn’t even give me the time of day if I’d tried to.”

Y/N’s mouth fell open in surprise, her brows furrowing as she tilted her head. “Are you serious?” she asked incredulously, letting her hands slide to rest on his shoulders as she leaned back in his embrace. “Spencer, I adore you. You could’ve asked me out in the library, right then, after just thirty seconds of knowing each other, and I would’ve said yes without a second thought. You really don’t give yourself enough credit.”

She tilted her head up, brushing her nose against his, continuing before he could speak. "Let me show you just how incredible I think you are. Please?"

Spencer sucked in a sharp breath, his heart racing at her words. It was exactly what he wanted, more than anything. But he hesitated, his mouth working as he fought to find the right words.

"I'm a virgin!" he not-so-eloquently blurted out instead.

Y/N's head jerked back, blinking hard as she processed his words. Had she heard him right?

"Wait... what did you just say?"

Spencer blushed hard, averting his gaze to the ground as he repeated himself.

"I'm a virgin."

It was Y/N’s turn to suck in a sharp breath, the admission arousing her more than she’d care to admit. She rubbed his shoulders gently before using one of her hands to guide his face back to hers, her gaze earnest as she looked at him.

“Honey, we don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. We don’t have to do anything at all—“

Spencer shook his head vigorously at that, a low whine emitting from his throat as he pressed his forehead to hers. “I want to do everything with you. I want to more than anything, I swear! I-I just… I don’t want it to be bad for you,” he whispered, unnecessary shame lacing his words.

“Spencer… sweetheart, it would never be bad for me as long as I’m with you,” Y/N whispered, her voice warm and steady. “I don’t want you to feel pressured, babe. Honestly, we could just curl up on the couch, watch a movie, or talk. I love talking with you, about anything.”

Spencer’s heart swelled at her words. No one had ever told him they truly enjoyed his company before, nor had anyone ever shown such genuine affection or concern for his emotions. It was a feeling he hadn’t known he was missing.

“I’m more than sure, Y/N. Please?” he mumbled, his grip on her hips tightening slightly. “I-I want to make you feel good.”

She paused, her eyes closing as she carefully considered her next move. After a long breath, Y/N gave a small nod, then pulled away from him completely.

“Follow me, then.”

Spencer hurried after her, nearly stumbling over his own feet in his eagerness to keep up. Once they reached her bedroom, Y/N shut the door and turned to face him, leaving him standing in the middle of her dimly lit room. He glanced around, almost in disbelief, as if he couldn’t quite believe he was really here—standing in her room and not caught in some dream.

“Bet it feels different being in here rather than just looking in,” Y/N teased, stepping closer to him.

“Very. I’m still waiting for the cameraman to jump out and tell me it’s all a prank.”

A soft laugh escaped her, and she shook her head with a smirk. “Sorry to disappoint, but that’s not happening. No prank, sweetheart,” she hummed, her eyes catching the way his gaze swept over her, full of unspoken desire.

Y/N smirked as she took another step forward, urging Spencer backward until the backs of his knees hit her mattress. She reached up, pushing down gently on his shoulders until he gingerly sat on the bed, looking up at her with wide eyes as she moved to straddle his lap. Her fingers carded through his hair, tugging gently and eliciting a whimper from him as she cocked her head.

“Quit looking at me like that,” she murmured, scratching her nails gently against his scalp.

A shiver ran down Spencer’s spine, his brows furrowing at her words. He shifted underneath her, resting his shaking hands on her hips. His tongue poked out to wet his lips, and he didn’t miss the way her eyes darkened at the sight.

“Like what?”

“Like you want me to ruin you.”

Y/N’s words lingered in the air, their breaths the only sound breaking the stillness. The tension between them was electric, each waiting for the other to break first. Finally, Spencer did, his voice barely a whisper as he spoke.

“That’s exactly what I want you to do.”

The slight tremble in his voice and the doe-eyed look he sported were all it took for Y/N’s resolve to crumble completely.

With a low groan, her lips crashed onto his. Their mouths melded together, the small whine bubbling in Spencer’s throat encouraging her to kiss him even harder. His hands reached up to cradle her face, matching her intensity as their lips moved together.

It wasn’t what she’d expected at all.

Spencer didn’t kiss her like the shy, hesitant man from earlier. Instead, his kiss was fiery, almost desperate, as though he wanted to drown in her and never resurface. And she found herself wanting exactly the same.

Y/N’s hands wandered from his hair down his chest, letting her fingertips dip beneath the hem of his shirt as their tongues brushed together. Her nails gently dragged along the soft skin there, and she felt his erection twitch from where it was firmly pressed to her core. Spencer whimpered, breaking their kiss with a soft gasp as he looked up at her pleadingly.

“Please,” he panted, his hands reaching for her hips to pull her down into him. Y/N rolled her hips against his, moaning lowly at the friction. She repeated the action once before stopping her movements, climbing off of him despite his protests with one simple command.

"Take off your clothes, Spence."

He complied immediately, scrambling to stand and strip out of his clothes. His fingers fumbled as he worked at his tie, his focus stuck on her as she undressed before him. A frustrated groan left his lips as he finally yanked the tie off, his hands moving too slowly for his own liking.

Y/N arched a brow, chuckling at his irritated noise as she stepped out of her pants. She reached up to stop his hands, beginning to unbutton his shirt herself. "What's got you so worked up, hm? It's not like it's anything you haven't seen before," she purred, sliding her hands under the fabric and slipping it off of him.

The shirt hit the ground with a muted thump, and her eyes roamed over his newly exposed skin hungrily. Spencer whined at her teasing, letting his hands roam up and down her sides as she worked on getting his pants off.

"I could see you like this an infinite amount of times, and it would still take my breath away every time," he murmured, his hands gently squeezing her hips.

A faint pink spread across her cheeks at his words, and she lifted her face to place a soft kiss on his lips, a silent thank you. No one had ever made her feel as treasured as Spencer did. He gazed at her with a devotion that felt almost reverent, as though she were someone to be worshipped—and he longed to be the one to worship her.

Which was highly ironic, considering she was the one sinking to her knees the second his pants pooled around his ankles.

"Wh-what are you doing?" Spencer's voice raised pitch as she steadied herself with her hands on his thighs, looking down at her with wide eyes, pushing his glasses back up his nose as they threatened to slip down from the angle.

"What does it look like I'm doing, sweetheart?" Y/N murmured, leaning forward to press an open-mouthed kiss to his hip. "I want your pretty cock down my throat. You okay with that?"

The sound Spencer made was almost pained, his fists clenching at his sides as he struggled to figure out what to do with his hands. His mouth parted, a stutter escaping him before he finally gave in, nodding instead. His cock twitched in his boxers, aching to feel her touch.

"Words, baby. Use your words."

Y/N's lips skimmed across his navel, peppering kisses along the smattering of hair there as she waited for his response.

"God—yes! I'm okay with that," Spencer whined, his hips bucking forward instinctively from her touch. "Please... please touch me—"

Y/N couldn't deny such sweet begging. It would be downright cruel if she did.

Her fingers found the waistband of his boxers, tugging them down slowly. She kept her eyes locked on his, carefully assessing his every reaction to ensure there was no trace of doubt before proceeding. When she saw none, she swiftly yanked them down the rest of the way, letting them pool around his ankles with his pants.

Spencer gasped as the chill of her bedroom air met his warm skin, goosebumps spreading across his arms as he fought the urge to shy away from her gaze. He never thought that highly of himself in the physical aspect— all lean muscles, lanky limbs, and pale skin spattered with freckles and a few random scars. But his insecurities faded the moment he heard her breath catch, her eyes filled with admiration as they lingered on him.

"You're so beautiful, Spencer," Y/N breathed, bringing a hand up to grip him gently. "So, so beautiful."

Her mouth was on him before he could respond.

A keening sound filled the room as he watched in pure awe as she dragged her tongue up and down the length of him slowly before her lips wrapped around the flushed head of his cock, a spark of pleasure shooting up his spine as his hands flexed by his side. She sucked gently, swirling her tongue around the tip before pulling off of him to speak.

"Don't be afraid to hold onto me, sweetheart. Go ahead."

Spencer's hands immediately came up to cradle the back of her head, finding purchase as she returned to what she was doing. The sight of her on her knees and taking the length of him into her mouth had his knees almost buckling. It was something he'd dreamed about for nights on end, but now that it was actually happening, he didn't know what to do with himself.

"F-fuck—" He whimpered, his eyes squeezing shut to prevent himself from cumming right then and there.

All he'd ever experienced before was his own hand (and occasionally some desperate humping against his mattress), so the feeling of her mouth around him was otherworldly. Just when he thought it was safe to open his eyes again, Y/N smirked around her mouthful and pushed her head down to take him in completely.

"Oh—!" Spencer cried out as he hit the back of her throat, jolting and stumbling backward and falling out of her mouth with a slick 'pop'. His chest heaved as he reached down to grip himself tightly, staving off his orgasm. He didn't want to cum yet. Not this quickly.

"I-I'm sorry, it just felt too... too good—"

Y/N gently stroked his trembling thighs, pressing a kiss beneath his belly button before rising to her feet. She shushed his stammered apologies with a kiss on his forehead, caressing his face as he caught his breath. His face was flushed, both from embarrassment and arousal, and the sight was more endearing than it should have been.

"You have nothing to apologize for, sweetheart. Absolutely nothing," she whispered, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips before turning to crawl onto her bed. “Get up here, baby,” she crooned as she laid back against her pillows, patting the spot beside her.

Spencer almost tripped over his pants in his haste to follow after her, kicking the fabric away before he kneeled onto the mattress, smiling meekly at Y/N as she watched in amusement. "I w-want—" Spencer paused as he watched her lean forward so she could unclasp her bra, completely enraptured. "I want to taste you. Please?"

Desire coursed through her at his words, searing through her veins as she met his gaze. She loved how pretty the word please sounded falling from his kiss-swollen lips. She slipped free from her bra, tossing it to the ground before answering his pleading.

"Go ahead, baby. Take whatever you want—I want you to have it all."

Spencer swallowed hard at that, a small grin playing on his lips as he moved forward to settle between her spread legs. He kneeled between them, taking off his glasses and setting them on her nightstand before lowering himself to hover over her. He bumped his nose against hers, his grin widening as he moved to tentatively kiss along the side of her neck.

Y/N moaned at the feeling, tangling her fingers into his tousled strands. He continued, trailing his kisses down the slope of her shoulder before pausing to suck a small mark into her skin, relishing in the soft noises falling from her lips. Once he was satisfied with his mark, he brought his lips down to mouth along her breast, laving his tongue over the taut bud of her nipple.

"Spence—" she whimpered as he closed his lips around the hardened peak, suckling with a low groan that rumbled against her skin. She tugged at his hair, pulling him impossibly closer. "Feels so good, sweetheart."

Spencer hummed, pulling off her breast after a moment and switching to the other to give it the same treatment. Y/N whined, arching into his touch as he began to move down her body. What he may have lacked in physical experience, he more than compensated for with knowledge.

Contrary to popular belief, he wasn't a prude. He'd read plenty of erotic novels, as well as countless books all centered around the female anatomy and how to inflict the most pleasure so that he could at least pretend to feel prepared for his first time. It seemed to be paying off, though, if the noises she made were any indication of how he was doing.

Spencer's hands came up to rest on her hips as he settled on his stomach between her thighs, hissing softly when his erection pressed into the mattress. His eyes met hers, and the clouded look in her eyes was all the encouragement he needed.

"God, you're soaked," he whispered in astonishment as his finger traced the damp spot in the front of her panties, causing a breathy chuckle to slip from her lips.

"How could I not be?"

Spencer blushed, leaning down to kiss her inner thigh before pulling the fabric down her legs. His breath hitched at the sight of her glistening pussy, fully on display for him without the barrier of their windows in his way. Any coherent thought that was swirling around in his head vanished, replaced with an urgent need to taste her. He moved without thinking as he latched his mouth onto her eagerly, groaning against her slick skin as he began to lap at her hungrily.

"Fuck! Spencer—" Y/N cried out, her grip on his hair tightening at the unexpected pleasure. Her head tipped back against her pillows as her hips writhed under his ministrations, rolling against his mouth as he devoured her.

There was little to no technique— just pure, unbridled enthusiasm. But it felt so good that she didn't care. He alternated between sucking at her clit and thrusting his tongue into her, needy moans slipping from his lips the entire time he did.

"Fingers, baby—" she gasped, biting her lower lip harshly to stifle a loud moan. "Use your fingers, too."

Spencer didn't need to be told twice. He pulled away from her, licking the taste of her from his lips as he brought two fingers up to her entrance. He focused his gaze on her face as he pushed them inside of her, his mouth hanging open and soft breaths panting against her skin as he began to thrust them.

"Like this?"

His tone wasn't cocky or arrogant. It was curious, like he was genuinely invested in finding out what felt the best for her. She nodded, a choked moan slipping from her lips as he grazed against that rough patch of nerves inside of her that had her hips thrashing.

Spencer watched in fascination for a moment before bringing his head back down, his eyes fluttering shut as he began to trace her clit with his tongue. His hips rocked instinctively against the bed, grinding against it in a desperate attempt to find some relief for his aching cock as he brought her closer and closer to her climax.

"Spence—" Y/N whimpered, her hands falling from his hair to grip the sheets as she clenched around his fingers. "I-I'm cumming—"

Spencer groaned against her, doubling his efforts so he could watch her fall apart on his fingers. With a soft cry, Y/N came hard, her eyes squeezing shut as she trembled underneath him. He continued his movements, pumping his fingers into her gently until she was whining and wriggling away from his touch.

Spencer watched her in awe, kneading her thighs and hips to help her come down from her high.

"C'mere," she panted after a few minutes, finally opening her eyes to look up at him as he moved to hover above her.

A proud grin made its way to Spencer's face as he obeyed, resting on his forearms as he looked down at her. The hazy look in her eyes made his heart race, knowing that he was the cause of it doing more for his ego than he cared to admit. She returned his grin, leaning up to kiss him softly and tasting herself on his tongue.

"You did so good, sweetheart. Such a good boy for me," she mumbled against his lips.

She broke the kiss to press on his shoulders, rolling them over so she straddled him once more. A lazy smirk adorned her lips as he looked up at her, his pupils so dilated that the soft brown of his eyes was indiscernible. She began to rock her hips against his aching cock, a sigh slipping from her lips as her folds dragged over him.

Spencer moaned lowly at the friction, bringing his hands up to palm at her ass as she continued her movements. His fingers dug into her flesh as she spoke, but he didn't hear a single word she said as he kept his gaze locked on where her pussy was gliding along his length.

"Hey," Y/N cooed, patting his cheek gently to guide his eyes back to hers. "Eyes on me, sweetheart."

Spencer whined, his hips bucking underneath hers in an attempt to bring back the delicious friction that had been taken away when she lifted her hips. "I-I'm sorry. I wasn't listening," Spencer mumbled sheepishly, his face flushed as he held her gaze.

Y/N chuckled, tutting in mock disappointment as she gripped his chin. "I know you weren't," she muttered with an arched brow before continuing. "I was asking if you wanted to use a condom or not. I'm clean and—"

"No condom!"

Y/N jumped, startled. The urgency in his voice sent a wave of warmth through her as she eyed him in amusement, enjoying the bashful look that immediately appeared on his face after his exclamation. Spencer cleared his throat, attempting to regain some of his dignity.

"I'm sorry… I didn't mean to borderline shout that," Spencer said softly, his voice cracking slightly. "I just— I want to feel you, please. Without a condom in the way, preferably."

The grin that spread across her face could only be described as salacious as she nodded, cradling his face before leaning in for a tender kiss.

"No condom it is, then."

Y/N shifted up onto her knees, reaching between them to align him with her entrance before pausing when he spoke up.

"I— um... C-can I be on top of you instead?" he whispered, looking up at her with nervous eyes.

Her gaze softened at the sight, and she nodded immediately. "Of course, sweetheart. Whatever you want, remember?" She murmured with a fond smile, rolling off of him to lay back against the pillows.

Spencer thanked her quietly, moving to hover above her once more. His body trembled as he propped up on one arm, reaching down to line himself up with her once more. She cradled his face, stroking her thumb along his cheekbone reassuringly. He took a deep breath to steady himself before pushing forward, sinking into her.

The feeling of her tight walls wrapping around him had him keening while she moaned just as loudly in return, dropping his head into the crook of her neck as he sucked in desperate, shaky breaths. He'd never experienced pleasure so overwhelming before. He was honestly convinced he'd died right there in her arms, pressing sloppy kisses to her skin just to prove to himself that he was, in fact, still alive.

"God— feels so good," he began to babble, moaning softly as he pulled his hips back slightly before thrusting forward again. "So tight... so wet— fuck!"

Y/N dug her nails into his shoulders, whimpering as he thrusted into her again, this time a little harder. "That's it, Spence," she panted, encouraging him to begin really moving. "You feel so good, baby. So fucking deep."

Spencer's hips jerked at that, his head dropping back into the crook of her neck as he began to drive into her in short, jagged thrusts. Moans slipped freely from his lips, mingling with hers as their bodies moved in tandem.

It didn't take long before the familiar tightening in his stomach came back, but he was too lost in the pleasure to stop. The feeling of Y/N around him was addictive. He seeked solace in her walls, rutting into her like a man possessed now as he sang her his praises against her skin. His hips stuttered as he lifted his head up, crashing his lips onto hers in a messy kiss as his hips pounded against hers even harder.

"Gonna— cum, fuck, I'm cumming—"

Spencer cried out against her lips, burying himself as deep inside of her as he could before filling her with rope after rope of his release. A pitiful noise fell from his lips as he broke the kiss, his eyes wide as he gawked down at her. His hips stopped moving, but before he could speak, Y/N was looping her arms around his neck and pulling him down.

“Did I say you could stop fucking me, Spencer?” Y/N’s voice was taunting in his ear, her nails digging into his shoulders as she wrapped her legs around his waist to keep him in place.

Spencer’s brows pinched together as confusion washed over him, and his arms trembled as he struggled to remain hovering above her. His cock twitched inside of her as she canted her hips up, causing him to hiss softly from the overstimulation. His lower lip wobbled as he stared at her with a half-dazed, half-pleading look.

"W-what?"

“You greedy boy,” Y/N purred as she rolled her hips again. She smirked at the whimper he let out before tilting her head to skim her lips across his. “Don’t you want to feel me cum on your cock? Hm?”

Spencer shuddered at her words, chasing helplessly after her lips. He whined petulantly when she tilted her head, keeping him from succeeding in getting his kiss.

“I do,” Spencer whimpered, nodding fervently. “I wanna feel it so bad,” he groaned, his words beginning to slur from the pleasure coursing through him from head to toe.

“Then keep fucking me, sweetheart.”

A determined look crossed over his face, his brows knitting together as he shifted up onto his knees and pulled her hips up before thrusting forward. The change in angles had her crying out as he brushed against her sweet spot, and he grunted as he began to rock into her slowly, pushing past the sweet sting of overstimulation. He tightened his grip on her hip with one hand while his other moved to where they were connected, rubbing small, sloppy circles against her clit as he began moving with a purpose.

“Mm—“ Y/N groaned out, her eyes threatening to close as she struggled to keep them focused on his face. “Just like that, Spence. Ah—!“

The sound of his hips snapping against hers paired with the slick, crude sound of him fucking his cum back into her had his head lolling back, a guttural moan rumbling in his throat.

His hips were relentless, chasing her pleasure more so than his own now. It was messy and borderline feral—their mixed arousal coated his pelvis and her thighs and one of the corners of the sheets had come up from Y/N yanking at them. But neither of them could find it in themselves to care.

“Cum for me, Y/N,” Spencer begged, shifting her legs up onto his shoulders and clinging to her thighs as he drove into her. “Please—wanna feel you cum on my cock… I need it—“

The sound of his pleading hurled her over the edge. Y/N’s nails nearly tore through the sheets as her eyes squeezed shut, cry after cry of his name falling from her open mouth as she came around him. Her body trembled from the force of her orgasm, her walls clenching so tightly around him that it triggered his second climax unexpectedly.

“Oh my God— oh— fuck!” Spencer wailed, devolving into a series of whimpers as he spilled everything he had into her.

After a moment of ragged breathing, he turned to press a kiss to her ankle before easing her limp legs off of his shoulders and to the bed. Y/N stroked his hair with shaky hands as he crumpled over on top of her, their bodies warm and damp with sweat. Their chests were heaving as they struggled to catch their breath, with Y/N whispering into his hair how good he did and how perfect he’d made her feel.

They stayed curled up for a while, but eventually, the stickiness became too much to ignore. They both stumbled into her bathroom—both for a quick shower and for Y/N to pee to avoid a UTI. After changing the sheets, they returned to her bed, and Y/N turned away to switch off the lamp, leaving them wrapped in the peaceful darkness.

“Does this mean you’re my girlfriend now?” Spencer asked, a shy grin on his face as she turned back to him, snuggling into his embrace as he pulled her closer.

Y/N huffed out a soft, sleepy laugh, nodding against him. “If you want me to be, sweetheart,” she murmured, her voice heavy with exhaustion as her eyelids fluttered shut.

“Of course I want you to,” Spencer replied, his words followed by a small yawn as sleep started to take hold of him too.

“Looks like it’s official then. I’m your girlfriend, you’re my boyfriend. Now, get some rest, my sweet boy.”

It wasn’t until the following evening, after a full day spent with Y/N on their first official date—a trip to the museum and lunch at his favorite restaurant—that he noticed something tucked into his pocket. A giddy grin spread across Spencer’s face as he unfolded the lacy pink panties, a small note tucked inside that read: For you to take on your next case. ;) xoxo - Y/N.

Spencer glanced down at the fabric in his hands, a soft chuckle escaping him as he silently thanked whatever force had made her the one to fill the vacant apartment across from his.

Continued A/N’s and tag list!! <3: Big big thank you to everyone that enjoyed part one and came back to read part two :’) And thank you to everyone that wanted to be tagged!! If you guys would like for me to start doing an official tag list, please let me know :’) <3 @halfbloodwriter , @opheliahotchner , @mothgrrrl666 , @silver138, @elliet1ou

REMINDER: I do not give permission for my work to be re-uploaded to any other platforms (c.ai, Tiktok, ao3, etc.) under any circumstances. If you'd like to translate my work, then please just ask me before doing so. I know it sounds whiny, but I (as well as many other fanfic writers) spend so much time on these and it's genuinely not okay to take credit for work that isn't yours. It's insulting and completely unnecessary. If I do see my work uploaded anywhere without explicit permission, I WILL say something.

[moonchildcovenxx]

Making Sevika Beg

a/n: this was so fun to write guys. Sub/switch! Sevika finally begging bc hell yeah

told @justhereforsubsevika that I was maybe probably definitely gonna write this… look at me holding myself accountable

Sevika was stubborn. As her girlfriend, you probably knew this best. Whether it be something trivial or a moment like this: A vibrator pressed to her clit, no relent in sight. Despite her previous three denied orgasms, your girl was just too headstrong to beg for anything.

“‘m not gonna—fuck—I’m not gonna beg for shit.” Sevika punctuates gritty. You delight in the drunken slur that dampens the harshness in her bitten out sentence. You’re not surprised that she’d held out so long, but you enjoy how the cracks in her demeanor deepen with each passing second. “Think of how many times I could’ve fucked you already baby.” You purr watching as Sevika shudders at your words, biting down on the inside of her cheek to stop the whines from leaving her. All muscle and sharp tongue, a puddle beneath your touch.

Sevika’s arm flies up to cover her face as you turn the toy up a setting. This had to be the highest level, right?  She’s embarrassed of the mewls that are leaving her—devastated, desperate, and filthy. “Oh Vika.” You coo, feeling the pit in your stomach flip at her noises.

You’re moving the vibrator in cruel, teasing circles, and as Sevika’s abs tense, she realizes with sickening resolve that she is close again. Sevika swears loudly as you pull it away again.  “It’s not that hard honey.” Your saccharine lilt makes Sevika groan—in annoyance or pleasure she was yet to decide. “Just let me fucking cum.” She grunts, attempting to move your hand back to wear she wants it. Her arm that outstretches usually with confidence is shaky, and you marvel at the effect that you have on her. You wriggle out of her grasp quickly, and Sevika’s gaze turns lethal, leaning back on her elbows to eye you with a look that would scare anyone—unfortunately for her, it wouldn’t work on you. 

You giggle merely, shrugging. “Like I said, you don’t have to beg. But I’m not helping you cum.” Sevika grits her teeth, still glaring at you.  Her eyebrows furrow however, when you press the vibrator back to her clit, you smirk as her whole body jumps. Sevika whimpers, hips bucking up, the stimulation all too much and all too little. 

You hum as Sevika’s hands fist into the sheets, eyes rolling back. “You close Vika?” You murmur smoothly. She nods slow and wordless, afraid of what sounds might come out if she opens her mouth.

You tut carefully, hand caressing her boobs as you begin to pull the vibrator away again.

Sevika finally snaps letting out a guttural sob. “Fine! Fine— please I need it— I need you to—”

She goes dead silent. You’ve turned the vibrations up even higher and Sevika lets out an unrestrained keen as she grabs at your arm shakily trying to keep it there.

“I’m gonna let you cum now honey.” You drawl satisfied. Sevika intakes a swift breath as you press the toy harder down into her. 

“Fuck—oh my Fuck—“ Sevika lets out a strangled surprised moan.

Her whole body continues to shudder as she rides out her orgasm. It feels all too good as she pants out your name in insistent, quiet, gasps. 

You’re not turning it off. She realizes a beat later when the sensitivity sets in, a nearly unbearable buzz in the back of her mind.

“What are you doing—I just—ah!” Sevika bites her bottom lip hard enough to draw blood. “I just came.” She finally gets out, looking at you for pity. “I’m not done.” You say simply, making her roll her eyes. It amuses you to see her attitude still shining through. Her attempted glare quickly falls as you run the vibrator slowly up her soaked heat.

“Please don’t— I’m close— please.” Sevika groans out hoarse. You’re sure there is a damp spot in your panties from this. Seeing Sevika this flustered was a rarity. She trembles as you move the toy back to where her clit is pulsing with need. Neither of you expect the wail that leaves her lips as Sevika squirts, eyes rolled so far back you can only see the whites. 

“There we go honeyyy.” You smirk down at Sevika when her cheeks flush, legs canting closed. Small hiccuped whimpers fall past her lips no matter how hard she tries to suppress them.

“Oh fuck—no more.” Sevika rasps urgent after a second. You finally nod listening, turning the vibrator off with a click. 

Sevika’s lying there, hands pressed to her forehead as her muscles jump every so often. “I can’t believe I let you fucking do that.” She huffs. You chuckle crawling up near her. “Not so fun when you’re on the receiving end, huh?” you quip, shrieking as her arms circle you manhandling you to her chest. “I almost feel bad for you.” She tsks, placing a kiss to your jaw. “What for?” You bait knowingly, smiling triumphant, until she flips the two of you, arms on the either side of your head. You gasp. “Well I just know after this you’re gonna wish you were a bit nicer to me.” 

You swear harshly as her calloused hands begin to trace down your figure.

[ssa-danhotchner]

Crawling back to you | Aaron Hotchner x reader

summary: Aaron Hotchner finds himself unable to stop thinking about the connection he let slip through his fingers.

cw: fem!reader, use of y/n, past situationship

wc: 934

note: this is my first time writing here please be kind, english isn't my first language

The clock ticked past midnight, and Aaron Hotchner sat alone in his dimly lit study, the amber glow of a desk lamp casting long shadows across the room. A half-empty glass of whiskey rested by his hand, untouched for the past fifteen minutes. His gaze wasn’t on the paperwork scattered in front of him, nor on the book he’d meant to start reading an hour ago. Instead, it was fixed on his phone, his thumb hovering over a name that made his chest tighten.

[Y/N]

It had been years since he’d spoken to you. Not since you left the BAU. Not since he made the call to end whatever it was that had been building between you two—before it became something neither of you could control.

It had been years, but Aaron could still recall the way your laughter echoed in the bullpen during quiet moments between cases. The sound had been a rare gift in his otherwise chaotic world. You brought a lightness he didn’t know he needed—a reprieve from the endless weight of profiling killers and navigating his fractured personal life.

He thought of the nights you stayed late, pouring over case files with him in companionable silence. You didn’t ask questions about why he couldn’t leave, didn’t push when he kept his walls up, but your presence had a way of eroding his defenses. You didn’t demand anything from him, and that was the problem. You deserved someone who could give you everything, and Aaron knew he was not that man.

Still, there were moments when his resolve faltered. The way your hand brushed his when you handed him a file. The soft, concerned look in your eyes after a particularly grueling case. The lingering touch of your fingers on his shoulder as you said goodnight. He told himself it didn’t mean anything, but he knew better.

Aaron swallowed hard and leaned back in his chair, exhaling a shaky breath. The memory of your last conversation played in his mind like a song on repeat, the words still as sharp as they were the day they were spoken.

You stood in his office, arms crossed tightly over your chest, the tension between you palpable. The door was closed, the blinds drawn, but it felt like the whole world could see the cracks forming between you.

“You’re really doing this?” Your voice was quiet, but the hurt beneath it cut through Aaron like a knife. “You’re going to pretend like we don’t mean anything?”

“It’s not that simple,” Aaron replied, his tone measured, but the tremor in his voice betrayed him.

“It is that simple,” you snapped. “You either want this—want me—or you don’t. But don’t stand there and tell me it’s for my own good, like I can’t decide that for myself.”

He looked away, his jaw tightening as he fought to keep his emotions in check. “I’m doing this because I care about you,” he said finally. “Because I can’t give you what you need. I can’t be what you need.”

You stared at him, your eyes shining with unshed tears. “You don’t get to decide that for me, Aaron. You don’t get to push me away and call it love.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “But this—us—it’s a distraction. And distractions get people killed.”

The words hung in the air like a death knell. You took a step back, shaking your head as if trying to make sense of what he’d just said. “You’re scared,” you said, your voice trembling. “You’re scared to feel something real because it might actually make you happy. And God forbid you let yourself have that.”

Aaron didn’t reply. He couldn’t. He stood there, watching as you turned and walked out of his office, the sound of the door closing behind you echoing in his ears.

Aaron glanced at the phone again, your name glowing on the screen like a challenge. Are you awake? The words he’d sent seemed too small for everything he felt, but they were all he could manage. He hated how easily he could picture your face—your tired but curious smile, the tilt of your head when you thought he was being ridiculous. Would you even want to see him? Or had he burned that bridge too thoroughly?

The truth was, Aaron wasn’t sure what he wanted. Did he want closure? Forgiveness? Or something more dangerous—something he wasn’t sure he deserved?

Aaron hit send before he could stop himself. The phone felt heavy in his hand as he set it down, the seconds ticking by agonizingly slow. He told himself not to expect a reply—it was late, after all—but when his phone buzzed a moment later, his breath caught.

I wasn’t. I am now.

He stared at the words, a thousand emotions flooding through him at once. Relief. Nervousness. A flicker of hope. His fingers hovered over the keyboard, unsure of how to follow up, but he forced himself to type the truth.

I’ve been thinking about you.

The reply came quickly.

Funny. I’ve been trying not to think about you.

Aaron winced, though he supposed he deserved that. Still, you hadn’t ended the conversation, and that was something.

Would you meet me? he typed. I know it’s late, but I need to see you.

There was a longer pause this time, and Aaron held his breath, waiting for your answer. Finally, his phone buzzed again.

Same café as always?

Aaron grabbed his coat before he could think better of it.

The only thing he knew is that this time he wouldn't let you go.

[thelov3lybookworm]

Journals (part 2)

Part 1

Summary: new realisations and hauntingly beautiful words

•○●⛦●○•

Word Count: 2059

Warnings: heavyyyy angst, mental health issues, depression, feeling unworthy of love, panic attack, self harm (alluded to), self hate. thats all i can think of right now, but let me know if i need to add anything

A/n: based on old poetry by @garden-of-runar 🤭i had reblogged them to my drafts on a side blog that i dont use at all, so i couldnt reblog them on my main, but i have put them in the fic, so ig that works🤷🏻‍♀️ also, if i ever write a part 3 (which i might based on feedback) azzie would be the love interest <3

ALSO MY GIRLIE IS SO TALENTED DONT EVEN GET ME STARTED I LOVE THESE POEMS 🥹

(im also tagging people who asked for a part two hope u dont mind <3)

anyways, enjoyyyy!!

°•°•°•○🌑○•°•°•°

Lying on the ground, despite how it hurt her joints sometimes, was one of Y/n’s favourite pastimes. Maybe because sometimes she did not have the energy to crawl into her bed, but that was not the point.

They hate you.

The hardness of the wood panels was oddly comforting, the way the grains sometimes raised enough for her to feel them with her fingers, the soft creaking when she stepped on them. It reminded her that she was here, that she was alive. That she was getting what she deserved for being so pathetic.

The soft mattress did not give her the same level of comfort. Sure, it was warm and cozy, but did she deserve it?

No.

You deserve this.

You deserve the worst.

Y/n sniffled, lying on her side as she lifted her hand higher next to her, dragging her nails down the planks, the feeling overwhelming in itself but better than not feeling anything. She watched her fingers jerk with the motion, pale and bloodless.

She could feel her tears collecting in a pool and seeping under her cheek. She glanced at the foot of the bed in front of her.

It looks so majestic from down here.

Do people who are worse off think the same way about me?

I don’t want them to. Because I am not worth being thought of like that.

I am nothing. I am pathetic.

It became harder and harder to take in a breath from her nose, as it continued to grow clogged from all her sobbing.

It was one of her least favourite things about crying.

Pathetic.

Stop it!

You’re pathetic. Crying over nothing.

You don’t deserve anything good.

The thoughts kept echoing in her head, louder and louder. She couldn’t breathe any longer.

And it was not because of anything physical.

Her chest began to constrict, forcing her lungs to let out precious air. She tried to breathe it back in, desperately wishing to cling to any remnants of oxygen like a child clinging to its mothers skirts.

Please. Just one inhale.

Her throat tightened.

Just one.

She gasped, futilely trying to breathe one last time to breathe before she knew she would collapse, faint because of the lack of air in her body. It gave her some reprieve, and her eyes focused back to the bed.

The longer she stared at it, the more drowsy she became. Her eyelids were drooping, and she finally, finally decided that maybe letting herself submit to her body’s needs wouldn’t be too bad, if it meant that the thoughts would stop. Maybe if she gave in to the tiredness in her bones after hours of sobbing, her mind would stop being so cruel.

Maybe it would take pity on her.

Maybe.

°•°•°•○🌑○•°•°•°

"We should go out tomorrow!"

Y/n smiled a little. A rare smile that only recently had begun showing on her face.

It wouldn’t be considered a real smile. But it was still there on her face. The tilt of her lips.

We. Not me. We.

They wanted her to be present too.

Cassian jumped up, looking at Y/n with a grin. "I always wanted to take Y/n out to Rita’s."

Her smile grew.

The other members talked, making plans for tomorrow. Slowly, the conversation spiralled, as it always did between them all.

Azriel leaned close to Y/n, whispering jokes in her ear that made her giggle. Rhysand sat on the same couch as Cassian, fighting like children. Mor sat next to Amren, amusement shining in her eyes as she added fuel to the fire, while Amren looked like she’d rather be anywhere but here.

They talked well into the night, politics, food, court gossip bleeding into one another as the time trickled by.

But the moment the conversations wandered into their future, Y/n’s smile faded. She wondered, would they want her to stay in their life?

She didn’t have to wonder long, as the words they uttered were enough to give her peace.

They talked of vacations, of parties and new traditions. Of getting married, of being with their partners. Of celebrating lives and years and months, of celebrating ends and new beginnings.

They talked, and included her.

They talked in ‘we’s’. Not in ‘me’s’.

And that was enough for her little heart to be happy.

For it to heal, for the blood to return to her face.

For her to smile, free and unbidden.

But then, time passed. And just like the sand in an hourglass trickles away, so do all good things.

As she watched, the scene changed from only housing six people in the living room, to adding three more members. And slowly, she was pushed out.

And they began talking in ‘me’s’.

Some ‘we’s’, but it never meant Y/n.

No, it meant them. Them and their partners.

It meant Feyre and Rhysand. Their new lives and baby.

It meant Cassian and Nesta. Their new mating bond and blooming love.

It meant Azriel and Elain. Their growing infatuation.

Y/n doubted the infatuation had ended, as Azriel no longer sat next to Elain at dinners. Lucien’s visits to Velaris had increased too.

But everyone’s visits to Y/n and their thoughts about her had decreased. No one seemed to remember her existence.

And she deserved it.

They chatted among themselves, and the armchair she sat on vanished from under her, leaving her standing knee deep in the freezing snow. Watching from the outside as the warm interior that had seemed so welcoming just a moment ago turned into a nightmare.

Her worst nightmare.

It left her whimpering, leaving her to curl on the cold ground.

All alone, just like she deserved.

°•°•°•○🌑○•°•°•°

It was almost sunset, and finally, Rhysand had built up the determination to read the damned journal.

He walked downstairs, peering into the living room before stepping in front of it.

Mor had departed after Y/n had left, tears in her eyes. Azriel and Cassian had been sitting in the living room for the whole two hours since then, staring into space, looking haunted and horrified at the way they hadn’t realised what was going on with their friend. Amren too, sat in an armchair in the corner, looking as unbothered as ever. But Rhys saw the cracks. The shifting eyes, the too hard hold on the book she held in her lap, the downward tilt of her lips more pronounced.

"I think it’s time we read the journal."

Four sets of eyes shot up to his figure.

"Are you sure, Rhys?" Cassian mumbled, standing up uncertainly.

Rhys nodded. "It is the only option we have."

Azriel sighed, mirroring Cassian’s movements and moving closer to Rhysand.

Feyre perked up. "What is going on Rhys?"

He clenched his jaw, guilt and regret festering in his gut. He had been so busy in his newfound happiness, so wound up in enjoying every moment with his mate that he had forgotten family. He had forgotten her to the extent his mate didn’t even know what the slight tang of copper in the air meant.

"Nothing, Feyre." He mumbled, turning away.

"Elain was asking-"

"Tell her to stop asking, then." Rhysand froze at the coldness in Azriel’s voice, his eyes going wide. Azriel never used that tone of voice with anyone outside of work, let alone Feyre.

Feyre stepped back, her calves hitting the couch as she stared at her friend in shock. "Az?"

Azriel pushed past Rhysand, making his way towards his study where the journal sat, looking as frustrated and unapologetic as ever.

After a shared glance, Rhysand and Cassian followed, Amren hot on their heels.

Azriel was already seated in one of the chairs at Rhysand’s mahogany desk, his eyes fixed on the journal that lay in the middle, his jaw clenched. He seemed to be the most affected, and Rhys only had the faintest idea why.

The four of them sat in waiting until Mor finally arrived, shutting the door behind her. Her eyes were bloodshot, and she sniffled lightly as she came to stand next to Cassian.

"Rhys, do we really have to read it? It will be an invasion of privacy."

Rhys swallowed. Thought it over. "We don’t really have a choice, do we? We need to figure out the root of this. She won’t tell us if we ask, we know that. Plus, she might already be way down the path of another breakdown after what happened today."

"That is why I think that instead of sitting around on our arses," Azriel ground out, "we should go and check up on her."

Rhys raised a brow, though concern festered in his gut. "Azriel, we’ve been through this before. She will feel worse about herself, thinking she inconvenienced us."

A muscle feathered in Azriel’s jaw, but he said nothing.

And so they began reading.

Rhysand opened a random page, his breath catching at the sudden tang of copper, and began reading. As he stared at the words before speaking them aloud, he remembered seeing the exact poem in a book he recommended to Y/n over fifty years ago.

Forgotten.That is my nameThat is the path I walkIt has been so longI don’t remember what it is like to be seenAnd I spill, my tears lining the path to the woods where my body lies,Forgotten.- from GardenofRunar

Instantly, Rhysand’s blood ran cold. He leaned back, exhaling. The pages were decorated in flowers and hearts, tiny little clouds and doodles in the margins so at odds with the thoughts spilled onto them like a hauntingly beautiful scenery.

At this point, Cassian and the others had moved to peer over Rhys’s shoulder. Rhys watched as Cassan reached over to turn the page with a shaky hand, pulling it back almost instantly as if the page had burned him. There, just above the words was a small handful of doodles, and he knew the small figures resembled the inner circle before Rhys had been taken under the mountain.

The poem was more a letter than anything, except it contained so few letters but thy hit everyone with a guilt so hard it was almost like a mountain fell onto them.

So like Y/n, to say so less yet still make an impact.

I didn’t forget about you.Can you say the same for me?Don’t bother.I know the answer.-GardenOfRunar

Under the poem, were a few words.

The poet is so talented. Every poem of them I read, it makes me want to sob.Maybe because I relate to these. Maybe that’s why.

Quiet sniffles came from Mor, but Rhys turned another page. It was the first page where blood began dotting the corners, a few drops on the center of the page veining out towards the edges, as if trying to exit but being unable to.

The almost poeticness of the sight was not lost on them. The blood droplets were almost like Y/n, trying to escape a cruel mind but unable to.

My friends are living lives, and I’m trudging through a million little days,Wasting away.- GardenofRunar

A hand snaked towards the book, slamming it shut. Rhysand jumped, his eyes flying to the owner of the scarred hand that appeared.

"Enough." His voice was still, quiet, but so cold it could freeze even the summer court over. And Rhysand knew. He was blaming himself for not paying attention to Y/n.

Rhys nodded, feeling guiltier by the second.

Everyone went back to their places, sitting in silence. Contemplating.

Wondering how they had become so oblivious to the point that they couldn’t see what was right in front of them the entire time.

The regret, the sadness was heavy in the air. It was getting hard to breathe it in.

Finally, Azriel stood, grabbing the book.

Then he turned, and walked out the door without a word, his wings pulled tight against his back.

And Rhysand wondered again.

Was this just some friendly concern, some self blame, or something else entirely?

Needless to say, suspicion took root. But guilt and hate overwhelmed it once more, and the family was left to sit and roil in it.

To wonder, how could they have been so busy that they ignored such an important part of them?

°•°•°•○🌑○•°•°•°

(ps. the first part in the memories/dreams Y/n has is based off this poem

You talk in ‘we’s’ Not ‘me’s’ And it heals my heart, just a little. Puts a smile on my face, just a little. You talk about a future One with me in it And I feel the color Return to my face. Just a little. - Runar

)

@velarisnightsky444 @fasoaurore @anainkandpaper @urfunnyvalentin3 @gabbiskylar01

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[gotta-winwin]

Hi can you do for the svt 24 hour one with woozi at 6:45 waking up together and getting ready for the day

hihi! killing my writing slump with our very last instalment of 24hrs with svt! thank you to everyone who requested - and thank you, my love, for requesting this! 6:45 was already taken, so i hope you don't mind that i moved it slightly to 7am :)

to everyone who sent a req in and didn't get anything, the window for submissions closed in december. but fear not- there will be plenty other chances for submission events like this one!

mornings with woozi is under the cut :)

7:00am

Early mornings with Woozi are quiet, as you are blissfully pulled away from sleep and into your lover’s arms. He holds you like his favourite instrument, hands carefully placed against your waist, your head bobbing up and down on his chest in tune with his breathing. 

The line between his eyebrows disappears when Woozi sleeps, his usual concentrated and sometimes stressed out expression nonexistent, replaced by the ethereal calmness both you and sleep granted him.

Woozi was a homebody. His best days were those spent inside, whatever anime he was most obsessed with playing on the TV and you cuddled between his arms. He was a man of simple pleasures, and nothing could easily please him as waking up to your face could. 

“G’morning.” He’d grunt out, blinking as his eyes met your already wide ones. He liked how you looked at him first thing in the morning, hair adorably unkempt and eyes wide despite the heaviness of sleep still weighing on you. 

He liked how you smiled at him, equally thrilled at the idea of waking up to each other everyday. 

Getting ready was a slow ordeal, as he watched you move about the room, occasionally getting his opinion on outfit and makeup choice. He liked watching you through your vanity mirror as you got ready, eyes solely concentrated on yourself, completely unaware of how smitten he looked on the bed behind you. 

He gets up only to make you a cup of coffee, handing it to you with sleep still in his eyes. He wordlessly clinks his own mug against yours, the sound signaling his nonverbal wish for you: today is going to be a good day. 

You would leave for work, not before pressing a quick kiss on Woozi’s lips, promising to be back with tales from the office to entertain your secretly drama-hungry lover. Quick the kiss might be, it lingered with thoughtful affection and unspoken love, satiating his hunger better than any breakfast could. 

Mornings with Woozi ended quickly, although you knew he’d be waiting for you back at home, and that you would be on his mind the entire time you were apart. 

[dpspcehntr]

Letting my freak flag fly 🎏 imagine Zayne dressed in a posh tuxedo at an even posher dinner event celebrating some award he's won and you keep feeling him up under the table cloth. He snaps and tells you to meet him in the bathroom, thinking he's going to make you pay for all your teasing, but no lol you tell him you want him to manually pleasure you with his posh gloves on 😁 and then he has to keep wearing them until the event ends lol

My Brian when I'm bored, I swear....

My dear friend, I am always in your debt for how wonderful your mind is. Thank you for blessing me with such an image 🙇🏾🙇🏾🙇🏾

My ask box is officially back open! Send in your requests, thoughts, and head cannons and I might write a little something for you! Please read the rules first!

Warnings: public sex, fingering, gloves kink, exhibitionism (if you squint)

You place your hand in between his thighs, inching closer and closer to his crotch. He lets out a cough to disguise his groan as you begin to run your fingers along his clothed hard on forming. His breath is shallow as you trace a star along his crotch. You thanked the powers at be for how long the table cloth was. He leans over to your ear and covers his mouth.

“Behave yourself.”

You bite back a groan as he shifts to move your hand lower. He pulls back and rejoins the conversation at the table. You lean over to his ear and cover your mouth.

“Make me.”

His eyes flash with something but he’s is usual composed self before you can pin point it.

“Will you excuse us a moment?”

He stands up from the table and you follow suit. He offers you his arm and you link yours with his. You both walk calmly out the ballroom toward the restrooms. Once inside he gives you a once over.

“I usually would try to teach you some manners about these situations. But seeing as you’re dressed like this I don’t think I’m in my right mind enough to do so.”

You gulp watching his hand reach toward your dripping core. He hikes up your dress and presses himself into you.

“Keep the gloves on.”

“As you wish.”

He runs a finger over your clothed core a you bite back a moan.

“I’m suspecting you want me to accept my reward with you still on my fingers is that correct?”

You nod feverishly as he hooks a finger underneath your underwear. He presses two fingers into your dripping hole and thrust them in. The added texture of the gloves makes the stretch feel heavenly. You knew better than to thrust yourself onto them so with all your willpower you hold yourself still. His pace is merciless, fucking into you hard and fast. You grip his shoulders for support as you pull him in your a hot kiss. You weren’t gonna last much longer as a groan slips past your lips. He kisses down your jaw and neck as he pumps faster into you.

“Either you cum now or you wait till after the banquet. The choice is yours.”

He pumps into you once more as you clench down onto his fingers. You bite back the moan as you shake underneath him. He pulls his fingers out and pulls back from you. You both quickly fix yourselves up and head out the restroom one at a time. Once back at the table you examine your handiwork, the glove is still damp, your wetness clinging the gloves to his fingers. Soon he goes up to the stage and accepts himself award with the hand still smeared with your juices. You feel a gush in your already ruined underwear as he gives a quick speech. You can’t focus as you watch those two fingers grip the award, your head swimming with desire. When he arrives back at the table he holds his other hand out to you.

“My date is not feeling well this evening. I think it is best if I take her home now.”

He explains to the table as you gather yourself and take his hand. You already know what’s in store for you when you leave, the excitement leaving you dripping once again.

[mothandpidgeon]

Nine Lives (witch's familiar!Ezra x witch!f!reader) - Part 5

Moth's Masterlist // follow @mothandpidgeon-updates and turn on notifications to stay updated with my fics!

SERIES MASTERLIST

pairing: witch's familiar!Ezra x witch!f!reader

rating: E MDNI

summary: As you came into your powers and your curves filled in, Ezra realized he feelings for you were more than just affection. The only problem? He's a 300 year old crused witch. Oh, and he's a cat.

contents: age gap (like 300 years), alcohol, yearning masturbation, vegan slander, moth never uses y/n.

wc: 6.2k

a/n: Today feels like a really rough day in the US so I wanted to share this new chapter. Hopefully it'll take your mind off things. I've had a really really hard time writing this chapter. Really glad I stuck with it and struggled through. Could not have done this without input and beta from @moonlitbirdie @schnarfer and @whocaresstillthelouvre. Thank you my little witches!

🐈‍⬛

With Margot’s reprieve, life with Ezra becomes the new normal. Weeks pass and he’s slotted into your day to day so easily. Grocery shopping, breakfast at the cafe down the street. He comes to work with you. Except now, instead of lounging on top of a dusty bookshelf, he helps man the cash register. 

Despite your aunt’s insistence that she would not under any circumstances be involved with this “conspiracy” (her word), she had pointed you in the direction of a vieling spell that would keep Ezra’s transformation under wraps. You and he cast the ward around town hoping it might buy some time but you’ll have to come clean eventually.

“By Yuletide, you’d better come up with a proper appeal,” Aunt Margot said. “People will ask questions if you’re absent and I’m not going to lie.”

There’s still time and so you choose to enjoy this secret, this new chapter with Ezra.

You’re smiling to yourself as you climb the stairs to the second floor of the Page with a book in your hands. It’s an antique school primer someone just brought in for Margot to appraise. Nothing special except that the little darling that once owned it filled the margins with dirty limericks and pencil sketchings of cock and balls. Some things never change, no matter what century it is. Ezra will get a kick out of it. He probably knows a few lewd poems himself. 

You hang back when you find him beside the front window. Soft morning light falls over the angular planes of his face. There’s a divot in the center of his throat just visible above the collar of his olive sweatshirt that always catches your eye. You still haven’t quite gotten used to the fact that your old pal Ezra is so damn handsome. Not that you’re attracted to him. He’s just attractive. You’ve reminded yourself of the distinction between that many times over the past few weeks. 

But it’s not the cast of the sun that has you hesitating. Ezra’s talking to a customer, his crooked smile revealing the dimple in his cheek, with a tarot deck in his hands.

“And it was the exact image I’d seen when I took ayahuasca,” she says. “The four of cups.”

“Well, cards are certainly prophetic,” he says, his voice edging on a tease. 

You know her— Zoe’s a regular. She moved into town after backpacking through South America, and waitresses at the diner. She comes in to buy crystals from time to time and she’s good for business. Ever since the diner got written up as one of the “hidden gems of the Catskills,” she sends more and more of her customers over to the Page. 

She’s been stopping in even more recently, the shop’s newest doe-eyed employee obviously her motivation. Twice a week you find her in conversation with Ezra. In fact, she’s given up the pretense that she’s actually shopping for anything anymore. 

“Have you ever had your aura photographed?” she asks. 

“No. A picture of me is a rare thing, indeed,” he says. 

Zoe’s the exact kind of mortal Ezra detests– always talking about “getting into wicca” as if magic is a hobby she can try on– but she’s beautiful. She has hazel eyes and razor sharp cheekbones. Her slim arms are tattooed with delicate talismen and her haircuts seamlessly straddle the border between chic and edgy. 

“I know a place down in Woodstock where you can get it done. Next time I’m going, maybe you can tag along,” she offers. 

There’s a sparkle in Ezra’s eye that makes your chest tight.

You retreat to the stairs before you hear his answer. The sensation building in you is a stab, a flare of something bitter and dark. You’re not sure why you’re jealous because you don’t have feelings for Ezra. Okay, maybe a little crush. But you’ve got that in check. You’re not going to fall for your best friend just because he woke up with the most handsome face you’ve ever seen.

And you’re definitely not intimidated by Zoe’s waif-like frame and heavily lidded eyes. Next to her, you look like an ogre. But why would you need to compare yourself to her? And why shouldn’t Ezra get to bang a goddess when he has a mouth that should be sculpted in marble?  

You realize how ridiculous this train of thought is becoming so you shove it down as tightly as you can, actually shaking your head as though this insanity might tumble out of your ear.

“You okay?” 

Zoe’s standing in front of you at the register, the tarot deck set on the counter between you.

“You’re buying something,” you say, though it’s more of a question than a statement.

“This deck has a really good vibe,” she tells you. “Ezra picked it out.”

Hearing her say his name, you’re like a cat with its hair standing on end. 

“He’s got the same name as your cat. Isn’t that funny,” she notes.

“I see how you look at him,” you say. It’s not meant to come out as an accusation but there’s a bite to your words you weren’t expecting. You’re being ridiculous so you decide to prove to yourself once and for all that your feelings are strictly platonic. The faster you see Ezra with someone, the quicker this little crush will die. 

Luckily, Zoe doesn’t notice it. “That obvious, huh?”

“You should take him for a drink. He’d like that,” you say. Something like relief comes over you. Obviously you’re not jealous. If you were, you wouldn’t have tried to set him up.

“You think so?” she asks, glancing back towards the stairs. “I tried to give him my number but he told me he doesn’t have a phone.”

You try to keep yourself from laughing at what a devastating rejection that would be if it weren't true.

“He actually doesn’t,” you say.

“Really?” 

You shrug.

She nods. “That’s smart. The EMF really messes with your brainwaves.”

“Hm,” you say with a noncommittal nod. “Well, I’ll have him send you a letter or something.”

–

Ezra used to trot down the stairs of the bookstore. Now he has to duck to keep his head from smacking into the shelf that hangs over the doorframe. 

It’s taken some time to get used to his body again but after these few weeks, he’s navigating the world with ease. Ezra hasn’t felt this happy in hundreds of years. He’s doing magic for the first time in a long time and he spends his days working in the bookstore. It’s oddly enjoyable even despite the fact that it’s dull and full of silly mortals. Best of all, there’s you. 

He still can’t comprehend how lucky he is to be given this gift. To be yours. Even if he isn’t anymore, not beholden by the fetters of a familiar, he’ll never stop thinking of himself as belonging to you. 

You’re smiling at him as he comes to the counter and he has to resist the urge to nuzzle his head into your shoulder as he used to greet you. If there’s one thing he misses about being a cat, it’s your scratching behind his ears.

“I got you a date with her,” you say.

“The vegan?” Ezra asks.

“Yeah,” you say with a laugh. “The vegan that you shamelessly flirt with.”

Ezra furrows his brow. He was once quite the charmer but he hasn’t intended to do anything more than amuse himself. Over and over, this woman batted her eyelashes at him and Ezra carefully demurred each time. She was pretty. Perhaps some time ago he would have liked to bed her but he has no designs on her now, not when he falls asleep swimming in the scent of your skin each night.

”You shouldn’t have done that,“ he says.

”Why not? She’s so into you,” you reply.

Ezra says nothing because his answer would give it all away. Instead he grabs a handful of bookmarks decorated with pressed flowers and busies himself putting them on a table on the other side of the room. 

“You’ve been celibate for how long?” you go on, following behind.

“No need for reminders.” 

“We need to get you laid!” you say so helpfully. ”Are you blushing?”

If Ezra’s red in the face, it’s only because he’s realizing what a fool he’s being. You’re ready to send him off to another while he’s madly in love with you. He shouldn’t be surprised. He couldn’t expect that you were going to suddenly leap into his arms with any of the enthusiasm Zoe’s shown him. Maybe he thought there was some chance, some faint hope that you could belong just as much to him. 

But this makes your feelings so clear. You’re not interested. You’re ready to pawn him off on some ridiculous mortal.

”What’s wrong? She too young for you or something?” you tease. 

Zoe is, no doubt, attractive and she’d made it clear that she’s ready to take him to bed, both facts that should have elated him. The problem was, she wasn’t you. And you were someone he’d never have. 

“I can manage my own matchmaking,“ he grumbles. He moves on to a stack of books, straightening their spines though they’re hardly askew. Anything to keep himself from looking at you, being reminded that you’re off limits.

“Ez, she’s been throwing herself at you.“ 

”I suppose in my time I’ve learned to savor the hunt.“ 

“Oh please. You used to eat out of my hand. You should be thanking me,” you say. 

Thanking you for pushing him into the arms of another. His despair calcifies into a rotten resentment. You don’t want him, you never will. 

“I’d much prefer it if you didn’t involve yourself,” he says. It’s nearly impossible to keep the venom out of his voice.

You scoff. In the corner of his eye, you’re frowning. ”Okay. If I’d known you were going to be such a dick about it, I wouldn’t have bothered,” you say, and then you turn around shaking your head and walk away.

He watches you stomp into the next room, regret flooding him. He shouldn’t be so mean, not to you, but the damage has been done. There’s hardly time to think about it because Margot is breezing in from the back door with Percy riding high on her shoulder, the sound of her bracelets filling the store with their music. Ezra sets his features in as neutral an expression he can manage.

“Oh, Ezra, dear. Just who I was looking for,” she says. “Come here a minute.”

She sets a wide box that’s tied with a grosgrain ribbon on the counter.

“What’s this?” he asks.

“Open it.” 

He looks from her to her familiar before he pulls the dark ribbon and lifts the lid. Inside is something he hasn’t seen in a dog’s age. The memories it brings back makes his lips tick up in an absent smile. 

“Robes,” he says. “How did you—?”

“We found a description in Goody Cartwright’s diary in the basement,” Margot said. “Dusted off the old sewing machine.”

Percival scampers down her arm to climb into the box. He crawls beneath a sleeve and lifts the hem in his paws, standing on his hind legs.

“I hope they turned out,” Margot says.  

“Mine were nearly identical,” Ezra says as he wistfully inspects the fabric.

He still remembers the feel of the homespun linen against his skin. His robes always smelled of woodsmoke from the moon revels. They had been stained with wine and goat’s milk, the bottom edge besotted with moss and rainwater.

“It was Percy’s idea,” she says.

The mouse ducks his head bashfully when Ezra looks up at him. 

Ezra swallows down the lump in his throat. He’s moved, jaw gripped as he tries to stop from shedding tears. Another gift he’s not worthy of, compounded by the fact that he’s just upset you again. You were doing for him what you’ve always done– taking care of him, showing him that you loved him. If only he could accept it’s not the way he wants it.

He sets his hand out on the countertop. 

“Percival,” he says. 

After some hesitation, Percy steps into Ezra’s palm. Ezra brings the mouse up so that he sits at eye level. 

“I deserve a much starker retribution from you, friend,” Ezra says. “I hope you’ll forgive my misdeeds.”

Percy cocks his head to the side. 

“He says he’ll think about it,” Margot tells him. 

Ezra grins. He offers a finger which Percy takes in his paw and they shake hands. 

“You can wear them this weekend. Sunday’s your first full moon since you turned,” Margot says. 

Ezra had forgotten all about the phases of the moon. How could he be expected to keep track of such things when there were so many new things to experience?

”We’ll celebrate,” Margot insists.

He wants to protest. Right now he doesn't feel much like frivolity, can’t imagine you’ll want to join in with any festivities when he’s been such a complete and total ass. But he knows he ought to learn his lesson and accept.

“I look forward to it,” he says.

Percy squeaks happily and Margot claps her hands together.

“Come on, Percy! There’s much to be done!” she says before disappearing into the back room.

-

The rest of the day is tense between you and Ezra, with few words exchanged. He’s lived with you long enough that it’s not your very first squabble but, in the past, it was much easier to stay out from underfoot. The apartment feels so much smaller now that he’s human, its walls crushing when there’s silence between you. It’s at its worst when you announce you’re going to bed. It feels cold, lacking an invitation, and so Ezra waits in the kitchen for a long while wondering if you want him beside you at all. 

Some time after you’ve turned off the light, he slinks in nervously. He might as well be sneaking into the bed, though for all intents and purposes, it’s become just as much his as it is yours. He’s shared it with you from that very first night. Neither of you raised the notion of his sleeping elsewhere so it became a habit. He wonders now, more strongly than ever, if he’s overstayed his welcome. 

You lay facing the window but he knows your breathing well enough to see you’re not yet sleeping. He lays on the cold sheets hating himself for loving you, for taking advantage of you, for disappointing you.  

“I shouldn’t have accused you of meddling,” he says quietly.

Ezra has accepted the fact that he’ll have to take this mortal out despite having no interest in her. There’s no good reason not to, as you so aptly showed him, and if he doesn’t you’ll want to know why.

At some point in the late afternoon he decided that he would make the best of it. He would stop kidding himself and accept that you had no romantic feelings for him and try to keep an open mind with Zoe. At the very worst, he’d finally get a long overdue fuck. How could a man mope over that? 

But seeing the slope of your shoulder in the moonlight, your eyelashes fluttering as you turn your face up to the ceiling, makes him realize just how impossible is the task that lies ahead of him. 

You sigh and turn over, sheets rustling with your movement. There’s just enough light in the room to shine in your sweet eyes as you look at him and tuck a hand under your pillow. 

“Ez, it’s okay. I know why you got upset,” you say. 

His heart skips a beat. Of course you know. He’s been so obvious, how could you not see it? He swallows hard, unsure of what he’ll say when you call him out. It feels like an age passes as he waits for you to say the words. 

“You haven’t been with anybody for a long time. If you’re not ready, I get it,” you say and you put a gentle hand over his. 

A little laugh escapes him. How absurdly wrong he’d been. He sinks deeper into his self pity. How could he ever imagine a creature as kind and beautiful as you would want him? A reprobate, hundreds of years old. A fucking cat.

“Yes, well, I suppose if she’s as smitten as you believe I’ve nothing to worry about,” he says. 

A smile cracks across your lips and your gaze melts over his face. You brush your palm across his cheek and Ezra can’t help but close his eyes and lean into the touch of your warm skin. 

“How could she not be?” you say.

Your gaze lingers on him, your expression difficult to read. There’s nothing but the sound of your soft breaths and the whisper of dry leaves outside the window. His heart aches, wishing he could curl himself around you and say the words that live on the tip of his tongue. But the moment passes as you pull your hand back to your side of the mattress and the gulf between you feels wider than ever. He lays awake for what feels like hours wishing he was still a cat so he could sleep in your embrace.

-

You lay on the couch with a book spread open on your lap but you haven’t been able to read a single page. Ezra’s out with Zoe which is fine. Totally fine. You made it happen after all, even gave him some cash for drinks and coaching on the dating scene. 

“I’m newly human but I wasn’t born yesterday. I’m well acquainted with the customs and mores of modern courtship,” he protested. 

“Do you even hear yourself right now?” you asked. 

For a moment, you almost fooled yourself into thinking he wasn’t interested in her. He’d been so prickly when you brought it up. There have been times when you wonder. You’ll catch him looking at you in a way that makes your heart flutter. Or his touch will remain just a moment longer than it needs to, days when you wake up and question if his morning wood is actually for you and not just a fact of human biology. But of course not. And that’s fine.

It’s been a while since you’ve had the apartment to yourself— certainly not in the weeks since Ezra became human— and you’ve had little down time. There’s always some new adventure to take him on. Not that you’re complaining. It’s been the most thrilling time of your life. 

This whole date situation is good, actually, because you could really use a night alone. At least that’s what you’ve been telling yourself. 

You poured yourself a glass of wine and lit some incense, cracked open the book. A good start. That’s about all you managed. You keep thinking about how it’s going with Ezra. What could they be talking about? Is he having fun? Maybe he’ll actually like her. Wouldn’t that be….something?

Things could never get romantic between the two of you anyway. You wouldn’t risk your friendship, so many years of trust and affection. It’s too precious to you. Besides, there must be something unethical about dating someone that’s been sworn to serve and protect you.

Not that you want to do that.

You snap the book shut and toss it on the coffee table, sitting up. You need to stop being weirdly obsessed with this date. Ezra is your friend, you remind yourself, and you’re excited for him. You just need something more engrossing. 

You put on a period piece. Nothing like a night in with ballgowns and wine. You put your feet up on the table and try to lose yourself in the movie. Ezra is such a pedant when it comes to historical dramas, always pointing out the inaccuracies, complaining about the costumes.

You wish he were here now groaning over the cut of a coat. You wish he was here instead of–

This isn’t working. You know what always clears your mind? A bath. 

The clawfoot tub is filled with oils and herbs, the little bathroom flickers in candle light. You slide deeper into the warm water, focus on the way your muscles unwind. You hadn’t even noticed you were so tense. This was a good call. There’s a knot in your shoulder you massage with your hand. Finally feeling serene, your wet fingers coming to slide across your chest. The water drips peacefully out of the faucet and your cheeks bloom with the alcohol and heat. Maybe Ezra should go on more dates, get the place to yourself more often.

You know what would really make you feel relaxed? Your fingers drift below the water, and skate down your belly and your eyes come to close. It’s been over a month since you got off– Connor (though most of the credit should really go to your passion elixir). It’s been impossible to rub one out with someone else in your bed. At least when Ezra was a cat, he spent a lot of time prowling the woods and being moody. Maybe he’d heard you back then, a thought that somehow equally horrifies and thrills you. 

You touch yourself with a slow, delicate hand and you’re lost in the idea of him watching you now. His chocolate eyes hungry but his body still, the only movement he allows is the rise and fall of his chest. How many times had he seen you, all of you, and not looked away? 

You shiver imagining him, urging you to show him how you take yourself apart. Studying, appreciating. Savoring. Throbbing at each twitch in your brow as you crest and your breath hitches. Even in the water you can feel yourself growing slick, a coil of need winding, and you bite down on your bottom lip. Your mind swirls, your body taught.

He’d be calling you dirty and pretty and good in his flowery prose, stroking your cheek with his knuckles and you unfurl a moan so loud because you don’t have to stay quiet, you’ve got the place to yourself.

Before you’ve even come down from your high, you're flooded with the sting of reality.

No matter how wrong or immoral or risky it is, there’s no denying it– your feelings for Ezra are anything but platonic. And he’s on a date with another woman.

You press the heels of your hands into your eyes with a groan. 

The thought of facing Ezra after this revelation makes your stomach turn. You can almost see him sauntering in, hair mussed, body slack from his sexual conquest. It burns a hole in your chest, a scream practically rising in your throat. And you’ll, what, go on living with him, smelling his musk on your sheets and not go completely insane?

You pull the plug from the drain. So much for the bath. It’s early yet but the only thing you can do to help yourself now is be unconscious. There’s no way you’re going to fall asleep with your thoughts racing so you brew up a sleeping draught in the kitchen. With any luck, you won’t have any dreams either.

-

Ezra’s side of the bed is empty and cold. Mid-morning sun glows on the walls of your bedroom and you’re just waking up, the effects of the potion still making your head groggy. But eventually it dawns on you. He’s not there. 

It shouldn’t hurt as much as it does. Your eyes sting with tears, your gut sinking with the weight of it. You imagine Ezra curled up in bed with her. Morning sex. Breakfast. You want to puke. 

After a long while pulling yourself together, you realize it’s better this way. The last thing you need is to wake up next to Ezra smelling like sex and the patchouli notes of Zoe’s perfume. 

You can’t sulk. You need to get up, get over it.

When you step out of your bedroom, you stop short at the discovery that Ezra’s asleep on the couch. So he didn’t spend the night. It does little to soothe your aching heart. In fact, it somehow feels worse. He looks so perfect, long legs bare and brow smooth, mouth turned down in a pout. It’s not fair you have to survive around a man so perfect.

You go into the bathroom and close the door a little too loud a little on purpose. 

Maybe there’s a potion for falling out of love.

-

Ezra’s dragged himself up by the time you step back into the living room, woken by the slam of the door. He had the damndest time sleeping on that couch. Never realized how lucky he’s been to share the bed. 

You stop outside the bathroom door, arms akimbo, and your oversized sleep shirt rides up your thighs. 

“Well?” you ask. 

Ezra can’t help but smirk at your down to business attitude.

Well indeed. 

Zoe had been fine company. Not hard to look at even if the conversation left a little to be desired. His favorite part of the evening came when Zoe brought up the shop and, in turn, you. It was difficult not to let his words run away from him.

Despite his best efforts, knowing that he should give over and accept this, his mind kept slipping back to his little mage. What you would look like in the little frock Zoe had chosen, the jokes that only you would understand. You’d helped him pick out clothes for the evening, a soft woolen sweater you swore wasn't too tight. All night, he kept remembering the drag of your eyes over his arms before you said, “You look really good.” He wants you to look at him like that all the time.

”She’s not intolerable for a mortal,“ he says. 

“‘Not intolerable.’ Sounds like Ezra for bangable,” you say. “So?”

Perhaps in another universe, Ezra would have had a splendid time, would have debauched himself. He’d left after only two drinks, a look of disappointment on Zoe’s face that he wouldn’t soon forget. Had he been a better man, he would’ve felt worse about it but he couldn’t care about anything but you. As he walked briskly from the bar, he resolved to tell you everything, that he couldn’t stand even the suggestion that he sleep with someone else when you consume him. Good sense be damned. What was the point of being human if he had to live like this?

But he came home to find the apartment dark, your bedroom door shut. He listened there before opening it ajar to see you sleeping peacefully. Reality sunk in, fast and hard. A confession could ruin everything. His home, the only family he knew, the people he loved. He couldn’t risk losing you. 

If he woke you, he’d have you face the question you’d just asked so he’d curled up under the throw blanket on the couch, as he had so many times before.

“I won't make a braggart of myself,” he says, sidestepping the question.

You roll your eyes and head back to your bedroom in a hurry. 

Ezra’s shoulders sag with a deep sigh.

-

Sunday morning in the shop is slower than usual. It’s maddening, leaving you with too much time to meditate on your sorrows as you hide behind the cash register. Every time your eyes land on Ezra, you’re treated to fresh torment. For some reason you can’t stop picturing him fucking her doggy style with wild thrusts of his hips.

“Tea, dear?” Margot asks. Her rings tink against a spoon as she stirs honey into her tea cup. Mint and ginger fills your nostrils. 

You merely grunt in reply but hear her setting another cup out for you. There’s a clink of porcelain and Margot clicks her tongue.

“Your bad mood is sullying the energy in here,” she tuts.

You turn to find her wicking spilled tea off of her hand.

“I’m not in a bad mood,” you say too quickly. 

What kind of mood are you supposed to be in when you realize you’re in love with your best friend who was, until recently, a cat, and said friend spent the night with another woman? When there’s a chance that this was all for naught when the Elders find out and turn you into a newt?

Margot scoffs and lights a stick of palo santo, wafting its smoke in your direction. 

“You’d better not bring that energy into the full moon,” she says. “I don’t need to feel all mopey for the next fortnight.”

You cross your arms. 

“Are you still mad at me?” you ask. Margot’s been welcoming to Ezra but you still feel her ambivalence towards you. It hangs in the air the same as your sour aura. 

“Mad at you,” she repeats, pouring another cup of tea. “Why? Because you implicated me and Percy in a crime that I’m concealing from the Elders? I should be, shouldn’t I?” 

You sink deeper into your frown. Margot hands you the teacup. 

“But I haven’t seen you this happy in a long time. Besides whatever bee is in your bonnet today,” she adds with an arched brow. “And that’s made me very happy.”

You look at her, your lip quivering. Margot’s been there for you longer than Ezra, taught you everything you know about magic and given you an unconditional love you can hardly fathom even in adulthood. You nearly spill your tea again, setting it aside so you can throw your arms around her.

She stumbles backwards with an “Oof” and chuckles into your ear. Her open palm warms your back.

“It’s all in the stars,” she says.

And, right now, you have to believe she’s right.

-

Through the long sleeves of your velvet dress, you feel the chill in the air. It’s much colder than the last time you were in these woods for the solstice. Of course, this is a much different kind of celebration. The fire is smaller, there’s less paraphernalia involved. It’s just the four of you— you and Ezra, Margot and Percy— but it feels more joyful. 

Margot leads you in a ritual to draw down the moon, then sets out an ornate jar of water to charge in its light. You and Ezra help her cast some spells. She swears the ones done under a full moon have the strongest effect. 

But mostly the night is for merry making. There’s wine and incense and apple cider caramels. Margot perches on a tree stump and plays a few songs on her concertina and Ezra insists that you dance with him.

You do, putting your hands into his and letting him spin you in circles. Margot’s words ring in your ears. You can be happy that he’s happy even if it makes your heart ache. At least now, safe from the rest of the world, hands clasped together, you can pretend. 

Ezra looks so handsome in his new robes, you almost wonder if there’s an enchantment on them. The white patch in his hair glows as if the moon came down and kissed him on the forehead. His cheeks are pink and he’s as breathless as you. 

You’re both laughing when the music ends and you let your hand stay in Ezra’s for a while, wanting the fantasy to last just a little bit longer. 

“Now I must insist on a dance with you,” he says to Margot. He holds out a hand to her but doesn’t let go of yours yet. 

“I’m playing the music!” she says. 

“There must be an incantation that will make that squeezebox play itself,” he says and he slips from your grip to pull her to her feet. 

Percy scrambles off of her lap and hops onto your knee as you flop down on the ground. 

“I’ll sing!” you say.

“Goodness no!” Margot says. 

You all laugh and Ezra releases her after a few twirls.

Since it’s his party, Ezra takes the liberty of sharing his favorite stories. He sits beside you on the ground, animatedly narrating his wildest adventures. You’re pretty sure half of them are pure fabrication but he’s having so much fun recounting them, you don’t question even the most outlandish of details. The fire warms your face. Though, considering how it’s dying down, it could just be his glow. Ezra loves being at the center of attention and you wonder the last time he had the chance to command so much of it. He hasn’t stopped smiling since the sun set, that gorgeous dimple growing deeper with each hour. You love seeing him like this, full of excitement and life. 

Eventually, the moon hangs full overhead and Percy curls up to sleep on Margot’s shoulder. The crackle of the fire slows and you throw your head back to look at the sky dotted with so many twinkling stars. For the first time since Ezra left for his date, you feel peaceful. He’s quiet now and you try to catch another glimpse of him in the dark only to find his dark eyes shining at you. He smiles tenderly, and your whole body warms with affection. You can almost believe it’s a look of longing.

Margot slaps her hands against her thighs and stands, breaking your gaze. 

“Well, I’d better go before I turn into a pumpkin,” she says. 

“Oh, come on. It’s early,” you say. 

“We’ll brew you something to wake you in the morning,” Ezra offers. 

“That’s alright. Enjoy,” she says. Before she heads back into the trees, she takes Ezra’s hand and gives it a squeeze and pats you on the shoulder. 

You’re quiet for a long time, watching the fire die down. It comes back to you, slowly at first, then a flood of emotion, the uncertainty of your future. This night has been a gift but, one way or another, you’re destined to lose Ezra. There’s a melancholy look on his face that hints he might be thinking about the same things. 

“Should we retire then?” he asks after a sigh. 

“Wait. I want to give you something,” you say. Margot arranged this whole evening and you feel like you’ve shown up to a party empty handed.

“You’ve given more than enough.”

“Well, apparently I’ve been putting off really bad vibes. So a protection spell.” You rise to your feet.

Ezra pulls himself up with your help and this time you don’t allow him to let go. You take both of his hands in yours, his rough fingers entwined in your own, and he watches you, with a fond curiosity on his face. He flusters you. His gaze is so intense, you have a hard time meeting his eye.

“Okay,” you say, shaking out your limbs. 

Magic tingles where your palms meet and you notice that his thumb traces yours gently. Having spent the night before without him seems to double the intimacy of the moment. He looks downright beautiful like this, the angles of his face outlined in fire and moonlight. It’s almost unbearable. 

“Ezra,” you start.

His lips part at the sound of his name.

“I protect you with my magic and my spirit,” you say.

He can surely feel it surrounding him like an embrace. It’s so intense, you can barely fill your lungs. His eyes are so soft, round and sweet. They glisten in the darkness. 

“And my heart,” you add, your voice breaking.

You put your palm against his cheek, the pad of your thumb tracing the hairline scar there, to seal the spell and he takes in a sharp little gasp at your touch. There’s a look in his eye, beseeching, and you feel the tug of his magic, drawing you in closer like a knot tightening between you. It’s a whisper, so faint you’re probably imagining it, but you follow it to him, to his lips. 

Before you even realize it, you’re kissing him. Tender and aching and it feels like relief to have his mouth on yours, to taste the wine on his tongue. His lips are soft and hesitant. Your body molds against him, it always does. You’ve been in his arms so many times before and yet it’s never felt more right than this very moment. 

Except that it’s wrong. There are all of those reasons why this can’t be, how awkward it will be when he stops you, when he goes back to sleeping on the couch. Suddenly you’re pulling away despite your body screaming for you to do anything else.

“I’m sorry,” you breathe. “I shouldn’t have– Shit!” You swallow down a lump in your throat.

Ezra holds you firm by your elbows, pulling your hand away from your lips and shaking his head.

“Little mage, I have wanted nothing more for longer than you can know,” he says, his eyes crinkling with a smile.

You stare at him, wide eyed, mouth agape, trying to make sense of his words. Your heart flips and you let out a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob.

And then he kisses you again and again and again.

🐈‍⬛

Comments and reblogs appreciated! Asks always open! I'd love to hear from you!

[admirationandromantics]

Best Friend's Brother

This request is literally 10 days old, which, to some, might not seem as a long time. For me however, it is. I'm sorry, but as I've described, I'm just trying to balance writing and school right now, so I'll be writing a little less than before.

Word count: 1,6k (unedited)

could u write a best friend older brother trope josh x reader. luv you works btww xx -anon

I knock on the door, waiting for Beth to open up. We’d planned a movie night while her parents were gone, and Hannah was at Sam’s. Josh was still home, but she told me he wouldn’t be a bother, and would probably stay in his room the whole night. 

I have met him many times before, and would even call us friends. Though at the same time, I often wonder if he looks at me like another baby sister, despite only being one year apart. He often gives me a hard time, teasing me and joking around, but most times, I don’t mind. I usually also hope that he never means anything with his small occasional comments, because nothing will happen either way. My best friend’s brother? That would be a problem just waiting to happen. 

Josh and I have been drunk together, partied together and been on get togethers together, though I’m not familiar with everyone in their group yet. 

I stand outside, my patience running low in the cold weather, wishing I brought a scarf. I hear footsteps coming from inside. Finally. The door unlocks, and a broad, tan Josh in a thin rolled up sweater and some sweatpants stands there, arm against the doorframe. He gives a small smile, looking me over. 

“Well, look who decided to come while the parents are out” he coos, a small whistling sound coming out of his lips. 

“Well, hello Joshua, care to let me in?” 

He smiles, contemplating whether to make this difficult or not. I look around, sighing and waiting for an answer, thinking about shouting Beth’s name and telling her that her brother is being a prick. Luckily, he opens the door further, making space for me to walk inside. “Thank you” I say, trying to hide my smile a bit. I’ve been here many times before, so I immediately know where to hang my coat and leave everything else. Josh keeps standing there, watching me. 

“Beth is out, said something about getting snacks for your movie night” He explains, and I nod. The store is not far from here, so she will probably be back soon. 

“Well then, do you know which movie she’s got planned?”

“Of course I do, I’m the one who helps pick them out”

I give him a curious and sceptical look, not having heard this before. He keeps his gaze locked on my gaze, a small smirk playing on his lips. 

“Have you?” 

“Every time” 

My mouth opens a little. Beth is always talking about her great taste in movies, never having mentioned this before. 

“No, are you serious? Beth has never given you any credit”

“Little sisters… what do you expect?” 

I hum, not knowing how to respond to that. I walk inside, him following closely as I sit myself by the kitchen counter. 

“So, what movie have you chosen then?” I ask, looking up at him again. Instead of sitting, he just leans against the counter with one arm, body turned my way. I can’t help my gaze, looking over his revealed forearms. 

“Something a bit different than usual…” he smirks, eyes following my gaze down to his arms. I break free, leaning forward a bit. 

“Okay, what movie?” 

“A scary one” 

“No”

“Oh yes” 

I whine, leaning back again. I hate scary movies, I hate jumpscares and gore. Why can’t people just like normal, funny, cozy stuff? 

“Josh, are you serious?”

“And there we go, you’re starting to use my nickname” 

“Joshua! Are you serious?”

“Well, that lasted for long”

I sigh, rolling my eyes. This is not how I want to spend my night, and considering that the walk home will be dark and scary, this movie will definitely fuel my fears. 

“Hey, calm down, it’s a good movie, maybe you just haven’t seen a good scary movie yet, this one might change your mind about the whole genre” He smiles, a hand going to my arm. I can't help the small blush coming from the touch, his fingers warm and comforting. I don’t want to do this, but I really can’t object when Beth is the one getting everything ready, and I just need to show up and have a good time. Or pretend I’m having a good time. 

The door opens, and his hand is immediately removed as Beth comes in, a big bag in her hands. She doesn’t notice me at first. 

“Beth!” I exclaim, and she lifts her head, nose a little red from the cold outside. 

“Hey, oh sorry, I didn’t have time to go earlier today” 

“That’s completely fine, here, let me take it” I state, walking over and taking the bag from her hands as she starts undressing. 

“My brother didn’t bother you?” 

I look over at him, and he just gives a small laugh, shaking his head and putting his hands up defensively. 

“No, he was fine” 

“Good, now, let's go” She smiles, leading me away from him, into their living room. She finds a couple of bowls, letting me distribute the snack in them as she works on getting the movie going. 

“Okay, so I know you’re not a scary movie-person, but I know this one is really good, so please, keep an open mind” 

I laugh a little, thinking back on the fact that Josh is the one who actually picked this out. 

“I’ll keep an open mind then” 

“Great” 

The movie starts, and we both sit down, a blanket over us as the lights dim. At first, the movie seems fine, the occasional jump scare, which scares me much more than it does Beth. Still, I keep watching, body tense and uncomfortable, but I can’t take my eyes off it. We’re in the middle when someone gets violently cut up, and the camera doesn’t bother to show us anything else than the blood and flesh flying everywhere, the gore not stopping. I take a breath, pulling my eyes from the screen and standing up. 

“I just need to use the bathroom”

“Gonna puke?”

I laugh a little, the tension in my shoulders easing as she talks. 

“No, but if there’s no important information in this sequence, please feel free to skip it, I'll be quick” I say, already making my way to the yellow-lighted hallway. It's light, in contrast to the room I was just in, and that makes me ease up a little more. Gosh, if this was to keep going, I wouldn’t dare walking home tonight. 

Suddenly, I hear a click, and the light goes away, leaving me in the dark hallway. I stop, looking around, unsure about what just happened. Another breath escapes my lips, reminding me that I can’t keep holding my breath everytime something startling happens. The hallway looks empty both ways, so I continue further, crossing my fingers that the light in the bathroom at least works. 

Before I can react, a couple of strong arms grab me from behind, caging me. I’m about to yell out, but as if anticipating it, the hand goes over my mouth, muffling my screams. I’m slammed into the wall, not too hard, luckily, but I close my eyes before the impact arrives. As I open them again, a smiling Josh is standing in front of me, biting his lips to hold in his laugh. My heart is still beating fast, breaths coming in and out in a rapid manner. I grab his hand roughly, dragging it off my mouth. 

“Joshua Washington! Are you fucking insane??” 

He bursts out laughing, arms against the wall beside me, holding himself up as he leans over. I shake my head, mouth still a little open in shock, whilst he can’t stop laughing. 

“Maybe, but you should’ve seen your face!” He chuckles, one of his hands going to his stomach to compose himself. It’s probably hurting right now from all the laughter. 

“Joshua! What the hell is wrong with you!?” 

“Okay, okay, calm down, just a little prank on my part” He smiles, finally calming down. 

“I have been watching a fucking horror movie, and you pull this shit?”

He bites his lip again, tilting his head a bit to examine me. 

“Oh, come on now, you’re totally thinking it’s funny” 

“No, I’m not” 

“Or you’re into it or something…”

“Wait, what, no I’m not, what kind of sick-”

Before I can process what’s happening, his lips are on me. I feel his breath, his body close, soft lips moving ove mine. My heart is still beating rapidly, but oddly enough, it calms with the way he’s touching me. Tender and carefully, not like himself at all. His hand goes to my waist, body pressing mine into the wall, opening his mouth a little. I hear a little groan leaving his throat. He pulls away, faces close as his eyes go over me, looking up and down. I almost think he looks a little vulnerable, but his signature smirk finds its way to his lips again. 

“Well then, calmer now?” 

I look at him, confused, conflicted. I scoff, shaking my head a bit. 

“No, I think I need a little more help” I state, hand going to the back of his neck, pulling him into me again. Capturing his lips on mine, already opening my mouth. He does the same, one hand on my hips, pulling me into him. 

“Hey, finished in the bathroom soon? I’ve paused the movie, the gore is over!” Beth shouts from the living room. We both pull away from each other and look over to the living room, luckily not seeing her there. I look back at him, seeing his chest heaving, hot breaths coming from his mouth. He turns, looking into my eyes. 

“Guess we better finish calming you down later” He smiles, pushing himself off me and the wall, walking back to his room. 

Fuck, what have I gotten myself into?

[sporadicallyanenthusiast]

First of all, let me just thank you for taking the time to explain all of these points! There were many contexts here I didn't know about and it helps make more sense of the story! So thank you so much ❤️

And the thing about Ancient Greek and color is really fascinating! Kudos to the people that first began translating the ancient texts, because oh boy! Hahaha @mari--lace also mentioned in the replies how it is not a consensus on Athena's eye color either. I've only ever heard about the "wine colored sea" point, but never had the thought to dig deeper and learn more. I am definitely going to change that hahaha There are so many interesting things to learn, no wonder so many scientists have been studying the topic for centuries.

I'll have to admit, our poor Menelaus really did suffer a lot, dear Gods. Since my first contact with him was through the Odyssey and some fandom posts, sometimes I forget Agamemnon was his brother. And yes, as much as he loved Odysseus, learning about your brother's death like that can't be easy to digest. And the timeline of how long he stayed shipwrecked was a little fuzzy to me, so it makes sense that after 7 years, his memory would be hazy! I see what you mean when you refer to it as a vision/dream now. I didn't know Aegisthus had them exiled either, so that definitely adds even another layer to the hell Menelaus' life was at that time! We talk so much about Odysseus' hardships, but oh my, poor Mene didn't catch a break either, I'm appalled 😰 I have yet to wrap my mind around the fact the the poems were supposed to be performed out loud as well. A lot of the narrative choices make way more sense when you remember that, it's not just a regular book. I suppose that is why some things sound jarring when you read it for the first time.

And yes! Oh my, I never thought the texts would be so expressive and so warm, you know? We tend to have this idea that people from different times were too cold and distant, but they were still human at the end of the day. Of course they'd be affectionate to the ones they loved! And to be honest, it reminds me of when I read Sherlock Holmes for the first time. It really caught me by surprise how Sherlock and Watson were described and how they talked about each other in such a loving way. I don't know when we stopped writing platonic relationships so beautifully like that, but it truly is a loss to modern literature, in my humble opinion.

And I had no idea about Odysseus' own prophecy! I did know he tried to avoid going to war, but I just assumed it was because he had a newborn son and wanted to be there for Penelope. In that scenario, it really is fair to point out Menelaus trying to warn them wouldn't change much. On that note, Athena herself also told Telemachus Odysseus was alive and he didn't believe her, the Wisdom Goddess hahaha I hadn't thought about that before, but it really does illustrate how hopeless all of them were. If Telemachus didn't believe Athena, you're right, he wouldn't really care about Menelaus' letter either.

I knew about the law of Xenia, so I assumed that was the only reason stopping them from sending the suitors away. I admit I was a tad bit confused why Telemachus didn't force the suitors to leave once he outright had Athena's and Zeus' blessing, so your explanation really helped me make sense of everything!

It's such a nice and sweet detail to have Telemachus and Odysseus going through their journeys at the same time (Telemachus' first journey and Odysseus' last journey, even!), only to meet again at home and taking back control of their palace together. Maybe I teared up a bit, can't deny nor confirm hahahahaha

You are still way more knowledgeable on the topic, and your academic background gives a perspective other people might not have. So I think it's fair to call you as such 🥰❤️

Oh, I see! Sorry, I'm a bit too anxious at times and end up worrying too much that I gave the wrong impression or was rude by accident hahaha

This has been a lovely discussion indeed! Once again, thank you so much for being so kind to explain everything, I'll definitely be reading the books with new perspectives and insights!

Telemachus is so much stronger than me for real. Cause if I had traveled for days, by sea AND land, arrived at the palace of my father's friend and my mother's cousin to humbly ask if they know anything about my missing father and instead of just fucking telling me already, this mf started a monologue about how gay he is for my dad and about the time he captured a God that granted him wishes three, I'd already be telling him to Hurry The Fuck Up. IT'S BEEN TEN YEARS, I DON'T HAVE ALL DAY.

But if the same motherfucker then turned around and told me that he had known FOR YEARS NOW that my dad is trapped on an island AND THE MOTHERFUCKER DIDN'T TELL ANYONE!!!! NOT A SINGLE LETTER!!! I would have already strangled Menelaus with that fucking blond hair of his in front of his wife and children, unhelpful son of a bitch.

[aggieharkness]

Have I earned it, mother? Chp. 6

Pairing: Avis Amberg x reader

Summary: the clock ticks for everyone, without care for wealth, titles or power. Avis knew this but so did you, and amongst the fire that blazed inside the studio, someone was bound to get burnt.

Warnings: kidnapping, blood, torture/abuse, injuries/wounds, KKK, guns and use of guns, swearing, character death.

Authors note: First of all, I'm very sorry about what's going on in the US. I hope that the Trump administration doesn't destroy all the lovely people who live over there and don't deserve it. I wish I could help. Secondly, here you have the newest chapter. I looooooooved writing it, and had so much fun, but I must apologise for what I have done with the characters. Still, I hope that you like it and as always, be gentle but tell me If I need to be more graphic, if I'm lacking in something. I am here for you, my dear people, I listen. I also accept ideas that you might have or things that you might want to see Avis and reader do. Also available on Ao3. Finally, let's thank Patti Lupone for giving us Avis Amberg.

Shoutout to @bravewithacapitalb for being my beta reader for part of the story. I love you.

Chp. 1 Chp. 2 Chp. 3 Chp.4 Chp.5

Word count: 24K

Her lips tasted of blood

It was so cold. And dark. You were unsure what was going on or where you were, your body slumped on a chair, freezing under the cold air that moved from wall to wall, all across the room. With great effort, you opened your eyes, but they felt so heavy that it was hard work to simply blink, finding your surroundings blurry, the air damp against your skin, but upon better inspection, your eyes focusing on your lap and legs, you saw that there was blood staining your dress, trails of the crimson liquid dripping from scratches on your knees and wounds on your shins. It was so hard to try and catch a glimpse of the room, to move your arms, tied to the back of the chair with thick ropes, hoping you would be able to stand and observe, but you were trapped. There were no windows, and if they were they were covered up, but there was an oil lamp in a corner of the room, it’s flame dim and barely giving out any light but it helped, nonetheless. The fuzzy feeling that had taken your mind hostage seemed to be vanishing, only a thin fog floating around your thoughts, the event of the previous night broken in pieces as you tried to puzzle it all together, images of Avis sliding before your eyes, of her beautiful brown eyes, of her perfect ginger curls, but they were cut off by figures dressed in black. Who they were you did not know, but they sure as hell weren’t friendly.

As your body rose from its slumber you realised that you were completely alone, the only sound echoing in the empty room being that of your breaths, puffs of it steaming and floating in white rivulets before your eyes. There was a metallic taste in your mouth, your throat dry as if you had just spent weeks in the desert, the feeling of the rough muscle against your palate making you cringe and shiver, but you still ran it over your lips hoping to get some sort of moisture over the scratches and split lower lip. There had been a man as you had stepped out of the car, he had asked you for directions, you thought, or perhaps he had asked for the time, you could not quite remember, but his voice had sounded so familiar, so dangerous that you had not answered. Or maybe you hadn’t had the chance. All you could remember clearly was the feeling of someone watching you as you left Avis’s place. Something dripped down your neck, the sudden feeling making you jump, but it wasn’t the ghostly touch of a finger, it was far too warm, maybe even hot, scorching your skin as it left a sticky trail. You were bleeding, you thought after a moment, your brain still slow in its functions as if there was still something affecting it, the faint smell of chloroform lingering against your nose and mouth with its sweet remnants that told you, you had been drugged, though that much was to be expected. You were not one to simply let yourself be taken by strangers.

As you tried to move your body to the right a sharp pain coursed through your entire arm, making you whimper miserably under the shadows of the room, the sound echoing against the walls mockingly, reminding you that it was only you and your scattered memories. Trying to move it again to assess the damage done you felt the pain radiating from your shoulder all the way to your fingertips, realising after a moment that it could have been dislocated in the struggle. Yes, you had fought against that man, you remembered now. He had grabbed your arm, and you had pushed him, but his grip had been too strong and after scratching his cheek he had slapped you, splitting your lip. You could not recall the words he had spoken to you, but you were pretty sure that Avis’s name had come out of that disgusting mouth of his at some point, the stench of alcohol and cheap cigars hitting you suddenly. There was a pounding feeling on the left side of your head, like a bad headache that was about to start leaving a dull pressure behind your eyes that you could not get rid of, noticing the same warm stickiness that was running down your neck, on your hair. He must have hit you, but why or how was a blank space in the records of your mind?

You could feel every inch of your body battered and bruised, probably black and blue if you could get just a little bit more of light but it was impossible to move. Maybe the chair was too heavy, or bolted to the floor, or perhaps your body just didn’t have the strength to try and stand, your feet bare over the freezing, rough tiles. From your throat a cough erupted, like a bomb going off inside your head, chest convulsing for a few moments, lungs practically begging for air against your bruised ribs. Every cell in your body hurt, like fire spreading through your limbs bringing tears to the corners of your eyes. This attack left you drained, gasping for air and forcing your eyes to close as the light-headedness overtook you again, slamming you to the ground, if you had been able to stand. You just felt so weak, so useless, but in the back of your mind you could only think about how thankful you were that it was you in this room and not Avis. You would have destroyed the entire country to find her if she had been in your exact same predicament, and as much as you wanted to get out of there, to be free and never see that man again, you did not want her to get involved, to put herself in harms ways. If they had done this to you, you could not imagine what they would be willing to do to her.

There was a sound reverberating in the distance, a noise getting closer and closer with each passing second. Your heart hammered against your ribs, each beat hitting on a bruise or a scratch, bringing out silent whimpers, but you didn’t dare make a sound, impending dread building rapidly all over your body, your head moving from side to side to try and locate the door. They were footsteps, the soles of either brand new shoes or refurbished ones stomping over the dirty dark tiles, outside of this room, in a corridor probably, you thought, hands turning into fists as if that could protect you. Foolish move. Behind your back metal screeched sharply, like nails raking over a blackboard continuously until the heavy door banged against the wall. There was silence then, you could not even hear the person breathing, but you did smell a strong male perfume, perhaps an aftershave of sandalwood, a pungent smell of cheap cigars overtaking your senses as it floated in your direction. It was him.

Lurking in the shadows, watching like a hunter, like an animal that was about to feast on the carcass of some poor creature, his eyes raked over your battered body. They were hard, triumphant under the light of the dying flame. He had no desire to move, not yet, he thrived in the way your head moved slowly from side to side trying to see him, on the way your frame trembled in fear and terror, eyes wide and frantic. He had the upper hand now, he thought, drinking in the way your blood dripped down your legs and bare arms, crimson tears splashing over the ground in an ever-growing puddle, a punishment for you. And her. Overstepping, and crossing lines that had been clearly established long ago always brought consequences, no matter how much money or fame one had; a well-placed bullet could end it all in an instant. But he wasn’t that sort of guy, he preferred to see their downfall, to watch them crawl like the useless creatures they were, always under the soles of his shoes, dependent and ever so weak. He loved to push women to the ground and to remind them where they stood in the pyramid of life, next to the cockroaches and the cripples of society. He felt so powerful having you right there, terrified of only his shadow, basking in all the things he could do with you to achieve his purpose, his goal in this life. 

One step towards you and your entire body froze on the spot. Another step and you could almost feel his depraved smile against your skin. Another step and the heat of his body was barely a foot from yours, the tension in every muscle crossing the line of torture, reopening wounds, and making thin trails of blood run over your porcelain skin. He was stalking you, preparing himself for the kill, you thought, your breaths so hurried that you feared you might hyperventilate and then his hand landed on your injured shoulder and your world stopped turning as pain radiated all the way down to your fingers and stomach, breaths hitched in your lungs. If you had been in the right state of mind, you would have felt his calloused hand, the crack on his skin and dry palm, but you could not focus, your mind hazy and foggy under the daggers that were piercing every inch of your flesh. He had you right where he wanted you. Weak, pathetic, and probably willing to talk now. He had left that part of the job to another fool who that had failed miserably, so he had to do away with him and come down to finish the job himself. He hated having to get his hands dirty but how delicious it was to watch all those poor people give in to his bloodied hands before the last shot was delivered, their lifeless bodies dripping onto the ground like puppets that had served their purpose and could now be discarded. Better than a glass of champagne after a good dinner. His hot breath caressed your ear in fake gentleness, deep, dangerous words slipping from his lips.

-Will you tell me what I want?

Someone had asked you that, you could remember a young voice shaking as he asked that, but you didn’t know what he meant. You knew nothing, nothing. He must have thought that your silence meant no, and without caring about how painful it might be he pulled your head back, hairs ripping from your scalp, another miserable whimper escaping from your parted and broken lips. The angle didn’t let you see his face fully, and the dim light only made the shadows that danced over his face deeper, darkening his heartless eyes, those sky-blue eyes that hid a merciless soul, that showed the truth of this man as if they were a cover to protect the real him. The murderer, the kidnapper, the one who pulled the trigger at the end of the day. Tears stung your puffy red eyes, gathering at the corners as you held his gaze. There, on his cheek, were the scratches you had inflicted on him the previous night, deep, but no longer bleeding, a sign that he had been almost knocked of his feet by you, a mistake he would not allow to happen again. He would rip your head of your shoulders with his bare hands if he let you overstep like that again, although he was pretty sure it would not happen. You were pretty tied up at the moment.

-Don’t make me play the bad guy. Just tell me what I want, and you’ll be out of here in no time.

-I… I don’t know… - you could not deliver the words, your throat dry, raw from the chloroform and the lack of hydration, your head bent so far back that you feared your muscles might snap from around your shoulders.

-Yes, you do. Do you think us so stupid, so blind that we wouldn’t know what you and that whore have been up to? Avis has not been as careful as she thought, flaunting her affair with you around the entirety of Hollywood.

-We are not…

-Don’t lie to me Y/N! – he yanked your head so hard and so fast that your heart skipped a beat as the chair moved under your body, your feet leaving the feeling of the cold ground behind as he tilted you back, keeping your entire body from slamming onto the floor by holding onto your hair. The tears could not be stopped, falling slowly down your cheeks, making the salty crystal liquid red as they ran over the gash on your cheek, over the splatters of dried blood that were sprinkled over your flesh. – I have seen it with my own eyes. You and she are two depraved creatures that should be put down to protect our children from such disgusting behaviours and to preserve the values of our nation. But you are more valuable to me alive. For now. So, tell me, what would you be willing to do to make sure I don’t put a bullet between her eyebrows?

-Don’t hurt her. Please. I’ll do anything, anything at all.

-See? It’s not so difficult to cooperate with me. – the chair was pushed back on all four legs, making your body bounce painfully, his hand releasing your hair with a relieved sigh escaping your lungs. His footsteps were hard as he came around you, pulling a chair from the furthest corner, the metal scratching the ground so loudly that you had to turn your head away from the sound, the dull ache that had been in your head developing into a proper headache that pulsated deep inside your skull. He placed the piece of furniture before you and sat, arms resting over his knees, legs spread, and face hidden by the dark. The flame had died, leaving you completely at the mercy of his predatory eyes, glowing amongst the shadows. – Start talking.

-What… what do you want to know?

Across Hollywood, the screeching of wheels over the asphalt rumbled as Avis’s driver sped through the streets. A fucking cross burning in her front yard. She was beyond livid, furious at the audacity of this cunts to invade her home and threaten her and her daughter like that. She had been in such hysterics all throughout the night that Claire had to give her some Valium to calm her fury enough so she could sleep. But the effects were long gone, and the rage was once more coursing through her veins. The car turned right, meeting a mob of angry people with signs that said that the production of Meg had to be stopped, that it was immoral what they were doing, and that they had to boycott it and the studio. Fucking bunch of imbeciles, Avis thought, eye narrow as she stared coldly at all those jerks through the car window, their screams and insults sliding off her back as if they were nothing. She would not be cowered down by strangers. They didn’t mean shit to her, words could not harm her, burning crosses, though, that was a whole different matter. The car moved slowly among the people until it managed to cross the gates, the voices vanishing in the distance as soon as they were through and stationed in the parking lot. The image of the flames was engraved in her mind, keeping her still in the back seat of her car for a moment too long.

It was a warning, a wake-up call for her and everyone involved in that film, she knew this, and to a certain extent, she did not care what happened to her. She had taken this risk, she was responsible for it, but if something happened to Claire, she would destroy entire families and bloodlines if she had the chance. She might have not been a good mother, but she was trying now, and the bond that she had formed with her girl meant everything. She was not willing to put her in any kind of danger. The driver held the door open, waiting for her to step out under the warm sun of Los Angeles, looking discreetly at the zoned-out eyes of his boss. Gently the old man cleared his throat which earned him a glare from Avis as she was woken up from her musings, but he was not intimidated, he had been present for the entire conversation she had had with her daughter about her safety and whether she should stay somewhere else until the entire situation cleared up; he knew what had occurred. Avis grabbed her purse with a furious grip, knuckles white at the strength with which she holding the accessory, and got out of the car, her entire frame held high as her steps stomped hard against the concrete ground. She would have to call on a meeting and inform Dick and Ellen about it, maybe Henry and a couple more people, but she was not willing to get the rest of the cast involved in such matters unless it was strictly necessary.

From the corner of her eye, she noticed that the spot where you usually parked your car was empty, that feeling that you should have stayed with her that night returning along with a sense of dread that made her stomach turn. No, she would not have wanted you to see the gift those bastards had left her. The halls were filled with chatter, but it wasn’t the usual nonsensical conversations she heard every day; words were full of fear, of worry, fragments about Molotov cocktails and fires reaching her ears. It surprised her how fast this news had travelled, she had expected to not hear a thing about it until later in the day, which made her wonder if this had not been an attack aimed only at her and Claire. She was beginning to believe this was bigger than she had anticipated. Standing in the lift she shifted her weight from one foot to the other, the image of the flames burning, scorching right before her, replaying in her mind on a loop. These people were beyond dangerous, they would go to extremes to achieve their purpose, and she wasn’t sure if she could face this. She was angry, furious, burning with rage, but would that be enough? Was the film worth losing everything else? The doubts she had had when it had still been Peg seemed like child’s play compared to all this, to the now that she was involved in. The doors chimed as the lift doors opened, her heels stepping over the carpeted hallway as she made her way to her office, rehearsing what she was going to say to Miss Stinton without giving too much away, but the words never made it out. Those big doors were open, Ellen sitting on the couch with her hands clasped neatly on her lap, Dick and Henry pacing up and down the room.

-Avis! – the blond woman was the first one to acknowledge her, turning her body nervously to face her friend, the writhing intensifying over her blue skirt. There was a veil of worry over her eyes, like a scared child who needed the comfort of her parents, who needed her friends to assure her that things would be alright, and no one would get hurt. An impossible mission, Avis thought. This might only be the beginning.

-What’s going on? Why are you all here?

-Things have escalated.

-Escalated? Dick? – the gravity of the situation implied by his words sent a shiver down Avis’s spine, her feet carrying her towards her desk so she could leave her purse over the dark wood, hands working on her ginger curls to unpin her hat. She was being deliberately slow, her back to them, doubting if she would not collapse under the pressure of it all. Because something told her that he wasn’t talking about the mob outside. She had expected problems, setbacks, and boycotts, but never had she considered the true extent of what these people might do.

-Camille and Archie have been targeted. A burning cross was left in Camille’s front yard, and they threw what we think was some sort of Molotov cocktail through Archie’s window. The whole place could have burnt down but thankfully it didn’t. These people are moving, Avis, and they are not being subtle about it

-Supposing it is who we think it is.

-Don’t give me that bullshit again, Henry. You know as much as everyone in this room that there’s only one group that gets something out of terrorising us. They’ve been against Meg since day one, boycotting our films, and being extremely vocal about how immoral it is. We all know how dangerous they are. You can’t tell me you haven’t heard stories about them and about how ugly things get if they don’t get their way.

-I’m not saying that it’s not them, Mr. Samuels, but do we have enough proof to say that it was them and not some random anti-black group? No one else in the production of Meg has come forth about something similar happening to them.

-Yes, we do. – Avis felt ice instead of blood pumping from her heart, leaving her body cold against the edge of the desk. This wasn’t just about who was in the film, it was about the studio as well. Turning to face her colleagues was a herculean task at most, legs unresponsive as she held onto the desk to the best of her abilities, dread glazing her eyes as they moved between the three people standing before her. – I was going to call you for a meeting to tell you, but I had someone break into my property last night and leave a burning cross in my front yard.

-What?!

-Claire woke me up saying that the house was on fire, so I grabbed her and went to the front door to get out and that’s when we saw it. There was no message, no threatening letter, nothing, just the cross.

-This is what I mean, Henry! It’s the fucking KKK! No one else would dare leave a fucking cross on fire at the Amberg residence!

-Calm down Dick. – Ellen’s demure and calm personality was always trying to reduce the tension of every encounter, every fight, but it was proving to be rather difficult as her own shoulders tensed in worry, her eyes not leaving Avis’s frame. This was big, it wasn’t just a prank or a game of some random revolutionary group, this was a full threat to everyone. It had moved from being dangerous for her and Claire to being a constant guillotine hovering over everyone’s head in this studio.

-How can I? We might be next; our families might already be on the list!

-Dick, stop! – Avi’s raised hand seemed to serve as a brake for Dick’s rant, forcing him to stop in his tracks and face her. She needed to get the facts straight before moving into step two of this plan she was making up on the spot. – Hold your horses there for a moment and tell me, are Camille and Archie alright?

-Yes. They were a bit shaken but nothing else happened. They called the authorities to have both items removed.

-Alright. You and Ellen haven’t been threatened, have you? No phone calls or strange letters in the mail? Odd visitors or strangers near your homes?

-Nothing of the sort, no. For now anyway.

-Okay. Then the question we all need to be asking ourselves is what are going to do about Meg?

-We can’t cancel it, Mrs. Amberg!

-This are people’s lives, Henry, it’s not a game!

-So, we just give them what they want? Lose all the money we’ve invested and have this reputation for being cowards for years to come?!

-I’m not risking my daughter’s life for a film!

-This is not about the film Mrs. Amberg! It’s about dignity, it’s about fighting back and not letting them walk all over us!

-I must agree with Henry, Avis. They don’t care about the film; they just don’t want a black woman to play the lead. This was never about whether the script was immoral or not, it was bout you green-lighting it and casting Camille. They can’t stand it when women “step out of line”.

-This might only be the beginning, Dick. Is it really worth it? Are we ready to face the consequences?

-You’ve seen it, Avis. Do you think it’s worth fighting for?

She supposed it all came down to that. The story was good, the scenes that were already in post-production were amazing, and it had the potential to be nominated for a fucking Oscar if it carried on like that. It was an amazing film. But it wasn’t just about the art; she knew they were right, it was never about breaking the Hays code or making an indecent film, it was because she was in charge, and she was doing exactly what Ace would have refused to do. She had been pushed aside over and over since birth all because she didn’t have a penis in between her legs, but that didn’t make her less good at her fucking job. She had power now, she could break rules and set new limits, and she could do whatever she wanted in her studio. Was she going to back down now? Was she really going to let these white men take it all from her, from Camille, and from every other woman who was willing to break out of the mold? No fucking way. This would be her life’s work, this might be the only chance to do something that could change lives, that could set a course for a new way of making films. She was too fucking tired of being in the shadows of men and she would not stand for it anymore. They wanted to leave burning crosses in her front yard? Let them. She would have the firefighters on speed dial. No more sitting down to let them do what they desired. There was defiance in her stance, her feet firmly on the floor as she stepped away from the desk and towards Ellen and Dick, palms pressed against the back of the couch, eyes glued to the man in question.

-Are Camille and Archie willing to continue?

-Yes. They said they were used to this sort of thing, Archie even mentioned a time when he saw his uncle being pulled from his bed and hanged from a tree in front of his house. They are scared, frightened even, but they are not surprised about it, and they are willing to carry on.

-These picketings and riots will continue every day until production is finished as well, it’s simply a fact, we all know it, Mrs. Amberg. So as a producer…

-Keep “producer” in quotes. – Henry was walking behind Avis on a loop, his shoes almost leaving a circular mark over the carpet as he moved his hands in front of his chest, emphasising his words even more. Dick’s jab barely made the younger man flinch as he carried on with his speech.

-So as a producer, I must ask, how are we going to make sure that we can continue?

-I can offer them bungalows until the film is done, but if they refuse to leave their homes, which let’s be honest, I wouldn’t do either unless I want to come back to a mount of ashes, I will pay for extra security at everyone’s place.

-This will cost the studio more money than what the budget can afford, Mrs. Amberg.

-Then I will pay for it from my own pocket. We all want this film, don’t we? And our leading cast is willing to carry on? Then we are not backing down. We are making a statement. I will not be bullied.

Fire burnt in her eyes, determination and strength seeping from every pore in her body. Henry was taken aback by how harsh and real her words sounded, but Ellen and Dick simply smiled as they shared a knowing look. There was the fisty Avis they had been looking for, the fiery woman they all knew and needed to fight this. She was a storm, a force of nature that could not be stopped, would not be stopped, and it was no matter what life threw her way, she would get up and carry on. There was rage inside her, an anger at the audacity of these people, but it wasn’t for herself anymore; these kids were good people, they were doing their jobs, things that they loved and meant something to them, they did not deserve to live lives like this. They shouldn’t have to know what the fear of being pulled out of one’s bed and shot should feel like, they shouldn’t have to worry about setting foot out in the streets only to be arrested for having done nothing, to get entire police stations chasing them because some white person called about a “dangerous figure” in their pristine rich neighbourhood. No human should have to know the fear of death as soon as they take their first breath. If the KKK were so ready to pull stunts like this using groups like the American Colonization Society to cover their asses, she was ready to fight back as well. Meg was her baby, and she wasn’t going to let anyone destroy all the hard work she had put into this. She was going to make history you had told her; she was doing what no one else had the balls to do; she wasn’t going to disappoint you. With hands as fists over the leather of the couch she locked eyes with Dick.

-Go down to the set and tell them of our decision. If we want to stay within budget, we can’t afford slip-ups. We must stay on schedule.

Without so much as a nod, he left the room, beaming with pride, followed closely by Henry, the voice of the younger man reaching Avis’s ears as he retorted to Dick about not letting him call himself a producer. They were like children, bickering over the stupidest things. Ellen was the only person left, watching the way Avis rubbed her fingertips and pulled at the hem of her jacket while her eyes still lingered by the doors, a nervous habit the blond knew far too well. There was something else rummaging in that mind of hers, Ellen could see it in her deep doe eyes that flickered from side to side, on the way the ginger bit her lower lip, curiosity peeking through the craziness of the situation. Avis didn’t even get the chance to tell her friend to stay, she had already stood and closed the doors in less than five seconds, making her way back to the couch to sit in front of her, the redhead playing with the stitches that held the leather together. She wasn’t sure why she wanted her to be there, she just knew that she would be the only that could understand these feelings. There was something wrong that no one was seeing, and it unnerved her beyond belif. Something was practically screaming at her from the back of her mind that you should have stayed with her last night, clawing at her heart, the hair on the back of her neck standing every time she left the sensation washing over her. It was as if there was imminent danger in her future and she could not see which way it was coming from.

-Is Claire okay?

-Yeah. She was obviously scared at first but once the fire was out and the police left a couple of boys by the gates she calmed down.

-And you?

-You want an honest answer?

-You know I do, Avis.

-I’m shitting bricks. I hardly slept last night. – it was far too early in the morning for this, but she needed a drink. Maybe the alcohol would make all these feelings diminish their intensity, perhaps even numb her enough that she would be able to carry on with this shit of a day. Ever since you had left, your tender smile still lingering in her mind like the remnants of a sweet wine, everything had gone wrong, and she felt that deep down, she should have known something like this was coming. With tired steps Avis made her way to the table in the furthest corner, eyeing each bottle with practiced care but leaving the shakers on the side as she could not be bothered with the hassle of making a martini. She poured herself a glass of scotch instead, the amber liquid falling gently inside the glass, letting the initial burn bathe her throat before settling in her stomach with a deep sigh, finally building up the courage to face Ellen. - I just can’t wrap my head around how people can do this sort of thing. I thought things would change after the war, but everything’s the same. We are still being persecuted and objectified; black people are still being murdered on the streets, and we think that it’s normal. It isn’t! It shouldn’t be, Ellen.

-Believe me, I understand better than anyone what you mean.

-Are we doing the right thing? They’ve come for Camille, Archie and me, but we can handle it, what if they targeted someone like Jack? Or Ernie?

-Don’t get ahead of yourself. You are already working on it, and I’m sure that as soon as these people see that their little stunt hasn’t worked, they will stop.

-I hope you are right. Ace would drop dead on the spot if he knew about what’s going on. – she could almost see his disapproving glares and disgusted smirks, making her feel so small, so insignificant. But she also knew that as macho as he always acted, he wouldn’t have the strength to put up with all of this, he wouldn’t fight for what was right, he would simply shut it all down and bow down to all those bastards trying to intimidate him. She was far from that sort of woman, even if the doubts took hold of her every chance they got, after all, people’s lives were at stake here, not just a film and a budget.

-But he isn’t here, dear, you are. This is your studio.

-Which means I’m responsible for everyone under this roof and I’ll be dammed if I let some man-child throw a hissy fit on my doorstep. Next time I’ll shove those crosses up their asses, mark my words, Ellen.

-Oh, I can totally see you doing that. – she patted the seat next to her, the leather cold under her palm, but her smile warm and inviting. Avis didn’t protest, simply made her way to the appointed spot and let herself fall as gracefully as possible with the glass still in her hand, taking a sip once she was settled. Ellen’s expression had changed slightly, observing her friend with a raised eyebrow and a coy smile on her lips, the fear and worry that had previously overtaken her eyes, now pushed to the back. She had been caught, Avis thought. Of course, her best friend would find out about her affair, but maybe she could play it safe and keep you to herself for a bit longer, although it would be a hard task. Thinking about you brought a light blush to her cheeks, calming her racing thoughts and pressured feelings somewhat. - So… why aren’t you telling me to go back to work? What little secret are you hiding from me?

-I’m not hiding anything.

-Really? So, if I ask why Y/N came to work the other day wearing your black shawl, you are going to tell me that it was because she was cold and you simply lent it to her the night before?

-It’s not like that, Ellen. – here she was, with a screaming mob outside and fire dangling above her head and the only thing that she cared about was making sure you were not defamed in front of her. You had never been a one-night stand or some means for her to achieve an orgasm. You were everything to her; the moon, the sun, the stars, the air that she breathed, and the land she walked upon. Avis’s eyes were stern when she lifted them from the amber liquid in her glass to stare at Ellen’s endless blue ones. - She’s not like the boys from the gas station.

-But you like her.

-I do, but most importantly, she likes me back. We have… something special. She makes me feel like I matter, as if I’m human and therefore deserving of love and recognition. When I’m with her I’m a million dollars all in brand-new twenties.

-Oh, my Lord. Avis Amberg, you are in love! – that wasn’t news to her, but hearing it from someone else made her heart skip a beat, a giddy smile painting her lips. It was strange to have another person voice it so plainly, it made it so real, but the again, it was. She was madly and utterly in love with you.

-I know it’s wrong, to a certain extent, since I’m married, but everything’s just so perfect when I’m with her.

-Oh, this is wonderful! - what? Avis’s eyes were wide in surprise, the left corner of her mouth lifting in a lopsided smile as she stared dumbfounded at Ellen. It wasn’t that Ellen didn’t know about all the conquests that she carried under her belt, but somehow, she had expected her to defend the values of her marriage to Ace a bit more, but she hadn’t even tried. And that simple fact and the genuine smile that she was giving her lifted a weight of her shoulders that she hadn’t known was crushing her. – She’s a lovely girl, and she clearly is doing you a world of good. Oh, Avis, I would love to ask her to come up here to gossip about it all, but she hasn’t arrived yet.

-Y/N is not here yet?

-No. I thought it was odd, since she’s always so punctual, in her chair at seven sharp, and she always informs me if she has an appointment or if she’s feeling ill, but I had too much on my mind this morning to think about it for too long. – all the joy and warmth of this little moment was wiped out in under a second, her words cutting sharply and making that nagging and disconcerting feeling of dread rise to the surface like foam exploding from a champagne bottle. She noticed the change in her friend’s demeanour, the way her eyes unfocused for a moment, lost in a world of their own as her stance became sharp, tense under the touch of Ellen’s slender fingers on her arm. - Avis?

-She accompanied me home last night, but she didn’t stay. I heard her car drive off.

-I’m sure she’s fine. Maybe she forgot to tell me about an appointment, or something came up.

-No. I had this feeling last night, I still have it now, that she should have stayed. It wasn’t because I would miss her, it was just this visceral need to keep her safe with me, as if I could protect her. – she placed the glass on the coffee table, the scotch nearly spilling over the rim and onto her pale hand. - Something’s wrong. It’s like there’s this danger right in front of me that I can’t see, and it’s somehow related to her.

-Calm down, Avis. I’m sure that all this is brought on by the circumstances and she’s in fact fine.

-You don’t understand Ellen. I felt it in my bones, in my soul that she needed to stay, that something would go wrong if she left, and I still let her walk away. What if she’s had an accident or has gone missing?

-Missing? I wouldn’t quite say that being late for work qualifies a person as missing. You are letting your thoughts get the better of you. Y/N might be at home, and you are just worrying over nothing.

-But what if she isn’t? After last night can you blame me for wondering if she’s alright?

-I suppose not. Maybe you can send someone down to her address, check it out.

-Yes, I think that would work.

She rushed to her feet, hands shaking. If something had happened to you, she would blame herself for all eternity, the image of your car smoking, crashed against a lamppost or falling down a bridge, exploding into a million pieces passing through her mind, making her heart race against her ribs. The palms of her hands were sweaty as she pulled the doors open once more, eyes landing on Miss Stinton instantly, her feet stumbling slightly as she made her way to the woman’s desk. Ellen had stood from her spot on the couch, but didn’t follow, she merely rounded the piece of furniture and headed for the window, waiting for Avis to finish her conversation with her secretary. She could not say that your tardiness wasn’t strange, but she wouldn’t go the extent of saying that you were missing, not really, but her friend seemed so sure, so worried and scared that she was doubting her own reassurances. Everything about this day was beginning to look like a macabre play and they were all performing it against their will. Someone was bound to get hurt sooner rather than later. The shrill sound of the phone ringing inside the office interrupted her train of thought, and after glancing towards Avis who was writing something down on a piece of paper while talking hurriedly, Miss Stinton nodding her head solemnly, Ellen walked quickly to pick it up. There was silence for a moment on the other side of the line.

-Mrs. Amberg’s office, how may I help you?

-Did Avis like the present we left in her garden last night? – her blood ran cold. A man’s voice spoke to her, words distorted as if a cloth was covering the bottom part of the handset, a mocking tone lacing them, deep and rumbling. They raked at her spine, freezing her on the spot without a clue what to do, what to say, but he knew she was still there, her breathing sharp and hurried against the black phone. It was them, that was the only thing clear in her mind, but them calling was most definitely a bad sign that there was something else going on. Maybe they had overlooked a detail, and it had led to this, Ellen could not be sure.

-Would… would you hold for a moment, please? – she did not wait for a response, even though she wasn’t certain she would get one. With eyes wides, she turned her body around, almost as if the world was suddenly happening around her in slow motion, knuckles white as she held hard onto the receiver. - Avis! – the woman was talking still with Miss Stinton, dismissing her call with the wave of her hand before returning her attention to something displayed on her secretary’s desk. God dammit Avis, this was far more important! Fear and anger were beginning to spread like wildfire through her limbs, overtaking the numbness and shock. - AVIS!

-What?!

-This is for you. 

She would have huffed and retorted at her friend if the sight of her pale face had not made all sorts of alarms go off in her head. The way she was holding the phone, as if her life depended on it, the fear dressing her features, made her hands tremble, her heart racing against her ribs so hard that she thought she might bruise them. There had been a slight waver to her friend’s words as she had spoken them that had brought goosebumps up all over her skin in worry. She was usually so well spoken, perfect dictation and tone lacing everything she said; this was wrong. Avis’s steps were slow, unsure at first, but Ellen’s stance did not falter, if only it got worse as she began to shake, forcing her movements to become faster, clumsier as well over the carpet. On the other side of the receiver, the man puffed his chest, his patience running thin. He had half a mind to hang up, but he could not lose the opportunity to threaten and bargain with the woman he so wanted to crush into dust. The longer this went on for, the higher the chance of them getting caught, and he could not afford such a thing to happen. He needed the girl alive until he got what he wanted, and he wasn’t planning on keeping her around past this evening. Avis’s perfectly manicured hand stretched out, palm upright to receive the phone, the plastic making contact with her skin as Ellen handed it to her, the blond rushing to cover her mouth as the other woman removed her earring before pressing the handset against her ear.

-Hello?

-You don’t seem to be a fan of fire, are you Avis? – the insolence of this man! To call her and mock her like this, filled her entire being with fury, eyes narrow and hard, locked onto Ellen’s figure but without actually seeing her. How fucking dare he! She could almost feel the way he was smiling as he addressed her, as if he held the upper hand during this conversation. He knew perfectly well that this little stunt had caused an uproar, and that she had not appreciated it in the slightest, but to call her at the office when the cable girls had every strict orders to not let any unsolicited numbers through meant this wasn’t a simple inquiry about her health, per se. Even through the cloth he was clearly using to disguise himself, Avis could hear the sounds of cars in the distance, random honks breaking the otherwise silent air around this man. She bit back with all the rage she could muster, making her words sharp, as if they could draw out blood.

-Who’s this?!

-Oh, please, do I need an introduction? I thought that my little present had been enough, but maybe I was wrong.

-Who are you?! What do you want?!

-Now, now, there’s no rush. No need to become so emotional, my dear woman. Did you like the cross? It was made out of the best wood.

-You think that a thing like that can scare me?! Well, you are wrong. I have put up with worse shit than that.

-I suspected as much. You can be so stubborn Avis. That’s why I have taken the liberty of doing something special for you. – her head was cold, ice in her veins at the sound of his words. They were dangerous, spoken in such a low deep voice that a shiver of terror ran down her back. This was it; she could feel it in her bones, the dread she had been holding onto all night spreading to every cell, from the top of her head to the tip of her fingers and toes, horror overtaking the rage that had glazed her eyes. She could see the danger she had been running away from standing before her in a dark cloak that hid its features, a sharp dagger in its hand waiting to rip her to shreds. He had caught up with her at last. Ellen’s heart dropped to her stomach the instant she saw the shift in Avis’s entire demeanour, needing to place a hand over the desk to keep herself upright as all colour drained from her friend’s face. And then those cursed words slipped out of his lips and the world crumbled around Avis. - You did not say how pretty she looks when unconscious.

-WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?

-So temperamental. I simply made sure to have an incentive so you would cooperate. What are you willing to do to make sure I don’t hurt this pretty young thing you seem so taken with, Avis? Would you kill? Would you die?

-DON’T FUCKING TOUCH HER! – she was panicking, she could not describe it any other way. Her heart was two seconds away from bursting in anger and fear, making her breaths so hurried that even though air was going through them she felt as if there was no oxygen reaching her brain. They had taken you! They couldn’t be sure she would do what they desired after threatening part of the cast and her own daughter, so they had kidnapped you. Every fibre of her being was screaming in agony at the thought of you being locked somewhere, in the dark, rats scurrying through the corners of the room while you cried and begged for help, beaten and bruised. Her heart almost bled through her clothes as she imagined your broken voice calling her name.

-I won’t if you comply with my requests.

-You think you can call me and make demands?! Who the hell do you think you are?!

-Careful, Avis, are you sure you are in a position to anger me and deny me my every wish? My finger can slip so easily and pull the trigger of my gun. – her breath hitched in her lungs, the grip on the phone so strong that she felt as if the plastic could shatter in between her fingers. She had to calm down, she couldn’t let her temper cloud her mind and risk your safety, as much as she hated being threatened and bullied. His words had left no room for hope of your release unless she complied, knowing that if he didn’t get what he wanted, he would kill you without mercy and dump your body somewhere for bears or wild dogs to eat. After a moment of resolution, she spoke again, voice quieter, levelled.

-What are your requests?!

-I knew you would understand. I want you to cancel the production of Meg for good, and to take all the rolls of film, every single scene you have, to the forest close to Hollywood station. And don’t even think of pulling any sort of tricks on me and leave some other film instead, because I will know, Avis, and I won’t hesitate to send you the girl’s head all wrapped up in tissue paper.

-If you lay a hand on her, I swear I will find you and destroy you.

-How will you achieve that when you don’t even know who I am? – he was right, she had no idea how to find him, who he was, or where he was calling from. He could be all across the country for all she knew, having used puppets to frighten them and kidnap you with the dark of the night as their cover. His words left a bitter taste on her tongue, but she could find no retort to his statement. In the background the whistle of a train echoed loudly, the sound of its wheels screeching over the tracks for a few seconds before it vanished into the distance, overpowering the silence that had otherwise been in the background throughout the entire conversation. Wherever this man was he had means of escape, she thought, but it all slipped to the back of her mind as he carried on talking. - Don’t play the hero Avis, it doesn’t suit you. Back to business. I also want you to write a binding contract handing the direction of the studio to an unknown party. Leave the name of the new owner blank but sign the document.

-I refuse to do that. One thing it’s the film and another very different is to hand out the entire company to a stranger.

-Does the studio mean more to you than Y/N? Is that what you are saying? Maybe I misinterpreted your actions, and you don’t care enough about her to save her. Makes killing her a much easier task for me.

-NO! DON’T!

-Then leave the document along with the rolls where I said before twelve, and she’ll find her merry way back to you before the day is over.

-Let me talk with her first.

-Why do people always ask for the same thing? It’s as if you don’t trust me.

-Of course, I don’t you fucking psychopath!

-Now, Avis, don’t insult me. I have half a mind to chop one or two of Y/N’s fingers to show you how a lady should behave.

-Please, don’t hurt her, just… - if only she could hear your voice, make sure you were alive, she would push through, no matter what she had to do. Just a chance to talk with you so she could make a choice between what was right and what was easy. This agony that had taken her heart hostage was suffocating, forming a lump in her throat as she fought to keep her voice as steady as possible, slow so he wouldn’t think she was begging more than she already was. - just let me talk with her.

-I suppose I can grant you that. Alright. – there was a ruffling sound on the line, followed by the scratching of something metallic over rough ground, probably cement Avis thought, before it all stopped and the voice of the man reached her ears, the cloth gone from the handset. It sounded familiar, deep, with a gentle tilt around certain letters. She was sure she had heard it before, but it was too far away for her to pinpoint exactly who it belonged to; maybe she was wrong altogether and she was simply trying to find someone to blame all this for that wasn’t herself. - Here, say hello to your mistress.

-Avis? – if she had been shot straight through the heart it would have hurt less. You sounded so weak, so scared and she could do nothing to ease your pain and fears. Tears were pooling on the corner of her eyes, blurring her vision and making Ellen’s shaky form hardly a shape, just blobs of blue tones. The blond was barely holding on as it was, hand on her chest as if that could help her galloping heart slow down.

-Y/N! Oh, God, are you okay? Can you tell me where you are? I shouldn’t have let you leave last night. It’s all my fault.

-Avis, listen to me. Don’t give him shit. You finish that film and show it to the world, and you make sure that everyone knows what these jerks did to try and stop it, what it took. I don’t care if I never make it out of this room; I will die for your chance to fuck them over, and I’ll do it proudly. Just don’t give in. Ever.

-You bitch! – flesh collided with flesh, resonating against the walls of the prison he was keeping you in. The slap had left a sting on your cheek, making your wounds bleed again, dripping hot crimson blood over what once was porcelain skin, now black and blue. She could not get it out of her mind, the sound of your pain, the angry voice of this man, echoing in Avis’s head. It felt as if she had been the one hit, shot over and over without giving her the chance to protect herself, her heart being ripped out of her chest, killing her as a whimper made its way out of your mouth, miserable in the silence that should have accompanied you, but he was moving, maybe circling you, his footsteps hard against the ground. Calling out your name was an involuntary reflex that slipped from her red lips.

-Y/N!

-Don’t look for me, Avis! Don’t let them win! I LOVE YOU!

-Y/N! Y/N!

The line went dead. It didn’t matter how many times she slammed the plunger not a sound came through, your voice the last thing remaining in her ears. It was agony to know that she had put you in harm’s way unknowingly, that your life depended on one single choice that happened to be the most important and most difficult she could make in her life. She did not know whether she wanted to cry or scream, this pain that was clawing at her heart was so raw and profound that it was snatching the air out of her lungs. She had had you in her hands and she had let you slip through her fingers. This was her fault, everything her own stupid fault! If Ellen had not held onto Avis’s upper arms the woman would have collapsed onto the floor, the strength the blond possessed managing to sit her on the couch, the receiver dangling from the desk, forgotten as bitter, sorrowful tears finally broke through Avis’s eyelashes and began to fall. They burnt the same scorching fire she had felt coming from the cross. But the clock was ticking, seconds were passing, minutes following close by and your life hung by a deadline that she had to meet if she wanted you safe. But your words bounce against her skull, making the mental pain so physical that her limbs ached in anguish. “Don’t look for me”. Through her blurry vision, she locked eyes with Ellen, grief lacing her every word.

-Go find Dick. Now.

 Your head was pounding as your eyes blinked open, the semi-unconscious state you were still in making the pain so distant around your body. It was as if you were floating outside of it, but it was short-lived. The world around you swayed from side to side, in circles that made you dizzy, as the confusion of what had happened twirled like rivulets around your many thoughts, snippets of the conversation floating senselessly in your mind as your eyes tried to refocus on the room. It was still the same, dark and gloomy, drops of condensation falling in a steady rhythm from some corner or other, the musty damp smell assaulting your nose along with the metallic stench you were bathed in. Nothing had changed except for the flame that was now burning bright in the oil lantern, allowing you to see the figure of the man sitting opposite your place in the middle of the room, the shadows still hiding his face from you. You did not need to see him to know that he was angry. The simple action of turning your head to observe the floor left you close to unconsciousness again, a sharp pain coming from your temple down to your neck rendering you useless, weak before his predatory eyes. Why had he hit you? You could feel the leftover sting on your manhandled skin, but could not make sense of the why, of anything that was going on in your head, frustrating and disconcerting you as you found yourself as lost as when you had first woken up in here. If only you could calm yourself enough so the pieces of your abused mind could fall into place.

Without warning the man stood, his body towering over yours, the previously bloodied clothes long gone, replaced by a pristine brown suit, but there was one thing wrong. His left shoe was stained in your blood. Of course, you had told Avis not to listen to him and he had got angry, hitting you on the side of your head with his foot after he had slammed the phone against the ground. Little pieces of beige plastic were still scattered on the floor you saw, in between puddles of your own blood, the stains dark against the dirty grey concrete. Everything was falling into place. The conversation, what had happened in front of your building last night, the punches and pushes as he asked you question after question and you didn’t give him the answer he was so looking for. He was running out of time and was becoming increasingly furious at your lack of cooperation, his steps getting closer to you with each passing second. To say that you weren’t scared would have been a lie, the terror spreading all over your body, inch by inch, but you were also determined to succeed in your endeavour. Avis had to finish the film and show the world that the KKK held no power over them, no matter how many threats and blood was spilt, the people had to fight for freedom. If you had to die to achieve it, so be it. At least you had got the chance to tell her that you loved her.

And that simple action made his blood boil; it was clear in his hard cold eyes. They shone so bright amongst the shadows, lies dressed in sky blue to lure you in before he could deliver the final blow. Sweat ran down your arms, beads forming on your forehead that fell in slow motion over your cheeks, from the tip of your nose and fell over the scrapes on your legs, stinging, but you didn’t make a sound. Not this time. His fingers ghosted over your injured shoulder, the heat emanating from him contrasting with how cold you felt, his hand moving up to your neck, but he never actually touched you. Perhaps he didn’t wish to stain his expensive shirt, you thought bitterly. He kept circling you, watching your staggering breaths, a quiet hissing sound breaking from inside you with each puff of air, drinking in the way your body shook even if he wasn’t touching you, harming you in any way, not that he didn’t desire to crush that pretty skull of yours under his shoe. The need to win was overly intoxicating to him, like a drug that was speeding through his system, pumping adrenaline up to his brain. He needed to win, he would ensure he took the studio from her, and the instant that happened, no black person would set foot inside his domains. He would handle Ace when the time came. He was giving you his back, shoulder square, as he observed the flame before he turned around and grabbed your face roughly, a yelp mixing with a painful whimper as the pads of his fingers dug deep over your wounds. The pain blurred your vision as tears gathered behind closed eyelids.

-You think you are so clever, playing this game that you can’t win. Why did you even bother to give her false hope? I will get what I want even if I end up with two dead bodies in my hands.

-All that ego and self-assuredness might come back to bite you in the ass… sir.

His hand released your face, relief washing through every cell in your body, but it was short-lived. Square on the chest his foot made contact with your flesh, the hard sole leaving a bloody imprint on the fabric of your dress. There was no air in your lungs, only agony that spread like wildfire all along your ribs and sternum preventing you from breathing, miserably gasping in failed attempts to get this torture to end. In slow motion, your body tilted back, and it wasn’t until your arms collided against the cold, hard ground, crushing them under the weight of your body and the back of the chair that you realised he had not only hit you, but pushed you as well. From your raw throat, a scream tore through the abused cords, saliva mixing with blood in your mouth as the sound echoed against the bare walls. You had never in your entire life felt something like this, the way your bones seemed to be made out of glass, breaking and shattering all around you, your skin ripping and falling off your body, muscles melting in the scorching white fire that enfolded you, organs failing at doing the most mundane of tasks. The blow could not kill you but if he decided to end your misery now you would have considered it an ounce of mercy that this heartless son of a bitch was willing to give you. But alas he thrived in making you feel like a piece of dirt in his eyes, and he had no intention of destroying you. Not yet anyway. He squatted and bent until his face was inches from yours, a maddening smile on his thin lips as your eyes battled against the spasms that tormented your body, focusing after a moment, finally able to see his features under the flickering light of the flame.

-Remember that your life is not the only one at stake here, Y/N. You failed to tell me how to end her, so now I’m obligated to go and ensure that Avis does what told, making me lose precious time. I do not like being played with and I do not wish for things to get any messier, it takes so much work to clean up after, so be a good girl and stay put and quiet. – it could not be. He had been around you and Avis for years, his glances and discriminatory words floating around the studio as if he was addressing the state of the stock market, and neither of you hadn’t suspected a thing, but of course, it had to be him, no one else gained something from making so much noise about this entire situation. It had made no sense, but laying here now, your body broken and bleeding in despair, mind foggy and dizzy as the pain still rippled through your veins, you realised that everything that had led up to this moment, that first instant that had sparked it all, had been staring at you from the very beginning. You should have seen it coming, you thought, his breath stinking of alcohol and those dammed cigars that you despised so much, but he had played his cards too well, hiding in plain sight. No one would have thought it could have reached this point. Coming to stand to his full height he observed you manically, eyes almost twitching as he assessed you, thinking about what he could do with you before his shoe collided with your head again and the world turned black. Perhaps next time he knocked you unconscious you would not wake up, he thought gleefully, a trickle of your blood falling from your nose onto the concrete. – Well, no one is going to hear you now for sure.

On the wall the clock ticked, marking each passing second as a companion to Avis’s steps over the carpet, a constant rhythm that grated on her nerves as the anguish that had overtaken her senses clouded her mind. The skin around her nails was bitten, broken and in some areas bleeding slowly around the bright red of her nails, stains of her lipstick marking the spots where her mouth had made contact with her fingers, anxiety bringing forth a habit she had tried to quit since little. Every thought was a turmoil of emotions and actions that left her confused, unsteady on her feet, pacing up and down her office while Dick and Henry argued over this and that, background noise to her. She could not get your voice out of her mind, the way the pain laced every word, the way she could hear the rawness of your throat and the whizzing of your breathing against the receiver. It was like a dagger was slicing through her chest with every passing second, digging deeper and deeper, staining her clothes in sticky hot blood, dripping from her hands in agony as the conversation replied in her mind with no chance of escape. She had never meant for any of this to happen, to put you in harm’s way like this when the only thing her heart desired was to simply be with you. She should have known that Meg would bring consequences of this calibre, she should have been prepared, and yet she was caught completely off guard by it all, cursing her own existence as the sound of your pleading but determined words banged against her skull. The touch of a gentle pair of hands on top of her shoulders forced her to halt her train of thought, turning her head slightly to the right to see Ellen’s kind eyes staring back at hers.  

-Why don’t you sit down? You are going to wear a hole in the carpet with all this pacing.

She was right. The constant motion all over her office was not doing anything at calming her nerves, she wasn’t even paying attention to what Dick was saying, ideas and questions that flew over her head and never received an answer. She could not afford to let her mind get lost in her grief, she had to push it all aside and find a way. She could not lose you; it would kill her. The blond’s tender touch and warm smile made it easy for Avis to turn her body away from the doors, walking in between the coffee table and the couch until Ellen pushed her slowly against the leather, letting her body fall over the cushions. It was a beautiful contrast to the battlefield inside this room the way that her friend’s voice never rose in volume, never berated her or asked things of her that Avis knew she could not give, it was as if two polar opposites were residing inside this office and she was caught in between them, the compassion that exuded from Ellen’s body with each movement she made, settling herself beside the ginger on the couch and the tumultuous and loud atmosphere that surrounded the two men, like a fire that was sure to consume her if she got too close. Her brown eyes watched them all, but her ears could not pick up words or sentences, only the rage that poured out of Dick and the nonchalant air that came from Henry’s uncaring eyes. He didn’t understand, he didn’t know Y/N like they did, like she did; to him, she was just a name with no face that he would not cry about at the end of the day. And that single thought fuelled the fire that had stood dormant in her chest, exactly what she had needed to spring into action, the previous hazy world around her now moving at the speed of light, eyes locked furiously on the two males that still ranted before her.

-We can’t just let that man get what he wants! This film is far too important, you’ve said it a thousand times, Dick!

-That was before a woman’s life was on the line! We can’t just simply say no to his demands and let him kill her! For God’s sake Henry, think a little!

-I am thinking, you are the one who’s letting his emotions fill your argument! If we give him the film and the studio what guarantees us that that girl won’t be killed anyway?!

-Nothing, but that doesn’t mean that we have to abandon her! We can’t just give up! What do we do, Henry, don’t put up a fight and try to make a deal? Or reach an agreement so a woman won’t fucking die?!

-We listen to her! The girl told us not to give into his demands, isn’t that right Mrs. Amberg? – everyone’s eyes were on her, waiting, breaths held. The girl is really what he addressed you as? It’s that what he thought of you, that you were just some random girl the studio had hired? You had a name, you were not just a number on a long list of paychecks that had to be delivered at the end of the month, and she refused to let him forget it. With a deep sigh, Avis finally spoke for what seemed like the first time in hours.

-Y/N said to make the film, to show it to the world.

-See?

-But we won’t.

-What?! – she closed her eyes at the sound of his raised voice, grimacing at the sound for a moment. She understood that this was his big opportunity, that this film would put him out there as a producer and cancel it meant going back to the position he had all his life, but she couldn’t quite comprehend why he was so adamant about continuing when everyone else seemed to understand that the best thing was to halt it all, maybe even to end it here and now, that this wasn’t just a threat and a menacing phone call. A woman had a gun to her head for all she knew. His unwillingness to see that this was the right choice unnerved and angered Avis, but she tried her best to keep her voice steady and neutral.

-I don’t care about how much this fucking movie might change the world or help the minorities. That was the main argument before, but not now. I am not willing to lose her for something that will end up picking up dust on a shelf once theatres either stop showing it or refuse to do it in the first place.

-You can’t be serious! We’ll lose all the money we’ve invested, all the money that we’ve given to those magazines to cover up for your indiscretions. Everything down the drain when this girl told us to carry on! This is insane!

-No! What’s insane is how willing you are to throw her under the bus! This is a person we are talking about, a fucking human being that means the entire fucking universe to me! I don’t care how many rolls of film get burnt, or if the entire building collapses as long as we get her out of wherever that psychopath has her!

-And the studio? Do we hand that to him on a silver platter as well? What would Mr. Amberg say if he woke up and saw that his life’s work was in the hands of some stranger?!

-BUT HE’S NOT HERE! THIS IS MY STUDIO AND I HAVE THE LAST WORD! – the glass of scotch she had left on the table shook under the force with which she slammed her fist over the wood, creaking slightly where her hand was resting. She was fucking exhausted of everyone bringing up her husband any chance they got. She was in charge now, not him, and she couldn’t give less of a fuck about what he would do or not do! She was not going to let anyone get killed for a fucking film, no matter how important it may be! She was Avis fucking Amberg, not some random clerk from a shop, and she would be dammed fi she was going to let anyone tell her what to do and then hit her with the “What would Ace say” card when things didn’t go their way. This was her choice to make, and only hers, and she had already made up her mind about the whole situation he instant that man had phoned. If henry didn’t like it, he could quit and cry about it in his own fucking house like the child he seemed to be. Inside the room silence filled every crack and crevice, the only sound that could be heard being Avis’s angry hurried breaths and the ticking of the clock, a constant reminder that the longer this argument took the closer you were to Death. Dick could not even bring himself to speak, shock clear in his face at Avis’s sudden outburst while Henry’s words rang in his head like a broken record. This was such a mess.   

-So that’s it? You were so willing to carry on and now… puff… we bend over the desk and let them fuck us?! And here I thought that you would change things Avis. What a fool I was.

-Why can’t you understand, Henry, that this is no longer about the studio or the film? This is a personal vendetta against all of us, against me, and Y/N doesn’t deserve to die because of it.

-Except that she clearly stated she would take one for the team and protect you, the studio, and Meg. You told us she said to not look for her, that she would die proudly if it meant inching closer to destroying these people. Do you really want to risk everyone and everything for her!?

-Henry. – Ellen’s voice held none of the warmth she had used with Avis, quite the opposite. Her tone was a warning one, as if she was giving him the chance to retract himself and leave it all be before he said something he would regret, but he could not stop now that he had began to pour all his frustrations out. He might get fired for this, he thought, but he had to protect his interests, his own future and that of the studio, even if it meant standing up to Avis and Dick.

-No, Ellen. Her life is not the only one hanging on by a thread! Archie and Camille could have been easily murdered. Hell, you and your daughter could have been shot in the middle of the night while in bed, Avis! If we give up now, if we give in, the world will still be the same, with its injustices, its reign of terror and fear, with no chance of fixing that which we have broken in the first place. Nothing will have changed, and the girl might still die.

-Enough, Henry! I wouldn’t do it; I can’t do it. I’m sorry, but this is personal now.

-God, Avis, you are being unreasonable! If this is all just a vendetta against you and not just a persecution for breaking the Hays Code, who even would gain something by doing all this, huh, tell me?! Who would want to kidnap her and make such demands?!

-Someone from the studio.

Dick’s words echoed in the room for a few seconds, ringing curiously inside her head before a commotion in the hallway made it fall to the back of everyone’s mind. Miss Stinton voice reached their ears, distressed, struggling hard to keep someone away from the office, but it was a lost battle, and with a huff and the sound of her back colliding with the edge of the desk, Lon’s figure crossed the threshold as if he owned the place, briefcase in hand and that look of superiority bathing his features. God, not him, Avis thought. She could not deal with him right now. He would start talking all his bullshit, making them lose precious time, trying to convince her of doing things his way as if that was the only logical option, and she really didn’t want to lose her temper and tell him anything about what was going on with Y/N. She could almost see him using that information to berate her and act like the entitled son of a bitch he was. Her hand still laid on the table in a fist, but her eyes didn’t land on it, they observed the liquid amber that was still left in the glass, a rim of the spilled drink surrounding it, probably staining the wood already. In frustration she picked it up and took a sip, her body partially turned away from him since Henry was standing before her big desk, opposite the doors.

-Don’t get up.

-I won’t. – her eyes rolled of their own accord, his voice already grating on her nerves as his feet firmly planted over the edge of the carpet, standing before them as he tried to make himself seem taller, bigger. Did he think he stood a chance of cowering Avis down by using that macho act? Dick had to give it to him if he truly thought he could. He supposed that being delusional could be an acquired skill after so many years of being a cunt.

-In light of recent events I’ve come to inform you that production on Meg must be halted.

-Didn’t I fire you weeks ago? - The fucking cheek he had to use that condescending tone in her own office!  

-You don’t have that power. I work for Mr. Amberg.

-That is out of line. – Dick stepped in like a spring, getting closer to the man in hopes of stopping him from heading the way he knew he was heading. The air was thick with tension, hot air swaying in between them as Avis’s frame became straighter on her spot, the grip on her glass so hard that Ellen was nearly counting the seconds it would take to shatter.

-Refusing to shut this picture down is out of line. Mrs. Amberg leaves me no option but to take legal action.

That was it! She had put up with him for years, smiling politely at his comments, swallowing her pride each time he jabbed at her lack of a job or power, laughing at her with his smirks and stabbing words about Ace’s affairs. She had been a lady and had taken it all for the sake of the studio, of her husband’s reputation. He was a cruel, perverted man, that much became clear when he had tried to get his way with you at the New Year’s Eve party, but after Ace’s heart attack he had become so full of himself, as if the world owed him and he could get whatever he wanted with just one word. He had tried his best to wear her down enough that she would quit, and she had considered it once or twice, but for him to come here when she was already furious enough about everything that was going on and tell her that he was taking this to a fucking judge! She couldn’t do whatever she fucking desired in her own fucking studio?! The glass in her hand was slammed onto the table once more, the scotch dripping off the rim as she stood in fury, Ellen’s hands stretching to grab her, but to no avail; she was too far away.

-This is my studio.

-I recognise that this is emotional for you. With all that’s been happening, you are not thinking clearly.

-Oh. – he was trying to play a game of fake sympathy, she noticed, the term emotional tilting slightly as he said it, almost mockingly. Two could play at that. Lulling her head gently to the side she smiled sweetly at him, lacing her every word with a fake kindness and sugary tone, dripping thickly like honey over his entire body, purposely tripping him. - A woman makes a decision and suddenly she’s irrational.

-No, no, That’s not… I didn’t mean to…

-Yes, you did! You waltz in here whenever you desire to remind me that you are there, always watching. – every step was meticulously planned, slow in execution, but it made him visibly shake as the gap between them became less and less. Yes, Lon, fear me, she thought, you will all know who I am, soon enough. -By the time you get your ducks in a row for our little date in court, my picture will be in the can. – anger glazed his eyes, fingers twitching around his briefcase, but he didn’t raise a hand to her, no matter how much he desired to. Avis’s triumphant smile was almost too much for him, the way she thrived in her victory, but he could not let his temper get the best of him; no, she had made her choice, and he would abide by her wishes. No one in the room moved, no one dared speak as the tension built higher, close to a breaking point. Her big brown eyes raked over his face wishing she could photograph and frame his expression, taking notice of an injury on his cheek, as if he had been scratched, the wounds fresh and reddened over his pale skin but she didn’t care much for it. It was the sudden change in his features that disturbed her, the way his eyes turned darker, manic almost, as if he had got exactly what he wanted from her, opening a door for him that she could not see. The dread that had accompanied her all morning spiked as his semblance obscured, almost as if she could smell danger in the air, but before it all sank in, he was gone in a wind whirl of brown, the flaps of his jacket ruffling as he walked down the hallway. - See you in court, Lon!

Henry’s smile could have lit up the entire building, no, the whole city, as she watched Lon leave before turning her body around. Ellen and Dick stared at the door for a few moments, shocked, the latter with his arms crossed over his chest in offense, before their eyes moved and settled on Avis’s form. She hoped this little stunt would keep him off her back for some time. There were too many things she had to worry about, and she couldn’t deal with him knocking on her door every five minutes to demand things from her.

-So, we are doing it? – oh, well, fuck. She sighed deeply, a hand travelling to her forehead to rub the skin as this pressure began to build behind her eyes, a headache developing. Her words had been clear as day, there was no room for mistakes or misunderstandings, no wonder the man had seemed so happy. She hated to burst his bubble, but it was obvious that she had misstepped, and needed to retreat back to what the conversation had been before Lon had so unexpectedly barged in.

-No, Henry, we are not doing it, I already told you this. The film is going to be cancelled.

-Then why the hell did you say that to Mr. Silver?!

-To get him off my case! You’ve seen him, you know how he behaves when he’s in here. I was not going to miss the chance to shut him up and get him off my back before he found out about the kidnapping as well. We can’t afford to lose more time than what we’ve already lost with this stupid argument!

-It’s not stupid! The studio has invested too much in Meg to just destroy it!

-And I have invested too much in what I have with Y/N to betray her and let her die! What would you do if the love of your life had a gun to her head, Henry? Would you let the executioner pull the trigger without putting up a fight? Wouldn’t you do anything to save them even if it hurt to give in?

-I… I… - he didn’t know what to answer to that. Avis’s eyes were glistening with unshed tears, making them look so big but so broken that something inside him seemed to crack. His mind had been so clouded by the ambition, the need to prove that the film could become his first great work, that he was worth the title of producer, that it had blinded him. They were right, a roll of film wasn’t worth the murder of innocent people, though he had to admit that hearing Avis declare herself before them all without caring about the open doors was not something he had imagined would ever happen. No one like Avis would ever do something of this sort unless her heart was involved somehow. The back of his knees hit the armrest of the couch, his body sitting on it gently as with his hands he rubbed his face before threading his fingers through his hair in defeat. Giving his back to the room he did not see how Ellen had stood and taken Avis by her hands, steading the woman, nor the way Dick rubbed her back and whispered to her in an attempt to calm her racing heart, one single tear rolling down her cheek. – I don’t know what I would do.

-You would try to find out who did it, - her voice was stern, hard in the delivery of each word, as if she was throwing them at Henry, but upon noticing his defeated stance her voice became gentler, though it didn’t lose that anger that seemed to be part of her at this point. She was just so tired. - but we don’t have that kind of time now, so you simply give them what they want.

-And even if we had time we wouldn’t even know where to start. Who is he? How does he know so much? Why is he doing all this?

-I already told you. -Dick moved away from both women, pouring himself a drink before heading back to the couch, glass resting on top of the leather after taking a sip. - It’s someone from the studio; there’s no other possibility.

-If that is so…

-Let me explain myself first, Ellen. – the woman nodded her head to let him continue, dropping the other woman’s hands to sit herself down after she had pointed at the couch with her head and her friend had shaken hers politely. After so many years Avis had realised that she could think better when she was in motion, her feet moving from side to side as she listened intently to what Dick had to say. Henry had perked up as well, looking over his shoulder. – It has to be someone who knows what’s going on with Ace, otherwise, they would not risk asking Avis to hand out the studio just like that. True that this doesn’t mean that they work here, but during the phone call that man said that he would know if we gave him the wrong film. He must have some way of watching it and some way of checking that we don’t have Meg anymore. Someone inside this building has access to the necessary equipment and to the vaults where the rolls as stored, but it can’t be some boy from the canteen or some script reader. The only logical answer that I can find is that the person who has Y/N and left those crosses is someone close to us who will gain everything he’s ever wanted by getting you, Avis, to cancel Meg and give him the company.    

-That doesn’t leave that many people. Most of the crew working on the film don’t possess enough wit and power to even consider pulling such a stunt, so that leaves, us and Ace’s boys. We can’t consider some of our business partners because they haven’t called to inquire about any of this yet, so they might not know, besides, what would they do with a studio when they are lawyers and finance people?

With her eyes cast down towards the floor, she could not help feeling that Dick was right, that the answer was right in front of them, as if something was preventing her from figuring it all out, a piece of the puzzle missing from her sight and yet so close. The pads of her fingertips patted her lower lip, her left hand on her hip as she paced over the carpet with slow steps letting his words sink into her brain. If Dick was right and it was someone they knew, they might have given this man information willingly, from deep secrets about the studio to loopholes that they were using to make films at lesser costs, not to mention all the personal things they might have shared. And in all that she was not counting what Ace might have said to this unknown man. But the clock was still ticking, and they had to gather the film, and inform everyone that the picture was cancelled all while she still had to write a contract that some solicitor was willing to sign, twelve o’clock getting closer and closer faster than she wanted. The carpet was of a light beige tone, and it complemented the dark wood of the room beautifully, but that harmonious balance of colours was disturbed by a stain in the shape of a shoe. She grunted in disgust, crouching to get a better look at it, noticing that although it was dark there was a certain reddish tone to it. Her heart hammered against her ribs as with trembling hands the finger that had been around her hip touched the substance, wet on her skin.

It was recent. Coming to stand all the chatter that had filled the office dropped into a silence so deep that she could have heard a pin drop, curious looks falling on her body.  Under the light of day that was coming from the window her fingers shone with a deep ruby tone, and upon sniffing the thick liquid her nose picked up the strong metallic essence that she knew so well. There was a blood stain on her carpet. In shock she took a couple of steps back, the emotion written all over her face as she kept her hand at a distance from her body. Dick and Henry took notice of the way Avis was holding herself and rushed to ask what was wrong, but she could not find the words to say it, simply pointing with crimson fingers at the stain. Oh, God, she had someone’s blood on her skin! Her frame shook, rushing to take a handkerchief out of her pocket and wipe her fingers as clean as she could. Her mind was working overtime now, thinking of who could have stepped in here with stained shoes, noting that neither Dick nor Henry’s were dirty in the slightest, but the footprint was clearly that of a man and the only other person that had set foot in this room all morning had been…

There was a spark in her synapsis, as if two loose cables had finally met. Of course, she knew what was behind all this, he had never been quiet about how much he hated her and how much he had wanted her out of his way, but to think he would reach this point to get what he wanted? She had suspected he was part of the KKK ever since he had voiced his disagreement at Ace hiring black people at the studio, the threats and disappearances that would happen soon after her husband dismissed his “worries”. It had been happening for years, and no one had taken notice because it hadn’t affected them, but he was escalating things now, and he wasn’t being subtle or quiet about it. In her head she replayed the entire conversation she had just had with him, analysing every detail, from the way he had carried himself to the delivery of each word, looking for anything that could confirm it was him and that she was not in the wrong here. His entire behaviour had turned so dark and dangerous after she had told him she was going to carry on with the film, a reaction she had not expected in the slightest when she was used to temper tantrums like him bursting out of the room or threats that he would speak to Ace. That entire act he had put on just now was that of a completely different person. Her body was shaking, remembering the way his tongue had tilted slightly when he had said the word “emotional”, the exact same way the voice on the phone had tilted his, and as the realisation sank in, she felt her knees grow weak and her legs give up on her, her body falling on top of the couch cushions.

She had been so sure she had heard that voice somewhere before, that she knew the man it belonged to, but to become aware that the person she had heard when the cloth had been removed from the receiver was him felt like a bucket of freezing water had been poured over her head. Everything and everyone were absolutely blurry around her, like the world was speeding while she remained still, frozen in time with her eyes glued to the redness she had not been able to wipe from her fingers. He had played her, and she had fallen straight into his trap. She had been an absolute fool to think that he had been treating her this way out of spite because Ace hadn’t left him in charge, when it was obvious he had been working slowly on this whole thing for years, gaining more power with each conversation he had with her husband until he had found the perfect opportunity to strike. With her out of the way, Meg cancelled and him as head of the studio, he only had one obstacle left that he could conveniently get rid of with one simple chat with Ace’s doctor. He had been meticulous, organizing and planning every step down to a t, but at the same time he had been messy, perhaps he had begun to get nervous and that had caused him to slip up, the simple detail of a stain on her carpet exactly where he had stood moments ago, shattering his perfectly crafted cover up.

 There was no doubt in her mind. The cross was but a warning that something worse was coming, and as Dick and Henry pointed at the floor and told Ellen in serious voices that it was blood, the blond woman nearly fainting on the spot, Avis felt the weight of the words crushing her. He had your blood on his shoes, she had your blood on her fingers, wet and sticky over her skin. It was cold to the touch, yes, but it was recent, just like the scratches on his cheeks, meaning she might still have the chance and time to find you before the appointed time and in extent to not have to give in to this man’s demands. Without thinking about it twice she jumped off the couch, the sound making both men turn their heads away from the floor to look at the fury that burnt Avis’s whole body.

-I know who’s doing all this. – their expectant eyes bore holes into her body, but she didn’t care. Her hands had turned into fists, knuckles white while her face became red with rage, every word she said next spat with as much venom as she could muster from deep within her. – It’s been Lon fucking Silver all along.

-What? Are you sure, Avis? That’s a very serious actuation.

-I have never been so sure of anything in my life, Dick. That son of a bitch has my girlfriend somewhere in this city and I’m going to find her! I don’t care what it takes, but that man won’t see the light of day if I have a say in it. – she was going to fight this until her last breath, for you, for herself, for everyone in the studio and for her right to do whatever she desired in her own fucking house! She was even fighting for Ace at this point, regardless of the life they had had together, she wasn’t going to lose everything he had fought so hard to create to a man that had threatened their daughter. With her hand digging hard into the younger man’s arm she locked eyes with him. - Henry, I need you to find me a list of properties under Lon’s name, can you do that?

-I know a guy who owes me. Give me fifteen minutes and I can give you the homes of his parents and cousins as well.

-Get to it, then. – her steps were determined, hard against the floor, and she did not stop walking until she was standing behind her dark wooden desk, Henry dialling an unknown number. The sun shone from the window opposite the door, bright beams breaking through the glass and bathing her in the hot light, but she did not feel it. The rage and fury that was coursing through her veins and that consumed her every cell could match the fire of every star in the universe, her palms firmly pressed against the table as her eyes lifted forward to look at Ellen and Dick, their expressions serious. - Avis Amberg has just entered the playing field.

A droplet of water fell from the ceiling, its crystal surface reflecting the light of the flame as it flew slowly through the air. Another one followed soon after, it’s gentle surface tense as it fell. And another, all freezing to the touch, sliding easily down to the floor. The tapping rhythm danced around your ears, a comforting sound although, as your mind began to wake up, the feeling wasn’t so, slimy water running over your cheek, making it past your lips without touching them, but only barely. It didn’t feel as if you had been unconscious for too long this time, maybe your body was getting used to it, but soon it would reach a point from which you would not return. The light of the flame flickered in senseless shapes through your still-closed eyelids, casting shadows that you didn’t want to face. He might be hiding among them. But everything was quiet around you, there was no sign that he was still in the room or somewhere in the vicinity, only your ragged breathing and the tapping of the water droplets breaking the deafening silence. You could not decide if you preferred it this way. Trying to move brought on a wave of agony that sliced through every muscle and bone in your body, forcing you to stop what little you had done to catch your breath as tears gathered in the corners of your eyes. You felt weak, useless, and knowing that he had gone to talk with Avis, left a void of despair and worry that threatened to consume you, and you just didn’t have the strength to fight the dark. But as you turned your head, hissing at the way your shoulder and neck throbbed you saw it. Sunshine was coming through the ajar door.

Against your bruised ribs your heart raced, battling against your sternum for release as your eyes locked onto a ray of hope. He must have accidentally left it like that when he left. You didn’t know how long it would take him to get to the studio and back, but if you could get on your feet, you might have the chance to at least make out into the street or wherever you were. It might be your one and only chance, no matter the pain. The chair you were tied to proved to be a most inconvenient obstacle, but the knots that held the ropes in place around your wrists were too strong for you to try and release your hands from, so you would have to make do. Turning your body onto your right side would be the best option, you thought, even though that was the side where your dislocated shoulder was; a small price to pay for freedom. The first attempt left you panting and still on your back, cursing at the heaviness that had gathered in your limbs, but you weren’t going to give up. With your feet flat against the ground, or as flat as you could get them, and using your palms and elbows for leverage, you pushed against the concrete, your core contracting hard as you made use of your abs to give yourself the last needed thrust, meeting cold dirty floor against your cheek, your arm squashed under your bodyweight. Yes! But the victory was only in your mind for a second or two before a hot white fire spread from the tips of your fingers to the top of your head, making tears run down your cheeks in anguish and pain. The feeling left you completely drained, a scream wanting to escape from your chapped and bloodied lips, but you couldn’t draw any attention to yourself; you still weren’t sure he wasn’t around somewhere, and had to be very careful, which also meant quiet.

After a few moments of catching your breath, a dull pressure building underneath your lungs, the pain began to subside enough for your eyes to focus on the door. It was right there, maybe three or four feet from you, if you could only get up, the worst part would be over. You hadn’t noticed the way you were rolling in puddles of your own blood, the movements careless as they made wounds that had stopped bleeding hours ago begin to seep crimson hot liquid over your ruined dress and purple skin. The taste of metal was beginning to overwhelm your tongue as you swallowed what little saliva you were producing, reducing the soreness and dryness of your throat a little. Laying on your side you realised you wouldn’t be able to stand this way, your arm unable to be used as leverage, but your mind was working overtime against an invisible clock and the idea of laying on your front and trying to kneel didn’t seem so stupid after thinking about it for a moment. You wouldn’t be losing anything by trying. Slowly you pressed the side of your chest onto the ground, releasing your arm from under your body, and practically let the weight of the chair finish turning you around. This step had been the easiest of them all, but you could not stay like this for too long. As much as you needed the rest, the metal would end up crushing you, so after sending a prayer up to the heavens, your feet lay flat on the ground. The posture was weird, to say the least, but you weren’t being photographed by the New York Times, the only thing that mattered was getting your legs to cooperate and push your body into a sitting position, from then on standing would be child’s play.

But the chair pushed you back onto the concrete again and again, and the frustration and anger were beginning to rush through your body like lava, burning everything in its path. You had come so far, you finally had the life you had always wanted with the woman you had always dreamt of; you weren’t willing to let it all end like this, with a quick “I love you” screamed through a telephone without knowing if she was alright, if your death would even mean something to the world. It would not end this way! Adrenaline coursed through your veins and in a burst of anger, tears running down your bloodied cheeks, your legs pushed your entire body weight until they burnt, the pressure and pain in your stomach as you lifted yourself nearly making you vomit but alas you were sitting on the fucking chair facing the door through grunts and hurried pants. Your entire frame was shaking but you knew that if you stopped to breathe and calm yourself you were risking not being able to leave. The way your knees buckled as you stood, the chair forcing you to bend so you would be able to walk, nearly sent you back to the floor, but you would not allow it, and with each trembling step, the door came closer and closer until finally your eyes were able to make out a corridor bathed in warm sunlight through the crack. You could do it, if your foot slipped in between the door and the frame you might be able to push it open, but it was heavier than you thought, and the minutes passed as your legs bled and shook, your heart beating faster than ever.

You had come so far; you could not let some fucking door win. It screeched, the sound leaving a ringing in your ears, your knees and feet pushing it until at last you were able to get your left shoulder to help, delivering one final jab that allowed the hallway to come into view. The sudden burst of light inside the room forced your eyes to close for an instant, blinking slowly to adjust to it all. The walls were old, bare, except for the peeling wallpaper that left wooden beams exposed to the thick air that floated around you. The ceiling had cracks, plaster covered in black mold, and spots that marked heavy water damage, but the thing that your eyes searched for was right at the other end. A white door with a worn brass knob. Relief washed over you as through the glass you saw green trees, the pine scent almost reaching your nostrils, a weak but genuine smile creeping up on the corners of your lips. Taking one step, your bare feet felt the scratchiness of the old worn carpet, fragments of plaster and wood under your toes, but it didn’t matter. Another step and the door to a bathroom appeared to your right, tiles damaged and shattered in the darkness of the windowless room. And just as you were about to take a third step, the door less than six feet from you, the figure of a man covered the glass on the door, his brown suit visible through the cracks on the transparent glazing. Eyes watched in terror as the knob turned, and with a squeak, followed by a loud screech, you came face to face with him. For a split-second worry had covered his features, as if he had been deep in thought, but upon seeing you standing there, clearly trying to escape, it all became rage and fury, his hands slamming the door behind him as he removed his jacket. Your legs hardly responded as you tried to back away from him, but even if they had he was taller and gaining on you faster than you had anticipated, hands ready to grab you by the throat, his eyes manically wide while yours were filled with horror.  The sound of your terrified “NO!” echoed throughout the forest.

But your love never heard it. Your pleas and tears never reached Avis, no matter how loud they were, she remained deaf to the noise that echoed miles away. But that didn’t mean that she didn’t feel it. Her heart jumped in her chest, a strange tingling spreading all throughout her body that told her they were running out of time, almost as if she could sense your pain and agony through her own blood, feel the danger you were in. The clock on the wall kept ticking with each passing second, and she was still no closer to finding you than before she had figured out who was doing all this, the dread beginning to cloud her judgment. She had half a mind to take her car and drive all along the train tracks until she found something, however little it may be that could take her to you.

-Why is it taking so long?! Henry!

-Avis, please, let the boy do his job.

The way her hands were holding onto the edge of the desk should have made the wood shatter, fingers purple and white, her eyes remaining glued to the younger man as he wrote on a notepad while talking to some guy called Jonathan. It had been a little bit over fifteen minutes, and the appointed time to meet Lon was barely an hour away. She needed to figure out where you were, and she needed to do it now! Ellen tried to sooth her, but her hands rubbing circles on the other woman’s hand served no purpose other than to make Avis even more anxious, wishing she would stop. Dick on the other hand knew better than to try and be comforting, he simply waited on the side, nursing his glass of gin, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t paying attention. Every nod from Henry, every twitch of his upper lip as his hands travelled over the paper before him, told a different story that Dick was reading. Henry was a resourceful man, he could not deny it, but he wondered how it had come to be so, why so many people owed him favours, and why he was always so ready for the payback that would soon follow.   

-Make sure that no one finds out about this. See you around, John– placing the receiver back in place, Henry stood from the chair with a triumphant smile on his face, dangling the pad in his hand as if he was holding onto a fucking Oscar. Avis tried to grab it, but he pulled it back, the woman about to bark at him only to see Dick making his way towards the boy and taking it, eyes reading the addresses provided. The young man didn’t bother asking for it back, even if she was murdering him with her eyes. –Lon has three houses here in Hollywood, one near his office, another near the studio, that apparently, he’s been furnishing lately, and another that he’s renting to some couple from Missouri that’s close to Santa Monica Boulevard.   

-None of those places have train stations or train tracks near them! I know what I heard, and I know I’m not wrong. It’s him! He must be using someone else’s place.

-If you let me finish, – she gave him a hard glare but let him continue, nevertheless. This was still an opportunity for him, she knew that she would owe him in the future, and she wouldn’t be able to say no to whatever he demanded, but if it saved your life, she would do it, as frustrating as it would be. She hated debts, and Henry could be a snake when he wanted to, a fact he was both aware and proud of. - John told me that Lon’s parents bought a property, about fifteen years ago, perhaps a mile south of Hollywood Station. It was supposed to be a retirements home, but they never remodelled it, so it’s been sitting there half-demolished since they signed the deed.   

-Where exactly? -she could recall Ace having a map of the city somewhere around his desk. He had shown it to her several times when they had discussed possible placements for their house before they had decided to buy and then renovate, or when arguing about which hotels to consider when housing foreign actors or producers. Her hands pulled drawer after drawer open, rummaging through contracts and scripts that she should have thrown away weeks ago, pens and pencil stabbing her fingers as she crumpled the papers underneath them. There were rubber bands and staplers, along with clips and other nonsense, scattered in between ink bottles that she threw onto the desk carelessly in her attempt to find the goddam thing. But it was Ellen, after Avis had squatted to open a drawer, removing about three folders and causing the documents to nearly spill onto the floor, who saw the colourful corner of a leaflet and quickly pulled on it. It read “Map of Hollywood City” in big bold white letters, and she hurriedly laid it on top of everything else while exclaiming that she had found it. At the sound Avis’s hand slammed the drawer closed and pulled herself to her full height, helping the blond unfold the huge map. All four of them hovered over the desk, but it was Henry’s hands the only ones who moved over the laminated paper.

-The train Station is right here. – he pointed at a mark close to the lower left corner. -If we travel down east for a mile or so, we get to “Ruben’s Road”. So, if we head south for maybe half a mile, about six hundred feet from the train tracks, we should find a house. Exactly in this spot. – his thin fingers hovered over the drawing of a house, alone on the edge of the woods with cursive blue writing underneath that read “Silver Cottage”. It had to be there; her eyes could not find a single other mark, all throughout the forest’s edge, that was close enough to the tracks that might make the train sound as loudly as she had heard it through the phone, and that could suggest another possible area he could have taken you to. Lifting her gaze, she smiled at Henry, but only briefly before her entire demeanour became cold, determine to get to the end of the line with this matter, her deep brown eyes filled with anticipation and resolve as they fell onto the other man’s frame. His face was concentrated on the plan ahead.

-Gather the boys, Dick, and meet me at the cottage. – she could count on him to have her back. He knew his way around guns, he had fought in the First World War; she trusted him with her life, and yours for that matter. It was a surprise though to see Henry following him out of the office so willingly, so ready to fight, but then again if everything went according to plan the film wouldn’t be cancelled and he wouldn’t lose his position as a producer. This was business for him still, but she couldn’t find it in her racing heart to care. Just as they were rounding the corner Avis raised her voice, making sure they heard her before turning all her attention back to the map. - And make sure they don’t go empty-handed!

-Wait a moment, Avis. Shouldn’t we call the police about this?

-Do you think that someone like Lon wouldn’t have friends in the Police Department, Ellen? – if she took 10th street from her house and swerved around Victoria park to go down Marie Avenues, she could get down to the station in less than five minutes, her fingers tracing the journey over the paper. - If we call, we might risk telling them about what we know, and for our plan to get to him in the first place. It would be the perfect opportunity for him to kill Y/N, and we might spend hours waiting to hear good news when in fact they’ve done nothing but cover up for him. – her eyes lifted from the desk to look at the blond, her hands trying to fold the map the best she could. - I understand that this might be too much for you, but I’m not going to sit and wait.

-But this is dangerous. We’ve never done something like this before.

-Which is why I’m giving you the choice of coming with me or staying. You don’t have to get involved more than you already are, but you are my friend, and I know that you care about Y/N, as well. I don’t want to do this alone.

Avis’s palm lay outstretched before Ellen. Rage seeped from every pore of the ginger’s body, to be fair she hadn’t felt anything else all morning, and that was fuelling most of the adrenaline that was to be blamed for what was going on, but she was also terrified, absolutely terror-stricken and she feared that the moment she got to the house, she would be left petrified in her seat, unable to do anything but hear your screams. She needed Ellen to hold her together until the very end. To say that the blond wasn’t conflicted would be an understatement, but she knew Avis, and the woman never asked for help; too proud, too hurt to do so most of the time, but knowing that even without wording it that way, she was simply asking her to be there, meant the world to Ellen. Avis had been there for her when her husband had passed, they had shared countless conversations, and evenings at each other’s place. They had cried and laughed and got absolutely smashed once or twice without a care in the world. They were sisters even if they didn’t share the same blood, and that was far more important to her than what Lon might do. She couldn’t abandon her friend now that she needed her. Her hands were sweaty, but she took Avis’s in hers, squeezing hard, a small tender smile ghosting her thin lips.

A weight had been lifted of the ginger’s shoulders, the way her entire frame breathed in relief at the feeling of Ellen’s palm on hers, speaking more than a thousand words could ever do. Now that they were on the same line, Avis grabbed her purse and walked out of the office with quick steps, pulling on Ellen’s hand. The blond was smart though and held onto the map, just in case, before letting herself be dragged along. Miss Stinton protested about meetings and what not, but neither of them listened as they rushed to the lift, the doors conveniently opening just as Avis pressed the button, wishing the contraption would move faster to the ground floor. Ace didn’t keep guns at the studio, he used to say that he liked to keep that sort of thing at home, where he might actually need them, and she had hated that so viscerally that she had thought about getting rid of them more than once and more than twice just to spite him. Now, as doors of the lift chimed open, she was glad she hadn’t, letting go of Ellen’s hand to take the keys to her Cadillac out of her purse, the blond pushing the doors open for the other woman to step through. She knew exactly which of the several models Ace kept at the mansion she was going to choose to face Lon, and she just happened to be handy with it.

She might not look like it, but when she had been little her father had taught her how to shoot, and she had been fucking brilliant, she just didn’t get into the habit of using them as she grew older. The car was intact, waiting patiently for her at the parking lot, and as both ladies settled on their respective seats, Avis saw Jack rushing to one of the other buildings through the rearview mirror, his countenance serious. Dick would have them all ready by the time she was out of the house. Turning the engine on and pulling out of the parking lot she stepped on the gas, the mob that was still gathered outside by the gates having to rush to the sides so as not to get run over, though she didn’t think it would be much of a loss. Ellen, the poor woman held onto the door, sliding over the leather whenever Avis made a turn or took a corner, wondering if she had made the right choice, but it was too late to back down now, the only thing she could see in her friends being fire. Swerving on her street, the car nearly landing on two of its wheels at the corner, Avis practically burst through the gates of her house, the old Mr. Breaton pushing them open as fast as his legs would allow all while Ellen screamed at her to be more careful or she would get them both killed. Bit overdramatic, it wasn’t as if she was driving down the freeway at 80 mph or something like that. Pulling on the hand break hard once the car was stationed before her front door, Avis worked quickly on getting out, looking for her keys, telling Ellen to wait for her and that she would only be a minute.

Like magic Gertie opened the doors, just at the right moment as well, the woman having heard the commotion and fearing that something like the nightly incident might be occurring again, but it was only her employer. Her perfectly coiffed hair was in slight disarray, a curl falling gently on the side of her head, bouncing with each rushed step she took towards her husband’s office, the wooden doors slamming against the walls. The sound didn’t bother her, but it did make Gertie jump on the spot, as her employer quickly pulled a small key from the first drawer on the left of Ace’s oak desk and hurriedly used it on a trunk under the windowsill. It was a beautiful work of art, in the words of her deceased father, and right now she could understand why. Her husband was not one to hunt, but he did like to have the necessary equipment, and the newest member of his collection was a gorgeous Ithaca shotgun, model 37 to be exact, that had never been shot since its purchase. Picking it up and feeling the heaviness of the weapon, she thought that getting rid of Lon might be a perfect way to christen, the comb and forearm, made out of a beautiful dark wood, smooth under the touch of her fingertips.     

There was no ammunition inside it, a safety precaution she had demanded Ace follow, but the box of bullets was right there, in the right bottom corner. Grabbing it she was making her way out the doors when her eyes caught a glimpse of the revolver. What they were going to do was dangerous, and Ellen wasn’t one to have weapons in her purse, so she picked it up just to be safe. Gertie had asked once what was happening and after not receiving an answer retreated to the kitchen, but the sight of Avis with a shotgun wasn’t a usual occurrence in that house, filling her up with worry. Rushing back to the front doors and slamming them close with her foot, to the best extent she could, she sat back inside her Cadillac, the engine still running, and handed everything to Ellen as she shifted into first gear and once again sped down her road towards 10th street just as she had planned back at the studio. The blond’s eyes could have popped out of her skull from how side they were looking at the weapons.  

-Oh my God, Avis! You are not planning on going in there with two guns, are you?!

-Of course not! I need both hands for the shotgun, the revolver is for you.

-What?! I don’t know how to use it!

-I know, and I most certainly hope you don’t have to, but I can’t let you go without protection. We don’t know if it’s going to be just Lon or if there’s going to be twenty men in there, I need to know that you’ll be somehow safe. Just trust me, Ellen.

What other option did she have?! This was all insane, but when didn’t things turn crazy where the KKK was involved? The journey to the Station was just as crazy as the one to her house, but now Ellen had no way of holding onto the door so she wouldn’t slide from side to side, the boxes of ammunition slipping from her fingers every few seconds. The grip Avis had on the steering wheel left her knuckles white, painfully digging into the stiches. She knew she was right; she was sure that’s where that slimy son of a bitch had you, but she could not help the doubts that assaulted her mind. If she was wrong, the real culprit would still be roaming free without any of them being even an inch closer to finding out who he was, and he wouldn’t hesitate to kill you once he found out she hadn’t answered any of his demands. She had no way of confirming any of it except for a gut feeling, a hunch. She hoped it was enough. At this time in the morning, the roads weren’t as empty as she had hoped for, and a couple of times cars honked as she manoeuvred and cut them off, but she couldn’t give two fucks. Approaching the station, the paths made out of cobblestones caused the car to rise and fall with each little bump, though they only had to suffer it for a minute or two, until they could head East near the gates. Avis was more careful in this part of the journey, knowing that the suspension of her car didn’t do well on roads like this one, a fact Ellen was most appreciative of, wondering just how dishevelled she looked.

It was a secondary road the one that appeared to head East, a dirty path that lifted a cloud of dust as the car drove over it. Henry had said for a mile and then she had to turn south. She felt a pressure on her chest, her breaths fast now that she was lifting her foot off the accelerator, controlling the vehicle as it moved over the rocks and stones that graced the ground under her car. Every beat of her heart felt as if rocks were falling over her shoulders, weighing her down, worry and fear overtaking part of the fury she was feeling, but she would carry on, there was no other option but for you to make it out alive. The car began to slow down as Avis’s thoughts took over, knowing that she should have put up a bigger fight last night, that she should have convinced you to stay no matter what you had said but honesty and respect were the bases of your relationship, and she hadn’t wanted to pressure you. It would have been easier if she had behaved like a bitch and had held onto you, not caring what you said or what you desired, just followed her instinct. If you died, she would never stop blaming herself. Ever. Turning South for half a mile, both ladies held their breaths as the trees began to separate more and more from each other, bringing forth a clearing where a broken-down fence circled the area where the house should be. This was it; they thought. Avis hadn’t reached the end of the road when she was turning the engine off and pulling on the hand brake, Ellen glancing her way with a questioning look.

-We’ll have to walk; I don’t want him to know we are here.

-Shouldn’t we wait for Dick and the others?

-We might not have that kind of time. We’ll check out the premises and if there’s no sign of people, or at least no sign of them being too many, we’ll go in.

-Are you sure, Avis? They might be armed as well.

-We only get one life, one chance at doing what matters, and I’m not letting her die. You can stay in the car if you’d rather wait for Dick. I would understand.

-No. I’m not letting you do this on your own. You are my friend, maybe even a sister, I’m not ditching you now.

Words hurt the same way a dagger slicing through one’s flesh could, but when said in all honestly, love and compromise enfolding them like a blanket, they could act as balm for a broken heart, soothing doubts and worries that were clearly overtaking Avis’s mind. No matter the outcome, she wouldn’t face it alone. Her hand squeezed Ellen’s softly, a kind smile painting her lips as a thank you, maybe as a farewell should they not make it, the other woman returning it just as tenderly. Determined to bring this all to an end, Avis opened her door and stepped out into the forest, her heels crushing twigs and seeds as she rounded the hood to open Ellen’s, picking up the shotgun and the bullets to let her slip out of her seat. She was not heading down the path without a loaded gun, and neither was her friend, but the blond didn’t seem to think it was necessary and she had to shoot out a hand to hold her still, handing her the revolver ammunition. Loading a shotgun was relatively easy, at least with this model. Avis only had to push the ammunition into the receiver until she heard a click before pushing the next bullet in and so on until the barrel was full, ready for her to pump the gun. Ellen didn’t think it was that simple, struggling for a few moments to open the loading gate of the revolver, but soon enough she figured out how the weapon worked, or at least the basics, and just as Avis had finished pushing the last bullet inside her weapon, Ellen was done cocking hers.

Their movements over the grass were meticulous, delivered in a perfect dance of careful steps and quiet whispers, Avis ahead. The edge of the forest got closer and closer, not a sound in the warm air around them, not even birds flying over their heads. That was already a bad sign. Coming up to the last line of trees Avis got the first glimpse at the house, perhaps about sixty feet away, and in her most humble opinion it was a miracle it was still standing. The roof had caved in by the falling of a branch, most of the windows were shattered, and the beams and insulation were out for the elements to affect them. In truth, it was the perfect spot to bring someone to; not a soul would dare set foot in that hazard of a house. The garden, overgrown with weeds, showed no signs of anyone having come to visit in years, except for the car that was now parked on the side, a black Lincoln that she knew for a fact belonged to Lon. They crossed the ruined fenced, plants crushed under their shoes until the set foot on an overworn stone path that led to the front door, the glass glazing shattered, missing some pieces that were probably lost through the yellow weeds. Each breath Avis took was held in her lungs for longer than was necessary, her heart beating so hard and fast that she could hear her blood pumping in her ears, hands slightly clammy around the comb and the forearm of her shotgun, muzzle pointing down at the ground. Her entire world could change in less than a second the instant she walked through that door, but she didn’t know if she could do it. She couldn’t hear a sound, that might mean you were…

Ellen’s hand did it for her. With surprised eyes Avis stared as her friend pushed it open, not a squeak or scratch coming from the old wood, a small win for them as their presence remained unknown. The ginger’s heel was the first thing to come into contact with the inside of the house, the musky odour of a closed-up home and ever-growing mold overwhelming her senses, but she pushed through. Each step was quiet, almost tippytoeing over the dirty carpet, taking in the state of the property as her ears perked up, capturing a faint noise, like a whimper. Upon hearing this she stood still, holding up her hand for Ellen to halt her movements as well, hardy breathing in hopes of hearing it again. Yes, there was a whimper coming from some room ahead, and she knew it was you who was making it. She could recognise your voice even if her head was underwater. She stopped being careful right then, her steps hard against the creaking wood as she came to terms with the fact that there was no one else in that house except for you and maybe Lon. Ellen tried to warn her with hushed words but to no avail; Avis was seeing red. Close to the end of the hallway was the entrance to a bathroom and a bit further down a metal door that was completely shut, but even through the thick material she could hear the voice of a man saying that he was going to gut you open, your whines and pleas quietly sounding in the background. Over her dead fucking body! Pointing the muzzle towards the lock, Avis pumped it hard and without warning pulled the trigger. It was as if a bomb had gone off, a scream escaping Ellen at the sudden noise, but it had served its purpose, and the door was now slightly open. Pushing it with her foot Avis came face to face with your battered body on the floor, a chair lying in a corner, and Lon standing over you with a cane raised in the air, his small beady eyes watching her with a terrified veil falling over them.

-Ding Dong, motherfucker. – she pumped her shotgun to make her point clear to him.

-What…? How…?

-Shut up! Drop the cane and take one step away from Y/N or I swear to everything in this fucking universe that I’ll blow your head off.  – squatting slowly to the ground, he left the weapon on the concrete, raising his arms high in the air before doing what told, his back barely two feet away from the damp wall. His eyes never left her form, terror making him shake on his spot. – You thought you could play me? You don’t know who you are messing with.

-Please, Avis…

-Do I need to repeat myself?! SHUT UP! I don’t care about your excuses; I don’t care for anything you might have to say. You dug your grave, Lon; I think I’ll put you in it.

-Avis, Dick is here.

-Don’t move an inch, Lon. I’m feeling trigger-happy. – Avis turned her head to the doorway, purposely refusing to look at you in fear that your state might make her buckle in her resolution to end him, that it might make her weak for a moment and he would take the opportunity to fight her for the gun. Ellen’s eyes weren’t on her though, and that made her heart clench in grief at the thought of how you might look, but she remained strong and addressed the blond. – Go get him and take Y/N out to the car. – the woman, as petite as she was, run fast even in high heels. As Avis’s eyes returned to Lon, she saw the splatters of blood that stained his shirt, the way his hands were bathed in the crimson liquid, dripping down his arms and staining his cuffs. She was finding it increasingly difficult to not kill him right there and then. – You thought you were so smart that I wouldn’t find out? You messed with my family, I would have figured out it was you in the end, no matter how long it would have taken.

-You don’t understand.

-I don’t understand?! You kidnapped an innocent woman, beat her close to death, lied to my face, and you still think you are in a position to tell me I don’t understand?! Who do you think you are?!

He remained silent, trembling against the wall. He had been caught; he couldn’t get out of this one. What had happened? He had never failed before, he had never made a mistake and yet here he was, with a gun to his head for the first time since joining the group. He was supposed to be the one threatening and intimidating people, not her, he was supposed to be the superior being, how had she outsmarted him?! Dick and Ellen rushed down the corridor and quickly made their way inside the room past Avis, picking you up as gently as they could. Your entire world had shrunk to the size of your broken body, nothing that was going on around you being registered by your abused mind anymore, the only thing you could feel and think about was the agony you were in. Caring hands lifted you off the cold floor and for an instant you wondered if your time had come, angels taking you to the heavens. You wanted to see their kind faces, you didn’t want to die with the sight of Lon engraved in your head, but upon cracking them open, the action exhausting, you saw two people you knew very well, and then in the background was her. Avis was alright, she wasn’t hurt in any way, her face perfect still with her rosy cheeks and plump red lips, those big deep brown eyes turning to look at you, filled with rage that wasn’t yours to worry about. A lopsided smile broke from your lips at the sight of your love, every horrible thing that he had done to you vanishing into the ether as you let the love that filled her eyes wrap around you. Everything would be alright now, was your last thought before the world turned black. Ellen and Dick did their job and took you out of the house and into Avis’s Cadillac, checking your pulse. Avis did not move from her spot though.

-How does it feel to be cornered Lon? Do you like the way fear can overtake one’s mind this quickly?

-How?

-You made a mistake, as simple as that. You thought you were being so careful, so meticulous. I must admit you almost had me there, but like always, I’m one step ahead.

-This is not over. I might not have succeeded this time, but I sure as Hell will the next one.

-You think you are going to have a next one? Not a chance. You tried to destroy my and my husband’s entire work; you terrified my daughter and nearly killed my girlfriend. How can you still think you will have a next time?

-Because we always win. – he jumped towards her, his hands raised to grab her weapon, but she was quick, and the trigger just felt so soft under her finger. The sound of the bullet ejecting from the gun echoed inside the room as well as the outside of the house, heads lifting in worry at it, but Avis was completely uninjured. Lon, though, he was holding onto his shattered leg, screaming in agony as blood and shards of bone fell over the dirty ground, his body colliding heavily against the concrete.

-Not today, you son of a bitch. I have worked too fucking hard for everything that I have, and I won’t let you or anyone take it from me. So better get used to the idea of Meg, because I will invest every ounce of my time and money to make it the best film in the fucking world. And Archie and Camille will be on contract until my very last day as head of the studio. Because it’s mine, not yours. Mine.

-Ace… won’t let you…

-Ace will fire you, if not kill you himself, the moment he finds out about your little stunt. You don’t know who you’ve messed with, but I will make sure you don’t forget. I’ve got friends too Lon, and they are not happy about this at all.

-You can’t… Ahhhh…

-I can’t what, Lon? Kill you? Speak up!

-He won’t… believe you. He’s never cared.

-That might be so, but he will believe Dick. And his daughter. You see? I’m always one step ahead. Any last words? – she was growing tired of this whole conversation, as thriving and delicious as it was to have him under her thumb like this. She pumped the shotgun again, the last bullet she had inside the weapon, drinking in the way his eyes filled with terror, mumbling quickly, pleading to her.

-Wait, wait! Please!

-Being this emotional is not letting you think clearly, Lon. There is no room for mercy in me, there never was and there never will be.

-Please, don’t! I could… help you… I could do something…

-Don’t beg, it doesn’t suit you. I don’t want anything that you might have to offer; that boat sailed the moment you kidnapped Y/N. You are lucky I’ve let you live this long. You don’t know how much I wanted to put a bullet through your eyebrows the instant I set foot in here, but I didn’t want Y/N to suffer anymore. But now that it’s only us I can do what I desire the most. I hope you get what you deserve in Hell. - In a cloud of smoke, the last bullet pierced through the air, until it lodged itself in the middle of his chest, blood pouring over his white shirt by the pint, thin trickles running down his nose and from the corners of his mouth. He spat and gurgled, trying to cover up his wound with his hands, but it was futile. She held her head high and took in the way the light seemed to be dimming in his eyes. – Remember this, Lon. I’m Avis fucking Amberg and I just beat you at your own game.

It was over, at last. Adrenaline rushed through her entire body at the speed of light, the exhilaration that came with a job well done, mixing with the unexpected wave of guilt and terror at what she had done. Her steps as she walked down the hallway were unsteady, clumsy over the debris that had accumulated over the years, and for a moment, she had to stop and hold herself up by placing a hand on the crumbling wall. She felt sick to her stomach, her entire frame shaking as the noises he had been making turned into silence, a wave of cold air coming through the broken windows. She had never, in her entire life considered herself to be a violent woman. Yes, she was temperamental, but she had never raised a hand to a single soul, not even to Claire when she had been little and misbehaved, and to have the image of a dead man, a man she had killed, engraved in her mind was like a punch to her gut. She had never wanted this, she wasn’t like this, but the most primeval part of herself, the part that needed to ensure the safety of her family, had taken over not thinking about the consequences, just that she needed to find you and protect you. Part of her mind was telling her that she should have handled it differently, she was an orator, not a gangster, but the other half, the louder one, was telling her she had done the right thing, that she had to kill him. She couldn’t risk letting him go, even if he was injured, thinking that the matter was closed only for everything to happen again in a few months’ time. With him gone no one would hurt them anymore, all the threats would be empty words, and the studio would carry on as if nothing had happened. It had to be done, she kept thinking to herself, you would never be safe otherwise and that simple fact lessened the burden of her actions. Actions that she swore to the Heavens and herself she would never repeat again. With one last glance towards the metal door, she carried on walking down the hallway and out into the warm midday sun. Ellen ran to meet her, wrapping her arms around her body in a strong hug. She hadn’t realised how much she needed that until she felt her breath shaking as a lump formed in her throat, preventing her from speaking, tears gathering in the corners of her eyes. The blond held her for a minute or so, feeling Avis’s trembling limbs trying to wrap themselves around her small waist in search of comfort. Hearing the shots all the way from in between the trees, had had her losing her mind, Dick holding her in place and telling her that you needed her more than Avis did to prevent her from running back to the house. But she had anyway, and just at the right time to see her walking out of there without a scratch on her body.

The relief was monumental. But there was a more pressing matter to attend to, and the blond was quick in dragging Avis back to her car, Dick’s and Ernie’s parked right behind it. He really had brought the cavalry, Avis thought. The world had crumbled when she had first heard your voice through the phone, now it had combusted and turned into ashes as she laid eyes on your poor battered body. There was not an inch that wasn’t purple or injured in some way, your once beautiful dress now drenched in red. She felt faint, and her knees didn’t support her weight at the sight of you, but she couldn’t tear her eyes away. You looked so small, so vulnerable, and it clawed at her heart so deeply that tears began to fall down her cheeks, the shotgun lying over the grass beside the car, forgotten. Nothing in her entire life had ever hurt like this. These feelings were crushing her, deafening, muting and blinding her in a never-ending wave of sorrow and anguish that was taking hold of her. She had caused this, you were lying here shattered to pieces because of her, and it was that thought the one that she couldn’t get over. With her hand pushing your hair gently off your face, she touched your still-soft flesh, but it was colder under her fingertips. God, she could not bear to lose you. Dick’s voice came from behind her, reaching her ears in slow motion as she cried over your unconscious frame, tears falling and losing themselves among your locks of hair.

-She’s still alive, but she needs a hospital, Avis.

[ilysungho]

i feel like we dont get enough dom!riwoo on here!! do u have any thoughts on dom riwoo ?! 🙈🙈 i literally cant get him out my mind,, feel like he'd be so mean but so nice all at once ~_~

- @hazeytae :3

I WAS ABOUT TO START WRITING A DOM!RIWOO FIC BECAUSE I THOUGHT THE SAME HELLO? you read my mind love 💗 this turned out WAY longer than i thought it would be but enjoy hehe ☺️

dom!riwoo would be so mean and nice all at once, i agree! he’d have his signature cocky smile on his face as he feels you grind on his lap during a makeout session. his voice is so gorgeous and i just know he would talk to you a lot, even hum at you as you beg for more from him. but he’d take it oh so slowly. granted he doesn’t mind quickies, but he would want to savor the moment when he has the time. he’d say how your his pretty girl, but then ask “or do you want to be my pretty slut for the night?”. your reaction says it all as he buries his face into your neck, leaving wet and sloppy kisses because he knows you like how the air hits the saliva on your skin, making you moan softly as you hug his chest. the grinding doesn’t falter as he tells you to take your shirt off for him, flaunting your braless figure for him to mark. he’d smirk at how thoughtful you are for not wearing anything underneath, but even then he’s pretty good at unhooking your bra with a single pinch.

~ more under cut!

riwoo would draw shapes and words on your back as he sucks your delicate nipples, humming at your moans as you feel your panties getting wetter. his jeans might have a stain before he gets down to where you need him, but it’s ok. it’s not like he needs the clothes soon anyways. his tongue would paint all over your skin so expertly that all you can do is wonder how he does it so well every time. he’d definitely want to have sex regularly, whether it be quickies, or soft and sensual sex, or hard and kinky sex. he’s into all of it and if you weren’t then that’s also ok. he’d only go as far as you allow. as he kisses your marked up breasts, he’d bend you backwards onto the mattress/couch, while kissing down your stomach, holding onto your back so preciously. he loves how you arch your back to let him do so, getting so turned on to be able to see your soaked, translucent cloth barely covering your needy cunt now. he’d smirk as he teases you for it, but you can’t even tell him off as you’re humping your hips up to his lips while begging for more. “mhm ok darling, whatever you want.” falls out of his perfectly plump lips as he pulls the useless cloth off of you. he’s conditioned you by now to take two fingers immediately when wet, and that’s what he does while his tongue drinks your juices and flicks your clit. he’d moan teasingly against the sensitive skin to get you even more riled up, the vibrations not even close to the ones from your vibrators he’d bought for you. you liked how his irregular hums made you shake over his touch, and he liked how you shook under him as he teased you so gently. but it’s not the most he’d tease you. oh no, he would tease you for so long. he’d eat you out for hours on end if he could, sending you to the edge multiple times with just his tongue and fingers.

as you whine about how you’re going to cum, riwoo would sit up, still fingering you while he tells you to let it out, taking his dick out to put a condom on in the process. and when you do, he’d take your cum and use it as lube to finally fuck you (for the first time out of many rounds). the penetration would have you arch your back once again from how he’d fill you up fuller than his fingers had. his cock would be an average length, curved and a little on the thin side. yet your pussy would swallow him up and clench around him so perfectly. he’d tongue the insides of his cheek, still coated with the taste of you, as he smirks at how well you’re taking him despite just cumming.

this would go on for a while, the two of you changing positions often, with him particularly being a fan of fucking you sideways with your hands pinned to your back and upper leg on his shoulder. as the rounds continue on, he’d get more vulgar with his word choices too. degrading you with every thrust, his pace wouldn’t falter. he’s a dancer after all; he’s used to hard practices so he has built up a good amount of stamina. and he wouldn’t stop until your overstimulated and squirting all over his dick. after all, he’d only be satisfied once you make a mess <3

[blorbologist]

I wish you would write a fic where Percy and Vex need to get warm.

Do with that what you will. (It is effing cold here so it’s on my mind) lol

This welcome has been, so nice and warm

900+ words | Gen | Perc'ahlia | TLOVM s3 and C1 compliant, set in the 1-year timeskip.

I wish you would write a fic where... prompt game

EDIT: Now cleaned up and on AO3!

--

Vex loves Percy. I mean, it’s a simple, straightforward fact. So much of him is reflected in Whitestone that it’s impossible not to love the city too. 

She might just love it a bit less right now, though. Apparently something about turning Whitestone into a necromancer's paradise impacted weather patterns (guess it’s hard to raise undead in frozen ground?) - because Percy remarked, during Winter’s Crest last year, that it was an unusually balmy winter.

This one is not unusually balmy. It’s cold. It’s skin-prickling, hair-frosting, finger-tingling fucking oppressively cold. 

Vex never knew it was even possible to be too cold for snow. But she’s definitely fucking familiar with the concept now!

It sure doesn’t feel like the Dawnfather smiles on her when the dawn was several hours late, and she woke up to several feet of snow, and to have any hope of catching anything she had to leave her very cozy bed and even cozier Percy.

Another thing to hate about this weather? Dressing up. Gone are the days of throwing on boots and bounding off for a hunt. She needs not one but two hosen on her legs, and a sweater and a jacket and a cloak on top, and gloves, and big huge boots that make her feel like the clumsiest thing in the whole fucking Alabaster Sierras if the rest of the outfit didn’t already accomplish that.

And a hat. A knit, tight hat that she has to drag over her ears or the points will freeze. It feels like she’s going deaf when she wears the thing.

After several hours of vigil in a tree - a third of them taken before sunrise when even that couldn’t warm her - Vex finally just gave up and trekked home. Because even for the Grand Mistress of the Grey Hunt there was only so long she could fight off shivers to stay still. And feel every breath sharply. And watch her scarf and fur collar and stray strands of her own fucking hair slowly prickle with frost. 

She must have frostbite. Even if her magic doesn’t seem to catch on any damage. She’ll get inside, take off her gloves, and see that her fingers are black and falling off and Pike will have to leave the bakery to put them back on.

Not like she has any use for those stupid fingers; they’re stiff with cold, and she doesn’t have any game to haul back.

Everything sucks even more knowing she - don’t forget, the Grand Mistress of the Grey Hunt - didn’t even hunt anything. Not even a rabbit, or a turkey, or a glimpse of that Grey Render. Funny thing: the wildlife has the sense not to be out in this weather, even if she doesn’t.

(The worst part is that Trinket, for the first time in his whole life, has decided to hibernate. Because the Parchwood is the sort of place bears want nothing to do with when the days start to shorten. And it means that Vax is in Zephrah, where it never snows, and Trinket is soundly sleeping in the warmest part of her mansion, and Vex is out here alone.)

(It means there’s less body heat to keep her warm out here. Of course.)

Grand Mistress of the Grey Hunt who sucks at hunting in the Parchwood for a third of the year. It’s times like these where she’s really giddy the mansion was completed not long after the first frost; she can avoid the (surely super judgemental) stares of the townsfolk.

She just… has to fight through knee-high snow to get back. Or awkwardly step through the tracks she left in the morning. Or test the thin sheet of ice on the top of the snow, make it a few strides before crashing through. And no matter what she does her socks end up cold and wet!

By the time the lights are in sight she’s exhausted, and sweaty, and pissed, and really itching to kill something. And above all else, freezing. It’s almost enough to dull the ire - almost.

A petty part of her heart hisses that she never, ever should have fallen in love with a clever, thoughtful, nerdy, proud, cynical, and extremely sexy man who happens to live where it gets fuckoff cold for a solid third of the year.

Except as she trudges closer, she can see his silhouette in the window. And the moment that interruption in the light jerk upright because he’s seen her, too.

Except he leaves that warm, cozy home they’ve made to meet her outside with his coat and slippers. And he kisses her burning cheek and steals her hunting gear and rambles about some idle nothing - and notes he’s got hot chocolate on the stove. 

Except once they’re in the mudroom, and her cold skin prickles at how balmy it is in here, he’s taking her hands and warming them in his. And he’s taking off her boots and grimacing in sympathy at the packed snow and agreeing it’s awful out there, she’s entirely correct, and he’ll be sure to have those poor cold feet in his lap as soon as possible. Yes, by the fire, of course, he’s not a madman.

Except he’s so delighted to have her back, so happy to have an excuse to pamper her. And Percy, with an impish delight, cocoons her in thick blankets and tugs her along to the little nest he’s made by the hearth. And Vex, impossibly, falls a little more in love with him every time he leads her through this dance.

Because Percy, as a man of fuckoff-cold Whitestone, has getting warm down to a science, and Vex can almost forget she was ever cold in the first place.

(She has her own thoughts on how two lovers could warm eachother up, of course - but she did fall in love with a clever man.)

[justanothermemestrider]

Nothing Ever Stays Dead - Part 1

Gadriel x Childhood Friend OC

Inspired by @beckyninja ' Titus x Reader fics and @hatsubara-8chan' s Titus x Theia art. Thank you guys for giving me the confidence and inspiration to finally do something with my own oc :)

I know x reader stuff is my forte, but it would mean so much if you guys checked this series out too. It was super fun to write and I think you all will really enjoy it.

As always, apologies for grammar and spelling mistakes. While this part is sfw, some future parts will be nsfw but I'll note that up the top. Typical 40kness and violence, also I've just gone and made up an entire og backstory for Gadriel lol.

Hope you guys enjoy! And thank you so much for reading xoxox

Love, Memestrider :)

Ellicent sobbed into his shoulder, soaking his collar and staining it dark. She'd been like this for ages; she didn't know how many, but it was enough that the grimy windows in front of them had darkened to black slabs with the disappearance of the sun and rolling in of night. She felt embarrassed by it. Ashamed. Kids down here lost their parents all the time, and her Dad had been sick for a long time. Knowing that should've made it easier, but it didn't. Her heart was still shattered. Her soul split in half by a stake of grief and anguish. She sobbed like a baby. Like a weak thing that the Underhive should and would eat alive.

But he didn't seem to mind.

His grip was as gentle as it was tight, as if he were trying to wring the sadness from her very being. He stroked her hair, rubbed her back, let her hide her face in the crook of his neck.

"I'm sorry, Ellie," he said. He'd said it many times before, but this one was no less genuine or earnest. Ellicent's throat ached too much to reply, so she only shook her head.Tentatively, he drew away from her. Not enough to break their embrace all together: just enough so he could look her in the eye.

"You know we have to leave him here, right?"

Swallowing another sob, Ellicent nodded. Down here, there were no medical services or law enforcement to collect the dead: there were only scavengers and cannibals. They'd find her Dad eventually, but if they kept her Dad in here, he might stay safe for a little longer.

"I know," she said. "But... but what about me? I can't- I can't stay here."He answered without hesitation or thought. "You can come stay with me."

"Wha- what?"

"I know Mum will let you. And if she says no, I'll make her. But she won't say no. I know she won't."

A dozen questions sat on Ellicent's tongue, but she was either too tired or too sad to ask. Sinking into his arms again, she wiped her eyes on his shoulder. "Okay."

"It'll be okay, Ellie. I promise, it'll be okay." Ellicent closed her eyes.

"Thank you, Gadriel," she whispered.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

"Remind me," Chairon says, using the box so he could be heard over the rumble of the Thunderhawk. "Which xenos is our target supposedly allied with?"

Gadriel checks the slide of his bolter for the umpteenth time.

"The dark eldar," he replies. "Specifically, the pack that has made this planet their favoured hunting ground."

"What about the necrons?"

"What about them?"

"Did the briefing not state that Severus' gang often makes use of necron technology?"

"It did," Gadriel says. "But that technology is stolen. Pillaged from only the Emperor knows where."

Through the static of the vox, Chairon's scowl sounds particularly vicious. "Damned heretics. Have they no pride or dignity to speak of at all?"

"Of course they don't."

Gadriel looks to his left where Titus sits beside him. Like his and Chairon's, the face of the lieutenant's helm is cast as a mouthless, red eyed glare. Somehow, though, Titus' glare appears even more intimidating.

"Creatures like Severus are among the worst kind of heretic," he says. "Chaos can corrupt the unwilling. Mutancy can affect the innocent. But to work with the alien? To turn one's back on their own species? That is a choice. One that is made willingly, without coercion or subterfuge.

"An uneasy silence settles across the vox. For a long while, the only sound comes from the roar of the Thunderhawk's engine and the collective of the three Astartes' power armour. Eventually, Gadriel is the one to break it by clearing his throat.

"Forgive me for saying so, sir. But, it sounds as if you speak from experience."

Titus turns his head towards Gadriel. The dim bar lights lining the Thunderhawk's interior reflect sharply off the golden laurels welded around his helmet's crown.

"You remain as sharp as ever, brother," the lieutenant remarks. "And you would be right. Severus' gang is not the first group of xenos collaborators I've encountered."

He pauses for a second. "As I said, they are the worst kind of heretic. Worse than political dissenters or atheist zealots. By a long, long way."

Silence falls once more. This time, however, it is morose. Sober. Behind his helmet, Gadriel chews the inside of his cheek in thought. It's a habit he's had ever since he was a boy- one so innate, not even Astartes re-education could snuff it out. He's reviewing the mission briefing in his head. Specifically, the intelligence regarding their target. Archibald Severus- a rogue trader turned planetary crime lord. Typically, such a man would not be a concern for the Astartes- such things were usually handled by the Inquisition alone. But Severus has been particularly problematic; almost all of his people wield necron weaponry and his Drukhari allies have all but brought the planet to its knees. Also, the Ultramarines just so happened to be in the area. Fortunate for the people who live here, though not so much for Severus. The last thought amuses Gadriel enough to make him smile. Yes. Very unfortunate for him indeed.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The Thunderhawk drops the fireteam amidst the exterior district of a hive city. The street upon which it lands is wide, dusty and long abandoned. Blade and plasma scars line the walls of every surrounding building, reminders of the countless dark eldar attacks the city has endured over Severus' tenure here. The Astartes quite literally hit the ground running. Bolters in hand, their objective's location marker pulsing in the top centre of their heads up displays. The objective in question is a warehouse- once a hangar for Imperial Guard aircraft, now just as abandoned as the rest of the district. Severus will supposedly be there, though the exact reasons why are unknown. But that doesn't matter to Gadriel. If the man is there, he will die. As surely as the blood of the Primarch flows through Gadriel's veins, that traitorous xenos-sellout will die.

The warehouse in question emerges from around the next street corner. It looks like a giant concrete brick dropped in the middle of the district block. Gadriel falls in behind his brothers, covering the rear while Titus leads the way and Chairon covers their flanks from the centre. But the area is empty. As if the entire district had been evacuated or disappeared. Considering what this place has endured over the last several years, that is probably not far from the truth.

"Gadriel," Titus says over the vox, breaking Gadriel's reverie. "Auspex."

The team halts against a nearby wall. The warehouse is now directly in front of them. Moving in perfect unison, Gadriel switches position with Chairon. He sidles up beside Titus, takes one hand off his bolter to extract the Auspex scanner clasped to his belt. He holds the device up and studies the screen for several seconds.

"Motion detected," he reports. "Ten hostiles, one hundred and fifty metres ahead. Baseline, by the sizes of the pulse."

"One must be Severus," Chairon says.

"Hopefully," Gadriel replies.

"But not certainly," Titus says. The lieutenant says nothing more, but Gadriel hears his unspoken order nonetheless: maintain your guard.

Despite their size and weight, the Astartes move like panthers on the prowl. As it is still light outside, they stick to the shadows where they can. Reaching one of the warehouse's walls, the fireteam lines up, Gadriel in front with time with Titus and Chairon covering him.

"We will breach the wall here," Titus says. "Overwhelm them with speed and surprise."

Chairon and Gadriel both acknowledge the order with a curt "yes sir". Internally, however, Gadriel is somewhat amused by Titus' choice in tactics. *One would be forgiven for thinking we were White Scars. All we're missing are the jet bikes.*

Chairon moves in between his brothers. He holster his bolter to his hip before reaching for his belt and extracting a fist-sized breaching charge. He plants the explosive on the wall, primes it with a button press, then motions for Titus and Gadriel to stand clear. Gadriel crouches down on one knee. His secondary heart joins his primary in beating, flooding his body with adrenaline. He looks between his brothers. Both give him nods of acknowledgement. Chairon touches his forearm, ready to activate the charge. As his fingertip brushes the button, however, Gadriel's Auspex let's out a chime.

"Hold," Gadriel says before pulling up the scanner. He furrow his eyebrows in confusion.

"What is it?" Titus asks.

"The Auspex has changed. All but one of the pulses have vanished."

"Vanished?" Chairon asks.

"That's what I said."

"But how?"

"I do not know."

"It matters not," Titus growls. "Chairon, blow the charge n-"

Before he can finish giving the order, the wall explodes on its own.

The shockwave slams into Gadriel with the force of a meteorite. It throws him backward, knocking him off his feet, sending him rolling over his side before landing on flat on his front. All three of his lungs are emptied of air and his ears ring as if glass were being shattered inside his skull. Gadriel ignores it all. Recovering his footing with staggering ease before raising his bolter in the direction of the enemy.

Only he can see nothing. Just the charred concrete debris at his feet and a wall of thick black smoke. Even through his helmet's filters, the smell of it is choking. Like the polluted air of an Underhive amplified and condensed. Gadriel clenches his jaw.

A gas grenade. Only it exploded with the force of a breaching charge.

It has to be Severus. He must have known they were coming, that they were there. Gadriel curses to himself.

We were too loud. Too forward. Not cautious enough...

"Brothers! Status!" Titus' voice crackles over the vox. Gadriel whips around to try and find the lieutenant, but the damned smoke is too opaque. "Alive and unharmed," Gadriel hisses. "But can't see a damn thing."

"Acknowledged." By contrast, Titus' voice is calm and level. "Chairon? What's your status?"

No reply. A fury like fire ignites in Gadriel's chest. "Brother!" he shouts. "Are you there? Tell us where you are!"

A flash of light catches his peripheral vision. Gadriel spins to face it, snapping his bolter sights up as he does. It's small, but sustained, growing in luminosity with every second. But that isn't what makes Gadriel's breath hitch. It's the colour. A shocking, neon green. Too vivid to be natural, too bright to be electronic.

Gadriel's eyes widen. His thoughts scream a single, terrible name.

Necrons.

With an plasmic screech, the particle beam blazes towards him. It aims for his chest, right over his primary heart. Gadriel manages to twist out of the way in time, but not before the beams edge grazes the top of the aquillia on his breastplate. Gadriel aims his bolter in the direction the green light, only for it to vanish as he opens fire.

"Contact!" he shouts down the vox to Titus. "Necron weaponry confirmed!"

The light reappears on his left. Much closer than before. Gadriel fires upon it and he hears his bolter round sing as they slam into alien metal. He dive-rolls to the side, anticipating another particle beam. But no such shot comes. Instead, the light swells. Growing from a dot to a long, curved streak.

"Throne!" Gadriel hisses. Throwing his bolter into the holster on his thigh, he draws his power sword. Just in time to parry the crackling, green energy blade that comes careening towards his head. Both weapons spark and hiss when they make contact. Faster than a blinking eye, Gadriel surges forwards to slash at the arm holding the necron blade. But his opponent is quicker. Smoke swirling about them, they duck his attack before launching a kick at his knee. Pain spikes through Gadriel's leg and he feels his balance slip. It surprises him. There aren't many things that can kick out an armoured Astartes' knee.

A necron warrior, though, is definately one of them.

The energy blade comes for his head again. Gadriel throws his chin up to avoid it, but in the process looses what little balance he has left. He lands on his back hard, grunting as the last of the air in his lungs is forced out by the impact. In the same instant, his opponent is on top of him. Erupting from the smoke like a daemon from the Warp pinning him down by crouching on his breastplate.

Now close enough to see them through the smoke, Gadriel lays eyes on his attacker for the first time. What he sees, he can only describe as abominable. At first glance, they are human- female, from her shape and build- clad in tattered, studded leather characteristic of those from an Underhive. Her hair is a stunning shade of scarlet and she has it up in a pony tail so long it flows behind her like a cape of ribbons. But that is where all semblance of her humanity ends. Instead of a left arm, she has a robotic appendage, the clawed, green-veined forelimb of a necron warrior, with a green plasma blade bursting from its knuckles. The same is true of her right leg, the foot of which is pressed savagely into Gadriel's chest, strong enough to keep the Astartes pinned. A necron rifle- the source of the particle beams, surely- hangs from a strap looped across her back.

Hatred contorts Gadriel's face into a snarl. Abandoning his power sword he reaches for his bolter, which is still holstered to his thigh. Wrenching the weapon free, he throws it up just as the cyborg-abomination above him raises her energy blade. Her face, too, is twisted into a snarl.

Time suddenly slows. Gadriel's finger stops shy of the trigger.

Her face...

Hatred turns to confusion turn to shock. His thoughts are a racing, jumbled mess. His mouth opens without him realising and he hears his own voice. It speaks a name he hasn't heard in over fifty years.

"... Ellie?"

The cyborg freezes. The snarl on her lips dies.

"G- Gadriel?"

Both of Gadriel's hearts stop. His mind is simultaneously paralysed and raging like a warpstorm. His bolter falls from his hand, clattering off his breastplate to land beside him. Gadriel doesn't even notice.

"Sergeant!" a voice bellows over the vox.

Sparks suddenly burst from the woman's back. As quickly as it had vanished her snarl returns. Leaping off Gadriel, she whips around. Her energy blade retracts into her arm and she reaches for her rifle. Gadriel turns his head to see Titus charging for them with his bolter raised.

The woman hesitates. Glances at Gadriel. Behind his visor, Gadriel meets her gaze. His eyes become wide and watery.

It can't be.

More of Titus' rounds slam into her, this time pinging off her necronian arm. She staggers backward, dropping her rifle so it's swinging limp against her hip. Another moment of hesitation. Gadriel opens his mouth to call her name again. But before the word can leave his lips, she's moving again. Turning her back and vanishing into the smoke screen. When it finally fades, there is no sign of her. Not even a drop of blood.

Gadriel swallow thickly. A lump has formed in his throat, large enough to make it difficult for him to breathe.

"Brother!" Titus clasps his arm, hauling Gadriel up into a sitting position. "Are you alright? Are you wounded?"

Gadriel says nothing. He doesn't remember how to speak. Nor can he even see his brother kneeling beside him. The only thing his mind can see is her. The day her father died. The day on the rooftop. The night they had spent together in her bed.

"Promise me you'll come back."

"I promise."

"I love you."

"I-"

"Brother?" The concern in Titus' voice is palpable now. "Gadriel. Can you hear me?"

Gadriel finally looks at the lieutenant. He nods, but still refuses to speak. He doesn't trust himself to. He's afraid that if he did, he might start to weep.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

That's it! I hope you liked it! The first part of any story is always kinda slow, since you gotta set everything up, but I tried my best to keep things moving fast-like.

Thank you again for reading xoxoxoxo

Part 2 will be up in a few days probably. Hopefully I'll see you all then :)

Update: pssst, you can read part 2 here!

Tag list: @yurihasurunbara @beckyninja @nereidof40k @hatsubara-8chan @moodymisty @solspina @jaghatai-khock @lemon-russ @wolf-feathers12 @egrets-not-regrets

[elyxir1zz]

★ — Between the lines - part 2

A/N ; okay im gonna warn you guys for this chapter, my writing it very diffrent then the last. i spent 2 days on it and the previous chapter i wrote when i was...stoned

CW ; angst - mentions of; alcohol, drugs, self harm (not this chapter) - modern au - melvika - love triangle

previous part part 1 rewritten

All week. All week sevika has been…bearable. To say the least, she's stopped making herself obstacle, Stopped making out with people in front of your locker, pretending you're not standing right there telling her to move. Mr wilson didn't move your seats, even after vi and sevika beat the shit out of each other

You've noticed sevika doesn't really have patience, she just goes into things with no sketch and no preparation. Then gets frustrated when it doesn't look like what she imagined. Mr wilson has asked you to help her in response to this 

“No sketch first then start painting” And, as if helping her wasn’t enough punishment, you found yourself agreeing to meet her in the art room during lunch The faint smell of paint and turpentine making sevikas head hurl “seriously? It's a child's craft. Why do i need a sketch for something we learned in..elementary school” 

You rubbed your temples, trying to ward off the headache that Sevika’s attitude was bound to cause. She could tell you were about to walk out so she rolls her eyes and picks up the pencil. Your eyes widen a bit, she actually listened to you? You smirk and as if she could read your mind “im not listening to you..just dont want to fail” sevika grumbled 

Her eyes linger on your face, the pencil hovering just above the page as if she forgot what she was doing. You pretended not to notice. “I assume you have an idea of what you want it to look like” you say softly. “An idea…” she repeats. Sevika hesitates before starting the sketch, her usual confidence faltering for a moment. It’s small, but it hints at a deeper side of her. Seeing her actually trying is kinda cute. “You need to work on this” you point to the lobby hill she drew

“this is kid stuff, why do i need a sketch” sevika whined. As much as she hated drawing, there was something somewhat likeable too it. “Because right now, this looks like something I’d put on my fridge when I was five.” you say tilting your head, making eye contact with her. She has an amused look on her face “bunny has teeth, make sure to warn your girlfriend about that” she teases

Your stomach drops a bit. “For the last time she isnt-” you pause when idea pops into your head “what if she was?”

 you smirk Sevika’s amused smirk faltered, her eyebrows knitting together in a mix of confusion and something else—was it unease? “You’re messing with me,” she said, her voice low and measured. But her eyes betrayed her, darting quickly to your face and then away.

“Am I?” you leaned closer, your smirk widening as you crossed your arms. “Maybe I’m just trying to make you squirm.” You could tell your words were getting under her skin; the subtle twitch of her jaw gave it away.

Her pencil paused mid-stroke, hovering above the paper. “You’re not serious.” She said it like a statement, but there was the faintest hint of doubt in her tone.

You leaned back in your chair, still smirking. "What if I was?" you teased, your voice light, though your heart was racing. It wasn't as if you didn't find Sevika attractive-who wouldn't?-but a part of you only wanted to see how far you could push her.

She set the pencil down and turned toward you fully, her expression unreadable. Her dark eyes scanned your face, like she was searching for any sign that you might be joking. "I don't think you could handle someone like me," she said finally, leaning back in her chair with a cocky grin, but the tension in her shoulders betrayed her.

"Oh?" You raised an eyebrow, leaning forward this time. "Is that a challenge?"

She snorted, though her voice was quieter now, as if she was suddenly unsure of herself. "It's not a challenge. I'm just saying, you and Vi are a better fit or…whatever."

You leaned your head to the side, fascinated by the drumming of her fingers on the edge of the desk. "You keep bringing her up," you said, voice softer now as the teasing fell away. "Why?"

Sevika tensed up slightly, and for the first time, she seemed genuinely caught off guard. "I don't— " she started, but her voice trailed off. Her gaze fell to the sketch in front of her, like she was focusing on anything but you. "I guess she's always around you, that's all."

You didn't miss that her hand clenched into a fist for one brief second before she picked up the pencil again. The atmosphere suddenly felt heavier between you, almost charged with something. "You know," you said with a slow deliberation, resting your elbow on the desk, "if I didn't know better, I would think you are jealous.

Her pencil stopped midway and her head jerked up; her eyes slitted. "Jealous?" she scoffed, heavy on the disbelief. "Don't flatter yourself."

You grinned, though inside, the pulse in your neck quickened. "You don't deny it, though.

For a moment, neither of you say anything. That playful energy turned into something else, which neither of you wanted to name just yet. Sevika broke the silence first, grumbling under her breath as she went back to her sketch. "You're impossible, you know that?"

"And you're stubborn," you retorted, leaning back toward peeking at her drawing. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you've been drawing for years." You stood and snatched up your bag. She eyed the actions. "I really must go. Promised Vi I was gonna help with her painting".

She watches you walk to the door "wait-" she stutters. You turn back around to look at her "hm?" you tilt your head

"Theres this party-" sevika stopped to scoff at herself "tonight. It would be cool if you came." 

"Ill have to think about it." you smirk and turn back around to leave

"Holy shit," Sevika muttered under her breath, letting out a sigh of relief as she rested her head in her hand. She ran her fingers through her hair, trying to gather her thoughts. "She's so—"

"Pretty?"

The word cut through the quiet, and Sevika's head shot up. Her eyes landed on a figure leaning casually against the doorframe. "Mel—" Sevika stammered, her voice faltering as her gaze swept over the girl.

Mel raised an eyebrow, pushing herself off the doorframe with an elegance that felt both effortless and deliberate. “Hey…” she said softly, her voice carrying just enough edge to make Sevika tense. She crossed the room in a few steps and slid into the seat next to her, the same seat where you’d been moments earlier.

Sevika’s eyes darted away, focusing intently on her sketchbook. The pencil in her hand felt heavier than it had a moment ago. “Is there a reason you’ve been ignoring my calls all week?” Mel asked, her tone even but pointed.

Sevika closed her eyes briefly, wishing she could escape this conversation altogether. She knew it was coming—it had been inevitable from the moment she stopped responding—but she hadn't expected it to happen now. Not here. Not with you still lingering in the back of her mind.

"Busy," Sevika mumbled, her voice unconvincing. She scribbled something meaningless on the edge of the page, anything to avoid meeting Mel's gaze.

"Busy?" Mel repeated, her lips twisting wryly as she leaned backward, her eyes sliding to the opened sketchbook resting across Sevika's desk. "You don't like me… do you?"

It had sounded sharp and cut clean; out loud, an accusation. Her eyes flickered to the incomplete sketch Sevika had been drawing, as though in hope the lines would tell her what she sought from Sevika's face.

Sevika's hand paused, frozen mid-air. "What?" she said, a note of defensiveness edging her voice, almost surprise.

Mel's gaze didn't budge from the page, following the lines in quiet intensity. "It's a nice sketch," she said, her tone implying that that wasn't at all what the comment was about. "But it's not about me, is it?"

Sevika swallowed hard, her throat suddenly dry. She hated how exposed she felt, like Mel could see right through her. “You’re overthinking it,” she said, her voice gruff, trying to dismiss the weight of the moment.

“Am I?” Mel asked, finally turning her attention back to Sevika. Her dark eyes locked onto hers, unyielding and steady. “Because it feels like you’re avoiding me. Like you’ve already made up your mind and you’re just waiting for me to figure it out.”

Sevika clenched her jaw, gripping the edge of the sketchbook. “It’s not like that.”

Then what is it like, Sevika?" Mel pressed, leaning in an inch or so. Her voice lowered, but underlying was no mistaken frustration. "You can't keep dodging this.

The room was quiet for a moment, save the scratching sound of a pencil on paper. Sevika kept her eyes on the sketch but was focusing on a storm in her head that she tried to keep contained.

 "I don't know what you want me to say," Sevika finally muttered under her breath.

"I want you to be honest," Mel said, leaning back and crossing her arms. Her voice was calm, but the tension between them was palpable. "If you don't feel the same way, just say it. Don't leave me hanging."

Sevika hesitated, a riot of thoughts racing through her mind. She was thinking of you-of the sound of your voice when you spoke to her and how that would linger on even in your absence. She thought of the growing knot within her chest, which got tighter with each look at Mel, realizing she could not give her what she wanted.

Finally, Sevika set the pencil down and breathed out. "I didn't mean for this to happen," she said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Mel tilted her head, her expression softening just slightly. "Didn't mean for what to happen?"

Sevika hesitated, running a hand over her face. "I didn't mean to hurt you," she said finally. "But I… I can't give you what you're looking for.

The admission hung in the air, heavy and raw. Mel stared at her for a moment, her expression unreadable. Then she nodded, more to herself than to Sevika.

“Thanks for finally saying it,” Mel said, standing up and brushing off her pants. Her voice was calm, but there was a hint of sadness in her eyes. “Guess I’ve got my answer.”

Sevika did not say a word but continued staring at the sketchbook lying on the desk. The soft shuffle of Mel's footsteps across the room to the door, and then the quiet click of it closing behind her, were all she heard.

For a long moment, Sevika just sat there, staring at the lines she'd drawn. The room felt emptier now, the weight of the conversation settling heavily on her shoulders. She let her head fall forward onto the desk with a sigh, rubbing the back of her neck.

"Shit," she muttered to herself.

And for once, the silence didn't feel like a relief—it felt like a reminder.

—

The screen of the phone lit up on her bed, the message staring back at you as if it was taunting you.

"See you soon?"

Sevika… You didn't answer. You hadn't even opened it up, but the notification was there, bold and insistent, like it dared you to make a decision.

You sat cross-legged on the floor, leaning back against the edge of your bed, your fingers gripping the edge of your phone. You unlocked it for the fifth time in the past ten minutes, stared at the message, then locked it again.

"Just go," you muttered under your breath. "It's not a big deal. It's not… anything."

The second the words were out of your mouth, your chest tightened, the lie heavy in the back of your throat. You ran a hand through your hair, letting out a shaky breath as you glanced toward your closet. It loomed in the corner of your room, half-open, with a tangle of clothes spilling out like it was mocking your indecision.

What were you even going to wear? Did it matter?

You get up suddenly, pace a few steps to the closet, and stop short. Your hand hovered over the door, but you hesitate. If you started picking an outfit, it meant you'd already decided to go.

And if you went…

You shook your head, stepping backward. No, it wasn't that deep. It was just a casual thing, not some declaration. Nobody's asking you to make a big deal out of it, so why was your stomach twisting in knots?

"Ugh," you groaned, pressing the heels of your hands against your eyes like you could block out your own thoughts.

Man, this was hard. You usually aren't this indecisive. What if it is awkward? What if it is not? What if you just go out and you've got the wrong thing to say? Or worse-what if you went, and it was so damn obvious how much overthinking you've done?

You sat down again on the bed edge, your stare listless to the floor. Maybe you should not go at all. It will be easier like this, isn't it? Just bypass the whole circumstance altogether; it'll keep things plain easy.

"Just go", you hushed again, this time feeling almost as if to plead to yourself.

You sigh and look back toward the closet. Slowly, reluctantly you stood up and pulled the door open. You were going to drive yourself crazy if you didn't just stop thinking about it already.

—

You are greeted by the sprawling house, feeling out of place for the kind of party unfolding inside. The manicured lawn and pristine exterior suggest a bright future for whoever owns the place, but the muffled bass thumping from within and the rowdy voices spilling out into the night tell a different story.

You hesitate at the door, looking back down the street to where your car is parked. The urge to turn and run claws at you, but before you can act on it, you notice the door isn't even closed. It's propped wide open, as if the house itself has given up on decorum.

You steel yourself and step inside. Immediately, the warmth and the noise hit you like a wave of chaos that makes you wonder why you came in. The air is thick with mingling scents of alcohol, sweat, and whatever someone's attempting to pass off as a "vape flavor."

You push through the crowd, ducking and weaving to avoid the elbows and arms of taller bodies that seem oblivious to your presence. At your height, you’re practically invisible unless someone is looking directly at you—or accidentally spills their drink on you.

The fellow with the beer oversloshes his mug on a swooping move too close to your shoes, and you sidestep in time with an apology he never heard amidst all that shouting and laughter, so you forge ahead deeper into this house, every footfall reminding you of how far the current scene feels alien.

The kitchen was somewhat less crowded than the rest of the house, but not by a long shot. The countertops were strewn with empty bottles and red cups; someone had spilled beer on the floor, which made it sticky under your shoes. You grabbed the first drink in sight—a suspiciously bright red punch in a cheap plastic cup.

That was a mistake, the first sip. Chaotic, the taste mixed sour fruit and cheap vodka, burning its way down your throat. You winced and pulled the cup away-like it'd offended you personally.

"That was hilarious," a voice said from behind you, tinged with amusement.

You turned to see a girl leaning casually against the counter, her dark eyes locked on you, her lips curled into a smirk. She held her own cup with the kind of effortless confidence you'd never mastered.

"I don't usually drink," you admitted, setting your cup down like it might bite you.

"I figured," she replied smoothly, pushing off the counter and stepping closer. "First-timer vibes."

You blinked, trying to place her. She was gorgeous in a way that didn’t even seem fair—polished, poised, and wearing an outfit that looked like it had been pulled from the pages of a magazine.

“I’m Mel,” she said, extending her hand like this was a professional networking event rather than a chaotic high school party.

You hesitated for a second before shaking it, mumbling your name in return.

Her smirk widened. "I know who you are."

That threw you off. "You… do?"

"Of course." She shrugged, taking a casual sip of her drink. "You're kind of hard to miss these days."

Your confusion must've been obvious because she tilted her head, elaborating. "You've got two of the school's star hockey players practically falling over themselves for you. That kind of drama doesn't go unnoticed.

You coughed hard, choking in the air and waving a hand before your face. "What?!"

Mel chuckled, set down her cup, and yanked a napkin off the counter to give to you. "Relax," she teased with a lighter tone. "It's not terrible. Just… interesting."

You scrubbed furiously at your mouth, burning under the heat and unsure of a response. "They're not— I mean, no one's—

"Sure," she said, stretching the word out with a knowing glance. "Keep telling yourself that."

She leaned back against the counter, crossing one ankle over the other. Her gaze lingered on you, weighing. "So, what are you doing here?"

"I…" You stopped, suddenly feeling so out of place. "I was invited."

Mel raised an eyebrow; her smirk softened into something closer to curiosity. "By who?"

"Does it matter?" you shot back, more defensive than you intended.

Her grin was back, sharper this time. "Guess not. But by the way you're standing like a deer caught in headlights, I'd say this isn't your scene."

You frowned, crossing your arms. "And what's that supposed to mean?"

"It means," she said, leaning closer, her voice dropping just slightly, "you're too interesting for this."

The statement hung there, unexpected and unsettling. Before you could respond, Mel grabbed her cup and straightened up. "See you around," she said casually, brushing past you with a final glance.

You stood frozen, her words playing over in your mind. What did she mean by "interesting"? And why did it feel like she'd seen right through you?

The party around you suddenly seemed louder, the noise pressing in. You reached for your abandoned drink, taking another sip hesitantly. It still tasted awful, but this time you forced it down.

Mel was gone, swallowed up by the crowd, but she'd left something behind-a knot of uncertainty in your chest.

Your name is called out from across the jumbled hum of the party by a familiar voice. You stop mid-sip, the booze still on your tongue. You turn toward the sound, and then you see her-Vi.

Your stomach does the roller coaster flip-and-drop thing. You are shocked; you sputter. You immediately spit out the sip of suspect vodka punch you'd just taken. The burning liquid sprays onto the counter in front of you, earning a few judgmental glances from nearby partygoers.

“Violet!" you stutter, still trying to recover as you wipe the back of your mouth with your hand. A nervous smile stretches across your face as Vi steps closer, hands in her pockets and her signature smirk playing on her lips. "What-what are you doing here?

She raises an eyebrow, seemingly entertained by the flustered look on your face. "I could ask you the same thing," she said, her eyes running across your features before flicking down to the cup in your hand. "You don't really seem like the party type.”

You laugh awkwardly, trying to ignore how her gaze seems to pin you in place. "I'm not," you admit, holding up the cup as if it explains anything. "I just… needed a change of scenery tonight, I guess."

Vi tilts her head, studying you. "A change of scenery, huh? And yet here you are, hiding out in the kitchen, drinking." She looks at your cup with mock suspicion. ".whatever that is."

"It's punch," you say, defensive, even though you know you deserve it.

"Punch," she repeats, plainly not buying it. Her smirk grows and she leans against the counter, relaxed. "How's that working out for you?

You roll your eyes but can't suppress the small laugh that escapes you. "Terribly. I think I might've just poisoned myself."

Vi chuckles, the sound warm and honest, and for a moment, the noise of the party fades into the background. You grip your cup a little tighter, trying to find your ground as the weight of her attention settles on you.

"Hey, I needed to talk to you- do you want to find a quieter space" There is a shift in tension between the two of you. Your heart skips for a second, and you look down "uh

"Sure- i have to go use the bathroom- really quickly-" your words are broken up as you step away- actually technically you run away. You push into the crowd, it reminded you of a corn field as your squished between bodies

Your almost out of the crowd when somebodies ankle trips you. Strong hands catch you before you hit the ground. "You okay?" your eyes remain on the ground as you already know who it is 

You sigh looking up at sevika. her smirk was infuriating and her grip was steady.

"Fine" you stand up straighter and pull your hands back. She has a look of disappointment on her face as you do

You size her up, and down she ws wearing a leather jacket with a tank top and a pair of jeans. "Nice jacket" you say in a sarcastic tone. It was a nice jacket it hugged sevikas muscles snuggly.

She chuckles deeply "Thanks, babe" she crossed her arms. Your face flushes with the nickname, honestly not knowing if she meant it literally. With the so called rumors she could mean it literally.

"Didn't think I'd see you here, doesn't seem your kind of scene" she laughed squeezing the red cup in her hand, looking down at it.

"Oh my god why is everyone saying that" your eyes widen as you hold your head. "Hm?" she tilts her head. ".there was this girl- in the kitchen- actually it wasn't just a girl- it was mel" sevikas stomach dropped at your words

"Mel? Wh- what did she need?" sevika was.nervous? She stuttered over her words and her palm grew sweaty. You were worried mel was messing with you cause she was salty over what went down between them

You laugh and tilt your head "she just teased me about drinking" you chose not to bring up the rumor since you were still worried mel was just fucking with you

"Was that it?" sevika looked around periodically. Almost nervous about the people standing around. You narrow your eyes

"What's wrong?" you look up at her. There were moments like these between the both of you where there wasn't any teasing or sarcastic comments. Your hand rests on hers. She looks down at your hand, heart dropping a bit

'I have to go find mel' sevika thought to herself. She smirked laughing "im fine, peach. Ill be right back" you sigh as she walks away from you

–

The hallways are full; the crush of bodies pushes against you while the air grows thick with the nauseatingly sweet combination of beer and weed. It clings to your senses, making your stomach turn queasily as you struggle through the mess. The music booms from the living room, the low throb of the bass vibrant in your chest. Your head suddenly throbs, overwhelmed.

Finally, you find the bathroom door behind which its peeling white paint stands in vivid contrast to the dimly lit hallway. You pause a moment, looking back at the party crowd. A pang stirs in your chest. Maybe you should just leave. But instead, you push the door open, slipping inside.

With the soft click of the door shutting, the din is reduced to a distant hum, and this tiny room now feels almost like a haven from outside chaos. You let out a heavy sigh, leaning against the sink and bracing yourself against its edges. The cool porcelain is calming beneath your fingertips.

The mirror reflects your image-messy hair, slightly flushed cheeks, eyes that give away your unease. You frown and brush a strand of hair over your shoulder; maybe if you fix your appearance, it will somehow fix everything.

"Why are you so weird…" you whisper to yourself, barely audible over the muffled bass of the party outside. Your voice breaks slightly, weighted down by self-criticism.

You hold your gaze in the mirror, the fluorescent light casting sharp shadows across your features. The reflection feels foreign, like someone you don't quite recognize. You sigh again, closing your eyes for a moment as if shutting out the world will help you reset.

You rub your temples, trying to ease the headache that's forming. "You could've stayed home," you mutter to yourself. "Netflix, snacks, no people…"

Your reflection doesn't respond, but the silence in the bathroom is heavy, as if the quiet is some judgment against you. You shake your head, annoyed at yourself, and glance around the bathroom. There's a faint chemical smell from the cleaner someone half-heartedly used earlier, clashing with the residual scents of beer and smoke seeping through the walls.

You straighten up, brushing off invisible dust from your shirt, as if to ready yourself for stepping back out there. But your hand lingers on the sink, and your stomach twists at the thought of walking back into the noise and heat of the party.

You can do this, you mutter, but even you don't sound like you believe it. You take one final deep breath and run your fingers through your hair before you force yourself to turn toward the door.

—

You work your way back through the living room, weaving past the people scattered around. The music is louder now; you feel every bass note like it's a second heartbeat in your chest. You smell stale beer and smoke- heavy in the air-and the space spins for a half-second before straightening again. You finally spot a spot on the couch open up, so you make your way there, collapsing between the two worn cushions as it envelops you.

You lean forward, placing your elbows on your knees and pressing your fingers against your forehead, closing your eyes. The cacophony of noise and the movements around you are overwhelming, but you try to block out the party and breathe deeply to center yourself.

For one long moment, you contemplate returning to Vi—maybe she'd make you feel less foreign—but you toss the notion aside. Later. You just need a moment to yourself.

"Edible?"

The voice snaps you out of your haze. You open your eyes to a girl with bright blue hair standing before you, holding out a small container of gummies. She is wearing an oversized band tee and some ripped jeans, her eyeliner just a little smudged, like she has been in this place for hours. Her expression is casual, almost bored, but there's a flicker of curiosity in her gaze as she looks at you.

You hesitate, eyes darting between her face and the container in her hand. "What?"

"Edible," she repeats, shaking the container slightly; the gummies inside shifted with the movement, their bright colors catching the dim light.

You straighten up a little and study her for a second. She's casual, her body leant a little sideways, as if she's done this a hundred times before. Something about the way she holds herself makes you feel that she might be sizing you up to gauge whether you're the kind who'd say yes or no.

"Uh… sure," you say, leaning forward and reaching for the container. Your fingers brush hers briefly as you grab one of the gummies. It's red, shaped like a little bear, and feels sticky against your skin.

The girl smirks faintly, crossing her arms as she watches you. "First time?"

You pop the gummy into your mouth and chew it slowly. The overly sweet artificial fruit flavor hits your tongue. You swallow before responding, feeling a bit self-conscious under her gaze. "No," you lie, your voice even.

She raises an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced, but says nothing more. "Cool," she says simply, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. "It's a good batch. Just… pace yourself.” You nod, leaning back into the couch

The music, somehow, isn't as loud, or maybe your perception is adjusted. You aren't feeling as weighted; the weight of the night slowly begins to lift. This party may just not turn out to be as bad as you thought it was.

"Im jinx" she sits down next to you. You say your name holding your hand out for her to shake. She laughs and shakes it, your face flushes with embarrassment. "Sorry." you look down 

"Jinx, go away," Vi says firmly, the tone sharp and leaving no room for argument. Your eyes widen at the sound of her voice, and instantly, you feel a pang of awkwardness. Why does it have to be Vi now, of all times? You shut your eyes tightly, willing this all to just disappear. Finally, you look over, and there's Vi, standing, her face unreadable, while Jinx is grinning like she's just been handed the most entertaining show of the night.

"Whatever," Jinx says with a shrug, utterly unconcerned. She stands and smoothes out her jacket but leans down one last time. "Come find me if you ever need to wind down." Her voice carries that now-familiar teasing lilt, and she punctuates it with a wink before strolling off.

You chuckle softly despite the tension, following her as she bumps Vi's shoulder playfully. Vi doesn't budge, wordless, waiting until her sister exits.

Then, she sits down beside you, taking Jinx's now-vacant spot. Immediately, the atmosphere shifts. You can feel it in the way Vi settles next to you-careful, almost hesitant.

"Are you all right?" she asks, leaning into your space enough to catch your eyes. Her voice is softer now, gentler, and her eyes search your face like she's actually concerned.

"Yeah," you say-too quickly. You run a hand through your hair, trying to appear more composed than you feel. "I'm fine, just. needed a break from everything."

Vi nods but doesn't seem fully convinced. The weight of her stare lingers onto you, and your chest tightens. For a moment, neither of you says a word; the muffled sounds of the party fill the silence between you.

"You seemed kinda off earlier," she finally says, her voice careful but firm. "I just wanted to make sure you're alright."

"I'm fine," you repeat, forcing a small smile. But Vi isn't buying it. She shifts slightly, turning more toward you, her knee brushing against yours.

"You know," she begins, her voice quiet and almost tentative, "I've been thinking about a lot of things lately. About us. About. you."

Your heart skips a beat, and you glance at her, unsure where this is going but terrified you already know.

"Vi—", you begin, but she interrupts you now, the words spilling out as if she's afraid she will never find the courage to say them.

"Listen, I know this might be the worst time, but I need to tell you. I care about you. More than friends do. I've been trying to figure out how to say it, but nothing ever feels right."

Her confession hangs in the air, heavy and unshakeable. You feel your stomach twist, a mix of emotions bubbling to the surface-shock, guilt, and something else you can't quite name.

"I. Vi, I don't know what to say," you stammer, suddenly hyper-aware of how close she is. Her eyes are on you, hopeful but guarded, waiting for a response.

You get up hastily-the motion almost too quick-and Vi looks up at you, taken aback.

"I have to-um, I have to go to the bathroom," you mutter, turning away from her, taking a step back. "I'll be right back, okay?"

Vi frowns, opening her mouth like she wants to tell you something, but doesn't. Instead, she nods slowly once, expressionless.

"Yeah," she says now, voice softer. "Take your time."

You turn and weave through the crowd, your heart pounding in your chest. You don’t know where you’re going, but you know you need to put some distance between you and Vi, at least for now.

Your looking at the front door of the house, it felt like it was haunting you, the house music made it hard to think as you look behind you, making sure vi isnt right behind you. You sigh and leave the house. --

tag list: @vyvvycg part 3