#i want to cry!! and puke from sorrow!! my legs hurt and i feel so emotionally tired and worried

[watch-out-it-bites]

agh.mmn I can't wait to be away from real life I am. Very bluh.

[artsyxloner]

Not Just a Monster

Warning: blood, violence etc...

21: Outside Invaders

I felt a sense of guilt overwhelm me. When they began to drag Jae-Heon's lifeless body out of the elevator. Leaving the monster inside. I was stuck in a daze, I couldn't hear anything or anyone.

He didn't deserve to die not like this. He should still be alive and with Ji-Su. What will she say? I can't imagine her face finding out he was dead.

I squeezed my eyes shut, but reopened them when I heard my name being softly called. Hyun-Su was still leaning on the storage lockers struggling to get up. He was crying, seeing him in that state made my heart ache never seen him cry before.

Wiping my damp face off I got up and trudged over to him. I couldn't help but to shake Seeing Jae-Heon's blood everywhere and also his decapitated arm laying on the floor.

I averted my scarce eyes, remembering when his arm came flying off. I kept moving until I got to Hyun-Su he looked like he was in pain. But then I noticed his leg, blood was dripping from it and also his bone was sticking out like it had been snapped.

I was sick to my stomach. Seeing all this gore. I held my breath. " Are you okay?" His voice came out as a low whisper. I nodded, my gaze softening. " you're not though." Taking the spear from him. I bent down wrapping my arm over his back pulling him up as he tried to help.

He was heavy when I was successfully done pulling him up. I sat him down on the storage locker. He had brought his leg up, too. I was about to find something to wrap it but I felt his arms sling around my waist.

He buried his face into my pudgy stomach, I stood there frozen As his tears wet my shirt bringing my hand slowly up I ran it through his messy hair, he had given himself a haircut he looked different.

" This is my fault!" He whimpered, blaming himself. But why? He didn't do anything. I shook my head, " it's not your fault. How could've it been?" This just made him sob deeper tugging me closer if possible.

" if I— if I had just rung the bell sooner he wouldn't have died!"

" you don't know that for sure Hyun-Su."

So that was him that tried to warn us. " you did what you could do— no one blames you so don't feel guilty." I hugged him rubbing his back for comfort

" you tried, In the midst of it you got yourself hurt." I motioned towards his injured leg, " this just shows you care and that you're willing to get hurt to save people. You want to be a decent person even though it's fucking hard."

I said this meaning myself included. Bending down I kissed his head, " let's get you out of here okay?" I mentioned, hosting him up by wrapping my long arm around my chest as he slung his over my neck. We began to walk with him slightly limping.

As it still was dripping blood, but it will heal in no time. Making our way through, I had to stay tough for him. I didn't know the relationship between Hyun -Su, and Jae-Heon but I know that he cared for him and Ji-Soo since they came down from the upper apartments that day.

Soon after, Hyun-Su healed the guys had already buried Jae-Heon with the other dead. We were all standing in front of his grave, it was quiet. Hyun-Su stood beside me, he had a Sorrowful frown.

So I slid my hand in with his, he was hesitant as our fingertips brushed against one another. But our hands ended up locking together.

I gave it a gentle squeeze as Gil-Seob came over with a yellow paper flower laying it on Jae-Heon's grave. " you died when you should have lived, and I lived when I should have died."

He stepped back folding his hands together bowing his head. Gil-Seob is right Jae-Heon, he was the one that should have lived and I was the one that was supposed to die.

The funeral lasted for a short while after that, others gave a few words and slowly left. But I stayed, letting go of Hyun-Su's hand. I walked closer to the grave.

" I didn't get to say thank you for the praying session we had earlier, you've helped me I just wish I could've helped you I wish that you got your happy ending with Ji-soo,"

It wasn't fair even if this world was full of unfairness it could have given them a chance. I signed deep, " I'm going to check up on Ji-Soo I'll be back soon." I grabbed Hyun-Su's hand giving it a little squeeze leaving the room.

I figured he had to say some words to Jae-Heon by himself so I didn't want to intrude. Looking everywhere for Ji-Soo it took a while until I found her in a back room. I haven't been in before.

She was sitting in behind a couch, holding half of The katana sword, crying and looking more paler than ever. I frowned, " mine if I take a seat?" she noticed me and nodded. I sat down leaning my head back.

" I'm sorry about what happened, to be honest, it's my fault." I played with my fingers. She looked over at me, a lump formed in my throat I swallowed it continuing.

" I was trying to get Ms. Cha to safety, but the monster kept coming and he was about to hit me and me... I just stood there frozen but Jae-Heon came along and saved me." It was my turn to look at her.

" that doesn't mean it was your fault that could have happened to anyone." Her words were raspy and quiet, but I nodded. " yeah, I guess that's true." I picked up a little piece of my fingernail throwing it.

" it's just I know you're upset, and I know that you guys liked each other." She gripped his sword when I said this. " and it's not fair, but just um think of it this way. He died a hero if that makes you feel any better."

He did die a hero, that's probably the best way to go. I saw a little smile appear on her lips. " He didn't he," she pulled the sword closer to her. We sat there for a while up until I heard a big crash, it sounded like it came from the lobby entrance.

I was about to get up but Ji-Soo grabbed my shirt tugging to stop. " don't... don't go," she coughed, I realized if it was outside Invaders or a big monster they somehow would find Ji-Soo and kill her, she couldn't protect herself right now.

There were all kinds of screaming, I wondered if Hyun-Soo and the others were alright. But soon there was gun a shot that made me jump a little. I don't remember us having any guns?

It was definitely outside Invaders, we kept quiet, not knowing who was shot. I wanted to help and get rid of these bastards. Maybe it has to do with that soldier that came in he acted all weird.

Remembering what he was saying something about the run he was probably warning us. Soon after there was another gunshot followed by footsteps walking this way.

I went stiff seeing the light turn on, and hearing dragging footsteps. I took the half-sword from her ready to use it if necessary. I breathed hard, squeezing my eyes shut then reopening them.

When I felt someone's presence on the couch we were behind, " it's two girls," it was a guy and he said it in a seductive way I didn't like, biting my lip I saw him bringing his crowbar down, " and one of them hurt."

He was about to touch Ji-Soo until I gripped the half-broken sword, swinging it up I smashed the hard end of it in his face. He let out a cry, falling back hitting the floor I was probably sure I Struck his nose.

Getting up he was cussing every breath-holding his face, it was bleeding his nose was all red and starting to well, the dude had crazy hair with ear and lip piercings.

I didn't waste time I ended up kicking his dirty face, in his head flew back. " try and touch her again you bitch!" I threatened, about to hit him where the sun doesn't sunshine until I felt something hard come in contact with my head right near my eyebrow.

They both threw the crowbar at me. Blood soon blurred my vision, seeing the creep get up he tackled me to the ground. I kneed his stomach, hearing him grunt I pushed him off me trying to get up but a sharp pain went through my leg.

I screamed out as He kept making weird-ass sounds, I saw him lick the bloodied crowbar, I almost puked feeling sick. I was about to hit him with the sword again up until I heard another voice.

I stopped, " that's enough," my head turned it was another guy about my age again he looked more decent but I didn't trust its looks were deceiving. " that's not the time to be doing that right now."

He suggested, piping his head out the door. but the crazy bitch looked up in anger. Like he was about to Growl. " get out." He tried to seem threatening but the boy just sighed walking in. " Jeung-Seop is looking for you." He took a small glance at me.

I tried to control my breathing as my leg was gushing blood I was in serious pain. " don't call him by his name you sad little pussy!!" He yelled at the boy but he just rolled his eyes Unphased. " It's not the time to be doing that right now. You could be killed."

He mentioned towards me, " by Jeung-Seop." Staring at the creep, he looked scared with his mouth wide open. But I saw him give the other boy a mean look getting up he walked away. With the other guy.

I let out a breath I didn't know I even had, I was shaking Scooting my leg up I hiss in pain, I ended up grabbing a cloth wrapping my leg tight. The dirty was fabric was already beginning to satin red.

Slowly I pushed myself up with my hands standing on my feet I wobbled a bit, I felt limping over towards the couch. I looked over it seeing Ji-Soo holding her side. " are you okay." I asked taking a deep breath.

My head felt fuzzy, I could see she nodded. " okay, I'm going to barricade the doors so they won't get in." I was about to go until she spoke up. " aren't– aren't you hurt." She whispered, I nodded.

" I'll be fine." Knowing it will heal soon mine just takes a little while. Even though it hurts I blocked the back door pushing furniture and other things against it. Making sure they won't be able to get in.

Next, I shuffled towards the other door giving back the sword to Ji-Soo I was about to shut it. " where are you going?" she questioned, " I'll come back later, I have to make sure you're safe first." was all I said locking the door from the inside shutting it.

I had grabbed a weapon, making sure if I run up on one of them I may be injured but I would surely use it. As I walked down the hallway ready to attack. I could feel my leg healing up by the minute.

@xetherealbeautyx

[zuffer-weird-girl]

Requested by: @hello-lucky-luka

The corpse groom

Every minimal details had to work, said your parents.

You were being forced to get engaged with Shigaraki Tomura, a noble from a family whose had their status, but no money. In contrary to your family who had money due to their bussines involving fish, but no such tittles.

You had only a conversation with the man, but both your mothers exclaimed how it was scandulous to be alone on a room alone before the marriage.... The wedding rehearsal was a disaster where you just wanted the ground to eat you alive... especially with that random woman laughing.

Despite Shigaraki calling you back, you ran away due to all extress of not being prepared to be married with a man you barely knew... You wish you had never entered that florest though.

A man. A DEAD man emerged from the ground and you colapse... wakening up only by some snickers, noticing that now you were in a world where dead creatures lived.

A man with an eye missing out with blong hair was shaking you and screaned along with yourself when you finally woke up.

"Where am I?! Where is this?! Who are all of you and why do you look so-so-?!"

"Fucked up? Absolute filled with trash? News flashes newbiew! We're fucking dead!" A man spoke, he was huge and with a hole on his chest that you even saw through it.

"Ooh new meat!!!!" Another man with the jaw broken aproached and you yelped, falling on the floor but with arms... DEAD ARMS on you as if they tried to prevent your fall.

"Pardon." The man with glasses spoke before casually kneeling to pick his arms and placed them back to help you stand up.

"T-this i-is-"

"Oi! YOu ShOUlD Be GrAtefUll To BE DraGGed DoWn HeRE!" A creature with their eye hanging of their head spoke and you almost vomited.

"Yes. Parcially because they are master's spouse." One blond man with a fucking katana on his stomach spoke calmly as you gagged in horror.

"W-what w-was that part again?"

"It seems we're engaged." A gruff voice spoke from behind you, scaridly you sneak over your shoulder and gasped at the sign of the main responsible for you to be in this circle of horror.

The man had messy brow hair with golden eyes, his skin was a mix of faint blue due to how long his corpse have been dead as half of one arma of his was pure bones while the other was... "fine". He wore a black messy and torn black tuxedo with half of his tie missing as he crossed his arms over his chest.

You screamed in horror when someone patted him on the back and his fucking eye dropped on your hand.

"Geez is just an eye." The man who patted the other spoke as he gravbed the eye nornally back and handed to the owner, his body was full of holes as if he had been fuzilied.

"Imbecile." The owner of the amber eye punched the back of the white hair man head... making it to fall to thhe floor.

You screamed again.

~

You came to learn that this man was actually murdered. He had fell for a woman's trick to get her hands on the money of his family. Ever since then, the dead people around there told that this man, Chisaki Kai; whose by disgust at himself decided to change his name by Overhaul; vowed to himself that he would wait for someone else, and perfect, to marry him.

And looks like you were the poor soul.

"I-I'm really sorry what happened to you. But I really cant do this! I have another man to-to-"

"YoU'Re An IdiOt?!" The creature screamed and you flinched at how his eyeball swinged... giving you shivers and even the urge to puke.

"We learned that you were on a arrangement married." The white, and dirty, haired man spoke and Chisaki's eyes narrowed.

"So there is another one huh?"

"There's no other one! A-Actually- You're the other one! My groom is waiting up there and you are just... just-!"

"Dead." He hissed and you swear you saw a tinge of sadness on those dead cold amber eyes of his "It doesn't matter. We are engaged and that's final."

He stormed his way out of the room, making every person of there to look at you as YOU made something wrong.

The fuzzilied man and the creature followed after him as you continue to think of something, anything to get you out of that place.

~

"Maybe they lost their head or something." Mimic spoke as Chisaki paced around the room with a frown.

"Shigaraki Tomura. Boss trust me, there's nothing special about this guy! Just give some time to them, and bing! The curse will be broken and you got someo-"

"Stop." He said nonchantly, shoulders sagging in defeat as he ran his reamaining hand on his hair "They have a point. I am prisioned with this.. dead. While they are still with lungs functionanting... maybe it was indeed a mistake." He sighed.

The two man changed worried glances. Before Mimic smirked and elbowed his commurate, aproaching Chisaki slowly.

"What does that wispy little brat have

That you don't have double?"

"He can't hold a candle

To the beauty of your soul." the white haired man placed a hand on his shoulder.

"How about a pulse?" Chisaki hissed, slapping Kurono's hand away from his shoulder.

"Overrated by a mile." Mimic answered smugly.

"Overvalued, overblown

If they only knew

The you that we do" the two continue

"And that despicable little creature

Isn't wearing their ring" kurono pointed to the ring of his finger.

"And he doesn't play piano

Or dance, or sing

No he doesn't compare" the both said in hopes to cheer up his boss and friend.

"But he still breaths air." He noted sharply before the two got in feont of him as he tried to exit.

"Who cares?

Unimportant, overrated

Overblown, if only they could see

How special you can be

If they only knew the you that we do"

He glared a both of them before hsi vision got into the only candle lighten up on the room, frowning at it...

"If I touch a burning candle

I can feel no pain

If you cut me with a knife

It's still the same...

And I know his heart is beating

And I know that I am dead

Yet the pain here that I feel

Try and tell me it's not real

And it seems I still have a tear to shed" he layed his back miserably on the wall and placed his good hand to cover how much his pain was feeling.

"The sole redeeming feature

From that little creature

Is that he's alive," mimic exclaimed while getting from behind, transforming into his human form, still with the eye hanging from his skull as one of his legs were missing.

"everybody knows

That's just a temporary state

Which is cured very quickly

When we meet our fate" Kurono aproached from the other side while taking off his head to make his point.

"Who cares?

Unimportant, overrated

Overblown, if only they could see

How special you can be

If they only knew the you that we do"

Impatience and rage took over him as he punched from behind the two man. The two hissing in pain before seing how numb was he... how miserable he sounded for the first time since they knew him.

"...If I touch a burning candle

I can feel no pain

In the ice or in the sun

It's all the same

Yet I feel my heart is aching

Thou it doesn't beat, it's breaking

And the pain here that I feel

Try and tell me it's not real

I know that I am dead..." he layed on the bed, looking at the ceiling with no hope before closing his eyes.

"Yet it seems I still have

One tear to shed" they widened their eyes at the single drop of water coming out of his closed eye.

"Do deads can cry now?!" Mimic whispered shouted before cursing out loud when Kurono merely sighed and punched him with more force than Chisaki had before.

~

You were absolutely horrified. Not even two days in here and one subordinate of your family had died from a heart attack and appeared on the same place you were stuck in... and it seemes like he brought the news which brought you to the reality.

When you went missing, your and Tomura's family had canceled the wedding due to you not being there, assuming you had ran away from your responsibilities and another woman came in rushing as a thunder to take the responsibility.

This made you realize how... you didn't were cared for by your supposed future broom. It was all a arrangment marrige after all.

The sound of a sad yet beautiful music took your thoughts away as you followed the beautiful melody... finding a door half closed, you decided to pick inside only to widened your eyes in shock as you see the man you were supposed engaged to playing the piano.

People could call you crazy, but in this scenario he looked... quite beautiful. His eyes were sorrow but still focused on the piano in fron of him, slender and bones fingers dancing on each piece of it as his shoulders tensed when he heard the door making it a sound... but still not looking up.

"You play wonderfully." You mused out loud as he scoffed, wincing a bit you remember that he some how must still be offended by what you said earlier.

You slowly and shyly took a seat next to him, visibly noticing him not enjoying the least your company as he still played.

"Im sorry I hurt your feelings-"

"I thought deads didn't had those." He grimaced and you instantly shut uo before slowly playing one note, smilling shyly when he stopped a bit to inspect your actions.

"My parents thought I didn't had to do piano classes, so I sadly didn't had one chance to play such beautiful songs as yours..." you tried to mimic his actions before you and him hissed at the horrific sound it came out.

"God have mercy, your parents were right on not trying to put you onto such a thing." He growled and you felt offended. Going to talk back you closed your mouth when he aproached you, placing his still carnal hand and skeleton one underneath yours, encouting you silently to touch it.

He started to play one song more animated, you gasping in awe at the beauty of it and how he was actually showing you how it was. The sign of it made him smirk as you giggle... although he widened gis eyes whem his hand decided to pop out of his wrist and dance on the fucking piano.

You giggled and hesitantly picked it back, offering him with a smile.

"Pardon." He coughed as he put it back with a scoff as you smiled at him.

The door suddenly slammed open, the blond man who scared you at the first day panting as Chisaki glared at him from his seat with you.

"What is the meaning of this?" He growled, getting up as the poor guy pointed at some place in the hall.

"I-Is urgent boss! Is something about your-" Kurono popped out of no where, shutting his mouth up.

Chisaki gave you an apologetic look before adjusting his tie and going after then.

After a few minutes of no company you sighed and decided to walk around until you heard whispers shouts on what was suppose to be the kitchen.

"I'm sorry master, but the marriage will only be "real" when both of the involved are from the same world." Tengai spoke as you heard Chisaki punching something.

"What is needed then?!" He shouted and you curled in yourself by instinct.

"That's the best part!" Mimic said in glee before darkening his voice "We're going to kill them!"

You muffled your gasp as you pecked inside the room, seing all the man in there looking at Chisaki. Who for the first time had a conflicted expression.

Suddenly he let out a heavy sigh. Making you curious and rather anxious on what he would say.

"No. I was a criminal while alive, but certainly I am not a beast." He murmured as the others on the room frowned.

You laid your back in the wall sighing... biting your lip as all the thoughts in your head ran and ran until you decided to enter the room slowly. Shocking everyone.

"What are you doing in here?" Chisaki growled, eyeing you between his eyes, before taking his hand out of his face to watch you more properly when you took a seat next to him.

"I will do it." You spoke witha smile, giggling a bkt when one of the man's jaw literally fell.

"You heard it." He mused out loud as you pondered over your final decision.

"You weren't selfish enoigh to murder me. And only what you done with my stay in here was trying to be gentle with me until i ruined everything with my hurtful words. But still I have one wish to make.... I want the wedding not to be soon, neither down here... on the surface more likely, so you all and myself can watch the beautiful nightsky."

"... fair enough. Then why are you trying to brush the wedding aside then?" He asked with his noss arched up, you hesitated before grabbing his hand that weren't left any skin or muscles on it, surprinsing him for once.

"Because I want to know my groom before I marry him. And I want you to know about me as well." You smiled and you swore the deadman was smilling as well.

"Very well.... finance."

[rosesareviolentlyread]

Prelude: These Violent Delights Have Violent Ends

First post on whump and of course I decide to take my truly darkest plot and use it. I’m not sure where this is on the dark scale for this community, but I mean I guess beware?  CW: Self-harm, possibly implied suicide attempt, Munchausen Syndrome by Proxy, box boy setting, pet whump setting, modern slavery, domestic abuse, parental abuse, self-whump, caretaker as whumper

Thanks to @ashintheairlikesnow​ for both inspiring me and also letting me use Karen Renford, who may make an appearance in another piece with Ward about his particular taste in pets. “Amen, amen. But come what sorrow can,

It cannot countervail the exchange of joy

That one short minute gives me in her sight.

Do thou but close our hands with holy words,

Then love-devouring death do what he dare;

It is enough I may but -”

DING-DING-DING-DONG….DONG-DING-DING-DONG

The nine-chimed tune interrupts the man’s gravely reading of Shakespeare, causing him to blink, squinting in the fading light of the fireplace at the old grandfather clock that has moved on to loud BONGS to state the late hour.

Pulling off his glasses, the old man rubs at an eye “Oh my, is it already ten? Well, it’s best off to bed for both of us. We can pick up tomorrow” 

In the opposite plush leather armchair, a blonde girl blinks herself awake. Only a round, soft face is visible beneath a warm-knit blanket that cocoons her against the chair like a fly in a spider’s web.

“But Mr. Richard we were ju-u-u-st getting to the good part” Though she pouts her lip, tilting her head slightly with wide eyes to get her way, a yawn betrays her own exhaustion. 

“We can continue tomorrow, Juliet. I know you’ve memorized it already anyways. Now why don’t you run along to bed, pet? I’ve had Anita put on the heavy down comforter, we don’t want you catching another cold. I’ll be up in a minute” The man’s blue eyes drift fondly to the girl, snuggled close by the fire.

 Outside the window, soft snowfall signaled the coming of winter for his mountain home. He’d originally intended for them to seek warmer weather, perhaps in the villa in Italy. It was better for Juliet’s health, but seeing the girl enjoy winter was something they’d been unable to do for a while. With luck, she’d stay healthy enough they could enjoy it for a little longer. 

“Yes, Mr. Richard. Goodnight” With a tired smile, she wraps the overly large blanket around herself like a cloak, looking all the part a child playing dress-up. Warm lips press to the top of his white-haired head, small arms gently embracing him as well as they could from behind the large chair. With practiced ease, he rubs a warm circle on the back of one slender hand, eliciting a slight purr from the girl. And then she was gone, drifting through the house in her makeshift white cloak like a ghost. 

Richard Ward sat for a minute enjoying the fire. He was a lucky man. To have such a wonderful pet, who, while frail, enjoyed every moment of his presence. Who was devoted to every caring touch. The hours of reading to her in fevered delirium, to wheeling her in the garden when her legs refused to work, to petting her head softly when pain made sleep impossible. 

Richard Ward had learned to cherish the bad and the good in life. In business he’d learned to find opportunity in every situation. Unfortunately, it took the death of his own son  for him to take that moment into his personal life.  But now, with Juliet, he cherished the times in health as well as sickness. 

Now, he lived for every moment, every pain and pleasure, intertwined. With the fortune he’d amassed he could do right by his Juliet, by the world. He’d take care of Juliet forever, tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow as the Bard said. 

But first, he had to wait for tomorrow, and Richard Ward didn’t think five more minutes by the fire could hurt its pace. 

So he closed his eyes, enjoying the warmth of fire, happiness, and family, content with his life. 

And woke no more. 

----

In the middle of the night, some phantom pain bolts Juliet upright, covered in her own sweat. The blood of her heart pounds hot in her ears. Nightmares of fear and pain were common in her life, but so was their instant remedy: Mr. Richard. 

So wrapped in the same blanket as earlier, she pads down the hall, letting the warm glow of lights made to look like flickering candles illuminate  her way. 

“M-mr. Richard?” Her eyes feel wet with automatic tears, lip and voice trembling with an unpracticed, inherent ease. Enough to show fear, but not enough to look ugly. She knew she looked ugly when she cried. 

The old oak door to his room creaks open, revealing the same soft flickering light by an empty four-poster bed. With a sigh, fear almost forgotten, she heads for the grand stairs, back to the drawing room. Her silly old man had probably fallen asleep in his chair again. But that was alright. 

Maybe if she was good, if she made up a convincing nightmare, he’d keep reading to her until she fell asleep. Would rub the sore spots she could never tell if were real or imagined any more. The mere thought brought a smile to her face, a quick pace to her light steps. 

But when she entered the room, she found no warmth. The fire had died out into crumbling embers, letting a chill in through the chimney. Yet even its breeze that threatened to freeze her bones didn’t seem to be able to move the suffocating stillness. She felt it creep into her veins, wrong, as she fearfully walked over to Mr. Richard, sat still in the chair facing the only dying light. 

But her eyes softened to see his sleeping face, book open in his lap with eyeglasses set in the spine. The moonlight highlighted his pale, wrinkled face, but it was one she loved. One that took care of her, no matter how much trouble she was. 

Gently she placed a kiss to his forehead to wake him, already imagining his warm touch on her aching limbs-

Only to be met with the same ice in her veins. With the same stillness that threatened to stop her chest. 

“M-Mr. Richard?” She wobbled out, voice honest, not practiced. Truly imperfect, instead of perfectedly so. 

But his body didn’t move. 

So she touched his shoulder. And then grabbed it. And then shook it. 

But his body didn’t move. 

Juliet felt her breath come in small gasps, like when she was sick. But she wasn’t sick, was she? Was this a bad dream? No. Because Mr. Richard woke her from bad dreams but now he wouldn’t wake up. 

No, she just couldn’t wake him, because everything was fine. When everything was fine, Mr. Richard was sad, a kind of slow sad where the world felt too perfectly wrong, too boring. So she just had to make it wrong to make everything perfect again. 

So Juliet did what she’d been trained to do. She reached for the book, for the crisp page, and quickly slid her finger along it until sharp pain and blood dripped warmly from the edge. 

A whimper from her throat, and she held the wrist as more and more blood, impossibly warm from how cold she felt ran almost black in the barely light down her wrist. 

“Mr. Richard, I cut myself, c-can you kiss it better?” Honey voiced, thick, almost saccharine but something felt wrong. Everything felt wrong, her voice couldn’t be right. 

But his body didn’t move. 

So she pressed the bloodied finger to his lips, even as touching them threatened a shiver through her body. 

“See Mr. Richard? It hurts”

But his body didn’t move. 

With a whimper, she tried to think. Why wasn’t it working? He always came when she was hurt.

But sometimes, if it wasn’t enough, he didn’t come. 

Quickly, Juliet crossed to the small table for Mr. Richard’s drinks, grabbing the small knife he used to make the pretty orange twists she liked in hers. 

Back in front of it, in front of the still closed eyelids, she slid the knife along her palm, flinching with practice at too familiar pain. Making the high, pained sound, that one she never knew if was real or not anymore. 

His body didn’t move. 

Juliet felt tears, real tears prick at her eyes. Why wasn’t it good enough? Why wouldn’t he help her? 

She did everything right so he’d help her, so she’d get the caring touches. Like they’d taught her at the Facility. When she was sick in winter, she’d walk outside at night without clothes to stay sick. 

She’d rub dirt in wounds. She’d trip down stairs, she’d slam her hand in doors, she’d burn herself on the oven.

And when Mr. Richard was bored with what she could try, he often helped her. Because sometimes he’d give her medicine and she’d wake up and couldn’t move her legs for days. Sometimes she’d feel sick to her stomach from a drink he’d give her, until she puked for hours.

That’s it. He just wanted her to try harder. To be a good girl and go back to doing it all herself. She had to earn his caring touch. And Juliet could do that. 

Determined, she climbed the two-story staircase in the entrance hall, heart thumping. This would work, and Mr. Richard would wake up, and he’d take care of her. He’d hand feed her soup again, and gently brush her hair. He’d read her Shakespeare until she fell asleep, and bring treats from his business partners who wished her a speedy recovery. Everything would be fine. 

So why was she crying? 

With tears in her eyes, Juliet climbed the barrister, staring down at the black marble floor far below, almost swallowed in darkness. The blanket fell to the floor, a pile like pale bones in a pit. 

She pushed off, and her world exploded into painful darkness as the scream was ripped from her throat. 

--

‘Anita’ wasn’t sure how much of this she could take. Richard Ward was on the board of WRU, and she was so, so, so close to figuring out where the sick old man kept some of the emails, the dealings, the proof of WRU’s real workings. With his tech empire, they suspected Ward helped them target potential ‘candidates’. Helped them recruit and hire handlers with the appropriate mentality off the dark web. It was enough potential dirt for them to make real progress in the Pet-Lib movement. If only she could figure out where he kept it. 

And it’d been an easy enough job. A boring one, honestly, as she cleaned the house under the flimsy false identity of an illegal immigrant the man had barely bothered to check. She even got enough money to live on and give a fat check to the safe houses from it, damn rich bastard. 

But she was ready to tell them, tell Tara, she couldn’t do it anymore. Couldn’t watch this fucker and his pet, whatever he’d made the poor girl into. 

At first, she’d thought it was true, that he’d just gotten some pet with a lot of health issues. 

But then she’d seen the girl purposefully trip, break fingers, grab a burning hot plate straight from the oven. Seen her do those things without wincing and then let the tears fall so perfectly. Fall into his touch, the touch and care that made the old man beam.

She’d even found the goddamn name for it. Munchausen Syndrome by Proxy. Pleasure at taking care of someone so much that you cause them pain, make them to get sick, just to make them better yourself.

Richard Ward ordered a pet that would hurt itself for his touch, for his care. They’d turned a girl into some sick pain robot, and Mia didn’t even want to think how. She could barely watch now, wondering how he manufactured the illness and pain Juliet took with thankful smile, for the chance that he’d be kind. 

Figures there’d be someone somehow as fucked up as Karen Renford in WRU. 

So yeah, Mia was ready to quit being ‘Anita’, because even if she knew what she was doing could help kids from not becoming like Juliet, she wasn’t sure how much she could take watching. 

It was with this thought that Mia started and ended each day, determined to quit the day after tomorrow if she couldn’t find the files. 

Unlocking the door, Mia felt the similar tug of dread, ran through the same conversation Tara had taught her to help her get through when these undercover missions were hard. When she couldn’t just grab a pet and run like she wanted.

But something felt...off. ‘Anita’ was always first to arrive, to open the obscene curtains, to transform the vintage fashioned home from night to day. She was used to the entrance being cold, the fires being out. Weird guy also had a fetish for the life of antiquity, but Anita had gotten used to it. But today, the coldness seemed to seep into her bones. 

Probably should’ve just brought another sweater she thought as she walked through the service entrance, opening curtains as she went. 

Kitchen, dining room, tea room, sitting room. It was actually pretty satisfying to watch the light suddenly dance in, dim streaks through trees in the early morning. 

Or at least it was until she saw it fall on the body of Richard Ward, causing her to jump back, nearly  knocking over probably worth more than she’d make in her entire life. 

“Oh, Mr. Ward! I didn’t see you there.” Her heart threatened to flutter out of her chest, so much so that she’d almost forgotten her ‘accent’. She hoped he wouldn’t notice. 

But there was no response. 

Cautiously, Mia walked over, touching the old man’s shoulder to gently wake him.

It was stiff, cold. Dead. 

The fucker was dead. Pale as a ghost except for the tiny smear of dried blood on his face. 

The same dried, dark brown blood  that was dripped over his body, onto the book, onto the carpet, on the table holding the bar cart’s knife coated in the same. Dried blood. 

Quietly, Mia picked up the knife, the only weapon in reach. Nothing else was out of place, and as much as she wished it was, the blood didn’t seem to be Ward’s.

She tiptoed out of the room, following the dripped and dried bloody path into the entrance way. By the ridiculously ostentatious staircase, under the overhang, was a small...lump. Squinting her eyes in the dim entrance way, Mia could make out what looked like an slender arm, a head of blonde-

f u c k, fuck fuckFuckFUCK

The hardest thing about this job had been keeping her potty mouth to herself and playing the part of some Downton Abbey-esque servant in keeping with the man’s antiquated tastes. But upon seeing the small body, twisted at odd angles beneath the second floor overhang, her gut told her this job deserved every version of fuck imaginable. 

Scrambling over to the small girl Mia knelt down, hands shaking as she felt around the throat for a pulse that wasn’t the one banging in her ears. It took a minute of pressing, of forcing herself to breathe dammit before she found it, weak, but definitely there. 

Gently, so gently so as to not jostle her neck or head, Mia stroked a hand over Juliet’s brow, the way she’d seen Ward do countless times when the girl was sick. Mia tried to stop trembling, to stop thinking about how maybe if she’d told Tara about Ward, about his taste in pets, they would’ve focused on rescuing Juliet instead.

 If Mia hadn’t been determined to hide the real Ward so they could have their cake and eat it too. 

“C’mon baby girl, wake up for me. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, please, fuck, please wake up” The words fell, soft and pleading from her lips. 

Hazy blue-grey eyes blinked up at her, slow, glassy with pain. The body attempted to shift, only to whimper with pain, real pain. Not the fake whimper Mia had learned, but something deep and animalistic in her throat that reminded Mia more of a street dog than a person.

“There you are. It’s ok, you’re ok” She tried to keep her voice calm, gentle. To not let her hand shake as she thanked whatever god there was in this fucked up world that the girl hadn’t lost too much blood, hadn’t completely cracked her head open, even if her legs looked like snapped twigs. 

After a few moments of mumbled words met by calm shushing noises from Mia, Juliet finally strangled out “‘Nita, why din’t Mr. Richard wake up?” 

Mia paused, upon hearing the slurred, pained words. This wasn’t an accident. Juliet had done this to wake him up. Because the man had a second-sense for any pain in his vicinity. Even if he was a demon, not even the call of his previous pet’s pain was enough to bring his sadistic ass back from hell. Thank God.

A whimper, and Mia was immediately pulled back from her thoughts, petting the girl’s head. Because it didn’t matter where that sick fuck was. He was dead, Mia hadn’t found out where he kept his things, and she had only a few hours before other servants got here. Only a few hours to do something right on this mission.

“Shh, it’s ok. I’m gonna get you help ok? You’re gonna be ok”

Reaching into her uniform, Mia groped for the burner phone constantly pressed against her chest. At least bras were useful for hiding things, as much as she hated them. She breathed through her nose, steadying her breath and hoping questions could wait as she pressed the number.

“Tara? Yeah, I need an evac for me and a pet at Ward’s yesterday.”

Because this was Mia’s fault, because she waited for tomorrow’s petty pace to paint her a yesterday lighted fool.

[dyker-farmer]

Ok this was supposed to be a quick draw and a description to go with, that blew into a full chapter and now it's also on Ao3 SO happy reading ig idk

I never see Shane works that don't go all in for romance nor explore the more realistic ugly parts of recovery, and I kind of crave That TM. So let me have at it too with the self-insert whump mumbo jumbo; no romo version.

Set post-8 hearts event, Farmer Uidelsib is two years or so in, full house built and married to Emily. They/them pronouns, same as me.

Diverges from then on, Shane-centric from an outside POV for the most part.

[[MORE]]

Take that can away if you can.

Gulp it down. Chapter 1/2/3/4

There's a few to-know to survive life in society, in the valley; there's no good way to comment on the age nor weight of both resident housewives, you can't say no to Evelyn's homemade cookies- and why would you, you fool-, you do not fight at the Saloon or you'll get no cheese anymore on your pizza and only sparkling water for drinks, and-

And you don't mess with Shane's alcohol related ritual.

Except I did, that night, because you do that, when your two-years long friendship with the guy taught you better than letting his impulses overcome yours, when your buddy is trying to recover from teenage long-lasting into early adulthood, trauma-enhanced heavy addiction, and you know, you know tomorrow he'll feel like absolute shit and question his right to therapy the moment he'll stop his pounding skull from splitting. Wonders what a three-dosage paracetamol can do. 

At least he doesn't drink it out anymore.

So yeah, when you're in my shoes, you get that Joja store-bought crap out of Shane's hand, and you brace yourself for the incoming lash out.

The first fractions of seconds are always those to look closely into most. It's only a glimpse, but before the scowl slips on like a well-worn boxing glove ready to strike, there is always this open page I learned I needed to decipher as quick as I could.

Tonight, it's heartbreaking. When I peck his forehead- doting big sibling habits die hard, even when you're actually the youngest of the pair- the eyes I catch looking at me are so confused and bare of any emotion, except for the sorrow that goes beer-soaked tears, it pangs. I get used to the breakdowns, working in the fields I do when I'm off the farm's, but it's not the same when it's a friend.

When I straighten back, offensive beverage in hand, it's already gone in a flinch, away from the empty space behind the chair and onto the table, as he snarls.

"Wha- giv'me back- 's mine!" I don't know how much he drunk before he met up with me, but from the slurring, it's a Lot. A season and a half into sobriety. That's harsh.

I ignore him and walk behind him, pondering where to put the beer for now.

"Y-you can't just do that! It's my booze I got with m'money, not some- who d'you think you are?-" He sputters indignantly, angry tears fewer than the sad ones but still there. He tries to turn around and grab behind his back, but the wild movement is way off and only gets the chair to nearly topples down. I rush in time to stabilize it, and profit off the moment to set a strong hand on his shoulder.

"I can just do that, 'cus it's my house I got with my money, and I think I'm your pal who knows when you've had enough. Dude, I trust you to be an adult, but minutes before, you were already so torched I had to keep your neck upright so you didn't faceplant into the table, and you nearly just kissed my floor good evening. Not to mention you clung to my arms the whole way from the little entry stairs to the kitchen because, quoting, 'If I don't I'll fall in the hole and won't get up'."

I turn to the fridge again, going to open it, before I think better of it. Likely enough, we'll both forget it was there in the first place, it'll stink up my fridge- it's Joja's- and it'll be money out of Shane's pocket for nothing. I set it on the counter, with the rest of the pack. He'll put it to cool down when he's back to Marnie's. Or he won't, probably. 

That's not a worry for now.

When I caught up with him, it was a few feet below my doorstep; he'd probably slipped up trying to climb the three steps up to it, and settled for it. He was nursing that same can, muttering to himself, head down, curled up on himself. Except for that leg sticked out, he probably hurt it when he fell, I'll have to look at that and work on it if it's too swollen. Hopefully that'll spare us from a visit to Harvey's.

Bad memories. Not mine, and it's warm and not raining outside, but. Déjà-vu.

Anyways, he looked the picture of "help I've fallen and I can't get up- and even if I can I won't because Fuck You", and it's been a hassle to have him cooperate. But when I asked if he wanted to leave, he shook his head with a fervor no somnolent drunk should have. That resulted in a lovely streak of vomit down the wall right next to the door. That's also for later. If Eryza doesn't lap it up. Ew. This cat's never predictable.

Now, he's staring at his hands, sitting at my table, contemplating something too far down for me to see- or maybe just zoning out with a sleeping brain. Then he mumbles. "Sorry."

I get back to the table and sit at arm's length across of him. "Nah, 's okay. I don't mind being a helping hand or touchy-feely, must be the frog-eater in me. Not for the helping part." I'd chuckle but my quip falls on deaf ears.

I go to put my hand over his. When he doesn't blink at it, I try and shake a reply out of him, gently. He startles and hawkeyes our joined fingers. When he's finally looking at me, I raise a single eyebrow. He doesn't say anything, but when he pulls back his arm, I let him. We both straighten up, and it's hard to keep up the eye contact.

"So…" There's a heavy air on us. Suddenly, like the last year didn't happen, we're sitting a stride away of each other, and yet it feels like he's all the way back to the forest, looking down at waves.

"Do you want me to do something?" I bend myself a little closer to him, not moving otherwise.

He puts his head in his hands, shivering. Can't tell if it's the AC or his system kicking the alcohol out, or itself, in stress. I think I hear something, but it might as just be his shuddering breath.

"Shane" I insist, voice level, not pressing. "I need words. I want to help, I truly don't mind, but I need words to know what to do." He's never shown signs of going nonverbal before. If he does, I'll improvise. Until then… I need words.

Time ticks slowly as we wait. Then, with great effort and deep fatigue, he drags his palms up from under his nose to his temple, spreading some snot and wet tears across his face from his scrunched shut eyes. Lips trembling but finally showing, that attempt to let out a sound that's not too garbled. He coughs, sniffles a bit, breathe in again, sounding like a sick dog, and blows through gritted teeth before his jaws go slack. Eyes still closed, he whispers, and I have to lower myself some more toward his crouched form to catch it.

"Can I get something to drink…?" His voice is hoarse.

The demand could be comical, if we were into sour humor. And we usually are. But right now, we're not finding the joke in the lines. I stand silently, and as I walk to the fridge again, I let my hand brush his shoulder- same spot as before.

I take a minute to choose, look into the pantry. When I'm back at the table with my items of choice, he's still sitting there, his cheek is cushioned on his arms, face hidden from view. His shoulder, except for the occasional tremor, rise and fall in rythm with his snores. Breaks my heart to interrupt that, but not really. Hangovers are mean bitches with the sharpest nail art on the blackest of boards.

"Psst, dude. C'mon." I rustle his hair backward. He hates when I do that, says it tickles, and it makes him sneeze. So I obligatory do it once a day if I can. Let's say today's my late quota for the last four days I haven't seen him.

He gruffly tells me to kindly refrain from such pleasantries, and raise bleary eyes back up at the table. I can also guess he tried to bat a hand at me, but his coordination is off and he slaps himself lightly on the ear. Then he glares bewildered at his hand for a few seconds, obviously insulted. I profit of this moment to grab a small basin from under the sink, on second thought.

When he brings his attention back to me, I'm sitting again. Between us, a jug of fresh milk from this morning, a small sack of peppers, and a juice carafe sit aside a green glass bottle. There's also some bread, mostly for me to munch on. Because, hmmm dough. He squints at it all, especially at the bottle. Probably trying to read the label.

"Yeah no, didn't get you one of my best wine, not sorry."

"Hot pepper… juice?" He looks at the actual peppers next to it. "With actual peppers?" And then I get the squint too.

"Hmph, I know you like your elongated hell tomatoes, man, what can i say."

At that, a feeble snort.

I decide that it is the highlight victory of my soirée.

"Welp, have at it." I gesture to the half-liter liquor glass right by his left.

He fumbles with the drinks and some splashes around, but I lay back on my chair, arms crossed, letting him do his thing. While I don't hold back from growing downright doting on him when I got to- or even when I don't- I don't see how more devotion right now would be not smothering. He can break my fancy glass cups if he wants and spill my milk, so long he doesn't cut himself or cry over it.

Now, you could be thinking that plain water would have done the trick just fine, if not better, in rehydrating him. Here's the thing, though; going from booze to tasteless liquid, for Shane, that's a sure way to puking his heart out. And I'd rather not have us deal with an acid bile throat burn on top of near alcohol poisoning. Sorry to not spare you the squeamish details, but his oesophagus is pretty sensitive ever since that stomach pumping back at the clinic. Hot fiery hell fruits he can do just fine, with relative moderation and hydratation- hence the milk and juice- but liquor bursting its way back from his guts? Nuh uh. 

It had taken lots of coaxing, but he'd explained the plain tastes, or lackthereof, were very hard for him to deal with, especially when contrasting with strong ones like beers and whiskeys. I'd shackle it to gustative hypostimulation, but I don't know enough about him that way to say. He'd said sparkling water was a good compromise.

But I don't have sparkling water, because I do not like suffering.

I might buy a pack for when he visits though.

And I do know a handful about him already. Shackle that to perceptiveness and a stubborn streak on top of a year and so long camaraderie.

And having a certain uncontrollable fear of failing to act quick the next time coped with by accumulating information and patterns compulsively.

I shake my head to focus on the present again. He's switched from juices to soaking bread in milk to eat it small portion after small portion. He pauses in mid-bite when he catches me staring. He's still hunched on himself and red-faced and a tad bloated. His cheeks are drying and he's blown his nose. I smile calmly. Worst of the storm passed, unless I screw up and blow it.

"Ywou wan' chom'?" He offers a dripping piece of bread. In moments like this, when he's sobering but not quite, the resemblance with Jas are unmistakable. The glint in his reddened eyes that open wide, and his blank-but-not-quite wondering expression, it's all here to paint a scrutinizing but vulnerable picture of tired but bright minds.

"Nah thanks. You done with that milk?"

"...Sure." He eyes it, wary. He knows where this is going, and he doesn't like it. I take the drink off the table, and his gaze follows my movement until I bring it to my lips.

He frowns. A silent warning. 

And as I lock onto him with a dead stare, not blinking a millisecond, I down the rest of the 2 liters jug in three, five gulps. I even take the time to lick my new mustache away, and close my mouth with a click of my tongue.

His expression is the macabre marriage of beffudled horror and pure affliction, disgust if you will. The face of someone who doesn't hate milk, but has grown out of it enough to not be able to live off the stuff like the brave souls I'm apart of. And probably with reason, as I actually can't, like most 20+ years old, digest the liquid in large amount. But I smile like a smug cat, perfectly content.

Cats really can't digest milk once adults, it's all social mythos.

We silently judge and fuck with each other like that for a while more, as more time passes, until the room's elephant gets it all humid with its prancing around. Enough that tears and nervous sweats start again, for no apparent reasons but the residual anxiety from the whole chain of events that led to this.

"I think we should talk about this."

--- to be continued.

[angelaiswriting]

Esme | John Shelby x Esme

[original picture: pinterest]

✏️ Pairing: John Shelby x Esme

✏️ Summary: Shot by Changretta’s men, Esme fights for her life while John slowly loses himself in a sea of pain and sorrow. (Requested by Anonymous)

✏️ A/N: I cried like a bitch :) Writing about Esme getting hurt gave me a breakdown HAHA but at least I like the end result. Also! This is different from my usual style so if you feel like it, let me know what you think of it! It’d be greatly appreciated xx

✏️ Beta-read by: @sweetvengeancee (even though she’ll hate me forever)

✏️ Warnings: angst and talks of loved ones dying, I guess ? + Esme getting shot, “fuck” and “fucking” said countless times, cursing, tears

✏️ Word-count: 3,086

The noose is tightening around his neck, choking his throat in a vicious, iron grip.

He can’t breathe – no matter what he does, no matter what he tries to think about, John Shelby can’t breathe. His lungs feel like they’re slowly drowning, veins and capillaries and cells filling with lead and petrol and fibreglass.

His fingertips have pins and needles and so do his arms, his legs, his feet, his cheeks. But he can’t feel them, because he…

He…

He can’t… feel anything.

The bullets keep on flying past him, grazing his cheekbones as they miss him by a breath even six hours after they were fired. They don’t whistle in his ears, they don’t whisper against his skin. There is no… no sound. They are silent – as silent as aunt Polly when she’s mad, as silent as his house on the rare day none of the kids is home.

He’s never heard of silent bullets. And John Shelby has seen the war – has lived the war. Survived it, even. But these are – and painfully so. And his wife’s pained gasp is the only sound exploding in his ears, ricocheting in his brain.

Even with his eyes closed, he can see her. Even when screaming, he can hear her. And it’s a sound so soft the rage of the moment should have drowned it out but it didn’t. It didn’t and now it plagues him.

It plagues him as he stares at her, motionless in her hospital bed, dressed in white.

If he managed to focus and delude himself enough, it would feel like on their wedding day, when he hadn’t exactly wanted to marry a Lee. But now he can’t – he can’t… He can’t. The dark purple under her eyes scares him, her pallor terrifies him – it stops his heart and his brain and it’s not because she’s the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen; it’s not because he’s learnt to love her more than he loves himself, but because he-

Fuck.

He almost lost her. Today. A few hours ago. In front of their own home.

He almost lost her and while she’s there, fighting for her life like the fighter he knows she is, he can’t move. Can’t breathe. Can’t think. He can’t even feel – can’t feel the cramps in his shins, can’t feel the headache pounding inside his head, can’t feel the stings in his eyes nor the tears that have dried up on his cold cheeks.

He can’t hear Arthur and Tommy talking behind him, can’t hear the way his heart is thundering in his chest and in his throat and in his stomach.

All he hears is her pain – and the thud of her body as it hits the ground. And her whines. And the gurgling of her blood in her-

Fuck.

He’s choking. He’s choking on her blood – and on the tears he can’t shed. He’s choking on reality, that same reality that now feels worse than a nightmare. He chokes on the screams he can’t let out, not yet, chokes on the surreality of the moment, on the absurd quietness of the hospital room, chokes on the white of her dressings and on the red of her blood.

He’s seen her blood. He’s seen her blood when she accidentally cut herself while cleaning vegetables and he’s seen her blood when she gave birth to the additional two children he’s managed to bring into this world. But he… He would have never-

His eyes still see it – the blood squirting from the bullet wounds in her chest – the blood bubbling in her mouth – the blood staining the stones of the patio. The sight makes him sick. The memory makes him sick – sick to his stomach and to his heart, where it hurts the most.

But he can’t vomit. He can’t puke it out – can’t let the pain out – can’t…

He’s yelling at his brothers before he has the time to realize it. He’s yelling and cursing and bloody hell-

They make him cry, those two words. It definitely was, a bloody hell, back there, back at home, with those fucking… fucking fuckers… shooting his wife like a target at a funfair. He’s crying and screaming but he can’t hear himself – he can’t feel himself as his mind slowly drifts away, drifts into darkness and stillness and… cold.

He’s cold inside, John, even though his body is feverish with pain and rage and tears and blood. He’s cold and stale, and he can feel his limbs slowly but surely turning to stone as his possessed eyes stare into nothing.

Esme, she…

She knew it was coming. She has always known.

He’s nauseous as he thinks this is on him – whether his wife lives or dies, those bullet wounds are on him, her blood will always be staining his hands and his clothes and his soul.

It’s on him and on the Peaky Blinders. The Peaky fucking Blinders. They should have protected her – he should have protected her – protected her from this life and from their enemies.

He has vertigo as he sits there, on the cold floor of her hospital room, exactly where doctors and nurses don’t want him to be.

Your wife needs to rest, Mr Shelby.

If she makes it through the night, she might make it.

They never say it. They never say survives. Just like they never say death or life or she’ll live. Or she’ll die.

They say if we’re lucky – we, like they have shit to do with his wife, with his Esme. They say we like they’ll have to share his pain if she fucking dies. They say we like they’ll have to go home and explain to their kids that their Mummy is not… is never… that she’s fucking gone and that she’s never coming back – she’s not coming back because love didn’t save her, because all love did to her was put her in danger, shoot five bullets into her chest, cover her in her own blood in the only place that should have been safe – for her, for them, for the children – the only place he had promised her and his children would be their secret heaven.

They say all we have to do is pray – we again, like they are leaving her room to join hands in the corridor and pray to fucking God to spare her. Spare her because I don’t know what to do without her. Spare her because I love her more than life. Spare her because she’s a mother. Spare her because she loves life like nothing else – because she’s able to create life – because she’s given me new life. Spare her and take me – fuck, take me instead.

Take me. Take me. Take me.

But no one takes him, no one takes his life. And God is not going to help because God doesn’t give a fuck. God has taken Martha first and if He decides he wants Esme to join him, too, there’s shit John can do to stop Him.

He should have loved her more. Or, better, he should have proved to her how great his love for her was and the lengths it went. He should have taken her away from Birmingham – from England – take her to the other side of the fucking world. Somewhere where Shelby means nothing, where the Peaky Blinders have never been heard of. He should have taken her and the children to safety, should have listened to her and her gipsy witchcraft when she told him something was coming – and that it was coming for Shelby blood.

And she is Shelby blood, too, now. They have joined hands on their wedding day, they have mixed their blood and she is now Shelby as much as he is Lee. And blood means everything – to the Shelbys, at least.

And yet…

And yet, he has disregarded it. He has put her in danger and-

Fuck. He’s choking again. He’s choking on his own tears and on his own sobs because he’s never seen her like this – he’s never even thought he’d one day see her like this. And there’s nothing his hands can do to give him a break from this sight of her because even with his eyes closed, with the heels of his hands pressing against his eyelids, all he sees is her.

Her ashy skin. The dark circles under her eyes punching her. Her dry lips. Her hair – always so soft and curly and shiny now spread over a grey pillow.

He wants her to live.

Fuck, Lord, she doesn’t deserve this.

He wants to scream it – he desperately wants to scream it but his body can now take only one thing at a time and now – now he’s crying, he’s tearing at the seams and he feels thin and scattered everywhere. And he’s made of paper – Bible-thin paper, so delicate and fragile he could break at any given time. Head heavy, heart heavier, there’s nothing else he can do – not even when he runs out of tears, not even when his voice cracks and breaks and gets hoarser and hoarser the more he cries.

Where is that we now that he’s alone? Now that his wife is fighting the fight of her life alone? Where is that we now that he needs it? Now that his body has gone limp against the wall, his legs stretched out in front of him?

There’s blood on his left shoe. It turns the brown leather darker and there’s nothing he can do, nothing he can conjure up to stop himself from staring at it. From getting lost in it.

He’s numb. He’s been numb on love so many times, but now… Now there’s nothing. Nothing worth feeling, at least.

*

Days bleed into nights and nights bleed into days and-

Bleed.

The word makes him scream as he hurls a glass of whiskey across aunt Polly’s living room. It centres the mirror – the mirror shatters – he doesn’t care about those seven years of bad luck because his bad luck is now. His bad luck is Esme fighting to live in a hospital bed. His bad luck is his children without a mother – again. His bad luck is a silent house and a weeping heart and a dead mind.

His bad luck is now. And now has such an abstract meaning, for he doesn’t know how much time has passed. He doesn’t care – he doesn’t care because he doesn’t have the strength to care. He doesn’t know it’s been twenty-seven days and eleven hours – well, part of him does know, at least.

It’s the part of him that doesn’t scream. The part of him that hides in the back of his mind and remains silent, waiting and hoping and praying.

But his children have been asking questions.

Where’s Esme?

Where’s Mummy?

When’s Mummy coming home?

Does Mummy not love us anymore?

He doesn’t know. But he doesn’t know how to tell them – how to tell them he doesn’t know when Mummy’s coming home. If. If she’s coming home. But he’s certain she loves them all – both her and Martha’s children and she loves them all so much that she’s been begging him to go away, to leave, to take the road together and see where it leads them.

But he can’t talk, he can’t form words – not in his mind, not in his mouth, not even in his heart. He cracks and breaks and he crumbles down to the floor like flakes of plaster in an old house.

And he feels that way – like an old house. Abandoned and empty and cold. The fireplace is freezing, the kitchen is silent. Weeds grow in the garden where roses and hydrangeas used to bloom. And he feels as dry as a potted flower forgotten inside, on the dining table, petals fallen and colours lost a long time ago.

And there are echoes in that house. Screams. There are screams tumbling down the dusty walls, ghosts that refuse to leave their mansion, their nest.

But he doesn’t want to become that. Doesn’t want to become a ghost. Doesn’t want for his house to turn empty and cold and silent. He wants his children to shout and Esme to sing and he wants to sit there, in the midst of that chaos, because only there he feels at home. Only then he feels alive.

Esme’s silent, though, and the children weep. They weep when they fall asleep and they weep when they wake up. Their teacher hasn’t seen them in almost a month and while she has come to check on them, she has found no one to open the door.

His brothers are the only ones who talk – Tommy and Arthur, that is; Finn is just as absent as John is. Michael hasn’t spoken much since leaving the hospital, scars on his chest and a cane in his hand. And Polly…

Polly has lost so many people that by now she knows what to do – and what not to do. She knows he doesn’t want to talk. She knows he only needs contact, even if nobody – not even John – knows how he needs it.

I’m sorry, John-boy.

We’re getting revenge for what they did to Esme.

That fucking wop will see who the Peaky fucking Blinders truly are.

I feel your pain, John.

No!

He wants to scream that word, wants its weight to leave his lungs.

No, Tommy doesn’t feel his pain. Tommy might have lost his wife, but this… No, he doesn’t know what this feels like. Doesn’t know how quickly and slowly at the same time you die, watching your unconscious wife – the fucking love of your fucking life – lie in a bed that isn’t hers. Doesn’t know how colours fade around you, how even the walls of Polly’s house bleed, how the wind howls and whines and moans through the leaves.

The ticking of the clock hanging over the mantlepiece is killing him. It’s driving him insane. It’s taking what’s left of his sanity.

And it makes him see ghosts.

He sees Martha, lives her death again, just a few hours after their daughter’s birth. He sees her youth, that same youth that used to sparkle in her grey eyes.

And then he sees her, sees Esme. Sees her maturity, sees the weight of a vagabond life in the lines of her face, in the expression wrinkles that appear when she smiles.

It’s the memory of her smile that gives birth to that thought.

I don’t want you to die.

He doesn’t want her to, doesn’t want to think of a life without her. Doesn’t want to stop and imagine all the ways he’ll have to rebuild himself and his children once she’s gone. If, he reminds himself. If she’s gone.

Polly brings him closer to her chest when he falls on his knees, whiskey still trickling down what’s left of the mirror. She brings him closer to her in her motherly embrace and his sobs intensify, his tears turn into a sea. And-

Please, don’t die.

God, please, don’t take her away from me. Away from us.

He can’t feel his body. His soul is leaving it through his tears. Here. And there. First left. Then right. Then right again. A salty tear sneaks into his mouth, the other stains Polly’s dress. Then, he loses count – not that he’s ever kept it.

Once she comes back home and she’s back to health, you’ll be free to go wherever the heart takes you.

Polly doesn’t say if. She says once.

Once she comes back home.

It sounds good. It feels good.

It’s almost real.

John can almost feel her skin under his fingertips – Esme’s. Esme’s skin. Like when they hold hands, or when he grabs her chin to kiss her, or when he makes love to her. It feels like hope – greater than that bloody all we have to do is pray.

Do some of your gipsy magic, aunt Pol.

He doesn’t say it, though, he doesn’t ask for it. It would mean deluding himself with lifeless hopes – lifeless rituals. He doesn’t ask Polly to do some trick just as he doesn’t pray to God.

If God truly cared, He wouldn’t have let Esme get shot.

She was innocent.

She is innocent.

He is the sinner. He should have got shot. He should be in that bed fighting for his life – or bleeding his life out just a step outside his home.

*

Days bleed some more, and nights shed their tears.

John is restless – he doesn’t know when it’s day and he doesn’t know when it’s night. The house is quieter than a cemetery – the children are at Polly’s – he can’t even bring himself to look after himself, let alone after a dodgeball team of kids.

Everyone else is there, though – Tommy, who’s left Charlie at Polly’s; Arthur and Linda, who have done the same with Billy; Finn and Ada; and even Michael. They feed him, they force him to wash and get dressed, and they give the illusion of a life still being lived.

Even though John still feels like that dry potted flower in that abandoned house.

Life starts again one Tuesday morning, though, and it does so just as unexpectedly as Esme got unexpectedly shot thirty-three days ago.

There’s a phone call, and its ringing noise throughout the empty house makes John curse and scream and wail as anger bubbles up again. And anger turns to rage and then to fury when Tommy forces him downstairs, pushes the receiver in his hand.

“Mr Shelby?”

He doesn’t recognise the voice – doesn’t even want to. The light of day burns his eyes and he’s not drunk enough to cope with today, not yet. So he just groans and then there’s that what the fuck do you want? that makes his sister Ada cringe – no one’s ever heard his voice so broken and cracked and lifeless.

“Your wife has woken up.”

The receiver falls to the floor and before it has the time to touch the somewhat dusty parquet, John is out of the door.

Are you crying yet or is it just me? For some reason, the mere thought of my bby Esme getting hurt pains me to no end haha

Feedback and PB requests are welcome! ❤️

TAGS (to be added to or to be removed from any list, shoot me an ask)

Everything: @idhrenniel @saibh29 @fuckthatfeeling @aya-fay @pebblesz892  @mblaqgi​

Peaky Blinders: @whimsylavender​ @thethyri​ @friendleyneighbourhoodvillain @oddsnendsfanfics

People that might be interested: @sweetvengeancee @flowers-in-your-hayr @kellydixon01

[messyworldfanfictions]

Summary: The relationship between Aziraphale and Crowley has worsened since Crowley can no longer controls his jealousy. The demon thinks his angel is unfaithful and it's unbearable. One evening, Aziraphale is late at home and Crowley decides to get drunk and wait for the Angel. He is determined to teach him a lesson.

Pairing: Crowley x Aziraphale

Warnings:

Rape/Non-con Elements,Non-Consensual Oral Sex,Domestic Violence,Abuse,Emotional/Psychological Abuse,Physical Abuse,Sexual Abuse,Jealousy,Jealous Crowley (Good Omens),Possessive Behavior,Anal Sex,Violence,Sad,Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens),Rough Sex

A Notes: Hi guys, here I am with a very sad story, I strongly recommend you to check the tags. I thought about this story when I watched "The politician's husband" with David Tennant for those who know this show.

The theme of this story is jealousy in the couples and what this jealousy can make us do to our partner.

 If you are a victim of a violent partner, please protect yourself and leave that person. 

If you are jealous and can't control yourself, please ask for help.

Enjoy your reading! Constructive criticism are welcome, English is not my first language so I apologize for possible mistakes. If you see errors, please tell me! :)

****************************************************************************************************

It's 9:00, Aziraphale was supposed to be home an hour ago and Crowley is getting impatient. He imagined his angel being groped between the old books dust-covered. The idea was unbearable and made him want to throw up. No one could touch his angel except him. 

Crowley already emptied 3 bottles of wine and the heat of the alcohol and the rage was burning his body from the inside. Crowley was anxious and Crowley was sad, terribly sad… A tear slowly ran down his cheek, already reddened by anger. In an excess of emotions, he slammed his glass against the wall with a roar of fury ... or sorrow ? Imagining his angel being defiled by these perverts, their filthy hands on his soft and pale skin. This sordid picture was burning every inch of his soul. 

Why did Aziraphale hurt him so much? He was deliberately not answering him, Aziraphale wanted to make him suffer, he was convinced of it. But why? Why? He has always treated Aziraphale as his king, the only king of his now broken heart. Crowley felt dishonored and it was time to teach Aziraphale respect.

Crowley was sitting on the red sofa, his fingers tapping the leather impatiently. A lock clicked, it was him, Aziraphale was home.

Aziraphale joined Crowley in the living room, Aziraphale's smiling face turned into a worried and frightened face. Crowley is staring at him with cold eyes. Aziraphale noticed the broken glass lying on the ground, and that horrible smell of alcohol....

"C-Crowley, are you drunk ? You know I don't like you drinking so much, especially on your own..." said Aziraphale with a trembling voice, avoiding Crowley's gaze. Aziraphale knew Crowley was going to start a fight. He had not been able to answer him for several hours because his phone had run out of battery and he was forced to stay later at the shop because there was a problem with some books.

« Why ?" Asked the snake in a low voice.

"Why what ?" Aziraphale shuddered, biting his lip.

Crowley sighed in an exasperated way and got up. He walked slowly towards Aziraphale with a threatening face, his irritation flared.

"Why didn't you come home an hour ago and answer my messages ! » He was shouting now. Surprised by this outburst of rage, Aziraphale flinched with fear. 

Aziraphale sighed, "No please, Crowley, you're not going to do this again..." Aziraphale backed away as Crowley continued to move towards him, until Aziraphale's back hit the wall behind him. 

Crowley was now a few inches from the angel, their bodies could almost touch each other. In an attempt of tenderness Aziraphale raised his hand to gently place it on Crowley's cheek, hoping it would calm him down.

The angel whispered "Crowley, please, your jealousy will destroy us... You know that I love y..." But Aziraphale is suddenly cut off by Crowley's hand, he grabbed firmly the angel's wrist and with a disdainful movement Crowley moved Aziraphale's hand away from his face to smash it against the wall. Aziraphale cried out in pain.

"I'M THE ONE WHO'S DESTROYING US?! » he shouted a few inches from Aziraphale's face, Crowley is burning with anger. Aziraphale's eyes filled with tears pissed him off even more. The demon's eyes darkened from second to second. 

"How dare you say I'm destroying us when you're the one who can't keep your legs closed, huh? Why are you crying? Your tears are sweating with guilt." He spat those words out with such disgust.

Crowley's harsh words were hurting Aziraphale in the depths of his angel's heart. "Please, Crowley, I beg you, let go of me, you're hurting me… » the angel sobbed, desperately.

"Oh… i’m hurting you ? "Crowley mocked, letting go of Aziraphale. Crowley pretended to walk away and Aziraphale thought the crisis was over as Aziraphale rubbed his wrist, Crowley turned towards him and slapped him so hard that Aziraphale fell to the ground, banging his head. 

Aziraphale could feel the metallic taste in his mouth, blood was running from his lower lip. Shocked, he didn't know how to react so he stayed on the ground sobbing, looking at Crowley with terrified eyes, his hands in front of his face to protect himself from the next hit that Crowley could give him. He had never been afraid of Crowley until tonight. 

Crowley knelt down close to Aziraphale and grabbed his hair with a firm grip, pulling his hair brutally to make Aziraphale look him in the eye.

"Are you happy now ? Look what you just made me do. » Crowley leaned towards the angel, he smelled his neck and go up to his ear and whispered " I can still smell his odor on you, stop lying to me. "  Aziraphale shook his head desperately , his face went blank. 

"No, no... You're wrong, Crowley, I only love you, please..." Crowley pulled his hair as a warning to order him to shut up. Aziraphale started to cry loudly, sadness clouded his features.

"Tell me, my sweet angel, did you let him do to you what you refuse to me, huh? Did you let him soil your virgin mouth ? "  Crowley punctuated his words by pushing one finger between Aziraphale's bruised lips, forcing the angel to open his mouth. 

Aziraphale was trying to turn his head to avoid this intrusion but Crowley grabbed his chin firmly so he wouldn't move.

Between clenched teeth, Crowley growled "Suck it, or I'll make you regret it. "Aziraphale stopped moving and stared at Crowley with a very sad face, begging him with his wet eyes.

Crowley started to move in and out in Aziraphale's mouth. Resigned, Aziraphale closed his lips around Crowley's finger, rivers running down his face. Aziraphale didn't even know how to do that, he had never done that before and certainly not with anyone other than Crowley....

Crowley was sticking his finger deeper and deeper into Aziraphale's throat and the angel gagged, he wanted to throw up.

"It seems that you don't have much training... I’m going to fix this" Crowley grinned, grabbing Aziraphale still on the ground by his hair and dragged him against the wall. The angel kneeling in front of Crowley, he was a few inches from the demon's bulge, Aziraphale could see that he was hard and it destroyed him. The man he loved was excited by the pain he was inflicting him and this reality ripped his heart in pieces.

Aziraphale panicking about what was going to happen, tried to convince Crowley one last time, desperately.

"No Crowley, please, I beg you... Let me explain, don't do something you'll regret for the rest of your life..." a new slap made Aziraphale shut up.

"Shut up and make good use of your dirty mouth for once. If I feel any pain, I'll kill you. "The words were difficult to hear. Aziraphale opened his mouth, closing his eyes, hoping that the time would pass faster. Seeing that Aziraphale was not moving, Crowley growled in frustration and brutally pushed his cock into the angel's mouth. The demon started to thrust roughly into Aziraphale's mouth, sticking his cock deep into the angel's throat, almost making him puke. 

Crowley violently pulled his cock out of the angel's mouth," You useless whore, can't take a cock properly. I wonder how you could have been fucked by someone else. Who could have wanted a whore who can't suck," Crowley sighed in frustration as he took a few steps back. Watching Aziraphale sobbing on the ground. Aziraphale avoided Crowley's eyes, he didn't want to see that it was the man he loved who was spitting these terrible words in his face.

"Get up" Ordered Crowley, but Aziraphale was too shocked to do anything, so Crowley decided to use force and put Aziraphale on his feet and turned him against the wall, his cheek hitting roughly the cold surface.

He felt Crowley's hands grabbing his hips, leaving bruises. Crowley snapped his fingers and made Aziraphale's pants disappear. The angel panicked and began to struggle. 

"No no, please Crowley stop, I don't want... P-pleeeaaaaase… » begged Aziraphale

But Crowley refused to hear a word, so he pressed his hand against Aziraphale's mouth to muffle his cries. He spat in his hand to lubricate his cock and pushed his entire length into Aziraphale’s body in one thrust.

"That's-what- unfaithful-whores-deserves. » He punctuated each word with a brutal thrust. Aziraphale cried out in pain against the demon's hand. Aziraphale could feel Crowley's drunk breath burning his neck. The demon's breathing accelerated and so did his thrusts. He moaned as he neared his release, pushing his cock deep in Aziraphale's Body. After a few seconds, he pulled out his cock and moved him away from the angel who collapsed to the ground, sobbing with empty eyes.

After a few minutes, breathless, Crowley realized the macabre scene in front of him; his angel full of bruises, blood running from his mouth and down his legs. Panicked, Crowley rushed to the angel who backed away in despair. Crowley had his heart broken by this backward movement, his angel was afraid of him. 

Despite Aziraphale's fear, Crowley knelt down and took Aziraphale in his arms, hugging him and whispering "I'm sorry, i'm so sorry, please forgive me my love, please..." the tears running down his cheeks. Aziraphale sighed out of strength, "Why did you do this to me, I loved you so much..."

[remasteredinnuendo]

Home

Synopsis: Olivia finds herself in trouble when breaking things off with her boyfriend. But her best friend since school, Ben, makes sure she’s not alone.

Warnings: Strong theme of domestic violence, abuse, hospital stay. 

Info: Please don’t read if you’re triggered by anything in the list above. 

“You have to leave him,” Lucy had said.

Rami had clutched her hands, begging. “He shouldn’t be treating you like this.”

“Just listen to us,” Gwilym told her.

But it was Ben’s words that stuck in her head. “I need you to stay alive. I wouldn’t know what to do without you.”

They were her friends, and she knew they were right. How could they not be right, telling her that the situation she was in was a bad one? Even she was aware of it. Olivia loved her boyfriend; it was fading now, but it once had been there. And him? He had loved her. Sometimes.

But the latest hospital visit had been enough.

The first phone call she had made as she dragged herself through the underground parking lot on her stomach, bleeding and sputtering, had been to Ben. Her best friend since they were teenagers, the man she trusted most. It had been him she had called, not the ambulance. But she didn’t stay awake long enough after telling him where she was to tell him not to call someone else for help. She didn’t want it.

But she needed it.

 Waking up that day had been so painful she wished she had died. Two broken ribs from her boyfriend’s boot kicking her; a bruised eye socket from his fist; a broken nose from his knee. He had not been gentle with her when she told him she didn’t want to live like this anymore. He had not been kind.

“I’m going to kill him,” Ben said, his words the first ones she heard.

Turning her head had been painful, but she did it for him. His face was so distraught. There were tear-stains down his cheeks, his knuckles white as he clenched his hands together. There he was, sitting at her bedside with his elbows on his knees, foot tapping impatiently. He couldn’t look at her.

“I swear to God, I’m going to kill him,” he declared, straightening his back.

She reached her hand toward one of his, and watched him pull away. The very notion made her heart break. “P-Please….” She mumbled, throat dry and head sore. “Let it go.”

Ben finally brought his eyes to her, and they were red-rimmed and glassy. Filled with rage and disbelief at her words. “Let it go?” he nearly barked. “He could have killed you. Do you understand that? If I hadn’t gotten there in time…..or if I didn’t know and you couldn’t have called….”

He let his thoughts run wild, and Olivia lifted herself ever so slightly from the hospital bed with a whimper of pain. She snatched his wrist with her fingers and pulled him back down with her, forcing her hold on him. Much to her surprise, he did not pull away in all his anger.

“It’s over. I left him,” Olivia told him, voice a whisper. “And I just want to breathe. I finally feel like I can, and I want to breathe.”

Regretting these last two years was difficult to fathom. After all, her boyfriend— now an ex— had once been so sweet that it had made her fall in love. And while regretting it didn’t seem possible, she knew staying as long as she did was a mistake. But sometimes people screwed up. Sometimes she wasted her time looking for the good in someone when they wasn’t any. And in the last little while of her relationship she looked at the man’s boots, covered in her blood, and still tried to convince herself that she was kicked by someone else.

That wasn’t her fault, yet it wasn’t not her fault, too. But it sure as hell wasn’t Ben’s fault; and she just wanted to sit here with him. To feel his hand in hers and imagine what this could have felt like if she had dared to do it sooner.

“All right, love,” Ben conceded, sighing as he leaned forward to rest his forehead on her hip. He turned to glance at her, cheek against the blanket over her legs. “You’ll never have to suffer like that again.”

“I know,” she told him softly. And she had so much more to say to him, but swallowed the rest of the words as the heaviness of pain killers took over and she fell asleep.

When she was discharged, three days later, Ben didn’t leave her side. They were both nervous that her ex would come knocking around, looking for her. So he demanded that she stay with him in his flat, rather than at a hotel. And any time he had to step out to the shops or for an audition, he made one phone call and Lucy and Rami came to be with her, or Joe when he could, or Gwilym when he was asked. She was never alone.

They did not throw a party. Refrained even from speaking badly of her ex. Instead, they put an arm around her shoulder or pressed a kiss to her cheek. They made her soup and made sure she took her pain killers on time and not a single pill too many. A list of things were made of the things she needed to retrieve from the townhouse she had shared with her ex, and a date was set to get them.

Ben parked his car across the street from the house, and when he turned the engine off he turned to her. “I can do this, you know. I don’t want you to go in there.”

“The investigator told me that he’s been ordered to stay out of the house for the day so I can get my things,” Olivia reassured him, pulling her hat low to avoid the stares of passersby. The bruises on her face only had gotten worse as they healed.

He tightened his grip around the steering wheel. “I’m going with you, then. And you can’t say no.”

“I wouldn’t say no.”

They stepped onto the street and Ben immediately reached for her hand. Olivia had to pause for a moment, breath caught in her throat as her heart pulled toward him. Just as it always had. It had been so long since hands had touched her without wishing her harm. She didn’t remember the last time she had been touched so gently, and it made her want to cry.

Ben was too focused to notice the affect he had on her. His eyes were terribly serious, but she didn’t blame him; he led the way up the porch, and pulled her key from his pocket. Opening the door made her flinch, but she wasted no time getting on with her life.

She swept around the house as quickly as her maimed body could, fingertips touching every tainted surface and throwing away what was hers that she didn’t want. Today needed to be fast, not nostalgic. There were no sweet memories here. She got a box from the master bedroom closet and collected her things, one by one, and tossed what she didn’t wish to take into bin out in the backyard. She wished she could have watched them burn.

There was a hole in the left cushion of her sofa, and a chip in the hardwood floor right next to the window overlooking the streets of the neighbourhood. She found herself staring at the same curtains from the last house she rented with her ex, which they had been kicked out of. Her shoulder bag was on the coffee table, on top of the hardback classics she had read over and over again. There were stitches in the strap, holding it in one piece. The same stitches she had sewed exactly one week before her high school graduation.

She thought about the burn on the kitchen counter. She remembered that day last January when she drank a bottle of tequila after the first time her ex ever put a hand to her throat. She remembered that she fell asleep with her head against the bathroom door after throwing up, leaving dinner on stove. When she woke up it was to the scent of smoke and the blurry sight of the pan on fire. She remembered burning her palms on the scalding handle, dumping the contents into the sink before setting the pan down on the counter. She couldn’t keep her head straight until the next six times she puked in the toilet.

The bathroom had a mirror smeared with hand trails from wiping the steam of every hot shower she had taken here. Four empty bottles that once held two hundred millilitres of liquor sat beneath the sink, right next to the cleaning gloves she used while wiping up the broken glass from every picture frame she threw in every which direction.

This was a horrible, wretched place. But now she was leaving it, free.

“Are you ready?” Ben asked, taking the box of items from her arms.

She jumped out of her reverie and smiled up at him. Really, truly smiled. “Absolutely.”

Olivia took the honour of locking the front door behind them before they packed everything into the back of Ben’s car. And as he went to open the passenger side for her, she leapt forward before she could even help herself.

Her arms wound around his torso and her face buried itself in his hoodie. Inhaling his scent and fighting the tears. But they weren’t tears of sorrow; they were ones of relief. It had been so long since she had been able to hug him like this. Her ex had never liked the way they spent so much time with one another. And now that she was able to do what she wanted, she wanted to do this.

Exactly this.

Olivia tilted her head up and found his lips waiting for her like a question. And the world fell away. It was slow and soft, comforting in ways that she didn’t know existed. Ben brought his hand to rest below her ear, his thumb caressing her cheek as their breaths mingled. She ran her fingers down his spine, pulling him closer until there was no space left between them and she could feel the beating of his heart against her chest.

And when she pulled away, it was only because her lungs were stuttering in her chest so hard that it hurt her broken ribs. Olivia looked at him sheepishly, crimson in her cheeks, but did not let him go. “I should have done that a long time ago.”

Ben tucked a stray hair behind her ear, lips swollen from their kiss. “Yes, you should have,” he agreed. “But now we have all the time in the world to make up for it.”

She smiled, happy for the first time in a long time, and let him guide her to the passenger seat. They were going home.

And she felt safe knowing that.

[strangewhitegirl321]

Grisly (10th, 11th, & 12th)

{Not my gif}

Mainly 10th Doctor

Words: 1800

Originally posted to my Wattpad account.

   (A.N. So I wanted to get this up for Halloween, but that didn't happen R.I.P. Just my luck I would nearly die Halloween day, too. Way to go, me. But, anyways, here it is. Please cut me some slack I'm still on puke brain.)

   The Doctor ran as fast as his legs could carry him- dodging trees as his eyes were glued to his screwdriver. A deep pit was growing in his stomach, a tightness in his chest. Something was sucking away at him from the inside- something evil and all-consuming. All the Doctor knew was that something was wrong. Donna thundered after him, barely able to keep up as she panted, screaming at him.

   "What's the matter with you!" She cried after him. "Slow down, Doctor! How are you even tracking her?!" Her words were stressed and barely intelligible through her pants and the nervous quaking of her voice.

   Suddenly, the Doctor skidded to a stop, eyes wide and mouth gaped. His vision was glued somewhere in front of him, and as Donna slid to a stop beside him, he whipped around to her. She flinched as he moved- the setting sun glaring in her eyes.

   "Can you hear that?" He sounded almost as if he was in denial- but never the less, Donna took a deep gulp of air before swallowing her gasps in an attempt to hear. As her laboured breaths came to a stop, goosebumps rose on both parties' skin as they took in the sound of far off wailing.

   Without a second thought, the Doctor took off again. He recognised that sort of cry- every single emotion behind it. Rage, sorrow, self-pity, loss, and guilt all grumbled up into one horrid, heart-wrenching sound- raspy and treacherous, pausing and undoubtably somehow muffled with tears the screams continued.

   Donna tried to dart after him, however tripped on her own clumsy feet and cursed as she smacked into the ground.

   "Doctor! Doctor!" She yelled as she shakily attempted to clamber to her feet. However, a hot pain in her ankle caused her to stumble back to the ground, collecting dirt under her nails and crunching the sour leaves beneath her hands.

   The Doctor was already far ahead of her- so far ahead she couldn't see him any longer.

   And yet, a worried, shocked voice chimed from behind her, "Donna?"

   As the Doctor ran forward, the wails and cries got louder. They were the cries of a familiar voice- a voice he knew very, very well. A voice he knew, that was in pain and utterly lost- the closer he got, the more his mind seemed to panic, the more his hearts seemed to steel themselves and tighten in his chest. Tighter, tighter they strung themselves- so tight now that if any pressure at all were applies they would begin to fray and tear.

   As he approached the tree line, a figure caught in the corner of his eye. It was a man standing ahead of him, slightly stumbling out from the trees, limply stripping off a tweed coat before letting it fall to the ground. Another struggling step and the man himself fell- the Doctor ran up behind him, intending to help- before he forced himself to grab onto a tree and jerked to a halt.

   His eyes widened- his mind froze, his body shook, and the howls of loss and misfortune seemed to make sense. Before both him and the strange man, there was a (h/c) girl sitting in the middle of a muddy road. Her clothes were ripped, her hair a dreadful mess and her face bright red and angry.

   The girl- she was someone more important in his life than she had probably ever realised. A past companion he loved- adored, even. And it broke his hearts to see her the way she was.

   (Y/n) dug her fingers in the mud, blood seeping in between her fingers and staining them red. Trembling, she dragged herself across the mud, through guts and gore as she wailed in pain and loss. Her long, once pretty skirt snagged on trodden down plants and picked up bits of skull and brain that were thrown far throughout the road.

   Pitifully, she latched her hand around a small, cold arm before carelessly dragging it through the mud to her. With one disgusting, dirty arm she cradled the body of a small child, while with the other she seemed to attempt to piece his skull back together.

   Seconds turned to minutes as she tried, and tried, and tried- before giving up with a sob and leaning over, burying the top of her head in the bloody mud as her cries and screams seemed to pick up in volume and sorrow.

   "Please, please," The Doctor could hear her begging, "Please! My baby boy- my baby boy-"

   Tightly clutching the body to her she writhed around in the old blood as she whimpered and groaned. Suddenly, without sparing a glance in front of her, she knowingly lugged herself toward another body, crushed and mangled and sprawled out uselessly on the ground. (Y/n) wrapped an arm around the body, collapsing on top of it, still cradling her son to her chest as she cuddled into the mutilated chest of the dead man she had loved.

   The Doctor could hear her every gasp between her whines and snivels, he watched as her form rose and fell with every whimper. Almost as if on cue, both he and the strange man stumbled forward towards the girl. Both his hearts felt strung out- nearly drawn from his chest as one of his hands reached for her the closer he got to her. The man from before froze, watching the Doctor go behind a mess of dark hair.

   Finally, the Doctor reached her. His hands hovered over her hesitantly, unsure of how to handle her. He was worried she would reject any comfort he could offer, or that he would scare her- but all he really wanted was to help her. The Doctor wanted to steal her away from the bloody scene and protect her. The thoughts nearly drove him mad, so he dropped to his knees and wrapped his arms around her waist.

   At first (Y/n) froze- her cries stopped, her sniffling halted, however soon she began to fight him. With one arm she began to bat at him, screaming for him to let her go. Panic laced every octave of her voice, only causing the Doctor to tighten his arms around her.

   He wanted to soothe her, calm her down- say something to show he wasn't going to hurt her. But all he could do was constrict his arms around her and bury his face in her back as her fingers weakly scratched at his arms.

   The man from before, upon hearing (Y/n)'s screams began to rush forward. In a vain attempt to both be gentle with (Y/n) and rip the Doctor off of her, he ran forward and grabbed his arms, prying him off the poor girl.

   Forcefully now, the man dragged the Doctor away from her, unintentionally soiling his coat on the bloody ground before releasing him. Standing between the Doctor and (Y/n), he glanced back to check she was alright. Now that she was free she harshly scrambled away from the two as fast as she could on her knees. Collapsing onto the ground, she forced herself into a sitting position before turning back to look at the two men with wide eyes.

   "She won't recognise me," The strange man suddenly breathed, before launching into action. Squatting down in front of the Doctor, he attempted to draw his attention.

   "Hey," He began, before having to roughly swat him on the shoulder. The Doctor's face was now smeared in blood after hugging the girl, and his mouth clamped shut as his eyes met with the man's in a dangerous glare.

   Gulping, the man fixed his bowtie before quietly explaining, "You aren't helping."

   The Doctor's eyes softened a bit, his facial expression growing complex- worry, curiosity, fear, anger jumbled all together in one small frown.

   "Go to her. Don't touch her, just offer her your coat," The man commanded gently, glancing back at (Y/n). The Doctor stared at him, before slowly rising up out of the mud. His gaze locked onto his former companion, a girl he had practically raised and loved as his own child- and his eyes grew mellow and tender.

   Her chin quivered as he grew closer, and slowly he put his hands up to prove he meant no harm. The stranger from before watched, concern laced through his every feature.

   As the Doctor came to a steady halt, his light, sympathetic eyes remained glued to hers, keeping her gaze on his. Every move of his was gradual as he tried his best not to startle her. Gingerly, he slipped his coat off his shoulders and folded it around his arm, squatting down in front of her and offering it to her.

   Both the strange man and the Doctor had failed to notice that (Y/n) was still protectively gripping the body of her son to her chest. A shaky breath escaped her throat, and her eyes flickered from the Doctor's to his jacket. For a second, her free arm began to reach for it, before she pulled back.

   Agonisingly slow, her head moved to look down at her son. A cold shiver ran through her body, and gently, she reached up to fiddle with the collar of his bloodied shirt. Somehow, her face seemed to fall even further into grief, and she rocked forward slightly, desperately clutching him to her now with both hands.

   The Doctor's mouth fell open slightly as he watched, the arm holding his coat quivering. (Y/n) weakly looked up at him, despair written on every edge of her expression, before as softly as she could, she laid her son on the ground. One of her hands shakily smoothed his shirt down and she flinched at some unknown thought- before finally, she reached forward and feebly took his coat.

   She struggled to put it on, feeling as though she was drowning in the fabric before eventually settling for simply letting it rest on her shoulders. Her gaze fell to the ground, only watching from her peripheral vision as the Doctor stood to his feet.

   "C'mon," His voice was frail, barely heard over the sounds of the animals waking for the night. He began to back up, watching as she tiredly pulled herself to her feet. Knowing she was close behind, he began slowly walking to the TARDIS. Frequently, he would glance back at her- eyes catching the sickly glaze over her face.

   The strange man from before began to cautiously follow behind, seeming to rush forward in anticipation every time (Y/n) would stumble.

   The three walked, a dark, thick and suffocating mist seeming to stick to them. The retched smell of blood accompanied (Y/n) as she hobbled through the forest. Anyone who saw them would believe they were ghosts, prisoners of a never ending wandering- and in many ways, two of them were.

(This was finished quite lazily, I apologise for that. I'm publishing it before my editor helps me out with it as well. If you see it has been updated, there will be a chance many thing from the moment the Doctor found reader to the end will have changed. I wanted to publish this as quickly as possible, which is also why I'm splitting it into two parts..)

Part 2

[eldritchsardine]

OC Oneshot: Done Running

Alright, got another oneshot using another person’s OCs, this time the excellent author @loubuggins. Check her out for more info on the characters (or if you just want to read some awesome fics), otherwise enjoy!

Janet was breathing heavily, sweat pouring off of her form as she wove through trees and bushes, vaulting over roots and ducking beneath branches an instant before collision, doing all she could to simply keep her target in sight. As she caught another flash of his form speeding through the trees, the last moments of their argument replayed themselves in her mind.

"Mark, everyone misses you. Everyone thought you were dead! There's been talk about a god damn funeral for you!" She shouted.

"Doesn't sound too bad to me," he said, voice devoid of emotion and rough as sandpaper from years of disuse. "At least then I could see mom again."

She went silent, frozen. "You don't mean that," she told him quietly. "Please tell me you don't mean that." This time it was a request, a plea.

A shrug. "Doesn't really matter. I'm not going back. This is where I live now. This is my home."

"A home is more than just a place you lie your stubborn ass down at the end of the day!" She exclaimed. "Now come on, and let's go home. To your family.”

She went to grab him, but instantly he was gone, and in his place was a light green cheetah. It immediately turned and sped off, out of the clearing and disappearing into the trees, followed moments later by the speedstress.

In most scenarios she would be much faster than the bright green cheetah ahead of her, but in the dense jungles of Upper Lambada, Africa, his form was far better suited for the surroundings and terrain.

Just as the thought crossed her mind and as if to prove her point, she slipped on a dense patch of mud on the ground, sending her tumbling forwards with a cry and colliding with a tree, several unpleasant crunching and cracking sounds indicating that something was injured, likely broken.

She groaned in pain and frustration, knowing that by now he was long gone, and she had no hope of tracking him further. The thought brought with it a feeling of sorrow and loss far more intense than what she was expecting, and tears began to fall unbidden. She wiped at them angrily, telling herself that he had left long ago, she couldn't lose someone that was already lost, but even she knew that trying to fight her own heart was as hopeless a struggle as any.

She glanced down at her chest, gingerly feeling about for any broken bones with a bleeding arm, likely cut on a branch while running or during her fall that she hadn't noticed. Thankfully, she was still in one piece and her injuries were at worst a handful of broken, not completely shattered, ribs. She heaved a sigh of relief, hissing in pain as the action magnified the pain of her bruises. A handful of broken ribs, while definitely not the worst she had been through, still had the capacity to hurt like hell.

However, as she let her arm fall back down to recover, a soft, wet, and warm surface came into contact with it and she jumped, glancing down to see a light green cheetah lapping at the cut caringly, the sight freezing her with unwanted hope.

She reached out an arm uncertainly, almost afraid he would evaporate in her touch, but finally her hand reached its destination of his unruly and wild hair, proof of his years of isolation, as somewhere between then and when she had begun the motion he had shifted back to his original form.

"Are you okay?" His voice was still as rough from being unused for so long, as it had been before their argument which lead to the chase, but something in it contained a new warmth, hidden and pushed aside as it might be.

She grmiaced in response. "A few are broken, but I'll live."

"Good." He rose up to stand in front of her, glancing first down at her again, and then around the forest, and back down, as though debating something. "How far away is your ship?"

"A couple miles."

Mark pursed his lips, thinking. Finally, he reached down and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, making her shiver at the contact. He hoisted her up, but as soon as she was standing and went to put weight on her feet, she cried out in pain and would have collapsed to the ground again if he hadn't caught her. "Alright, leg's broken too."

He cursed under his breath, something previously uncharacteristic of him. She raised an eyebrow, already prepared to rib him for it as she used to, but stopped after realizing that he could be an entirely different person by now and she would have no idea. He could be a complete stranger.

The changeling groaned, throwing his head back in exasperation, before meeting her eyes once again. "How long will it take you to heal with your speedforce and get outta here?"

"About a day, maybe a little longer," she shrugged. "Though if you really want me gone you could always help heal me yourself," she added, smirking up at him.

He didn't bother answering, choosing instead to gingerly pick her up bridal style, hands hesitant as if wary that she would burn him, or maybe they would break her. Or both.

Whatever the case, Janet took the position to her advantage and burrowed into his broad chest (was he this muscular before he left?) comfortably, enjoying how he tensed as she did so.

"You're still leaving as soon as you're healed, and I'm still not coming with you," he muttered, though she deigned to ignore him and instead listen to the steady, strong beat of his heart through his clothes.

By the time that they reached the abandoned safe house he had made his home for the past years, the sun was setting in the sky and her broken bones were producing a constant ache that made every motion painful, now that her adrenaline had worn off completely.

Mark turned and pushed the door open with his back, before striding inside and making his way over to a messy, unmade bed in a corner of the small 3-room building. He knelt down and laid Janet upon it gently, disappointing her at the lost contact with him. He turned and took a seat on a chair across the room, picked up a book, and immediately became almost as still as a statue as he began to read.

The sight of the changeling with his nose buried in a book was so familiar, even with the unkempt hair, ripped clothing, and untidy, alien room, that she felt pangs of heartache and regret at the lost time between them and shoot through her chest, even more painful than her injuries. "Even now, you still love your books, huh?" She poked at him fondly in a futile attempt to ignore the emotions welling up.

He huffed in frustration, lowering the book to glare at her. "Well, the internet connection over here isn't too great, and in case you haven't noticed, there's a significant lack of electricity, so as much as I'd like it, Gamestation isn't much of an option. There aren't many people to talk to other than the meta traffickers we just took down, and that leaves me with books."

She paused, thinking over his response as silence once again descended. "Thanks, by the way. For, you know, helping me with those guys."

"Well what did you expect me to do?" He asked. "Just leave you to them and let you not only fail the mission you came here for, but also possibly be hurt or abducted yourself?"

A smile broke out over her expression. "Aww, so you do care!" She teased. "My hero!"

He rolled his eyes, before pretending to puke in disgust to the side, making retching sounds behind a hand before smirking along with her, and for a second it was like old times. But then her laughter came too hard, and the ache in her ribs evolved into a sharp stabs of agony and she choked into silence, grasping at her abdomen and screwing her eyes shut.

Mark's eyes darkened, as though remembering their situation, and he stood up, striding over to the bedside and growling at her angrily. "Just lay still and focus on healing."

She sighed. "You're really that eager to have me gone, aren't you?"

The changeling merely stared at her emotionlessly for a handful of seconds, before jerking his hands up to place them over her stomach, and she let her head fall back as his healing magic flowed into her, soothing the injuries and relaxing her body.

"It also makes me feel... closer to her," he mumbled, as though he had read her mind. Her head shot back up to meet his gaze, and the sorrow there nearly broke her heart.

She reached a hand up to cup his cheek, but he shied away. "Mark," she murmured softly. "I know it hurts. I lost Justin, and-," she paused, voice breaking slightly as memories washed over her. "And Raven was basically my own family too. But you can't just run away from it all."

"But I did already," he replied. "I ran when she died, I kept running when I got here, I ran from you earlier, and I'll keep running all my life. I guess it's just what I do," his voice was weary, empty, shoulders slumped as he spoke, as if knowing himself how futile what he was saying was.

"And what'd it get you?" She pursued. "Isolation, unsolved issues, an injured friend, and a face that really could use a shave."

A scoff. "Even now you need to make fun of me, huh?"

"I'm pretty sure that's my job," Janet chuckled lightly, as to not trigger her injuries. She hadn't missed his obvious misdirection if the conversation from it's more serious topic, but chose not to pursue it.

"You should get some sleep," he sighed. "It'll help you heal, and then get on your way."

"Where are you going to sleep?" She questioned, glancing about the room and secretly praying that he didn't have another bed to use.

He shrugged and turned to walk away. "The floor I guess."

Immediately her hand was filled with a bright pink energy. "Oh, no you don't. My body is going to be focusing it's energy on healing itself, which means I'm going to get cold, especially if I'm not moving. Now, you are going to get in this bed to warm me up right now or I will bring this whole building down. I don't need my chest or leg to use magic."

Mark turned about to stare at her incredulously. "Are you insane? I'm not sleeping with you!"

Janet returned the look with a challenge of her own. "If you hadn't run away when I tried to talk you into coming back I wouldn't be injured in the first place, so technically this is your fault. You owe me," she countered, smirking at him.

Mark sputtered incoherently for several seconds, before finding his voice. "Well you're the one who tried talking me into coming back! That's on you!"

"Oh yea, so sorry for actually caring about you," she bit back sarcastically. "I forgot that wasn't allowed after Raven-," she cut herself off abruptly as his eyes flashed dangerously, almost regretful of what she had been about to say.

However, as their eyes remained locked in silence, his seemed to almost melt, though whether it was a softening of his spirit or loss of a will to fight anymore, she couldn't tell.

But when he let out a whispered, "Fine," and trudged back over to the bed to slip in behind her, she quickly decided she didn't care. His arms wrapped about her waist and once again began to glow slightly as his healing power accelerated her recovery, and pulled her against him in a way she had thought for years would only- could only- be a dream.

"I hope you know that the only way I'm leaving is with you," she said quietly, knowing he would easily hear her with his enhanced senses.

His arms tightened. "I do."

"So you're done running from Raven?" She pressed, hope and happiness welling up inside her.

"I don't know."

She nodded, only one question left. "Are you done running from me?"

"Yes."

Janet smiled in relief and contentment, and she let out a sigh as silence fell between them. This time, however, it was a silence of mutual understanding, and caring. Soon after, her eyes fell closed and she passed into sleep, held in the arms of the man she was irrevocably in love with.

And true to his word, Mark remained where he was, arms wrapped about the heroine as he gazed at her features, mind distracted by thoughts too important to let him sleep. However, there was one thing he knew by now. He could run all he wanted, but she would always catch up. After all, she was a speedstress.

[chezzkaa]

Treaty Line

A/N: Holy fuck, am I really posting a fic? Sorry guys, uni is kickin’ my butt, but have this stupid, short angsty thing I did to give myself a break. 

Pairing: FAHC! Michael Jones x Reader

WC: 1693

“Can we talk about it?”

He doesn’t meet your question, let alone your eyes. Tracing ruts into the grain curling through the table, fingers tugging on the splinters left by wood guzzling up the passing rain of a happier morning. Of an easier time in a section of the park the two of you adorn almost every day, bathing in the cold sun until you’re forced to part ways, lives pulling you apart.

God, you wish it were raining now, at least then there’d be something to fill the silence. Something to drown out the sound of your racing heart and the throb of rejection drumming in your stomach. Repetitive, nauseating. A winter night that froze with the whiplash of the day’s events, emotions tumbling into chaos as the world screeches to a stop. Stuck in this moment. Stuck with him.

“Please, Michael. I need you to tell me it’s alright.”

But he still refuses to acknowledge your existence, the words he spits joining your guilt pooling across the floor. Despair feeding the grass, seeping through the pathway stones. You can almost hear it hiding in the trees, gentle rustling nagging at the hairs dusting your skin, running over your scalp. “Why the fuck would it be alright?”

You don’t know how to answer, left to stare at the nothingness dancing from your lips in the cold, biting air. Of course it’s not alright. You doubt it ever will be. Somehow you find your voice, but it’s not much. A broken whisper that sounds far too close to a cry, almost lost on the wind that tears through your clothes as though you aren’t really wearing them at all. “I don’t know.”

“Am I ever going to get a straight answer from you, Y/N? Or are we hiding everything now?”

You were wrong, it’s not the air that bites. It’s him. The accusations in his eyes. The scalding soup of denial and betrayal and anger. Simmering in confusion, bubbling with bitterness; and with each bursting dome it gets worse. His mind more and more made up. A friend drifting further and further away.

“I’m sorry, Michael. I don’t know where to start. If you’d just listen, maybe-”

“Listen?” You can hear the growl rattling in the back of his throat, eager to crawl across his tongue and hang from his lips - but he does he best to hold it back. Instead he rockets from his seat on the park bench, glaring down at your fragile figure shrinking away. “You want me to listen to how you lied? To how you went behind my back?” He’s pacing down, wringing the night’s neck between frigid, unruly hands. He makes no attempt to hide the snarl. “About how you knew what you were doing, but decided to hurt me anyway?”

“It’s not like that.”

“Then what’s it like, Y/N?” He stops his pacing, and the anger you expect him to turn on you is replaced with defeat. Watery eyes and a face so pale the redness of his nose glares. “I thought it all mattered. I thought I mattered. More than the fucking crew who’s been screwing us for months, anyway.”

“You do matter, Michael.” You want to reach out, clutch his collar and shake until the trembles rocking your body subside. Want to hold him until it’s all alright and the din of the street fades into nothing. An involuntary hand twitches towards him, fingers calling out for his comfort, but he swats them away. “You matter so much.”

“Apparently not.” His arms cross tightly, blocking off this chest. “Otherwise you wouldn’t have been on the other side of the fucking treaty line. With them.”

You bristle, and it takes all you have to keep the rise of your hackles from curling your top lip. Instead a steady needling scratches the back of your neck, burrowing between your shoulders as he lets off a defiant sniff you almost feel sorry for. But it hurts, the accusations he hurls, the blatant disregard. Hurts enough for your self loathing to shift.  “You wouldn’t understand.”

At this he laughs, harsh and bitter. Incredulous, his eyebrows shoot beneath copper curls, the usual cheek that graces his face brightly almost returning. But his eyes stay flat. “You’re right, I don’t.” He returns to his pacing, the bottoms of his jeans wet with the grass. “I don’t understand how I thought I could trust you. How I thought you and me could be-”

He stops, catching the words he’s never had the courage to say, and certainly doesn’t have the will to now. Angry hums take their place, his face scrunching like the fists he holds by his sides. “Why did you pick them over us?”

This you have an answer to, though it’s not one you’re comfortable admitting. Never one to play the damsel, but helpless all the same. “I didn’t have a choice. If I left they’d-”

“What, kill you?” He laughs again, hollow.

“-Kill you.”  

Michael physically stiffens, caught off guard. You take the opportunity to draw in a shaky breath, the feeling long since lost in the fingers you delve into your pocket. From it you retrieve a hefty envelope crammed so full that the sides threaten to split. It thunks onto the park table beside you, taking with it the last of your patience. Then you roll up one of your sleeves, exposed skin stinging as fresh welts greet the open air. At the sight he pales, looking ill  while you roll up the other. The same red marks screaming angrily across your body, flesh wrinkled and twisted with the shape of the hot pokers that had been pressed against you only days before. The same goes for your stomach, body blotched with brutish blues and yellows beneath your clothes. You don’t know how noticeable it is in the bathing of the street lamps, but know by his horrified expression that it’s obvious enough.

“I couldn’t leave my crew because they’d kill the Fakes if I did. Everything they did to me,” you yank your clothes back into place, “they’ll do to you. That file?” You motion to the envelope, and this time he shifts his gaze to the offending bundle of paper. “It’s everything they have on you and your crew. Well, all that’s left that is. I managed to destroy most of it before they got hold of me, and did all of this.”

Michael tries to turn the information over in his head, confusion obvious. It takes a minute but eventually he admits that he has no idea what you’re talking about.

“They found out that I was friends with you. One of the guys, Todd I’m guessing, must have been tracking me for weeks. Should’ve realised, I was an idiot for not being careful. Remember the night you told me that you were a part of the Fakes? It was when Los Santos did those stupid light shows and had the market stalls. We sat by the pier and ate peanut butter everything until I nearly puked?”

He remembers, there’s no way he can’t. It was arguably the happiest night he’s had in years. The way the flashing string lights had danced with the colours shining in your hair, dusting your shoulders and bobbing across the water. He always remembers of that night, of you swinging your legs as they dangled off the wood, the gentle smile that crossed your lips and the way his hand itched to hold yours. “We ate a fuck tonne of pizza.”

“I told you not too.”

Michael pulls a face, exterior defenses thawing a little. He’d fought against your reminders of his lactose intolerance, eagerly eyeing up the cheesiest pizza either of you had ever seen. He regretted it, but that’s something he’ll never admit. You smile, though barely.

“Well, they’d heard you. The next day they… questioned me. I told them I was running some undercover ops after they finished trying to beat out my teeth and I had time to talk. Told them that I was trying to get access to the Fakes so I could rob you blind, and hadn’t told them because I wasn’t sure it would work. They believed me, for the most part. But I started noticing your files growing, so I decided I’d try and leave. Wanted to take all of the info with me too, but they smelt a rat. They brought me in again the other night, made sure I knew what would happen if I decided to consider changing sides. To me and to you. I stood on that line and put a gun to your head so they wouldn’t kill you.”

He doesn’t know what to do, hands working the air and eyes searching for something to fuel his anger. He finds nothing, only able to take in your distraught expression while gathering your guilt from the floor to claim it as his own. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

You smile, happiness breaking through the dreariness of the night and colouring his cheeks a pleasant pink. “Because you’d have gone running in and gotten yourself killed. And after all the effort I put into keeping you alive, I wasn’t about to let that happen.”

He can’t deny it, but for a moment he looks as though he wants too. Instead he takes a tentative step forward, uncertain. “I, err… I guess I’m kinda being an asshole, huh?”

“You think?”

Then relief washes your cheeks with tears, nervous laughter muffled in his shoulder as he pulls you against him. His apologies join the clatter of your head, words tangling in your hair. You breath him in, smoke and sorrow catching in your lungs and stumbling over the fingers gripping his jacket to stop him escaping; not that he has any intentions of doing so.

“So, are we friends again?”

He laughs, but you’re almost certain it’s a distraction from crying. “Not even close. But,” he pulls back, smiling warmly down at you as though the past day hasn’t sent the two of you in spirals, “we can rebuild as long as you pay for dinner.”

[jwnchstr]

What if you go hunting without knowing you’re pregnant with Dean’s child?

CHARACTERS: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Collins!Reader, [mentioned] Jo, Ellen, Bobby.

PAIRINGS: Dean x Reader

WORD COUNT: 1,726 (based on Wattpad)

SUMMARY: What if you go hunting without knowing you’re pregnant with Dean’s child?

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I hate writing (y/n) so I name you.

Cannibals. This time, you and the brothers are hunting cannibals. You think vampires are nasty enough to eat humans’ blood, but cannibals are lot more worst. They eat every inch of your limb including your heart and eyes and intestines like a cow. But being a hunter, you’re not afraid of them because it is easier to kill those bad people who are already bad. It takes only a shot.

But without tricks, is not your hunting game. One of the cannibals you’re hunting had tricked you, of course, when you thought you killed him. In turns out, you missed him. And when you are running away from the location to meet up with Sam and your boyfriend Dean, the cannibal man gets in your way.

“Dammit!” you curse under your breath. You can feel your heart exploding inside your chest when you add up with the shock when that man appears in front of you. You almost knocked yourself onto him, who had a knife in his hand.

“Hello, sweetheart.“ He smiles at you. You don’t know if it was because of the human flesh he has been eating, but his teeth are yellow and rusty like zinc. In the moonlight you see how filthy he looks. Again, you didn’t know if eating human flesh makes him like that.

You back away slowly as he approaches you like a predator hunting its prey. A knife is tight in his grip and you hate that smirk that appears on his face. At some time here, you wish you weren’t the one hunting him.

“Got nowhere to go, do you?” He chuckles enthusiastically looking at your panic face. “How about you come here and let me butcher you down? I’m hungry.”

You grimace at his sentence. You cannot imagine how someone could kill innocence, cut down every limb and get rid of every hair and skin to eat. Even if you hunt down every thing that causes disturbances to the world, but you never chop someone’s hands off and cook it for dinner.

With the thought, you gag. You can even smell the rotten flesh when they toast you and grill you in the oven; or cook you in the pan. The smell of blood makes you throw back everything you ate.

“Wait, wait, wait,” you try to stall the time. “Look, look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to kill you back there. I was nervous. I didn’t know it was you, really. I thought it was-”

“Really?” He tilts his head to the right, as if reading you in such angle when the truth is, he is imagining the point of your neck to be cut down. “Why do I feel that you’re lying?”

“It’s because I am!”

As soon as that, you pick up a thick stick -- thick enough to fight with his knife -- with your leg. You have practiced this so many times before and each of them failed, but tonight, you succeed, but do not have the time to celebrate. When you pick the trunk up, you quickly swing it in front of you. Somehow, you are too slow that he manages to dodge his head.

The cannibal man turns angry seeing how you had fooled him. When you are taking your time with the trunk, he sprints towards you, swinging his knife but you dodge it pretty fast and punch his face. He falls backwards as he groans, pinching his nose that starts to bleed. Seeing the chance of killing him, you lift up the trunk to throw it onto the cannibal man’s face, but much to your disappointment, his reflexes are too quick. Or is it because you are too slow?

He kicks your stomach hard. Is it because of him eating human’s flesh that he gets their energy or you’re just too weak or it really hurts? You don’t have time to process which one is the answer when you feel another punch that causes you to fall on the ground, curling.

“Please,” you beg, like seriously beg. You don’t know why you feel so damn tired tonight when usually it’s not hard for you to kill one person. With a punch or a kick, you’d knock someone’s out. “Please, don’t kill me.”

The cannibal man laughs sarcastically. “But I’m hungry darling,” he says. “I promise you it won’t hurt. The next time you wake up, you don’t even know you’re dead.”

You whine and cry silently, clutching your stomach wishing that someone is already coming to rescue you. Even though the man hasn’t cut you open yet, but you already feel like it. You also feel like someone is washing your bones with ice. You cannot describe how awful it feels, but the pain makes you go sweaty and cold at the same time. You are shaking from top to bottom and your vision goes blur.

“Please, don’t kill me,” you hear yourself whisper to the man when you still feel his rough hands on your skin. But just when you see him raising his knife, someone else is already there to help you. With one shot, the man dies.

“Collins? Collins, hey, hey, stay with me.” You feel lightheaded when the man above your eyes taps your cheek to wake you up. It’s Dean, your boyfriend. Through your blur vision, you see how worry he looks and how panic he is.

The pang on your stomach strikes you again when you are about to call him. You choke and cry, curling on the ground as you shut your eyes like it helps you to reduce the pain.

Your boyfriend has a very deep frown as he stares you down without knowing what is happening to you. He tries to ask you what happened, but with you keep on curling and choking and crying, it did not help him. He watches you from up to down, looking for any injuries the previous man got you. Looking for any fractured bones because he doesn’t want to hurt you he picks you up. However, there’s no injury he sees, but the darkness on your jeans near your private part.

“No.”

Dean was shaky. He does not know what that blood on your jeans near your private part means, but he kind of knew. You might not tell him that you’re late for your period because it happens to you many times that you never take it seriously, but Dean personally keeps track on you. And when this is happening, Dean might not be able to forgive himself if...

Dean quickly scoops you up, running towards his car calling for Sam over the loud bangs of Sam’s shotgun. The hunt may not be finished, but they have to leave. You are sick. They cannot wait another minute to kill the cannibals. The hunt can continue next time.

Seeing his brother carrying you, Sam knows something not right is happening. And without a second thought, Sam follows.

The first thing that you hear as soon as you get your senses back is the beeping sound coming from the heart monitor. Instantly, you know where you are at. As you slowly open your eyes, you see that familiar white walls of the hospital, the heart monitor on your left and an IV. You lift your hand to wipe your eyes, but hiss when you forget that they hydrate you using the left hand.

You look around, seeing Sam and Dean talking while they are standing at the door. They are facing each other, but seeing you getting up, Sam jerks his head towards you, a cue to his brother that you woke up and he leaves.

“Collins, hey.” Dean smiles. “You wake up.” Dean rushes towards you. His hand quickly found yours as the other played with your hair.

“What happened?” You straight away ask, knowing that this is not an unfamiliar place to you and you haven’t lost your memory yet, only energy.

“Nothing. You just- fainted.”

Even though you are curious because Dean’s face says it all, but you are too weak to question more. So you just nod your head and ignore the lingering questions around your head and let Dean kisses your knuckles. You close your eyes a moment because that warms your heart.

“Collins,” Dean calls you softly. You hum as reply, and turn to him. “Did you know that you’re pregnant?”

You frown as you look at him. “I am not- Oh!” You stop yourself when you remember what happened to you during the hunt. Feeling so drained that you never felt before, not even on your period. Feeling of puking most of the times. Normal smelly things making you gag and puke. And the hurt at the bottom of your stomach when the man kicked you.

Your eyes turn big like a ping pong ball and your mouth form an ‘o’ as you stare at Dean. Your free hand spontaneously reach your stomach. But instead of feeling happy, you feel sorrow.

“Oh my God, Dean,” you start. You eyes water as you look at Dean who is giving you a look of confusion. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know that I- that I-”

Dean chuckles. “Hey, hey, calm down.” Dean wipes your tears with his thumb. “Our bean is safe.” He smiles.

You stop crying immediately, blinking at him and sniffling. “Sorry?”

“Our baby is safe,” Dean repeats, “don’t need to be sad about it, but you need to take care of yourself, okay?”

“Are you serious?”

“Why would I not?” Dean gives you an assuring smile. “We just talked to the doctor. Yes, you and him barely survived, but you both miraculously did. So, promise me you’d take care of yourself.”

You wipe your tears as you nod your head. “Okay.” You feel a smile play on your lips, happy to hear the news. Even though you did know that you’re pregnant, but knowing that you lose one still hurt you, especially when both you and Dean planned about this.

“No more hunting for you,” Dean says, though soft, but he sounds stern.

You raise your eyebrows at this. “At least, allow me to go to work.? I’d get bored at home.”

“We’ll see,” Dean answers; you pull your face. “Because based on our experience, when you’re on your period and such, you can barely move.”

“Fine.” You pout, in which it’s like giving Dean an excuse to kiss you.

“I love you,” he says. “I’ll go get Sam and the rest.”

“And the rest?”

“Bobby, Ellen, Jo. Everybody’s excited to hear the news, baby.”

You can’t help, but to laugh. “Okay.”

[pandatypewriter]

B.A.P Le Noir Au Ch. 18 (Himchan): Falling Apart

Teehee! I kept my word! *pats my back* As promised here is the weekly chapter of Le Noir! Shit is hitting the fan and things are starting to get excited teehee! The meat of the story is coming up and I’m so pumped to write it! Also! I’m working on Ch. 10 for one of the boys (keeping it a surprise) so look forward to that when it pops up :D

“F**k!” Himchan sat upright in a cold sweat, his breath shallow and his nerves on edge. He felt as if he ran a 20 mile marathon nonstop. Like he had been hit with a steam roller. He glanced down beside him and sighed at the woman sleeping soundly beside him. He let out a small groan as he noticed the other woman beside him, sleeping peacefully. He scanned the room. Clothes, underwear, booze, remnants of recreational drugs, all evidence of his crimes laid before him. He squeezed his eyes shut, burying his face in his hands.

-Two weeks ago-

“The body of Jane Doe was found in the middle Tokki Park, near the children’s play park. It was found that the severe beating of her face and the mutilation of her stomach was done post mortem. Cause of death was found to be a lethal slash at the coronary artery. Baby Doe was fou-” Himchan shut off the TV, running into the nearest bathroom of the hideout.

Yongguk looked at his friend in sympathy as he swiftly gestured for the rest of the boys to head to their respective rooms. They looked at each other for a moment, understanding the gravity of the situation yet not wanting to leave their leader alone. Yongguk gave them one last stern look before the boys began filing to their rooms. Yongguk let out a small sigh, running his fingers through his silky hair as he slowly trailed after Himchan. He slightly opened the door to the bathroom only to find his best friend puking his guts into the toilet.

“It’s her isn’t it…” Himchan’s voice was barely a murmur. A ghost of Himchan. Hallow. Empty.

“They haven’t confir-”

“DON’T BULLSHIT ME! IT’S HER ISN’T!?” Yongguk fell silent. The only thing left in the room was the stewing tension exuding from Himchan.

“Yeah….from the note we found shoved down Vincent’s throat…” Yongguk paused, noticing Himchan’s obvious flinch at his words. “We were able to collect some scraps of evidence before the media swarm...from Youngjae’s findings it’s probably Mari…. 

Himchan’s eyes were lifeless. Dull. Like he could be stabbed right in the eye and he wouldn’t give a shit. “Y/N probably saw the news didn’t she…”

“Most likely…” Yongguk knew that at this point, the last thing Himchan wanted to hear was pretty words and sweet lies. Those would only hurt more when the truth settled in.

“They were suppose to be happy…” Himchan could feel warm tears well up in his eyes. Yongguk did not know if those were addressed to him or Himchan himself. “Vincent was happily married and living his dream…” Himchan’s fist tightened, his nails digging into his skin. “He was suppose to be a father…” Himchan could no longer hold his tears any longer. The hot unfamiliar liquid streamed down his face. He was a failure. He couldn’t protect his Vincent’s future. Vincent who gave him a future. Because of of his mistakes, his friend lost his future.

Himchan shifted out of the bed, avoiding at all cost any chance of waking up the two sleeping women. He scratched the back of his head vigorously as he slipped on some clean boxers, memories of last night flooded his brain. The club, the dancing, the sexy girls coming onto his drunken slightly high state. God, now was the time he needed coffee. He opened his bedroom door only to be greeted to the smell of freshly brewed coffee and french toast. Himchan furrowed his eyebrows confused. He was pretty sure he was no longer high...he thinks. Either way, having hallucinations about a yummy breakfast didn’t sound too terrible. If only it was just an hallucination.

“Coffee?” Himchan’s eyes grew wide the moment his eyes laid upon your figure, a cup of joe in your hands. “Yongguk told me about this place...don’t be too harsh on him. It’s been a few weeks since I saw you...He was concerned…we both were. “ The last part of your words were barely above a murmur. Only meant for your ears to hear, but Himchan heard and it hurt him. It hurt him that he hurt you, yet you still cared about him.

“Y/N…” Himchan opened his words, confused, worried. He had hurt you. Betrayed you. Something he promised he would never do to you. But there you were. Standing just 5 feet away from his sin in the other room.

“I made enough food and coffee for your two….friends,” Himchan paled. You knew. You knew yet you were still here, pouring coffee as calmly as a well-trained barista. “I don’t know what they like so they’ll have just to stick with french toast.” You smiled politely at him as you handed him a cup of coffee.

“Y/N...I..I…” Himchan had so much to say, but he simply couldn’t get the words out of his mouth. 

“It’s okay, Himchan,” You smiled up at Himchan, gently cupping his cheek. “I understand why you did it. It hurts…but I understand and I’m not mad.” You placed a chaste kiss on his lips.

 It hurt everything in Himchan hurt. How could you be so kind? So understanding? The fact that you still loved and cared about him after he betrayed you, it hurt him more than any gunshot wound he received. Your touch burned him. Your sweet voice deafened. The sight of you made him want to cry. You were too perfect. Too out of reach for him. How could he deserve someone like you?

“Y/N…” Himchan solemnly entered the safe house the boys placed you in, in order to avoid another special package arriving at your doorstep.

“Hey Channie.” You smiled at him, your voice light hearted and sweet, but the slight red tinge in your eyes told him another story. You were crying. Crying hard. 

“Y/N, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. This is all my-” You immediately placed your hand over Himchan’s mouth shutting off his words. 

“Don’t you dare take the blame, Kim Himchan. This was not your fault, you understand. You did not kill Mari or Vincent. The INF did. Not you.” Your eyes softened at the distraught and pained man in front of you, pulling him into a tight embrace. Himchan felt disgusted. Not at you. At himself. The more time he spent with you. The more understanding you were. The more you cared about him. The more disgusted he felt. He needed to get away. He needed to distance himself. Or allow his self-hated to consume him. 

“You need to leave, Y/N.” Himchan’s voice was stern. But it wasn’t how he was before, full of passion and life. His voice now was empty, cold, robotic.

“Himchan, I’m not leaving. I’m not going to let you distance yourself from me…” You returned his stern look with a equally stubborn glare. You weren’t going to backdown. Himchan had distance himself from you, but it wasn’t like last time. It wasn’t the entire gang keeping their distance from you. It was just Himchan. He didn’t treat you like a stranger. Like you were nonexistent. He simply didn’t see you. Holing himself away at clubs and prostitution dens. Sam became so furious about his activities that he threatened to murder Himchan. You fortunately calmed him down, telling him that Himchan simply needed time. You understood more than anyone the damage a loss of someone you cared about could cause. You remembered the slew of late night drinking and almost drug binges to get your mind off Scotty, but fortunately Sam and Padrino stopped you. That didn’t stop you from at least trying to get your fix, going for prescription drugs instead.

“Do you not understand me!? I don’t want to see your face!” Himchan could feel his rage boil over. His rage at himself. For his incapabilities. For his insecurities. How dare you treat him well? How dare you love him? How dare you try to make him feel? Someone like him who can’t even protect the people he cared about. “I’m sick of seeing you. Of hearing your voice.”

You stared at Himchan. Dumbfounded at the venom leaving his mouth. It hurt you. A part of you wanted to understand him. Wanted to defend him, but the more rage and seething anger you saw seeping into his eyes, the more you wanted to scream back at him. You took a deep breath, balling your hands into a fist. Despite his vicious words, you needed to be strong. Stand your ground. Or at least try.

“Himchan, did you not hear me the first time? I’m not leaving.” Himchan could feel himself lose control. The more you defended him. Stood by his side, the crazier he felt. The angrier he felt.

Himchan scoffed, running his fingers through his hair. “You don’t get it do you? I don’t want see you, Y/N. Every time I see you I want to throw up,” He snorted. “I don’t even know why the hell I even love you. Loved you,” He glared at you. Glared at you with so much disdain that you could no longer tell if this was an act or truth. “If I hadn’t met you, then I could have happily live my life! Women, money, booze! I wouldn’t have to clean up after your husband’s mess with the INF! Vincent wouldn’t have had to died! God damn, I should have just let those Emperor Dragon’s take you! You’re nothing but trouble!” 

You stared at him wide eyed. Shocked. Empty. It was if your brain had completely shut off at Himchan’s words. You felt your heart crumble. Break into a fine powder that is washed away by the sorrow you felt. You hated him for his words. You loved him for his past kindness. You were confused. You felt as if time had slowed and you were watching this entire scene unfold from a distant. You were there, but not there. You felt no emotions, like a doll. You didn’t know how to feel, what to feel. All you understood in that moment was that this was the end.

You slowly took a step back away from him, placing your cup of coffee on the counter. You walked towards the door, almost mechanically. Your legs were guiding you without thought. You reached towards the door handle, gripping on the cold metal, and glanced back at Himchan. Giving one last chance. One last chance at happiness to be returned. For this not to end.

“After I walk out of this door, this will be the end, Himchan…” Your words were soft, like gentle air blowing on a spring day. 

Himchan wanted to reach out towards you. Pull you back and apologize for his stupid words, his stupid anger. But he couldn’t. Every fiber of his being wouldn’t allow him. He couldn’t protect you. He had no right to love you. You deserved better. You deserved to be happy. You didn’t need him in your life. Himchan gripped his fist tightly, his nails digging into his palms. He turned away, not looking into your eyes, simply glaring at the floor. 

You let out one last sad smile. Probably the last genuine smile you will give him. “Good-bye Himchan…”

The door shut with a hollow click, leaving only a broken man and silence.

 The walk towards Le Noir was quiet. You felt as if you were walking for ages, mindlessly going wherever your feet led you. You didn’t really care where you ended up. You just didn’t want to care. As much as you mastered keeping your emotions in check, you were still human. You still felt pain. You still felt love. But now. Now you felt nothing. You body didn’t feel as if it were yours. It was as if you were watching your life played for you on a big screen with only you in the audience. 

“Y/N,” Your body froze at the sound of your name pulling you back into reality. “Are you okay?” Jaebum closed the door of his car and approached you cautiously, not knowing how you would react in your distraught state. You looked up at him, stared into his deep brown eyes filled with concern and worry. You wanted to lie. Tell him you were fine. But you were so tired. You didn’t have the strength to say a word. “Y/N…” He gently put his hands on your shoulder and lowered himself so that he could look into your eyes. “What happened?” His voice barely above a whisper.

You gripped onto Jaebum’s shirt as if it were your only lifeline. You didn’t know if it was because of Himchan’s previous harsh words or the care and concern in Jaebum’s voice. The care and concern you thought Himchan felt for you. Warm, painful tears streamed from your eyes. All the pain and anger you welled up broke free. You buried your face within Jaebum’s shirt, hoping the neatly ironed white fabric would hide your tears. Warm arms wrapped around your frame, holding you tighter against Jaebum’s chest.

Jaebum watched you silently as you sipped on a cup of tea that he brewed for you. He had 100 million questions to ask you, but he knew now was not the time. He glanced over to see the rest of the members of his team peak through the window of the office he took over. He shot them a harsh glare, warning to them to skidaddle or they would hear an earful later.

He had wanted to take you back home, but you told him through your sob filled voice that due to circumstances you couldn’t go home. Circumstances, he rationalized, being Himchan. A part of him felt guilty that he hadn’t push harder for you to separate yourself from this life. It was as of he had let Scotty down again. A small part of him knew that no matter how hard he’d push you would never listen, ravishing in your independence and freedom of choice.

“Thank you…” Jaebum’s ears perked at the sound of your voice, though it was soft and empty in comparison to the fiery passion you usually held. 

“Can you tell me what happened, Y/N?” He almost pleaded. He wanted to help you, wanted you to be safe and happy. But he had his doubts. Dealing with the INF, the burning down of the Emperor Dragon’s hideout, and now with the current triple homicide. He didn’t know if he could help himself. You quietly stated at the mug, your soft fingers playing with the handle. Jaebum took your silence as a ‘no.’ “Is it about the current murders? We investigated and we know you two are friends…”

“It’s my fault…” You murmured, gripping the handle. “I shouldn’t have gotten involved. I should have listened to my mother…” The wave of sorrow you felt was now replaced with intense anger and hatred towards yourself. 

Jaebum immediately came to your side, kneeling beside you. “What are you talking about, Y/N? None of this is your fault.” He gently placed his hand on top of yours.

“You don’t understand…” You flashed him a forlorn smile. You took a deep breath, regaining your composure and shaking off the remnants of sorrow. At least temporarily. “I know who killed Mari and Vincent. It wasn’t some random homicide. It was the INF.”

“Wait, what?” Jaebum furrowed his eyebrows, confused by the sudden influx of information. “How do you know that?” You flashed him a sympathetic smile and he immediately understood. “Right…” 

“I’m sorry…” Jaebum just let out a snort, gently cupping your cheek so you would face him. A small smile on his face.

“Listen to me, you have nothing to be sorry for alright?” He gently tapped your nose as he headed outside his office for a moment to relay the newly obtained information to his colleagues. “Yah! You eavesdropping punks, get your asses over here!”

You stifled a giggling as you watched Jaebum nag and lecture 6 grown men. Your eyes softened and a small part of you wondered if you would have been happier if you had been with someone like Jaebum instead of Himchan. You shook your head, dispelling the thought. You loved Himchan…..you love him. It was a precious feeling that you refused to regret. You wouldn’t regret, but you needed to forget.

“Sorry about them,” Jaebum awkwardly chuckled, rubbing the back of his head. You smiled him, assuring him that it was okay that his team members saw your little crying fit. No use going into a frenzy over something trivial. “It’s been a long day.”

“That it has.” You nodded in agreement, waiting to see where Jaebum was going with this line of conversation. 

“Uh...if you don’t mind the cramped space you can stay at with us...it’s probably not ideal for you to stay with seven men, but-” Jaebum began to ramble between convincing you to stay with him and his team and saying how it wasn’t safe to do so.

“I’ve done worse,” You smiled at Jaebum before removing yourself from the not so comfy plastic chair. “But I have some work at Le Noir I want to finish up. Once I’m done, I’ll give you a call, okay?”

“You better,” Jaebum teased, letting out his own chuckle once he relaxed. “I’ll drive you back to Le Noir.” 

You nodded in agreement, opening the door to find 6 men “nonchalantly” going about their work. You smiled at them politely before exiting the building, Jaebum following behind you.

“Well who knew you could be so cuddly.” Jinyoung snorted, earning him a heated glare.

“Keep talking cause of if you do, you’ll find a foot up your ass.”

“Thanks for the ride,” You hugged your arms tightly. “And everything else.” You leaned up and gave him a chaste peck on the cheek.

 “Of course,” He smiled, gently grabbing your shoulders and pulling you into a hug. You grew stiff, suddenly unfamiliar with such warmth and human contact. “I know that we barely know each other and the only thing that ties you and me together is Scotty, but if you need anything….just let me know.”

 “Thank you…” You relaxed a bit and hugged the kind man back. You really wondered if this was the same ‘reckless punk’ your husband always complained about. He matured well and you knew in your heart that Scotty would be proud of the way his young partner had grown up.

Jaebum separated from you, his hands still on your shoulders. “And Y/N...I looked through Scotty’s notes on the case…” He could feel you stiffen at his words. “From what I can tell, there are some pieces missing. I don’t know if someone hacked the system or what, but I know the file was tampered….It looks like whatever Scotty found during his investigation is something even greater than INF, beyond the criminal scope…” He gently released his grip and placed his hands in his pocket. “I don’t know if Scotty mentioned anything to you or if he had concerns, but if you remember something please let me know.”

“I will…” Your mind raked through every memory you had with Scotty. You distinctly remembered that deep into the investigation you had found that Scotty had becoming more antsy, keeping a majority of his notes and files at home rather than the office. You would ask him why your home was becoming a storage unit, but he would merely smile saying they are renovating the building. You knew your husband better than that. He was living as if he had to watch his back 24 hours. You didn’t know what sparked the sudden paranoia.

“And Y/N?” You looked up at Jaebum, tilting your head slightly. “Be safe, okay?” You smiled at him once more, this time a bit more sincere than melancholic, before entering Le Noir.

“Satisfied?” Yongguk sighed, not knowing what his best friend was thinking at the moment.

Himchan stared at the entire scene, not uttering a word. A sound. Not even when you placed a kiss on Jaebum’s cheek. “It’s better this way.”

“That’s what you said last time…” Yongguk leaned back in the car seat, watching his friend stare at you as if he would never see you again.

“It’s different, Guk...last time...last time I was arrogant I thought that I could handle the INF that Y/N was a distraction….this time it’s completely different…” Himchan leaned back into the passenger seat as he downed a shot of vodka he brought along. “I can’t beat the INF...at least not with the way I am now. I have to be just as ruthless and heartless as they are. I don’t know if I’ll like what I’ve become or if I’ll still be Himchan. But, if she can find her own happiness and be safe….I’ll be okay…”

“Well whether you stay as Himchan or not, we still got your back,” Yongguk smiled, downing his own shot. “Brothers till death, right?” 

“Right.” The two boys light clashed their bottles together before drowning away in the clear liquid.

Thanks for reading! Comments and critiques are greatly appreciated and I’ll love you more haha XD jk jk I’ll love y’all no matter what!

[zuffer-weird-girl]

Request: 'Can I pretty pretty please have that angel's quirk S/o angsty? Like, she has her wings cutted or-OH OH! When Shigaraki is going to get Chisaki's other arm and instead grabs her wing because she got in the way to save him? And when Kai just shouts she is like 'is alright hon... you didn't like them much anyway...' with that smile that even made Kai cry?'

Dammit! Dammit! DAMMIT-!

Why can't you fly faster?! The wind was even helping you for crying out loud!

The moment you heard the new recruits of the Shie Hassaikai, Toga and Twice, speakinv with that man that a few days ago Chisaki had overhauled his arm about some fucked up plan about revenge you had widen your eyes in terror and sneaked out form the mess of cops and heroes... you could get to the rest of the gang later, now you needed only one thing.

Prevent the leader of the league to take your boyfriend's arms away... it wasn't fair! They did threw the first move in some way!

You wiped your tears away with a scoff... you should have been there to calm down the other gang and your boyfriend before Magne, it was her name right? Attacked him... you could have prevented this with your quirk even!

But Kai would be so worried and angry... he insisted that he was making a "cure" for this world... but still he preferred taht you only used your quirk on emergencies.

Well. Fuck his arrogant ass. This IS an emergency.

You widened your eyes in horror when you spoted the van that your boyfriend was had just crashed with another and fell down.

"Kai!" You whimpered, your wings hurting from how much force you were using them to get there faster.

~

"... did you come to kill me?" He asked hoarsely when Shigaraki just kicked his bed out of the van... only getting back to his senses when that compress guy used his quirk to take one of his arms.

"Which one is the finished product? Oh well..." the blue haired man rasped out, taking the quirk erasing bullets for himself as Chisaki darkened his eyes.

"Give it back."

Shigaraki stared at him numbly before slowly returning back to talking.

"You wanna know something, Overhaul?" He raised his hand a bit, coming in the direction of his arm "Someone who despises quirks so much-"

"GET YOUR HANDS OFF FROM HIM!" He widened his eyes at recognizing the voice coming from above before you simply kicked Shigaraki on his chest from all of your strenght, the force and the impact from how fast you were flying helped you a bit.

"(Y/n)..." he spoke almost in disbelief. The thought of those heroes laying their hands on you was enough to leave him enraged, but you were there... howering over him like a animal would protect their partner or puppy, panting to a point he was even worried you were going to hyperventilate.

You turned a bit your head to look at him, that angry gaze dissapearing as only a worried and scary frow formed when you looked at him.

"Are you okay?" You asked and almost cried at seing that one of his arms were already cutted...

You weren't that late but you weren't so soon either...

"Well, looks like not only now I have to take down the king but the queen as well." Shigaraki rasped out and you widen your eyes at seing Mr. Compress threatening to lay his hands back on Chisaki.

He gritted his teeth before you conjured a celestial light on your hands and threw directly at the man merciless... Fighting for you was never right, but those people were trying to hurt your boyfriend... and even despite knowing all of that fucked up stuff he did, you couldn't help but still love him... after all, if everyone knew about his own past like you did, some people would even understand why he acted like this.

"(Y/n), get out form here-" Your boyfriend said in anger yet worry as you tried to unlock those handcuffs.

"I am not leaving you here Kai!" You shouted before getting back up again at sieng a raven haired man going to send blue flames towards you guys.

You flapped once your wings in such a strenght that it was enough to bring the flames to an end, the fire quirk ised even arching both eyebrows in amusement at your skills.

You did the same thing as you did with the other man, but this I guy dodged your attack just on the last second...

Chisaki was still trying to set his left arm free at least... hsi girlfriend was out there fighting for him even despite after all he did...

What kinda of a a man was he?!

Shigaraki got close and looked a bit at you before smirking sadistically down at Chisaki.

"That slot of yours got some guts."

"Shut the hell up Shigaraki." He growled as he squirmed violently on that bed, while the blue haired man only smiled even more wickedly.

"Huh... te me one thing Overhaul." He lifted his hand up again "Is that woman there valuable to you?"

Just on that moment you went to check up on Kai you saw the horrible scene in front of you. Your legs moved without thinking and you knew it that you wouldn't be able to reach your arm out to push Shigaraki Tomura from there... but your wings were faster and bigger.

"NO!" You shouted and jumped while opening your wings, one of them being touched accidentally by Shigaraki's all five fingers.

You and Kai widened your eyes in utter horror as you let out a painful sound through gritted teeth and fell on your knees besides Kai.

"(Y/N)! NO!" He ripped his arm out but his body was still caged by the straps.

Shigaraki lifted his hand up to look at it with false amusement before looking down at you without any signs of pity again.

"That was... unexpected."

Chisaki let out a angry shout before going to touch the grow with his bare hand before Shigaraki just yanked you by your left wing and brought the knife to cut it out the last remains of the one he touched.

You let out a pained and tortured cry at this as Chisaki immediately retreated his hand back.

"Huh. With this you at least learns how to think... interesting." He looked at you "Tell me honestly how can you had attures this dipshit?"

You wanted to scream and send curses to him that God would be ashamed of you... but the pain of having your wing taken off like that was just too hurtful.

"Let her go." Kai growled before he winced and slapped Compress arm out of him when he had injected something on his neck without noticing.

He suddenly started to feel drowsy... his vision getting blurred but getting better when Shigaraki brought you and him closer to Chisaki's eyes.

"Since we wanted out revenge, consider this as a little bonus!" He smiled widely at him before placing his last finger on your wings... cutting it off the moment he saw his quirk effect almost reaching your back. "Now look at this! Wasn't I generous? You still have your 'angel', a fallen and wingless one!"

You fell back in your knees... a hurtful and pathetic cry left your lips along with a sob as you reached behind your back only to wince at touching just close enough to your skin...

And before you could even blink Shigaraki and his commurates had gotten out of there as the sounds of sirens were heard form afar.

You opened your eyes again to see him, the effect of the drug completly gone as his pupils trembled even at the sign of the last remains of your wings, now merely dust, spread on the concrete like some dust...

"Angel... y-your- your-"

"That's alright..." you whispered with a sad smile, making his heart clench on a unforgivable way... he took notice that drops of blood were dripping down form your back and falling into the ground and the sign made him want to puke in horror and disgust.

"... you never liked them anyway, right? At least part of my quirk is gone now.." you smiled at him and closed your eyes in favor of stopping the tears form the pain you were feeling.... a failed attempt.

He widened his eyes even more at your words, guilt and sorrow finally hitting him like a damn train as you trembling hands undies the straps he had on his body.

The moment he got into a sitting position he couldn't help but let out a sob, the amount of events tht just happened being so much even for him to take... he muffled it with his remaking hand but he could feel his tears spilling like a waterfall from his eyes at the swing the pool of blood close to you. You furrowed your eyebrows before he pushed you against his chest.

He knew it that he couldn't use his quirk to get your wings back... they being cutted out and disintegrated gave him no possible choices of returning those huge, annoying and beautiful white wings back...

He let out a pathetic cry before burring his face in the crook of your neck, clinging on you but careful enough with his grip due to your possible pain.

[dexwxx-blog]

what you give up to cross the VEIL will make you wish for death instead

They told you death was a person, a reaper to collect the souls of humans who’d outrun their fate for too long. A ghostly figure deciding whether to allow you an eternity of sorrow or an eternity of dreams. You were no longer human— long ago you thought God had judged you for eternal damnation. Then you thought death was a feeling, empty and hollow as the years ticked on, violent delights the only way to send your message to the sky. For if you had been damned you would fight like a devil, with bloody knuckles and stained fur. Bottle up the desires too human for a demon to daydream about. Then you met him and for the first time in forever you believed that God loved all his children.

Death was a strange place indeed, the sting of silver no longer coursing its way through your bloodstream, the flame of pain instead felt light. It was a hazy darkness, a promise of something coming, yet still out of the grasp of your fingers. You could continue on, march into the fog and accept wherever the winds take you— heaven or hell, doesn’t matter much anymore. Either way, damnation will follow, for you’ll never be able to gaze upon eyes clearer than spring water or be touched by the tender fingers that saved you from yourself.

It’s true what you said— without him you die inside.

Somebody asks you if you loved him, and God you do. He is your everything, a home inside a person, the boy you’d throw yourself in front of silver because you want him to live more than yourself. He picked up the broken pieces of your soul and put them back together with soft fingers and softer kisses. You will forever be his, no matter how far you are separated.

Even if you are separated by life and death? Yes, even if he was an angel and you were a demon. Yes, even if he was a god and you were a mortal. Yes, in all the ways you could of been born, in all the ways you could of died. You cannot stop loving him, even if time won’t allow. You will be miserable and lonely every moment he’s no longer with you.

You’re told you can go back, but you must give something up. You’ll do it, you’ll take it— anything is worth a glimpse of his smile again, anything is worth the feeling of his arms around your waist, his hot breath in your ear. They say you won’t last long, it’s futile to make the journey back. What you give up to cross the veil will make you wish for death instead. You can’t bring yourself to care. You’ve always been a fighter, you’ll give up anything for the things you want.

And they can never take that from you.

You cross through the veil, anyway.

Light glazed through the tips of Dex’s fluttering eyelids, the dream he had still lingering in the corners of his eyes. And then it hit him, the searing pain bubbling underneath his flesh, the agony of it all pushing at his now clamped lips. It’s a kind of pain he’d never before felt— memories of the silver ripping through his flesh fresh in his memory. He wanted to scream, verbalize the torment burning in his chest. Memories flooded back like a tidal wave, images of Sebastian covered in his own blood, tears prickling against his eyes as he tried to say a lifetime’s worth of words in a few brief moments. Jerking himself upright, the sudden movement causing his head to go fuzzy, he realized he was no longer in the crumbling ballroom. It was clean and white and smelled so strongly of antiseptic Dex thought he was going to puke.

“Jesus Christ, if you sit up that fast you’re going to hurt yourself.” It came from behind him, so Dex quickly swiveled around to face the voice, only for his vision to blur out the moment long strands of hair entered his field of vision. The other woman, clearly a lycan at this point, chuckled at his misery, obviously taking delight in his inability to listen. “Tell me your name and date of birth.”

“Dexter Minsoo Woo. October 23rd, 1956.” It came out hoarse, his throat burned with the same vigor his chest did. His vision settled along with his stomach, allowing him to look at the woman sitting opposite him. Between the bright colors she wore and the deep hue of her lipstick, Dex thought he was going to get a headache all over again. The lycan, Dex vaguely remembered her from years and years ago— sent to give him a warning from the Glasgow pack he’d promptly decided to ignore. She seemed amused with him then, almost as amused as she was now. “Where am I?”

Sighing, she got up from her seated position, from the way her legs wobbled Dex could tell she’d been seated for a long time. “The Paris Estate Infirmary, darling. You were, let’s say pretty severely injured,” she replied, her tone not matching the seriousness of the conversation whatsoever.

“I’d say taking a silver bullet to the chest is a pretty severe injury,” Dex sighed, already deciding he was over and done dealing with the Glasgow pack enforcer.

The woman put her hand squarely across his chest, pushing him back down on his back. “Good, good. You remember that at least. Can you tell me anything that happened after?” Raking her fingers over his chest, Dex vaguely realised she was trying to do a physical exam. The whole process was seared into his memory, the only doctor he ever saw so horrified by tissue that stretched over his torso Dex saw no reason in returning.

“I got shot, so I shifted back from my lycan form. Then I told Seb that I—”

“That you love him?” She smirked again and boy did Dex really wanna punch it off her face. “Yeah— we all know. It was pretty obvious from the scene we all walked in on. Let me tell you, I didn’t expect it, Dexter Woo, the little fighter who’d never show loyalty to anything or anyone falling madly in love with the lycan heir? I almost didn’t think you had feelings.”

She was trying to get a rise out of him, get him to lash out towards her because his tolerance for bullshit and patience was low. Instead he just felt drained, tired enough to want to sleep forever. “I told him I loved him— and then I blacked out. I think. Time was sort of fuzzy after I got shot.” Remembering how he had confessed what he’d done to Edmund right before he passed out, he could physically feel the change in his heartbeat. Though it wasn’t like all the other times his heart had practically beaten out of his chest. It felt slower than ever, like he was in slow motion. His eyes widened and it seemed the other lycan could only find amusement in his misery. “What— what’s happened to me,” Dex stuttered, fear bubbling to the surface. “There’s something you’re not telling me.”

Now she finally got serious, taking the kind of inhale that struck fear into the hearts of most men. “Medics tried, but we got to you much later than we’d like. We couldn’t remove the silver bullet from your chest. And because of that—” It was the first time he’d ever seen her hesitate in the conversation, clearly torn about how to break the horrible news to him. “—There’s some nasty side effects.”

“Tell me them,” he choked out, clipped and short. There was a burning in his chest, a fear that Dex hadn’t felt even in the moments he was bleeding out all over Sebastian. His mind wandered to the dream he’d had before waking up, perhaps it hadn’t been a dream at all.

“Well, for one thing, shifting is off the table completely. Silver is more potent that way and with the bones and muscles all re-arranging themselves, it would probably kill you. And to follow that up, you’re advanced healing has been severely dampened. Faster than a human’s, but not by much. A few other important things of note—” Her words seemed to float away, vanishing under his hammering heartbeat. The world was spinning, his world crumbling beneath his fingertips.

He was weak. Everything that had protected him for so long, the second skin he’d learned to enjoy and sometimes even love had been unceremoniously ripped away from him. He couldn’t fight it either, hell, what could he fight anymore? For the first time since his childhood, Dex felt the corners of his eyes tingle with a warm burning. When did he become so attached to being a lycan, claws and all? For so long, he’d wanted to be human again, turn back time to the night he snuck out with Allen so he stayed at home. Dex hadn’t become human, but it was as close as any immortal could probably get. It was true, a part of him died the moment silver struck skin.

Maybe if it was Sebastian, he’d let the tears fall and let the younger lycan hold him as he weeped. Let his warm embrace sooth all the hurt and sadness, let someone else protect him from the dark edges of his thoughts. But to Devon, a stranger, he couldn’t show that sort of humanity. He couldn’t let her see him any weaker than he already was. “Seb,” he suddenly gasped, throwing his body upright once more, much to Devon’s obvious annoyance. “Is he okay? Where is he now? Did he—?”

It was then a strange gesture occurred, the lycan woman grasped his hand with a motherly tenderness, looked at him with eyes soft as silk. “He’s fine, darling. Don’t worry about him right now, I’ll make sure you two can spend time together later. We need to worry about you first.” Dex thought it unnatural that something so calming could come from the lycan boogeyman, but it was a welcome surprise in the end. He just needed someone to tell him everything would be okay.

Devon let go of his hand, getting up to obtain more supplies to continue her exam. Paranoia set in, shifting his vision all around the room with stark white walls. Glancing down towards a few objects left near, brown eyes caught the shine of metal— sharp and tempting. In one swift motion, Dex grabbed the scalpel, slashing it hard and fast across the inside of his inner wrist. A metallic noise echoed through the room as he dropped it, blood pooling faster than he’d ever remembered. His free hand pressed down on the wound as he bit down on his lip to suppress a cry of agony. It was true, it was true and there was no escaping it anymore. He’d seen it with his own eyes, felt it on his skin. Bloody fingers reached down to grab the blade, his mind compelling him to test once more. Barely touching sharp to soft, Devon finally snatched it away from him, hurt clear as sky on her face. “What the fuck did you do that for?” She was dragging him now, pulling the lycan across the room to drench his bloodied wrist in water.

“I dunno,” Dex lied, the flush of water cool over the cut, deep enough it’d probably leave a scar at this point. “I dunno.” He thought he knew the reason, but it seemed silly to say out loud. He just wanted that hollow feeling to go away, that void he used to drink away until he was so pissed the whole world faded away. God, he was fucked.

It was silent, only the hiss of the tap keeping it from becoming unbearable. Finally, Devon cleared her throat, deep brown orbs met his with a sort of sadness that seemed foreign. “I don’t tell many people this, but you should hear it. I’ve seen this before, many hundreds of years ago. He was a Mughal warrior and a bit of a silver sword broke off inside him. That’s why I know what to do here. His survival was a miracle, but shifting almost killed him again. So he had to stop, retire himself from being a wolf and a warrior.” With that she turned the tap off, turning his wound slowly to inspect the damage he did to himself. “He was a born one, so it was a little different but— erratic behavior was common.”

“Did he live long?”

“No,” Devon started, her voice dripping with something depressing, something Dex was afraid to hear. “He killed himself within six months of the accident. Look—” She began to wrap the cut, slow and careful like he was a child about to shatter at any moment. He hated that, he loathed it. He wasn’t some broken bird. Was he? “You should leave Paris. Maybe within the next few days.”

Anger seethed out through his teeth, rage clouding his vision. He wasn’t weak, he wasn’t weak. If everyone was going to treat him like a fragile flower, like he couldn’t take care of himself— maybe Dex would off himself. “No, I can’t,” he argued, visions of Sebastian and the promises they made together taunting him like the demons of his past. “I promised Seb, I promised I would stay with him. I can’t—” Whatever anger he’d felt had burned away with each snapshot of blonde, each warm moment he dwelled upon. It just made him sad. “I can’t leave him.”

Now the tears came, pouring out of the floodgates, a genesis of what was to come. Covering his face with his free hand, Dex wept for all he’d lost. He’d made a deal with the devil to come back to life, he was certain now. And giving up his lycan abilities wasn’t enough for him, he had to give up Sebastian too. If this was how he was doomed to live, maybe he didn’t deserve life at all. He couldn’t look up, couldn’t catch anybody’s eyes in this sorry state. He felt thin arms wrap around him, vaguely reminding him of his mother. She’d hugged him once, after finding him bruised and cut up— some from his father, some of his own doing. It felt nice.

“Shhh— it’ll be okay,” the woman cooed, rocking him slightly as whimpers kept coming. “I didn’t mean to hurt you but, it’s for your own good. You're a liability here, someone we’d need to worry about protecting. You can’t be with Seb if you just die again.” She pulled away his hand, tipped up his head so she was staring at his red splotchy face. “Go back to Cardiff, live your life away from the war. Sebastian is strong, he’ll surely make his way back to you.”

Sniffling, Dex could only murmur, “Okay— I’ll think about it.” And he was crying all over again, it felt almost like he was crying over everything and nothing. So he buried his head in Devon’s shoulder, let her stroke his hair as his tears soaked through her shirt. He was fragile, he’d always been fragile since he was a boy. He’d spent his entire life— human and lycan— building a tower around himself so he could be strong enough to protect himself from the harsh reality of the world.

A storm blew away his tower, taking the bricks he’d collected over the years with it. Now he was left with rain, drowning him in everything he’d been sheltered from for so long. But rain, even in Cardiff, didn’t last forever.

It was time to be a different kind of fighter.