#just know that stuff will come up that is heavy

[gojosprettyprincess]

Kento’s favorite position will always be fucking you in a mean mating press where he had your body forcefully folded in half by his, because there’s just something so raw and intimate about having your bodies and soft skin pressed up against each other in such a filthy manner. Both of your sweaty bodies melted into each other’s as he pounded you deeper and deeper into the soft mattress with such neediness and desperation. Every time he’d possessively thrust himself into you, it had the entire bed creaking and the mattress sinking lower and lower because of his overpowering strength and weight. It’s almost crazy how he’s practically crushing you with his muscular body. The way he’d manhandle you and bend your legs into your body was so inhuman and fucked up but obviously based on the countless times that he had wrecked your little pussy and stretched your tight walls soo widely to hug his cock in such an ideal way that was only meant for him, in that exact familiar routine of a position. You were very much used to it by now.

The way his damped, tousled blonde hair gently brushed against his chiseled face captured your attention—God he’s so beautiful, no renaissance painting could ever be compared to Kento's face. It was a literal masterpiece. God you couldn’t wait to start a family with this man because you already know you’d have the most cutest babies. He stared down at your fucked out expression that he fucking loved seeing so much, so pretty and alluring. All dumbed down and stupid just from his cock. It never fails to captivate his soul each time he's making love to you. He could stare at you for hours.

You weren’t the most flexible person but of course, Kento always managed to manipulate and manhandle your poor body effortlessly in whatever position that he desired. He’s not mean during sex but he’s definitely not the sweetest either, Especially after he returns home from a frustrating and tough day at work, his mind consumed with stress and pent-up desire and his cock twitching in his pants with heavy, thick balls filled with seed that he’s been storing up to stuff into you with, after he comes from work.

It wasn’t even a second after you greeted him, that honeyed tone in your voice humming his favorite tune, “Kentooo, you’re back!!”. Barely two minutes had passed and in the blink of an eye, you were trapped beneath his large, muscular frame with his aching, swollen length buried sooo deep between your tight walls. his mushroom tip kissing the tender, sensitive spots that made you soo mindlessly dumb, it had you forgetting about the little rule you had about no sex until he’s well fed after work because as his devoted housewife, you also labored diligently to prepare dinner for him.

What if it gets cold?!!

Well, Kento sure doesn’t give a fuck because he’s way too hungry for something else.

His black and yellow tie is loosely dangling over your face as the gentle waft of his minty cologne which you had sprayed on his chest earlier before he went to work, drifts in your nostrils, making your mind hazy and had your pussy pooling even more slick around his veiny shaft. “Good God, fuck this pussy is perfect darling, sooo perfect almost as perfect n pretty as you” his husky voice echoes with admiration, the outline of his bulging veins on his arms straining through his rolled-up sleeves, showcasing the raw strength he had as he gripped onto the sheets besides your head for sheer stability as his tired eyes—visible with exhaustion and teary, lazily stared into yours.

“Kento–“ you cried out, your nails digging into his beefy forearm as you looked up at him with pleading eyes that sent his cock throbbing embarrassingly. Fuck it took everything in him to restrain himself from not getting you pregnant with his kids right now.

“Yes, my love? Tell me what you need darling, m’here for you”. He whispered tenderly, he flashed a charming smile at you before placing a quick, affectionate kiss on your ankle that has been thumping against his huge shoulders the entire time as he ruts his hips into you animalistically.

“Missed you ken!, so so much” your heart beating with desire and love as his chest smushed your soft breasts against him. Beads of sweat glistening from his hairline, threatening to drip onto your face as you move your hands up to wrap them around his neck. A genuine smile spread across his face due to your performance of affection.

“Missed you too my love, God you were clouding my thoughts so much sweetheart, couldn’t stop thinking about you and this pretty little pussy today.” He confessed to you in his deep, sexy voice before smashing his soft lips onto yours. Your nails violently dug into his clothed back that was fortunately shielding him from the nasty, red marks you were plotting to leave. Both of you groaned into the kiss, your spit and saliva mincing together lewdly to the point where it was steeping out of your mouth. His swollen lips feverishly melded against yours, making it practically impossible for you to breathe but you didn’t mind one bit. It all just felt so delicious. His glossy, pink tip skillfully pokes against your sensitive g-spot, making your toes curl in your socks at how good he’s making you feel. God, he was so perfect. His huffs of golden, blond pubic hair tantalizingly grazed against your sticky clit— rubbing it unintentionally, making your pretty eyes roll to the back of your head as he assaulted your lips. your tongues now entwining and swirling together disgustingly. The kiss was so sweet and affectionate, it made your heart fluttered.

His grunts and moans filled the room like a symphony. it was nothing but music to your ears. Kento was perfect in every single way possible. He was such a man, not just any man. He's a gentleman, his masculine presence would be overwhelming for any soul that has never experienced what it'd be like to encounter a real man.

You’d do anything for him, you loved Kento in a particular way where it would be so fucking offensive to the person who founded feminism.

[mxrcielaguito]

Oh boi, I've been wanting to write Elliott x Farmer for a while so here we go:

Based off one of the comments of the original post

"I would suggest we make time for a little 'rendezvous' in my old cabin... But I'm afraid it's become rather... Musty... In my absence" Elliott says. I'd like to think he's being playful but I can't really tell. His words are mischievous but his eyes seem melancholic. I mean, well, he writes angsty stuff all the time, why would this be any different, he loves feeling melancholic. He's an overemotional drama queen, and that's pretty much why I fell for him in the first place. But something's off today.

I look at him, up and down. Wouldn't be the first time we escape a social gathering and make time for ourselves. I work relentlessly. He writes relentlessly. Our kids mess around the house relentlessly, too.

"Why not?" I suggest. "It's not like anyone's paying attention."

His green eyes widen, his face blushes for just an instant and I recognize his look. He bites his lower lip, grabs my arm and pulls me into the cabin so quickly I can't even react. As soon as I step into the cabin I understand what he meant by "musty". The air feels heavy, humid, and the wood is starting to decay. His old piano is still there; withering away.

He locks the door behind us and I can already feel his heavy breath. I can't help but find it cute. It's been three years and he still gets all hot and bothered. He's turning his back on me, his hand still on the door knob.

"Elliott? Are you all right?" I ask.

"I have really neglected this place, haven't I..." He murmurs. "It's- it's not romantic at all, I-..."

"Love, it's okay, I don't mind" I try to reassure him, rubbing his back. Something's wrong but I'm not can't put my finger on it. "It's been quite some time since the last time you came here, huh."

Elliott laughs nervously and forces himself to let go of the door knob. He turns around and looks at his cabin, his eyes scanning every corner.

"I really used to live like this, didn't I?"

"I didn't know this place brought you bad memories", I say, my voice soft, almost a whisper. I know we don't talk much; my words are usually rather scarce, I can't remember the last time we sat and spoke to each other. I'd rather listen, but Elliott doesn't speak too much, either.

He runs a hand through his copper hair.

"Once upon a time, there lived a man by the sea..." Elliott speaks quietly, absently. "He dreamed of fame and greatness; he dreamed of people remembering his name. However, that day never came, and his little cabin by the sea, he let it rot away."

I frown, trying to make a meaning off of this.

"My father bought this cabin a long time ago, we used to have our vacation here, when I was a kid. With time I guess we all forgot about it, then I remembered it when he kicked me out."

My eyes widen.

"He... Kicked you out? Why am I learning about this just now?!"

"Well, he wasn't happy when I said I wasn't pursuing a career in the family business." Elliott runs his hand through the dusty desk, then fidgets around with an old inkwell. The ink has been dry for a very long time. "I didn't have much money. I was running out when I met you."

"That part, I remember, yeah", I reply.

"It's not that this cabin holds bad memories, as you said. It just a reminder of almost everything that hasn't worked out in my life. All the scrapped manuscripts. All the arguing with my father. All the times I stayed up late, trying to come up with the perfect plot, the perfect words, the perfect... Everything" he closes his eyes and sighs. I look at him and take his hand in mine. I love it: it's so soft. "And then, one day, you showed up and took care of that old farm nobody cared about. And you took care of me..."

He leans his head over mine. His hair tickles my nose, and it smells like pomegranate shampoo.

"I can take care of this place, too" I suggest, trying to cheer him up. "Just like I did with the farm."

"No, no. This place is mine to bear, not yours. However I would like to take your example and make this old place something worth the effort. Something out kids will be happy inheriting."

I look up at him and smile.

"Yeah? You wanna do that?"

Elliott smiles and nods. I feel his hand make its way through my eternally sore back to my waist. I rest my hand on his, fidgeting with his wedding ring.

"It's not that musty", I tease, after a very long silence. "The bed's still in good shape."

When you're just trying to make some goddamn soup but Elliott wants to have sex in his mouldy ass cabin.

[nadvs]

the act of unravelling (part two)

pairing rafe cameron x pogue! female reader

rating mature 18+

summary you never expected you’d get tangled up with a kook, least of all, rafe cameron. one night, you make a life-altering decision to get revenge on someone you both despise. after you vow to keep what happened a secret, your relationship begins to twist into something more.

tags very dark! violence, homicide, drug and alcohol use, parental neglect, mental illness, s/a, trauma. no smut.

< prev

Rafe stands and looks down at the body, his fists clenched tightly. Reality is setting in now. He could go to prison. His future could be ruined.

He’s perpetually at the mercy of his impulsivity, thinking only of the minute he’s living in, burdened with the consequences later. But still, even with his head a little clearer, he doesn’t regret this.

Ripping away the life of a man who wronged him was a thrill. He spends every day feeling like he’s losing and the power he had in his hands tonight felt so fucking good. He won for once.

You feel heavy as you push yourself up off the floor. You wish you could curl up in your bathtub under hot, gushing water, washing away everything that happened tonight.

The corpse is harder to look at with every second that passes. You glance up at Rafe, blood splattered on his face as he stares down at what he’d done, at what you’d done, chillingly unfazed.

“We can’t leave anything that’ll point back to me,” he mumbles, his voice low over the fireworks still crackling outside.

“Or me,” you have to remind him tensely.

His eyes land on yours. He’s always only looking out for himself. He doesn’t know what it’s like to have to worry about someone else.

“I’m serious,” you urge. Your survival instinct rushes through you for the second time tonight. You refuse to let Rafe throw you to the wolves. “I saved your life. You owe me. I won’t take the fall for this.”

“Well, neither will I,” he snaps.

“You shot him.”

“I could say you did,” Rafe replies. “And it’d be your word against mine. What then?”

You scoff, in disbelief of his selfishness.

“I saved your life,” you repeat. “Does that mean nothing to you?”

Rafe swallows hard. He’s not sure many people would do what you did for him tonight. They’d watch. They’d let him die. The possibility that you might feel something for him makes his chest twist with an unfamiliar warmth.

“We’ll look out for each other, alright?” he relents, letting his guard down for a moment. “Let’s just clean this up.”

Your phone buzzes in your pocket again. You pull it out, seeing Pope’s name. Twelve missed calls.

You hope your friends don’t get so worried that they come up here, ignoring the Off Limits sign Porter had put up across the stairs. But they don’t know where you went. You’re almost certain.

“My friends keep calling me,” you whisper.

Rafe’s jaw tightens. His friends aren’t worrying about him.

“You can’t answer them,” he snaps.

“I know.” You let out a shaky sigh, tucking your phone back into your pocket. “We have to be fast. What do we do? Do we bury him?”

Rafe takes a beat to think.

“We dump him in the ocean,” he finally says. “We go to the marina and drive my boat out far enough where nobody will find him.”

“How do we move him so nobody sees? We can’t go through the house. We might run into someone.”

Rafe looks to the glass door on the other end of the room, the balcony offering a view of the inky night sky.

“There,” he says. “We’ll push him off and put him in the back of my truck.”

You consider it. Of the limited options you have, it seems like the only one worth trying.

“Okay. We have to clean the blood off the floor,” you say. “And everything we touch needs to be wiped. Maybe there’s something with bleach in it around here?”

For the first time since you entered this room, you feel hope. There’s a chance, a real chance, you could get away with this. You look back at the desk Rafe ransacked.

“Pick that stuff up,” you say. Frustration rolls through him. He never liked being bossed around. “I’ll try to find something to clean with.”

“Don’t let anyone see you,” Rafe mutters.

“How stupid do you think I am?” you huff before you turn towards the door.

You tiptoe through the second story, peeking into a bathroom cupboard. When you find a spray bottle that reads Cleaner and Bleach on the packaging, you grab it and head back to the room.

You and Rafe move quickly and quietly, using clothes you found in the closet to wipe everything with bleach. After a loud, consonant cracking of fireworks that you assume is the grand finale, the show ends. And you know people are on their way back to the house.

The neighbor’s private beach can’t be that far away. You have a minute. Maybe two.

You’re glad Rafe thinks to find the shell of the bullet. He puts it in his pocket. You spray the bleach over the floor again, cleaning every drop of blood you can see.

“Tuck this stuff under his shirt,” you say breathlessly, handing Rafe the bottle and the blood-soaked clothes.

You can’t do it. You know you’ll need to touch him when you move him, but you’d rather limit the contact you have with his body. Even dead, when he can’t hurt you, touching him is terrifying.

You pick the gun up off the floor, then open the balcony, relieved you can’t hear any voices yet. You peer over the edge to see the sandy ground. The balcony overlooks the side of the house, dark and secluded.

Rafe grunts as he drags the corpse out onto the balcony. You have to muster up every bit of strength you have as you help heave Porter’s body over the railing. He falls with a hard thud, facedown in the sand.

You have to jump the balcony. You can’t risk going downstairs. Rafe is wide-eyed as you hitch your leg over the railing, looking down with shaky breaths.

“Wait,” he whispers. “Let me go first. If you break something, we’re fucked.”

He shifts down as low as he can before letting his feet hang over the edge. He lets go, dropping hard, his ankles pinching with pain from the impact.

“Okay,” he says. “Go.”

You feel a splinter dig into your palm as you clutch onto the wooden railing with one hand while the other holds the gun. You make the split-second decision to keep the balcony door open to air out the smell of bleach.

You hope you cleaned away every drop of blood in the room. There’s no going back to it now.

You sink, hanging as low as you can, looking over your shoulder before you drop. Rafe’s arms wrap around you as your feet hit the ground, his chest hard against your back, breaking your fall.

“If someone comes,” he whispers in your ear, “run.”

Waiting for him to get his truck is torture. The humid night air presses against your face and you can’t bear to look down at the body on the ground.

Rafe returns and you move quickly, straining as you carry the body over the uneven terrain, the soles of your shoes slipping on the sand.

Once the body is in the trunk and Rafe unfolds the cover, blanketing the cab and concealing the evidence, you feel a shred less frightened.

You glance back into the darkness just in case. A glow of a phone screen is in the sand. Rafe is already behind the wheel, demanding that you get in, his voice carrying through the open rear window.

You feel for your phone. It’s still in your pocket.

“Do you have your phone?” you whisper.

He responds after a moment, “Yes. Get in.”

“I think his phone fell on the ground when we were carrying him,” you say. “We should–”

Faint laughs in the distance interrupt you. There’s no time to run back and get the phone without being seen.

“Get the hell in,” Rafe mutters angrily.

You obey, swinging open the door, barely closing it in time as Rafe peels away. Your muscles prick from the weight you’d just carried as you drive past the partygoers coming back from watching fireworks.

“Holy shit,” Rafe chuckles, near elated. “We did it.”

You stare ahead, your head foggy.

This will haunt you for the rest of your life. The thought forces a torrent of dread through you worse than you’ve ever felt before.

What if you’d run out of the room when Rafe and Porter came in? What if you’d left Rafe to deal with the body on his own?

What if you’d never gone upstairs?

You’re destined to agonize over the what if’s of tonight forever.

You gaze down at the gun in your lap and hold your hands out in front of you, skin stinging from the bleach. You’d wiped away the blood, but you think you’ll always see it on your hands.

You figure out that it’s a good thing you left Porter’s phone. If he was sharing his location, you’re sure the police could track where it was last before you threw it into the sea with him. They’d know exactly where to look for his body.

“We should shut off our phones,” you realize. “I think they can track GPS history from cell towers.”

Rafe digs into his pocket, glancing down to watch the screen go black.

“How’d you think of that?” he mumbles with a laugh. “Is this not your first time doing this, Pogue?”

“Nothing about this is funny,” you reply.

“Relax,” he says. “We got away with it.”

“You can’t be so sure,” you say. “One fingerprint in that room and…”

You can’t think about it.

In the paroxysm of emotions you’re already feeling, guilt digs a hole into your stomach when you see Pope’s most recent text before you power off your phone.

Answer the phone. We’re worried.

·········

The clock on Rafe’s dashboard reads 10:44 when you reach the marina. He parks right by the main dock. The place seems quiet, the water crowded with seemingly unoccupied boats.

“I’ll take a walk around to make sure we’re alone,” he says, pulling his key out of the ignition.

The car door slams shut and you’re left with a gun in your lap, a body in the trunk, and your tormenting thoughts.

Maybe you missed something back in that room.

You picture Porter’s phone lighting up in the sand. His last text to you said to come upstairs. When the cops inevitably start searching for answers, you’ll be questioned.

A minute later, Rafe swings open your door, pulling you out of your daze. You meet his glare, his hair tousled and sweaty.

“We’re good,” he says. “Move.”

Having to haul the body over the dock past darkened, quiet boats is unnerving. Ater you leave it at the back of Rafe’s boat, you stand behind him at the helm.

Your arms are crossed and the gun is tucked by your elbow, because if you learned anything tonight, it’s that you can’t trust anyone.

Rafe’s still a man. A man who takes what he wants when he wants it. A man who killed someone because he didn’t obey him. He could hurt you if he wanted to. It’s best not to be alone with him.

“I should wait in the car,” you mumble. Rafe shakes his head in frustration, driving the boat forward. The boat’s motor hums as you rock with its movements.

“No,” he mutters condescendingly. It reminds you of why underneath the stubborn pull you’ve always felt towards him, you’ve also harbored a quiet fear. Rafe is violent. Possibly enough to hurt you the same way Porter did.

You feel for the gun again. If two men have to die tonight, so be it. The fact that your mind went there chills you.

Rafe looks over at you, lips twisting in annoyance.

“Don’t feel bad for that asshole,” he mutters. “He asked for it.”

It’s the worst possible thing he could’ve said. Your throat is raw with the threat of tears. Asked for it. Would he say the same about what happened to you?

“I don’t regret it,” you tell him, sure that he’s assuming that that’s why you’re so tense. “I’m just worried we missed something.”

“If we did, nothin’ we can do about it now,” he says. You look ahead at the dark sea, moonlight shining over the water’s ripples.

“We need to figure our story out,” you say. “How’d you end up upstairs? Did anyone see you?”

“I stopped him while everyone was going outside to watch the show,” he recalls. “Told him to show me where he was keeping his coke because I heard he was selling again. It was loud. I don’t think anyone heard, but maybe someone saw. I don’t know.”

“Why do you sell?” you ask, face pinched in confusion. “Why did you even care that he was selling, too? You don't have enough money already?”

“I gotta keep your tips coming, don’t I?” he says smugly. You scoff, jarred by his blasé attitude, despising his cold arrogance.

He notices the angry scowl on your face. He’s convinced he’ll never break through the hatred you have for him.

“I want to make my own money. That’s why,” he admits. It’s half the truth, but it’s good enough.

It’s surprising to hear that Rafe, a man you thought coasted on the wealth he was born into, possesses a work ethic. Even though he uses it to deal drugs.

“Did anyone see you go upstairs?” he asks.

“I don’t think so,” you say.

“Why were you there?”

You chew on your lip, the truth sitting on your chest like a ton of bricks. There’s no point in telling him. He thinks your motive was the same as his. Money. And you’ll let him believe it.

Besides, talking about it now, merely an hour afterwards, will only make you cry again and your head is pounding from how much you’ve already wept tonight. How could you possibly say it out loud?

“To buy pot. Then I smoked too much and passed out.” You keep talking before he can ask anything else. “Are we far out enough?”

Rafe looks back to make sure the marina is out of sight before he kills the engine.

Pushing Porter’s body over the guardrail is harder than the other times you’d carried him tonight. The water is rocking the boat so much now that you’re far into the ocean. Your breath is strained as you heave him over the metal, his body hitting the water with a loud splash under the bright moon.

Rafe pulls out the bullet shell in his pocket and tosses it in the water. You know you have to throw the gun in, too. It’s hard to. But you do it.

Rafe looks over the edge now that everything is sinking to the bottom, his forearm brushing against yours. He notices how quickly you jerk away, refusing to let him touch you. The pull he feels towards you is obviously one-sided. Your eyes flit away when you look at him.

“You have blood on your face,” you tell him soberly. His temper flares, feeling stupid for thinking a girl could feel anything but afraid of him after he shot someone right in front of her. Even though she was the one who told him to do it.

You might have a deadly thirst for revenge in common, but that’s where the similarities end. He stalks past you to wash himself off in the bathroom below the deck.

You let out a shaky breath. The unexpected contact with Rafe startled you. After tonight, you’re sure you’ll always be scared to be around men you don’t know all that well. Even the ones that seem decent are just lions in sheep’s clothing. The monster that proved that to you is below the ocean’s surface now.

You look into the murky water, and despite the fear and the anxiety and dread weighing on your heart, you’re glad that this is how it ended. Porter paid the ultimate price for what he did to you. He doesn’t deserve to live, to smile, to feel anything ever again.

·········

You and Rafe sit behind the hull, the boat swaying with the tide. You start to piece together an alibi and decide to admit you were upstairs together. If even one person says they saw either one of you go up there, you won’t be caught in a lie.

As you talk, Rafe can’t take his eyes off of you. You’re clearly scared, but trying to stay level-headed. He doesn’t get how you do it. He’s always been bad at keeping his mind steady. He never had a reason to even try.

“So, I went up first after he texted me to come buy from him,” you say, hoping your voice doesn’t shake. “I got high and passed out. Then you came up with him to find his stash. We’re obviously going to have to come clean about the drugs.”

“What do you mean obviously?”

“You’re going to be a suspect the second the police start talking to people,” you tell him. “Everyone knows you had an issue with him. And why. You can’t lie about the coke. And they’ll have evidence that I was buying weed from him. We have to be honest about it. They’ll find out anyway.”

Rafe sighs, knowing you’re right.

You hug yourself as a cool breeze carries over the water. The weakness in your gaze reminds Rafe of the way you’d cried on the floor earlier tonight. Before all this, he only ever saw you as strong-willed and sharp-tongued.

Even though calming a man like Rafe down when he’s angry sounds like it’d be impossible, you figure it’s the only direction your alibi can go.

“We’ll say I talked you down and…” You shake your head. “It doesn’t make sense that we’d stay up there. I think we say we left him in his room and sat on the beach alone in front of the house to watch the fireworks from there.”

You worry it’s not enough. You’re certain that no one who knows either one of you would buy that you voluntarily spent time together.

“Maybe the cops would believe we hung out,” you mumble, “but nobody else would.”

Rafe stills. His friends like to give him crap about how much time he spends talking to you when he supposedly hates Pogues. If he told them he was with you all night, they’d say they saw it coming.

“They could,” he says after a few seconds of silence.

“My friends would never believe it,” you scoff. He purses his lips, pissed off at your tone, at the clear implication that you talk shit about him with your friends.

“It’s our only option,” he mutters sharply.

“You’re right,” you give in. “Then what? We went home before people got back? I guess that way if anyone saw us leave together, we have it covered.”

“Yeah.” He clears his throat. “That’s the story.”

“Okay. It’s not great, but it’s the best we can do.” You check your phone for the time, only to remember it’s turned off. “Can you drive me home now? I’ll say my phone died. You should do the same when people ask where you’ve been.”

Rafe doesn’t admit to you that nobody was checking up on him, that nobody ever does. He only stands up to drive back to the dock.

·········

Your first priority when you get home is to text your friends, guilt consuming you now that it’s been over two hours since you last saw them and they have no idea what happened to you.

You turn on your phone to see a string of missed calls and texts from the guys. You open the group-chat and type: I’m so sorry. I’m okay. Got too high and lost track of time. Home now.

They video call you to be sure that you really made it home safe, drunkenly rambling on about how they assumed you went to see the fireworks early, leaving them to search the neighbor’s beach for you.

As you listen to them talk over each other on the phone, it’s the first time you see your reflection since you left the house, when you were oblivious to the fact that the impending hours would change you forever.

You can see it in your eyes that you’re not the same. You can only hope that they don’t catch on.

·········

It’s been three days. You haven’t been sleeping. You’ve hardly been eating. And no matter how many times you tell yourself there’s no use in thinking about how different the night could have turned out, it doesn’t stop your head from spinning into hypotheticals.

All you told your friends was that you were with a boy and that they didn’t need to know any more. Because they all see you as a sister, they were happy to be spared the details.

If only they knew. A few nights ago, you promised them you wouldn’t talk about Rafe ever again. You never would’ve thought the reason would be because you’d committed a crime together.

You’re back at work. Smiling and chatting and serving drinks and acting like everything is fine is harder than you expected.

The thought of seeing Rafe again is oddly comforting. No matter how twisted it is, you have a bond now, held together by secrecy and shared trauma. He’s the closest to knowing what you’re going through.

Even though you were afraid of him on the boat, when he dropped you off, he waited until you got into the house before he drove off. Maybe he sees you as someone he needs to protect, even if it is for his own selfish reasons.

No matter how unhinged he is, having someone like him in your corner is comforting after what you’d suffered through.

You spot Rafe sitting alone at the near empty club bar on your way out and your heart settles, but when you catch a glimpse of the flatscreen mounted on the wall a moment later, it drops. You knew it was inevitable, but it doesn’t make it any better.

Rafe swallows bitter whiskey, gazing up at the tv. Under a photo of Porter reads MISSING as his parents speak to the press. What if he went missing? Who’d care? What would his dad say – at least it wasn’t Sarah?

He looks down at the bartop. The thrill of what he did has faded. It’s not a surprise. His life is nothing but a cycle of short-lived highs.

When he sees the look on Porter’s parents’ faces on the tv, jealousy and loneliness screw a hole into his heart. He knows it’s fucked up to envy the man he killed. He doesn’t care.

His eyes drift over the bar to see you standing on the other end. You’re in shock as you stare up at the broadcast, looking guilty as hell. He glares at you until you finally meet his eyes.

Rafe curtly gestures to you to sit next to him. Even though he looks mad, you’re relieved to close the distance between you.

“You’re being obvious,” he says quietly once you sit next to him, an edge to his tone.

You look back to see only a few other people sitting in the restaurant area behind you, far from earshot. You won’t be heard, but you both know you have to speak vaguely just in case.

“Someone I know is missing,” you reply. “It’s normal to be worried about that.”

“What do you know about normal?” he scoffs.

You lock eyes, sure that you’re both replaying the night in your minds, sure that you’re both far from sane after what you did. His gaze is cold, a reflection of how angry he is that you’re not handling what happened as well as he is.

“Great talking to you,” you snip sarcastically, shifting to stand up.

“Wait,” he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. He looks at you again, this time with a bit of the hardness in his eyes gone. “We need to talk.”

(to be continued)

if you want notifications on when i post my fics, follow @xorafe-library and turn on notifications 💘

if you enjoy a fic, reblogging is the best way to thank and support the writer!

[amoressb]

𐙚 nerds do it best

pairings : nerd bf!jungwon x reader

synopsis : when your bf comes to class with a new look

note : this is sort of a long one !! not too sure how i feel about this one, i couldn’t get to the point honestly but i still hope you enjoy my rambling !!

You made it to your classroom a little earlier than usual but it doesn’t bother you much since you’ll be accompanied by your boyfriend jungwon. You and jungwon usually walk to school together since you guys live in the same neighborhood but different streets. He wasn’t answering your messages or calls which made you a little worried. He’s always the one to do those things but today it was the other way around and he doesn’t answer? weird. There was a possibility that he went to sleep later than usual so thats ultimately what you thought.

After getting your things out for class, you decided to go to the bathroom and stroll a bit before class since again you’re way earlier today. Soon or later you arrive back to your classroom and basically everyone is in there seats talking waiting for class to start in about a minute or two but wheres jungwon? He hasn’t taken his seat next to you, let alone even arrive since the desk and seat were both empty. You decided to send him a message again in hopes he’ll respond.

you : class is starting, where r u???

hello jungwon?

baby?

With no luck and class starting you had to put your phone away and just hope he’ll come in later. While waiting for him you were having a hard time focusing worrying about him but the sound of the classroom door drew you out of your daydream. There he was. Jungwon..but your smile on your face turned into surprise and confusion when you see he now has..BLONDE HAIR?? AND ITS CURLY???

Jungwon apologizes for coming in so late and makes his way to your seat with a cheeky yet embarrassed smile. “hi baby” he quietly giggles putting his stuff down and looks up to you only for you to be completely shocked. “alright class we have nothing left for today so you may talk quietly till your next period” the teacher says to which you immediately turn to jungwon and ask “when did this happen?!” you say as your hand reaches up to his hair and run your finger through it softly. “just last night..thats why i came in to late, i finished at around 2” he says and you notice just how tired he was with how slow he was talking and his eyes seem heavy.

“it looks really good on you tho. makes you even more cute and hot” you say completely mesmerized now that you can fully process it all. His now blond hair, glasses, his cute smile and beautiful eyes. It made you fall more in live with him. “why don’t you lay down and rest for the remainder of the class hm?” you ask him. He just hums and nods as he scoots closer to you and lays his head down on your arm thats on the desk and wraps an arm around your waist not forgetting to take off his glasses so they don’t get damaged.

The whole time he was sleeping, you were running your fingers through his hair softly and rubbing his back softly at times hoping to soothe him and make sure he gets enough sleep to make it through the rest of the day. Surprisingly tho his hair was still super soft even after possible heavy bleaching. You had to ask for his hair routine..

Throughout the rest of the day, you couldn’t take your eyes off of jungwon. Which wasn’t hard since you were together in all your classes AND sat next to each other. “you’re staring yk and you’re gonna miss everything” jungwon says with a cheeky smile as you stare at him with heart eyes. “i can just have your notes” you say in a trance looking at him. He giggles at your state but continues taking notes knowing he will indeed give you his notes.

By the end on the day, you took basically no notes. You were completely focused on one thing and one thing only. Jungwon. The second you guys step foot outside, you immediately jumped on him and gave him a gentle yet tight hug and started peppering his face with kisses. “AHHHH you’re such a pretty boy. ily ily ily!!!!” you say and by now jungwons face was quite red. All the attention you’ve been giving him today was amazing yes. He loved it. But it was too much for his heart to handle, so it was easy for him to fold in front you. “i love you too but can it wait till we’re out of everyone else’s view?” its not that he’s embarrassed about you showing your love to him. It’s the fact that hes so red right now. Thats whats embarrassing.

Too bad for him, that didn’t stop you. You made it all the way home, hand in hand, you going on and one about how his new look was absolutely perfect on him. “stay at my house for a bit?!” you said excitedly knowing he’d say yes and end up sleeping over. Thank goodness it was friday. “when do i ever decline to that invite” he smiles as you lead him into your house all the way to your room.

You both change clothes, him always having clothes left over at your house to the point you bought extra drawers just for him for how often hes over and you changing into one of his sweatshirts and your sweatpants. You decided to stay in your room and watch a movie. Immediately you pull him onto your bed, he got closer and laid on top of you, head in the crook of your neck. “so..what do you truly think of my hair my love” he smiles tiredly sort of knowing what you’re going to say.

“omg i love it. it looks absolutely perfect on you and the glasses too. you look so cute yet so hot. I LOVE IT!!” you ramble about how good his new look is. He smiles into your neck happy you like it. “really? cuz i didn’t think it looked good at all, felt really weird” he voiced out his worries a bit. You this whole time had your fingers running through his hair, moved in closer to him if that was even possible and gave him a kiss on his head. “no i think anything you do, you will always look handsome in my eyes” you smiled into his hair. “i love you jungwon” you move some hair from his face. “i love you too pretty” he leans up a bit to give you a quick kiss on the lips then back to his position falling asleep almost immediately. Blonde jungwon will forever have you weak in the knees.

[monstersflashlight]

Patreon Commission for Elise

Request: Basically the reader is the CEO of some big/famous business and has a crush on her secretary but docent think that he likes her. So one day the Readers Sister come to the office for a visit and they are talking in the readers office and her secretary needs to drop off some important papers and over hears their conversation. So then he knocks on the door and acts like he didn’t hear the conversation. Reader’s sister says high and the reader notices how they interact together. So when the Readers secretary leaves the Reader is like “hey I think that you guys would look good together. He totally likes you.” Kinda stuff. And the sister is confused but docent really think much about it. So the Readers sister is staying in town for their friends wedding or something so the sister is always at the office. One day the Secretary decides to ask the Readers sister for help to get with the Reader. And that’s all I got.

A/N: This was so much fun to write, they are so in love with each other, totally would write more of them. This is kind of soft in a hot way, enjoy!

The CEO's minotaur

Minotaur x chubby fem!reader || semi-public sex, heavy making out, office sex

Your sister is in town after a very long time, and you had missed her so much, but right now, with her nagging at you about not acting on your feelings for your hot minotaur secretary… you aren’t so sure about missing her. (That’s a lie, you totally missed her, but dang if it doesn’t annoy you to be told you are stupid).

“Come on, you need to tell him, see if he feels the same way,” she’s saying. She’s told you that at least three times before in the past couple of days, but you still refuse to believe her. What has a hot minotaur to do with his human boss? Nothing.

“Stop it, you know he doesn’t like me that way,” you try to argue for what feels like the thousandth time. “He’s too goo-” You hear a knock on the door and shut up instantly, motioning your sister to be quiet, too. “Come in.” Said minotaur enters the room making you sigh in pent up frustration. His big form looks extra good today, and it does nothing to make you feel any less intense about him.

“I need you to sing these papers, ma'am,” his tone is so formal, and he keeps sending side looks to your sister as she tries to repress her laughter.

“Yes, sure, come here.” You sign the papers he puts on your desk as you tell him: “I’ve told you repeatedly not to call me ma’am, just use my name.”

“Okay…” He says, but you know he’s going to do it again. It almost feels like he likes to call you that, like it gives him some sort of satisfaction to act so proper around you. But that can’t be, right? There’s no way.

You exchange a few more words as he tells you about the calls and schedule for the rest of the day. You give him a list of a few things you need him to do as he smiles, a soft blush covering his cheeks and making you press your tights together. Fuck, you need to get it together.

When he leaves you look at your sister, who is covering her mouth with her hand trying to repress the giggles you bet she’s holding. “Don’t,” you warn her, already anticipating what she’s going to say.

She shuts her mouth but smiles brightly at you, changing topics. A while later, when your lunch break is over and your sister is leaving, she says: “For the record, he totally likes you.” She closes the door just in time to avoid the paper-clip you throw her way, her laughter heard even across the closed door.

Your sister stays in town a few more days, dropping by your office to have lunch with you every single day, saying it’s not always that she can spend time with her CEO sister in her important job. You laugh it out, but you are secretly glad she spends time with you every time she comes to the city. You miss her like crazy when she’s not there, and calls just aren’t the same.

That’s how you are about to round the corner when you hear her voice, talking to someone who shows up in your dreams way too often. “Then how do I approach her?” Your secretary says with a soft tone that makes goosebumps erupt on your skin.

“Just tell her you like her!” Your sister whisper-shouts. She was never good at being subtle.

“But- But… She doesn’t like me back. She’s my boss, and so good. She’s so pretty and powerful, and her aura is so sexy at the same time as kind… And I’m just a minotaur.” You hate the self-depreciation words coming out of his mouth. You want to scream at him that he’s wrong. That you are head over heels for him. Then he says: “She’s just so much better than me,” and you had enough.

You turn the corner and stare at his stunned face. “You are wrong,” you tell him.

Your sister is smiling so big you want to be annoyed with her, but you just can’t. Thanks to her you were able to hear him say those things about you. Fuck, she’s going to hold that over you forever, isn’t she? But at that moment you don’t even care. You just care about his sweet face all blushed in the prettiest shade of brown as he looks at you with big eyes and the hint of a smile.

“I’m going to take that as my cue to leave, have fun you two. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” She tells as she almost runs to the elevator.

You two stare at each other for what feels like an eternity. You scan his form, his proper clothes and soft fur, the way his horns are so big they almost reach the ceiling, the sweet smile that’s spreading across his features as he registers your flushed face. You don’t know who moves first, but before you can process it, you two are in each other personal space, and he’s looking at you intently.

“Can I kiss you?” You don’t even respond, grabbing his horns and pulling him down to devour his mouth in the most hot kiss you’ve ever given (or received).

You make out like teenagers, his hands all over your body as yours explore his. It’s intoxicating to finally be able to kiss him like that, to be able to touch him the way you’ve been waiting for so fucking long. He’s driving you insane in the best way possible and, judging by his moans, he’s no better.

“I need you, I need you, I need you,” you chant against his lips, pushing him softly to your office.

He hauls you up and your legs come around his waist. He walks you to your desk and sits you over it, doing the whole wiping-everything-off-the-table thing, the most cliche move of all times. You giggle as he kisses down your neck, his horns right in front of your face as you grab them to control his movements a bit more. You pull him up and devour his mouth again.

“I’ve wanted you for so long, I’m so fucking gone for you,” he whispers against your lips, his hands cupping your boobs over the fabric of your clothes as you moan. You can’t even tell him you feel the same way, your brain is foggy with desire as you palm the huge erection inside his pants.

“Take me, then. Make me yours,” you ask softly.

“Yes, ma’am,” he tells you with a smirk. You kiss him again, your hands working on his clothes to open them. You think some of the buttons of his shirt fly away, but you can’t care less.

He moves you enough to get your pants off your legs, ripping your underwear as you gasp. His strength turning you on so much you want to scream his name, but instead, you bite his neck to avoid making too much noise. You can’t forget you aren’t alone in the office, the other’s cubicles might be a few hallways away, but if you let out all the noise you want, they will definitely hear, and that wouldn’t be too professional of the CEO of the company.

He apparently can read your mind, because he whispers against your ear: “One of these days I’m going to hear your sweet lips screaming my name as I pound into you,” you groan at his words.

His fingers find your needy hole, pushing one inside without preamble as he starts finger-fucking you into a mess of arousal and pent up frustration. His thumb is on your clit when the second finger enters you, making you move your hips to ride his hand. He hums in contentment, urging you to move faster, to get all your pleasure off him.

“I need you, can I… Can I fuck you?” You take a second to process his words, your brain lost in pleasure to what his hand is doing.

“Yes. Yes. Yes,” you agree vehemently as he chuckles, taking his fingers away from your dripping cunt and spreading your juices over his dick. When you look down to see, you have to swallow a gasp at the sheer size of him. “You are so big,” you let out without wanting to, covering your mouth in embarrassment.

He chuckles again, caressing your cheek and kissing the tip of your nose. “Don’t worry, ma’am, it will fit.” You don’t doubt his words, seeing as you are fucking drenched with desire.

When you feel the tip of his cock against your pussy, you throw your head back, moaning like a whore as the tapered head breaches you. He breathes hard against your neck, his panting making everything hotter. He keeps pushing and pushing and pushing until he’s so deep inside you can almost taste it in the back of your throat.

Your fucking is frantic and desperate. You kiss each other with such desperation that you end up panting against each other mouth’s. It’s so hot and needy, is the climax of so much pent up sexual tension between you two that your orgasm catches you off guard.

“I’m about to…” You don’t finish the phrase before your body is convulsing and your pussy is fluttering around his girth as he curses loudly.

You bury your face in his neck to muffle your sounds as you come apart in his arms, the pleasure so high it’s almost blinding. He follows you over the edge not three thrusts after, and the feel of his come painting your insides is enough to send you over a second orgasm. You bite down on his neck muscles hard, making him groan and shot another load into your tingling pussy.

“Fuck,” you breathe out when your heart slows down a bit.

“Give me a few minutes,” he jokes, making you giggle.

[astrobuggy]

I really want Lunar to find stuff about himself now that he is living alone

For example(s):

□ They start to actually express themselves willingly now that they know nobody's in their vicinity that they could accidentally harm

■ Lunar starts to actually enjoy living by himself. Finding that there are benefits to it (he can finally have a whole room to nutella without being judged 😤🙌)

□ He finds a job he actually enjoys and is excited to go into whenever the hour comes

- Like an organization that helps teens (I saw this in a post, and I love that idea heavy!) with problems like emotions or family problems. And he's actually so happy to be there since now he can freely express himself since they aren't kids (exactly kids)

- Or Lunar opens up a small business that becomes a local store that the community he's built it around knows him and his store immediately whenever it's mentioned. Like a flower shop! Lunar does have nature powers at this point. Plus, it'd be such a great way to practice his powers

- Combined idea >:D! Lunar opens up a flower shop as a side hussle while his main job is the organization. And during his working hours at the shop, the teens he looks after come around his shop and just hang out with him there. Assisting him with the workload the shop provides. Lunar teaches them how to plant and take care of plants. Lunar does actually pay them a decent amount for the work they help him out with (I kinda see the business booming since Lunar can literally create flowers and change its colors willingly, only if the plant wants to). They come around so often that Lunar made them a hangout area at the back of the store. They appreciate it heavily (they try not to give Lunar such a hard time as payment)

■ Lunar finds a group of friends outside of the pizzaplex (FINALLY 😭🙏)

□ He starts to actually have a hygiene cycle. Lunar finds out he enjoys baths over showers. He finds bubble baths and bath bombs very enjoyable and fun to play with. And now he smells like vanilla with a mix of blueberries

■ They find hobbies other than gaming and watching shows (or nutella commercials 😐) Like gardening or even baking (shit, maybe even drawing, like how he used to during 2022)

I just need Lunar to be happy during this arc. PLEASE 😭🙏🙏 Ik I ain't getting that with the shit he's dealing (the astrals)

[juniper-sunny]

The Art in the Heart* - Chapter 6

It's Silco's turn to give you an invitation, and you're not quite sure what answer to give him. Then something chases you through the dark corners of the Undercity—and you end up somewhere unexpected...

Happy Ending AU | Silco x Reader | Young!Silco | F!Reader | No [Y/N] | Slow Burn | Romance | Eventual Smut | Fluff | Angst || SFW | TW: Stalking | WC: 4.1k

beta reader: @silcoitus <333

ao3 || Masterlist || Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5

───────────────── ●◉◎◈◎◉● ─────────────────

Even though you told Silco you’re not painting today, you still have to check on the mural. When you arrive at your worksite, you lift the plastic sheeting and rest your palm gingerly against the wall; the rough stone is cool but dry to the touch. The colors seem a bit dim in the overcast weather, but the paint is still intact. It looks like your protective measures were successful.

The desire to linger persists, though. You extend the scissor lift higher to reach the rooftop, climbing up onto the ledge. You lean forward, kicking your feet against the wall. Staring out into nothing and shivering at the cold air that blows through your clothes.

Silco’s sleepover was already a significant disruption to your usual routine, but that’s not the only reason you feel disoriented. It’s been a while since you’ve made a new friend, and the buzzing excitement is enhanced by how much you have in common with him. 

Unfortunately, it’s tainted by anxiety about the heist. According to the papers, the shipment will be arriving in two weeks. It seems unlikely that you’ll see Silco before then.

Still, you can’t help but wonder. Should you go looking for him? It would be a change of pace if you were the one to initiate contact for once. Would he find that refreshing? Or would he think you’re coming on too strong? 

Something tells you he wouldn’t want to be disturbed during the planning phase of the raid. It’s an important mission, but he doesn’t have a lot of time to prepare for it. Maybe it’s better to leave him alone for now; he knows where to find you if he can make time for a visit.

These thoughts and more circle your mind like Poros chasing each other. You probably would have sat there for even longer, but a light raindrop taps your cheek. When you look up to the sky, the clouds are blotting out the sky, heavy trails of dark blue and gray ink swirling above your head.

As you wipe your face, the back of your neck tingles, goosebumps rising as your hair stands on end. The chill at the base of your skull isn’t caused by the weather.

Someone is standing behind you.

“Silco?” you call out, turning around in surprise.

You almost don’t hear it over your own voice and the rumble of thunder: a mechanical click and whirring, low like a buzzing insect. Simultaneously, a blinding, white flash bursts in your face, burning into your retinas. 

As you squeeze your eyes shut, footsteps patter away; metal clanking echoes in the distance as something jumps onto rooftops. When your eyes readjust, you carefully jump off the ledge onto the roof.

“Who’s there?” you say in a small, quivering voice.

But you’re all alone. Whoever that person was, they’re long gone by now. You pull your jacket tighter around you. You’re just about to leave when you spot something small floating to the ground.

Curiosity gets the better of you, and you walk over to the thing and pick it up. It’s thin, glossy, and square, artificially smooth and warm to the touch. There are undefined shapes on it, blurred edges slowly sharpening into focus as the dull gray smears become stained with color.

The shock of what you’re looking at almost makes you drop it.

It’s a picture of you, your face blurred as you’re turning to look over your shoulder. But it has your clothes and your hair color, framed by a cloudy sky.

On instinct, you crumple the picture and stuff it into your pocket. Your body moves on its own, climbing onto the scissor lift and running away.

Stalkers aren’t unusual in Zaun, but their presence is still unnerving. No one’s ever followed you this closely before, and the picture proves that their issue with you is personal. 

Instead of heading home, you make your way Topside. You had meant to go shopping for new art supplies, and now seems as good a time as any. Hopefully you’ll be able to lose them in the streets of Piltover, where there’ll be more scrutinizing eyes. 

This one time, you’re grateful that Pilties are so judgmental of people from the Undercity; if you’re being watched like a hawk, they’ll be able to spot whoever’s stalking you. So you take your time browsing in an art store, not bothering to step away from the shop attendants that shadow your every footstep. It's late and raining hard by the time you finally leave. When you step out and take several careful, cautious steps, the tingling sensation doesn’t come back. You start walking faster to take advantage of your pursuer’s absence. 

On the second full day without rain, you return to the mural. But just as you pry open a can of paint, the feeling strikes you again. This time, your scalp tingles and stings painfully, as the stalker seemingly observes you from the rooftops. You jam the can’s lid back in place and run away again.

For days after, they don’t come back. But those close calls are enough to make you dread going to work. You keep your sessions short just in case you need to flee. The shorter workdays aren’t a problem for now, as you’re still laying down the base coat for the mural. However, longer sessions can’t be avoided when painting the finer details, as they’ll require focus and precision.

The fear of being stalked embeds itself into the very air around you, making you hyperaware of your surroundings. It doesn’t help that your nights have become restless, disturbed by nightmares of faceless figures towering over you and footsteps growing louder and louder as they approach you. 

Still, you’re determined to not let your newfound paranoia get the best of you, especially on the day after the raid. Silco had promised that he would find you, after all, so you steel yourself and head out to the mural.

To your immense relief, Silco is already there waiting for you, a triumphant grin on his face blazing like the sun. All your worries fall away as you rush to the scissor lift, impatiently slamming the button that extends it to the roof. During the ascent, you take a deep breath to calm your hammering heartbeat, hoping to regain some semblance of dignity.

As you pull yourself up and over the ledge, Silco extends a hand out to you. You take it, savoring the feel of his calluses and scars, solid and rough as you find your footing. He lets go of you all too soon to rummage in his backpack. You shove your own hand in your pocket, squeezing reflexively.

“We were right about the shipment,” he says excitedly, pulling a bottle of wine out of his backpack. “Noxian goods were just some of the many illegal imports we found last night. The councilor’s in trouble.”

“Hello to you too, Silco,” you say, laughing with relief. “Are you okay?”

The fire in his eyes diminishes to something softer, a warm hearth as he looks at you properly now with appreciation. But his smile widens as he holds out the wine to you.

“We prevailed thanks to you,” he says proudly. “It isn’t much, but we wanted you to enjoy your share of the spoils.”

“Oh—” you say, surprised. “You didn’t have to—”

“Is this not enough? We have much more stashed away—” he asks.

“No, no,” you shake your head, hesitating. “I—I just need to hear you say that you’re okay.”

He doesn’t tell you those exact words, but instead launches into a grand retelling of last night’s events: staking out the warehouse for hours, bribing some of the less disciplined guards, knocking the rest of them out, hurrying away with as much cargo as they could carry, and dumping the rest of it in the harbor. He puts down the wine bottle and pulls a flask out from his pockets, toasting to the Children’s victory.

His tale is probably a very thrilling one, and you’ll have to ask Silco to tell it again someday. 

But right now, your attention is focused on his sleeves; despite the warm weather, he has them pulled almost all the way down to his wrist, bandaging peeking out like a dog sneaking into a dining room for table scraps.

When he holds the flask out for you to take, you instead seize his left wrist, shoving the sleeve up as high as you can. His entire forearm is bandaged past his elbow; it’s not unusual for him to accessorize with unnecessary bindings, but he hisses in pain from your manhandling.

You handle him more carefully now, fingers lightly grazing over the makeshift wrapping. The cloth is gray and dirty, smeared with dirt and coal dust. A tight, stubborn knot in the crook of his elbow refuses to untangle despite your best attempts to press your thumbs into its crevices.

“Dummy,” you say, exasperated. When you let go of him, he pulls his forearm close, rubbing it gingerly. “You broke your promise.”

“What do you mean?” he asks defiantly.

You climb over to your scissor lift and grab your bag, placing it carefully on the ledge. After pulling out a first-aid kit, you wave at him to come closer, scolding him gently, “You promised you’d stay safe.”

“There are always mishaps in battle,” he fires back, but there’s no malice in his voice. “And I’m here in one piece, aren’t I?”

“I’ll be more specific next time.” You roll your eyes and gesture again. “Besides, if you die of infection then that will count as you breaking your promise.”

“My own well-being is of no importance—” he protests.

“Silco…” You glare at him. “Don’t you ever say that again.”

His eyes widen in surprise at the anger in your voice. He’s almost meek when he finally steps forward, extending his forearm out to you. You take the flask from him and put it on the ledge next to your kit.

“What happened?” you ask, pulling out a pair of scissors to cut off the knot. You unwrap the dressing slowly, peeling it away layer by layer. On his arm is a long, jagged cut, almost spanning the entire length of his forearm. Another shorter cut closer to his wrist runs parallel to the first one. Neither are very deep, with dried flecks of blood already crusting at the edges of the wounds. His fingers are cut up as well, with tiny nicks at the joints that have already scabbed over.

“Climbed out of a broken window,” he says dismissively. When you narrow your eyes at him, he says defensively. “Time was of the essence—”

You sigh. “I know.”

Your first-aid kit is an expensive, deluxe product from a Topside pharmacy, stocked for almost every kind of emergency. First, you use a sanitizer on your own hands, making sure to meticulously scrub underneath your fingernails. Then, you carefully pour clean water onto a sterile cloth, just enough to dampen it but not soak it. 

You look up at Silco apologetically. “Sorry, this might hurt a little.”

Carefully, carefully, you dab away at the caked dirt and blood on Silco’s arm and fingers. To his credit, he’s a good patient, enduring your administrations without complaint. He winces when a particularly stubborn scab refuses to chip away, his tendons flexing involuntarily. When it finally does, a tiny droplet of blood oozes out.

“It’s a good thing you don’t need stitches,” you remark as you finish wiping up. You pull out a fresh roll of bandaging and start wrapping his forearm securely, but not too tightly. The cuts on his fingers have healed enough that they don’t need to be covered.

“That’s quite a shame; I would have welcomed the scars,” he jokes.

When you secure the wrapping at his elbow, you slide your hand down his arm, assessing your handiwork. The dressing’s grainy bumpiness gives way to Silco’s rough skin as your hand reaches his palm. 

Reluctantly, you start to pull away, but he squeezes your hand appreciatively, his thumb sweeping across the back of your hand. 

You can’t help but squeeze him back. His palm feels warm against yours, your own skin molding against his calluses.

“I missed you,” he says lightly. But when you look up, his eyes are sincere, turquoise waters as clear as a fountain. “I’m sorry I couldn’t meet you before the raid. But I would like to ask: did you make any effort to find me?”

You look away, mouth suddenly dry. His intense and earnest gaze has your legs feeling unsteady. “I didn’t want to bother you.”

(Also, you weren’t sure how closely your stalker was following you. You would never forgive yourself if they followed you straight to his doorstep.) 

“I appreciate your thoughtfulness,” he chuckles.

You purse your lips at him, annoyed; he didn’t deny that a visit from you would be bothersome. You open your mouth to tease him, trying too late to stave off your rising embarrassment. 

But before you can speak, he reaches out with his free hand to tuck a lock of your hair behind your ear. His fingertips linger on the shell, tracing the shape of it all the way down to your lobe. His touch is gentle, a soft and tender caress. 

Wild heat blooms under your skin at his touch, no doubt spreading across the rest of your face and neck.

You yank your hand out of his grasp and jerk back, hitting your first-aid kid with your elbow. It falls sideways off the ledge and you catch it just before it hits the ground. Some of the supplies within tumble out, rolling across the roof.

“You’ll—uh—you’ll probably need painkillers for those cuts—I’ll get you some—uh—some pills and stuff later,” you stammer out. You seize the opportunity to look away from him, leaning over the ground to pick up the fallen items. “What about your friends? Are they okay?”

“They’re alright, thank you for asking.” He crouches down to help you pick up a roll of gauze. When he holds it out to you, you swipe it from him, careful to avoid touching him directly. He frowns, a little notch sinking between his eyebrows, but he doesn’t remark on your sudden skittishness. “In fact, they’ve expressed interest in making your acquaintance.”

“Huh?” You were about to grab a container of sterile water when you stop, hand still outstretched in midair.

Silco picks it up for you and puts it away in your kit. “They wish to express their gratitude, as I have mine. Your aid was a monumental factor in the raid’s success.”

After craning his neck around you to look for more medical supplies, he stands up. With the kit fully reassembled, he zips it shut, putting it back inside your bag. You get to your own feet as he turns to face you, leaning casually against the ledge.

“Our preparations were more than adequate due to your intelligence,” he says solemnly, looking straight at you. “I do not mean it lightly when I say you helped save many lives that night.”

“Oh…” You fold your arms, hugging yourself against a sudden breeze. It ruffles Silco’s hair, and he pushes his bangs out of his face. “I just took some pictures, that’s all.”

“All it takes to set off an avalanche is a pebble,” he says. “We struck a single blow against Topside last night. And we’re going to do it again and again until they finally fall at our feet.”

“Don’t call me a pebble just because I’m shorter than you,” you joke.

“We’re all ‘dirty little animals’ living in Topside’s shadow,” he smiles ironically at you. “We ought to stand united because of that. If you ever find yourself at our doors, they will always be open to you.”

“Hmm… The Last Drop is in the Lanes, right?” you ask. The name of the Children’s headquarters is common knowledge, but you’ve never been there yourself.

He nods. “I could lead you there, if you like.”

“I’m good, thanks,” you say quickly. “I’ll think about it.”

Silco grins at your answer. You bite your tongue, unwilling to dampen his mood by voicing your reservations. 

So far, you have no regrets in helping Silco, but opening yourself up to an organization of strangers is a different story. If they learn about your connections to the Council, the other Children might want to exploit them.

What would Silco do in that instance? Would he stand by your choice to remain uninvolved? Or would he also pressure you to officially join their cause? He seemed respectful enough of your decision during the sleepover, but you wonder if his friends would change his mind.

Silco picks up his flask again and unscrews it open. When he offers it to you, you take it automatically, still lost in your own thoughts as you take a sip. Instead of water, the tart taste of the Noxian wine floods your mouth. Caught off-guard by the alcohol, you cough and choke. He laughs and thumps you on the back.

You don’t get any painting done at all today. Instead, you both relax, talking about everything and nothing. Silco shows you some knife tricks, his own smile as sharp and shiny as the blade dancing through the air. You make up more stories about the dark-haired woman you’re painting.

He visits you at least once a week after that. Each time he does, the fear of being stalked fades away. Maybe it’s because the harasser is scared off by his presence, or you just feel safe around Silco. Either way, his visits never fail to cheer you up. You enjoy his company, and you pay polite attention every time he launches into a monologue about the Undercity’s future. His seemingly endless well of ambition means that he always has some new insights to share. At least these conversations distract you from darker thoughts about your stalker.

One day, you tell him that you have errands to run in the Undercity. You try to ask him as casually as possible if he wants to accompany you; you’re just interested in hanging out again later, nothing more and nothing less. When he declines, you let some lighthearted disappointment show, but hide the sinking dread that sinks through your chest and into your stomach. 

But maybe you’ll get lucky. After all, the underground never sleeps, its children traversing the alleys at all hours of the night. They might provide enough cover for you to slip undetected to your destination.

________________________________________

You should have known better than to be optimistic. 

It might be easier to lose your stalker in the crowded streets, but that also means it’s harder to pinpoint what direction they’re coming from.

Every conversation you overhear seems to be about you.

When you sidestep a pair of men wearing long capes and pointy Ionian hats, their sideways glance at you seems to linger unnervingly.

A weapons vendor catches your eye and he smirks at you, licking one of his knives before he stabs his table with it.

Silhouettes in windows point at you before disappearing from view.

As much as you dodge and sneak through the lanes, you can’t outrun the sense of impending doom that chases you.

Your palms are sweaty. 

Your breath is loud and fast in your ears. 

Blood drains from your veins to be replaced by a howling anxiety. 

Your heart beats a rapid and running pace that the whole of the Lanes can hear. 

Colors and noises swirl together in a dizzying and incomprehensible spiral.

When you sidestep into an alleyway around the corner from a fruit stall to catch your breath, you review your options. You could head straight to the elevators, but that still runs the risk of the stalker following you home. If you wait it out at Babette’s, they might charge you a premium for a room, especially if you have no intention of spending time with any of her employees.

You’re forced back onto the streets when the stall’s vendor yells at you to get away from his merchandise unless you’re buying. You swiftly step around him, keeping your gaze locked forward. Even in your compromised state, you can’t afford to look weak.

An unmarked, large, multi-story building at the end of the street seems safe enough. It lies at the junction of three different avenues, and you speedwalk through the open courtyard as fast as you can. The edifice is painted over in flaking shades of orange and brown, revealing rusted gray and turquoise steel underneath. Curlicues of metal pipes encircle the front door artistically, iron vines crawling up the walls reaching up towards the sky.

The establishment seems to be a pub of some kind. Most of the chairs are filled, patrons drinking or lounging at tables and booths. You sidestep a tall woman dragging a babbling man out by the collar. From the muted smack of flesh on steel and squeals of pain, the woman used the man’s face to push open the door. You can’t help but chuckle under your breath as you make a beeline for her recently vacated booth, enticing worn red fabric welcoming you as you scoot in to observe the other customers.

Low music leaks out of a brightly lit jukebox by the entrance. The furniture looks handmade, all made of sturdy wood with metal trimmings at the joints. Tables of mismatched sizes and shapes are spread unevenly throughout the room, seemingly moved around at the patrons’ whims. Exposed lightbulbs cast warm, yellow light, illuminating assorted portraits and posters on the walls. Worn brick peeks out from underneath peeling wallpaper. Wooden barrels sit in quiet corners.

A tall, burly man stands behind a counter, wiping it down. A wide selection of various alcoholic drinks occupies a glass shelf above him.

In a more peaceful world, this place could be… cozy. Some patrons allow themselves to slouch in their chairs, even though their hands never stray too far from belted knives. One man has fallen asleep in his cups, but nobody bothers him or his pockets. A group of rowdy friends laugh and encourage each other at one of the pool tables.

“Hey.” The tall woman you walked past steps in front of you, blocking your view of the bar. She’s muscular and tough, a bright red poncho draped proudly around her shoulders. Her short dark hair is tied neatly back in a half up-do, almost girlish except for the dark scowl carved into her face. “You’re in my seat.”

You finally glance down at the table, only just now noticing an almost-empty glass of orange alcohol and a half-full ashtray in front of you, still warm from recent use.

“Sorry,” you say hastily.

You slide out of the booth as quickly as you can, scanning for an empty table. The woman’s energy tells you that she could have just as easily picked you up and thrown you to the floor, and you’re thankful that she opted to evict you more politely.

She raises an appraising eyebrow at you. You draw your hood lower over your eyes, avoiding her gaze.

 “If you grab me a drink, I’ll let you sit here.” She takes a seat in the booth, pulling a pack of cigarettes out of her pocket, still staring at you. “You look like you need it.”

“Thanks,” you say quietly, relieved.

“Tell him Sevika wants her usual,” the woman says, jerking her head at the barman.

You make your way to the counter, leaning against it. When you place your hands on its edge, it’s cool to the touch, polished to a brilliant shine. You crane your neck to look for the bartender; he’s at the far end of the counter, finishing up with another customer. 

Just as you raise your hand to catch his attention, he spots you. He slaps a towel over his shoulder and saunters over to you.

“Never seen you ‘round here before, miss,” he says, curious. The glass he picks up looks tiny in his massive, boulder-like hands. He holds it out to you flirtatiously, his wink as shiny as the spotless glassware.  

“It’s my first time here,” you say politely, taking the glass from him. You put it down carefully in front of you. “Can I get Sevika’s usual, please?”

He nods, a slow grin spreading across his wide cheeks. He pushes his short brown hair out of his face before he grabs a second cup. When as he grabs a bottle of orange liquor from a shelf, you belatedly realize that you have no idea how much drinks cost here.

“Does she have a tab?” You pat down your pockets, groaning internally at your carelessness.

The bartender ignores your question, instead pouring both glasses half-full with a flourish.

“Oh, nothing for me, thanks,” you protest.

“It’s on the house, sweetheart,” he says cheerfully. “Welcome to The Last Drop.” 

───────────────── ●◉◎◈◎◉● ─────────────────

If you liked this fic, please reblog and/or leave a comment! <3

[anomaly-076]

Tkdb characters comforting you after finding you having a mental breakdown

‎‧₊˚✿Masterlist✿˚₊‧

♦ I've been writing a bullet-point HC style a lot recently so I decided to switch it up ^^ Reader and the character are written as friends, but can be read as dating (or more ;))... [Apologies for the differences in length, but some scenarios just came out that way U.U]♦

Characters: Alan, Sho, Haru, Haku, Jiro, Professor Dante, + a bonus secret character :D

    ⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆

Alan quietly enters your room to see you angrily pacing back and forth, dodging some flying object by mere inches you angrily threw without a care for where it would hit and land.

"Hey, everything okay?"

You head snaps in his direction. Angry stare ready to scorch your intruder not softening even after realizing it was just Alan. Normally you might be able to snap out of your on edge state, but not right now.

"Everything okay? You wanna know what's not okay? I'll tell you... Every. Fucking. Thing!" you spit into his face, getting so up close you can smell the sweat mixed with motor oil that seems to follow Alan everywhere.

If it were any other Vagastrom student, they'd be already thrown across the room, but in your case, Alan is even too stunned to consider that an option. This is the first time Alan sees you ready to set stuff ablaze with your sight alone. He's sure that if your stigma were related to fire, the whole dorm would be on fire.

"Hey now..." Alan finally says something after a few seconds of returning your intense eye-contact.

You don't answer and instead turn on your heel and kick something out of your way as you stomp to sit on your bed.

Only now does Alan have the chance to look around. The walls are dented more than they were before, there's pages torn from a notebook scattered all over the floor and all your stuff is a complete mess, indicating that your rampage has been going on for a quite long time.

A shaky breath coming from your slumped form draws his attention back to you. Are... Are you crying?

Alan is still unmoved from his position at the door. A weird feeling washes over him as he sees you bury your head in your hands and slide them up into your hair to pull on it. Your torso folds forward to dangle between your spread legs as you start to let out breathy sobs.

He's unsure of what to do. He's never been one to deal with emotions, let alone help someone else deal with them. A slight panic starts to take over him.

Then, as if his body moved on its own, Alan finds himself crossing the mess of a floor, stepping over anything scattered there, to sit next to you on your bed.

"Hey..." he tries to say as softly and compassionate as he's able to, but you either don't hear him or pay any attention to him.

"Hey." Alan says again, this time louder and tries to bring you back to reality by running his palm down your back.

You finally seem to snap out of the worst and your torso slightly rises for you to look at Alan from the side of your tear-filled eye.

"Hey, c'mon..." it comes out as another attempt from Alan to comfort you, but in reality he's begging for you to stop. Your crying makes something inside him feel bad, almost painful and he's begging you to stop crying so the unpleasant feeling goes away.

And you wish you could stop, but the tears just keep on coming and there's no stopping. You just shake your head and look back down on the floor, but you do try to control your sobs and reduce them to mere hiccups.

"I... S-something bothering you?" Alan is unsure how to talk to you without making your situation worse again. To him, it feels like most things he'd try to say will end up being the wrong choice.

Thankfully, you fully rise back up with a sigh and look at Alan with now fully red and puffy eyes, heavy with exhaustion.

"I'm just so fed up and tired with everything..." your voice is shaky and coarse like you've spent the better part of the past our angrily half screaming to yourself (which you did and Leo, being Leo, overheard it and sent Alan to investigate).

"Hey, I'm here... You can talk... or... not..." Alan trails off. In talking about feelings he's even more helpless than at consoling someone. So he just awkwardly puts his hand around you and pulls his closer to him so your sides are touching.

  ⋆˚✿˖°

"Hey Y/N, I got my R&R approved. You wanna go for a dri- huh?" Sho walks into your room without knocking, like he usually does, but immediately stops in his tracks once he doesn't see you any of your usual activities you'd normally do at this time. His eyes scan the room until they land on your curled up form in a corner of your room, whimpering.

"Woah... Y/N, you with me here?" he quickly makes his way towards you and falls to his knees right in front of you. From the state you're in, he's unable to tell what is actually wrong and the only way he can find out what, is by you telling him.

Your head pick up to reveal an empty stare, void of any spark of emotion, and Sho immediately understands.

"Hey now..." he pries your hands off your legs from clutching them close to your chest. His strong hands spread your legs apart to pull you into his lap and hold you against his chest, cradling you.

Reluctantly, you hands wrap around Sho's back, returning his close embrace as you hide your face in his neck. The smell of cologne and the food from his truck hits your nose and comforts you to some degree.

As his own hands roam over your back, Sho hums softly and nuzzles his head against yours. Originally, he wanted to go visit some new bike parts place since he finally managed to get approval to leave Darkwick, but now he's more than anything interested in making sure you're okay.

In his head he's already coming up with a list of stuff that you might wanna do to make you feel better from what he remembers you told him you liked. Thankfully Leo's R&R was approved too, so he won't barge in on the two of you. Sho or you wouldn't hear the end of it.

  ⋆˚✿˖°

Everything is loud. So loud. Too loud!

The sound of animals in their pens. Ren watching some movie or playing one of his games and complaining about Haru. Someone's footsteps outside your door in the common room. The banging of pots and pans in the kitchen. And the there's that damn scratching of something against a piece of wood!

That sound is about to drive you crazy in your frantic, borderline panic attack state. There's a slight pounding in your head and your breath is quick as you pace around your room like and animal in a tiny cage.

Oh great... Now the footsteps are getting louder. Just what you need...

"What is it Peekaboo? Hm?... Oh!" you can hear Haru's voice from the other side of your door shortly followed by brisk knocks on your door.

"Kinda busy..." your response comes out as a low growl, similar to some of the anomalies in Jabberwock's care.

"Ah... But Y/N, Peekaboo is worried. He says you've been walking around like that for a while now. Don't your feet hurt?" with your eyes trained on the door now, you can see the handle move as Haru tries to open the door. Luckily you locked it while your hands were still able to not shake as much as they do right now.

You ignore Haru's worried question and growl to yourself instead. He's always so cheery, it annoys you to no end right now.

Your door flies open and stops you dead in your tracks. Of course, you should've known that locks won't stop Haru.

A flock of anomalous animals flood into your room through the now open door with Haru standing in them.

"Y/N!"he exclaims in dismay upon seeing the state you're in. All the animals are around you. Some are jumping up at you and some are biting your ankles as a sign of affection, all trying to cheer you up, able to feel the mood you're in.

"Boo..." Peekaboo silently chirps in, echoing Haru's tone of voice. If you were able to look closer, you'd be able to notice he's got tears in his eyes.

"Y/N! Are you okay?" as Haru approaches you, the animals around you scatter away from you, giving him more space to assess your state.

"I- I'on... S'-s'just... Guess... I j-just..." you struggle to formulate your thoughts. They're racing too fast to be able to catch just one of them.

"Hey, hey, hey, slow down Y/N. Just breathe..." Haru guides you to sit down of the ground and takes a deep breath with you.

"Focus on me and breathe, okay?" his voice is gentle, very different from his usual demeanor while trying to advertise capybus tours.

As Haru talks you down from your frantic state and helps you breathe your way through, the animals come and join you, some trying to calm you in their own way and some resorting to just taking a nap around you.

  ⋆˚✿˖°

You've been working on your project for so long and now you're just going to ruin it with your tears. Great. Just another thing to make your mood worse. This project has been taking so much out of you, you don't even want to finish it.

"Mental health check!" Haku hums, peaking into your room. You've told him about your project and how much it's driving you insane, so he's been checking in on you the whole time.

After seeing you openly sobbing above your project you'd worked so hard on already, he's quick to slip into your room and move it away from you so you don't ruin it any further.

Before you're even aware of his presence over your tears, Haku is already picking you up and carrying you to your bed. After getting on it himself, he positions you in his lap, facing away from your desk, which would remind you of that mess that's been ruining your life for the past month or so.

"Aw, come on now... You're doing a great job. I'm really excited for it to be done and I know it'll be amazing just like everything else you've done." Haku tries to calm you down as one of his hands strokes your cheek.

"B-but i-it's not w-working... I-it sh-should, but isn't..." you sob and your upper body threatens to collapse onto Haku from the strength of them.

"Hey... Hey..." Haku brings his other hand to pick up your face and look at him, "It will work, you just need to take a break."

"N-no, it w-won't... I-i've bee working on it fo-for so long and it just won't... I'll just ha-have to cancel the-"

"No, please don't do that... I'll help you. We're all so looking for you to get it out there..." Haku tries to wipe the tears off your cheeks, but another ones are soon flowing down again.

You shake your head and start trying to turn around to look at you project again. Haku stops you and meekly smiles at you.

"Let me tell tell you what... We go out, have some ice-cream, hang out and maybe watch something in my room and then tomorrow I'll have a look at it and see what we can do... Okay?"

  ⋆˚✿˖°

"Y/N, hello?" a tired voice calls out to you.

You don't have to turn around to be able to tell it's Jiro.

"Y/N, you were supposed to come in today for a checkup so Yuri sent me for you."

You're still unmoving, just laying on your bed, on your cover and staring at the blank wall in front of you.

"Y/N?" Jiro approaches your bed and touches your arm.

You're still dressed in your dorm uniform despite it being a good few hours since your classes ended and you were allowed to change.

Jiro's gloved hand sneaks up to your neck, his two fingers searching around for a pulse point.

"What are you doing?" you say with a flat voice, almost like you're not fully present, but you sadly are.

"Making sure you're alive. Your catatonia and lack of response worried me."

You don't even answer and only hum in acknowledgement.

Jiro sighs and sits on your bed, inspecting your state.

Despite being a medical student, his studies sometimes included a psychological aspects. Based on them, Jiro was able to determine that your state must've been caused by some severe distress, forcing your brain to shut down and fully detach from reality in order to cope.

Sadly, no treatment came to his mind, so Jiro just kicks off his shoes and lies down behind you and throws his arm around your waist.

Hopefully his closeness can make you feel better. If not, he'll have to call Yuri, but now he wants to try and be there for you alone.

  ⋆˚✿˖°

Dante could swear he turned all the lights off in his private library, but apparently one of them was still on. It was always such a pain when he had to go back somewhere because of his disability.

With a sigh he opens the heavy door to find you surrounded by some of his books. You're frantically reading the contents of one of them and scribbling something on a paper next to it.

"Ah, Y/N. Isn't it rather late to be researching?"

Dante's sudden presence startles you and as you quickly move to face him, you accidentally knock over the book you were reading.

"Dante, sorry, you've startled me." you sheepishly admit, trying to hide how anxious you are.

"Tell me, what could possibly be so important at this hour, dear?" Dante is faster than you and pushes himself forward to pick up the fallen book.

You take a deep breath to seem like you have it all together, but you can't, "I couldn't sleep. My mind's just filled with all these horrible what-ifs and I couldn't stop them so I thought that maybe if I knew what to do, it would help."

"And what are these what-ifs about, Y/N?" Dante's expression softens.

"I don't know... Everything."

Dante sighs and starts pushing his wheelchair towards the sofa in the middle of the room, "Although I do believe that problems should be faced head on, perhaps you'd prefer if I read your favorite book to you as a distraction?"

  ⋆˚✿˖°

⋆˚࿔ Secret character 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

"Tough day?" a smooth voice interrupts your thoughts as you absentmindedly pet one of the mail cats, staring off into a space.

"Yeah..."

"Now what could worry a pretty little head like yours?" the owner of the voice comes closer and sits down next to you on the bench.

Your eyes are glossed over with tears so the stranger next to you only looks like a dark-grey smudge.

"Do you know what helps me, while I'm feeling down?... There's this kid, Rui, and he has all of these amazing drinks that taste like alcohol but aren't..."

"I-i know..."

"Hey, maybe if you're down, we could go together right now since my shift's ended."

"Nah thanks..."

"Oh, it's Elias, sweetheart."

[potatounicoorn]

Teen titans band AU expect they are a metal band and still superheroes

It starts when they end up out of money and they need to get some new gear (dont ask how they are out of money)

So logically the teenagers they are, they end up figuring out that a great way for getting lots of money would be a music career

Because what teenager group hasnt formed a band at one point or another?

And while they examine what music they could do Donna has the brightest idea

She had been on a mission with Diana and somehow at some point they end up in a heavy metal concert crowd

Donna got some dudes beer dunked on her, she ended up in a middle of a moshpit and more fun

And later she is cleaning herself up in the bathroom and this set of the coolest girls she has seen come and congratulate her on her metal concert baptism

So now the fab five end up forming a metal band

And like your average metal band, Donna ends up being the singer

(Turns out amazonian war cry's make great music with some intrumentals)

Shes your average "you hear a great song with amazing growling, and then your dad drops some band lore and oh the singer is a woman what, tahts cool af"

She can switch suprisingly great with the growling, screaming and singing with the voice of angel in your local childrens church choir

Wally can hit drums like no other (superspeed lets goo)

Garth ends up with a guitar and Roy with a bass

And Dick is one of the "I know how to play the most random set of instruments known to man" aka he plays everything from cello to bag pipe and chruch organ to kantele

Most of their songs end up being nonsense sentences in ancient amazonian, atlantean and anything thats not english and propably not known by your average guy

At first their band doesnt really hit off, they get a few tiny gigs here and there and most of their listeners are their friends and family

And then they end up crashing in some no where town in North Finland during peak winter low degrees

And they need someplace for warmth and food so they end up at some local pub

Turns out the pub was supposed to host a concert but the artist never showed up so now they have a house full of disappointed metal heads

So the titans take their chance because "hey they give us free food for performing! And a gig is a gig!! :D"

And it goes fairly good! People are enjoying the music and mostly people are having fun, maybe some people even take up their band name for later listening

Until Roy notices a tracker device or smth in Donna's neck, and "oh shit it must be the bad guys from the earlier fight shit shit"

So he just swooshes the bass with full force at Donna, because the tracker needs to break and Donna can handle it she got amazonian strenght and all that

Expect they are not, you know, actually in their hero outfits at the moment but instead in some random clothes they found at lost item box because identity and all that

And the crowd just stares in horror as the random basist just smashes the bass at the poor singer

Like that much force will kill anyone!!

And

She just

Keeps singing?

Wtf

They quickly end the song and reasure the crowd and fly off

But some dude got it all on video

So next morning they wake up, and oh would you look at that! Our band is a massive hit!

Turns our doing insane stuff is the key to charm an audience!

And now they get concerts everywhere and a large insanely fast growing fan base

Because their band end up being the most mystical thing known to man

They keep the putfits they got from the lost box

Add some sick ass prosthetics masks whoch decipt some unnamed horror creatures (inspired by some villains they fought (look up Lordi for example))

Their music videos are the ultimate metal stereotype of "go into the woods and you will find a metal band there every other meter" expect the extreme version

Because they got missions all over and end up in the most random places

So all their music videos are homemade with a phonecamera while they are in the middle of Siperia or amazon rainforest, Sahara desert, himalaya, a volcano, a Thailand cave system, every single world wonder and so on

Not to even speak of their concerts

They are one of the few bands who can truly say they did a world tour

Because sometimes they do one in NYC and the next day they are at some unmapped island near New zealand

And the insanity of their concerts do not end with the smashed bass at Donnas neck no

There are even more smashed instruments at Donna, lots of things on fire, a world record at fastest drumming, Batman in a corner, dude who seems like he is flying doing flips and tricks of the hall roof, the bassist throwing all sort of stuff with insane accuraty, the guitarist crowd surfing once when it rained expect he was standing??, and so on and on

Sometimes the bassist also ends up playing for Black canary

They have no social media, no nothing, they just drop their music and appear in random places to have a concert

Sometimes the band is months without doing anything and just seemingly disappear from the face of Earth completely

And suddenly there are four new peiple joining the band, who is apparently anm extra choir

And seemingly no one in the band even knows who plays what where and how because why do the band members seem to keep changing???

Everyone is just holding their breaths following this absolute insanity of a band just waiting for the day they make a document of all the stuff thats happened in the background away from cameras

Its the most avaited lore drop of the century

But no, no one will ever just explain anything, they just go on and on, sometimes they disappear for years on time and appear with a new set of people

Sure why not

Its titled as the biggest mystery of the music industry

And so it remains

[lonelychicago]

wip saturday!

tagged by the lovelies @honestlydarkprincess and @midsummersmorn

uhhhh so, this is a new wip! that's all im gonna say

The foreman dismisses all of them and the firefighters start to pack up their things— all in all, it was a short, easy call. But it left Eddie rattled and off-kelter, torn up in two. A part of him wants to get the hell out of there as fast as he can, wants to run far, far away from Buck and the guilt that's been clawing at his throat for years, but that now it's at an all time high.

Another part of him, though, doesn't want to ever move from there. Before he can stop himself, his eyes drink in Buck desperately, like a dying man in the middle of the desert stumbling into some fresh, delicious water.

His white t-shirt sticks to his chest, made nearly transparent with sweat. The hard lines and ridges of his stomach ripple under the damp material as he moves, shifting his safety helmet from one arm to another as he shifts in place. Eddie can't help it when his gaze from falling to where Buck's work gloves are shoved in the tool belt slung around his waist, so heavy that it drags down the waistband of his jeans, so they're riding slowly on his hips.

He's so much broader and muscular than the last time Eddie saw him.

Seven years ago, Buck was tall and not really scrawny— He was one of their star school athletes, captain of the football team and one of the best members in the wrestling team. He'd been toned and one of the most popular guys at school. But now, he's triple the size he'd been then, and his smile doesn't quite reach his eyes, doesn't seem as boyish and easygoing as it once was.

That's Eddie's fault.

“Hey, Buckley. Why don't you come with us to the station? You'll get free lunch in exchange for Diaz's most embarrassing, cringe worthy stories from high school.” Chimney says, and Eddie wants to laugh, cry, and kill his friend all at the same time. “Besides, what better concussion watch than a group of well trained professionals?”

“Uh…” Buck's eyes dart quickly from Eddie to literally anywhere and anyone else. “I don't know—”

“Cap makes a mean lasagna. You really don't wanna miss that.”

“That's true,” Bobby grins.

“Come,” Eddie finds himself saying, his mouth moving and speaking the words out loud before his mind can even process what's happening. “You should come. We can, uh, catch up.”

Catch up? What the actual fuck? Eddie knows damn well where Buck's been all these years, and the guy probably hates his guts. He's probably cussing him out internally, wishing Eddie would just go away—

“Okay. Sure.” Buck's soft voice cuts Eddie's spiraling and then there's that. “Just let me grab my stuff really quick, and I'll follow you guys back to the station in my car.”

tagging: @monsterrae1 @bi-buckrights @beyourownanchor6 @bigfootsmom @devirnis @maygrantgf @father-salmon @underwaterninja13 @eddiebabygirldiaz @exhuastedpigeon @watchyourbuck @thelikesofus @spotsandsocks @daffi-990 @diazsdimples @theotherbuckley @tizniz @dangerpronebuddie

[immortalbumblebee]

Chapter 19: Heart of Gold

Figured the Vander fandom could use a lil' treat right about now, so here's my gift to all of you! Fingers crossed for Act 3 tomorrow!

(Also yes, two updates in a single week. Points to me!)

THIS IS SMUT! 18+! MINORS DNI PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD

Masterlist

“You hungry at all? Think we’ve got some leftovers I can warm up for y’.” He asks once you step through the threshold, shutting the door behind you. The apartment feels eerily empty without the others, despite the mountains of stuff that litter the floor space and every perceivable surface. But the homey warmth is welcomed after your bitterly cold walk home. You feel your cheeks begin to warm, sense coming back into them. You’ve hidden your hands in the large sleeves of Vander’s jacket, but still curl your fingers as warm blood begins to flow back into them.

You shake your head. “Maybe some water, if you don’t mind? And find where we put the bandages?” You ask. You’ll have to put fresh plasters on your injuries after your shower. 

“Of course!” Vander nods, and once the door lock clicks, he turns back to face you. He stands there for a moment, hands in his pockets and shuffling his weight from foot to foot, and looking down at you without saying anything. The air felt thick, charged, like something still hung between you, unresolved. So much so that it took you a solid moment to even realize you were doing much the same, just stupidly looking up at him. You found yourself wanting to say something, to bridge the space, but the words felt too small, too fragile. So, you just stood there. Time stretched, thick with everything that had been said, and everything that hadn’t. All that was left was the weight of your shared space, now too big for the both of you. The seconds slipped by, silent and heavy, until you weren’t sure if it was you or the room that was holding its breath. 

Finally, it’s Vander that speaks first, pulling the world back into motion. “You’re sure you’re alright?” It should be a simple question, but it feels like a lifeline thrown across a gap.

You shift, unknowingly taking a small step towards him, and the tension in your chest that you hadn’t even realized was there begins to lessen. You feel his gaze on you soften, but your own gaze is still absent-mindedly locked on his feet.

“I’m fine now,” you breathe out. Your voice barely more than a whisper. “Promise.” There was a long pause after that—no rush to fill the silence with anything else. But then he takes a step towards you, closing the physical space, and a gentle knuckle moves your chin up to meet his gaze. Something in his eyes—something raw, desperate—mesmerizes you and you suddenly can’t move your eyes away, locked in on the storming gray. 

Wordlessly, he extends his hand. You have to shove the sleeve of his jacket up your arm in order to meet his touch with your own, the large calloused hand easily enveloping yours. His thumb brushed over my knuckles once, twice, each touch like a promise, soft but knowing. Still silent, he lifts your hand to his lips. The warmth of his breath ghosts over your wrist before he pressed a soft kiss to the plaster, the touch lingering, gentle, reverent. Then, with gentle fingers, he opens your hand to press it against the warmth of his cheek. Despite your best attempts to keep your hands warm outside, the warmth of his cheek burns at the winter-bitten skin of your fingers, and his stubble brushes against the meat of your palm. 

His eyes closed, just for a moment, and in the stillness, there was something…but you couldn’t put a name to the feeling that filled that entryway to your shared apartment. Meditation? Thoughtfulness? A prayer? An apology? Whatever it was, you stayed, refusing to pull away but fighting the urge to bury yourself in his chest and stay there for an eternity. Thankfully, you don’t have to fight the urge for too long as he eventually does lower your hand, giving it one last, soft, reassuring squeeze before lowering it back to your side.

“I’ll get that water for you, Love.” He says with a smile, snapping you out of your daze. You couldn’t read the expression on his face. Somewhere between sad and thankful. “Go and wash up.” 

“Right.” You nod. Showering! Showering is good! In all your romantic kissy-faces to each other, you’d almost forgotten the reason you had been itching to return home so quickly. You quickly peel off his jacket, handing it back to him before bending down to unlace your boots. As you do, you’re quickly reminded of the coolness of your apartment as it hits your very exposed flesh all at once. Gods, you needed to get out of these fighting clothes. Would it be too dramatic to say you wanted to burn them? Maybe. But the thought still crossed your mind. 

The steam that wrapped around you was almost like a blanket, the warmth of the water a slow, soothing balm against your aching bones. The hot spray cascading from the top of your head, and pouring down your neck and over the skin of your back. Lazily, you’d lifted an arm and watched as the water washed away the dirt and grime from the past few hours, leaving behind murky trails as the droplets rolled down your skin. 

You shouldn’t be taking too long in the shower, you knew this. The boilers for your apartment building were old, and tended not to hold much hot water. But the minute you felt the heat seep into your muscles, you were hypnotized. Closing your eyes, you turned and let the water flow down your hair and into your face, the sound of rushing water drowning out any and all noise from the world outside. It hurts a little when the water hits your nose, shocking you out of your peace and making you step back away from the stream. 

Right, you think to yourself, your injuries. Had to work around those…

You look down at your damaged wrists, the raw, angry skin still tender from the rough treatment, and a small annoyance flickers in your chest. How are you supposed to wash your hair when you can’t even get soap in the wounds? Your fingers hover near the shampoo bottle, but your mind veers off, lost in a different memory. The shackles. You can almost feel the cold, unforgiving metal around your wrists again, the way they had bitten into your skin, rubbing it raw with every movement, tethering you in a way that was both physical and psychological. The sensation of being bound, unable to escape, floods your thoughts, and the anxiety tightens in your chest.

You breathe deeply, pushing the memories away as best you can. Your gaze shifts to the temperature dial of the shower, and your fingers flex, tentative, before flicking your wrist just so. The heat of the water rises, just a touch more, and as it hits your skin, it’s like a switch flips. The tension in your hands begins to ease, the deep ache in your muscles loosening, like a rusted hinge moving for the first time in ages after being oiled.

There’s a knock at the door that snaps you out of your thoughts, and you call out an invitation to come in. 

“Just wanted to check in,” Vander calls, “makin’ sure everything’s alright.”

You respond quickly, without even thinking. “Yup, I’m all good!” But another look at the shampoo bottle reminds you of your predicament. “...actually…could I ask a favour?” An uncomfortable feeling rises in your chest, the dread of having to depend on someone else for something so simple as washing your hair. 

The door clicks as Vander steps inside. “Of course, whatever you need.”

“I-” you exhale a sigh of annoyance, “I think I need help washing my hair. My wrists…”

You don’t need to say any more before Vander starts stripping himself of his clothes, the sound of rustling fabric and his belt hitting the tile floor. The rushing water is almost enough to drown out the self-deprecating thoughts that trickle into your mind, and the sound of your heartbeat skipping in your ears as he climbs in behind you. 

He doesn’t say anything at first, but you feel his hands on your body. His fingers swiping over the various discoloured bruises that now decorate your skin, some from Sevika, some from the Enforcers.  You can feel the weight of their gaze, full of care, but also something else—concern, maybe even guilt. “I promise, I’m fine.” You say as you turn around to face him, and his eyes immediately shift to your nose. You didn’t realize he was so close to you, your chests basically pressed to one another once you’ve turned to face him. “You and I both know I’ve been through worse.”  His eyebrows lift a little and he nods, muttering “fair enough,” as he detaches his hands and bends down to the shampoo he knows is yours. 

“I’m sorry to ask so much of you.” You blurt as he pours out the bottled liquid. But he just gives you a knowing look.

“It’s you, Doll,” he smiles, and you realize it’s the first genuine smile you’ve seen from him all night. “You could never ask too much of me.”

Your heart skips all over again.

As he begins working the shampoo into your hair, you find yourself leaning into the feel of his fingers. They’re a little awkward, clearly not used to doing this for someone else, but his touch feels heavenly as they rub into your scalp. Your eyes shut, but your hands latch onto his hips to help keep you steady. It doesn’t take him long to work the solution into your short-cut hair, and he ever so gently tilts your head back into the shower’s stream to wash it away.

“That cut to your nose’ll scar nicely.” He remarks as his hands keep busy in your strands.

“Like it?” You tentatively open one of your eyes and smirk. “At least my muzzle’s not quite as mashed as yours.”

He chuckles lowly. “We’re still young, Minnie. Give it a few more years, and we’ll see who’s talking. Besides,�� he tips your head back up, but his hands stay entangled in your hair, “even with all the broken cartilage in the world, and every scar imaginable, you’re still gorgeous compared to my ugly mug.”

A heat rises through your chest that has absolutely nothing to do with the steaming shower, and suddenly, your retort about how much you hate that stupid nickname has vanished from your mind. Instead, you force a roll of your eyes and gently swat at his side with a scoff. 

“Oh fuck off, so not true.” 

“I think it is.” He smiles, his eyes locked on yours as a small smile pulls at his lips. “Besides, can’t blame a man for trying to flatter his girl.” 

Your eyebrows fly up into your hairline. “‘Yours’, huh?”

He hums in confirmation, his thumb brushing at the base of your skull. The touch sends a shiver down your spine, and your breath catches in your throat. He smirks as he confirms, “mine.” There’s no questioning tone or uncertainty, it’s matter-of-fact. Before you even have time to think of a proper response, he’s bending down to retrieve the soap. 

He rathers the bar in his hands, his eyes flickering back and forth up to yours, searching yours, as if asking for permission. The tension in the air is palpable, the space between you thick with hesitation. You nod, just once, barely, but it’s enough. He moves with practiced care, gently moving one sudsy hand to your shoulder. You can feel the bubbles wiping away the remnants of the grime and sweat, but you don’t move your eyes away from Vander. His, on the other hand, scans over every inch of you as he continues to move his hand over your skin. The moment his hands reach for your wrists, you flinch, instinctively pulling back, but he stops—just for a beat, letting you adjust, giving you a moment. His touch is careful, soft as he moves away from the tender wounds.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, his voice thick with something you can’t quite place. “I should have done something to stop them, to help you.”

You don’t say anything at first, letting him continue to work the soap into your torso. You can feel his hands pause for just a moment around your chest, almost out of habit, before continuing to slide over your sides. Then you lift your hands to his shoulders, stilling him. You search his expression, guilt coming up to the surface and written all over his furrowed brow. You’re looking for something, anything to indicate the right thing to say to him. But then you're moving to your tip-toes, and your hands are sliding around him, pulling his lips down to meet yours. 

Your lips are gentle. There’s no heat, no rush, to the kiss but he melts into it all the same. There’s a small, echoed, ‘thump’ as the soap falls to the floor of the shower and his hands encircle your waist. He’s gentle, careful, but pressed you into him. Not unsure or uncertain, just careful of the way your body moves with his touch.

Eventually, you pull away, but he refuses to let you go, and keeps the closeness between you even tighter as he gently presses his forehead to yours. You can feel his breath fanning over your face, and his strong grip keeping you firmly in place. The hot water from the shower streams down your back, and the combined heat from the steam and the shared warmth of his body radiating into both of you. When you do eventually separate, it’s only thanks to a firm hand on his chest that he lets you pull away.

“I think I can handle it from here.” You smile a little to yourself. “I’m 90% sure we’re about to run out of hot water, and I’d really rather that not happen while I’m in here. Is it okay if I meet you out there?”

There’s something like a low growl deep in his chest, and he pulls you in one more time, this time to press a gentle, tender kiss to your wet hair. One of your hands finds its way to his chest, the pads of your fingers tracing over the lines of his muscles appreciatively for a moment longer than strictly necessary before he takes a step back. 

“Take all the time you need, Love.” He smiles, squeezing your hand one final time before stepping out. You let him take your hand with him, until the very last moment before he disappears behind the curtain. 

As you predicted, it takes next to no time at all for you to finish washing up. You quickly dry off and dress in a much comfier set of clothes, but you’re still toweling off your hair as you step out of the bathroom and into the apartment at large. As you could have guessed, Vander’s sitting there, patiently, on the couch with a first aid kit on standby.

“You didn’t have to actually wait for me.” You explain. “And you really don’t have to help patch me back up.” 

“Oh, please,” Vander scoffs and waves you off, “you’ve patched me up plenty, it’s only right if I return the favour every once in a while.”

You can’t help but roll your eyes, but take the spot next to him nonetheless, smiling as he grabs the antiseptic from the kit. His movements are calm, but a little unsure. Usually it’s him getting patched up, not the other way around. You watch him, the quiet comfort of their presence filling the space between you.

He focuses on your wrists first, his hands gentle as they begin cleaning and dressing your wounds. There’s no rush in the way he works, no sense of urgency, just the steady rhythm of their touch. The coolness of the ointment soothes your skin, and for a moment, you forget the discomfort, focusing instead on the simple act of being cared for. His fingers graze your arm as they adjust the bandage, warm and reassuring.

The silence between you isn’t heavy anymore. It’s easy, companionable, a shared moment of quiet that feels more like a pause than anything else. You lean back into the cushions, finally able to relax, the weight of the day starting to lift, if only for a little while. And in that space, with them beside you, you feel happily reassured, content even.

“You don’t have to apologize, you know.” You break the silence. His hands pause over the bandages for a moment, indicating he heard you, but his gaze doesn’t lift to meet yours. “You did help me. I’m assuming it wasn’t Silco’s idea to get my mom and Niya involved.”

He shrugs, wrapping the second bandage around your other wrist. “It was Silco who said that if we were seen anywhere topside, we’d get thrown in jail with you.” For such a large man, it was surprising when his voice was this small.

“He was probably right.” You nod, and lift your already-bandaged hand to cup his cheek. “But you still found a way to help me. What matters right now is that I’m safe, here with you, and everyone down here’s okay.”

He leans into your touch for a moment, shutting his eyes. He seems to be thinking to himself for a moment, then sighs, nods, and turns his attention back to bandaging you up. You drop your hand. 

“Suppose you’re right.” He mumbles, practically a whisper, and he looks up to give you a thankful smile. One you’re more than happy to return.

“When am I not?” 

To this, he can’t help but chuckle, and he gives you a knowing look, one that makes the air feel lighter, more peaceful. There’s something about his presence, the way he handles you with care, that feels grounding, even comforting. As he finishes with your wrist, he finally turns his attention to your nose. This one’s easy, shorter work, as he simply dabs on the last of the antiseptic and sticks a plaster to the bridge of your nose, just under your eye line. 

As he finishes tending to you, his hands remain steady, not moving away, not yet. He looks up at you, eyes soft, searching for a sign—anything that might let him know you're ready for him to pull away. But you don’t want him to. Instead, you happily let him move closer to you, his body pressing against yours as he captures your lips in a tender, passionate kiss. His arms wrap around you, pulling you in tightly as his mouth moves over yours, a mix of tenderness and hunger in his touch. Time seems to slow down as his mouth moves over yours, the kiss slow and languid, as if he wants to savor every moment. His hands gently caress your face, fingers tracing the outline of your jaw as he kisses you tenderly.

He takes his time, exploring your mouth with a gentle but firm tongue, mapping out every contour. He moves from your lips to your ears, his breath hot on your skin as he whispers sweet nothings, pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses along the length of your neck that make your toes curl. Your hands snake around to the back of his head, your fingers gripping into his hair and successfully drawing out a moan from him. This makes you smirk, but you’re surprised when he quickly pulls his face away from you.

“When do you have to be at work?” He asks, voice husky but concern written on his face.

You shake your head. “I don’t, I booked today off in case the fight went sideways. You?”

His concern melts away into a gleeful smile, his arms enveloping your torso as he lifts you up with absolutely no effort, sitting back to lean against the arm of the couch and pulling you into his lap, your thighs straddling his. “Not until tonight.”

Gods bless!

You dip your face back to meet his lips again, letting a moan ring out at the contact. The kiss is slow and somewhat tentative at first, and it’s clear he wants to be gentle with you. But more and more as your kiss continues to deepen, he quickly becomes more confident until he inevitably dips his head back down to the crook of your neck. But he still moves slowly, taking his time to taste and touch, his mouth finding the sensitive spots on your neck, the hollow of your collarbone, and the slope of your shoulder. His mouth sears a path of pleasure as his hands continue to wander over your body, exploring every dip and curve. His stubble scratches you in the most delectable way. 

He worships you with his touch, as if he wants to memorize every inch of you, to commit the feel of your skin to his memory. It feels like every touch of his lips is your own personal heaven, your hand dropping to his shoulder and gripping, your chest heaving as your breath becomes more and more laboured. Damn this man, damn him and his memory of every little nerve ending in your body. 

As his hands move under the fabric of your shirt, you give him a silent nod of approval, letting him slide the material up and off your torso and not carrying where into the depths of your home he throws it. He pulls away, just for a moment, as his hands slide up and cup your breasts, his eyes scanning over every inch of you. “Best fuckin’ tits either side of the bridge, I swear to the Gods…” This makes you giggle a little, which only makes his smile grow even wider. 

“Shut up and kiss me again, idiot.” You laugh, using your magic to pull him in by the metal studs in his vest. He’s only too happy to follow orders, crashing his lips to yours once again.

Your hands run up his chest, helping him out of his vest and he thankfully takes the hint, pulling his shirt over his head. You take the moment to shimmy out of the pajama shorts you’d only just gotten dressed into as he begins to fiddle with his belt. It only takes a second for you to flick your finger, and the belt unloops itself and goes flying towards the bedroom. He gives you a knowing look.

“What?” You shrug as he resumes discarding his pants. “What’s the point of having these damn powers if I can’t use them, hm?”

“Lil’ trouble maker.” He tsk’s but very shortly pulls you right back to his lap.

His strong, muscular chest pressed up against your own, the feeling of skin against skin sending a wave of heat through both of you. He kisses you with a fervor and intensity that takes your breath away, his hands holding you tightly against him, as if he's scared to let you go. You feel as desired and wanted as you've ever been, every touch and kiss from him making you weak in the knees and stealing all rational thought from your mind. In all your years, you’ve never once felt quite as desired as you do with Vander. Similarly, it takes only a mere touch from him to make your knees weak and your mind go empty. Simply put, it’s just…him. And he’s the only one you want. 

The thought, and the pure intimacy of it all, is enough to make your hips begin to grind down on their own accord. You can feel how he’s pressing into you, how hard and perfectly shaped he is against your body. His hand finds your hip, steadying you and catching your gaze in a questioning look.

“Sure you’re up for this tonight, Love?” He asks, thumb rubbing softly against your pelvis bone. But all you’ve got to do is smile and dip down to capture his lips as you tilt your hips and scoot closer, for him to let out a full-body shiver and grab your hips with both hands, and thrust fully into you. You moan out a slew of curses as your body writhes against his, everything else ceasing to exist as he fills you. Getting lost in his embrace, his face finds your neck again and begins to pepper kisses across the skin. You feel the desperate need for friction, a primal urge taking control, but you're already so sensitive and overwhelmed from the initial stretch that you know you need time to adjust. He groans, a deep, guttural thing, when you finally take all of him, and the sound drives through you, making your core tighten in response. Your own self-restraint crumbles, and your hips move on their own accord, silently pleading for him to finally give in and begin the movement you both crave. Thankfully, he seems unable to resist, his own hips moving to match your rhythm until you hit the pace you need, causing pleasure to crash into you.

His strength is absolutely an asset, his hands helping to guide your hips up and down as you begin to slowly ride him. Your mind was already practically spinning, moans and curses tumbling from your lips as he dragged in and out of your warmth. Your hands find his shoulders (fuck, he has nice shoulders), a desperate attempt to ground yourself and bite back the urge to dig your fingernails into his skin.

“So-fuck–” you whine, almost pathetically, “so fucking full.”

The sound sends a shockwave through Vander, all but ramming himself deeper into you in a way that feels like it breaks your brain. But you both feel it, the desperate hunger for more. 

“That’s right. You take me so well, don’t you, Love?” He moans into your skin, pulling away from your neck to take in the sight of you on his lap. Somehow, seeing his eyes, seeing the way he looks at you; like water to a man parched, like your the greatest treasure you could hope to find. Mesmerized by the pleasure on your face and the way your tits bounce as you move against him. It feels wonderfully perfect, and all you can do is moan and nod, each time your hips snap down, sending a fresh wave of ecstasy through your body.

He’s relentless, his hips grinding against yours like he owns you, and there’s a sense of ownership in his actions, as if he’s claiming you as his own. He lets out a growl against your ear, and the sound of it sends a shiver down your spine. He’s wild and intense, and the pleasure he’s giving you is so much more than you ever thought possible. You cling to him, your fingers digging into his back as you hold on for dear life, overwhelmed by the intensity of the sensations.

At this point, any semblance of gentleness is long gone, replaced with the primarily urge, the exquisite electrical feeling that buzzes through both of you. You’re riding him with every intention of chasing both of your releases, every thrust down having him gripping your hips harder and harder to the point where you’re half-aware of the bruises you’re sure to have after. He dips back to the crook of your shoulder one last time, licking up the length of your neck with the flat of his tongue before suddenly, the piercing feeling of his teeth against your shoulder shocks through you. You shriek in the mix of pain in pleasure, letting your head roll back to allow him more access. 

“Mine.” He growls into your ear. “Understood?” 

“Fuck-yes!” You cry, feeling the coil in your lower stomach begin to tighten. “Yours. All of me, all that I am, yours.”

Fuck it. Right now, right here. All you needed was him. 

He’s driving you crazy with a pleasure more intense than you could have imagined, his body moving against yours with a raw, primal force. With each deep, hard thrust, you feel him claiming you, leaving you completely at his mercy, and the sense of submission only adds to the pleasure coursing through you. It’s as if he knows your body better than you do, and he’s able to draw out every ounce of pleasure from you. Knowing you’re both on the brink, he reaches out, grabbing one of your hands and pressing a kiss to your palm, then your bandaged wrist, then your arm, then where he just marked his teeth into your skin, all the way back to claim your lips. It’s maddening and intoxicating all at once, it’s perfect, and you find yourself being flown over the edge.

“That’s-” he lets out his own string of curses as you tighten around him, “that’s it, that’s it! So fucking good!”

Your mind is so fried from your orgasm that you barely register him all but throwing you onto the couch, didn’t even register the feel of the fabric on your back. But you most definitely felt him suddenly thrusting back into you, hooking one of your legs over your shoulder to allow him full and complete access to you. He’s more than happy to press kisses to the inside of your thigh, which mixed with the fully lewd sounds of his quickened pace, is enough to get you fully sex drunk and delirious as he continues to plow into you. 

“Gods, you look so-” he bites your thigh, and the same shriek escape your throat, combined with your drunken moans and whines, and it’s enough to make him groan deeply into the flesh he’s biting. “Fuck, I’m gonna-”

“Please!” You whine, voice cracking as your hands balling into fists as your mind struggles to comprehend the amount of pleasure flowing through you right now. “I need it, need to feel it! Vander, please!” That’s more than enough to ruin him, Vander dropping your leg so he could crash down and kiss you as he buried himself deep into you with one final thrust. You felt him groan against your lips and claw at your hips as he emptied himself into you, his chest rising and falling with each panted breath. 

You remain wrapped up in each other's embrace as several minutes pass, your lips moving against one another’s in a satisfied and languid kiss until he finally pulls away to catch his breath. He gasps for air, his warm breath fanning across your collarbone and sending a shiver through you.

Eventually, he can finally speak again, and he releases a deep, satisfied moan, “Fuuuuuck, that was good.” He manages to lift himself up slightly, gazing down at you with eyes filled with an adoring love, as they reach for your hand, their fingers brushing over your knuckles with a tenderness that makes your heart warm. You smile back at him, feeling giddy and blissful. “You alright, Love?”

Taking a deep, calming breath yourself as your consciousness slowly returns to you, you slide your hands up around his neck. “Oh Gods, yeah.” You laugh, and the smile he cracks is so wide, you’re sure he’s going to hurt himself. His head bends down, peppering your face full of kisses until you’re giggling and pushing him away. “...We should probably maybe move off the couch, though…and maybe grab our clothes before the guys get back.”

He whines a little, but concedes. “Right, yeah, hang on…”

Bless him, he carefully maneuvers you into your room, masterfully managing to stay completely in you until you’re laying on your bed. Then, with one final kiss, you feel him pull out before wandering back to the living room to collect all your things as you begin to clean yourself. It takes mere moments, but it feels like ages until he’s back in the room with you, tucking the both of you into your blankets as you begin to seep into the cozy warmth of your shared bodies. 

For a while, you just sit there, the two of you wrapped in warmth and quiet. Every now and then, he gently adjusts the blanket around you, their touch always light, always careful, like he’s trying to wrap you in comfort from every direction. You laugh softly when he tries to adjust your pillow for the third time, but it’s a light, easy sound, one that feels like things are returning to normal again.

You lean into him, your head resting on his shoulder, and he presses a soft kiss to the top of your head. The room feels full of little moments like this—touches that reassure, smiles that say everything without needing to be said. You’re not sure how long you stay like that, but time feels slower, softer, in the best way. The world outside seems distant, like you’re tucked away in this small bubble of calm, where everything feels safe and cared for.

It’s simple, it’s quiet, but in that space, it’s everything.

[yerimacoustic]

𝙬𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙙 𝙝𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙗𝙚𝙚𝙣 ♡ 𝙨 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙥𝙨 𝙭 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧

❝𝙦𝙪𝙚𝙨𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙨 𝙤𝙛 𝙨𝙘𝙞𝙚𝙣𝙘𝙚 𝙙𝙤𝙣’𝙩 𝙨𝙥𝙚𝙖𝙠 𝙖𝙨 𝙡𝙤𝙪𝙙 𝙖𝙨 𝙢𝙮 𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙧𝙩 ❞🕰️ 🍂

summary: when you and your ex husband receive a mysterious letter, the two of you are forced to confront confusing emotions and learn how to move forward.

content warnings: supernatural au, nonidol au, ghost hunter!seungcheol and reader, 90s au, seungcheol and reader are divorced, angst, cursing, horror themes, eventual fluff, lots of arguments, scary stuff, NO GORE. teaser: 800 wc. full fic: TBD.

notes: this is a TEASER for an upcoming s coups fic!! usually putting out little snippets first gives me motivation to write the damn thing lol but please interact if you like it! feedback is always appreciated

as you approached the front door of your small apartment, the wind assisted you in slamming it shut. the air stayed just as cold even once you found yourself sheltered within the thin walls, but you’d grown accustomed to it. you’d made a habit of sorting through your mail and listening to your voicemails without planning to respond to any of them, hoping that it would distract you from the cold.  

you plopped down at the kitchen table, pressing the speaker button and letting your chin rest in the palm of your hand once the receiver lay across the tablecloth.   

“you have twelve new messages. first message: 

“‘hey, y/n, it’s jeonghan. call me back. or else. okay love you, bye!’

“second message:

“‘jeonghan again! if you deleted the first mess-”

click.

“message marked for deletion. new message:

‘listen, we would all really appreciate it if you could come to bingo night. i know you’ve bailed on us the last…four or five times. or ten times, but who’s counting? anyways, call me back, or else. love you!’ 

you sighed heavily as you listened through the rest of jeonghan’s pleadings and eventually seungkwan’s rants. somehow jeonghan had convinced seungkwan to spam your landline with messages too, hoping that he would help persuade you to join them on their traditional outing. once again, you wondered why you had fallen into the habit of listening to messages without any intention of returning them. 

surprisingly, seungkwan and jeonghan weren’t the only ones lingering in your inbox. there was also a message from your boss, the pharmacy, and..

“‘hey… it’s seungcheol. please don’t hang up. i know you specifically told me not to use this phone number but.. okay, i won’t bore you with anymore excuses.’”

much to your own surprise, you chose to humor your ex husband. you continued to let the message play out. as you sat down at the table, you let the stack of mail fall to your lap while staring at the receiver in silence.  

“‘listen, i’ve been thinking lately and..i have a lot of regrets.’”

you snickered bitterly. 

“‘i know there’s not much i can say to make things better or.. change things that happened between us. hell, you’ve probably already deleted this message by now and i can’t really blame you for that. i don’t have a lot of time, i’ve ran out of change but.. i’d love to talk to you at some point. in person. if you’re up for that then.. you know where to reach me. bye.’

“to replay this mess-”

click. 

“message marked for deletion. your inbox is empty. you have no new mes-”

you slammed the receiver down and let out a heavy sigh. ever since the divorce, you felt like seungcheol had taken a part of you with him. you turned to isolation, ignoring family members and friends constantly in favor of drowning yourself in your work. you were able to keep up with the deadlines, but at a heavy cost.

it’s for the best, you kept telling yourself.

you digressed, flipping through the large stack of envelopes instead of dwelling on your own sadness. you were met with the all too familiar sight of bills, bills, and more bills until a thick brown envelope seemingly materialized from the bottom of the pile. you had no memory of picking it up or even seeing it in your mailbox. 

there was a wax seal in the center of the envelope, a dark red skull. a little on the nose, but alright. you ripped it open, taking note of the gorgeous stationery before focusing on the words written in cursive and immediately cringing at the foreign use of your maiden name:

miss l/n, 

i hope you don’t find this letter to be invasive or frightening by any means, but i’ve heard a great deal about your work. i’ve read a number of articles concerning your cases and i must say i am impressed. i’ve always admired believers of the supernatural, especially in a world filled with skeptics. 

i know you’re probably out of experience, given it's been a year or two since your last job and circumstances have changed, but i would love a chance to talk with you about an ongoing issue in my home. there’s voices, objects moving, frigid winds.. you name it. 

my home address is attached to this letter. please give it some thought and keep in mind i’m willing to pay you handsomely for your troubles.

best wishes to you. 

it wasn’t surprising to know that your mysterious client knew about your divorce, considering it was in most of the papers. at least the stupid journalists were considerate enough to leave most of the details out of their articles. 

but you were almost certain no one knew about your new home address except for your inner circle.

[ryuichirou]

How do the twst girlies behave in regards to their partners tits?

Thank you! For asking! Important questions! Anon! Yes! 💪💪💪

I wanted to compile this list with some others girlie-related asks, but let’s be honest, I am too slow for that, so it’s better to give you this list today and to tease that I have at least two other genderswap hcs in the process of writing.

There are some other hcs that I should’ve prioritised, but today my soul craved some girlies, so I gave in.

Riddle – somewhere deep inside her heart this girl is a little boob-obsessed. The more she thinks she doesn’t care, the more she cares and catches herself staring. But is it her that keeps running into boobs or the boobs that keep following her everywhere? Somehow she always ends up bumping into someone else’s huge breasts with her face… In terms of intimacy, I think Riddle would be too shy to do anything at first, but as she gets more comfortable (or just horny enough to stop thinking), she’d really want to touch them. Maybe even kiss them. Maybe even suck on them a little bit (Floyd would find it weird; Trey would too but also endearing in a way). Freud has a lot to say about Riddle.

Ace – she does a lot of “playful” touching, like poking it, pinching it, doing the “honk honk”. Deuce gets so angry and embarrassed that there is no way Ace would stop doing that anytime soon. She says that it’s a neutral “no homo” type of thing, but somehow she only does it with Deuce… Whenever they’re intimate, I think Ace spends a lot of time touching her boobs, she clearly loves them; even though if Deuce was to cover herself in a locker room, Ace would roll her eyes and say “we literally have the same boobs, don’t even bother covering them”.

Deuce – she is not obsessed with boobs, even though sometimes she wants to avenge herself by grabbing Ace’s. But also, bigger boobs make her blush for some reason. When they are so big that they’re impossible to ignore, she gets a bit nervous that it’d look like she’s staring… So she actually averts her eyes a lot, especially with people like Trey or, of course, Jack. She tries not to look at Jack when they run together because she starts staring at her heavy boobs jumping up and down and forgets how to run. She gets wet dreams about them sometimes, which kind of makes her sound more obsessed than Ace lol

Trey – ah yes, the one that works with dough all the time. Trey hands are both gentle and strong, and despite being somewhat wishy-washy in a lot of other areas of life, when it comes to touching boobs, Trey is very confident and almost does it without thinking. But she is still very attentive to the reactions of her lover, so she would know how and where exactly to touch. There is a rumor that a girl could cum with Trey just touching her boobs, but is it really true? Trey would say that of course it’s not , but can we really trust her? She also loves smaller boobs, and the majority of girls she’s ever been attracted to were petite in this area. She would treat Riddle���s like tender little berries…

Cater – she is not as obsessed as all the previous ones, but she acts pretty cute about it. I feel like she is the type to take cute pictures of herself pressing her cheek against her lover’s tit, or cover only the nipple with her fingers or a sticker; a lot of cheeky playful stuff. She also kisses a lot and loves leaving marks – those are pretty cammable too! Even though none of those pictures would go on the internet of course.

Leona – she is a pillow princess for the most part, and she acts like she doesn’t care about anything related to her partner’s physique at all, but big boobs make her think of Falena’s large honkers, so she actually enjoys Ruggie having tiny ones. She doesn’t do anything about them though and barely even comments on them, but there was one time when she fell asleep with her lips pressing against Ruggie’s boob like it’s a tiny pillow just for her mouth and chin. And the rest of her pose looked pretty uncomfortable, so it felt very intentional.

Ruggie – she doesn’t care all that much, to be honest. She knows how to pleasure a girl though, so she is pretty good at playing with boobs. She likes squeezing the nipples between her fingers and pulling on them, and diving deep into huge boobs with her fingers also feels pretty nice. She gets into it during the process I guess, especially with Leona’s size and shape. But when she isn’t aroused, she is just too used to seeing Leona sleeping in random places and random poses, a lot of times either bra-less or straight-up with some part of her tit out. Can’t lose your head over this – she’d stay headless at all times.

Jack – she bites. She tries to be more gentle and to suck and kiss instead, but the moment she feels the warm soft flesh against her teeth, she can’t help it and starts nibbing. This is why she tries not to get close to this area with her mouth in general, but that always results in her drooling pretty badly, which results in her wanting to hide her face, which results in her pushing her mouth against Deuce’s boobs again...  And with Vil, who is smaller than Deuce, Jack would lift it with her big tongue and put it in her mouth entirely. Actually, she is usually surprisingly okay with keeping it together, but when she actually sees naked breasts, it’s like something activates in her brain.

Azul – she also bites… When she gets too aroused, of course. Sometimes it’s because she is pissed off and horny at the same time, sometimes her being playful and “dangerous”. In general though, she doesn’t care about boobs too much, and she absolutely doesn’t care about big boobs – she doesn’t even consider it something that could be hot to her personally. With the smaller ones that are so unlike hers and the tweels, sometimes they make her react unexpectedly even to her.  Biting is one example lol But she also rubs them gently, talks about them being so cute and small, almost cooing but still being very condescending somehow. Azul is a bitch, huh. Oh, and when she is in her mermaid form, her tentacles are all over poor Idia’s or Jamil’s tiddies, she sucks them right in and squeezes them brutally, leaving a lot of nasty bright marks.

Jade – nipple torture. I mean. Sometimes. She loves doing stuff that would make it change it size and shape. Anything that would make it puffier, anything that pumps it, makes it longer, makes the bead more visible. She could do it by either rubbing them in a very specific way or with the help of mushrooms, potion injections, needles and other stuff. Sometimes she looks at people in the locker room and thinks who would be the perfect victim… Idia is a good option in terms of physical aspects... Other than that, Jade isn’t really into boobs.

Floyd – if there is a thing one could do to a boob, Floyd does it. She does everything. She loves putting an entire boob in her mouth and playing with it, she loves almost torturing boobs with her hands, loves squeezing them really hard, slapping them lightly, anything that could ever come to her mind. She loves all the sizes, but Riddle’s boobies feel unique because she doesn’t usually get to see someone who is this flat. One time she rubbed Riddle’s nipples through the clothes so hard that Riddle’s knees started visibly shaking… Idia is also flat, but a bit perkier, so Floyd prefers to tug on hers instead of rubbing them in. She could play with boobs for hours, it’s not even about pleasuring the girl to her sometimes, it’s just like a very fun toy <3

Kalim – it feels like she doesn’t care, but she does. She isn’t as invasive as Floyd, but she touches a lot, it just doesn’t feel sexual a lot of times, like she is genuinely just that physical. There are times though when she looks Jamil in the eyes and then looks down at her breasts and caresses them very carefully, as if admiring them, but not really knowing how to touch them. And sometimes she stares at Jamil’s breasts when they bathe together, and it makes Jamil want to cover herself, even though they’ve been comfortable around each other naked all the time ever since they were kids. Something is cooking inside Kalim’s brain…

Jamil – she wouldn’t touch Kalim at all in that way even if they were intimate, for a lot of reasons including because she feels like she isn’t supposed to. But when boobs bounce in her face, she really wants to grab them sometimes. And it might seem aggressive, but maybe she genuinely likes it when they bounce… She would be very grabby with Azul’s breasts if they were intimate, and would say that this is because her tits piss her off, and the way Jamil squeezes her teeth make it seem like she just wants to bite them off sometimes. But maybe it just means that she wants to suffocate herself with them… she is conflicted but she certainly isn’t uninterested.

Vil – Rook’s big boobs are a big source of comfort for her; when they were freshmen she used to put her face down here and muffle her frustrated moans with them whenever she would get angry. She thinks that it’s kind of childish now, but every now and then, when the stress overwhelmed her and Rook welcomes her open arms, Vil sighs and does it again. It ruins both Rook’s shirt and Vil’s makeup, so it’s better to do it at the end of the day. In a sexual setting though, she touches them, but not excessively, she’s mostly teasing Rook who doesn’t really like being touched too much. Still, she finds her breasts beautiful and hot.

Rook – a serial boob grabber. She is one of the biggest boob lovers of the cast; whenever she sees a pair of boobs, her hands move involuntarily, forming a perfect cupping position for this exact size and shape. She loves any kind of boob and sees beauty in all of them, so whoever she is with would experience… a lot. If she wasn’t pacified by Vil, her feral ass would’ve touched everyone’s boobs instead of saying hi, just because she can’t help herself. Speaking of Vil, other than writing poems about her beautiful snowy mounds with sun-kissed pinkish tips, she does all kinds of things with her boobs. She loves playing with them with her fingers, rubbing them, kissing them and especially leaving a lot of hickeys on them. One time she did it before Vil’s big swimsuit photoshoot and got in big trouble for that…

Epel – now this is someone who would enjoy screaming into the boobs to relieve her anger, and if Vil is feeling generous, she would allow Epel to do it with Rook one time lol But other than that, she stares at the bigger girls’ boobs for the most part. She thinks that this is out of pity because she can’t think of a worse fate than having large breasts, but nah, she just likes staring at them. Being a country girl, she feels the appeal on a very deep level; maybe Freud would have something to say about her as well. But then he would see Epel suddenly biting into Floyd’s huge tit (it’s because Floyd teased her!) and shut the fuck up.

Idia – it’s not like she is super interested or something, but… she finds big boobs so unusual and weird, as if sometimes she forgets that this isn’t just something that was invented by eroge. So naturally, she wants to squeeze them every now and then, but only when they hang out with Azul for a long period of time. And it’s always very sudden for Azul because Idia just hugs her from behind sometimes, squeezes them and instantly leaves, losing interest. Maybe one day she’ll get into it enough to touch them more or to bury her face in them or even bite (as if Azul would allow any of that), but for now she just randomly attacks Azul’s boobs and goes away to reflect on how heavy they are and how they don’t fit in her pretty big hands. With the Tweels though, the boobs are so huge that Idia gets completely overwhelmed. She wouldn’t dare to touch them… She could touch Sebek though, but once again, only under very specific circumstances! With Lilia’s boobs however, she doesn’t care at all – both are flat, so there is nothing but a feeling of solidarity there…

Ortho – as always, Ortho’s approach is somewhat scientific! She is very intrigued by boobs, and wants to learn more about how to interact with them in a way that would be pleasurable. She tried out different covers for her hands to make them softer and warmer for when she plays with them, but she also added some suction thingies for other kinds of stimulation… and was so confused when Idia said to her that this kind of shit only appears in hentai and doesn’t work irl. Weird, Vil-san seemed to enjoy it… Vil could be a huge help in general because Ortho really wants to crack the code of what to do to make Idia enjoy having her boobies touched. They’re similar in size, so it’s great!

Lilia – the absolute master of playing with boobs of every size. She likes boobies a lot; she is the type to be a menace by randomly appearing behind someone and grabbing their boobs just to see them jump. She is almost as obsessed as Rook, in some ways even more obsessed, and extremely experienced. It’s like whenever she sees a pair of boobies of her partner, she instantly has a plan of how exactly she’s going to play with them. She pinches Idia’s small ones, tugs on them and puts them in her mouth entirely to tease Idia; she touches Silver’s nipples very slightly and gently to see them perk up with little stimulation before squeezing them very hard; she is all over Malleus’ large boobs and massages them ferociously, diving with her entire face down there to cover them with hickeys and bites because Malleus can take it.

Silver – she doesn’t care really, but she does fall asleep on Sebek’s breasts every now and then. She always apologises when she wakes up, but is she really all that sorry? They’re very nice to sleep on… She is also the only lucky girl to be allowed to suck on Lilia’s tits, and she is always very gentle about it. Lilia thinks that it’s Silver’s treat for being her good little daughter, but Silver thinks that it’s her indulging Lilia and not the other way around lol Silver just looks so cute when she does it!!

Sebek – this girl so obviously tries not to look at other’s breasts. She is very easy to read; sometimes she even squeezes the air without realising it and grinds her teeth very hard. She fights the urge that she herself doesn’t even fully realise: the urge to squeeze, to mash, to grab, to lick and to bite. It’s getting so bad that she can’t even look at Silver’s anymore, even though they’ve always been very comfortable being naked around each other. Idia’s also make her feral because she is very small and the nipples seem perky, as if they’re teasing Sebek and asking to get bitten and pulled..!! With Malleus though, Sebek would lose her shit completely, it would take every single drop of will that she has to stay as composed as possible when presented with her liege marvelous large breasts. She’s in luck though because Malleus likes it rough.

Malleus doesn’t really care much about other’s breasts, but she cares about being a flirt when she’s feeling playful, so she might comment on how they look (especially with Sebek who gets very flustered about it). When she is being extra playful, she could bite Lilia’s or even nib on it a little bit, but she knows that Lilia hates it when she does it, so this is just Malleus being a cheeky little brat.

[blehdsvvds]

RAHHHH JUST TO KET YOU KNOW I LOVE YOUR DAZAI AND CHUUYA HEADCANNONS OF THEM BEING A DAD🙏🏽❤️💕💕

Could we have headcannons of Dad!Dazai and Dad!Chuuya and their reactions if we get hurt?? 👀 NOT HURT HURT BUT LIKE WE GET KIDNAPPED BY SOMEONE AND STUFF ⁉️

MOST DEFINITELY VRO🙏‼️‼️

IM NOT SURE IF YOU WANTED IT TO BE SOUKOKU PARENTS WHEN YOU GET KIDNAPPED BUT I DID UT SEPERATLY, I CAN ALWAYS MAKE A NEW ONE FOR YOU IF YOU WOULD LIKE THOUGH^^, WARNING TO OTHER VIEWERS,

TW; THEMES OF KIDNAPPING BUT NOT DEAD DOVE KIDNAPPING

Dad!chuuya and Dad!dazai when you get kidnapped (seperate)

Dazai

- It started off with Kunikida giving dazai some work to do

- HES SO LAZY HE DIDNT WANT TO DO IT AT ALL

- lucky for him, he brought you into work today

- HE WORMS HIMSELF OVER TO YOU AND HITS YOU WITH THAT "heyy [____] can you ple-" HE GETS CUT OFF WITH YOU GROANING

- "COME ON I DIDNT EVEN ASK YO-" "your gonna ask me to run the errands kunikida gave you” BRO WIPES A TEAR AND PATS YOUR BACK

- “YOU KNOW YOUR OLD MAN TOO WELL” as he slips a list of stuff you need to get and his kunikidas credit card

- you figured you might need a break anyways so you went off to buy some stuff

- what you didnt know was the port mafia was planning to capture you as a hostage to get information out of the ADA

- after buying that whole mile long list, it was so hard to carry all the bags

- you randomly got pushed into this car that zoomed off right after

- you were so confused but you were NOT complaining, you go comfy in the seat

- “bro bless you guys, you have no idea how heavy those bags were”

- when you looked around the car, you realised that the black lizards just kidnapped you

- AND YOU HAVE THE AUDACITY TO ASK IF THEY GIVE BEVERAGES HERE

- hirotsu has MAJOR VIETNAM WAR FLASHBACKS OF DAZAI, BRO LOOKS AT YOU WITH THAT 100 YARD STARE

- when they bring you back to the pm, they inform the ada that they have you hostage, AND YOUR STILL ASKING IF THEY CAN GIVE YOU A FANTA

- As soon as they finish the words "we have [____] held captive" THE LIGHTS GO OFF

- ALL THEY CAN HEAR FROM YOU IS A "OOHOOHOOHOOO"

- ITS LIKE IN THE SHINING VRO THEY ATE ALL QUIVERING IN THEIR BOOTS

- THEY ARE ALL GETTING DRAGGED AWAY ONE BY ONE IN THE DARK

- AND YOU CAN HEAR YOUR DAD DOING THE "Henesy..... come out and playyy"

- SAFE TO SAY THE WHOLE BLACK LIZARDS NEEDED AN EMERGENCY TO THE HOSPITAL

- HE CHECKED UP ON YOI AND MADE SURE YOU WERE OKAY

- HE SPOILT YOU FOR THE NEXT THREE WEEKS, ALL YOU COULD SAY IN RESPONSE TO THAT WAS "I could get use to this"

Chuuya

- IM GONNA USE THE GUILD FOR THIS SENARIO

- YOU AND Q WERE SENT OUT ON A MISSION AND YOU KNOW THE REST, LOVECRAFT CATCHES YOU GUYS

- YOU DONT GET TORTURED THOUGH‼️

- THEY ONLY HURT Q BECAUSE THEY ONLY NEED THEIR ABILITY (POOR BABY 🙁)

- Unfortunately for you, you had to be taken care of by Mark

- I SAY UNFORTUNATELY BECAUSE BRO DOES NOTT‼️ KNOW HOW TO SPEAK JAPANESE

-SO THE ENTIRE TIME HES DOING THE "Haro?" THING FROM SCARY MOVIE 4

- you would used Google translate to communicate with the quild

- BRO THE AMMOUNT OF THINGS THAT YOU HEARD THAT MADE YOU WHIP OUT THAT SPEED FACE

- HEARING JOHN TALK ABOUT HOW HE WANTED HIS SISTET TO HAVE THE PERFECT LIFE ANDYOI JUST HAD TO

- BACK TO CHUUYA

- since chuuya is your dad, he taught you how to sneak things for your safety

- lucky for you, you had your phone on you, so you called your dad

- YOUR PHONE BROKE FROM HOW ANGRY HE WAS VRO

- SINCE YOUR IN MARKS CARE, YOU CAN SEE THIS THING FLYING FULL BLAST TOWARDS THE MOBY DICK

- ITS THAT VINE THAT GOES THE "Watch yo jet bro, BRO WATCH YOUR JET WATCH YOUR JET"

- IT WAS CHUUYA AS ARAHABAKI

- AFTER HE TOOK DOWN EVERYONE HE HEARS YOU NEXT TO HIM SAY

- "yo dad why you the 'bro thought school was for one day, HE MAD AS HELLLLL😂😂' "

- you get taken down with the rest of the guild after saying that

- AFTER YOU GET BACK TO THE PM WITH CHUUYA, CHUUYA THROWS A WHOLE GET TOGETHER (He spoild you bro)

- AND AT TGE DINNER TABLE YOUR TELLING EVERYONE WHAT HAPPEND WITH THE GUILD

- EVERYONE IS IN SUITS, CHAMPAGNE IN HAND, THAT RICH LAUGH AND YOU SAY SM LIKE

- "AND I WAS LIKE, 'ZOINKS LOVECRAFT, I DIDNT KNOW YOU WERE CTHULHU'

- *que the entire port mafia having that rich laugh*

A/N: FINALLY DONE VRO🙏, THIS WAS ALLATA FUN DOING, SORRY FOR ANY GRAMMAR MISTAKES, IM GOING INTO SCHOOL HOLIDAYS SO ILL BE MORE ACTIVE CHAT😈🙏🙏

[stellar-constellations]

Star Patient: Chapter 9 (FINISHED SERIES, final chapter)

        

WARNING: This series will include; possible inaccurate medical procedures and medical setting, gore, toxic relationships that should NOT be replicated in real life, murder, yanderes, cursing, suicide mentions, implications of misandry (male misogyny), descriptions of self-harming, accusations of cheating, child death, death of major and minor characters, OC's are used throughout the story for plot and depth, reader is in denial and paranoid, toxic family dynamics, perversive thoughts, reader is bipolar (not saying that in a quirky way, like literally bipolar), religious comparisons, light mention of demons, stalkers, nonconsensual drugging, minor implication of necrophilia, possibly more to add.

Inaccurate canon-timeline and setting (this is before Ashley and Andrew murdered their parents). They also live in America (because I wasn't aware they lived in Europe prior to this series).

Reader has a small fear of adult men/rape and has a history of suicide attempts.

Incest is not Wincest.

Amnesiac! Obsessive! Patient! Andrew Graves x Yandere! Nurse! Reader:

Wordcount: 14,100+ words

Chapters: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, final chapter (current).

Want to listen to music while reading? Check out the Star Patient's Official Playlists! Multiple different playlists and genres!

        (Y/N) arrived at the hospital feeling refreshed for the first time in a long while. She’s had a couple weeks to heal from her accident, and she was paid the whole time too! 

        Now she’s back at work and ready to get back to it. She fixed the star patterned lanyard around her neck and fixed her undershirt’s long sleeves. 

        She exited her car and locked the door, walking into the hospital lobby. She walked to the elevators and pressed the button for pediatrics. When the doors opened, she left the elevator and walked into the staff room, checking in. 

        She made her way to Doctor Ryan’s office and waited a moment to make sure there was no patient in the room before knocking. The door opened as Doctor Ryan’s head peeked out, a confused expression on his face before his eyes widened.

        “Oh my god! Hey!” he smiled, quickly opening the door all the way. “Come on in!”

        “Hi, sir.” (Y/N) smiled. “I’m back and ready to work!”

        “That’s great! These weeks felt so strange without you.” Doctor Ryan spoke. “Do you understand how hard it is to try and talk with Ruby? God, she bores me.” He groaned, causing (Y/N) to laugh.

        “Yeah. Ruby’s just Ruby.” (Y/N) smiled.

        “So, how are you feeling?” he questioned. “You’ve had enough time to heal up, right?”

        “Yep.” (Y/N) nodded, smiling. “I’m perfectly fine! I’ll be having my staples and stitches removed after work today.”

        “That’s great to hear!” Doctor Ryan beamed. “Just take it easy, okay? Don’t go lifting any heavy things like chairs or stuff; I can do that. And take some sitting breaks.”

        “I’m fine, it wasn’t that bad.” (Y/N) reassured, albeit she did feel warm inside knowing her superior was worried about her. “It stopped hurting after a few days, so it was just letting the wounds heal over.” She lied.

        “Well, I’m glad you’re feeling better.” Doctor Ryan smiled. “Oh, before I forget!”

        He moved over to his counter, bending down and unlocking the lock on the cabinet before opening it, pulling out a basket. The small basket had some packets and wrapped candy bars, along with fake orchids.

        "I got you some chocolates and flowers! If you're allergic to coco or milk, I have this replica of hot chocolate powder that tastes like hot chocolate, but doesn't have any milk or coco! People are so smart nowadays!” Doctor Ryan explained. “Oh, and don't worry, I checked with the missus first, so she won't be mad at me!" Doctor Ryan cooed over his wife.

        “Tell her I said thank you. And thank you to you too.” (Y/N) smiled, accepting the basket and placing it on the counter. “But you didn’t have to do this. I was only gone for about two or three weeks.”

        “I never realized how much I enjoyed your company around this place.” Doctor Ryan sighed. “I mean, seriously. Ruby could never.” 

        “What about Agatha?” (Y/N) questioned. “Wasn’t she here?”

        “Taking vacation. She just divorced her husband, so she’s sunbathing in the Bahamas.” Doctor Ryan explained.

        “About time.” (Y/N) scoffed. “Her husband was a dick and all he knew was how to use it.”

        “Careful, don’t let our boss hear that.” Doctor Ryan chuckled. “That’s potty language.” 

        “Oops.” (Y/N) hummed, though she wasn’t sorry in the slightest.

        “Ready for today? We have six scheduled, and walk-in’s from there.” Doctor Ryan explained, picking up his computer. “First one comes in 20 minutes for an annual check-up and flu shot. Let’s get everything situated.”

        “Yes, sir.” She smiled.

She picked up antiseptic spray and wiped down the examination table, replacing a new paper sheet on it so no accidental snot or blood spills could infect the cushions, before looking at Doctor Ryan.

        “Excuse me, sir?” (Y/N) spoke.

        “Yes?” he hummed, arranging the pan with a antibacterial wipe, a lidded-syringe vaccine, a cotton ball and a bandaid. 

        “Do you think it’s possible for me to continue my education online? Or transfer to another Treegrowth hospital program somewhere else?” she questioned.

        “What? Why?” Doctor Ryan questioned, stopping what he was doing as he looked over to her.

        “I’ve been wanting to move out of the city lately, but I’m worried about my education.” (Y/N) lied. “I still want my degree after all.” 

        In truth, she wanted to leave the city. Even though she hid Penelope’s body, once it’s found a search will be conducted. After that, they’ll see Andrew on the cameras, and it’ll be game over for him. 

        (Y/N)’s not safe either. Considering she led Penelope out of the store to the alley with no cameras, and came back without her jacket alongside Penelope not following her; it’s safe to say she’s a prime suspect. 

        So I got rid of that jacket for nothing… (Y/N) mentally sighed. 

        Well, it wasn’t entirely for nothing. At least it kept people from getting suspicious so far. She would’ve had the police called on her if she walked into the store wearing blood (whether she entered wearing the blood or not, and she’s unsure if she could’ve used a fashion excuse). 

        It’s at least given her some time to plan other than immediately going to jail.

        It doesn’t help that not only was (Y/N) seen on the cameras last with Penelope and Andrew was in the store too, but it’s safe to say that seeing the two enter and leave together is more than enough evidence that the two are “working together” (the police will say).

        She highly doubts she can place the blame on Andrew for “blackmailing” or “threatening her life” her to where she had to kill Penelope. It just wouldn’t be believable with Andrew in a wheelchair and (Y/N) willingly buying clothes and food for him.

        As shitty as it’ll be, she’ll have to move. She can’t move back to her hometown considering: one, her parents are dead; two, Ren might still be living there and she’s not risking it.

        However, the family farm is back at home and if Rose wasn’t lying, then it’s now in (Y/N)’s name. She’ll receive a letter in the mail in a few weeks regarding her parents wills’, but for now she’ll have to brainstorm somewhere else to stay.

        It shouldn’t be hard to find another apartment on the other side of the city considering how shitty this place is, rent would probably be low or at least decent too. 

        She could almost laugh at her luck. Maybe there is a God who favors her—it’s about damn time considering how much she’s suffered for this. 

        “Move out of the city?” Doctor Ryan questioned, sighing. “So I take it you’re not taking over my night shifts…?”

        “Sorry…” she smiled sheepishly. “My boyfriend and I want to move someplace bigger, so we’re looking outside of the city.”

        “Wait? You have a boyfriend?!” he gasped, almost dropping the pan of needed medical supplies.

        “Yeah… we've been together a year now. Met him in a library at the beginning of college.” She smiled.

        “Oh, that’s great! I didn’t know this but that’s great!” he laughed. “Whats his name?”

        “And—... A-Andes.” (Y/N) hummed, smiling as she lied.

        “Whats he look like?” he questioned.

        Oh, his hair as luxurious as a raven. His eyes are as green as lush bushes from Iceland. His skin is as pale as winter’s first snow. His smile might as well be Cupid’s bow striking an arrow through my heart. She thought.

        “Honeypot brown hair and eyes like roasted chestnuts during Christmas.” (Y/N) cooed, almost cringing at the thought of speaking about another man (even if they were just imaginary).

        “Sounds like a dreamboat.” Doctor Ryan teased. “Reminds me of me in my young years.”

        “You’re only 10 years older…” (Y/N) pointed out.

        Even if he was older, sometimes it felt like she was more mature between the two, but it’s probably a persona for work considering they work with children. (Y/N) doesn’t hang out with Doctor Ryan outside of work since he’s her professor, so she's not aware of his home persona; however, she doesn't really care on finding out. She likes this Doctor Ryan the way he is, and she'd feel terrible if her superior knew the kind of person she actually was outside of these pastel nursing scrubs. 

        “Well, you still have a year left for your degree…” Doctor Ryan explained. “I can talk with our educational board later, but I don’t see why it’d be a problem. You do your research and send in your homework on time, and you do good during manual instruction too… so you’ll just have to go to another Treegrowth hospital and work with one of the pediatricians there.”

        “Thank you.” (Y/N) smiled, letting out a relieved sigh. 

        “Speaking of school, you don’t have to worry about those research papers assigned over your resting period. I’ll extend the deadlines.” Doctor Ryan explained.

        “Oh… thank you, sir.” (Y/N) smiled, surprised.

        She had completely forgotten about those papers, she was busy doing other things during her break, such as spending days planning her next move and while keeping a low profile (and thinking of dinner plans to make sure Andrew was eating too).

        Over her break, she had removed Andrew’s staples on his ankles and started helping him with physical therapy for his legs. It might be a few months before he can run, but he’s been shown to stand and walk for short periods at a time, so she’s not too concerned in something going wrong during his recovery. 

        She also got rid of her own stitches and staples, avoiding the emergency unit of the hospital too so no doctor can try and schedule a check-up with her. 

        She made sure to visit Ashley and place some flowers in her memoir. Now, she couldn’t place them exactly where the grave was in risk of someone potentially finding the suspicious sight and reporting it to the police, so she settled for placing them on the trail’s entrance. 

        She visited Ashley’s grave and apologized for her harsh words nights ago, remorseful for blaming Ashley for her struggles. It wasn’t her fault, and it probably wasn’t her demon’s fault either; it was something (Y/N) did to herself and she had to take responsibility.

        Worrying so much about Andrew, Ashley, and what to do after Penelope death, she’s completely forgotten about her college papers.

        “I’ll go get the patient and get his growth developments.” (Y/N) smiled, walking out of the room. 

        (Y/N) left the room and let out a sigh.

        Maybe killing Penelope was a terrible idea; unlike Ashley, Penelope’s home was here! While Penelope didn’t have any family, she did have co-workers. Soon enough they’d grow suspicious and call the police for a wellness check eventually (it’s not like they’d be investigating the hospital and its illegal methods, so that’s not a concern). 

        Penelope could be reported missing tomorrow and it wouldn’t take long for a missing person paper to come out. 

        It was almost frustrating really for her to have gotten caught up in her emotions. She used to be so good at bottling them up, but recently it seems like there's a hole in her bottle at the bottom that causing all her emotions to pour out quickly. 

        It made her want to scream and shout, but she couldn't do that at her job, so she resorted to kicking the floor's baseboards lightly and silently screaming as she pulled her lanyard around her neck, strangling her. 

        Well, it's better Penelope is dead. She won't be a threat to Andrew anymore.

        That thought made her feel a bit better, causing her to stop her silent tantrum and readjust her lanyard.

        She had a patient to meet and make sure nothing was wrong with the kid. She met with the receptionist, taking a patient's clipboard of information they filled out in the waiting room for Doctor Ryan. She opened the waiting room door and smiled, reading the patient's name. 

        "Zoe Hoops?" she read. "Follow me, please." 

        .

        .

        For the first time in who knows how long, (Y/N) felt excited leaving work. 

        Work for (Y/N) was an escape. Instead of worrying about her problems, she’d worry about someone else’s. Even if she still has problems, it felt good being able to leave work with a smile on her face.

        Nothing went wrong during her shift. Nobody died. Zoe didn’t cry during her flu shot, she’s getting very big now. George sprained his ankle but he was walking like a champ. Nelly got discharged after her fight with a RSV. Tom and Jerry played trains in the hallways and are said to be discharged soon. 

        It felt nice being bit by the harsh autumn air, knowing that winter was coming up.

        It felt nice walking out of the hospital doors, even if her feet ached and there was a sore spot in her back.

        It felt nice seeing the sun rising, brightening up the city and her mind with a new light.

        It felt nice driving home, knowing for the first time that someone was actually waiting for her to come home.

        It felt nice feeling the heated air from the apartment as she opened the door. All the locks were undid; Andrew must’ve kept them unlocked for her.

        There’s a chance he went back to bed since all the lights are off. She quietly closed the door and locked all five locks on the door. She didn’t bother turning on a light as she planned on going right back to bed after her 12 hour shift, placing her purse down on the hallway table in the dark.

        She walked into the living room, opening the curtain and checking the locks on the window to make sure none were loose or unlocked. She finished that window and walked to the knife one, only to feel a rough push. 

        She was knocked to the ground with a thud, landing on her back and quickly on alert. A short yelp leaving her as she got pinned to her carpeted living room floor. Her eyes adjusted to the dark as she squirmed and kicked, trying to kick off her assaulter as she hit and scratched. 

        It was Andrew.

        .

        .

        Bored would be an understatement. Andrew was practically dead as he looked through the category of movies he was illegally pirating. 

        What? Don't judge. Nobody wants to spend $10 on a movie they're only going to watch once or twice. If you bought a new movie every day to watch in a 30 day month, you'd have spent $300 on movies alone in a single month. He'll take the money saving option and $10 a month for VPN. Besides, (Y/N) was the one that showed him this site on her TV.

        He browsed through the movies mindlessly before picking a Ryan Reynold's movie called Waiting...

        He watched the movie with a neutral expression. The jokes really weren't really that funny when he couldn't hear (Y/N) laughing in his ear at them. He wished she was here with him right now. He wondered if she'd laugh at the inappropriate jokes, disgusted at the cook's handling rude customer's food, or sympathize for Calvin's fear of peeing outside of his home's bathroom. 

        Maybe he'll watch the movie with her when she gets home from work. He really couldn't be bothered to focus on this right now. 

        A thought crossed his mind as he thought: damn, was it really this hard to watch a movie alone before? He doesn't remember needing Ashley's commentary on every piece of media he's consumed, yet with (Y/N) it feels like he needs her approval or disproval before he can decide if he likes something or not.

        He groaned, throwing his head back on the couch cushion, before noticing the open front door at the corner of his eye. He immediately stood up, alarmed as he carefully walked over to the door, peeking outside to see if anything (or anyone) was there.

        Nobody.

        He closed the door, leaning his weight on it. He couldn't walk far or stand long, his ankles having a small ache to them still. 

        (Y/N) didn't leave the door unlocked, he remembered watching her leave for work and locking the door behind her. She had cooked him breakfast as he complained about wanting to sleep in with her longer, clinging onto her waist from behind as she cooked him waffles. It was 2 AM, at least six hours until (Y/N) would return home, he remembered her telling him. She had left her phone number on the refrigerator for him to call if he needs her (he's been pondering if he should.

        Andrew knows she takes security very seriously. He's seen her check her window and door locks every morning when she wakes up and every night before bed. A paranoid little thing she is, but he thinks that's good considering this city isn't a very good place to live in. He would rather she be overly paranoid than overly careless. 

        He re-locked the five door locks on her door; a bullock, a chain-lock, a sliding lock, a deadbolt, and a classic handle lock. He hopped into his wheelchair and spent the time re-checking all her window locks (three in total on each window).

        She must've spent hundreds to maybe even a thousand on all her security, it's a miracle she doesn't have cameras in her apartment too. Maybe she's cautious of digital security. He noticed she uses VPN's, fake emails and usernames that's not her name, uses no social media, and weekly changes her passwords. 

        He's not sure why she's so paranoid, but he'd rather wait until she's ready to speak. She's already done so much for him, housing him, feeding him, buying him clothes, taking over his hospital bills, and even letting him sleep in her own bed—he'd do anything other than make her mad at him, not when he's living life so good.

        He has to start looking for a job. There's no way he can work in person, maybe he can be a teleprompter for an insurance company or something... The both of them did agree that he'd live with her so long as he pays her back eventually; and he's not too sure he can repay her with chores and homemade food like a househusband...

        He heard a drawer shut somewhere in the apartment, immediately alerting him. He got in his wheelchair and rolled over to the kitchen, grabbing a large cleaver.

        Ah, memories.

        He quietly strolled down the hallway, cautiously looking around before noticing the bedroom door was open. He remembered (Y/N) closing it before work, so Andrew just spent his time on the living room couch waiting for her to return to him.

        It'd be nice if he had a gun in case it was another hitman who his parents hired to finish the job, but he doubts (Y/N) casually has one lying around. 

        The door was cracked open, so he took a breath before opening it all the way. The door was loud and creaky, something (Y/N) intentionally made sure of.

        There was a man rummaging through her drawers, hunched over as he looked through her bedside drawer, snatching something before putting it in his pocket. He had blond hair, a black button down shirt and blue jeans, classy and uncovered for someone who breaks into an apartment. 

        A robber?

        "What do you think you're doing?" Andrew questioned, already annoyed. He really didn't want to go through anymore drama in his life. 

        The man looked over his shoulder, though his expression didn't seem surprised, but excited as he smiled. His hand moved from the drawer and pulled a gun, aiming it at Andrew.

        Fuck.

        "Bang!" the man exclaimed, pulling the gun's trigger.

        Nothing.

        "No bullets." He smiled, chuckling as Andrew clutched his chest, practically half-dead from a damn near heart attack.

        "Jesus, fuck..." Andrew hissed, holding his chest where his erratic heart was beating. "Who the fuck do you think you are?"

        "Ren. It's nice to finally meet (Y/N)'s pet. Andrew, right?" The man, Ren, smiled as he placed the gun down into her drawer, closing it up. 

        "How do you know our names? Have you been watching us?" Andrew questioned, ignoring the man's mocking words. 

        There's no point in being hostile. He's not so sure he can win in a fight without his legs, and the confidence this man is oozing is really making Andrew second-guess himself, almost like he was the one in the wrong instead. 

        "Right. Let's get to the point." Ren hummed, plopping down on (Y/N)'s side of the bed, picking up the pillow and sniffing it.

        Andrew felt his eye twitch, enraged and disgusted at the scene in front of him.

        "I'm Ren. I'm (Y/N)'s childhood friend from church and I'm her husband." Ren smiled.

        "Husband?!" Andrew exclaimed.

        "Oh, right. Soon-to-be-husband. I just gotta propose and take her back home and yada-yada, you don't wanna hear our sappy love story." He laughed, waving his hand in the air. 

        "Stop the bullshit. What the hell are you doing here?" Andrew snapped, watching as Ren squeezed (Y/N)'s pillow to his chest.

        "Oh, just checking in." He smiled. "Yeah. I have a hotel around here. Only for a week though!"

        "What do you mean 'checking in?'" Andrew hissed, making quotations with his fingers.

        "Checking in!" Ren smiled, gesturing to a poster in the room.

        The poster was of one of her favorite bands. Upon closure inspection, Andrew noticed a small hole, a black reflection peeking right back at him. A camera.

        "Hey, what the fuck?!" Andrew exclaimed, swirling his head to face Ren. "Why the fuck is there a camera?!" 

        "Oh, I just installed that! It's even smaller with audio too! Oh, has technology grown over the years! It makes my job so easy." Ren gushed, acting as if nothing was wrong.

        "What job? Stop ignoring my damn questions!" Andrew hissed, strolling closer to Ren. 

        He grabbed Ren's collar, forcing Ren off the bed and holding him down to Andrew's eyesight as Andrew gritted his teeth. A dark storm as he looked at this strange man who decides to waltz in his home, sit on his girlfriend's bed, hug hisgirlfriend's pillow, place a camera in his girlfriend's room.        

        "I'm going to fucking kill you if you don't leave my home right now..." Andrew spat out, a harsh glare in his eyes.

        "Your home?" Ren laughed. "It's not your home, silly! It's under (Y/N)'s name!"

        "Do you wanna die?" Andrew snipped back.

        "Oh please, you're wheel-bound." Ren chuckled, his brown eyes challenging Andrew's green eyes. "Besides, you're very lucky I haven't killed you yet; especially when you've been sleeping with my girl." 

        "Your girl?!" Andrew exclaimed, his head butting into Ren's, ignoring the sting as his hands shook, itching to punch Ren's teeth in. "She's mine! You stay the hell away before I fucking gut you!" 

        "I love your enthusiasm, but you don't love her." Ren laughed, patting Andrew's shoulder as if consoling a child.

        Andrew quickly wound his fist, gathering momentum before punching Ren's face.

        Ren's head knocked back, hitting the mattress as a trail of blood poured out of one of his nostrils. He quickly sat up, clutching his nose.

        "Ha. Ah... I'll let that slide..." he breathed out through his mouth, his eye twitching in a sign of annoyance. "See... I'm not here to hurt anyone. That's already over." He spoke, grabbing a tissue from tissue box next to (Y/N)'s bedside for sick days. 

        "What do you mean 'it's already over?'" Andrew questioned.

        "Her parents?" Ren smiled, tilting his head to the side as he plugged his bleeding nose with the tissue he grabbed. "The (L/N)s?"

        "What did you do?" Andrew demanded, grabbing Ren's collar once more. 

        "Haven't you heard? They're dead!" Ren smiled.

        "I know that! I mean, what did you do?" Andrew groaned, impatient with Ren's childish demeanor. 

        "Well, I killed them!" Ren chirped. "Well, I didn't directly kill them, but I played a part in it." 

        "Spill it out! How?" Andrew snapped, annoyed as he shook Ren's collar.

        "I hired a hitman. Quite pricey too! He just crashed an auto-driving car into a gas tank and blew the couple up!" Ren explained.

        "W-what?" Andrew questioned, shocked. "Why the hell did you do that?!"

        "Well, they were no use to me anymore!" Ren laughed. "When they finally left that farm to go visit (Y/N) in years, I knew it was finally time! I had been following them for years, so when I saw their car drive out of town I knew they were going to see her! My AirTag told me where they were."

        Andrew's heart dropped, surprised and disgusted at the man in front of him. How dare he lay his eyes on (Y/N)? How dare he stalk her?

        "So when they led me here, I had (Y/N)'s address and knew where she was, so they were of no use!" Ren smiled. "Oh, tricky little thing! I'll give her credit, she escaped my radar—but she's back now~" Ren laughed, his bloody tissue started to overfill with blood as it traveled lower and lower into the tissue white cotton, tainting it with crimson. 

        "So... you've been after her this whole time?" Andrew questioned. "Why? Is it the farm's money? What do you want from her?" 

        "Her." Ren smiled. "I want her. Such beauty shouldn't be for just anyone to see."

        "What makes you think only you can have her?" Andrew snapped.

        "What makes you think you can have her?" Ren retorted. "She was mine first! I had her before you did!"

        "Well she's mine now!" Andrew hissed. "Besides, she likes me better than you. She chose me after all."

        That earned him an uppercut, biting his tongue as he rolled back in his chair away from Ren, grabbing the cleaver in his lap and holding it as he gritted his teeth.

        "Oops. You seemed to have upset me for a second..." Ren chuckled. "I will not apologize; however, I have a deal."

        "Shove it up your ass!" Andrew exclaimed.

        "It involves Ashley." Ren hummed.

        Andrew's grip on his weapon immediately loosened, hesitantly lowering down onto his lap.

        "A-Ashley...?" he questioned. "My sister? You know her?" 

        "Knew her." Ren scoffed. "She's dead." 

        Andrew's heart dropped for what seemed like the umpteenth time. He stood up his full height, towering Ren's 5'9" body with his 5'11" self. He grabbed Ren's collar and knocked him back onto the mattress, seething as he glared at Ren.

        "What the fuck did you do to her?! I'll fucking kill you!" Andrew shouted.

        "Wait! I didn't do it this time!" Ren gasped as Andrew started choking him. 

        "Then who else?!" Andrew hissed. 

        "(Y/N)!" Ren exclaimed. 

        "(Y/N)?" Andrew questioned, his grip loosening on Ren's neck. "Explain."

        "Look in her bedside drawer." Ren hummed, tilting his head to the cabinets he was rummaging through earlier.

        Andrew hesitated, before letting go of Ren's neck. He fell back into his wheelchair, before reaching over and opening the cabinet, surprised as he held his breath.

        In the drawer, there was a small box and a snack-sized bag labelled Rophynol. There was a pocketknife with a rose on it, and a gun that Ren pulled out earlier. It looked awfully familiar, and it had no bullets too... And finally, there was a black and red occult charm, one Andrew immediately recognized as Ashley's.

        "Jesus... no..." Andrew gasped, gently picking up and cradling the charm, the only thing remaining of Ashley. "No, please..." 

        "Oh, how cute! My little angel is into the occult now! Isn't she so pure?" Ren cooed. "Is what I'd say if I didn't know that was Ashley's... My angel is far too pure to be involved with that demon crap." 

        "How do you know Ashley's name...?" Andrew grumbled. "How do I know you didn't plant this?" Andrew hissed, protectively cradling the charm in his hand.

        "Because I have no reason to kill Ashley." Ren hummed. "Well, scratch that. I would've. She got what she got for what she tried to do." Ren smiled. "The only reason I know of Ashley is because I followed (Y/N) to her grave!"

        "A-a grave?" Andrew spluttered. 

        "Duh. I told you she was dead." Ren rolled his eyes. "You really don't listen. My angel is so patient and kind, accepting strays like you into her home..."

        "But... this isn't proof that you didn't kill her..." Andrew muttered. "(Y/N)... she wouldn't kill anyone. She's just perfect. A darling... She wouldn't do it—you would!"

        "I would—and have." Ren smirked. "But that's not what we're discussing right now. Here." Ren hummed rummaging in his back pocket before pulling out some small folded squares. "Look."

        Andrew accepted the pictures, opening them. He unfolded the squares and saw five pictures. One of Penelope, (Y/N)'s co-worker Andrew remembers, and (Y/N) out in the rain in an alleyway. Another photo showed a knife in (Y/N)'s hand, along with one in Penelope's. The third had a photo of (Y/N) on top of Penelope, straddling her waist with a pocketknife in the air. The fourth had the knife stabbed into Penelope's chest, along with multiple other wounds on her chest too. Finally, the last photo showed (Y/N) throwing the body in a public clothing donation center. 

        "Right in the act!" Ren laughed, gasping for air as if it was there funniest thing ever. "I followed you guys later that day while the hitman did his job! I can't believe I actually caught that! Turns out my angel is such a little vixen!"

        "This can't be real..." Andrew rasped.

        "Oh! It is! And look, best one for last!" Ren smirked, grabbing final photo in another pocket, pulling it out and unfolding it for Andrew. "H-ha! Ha! Here! Lookie!" Ren laughed, waving a photo of (Y/N) in the rain with a set of flowers, placing them down on a trail entrance. "Giving her condolences to her victim! Oh, she's so pure! I haven't even bothered visiting Ben's grave!" he cackled. 

        “You think this is something to laugh about?! People are dead!” Andrew shouted, shoving the occult charm into his pocket before glaring at Ren.

        “So sensitive… it’s just a blood relative…” Ben sighed.

        “That’s my sister!” Andrew snapped. 

        “It’s not like you haven’t killed anyone before.” Ben hummed, crossing his arms.

        “You son of a— w-wait…” Andrew’s threat fell short, taking in Ren’s words. “How… do you know?”

        “My father owns our town jail, so we have access to arrest records to check for felonies and such—we look up people and decide if they should be held in jail or be sent to prison.” Ren explained. “You showed up on my records, lucky you!” 

        “Damn it…” Andrew hissed, gritting his teeth.

        Of course, (Y/N)’s stalker has to be involved with the police. Why wouldn’t he?

        “If I recall… you have three accounts of second-degree murder. Cannibalism. Escaping house arrest. Invading officers—“ Ren listed.

        “Hey! Hey! That’s not what happened! That’s bullshit!” Andrew snapped.

        “It’s what the system says. You really think the justice system is gonna believe a murderer?” Ren chuckled.

        “It was self-defense and necessity. I had to do it.” Andrew hissed.

        “Right. And the girl that went missing in your hometown? I'm fairly certain you caused it—same with the man shot in the park a city nearby a month ago. That's two more accounts of second-degree murder, but anyways…” Ren hummed, playfully rolling his eyes in a teasing motion. “You asked why I was here earlier…”

        “To check in, you said…” Andrew muttered.

        “That’s not all!” Ren chirped. “I told you I’ll only be here for a week, so we only have a week for this. I want you to help me.” 

        “Help? Help you? As if!” Andrew scoffed, grabbing his cleaver.

        “Oh… well, I guess the police can be more helpful then…” Ren hummed.

        Damn it.

        “What is it?” Andrew gritted through his teeth. “What do you want?”

        “(Y/N).” Ren smiled.

        “I already told you. She’s mine!” Andrew hissed.

        “No, she’s not!” Ren hissed, clenching his fist. “You don’t love her! How can you when she killed your sister?”

        Andrew opened his mouth to retort, but nothing came out.

        Because how could he love someone that killed his sister?

        Ren smiled, pleased to see Andrew couldn’t come up with anything.

        “See? How can you love a murderer? She’s killed innocent people, and you love that?” Ren chuckled, smiling. “(Y/N)’s not that innocent little nurse who just helps from the kindness of her heart. She does it to feel better about herself, an ego to fulfill. If you can’t love that side of her, you don’t deserve her. Do you really love that side of her? I mean, how do you know you're not next? Not even her own co-worker was off-limits!"

        “Do you really ever shut up…?” Andrew grumbled, adverting Ren’s eyes.

        “Let’s make this easy.” Ren hummed. “You help me get (Y/N), and this whole apartment is yours! I’ll send you rent money, and grocery money, and whatever money you want that will keep you satisfied in this apartment—so long as you don’t leave it! Or, ya know, you can and just go to jail. That works for me, but I’m trying to give you a chance here.” 

        “Why not just kill me?” Andrew questioned.

        “It’ll upset my angel too much, dummy!” Ren chuckled, patting Andrew’s shoulder like he was swatting away a toddler’s joke. “In order to prevent anymore… accidents from her… it’d be better to make it seem like you betrayed her! Which you will if you wanna live!”

        Andrew slapped away Ren’s hand, annoyed as he sighed. “And how are we gonna do that?”

        “You are gonna drug her!” Ren smiled.

        ”Excuse me?” Andrew snapped. 

        “It’s easier than you’d think, especially with this!” Ren smiled, opening the bedside drawer and shaking the bag of white powder. “I can only assume this is Rohypnol since there’s a box here of it. This is a date-rape drug, or a sleep medicine gone wrong.” 

        “Really?” Andrew cringed, making a face. “I have to literally put it in her drink?”

        “Yeah, or a liquid food like soup. Doesn’t matter. Just make sure she eats it.” Ren shrugged, placing the bag back into the drawer. “I’ll leave that there. Remember, you have a week.” 

        “And if I don’t, I die or get arrested…” Andrew muttered, watching as Ren moved around, grabbing a small box in his pocket before walking into the bathroom.

        ”Don’t even think about it…” Andrew hissed. “I share that bathroom with her.”

        Ren looked over, before shrugging his shoulders. “Fine. Bathroom cameras are off-limits…” 

        “You’re gross…” Andrew groaned, rolling his eyes. “Why do you need those pictures?”

        Ren ignored him, instead placing a camera in another corner of the room for full coverage.

        “Why do you bother doing this?” Andrew questioned.

        “Why not?” Ren smiled. 

        Ren noticed the answer didn’t satisfy Andrew as he glared at him, so he spoke again.

        “And to make sure she’s doing okay.” Ren hummed.

        “I think more than half of her problems would be gone if it wasn’t for you.” Andrew grumbled.

        “You can say what you want…” Ren spoke. “But just remember, you have only a week left with her. Do you understand.”

        “Yeah. Okay.” Andrew muttered.

        “By the end of this week, you should have her unconscious. You will not mention me or any cameras. Nothing.” Ren ordered. “When you drug her, give me a call.”

        Ren pulled out a piece of paper from his pocket, his number already written down on it. Seems he had this all planned.

        “Be quick about it when you call. The drug shouldn’t take long to kick in. And use the whole bag if you can—the drug is tasteless and odorless so she won’t know any different.” Ren explained.

        “Okay. Okay.” Andrew hissed, upset as he snatched the paper and shoved it in his pocket. 

        “I’ll see you tomorrow. I have some stuff to show you.” Ren hummed.

        Andrew followed Ren as he put cameras in other rooms of (Y/N)’s apartment, before leaving out the front door, driving away in a silver Honda Odyssey.

        Andrew sat around in silence, looking around at the apartment.

        He felt angry. Angry at Ren and his blackmail. Angry at (Y/N) for lying to him and taking away his only family he considered. Angry at himself for letting this all happen and being so easy to control.

        He felt upset. Upset at Ren taking control of his life. Upset at (Y/N) for pushing her way into his life. And upset at himself for allowing his life to be controlled like this.

        “Fuck…” he groaned, covering his eyes with his hands.

        .

        .

        She was knocked to the ground with a thud, landing on her back and quickly on alert. A short yelp leaving her as she got pinned to her carpeted living room floor. Her eyes adjusted to the dark as she squirmed and kicked, trying to kick off her assaulter as she hit and scratched. 

        It was Andrew.

        Andrew had a crazed look in his eyes. An angry expression on his face that matched his panic at the hospital that night he tried to figure out what to do next after discharge.

        He was mad, and there was a cleaver raised in the air just a few inches from her face.

        “Andrew! Andrew, it’s me!” (Y/N) gasped, reaching her hands up and grabbing his wrist.

        Was he mad at her? For what? Does he believe she's an intruder? But that wouldn't explain why he has a cleaver ready in his hand.

        "Andrew!" (Y/N) squirmed, digging her nails down into his wrist to hopefully make him let go.

        It won't work. He's pumped with too much adrenaline to even register the pain, that or he's able to tolerate it. Either way, both situations are bad for her and could result terribly. 

        "You son of a bitch! You killed her!" Andrew hissed, fighting to slam the cleaver down. 

        Oh god fucking damn it. (Y/N) mentally groaned.

        Of course he'd figure it out eventually, but she was hoping to break it to him lightly, if that's even possible. 

        “You don’t understand!” (Y/N) retorted, struggling to hold back Andrew as his free hand tried pinning down her arms. “I had to! I had to!”

        “You didn’t have to do shit!” Andrew snapped, furious as the cleaver came closer to her head.

        “She was gonna kill me first! I had to defend myself!” (Y/N) blurted out.

        “So you killed her?!” Andrew snarled.

        “I panicked! The situation was too far gone to de-escalate.” (Y/N) snapped.

        “That’s no excuse!” Andrew hissed, the sharp blade of her own cleaver getting closer to her head.

        There was a moment where she considered that she might actually not be able to escape this one. With his strength against her, this isn’t a fight she can win. 

        “So what? I just let her kill me?” (Y/N) scoffed,  her voice strained as she was losing, the blade grazing just above her nose and between her eyes.

        “Yes!” Andrew snarled. “It should’ve been you!”

        The sudden shock that jolted through her body shouldn’t have been surprising, it was her versus his sister, of course he’d choose her over his unprofessional nurse—but it still hurt to hear.

        “If you kill me, you’ll pay.” (Y/N) snapped, a new wave of anger taking over her. “Even if it’s not me, you’ll pay. I don’t have to kill you myself for it to happen.” (Y/N) hissed.

        There was a falter in his grip, tears welling up in his eyes as his grip loosened slightly, his hesitancy a mistake as she moved her hands off his wrists. She gripped the blade’s end, ignoring the already stinging sensation as it pressed into her palms in a line.

        Even if the blade comes down, her hands will take the blow. She doesn’t need her hands to live, and she’s ready to make that sacrifice.

        Her anger flared as a wave of adrenaline rushed through her, aiming to survive and escape. She grabbed the cleaver and pulled it back to her, catching Andrew off as he let go.

        She kicked his stomach, before pinning him back on the ground, raising the cleaver.

        “I can’t do it…” Andrew muttered, tears welting up in his eyes, a look of defeat as he made no effort to retrieve the cleaver hovering over him. “I can’t kill you.”

        His hands went to her hips, loosely holding them as he stayed on the ground, (Y/N)’s body hovering over his. 

        (Y/N) glared at him, the cleaver raised up high as she aimed for his neck, gripping the cleaver’s handle tighter.

        “Just who do you think you are…?” she spat out, watching as tears fell down Andrew’s face. “You think you can just kill me after all I’ve done?” she questioned.

        Her twin buns were messy, one of her buns loose as her star hairclip threatened to fall from her hair. Her nurse lanyard dangled down on Andrew, one of her hands resting next to Andrew’s head as the other held her kitchen cleaver.

        She watched the tears fall down his face, before throwing the cleaver across the room, probably creating a mark on her wall she’ll worry about later. She threw the cleaver so they both wouldn't make a drastic mistake they couldn't change. There wasn't any need for more bloodshed, all it did was get them both in trouble numerous times. 

        “Was there really no other way?” Andrew questioned, his hands tracing self-assuring circles on her hips. “You really couldn’t have done anything other than kill her?”

        (Y/N) paused, thinking. Maybe if she hadn’t provoked Ashley to attack by spraying perfume in her eyes, perhaps they could’ve talked it out. She could’ve made a compromise with Ashley, or even go as far as to dropping the whole murder idea all together.

        But Ashley Graves is dead, in an amateur grave (Y/N) dug up and covered with dirt herself, some flowers resting in the forest entrance as an apology and tribute to her. It won't fix anything, not what's happened in the past or future or now, but it's something to ease her mind, help her with the guilt. 

        “I don’t know.” (Y/N) admitted. “I just did what I could; isn’t that what we all do?”

        “It still hurts though.” Andrew sighed.

        “It always will.” (Y/N) spoke. “But it’ll lessen over time.”

        “It’s just… she’s probably the only thing left that would’ve helped me know who I am.” Andrew groaned, tilting his head to the side to look at the wall, avoiding her eyes. 

        “You’re Andrew, dummy.” (Y/N) spoke.

        “Well I don’t feel like Andrew.” Andrew muttered.

        “When do we feel like ourselves these days?” she laughed, as if he made a funny joke. 

        Andrew glanced up at her, unamused. 

        “Come on, you have a whole new path ahead of you. You don’t have anything from the past holding you back, so what’s stopping you?” (Y/N) questioned.

        “I-I don’t know. Maybe I’m worried.” Andrew stammered, unsure really what to say or how to put his feelings into words. 

        “About what?” she pried, getting up off his waist.

        “I don’t think it’ll work out well for me…” He groaned, exhausted.

        “That’s everyone’s fear. You’re not special.” (Y/N) rolled her eyes.

        “I mean being a criminal and all…” Andrew added.

        “Same boat here.” (Y/N) hummed. “C’mon, surely we can help each other? Make a truce and no more murdering?”

        Andrew looked hesitant, staring off to the side as he thought. It was risky, especially after all they've done. (Y/N) lied to Andrew; but so did Andrew. (Y/N) betrayed Andrew; but so will Andrew.

        "Okay, fine. No more murder." Andrew sighed, bringing his hands up and wiping the tears from his eyes. 

        He felt almost embarrassed that he cried in front of (Y/N), but he knew she wouldn't say anything about it. She really doesn't get the right to make fun of him for it after all the times she's cried in front of him. 

        .

        .

        Even if they did a truce, Andrew was distant. He stopped sleeping in her bed, and insisted on sleeping on the sleeper sofa in the living room. It doesn't take a genius to know Andrew was upset about Ashley's death; anyone would be upset really.

        (Y/N)'s believes the reason why Andrew's so upset about it is because Ashley was probably the only key to Andrew knowing who he really was. Ashley's the only person who knew Andrew before he jumped and got amnesia, and there's no guarantee the amnesia will ever go away; in fact it could potentially worsen. 

        But (Y/N) would rather not think of that. She can't change what's been done.

        However, Andrew hasn't been eating much. It doesn't take a genius to know that Andrew's gone into a state of depression, feeling hopeless and lost on who he is and what to do next. 

        They've had their arguments and bumps, (Y/N)'s had to force Andrew eat and make sure he's taking care of himself while she's gone at work. It seems like he's just getting worse by the day, and it's been a full week now. Though Andrew's come around to joking and smiling more, there's still a barrier between the two, one Andrew won't allow to break down no matter how many times (Y/N) bangs on it.

        But he's eating again, in fact he's insisted on making dinner today after (Y/N)'s complaints. It was Andrew's turn to cook dinner—well, it's been his turn for a while now, but (Y/N) didn't want to force him to cook when he wasn't feeling well. Andrew never really cooked a meal that took longer than 30 minutes, but (Y/N)'s been insistent on him learning how to cook proper meals since it was a basic skill needed as an adult, so here he is being forced (guided) to cook beef tips and rice. 

        "You're checking the locks again?" Andrew sighed, watching her pace around the kitchen as he cooked.

        Andrew stirred the beef tips, watching (Y/N) check all the three locks on each window, she was such a worrywart.

        "You're gonna get wrinkles if you keep stressing yourself out like this." Andrew commented with a smirk.

        "I think I'd look pretty hot with wrinkles. Like a MILF." (Y/N) snickered. "Besides, I'm just being cautious! Do you understand how many creeps are out in the world?"

        "Yeah, I'm looking at one right now." Andrew teased. 

        "Oh, ahaha." (Y/N) laughed sarcastically. "You think you're so funny? Only funny thing about you is your face."

        "I prefer the term 'handsome', but thanks." Andrew hummed smartly.

        "Oh, yes, so handsome..." (Y/N) cooed, leaning over the counter and pinching Andrew's cheek, watching his eye close as he accepted the treatment, albeit a hint of hesitancy. "That rice is gonna be done soon. Be a dear and check it."

        "Yes, ma'am..." Andrew commented teasingly, watching her let go of his face so he could check the rice cooker's timer. 

        "What movie do you wanna watch tonight?" (Y/N) questioned.

        "I dunno. You decide." Andrew hummed, keeping his eye on the timer before going back to stirring the beef tips.

        "Ugh, Andrew..." (Y/N) groaned, walking out of the kitchen to go into the living room and check the locks. "You know I can never decide a movie, that's why you always pick!"

        "Let's do a comedy then." Andrew hummed, opening the rice cooker's lid as it beeped.

        "A comedy? Okay, let's do an Adam Sandler then." (Y/N) hummed. 

        "You know there's other comedy actors other than Adam Sandler, right?" Andrew chuckled, a fake one. "Besides, I thought you said you could never decide on a movie?" 

        "Well, now I decided." (Y/N) huffed, checking the blinds and curtains and locks. "Besides, he's funny! He's got a funny voice and funny lines! I mean, c'mon, his performance in Grown Ups was pretty nice, especially the sequel." 

        "Whatever you say." Andrew chuckled.

        Andrew grabbed two bowls and scoops some rice into each, then topped it with beef tips and gravy. On any normal day, (Y/N) would've complained to him that there needed to be a vegetable as a side, but she was just happy that Andrew was out of bed and standing up on his own for longer periods of time. 

        "Dinner's ready!" Andrew called out. 

        "Okay!" 

        (Y/N) chirped, making sure the final window was locked before closing the curtains. 

        She walked into the dining room and sat down as Andrew poured some lemonade into a cup.

        “Thank you for dinner.” She hummed, accepting the cup Andrew handed her, taking a sip before placing it down onto the table.

        “It’s nothing.” Andrew waved off, sitting down next to her.

        “Doctor Ryan gave me a basket of hot chocolate supplies today, we should make them for our movie night.” (Y/N) suggested. 

        “Are you talking about the scrawny guy that’s way too happy?” Andrew questioned.

        “That’s the one.” (Y/N) smiled. 

        “Ugh…” Andrew groaned, already knowing how extravagant that hot coco basket will be. 

        “It’ll be a waste of money if we don’t use it.” (Y/N) reasoned. 

        “Still…” Andrew sighed.

        Just the thought of another male thinking about her made Andrew feel sick. It didn’t matter if Doctor Ryan was married with kids and her instructor, he still felt annoyed knowing the man got to spend more time with her than he could.

        “I can make it after dinner when our stomachs settle.” (Y/N) hummed, taking a bite of her food and washing it down with her drink. “Don’t worry about the dishes either, I’ll wash them since you cooked dinner tonight—which, by the way, is very good.” 

        Andrew nodded, eating his food silently, looking down at his bowl before speaking.

        “Do you think I’m a bad person?” he questioned.

        (Y/N) frowned, looking up from her bowl. “A bad person?” she contemplated. “What makes you think that?” 

        “It’s not what I think; it’s what you think. Do you think I’m a bad person?” he repeated.

        “I think… if bad people existed, we all would be bad people.” (Y/N) spoke. “And if good people existed, we all would be good people.”

        “Which means…?” Andrew questioned, impatient as he looked at her.

        “There no such thing as a bad person, only doing bad things.” (Y/N) huffed. “You know, that famous saying? It was something along those lines at least.”

        “Right…” he sighed. 

        “Anyways…” (Y/N) yawned, covering her mouth, before resting her cheek on her palm. “Why?”

        “What do you mean ‘why?’” Andrew questioned.

        “What are you thinking about that has you wondering if you’re a bad person?” (Y/N) asked.

        “I’m just curious…” Andrew muttered, shrugging his shoulders.

        “About?” she pried.

        “Do you think…” Andrew hesitated, placing his spoon down in his bowl, before looking at (Y/N). “Do you think it’s okay for someone to do bad things if it’s to protect themselves?”

        “Depends on the circumstances…” (Y/N) hums. “I mean, some things can be forgiven and some can’t.”

        “Don’t worry about the circumstances, just think of it as whole. Can you forgive me for doing bad things if it was to protect myself?” Andrew huffed, annoyed at her deflections.

        (Y/N) paused, thinking. Is he… trying to open up about his past? His crimes? 

        “Well… I think you should do whatever it takes for you to survive.” (Y/N) muttered.

        You can kill someone as long as they tried killing you first, that’s how self-defense works—at least, it’s an excuse for her to feel better about herself. 

        “You wake up with yourself, you go to bed with yourself, you feed yourself, you shower with yourself; you live with yourself for as long as you live, so only you should matter.” (Y/N) spoke, leaning on her hand and closing her eyes. “I think, it’s best to lend help to others once you’re stable yourself.”

        “Right…” Andrew muttered. “So, I’m sorry.” He whispered.

        He leaned over the table and moved her bowl and food away from her head, watching her peaceful face as she kept her eyes closed, before she slumped on the table.

        Andrew stood up from the table, picking up (Y/N)’s phone and using her thumb to unlock it. He grabbed a piece of paper out of his pockets, dialing the numbers in before holding it up to his ear.

        “Ren? I did what you wanted, come get her.” 

        .

        .

        “I’m so glad you came to your senses! You did it last minute, I was worried I’d have to find a place to bury you!” Ren chirped, laughing as he entered the apartment.

        “Shut up…” Andrew muttered, annoyed.

        It hurt. It felt like he betrayed himself more than he betrayed (Y/N). His chest ached, sore from lying to her, but it also burned, knowing that (Y/N) was going to be in the hands of this man now.

        “As promised, you’ll live. I’ll give you 4,000 every month for rent, shipping groceries, online shopping, all that stuff. Just money for whatever you need.” Ren explained. “Remember, so long as you don’t leave the apartment! We don’t need the police finding you after I worked so hard to cover both your and my angel’s tracks! It was hard wiping out that camera footage at the mall, you know?” 

        Ren went around the house, removing all the cameras and microphones for Andrew to live in privacy. 

        Ren took a suitcase out of (Y/N)’s closet and unzipped it, picking up (Y/N)’s unconscious body and placing her in a cradle-like position, setting her down in the suitcase and zipping her up.

        Ren noticed Andrew’s hesitant expression, watching him zip her up so he spoke.

        “She’s claustrophobic, but this is just so none of the neighbors see her.” Ren explained. “I’ll make sure to pull off the side of the road and take her out of the suitcase before I get on the interstate.”

        “You better…” Andrew muttered, watching as Ren grabbed the suitcase’s handles.  

        “Well, this is it. Call me if you need anything.” Ren smiled, handing Andrew a phone out of his pocket. 

        It looked new and pricey, but for all Andrew knows, it could have a spyware on it. He’ll sell it and buy a phone that isn’t hacked instead—but he won’t tell Ren that. 

        “Thanks.” Andrew muttered. 

        “I’ll pay you cash the last of every month in the mail. (Y/N)’s rent is due every first of the month, so just place cash in a envelope and drop it off at the landlord’s mailbox in the front. Purchase your groceries online and all that. You probably know everything else now.” Ren explained. 

        Andrew watched as Ren dragged the suitcase out of the front door, a feeling of dread washing over Andrew as he spoke. 

        “Hey.” 

        Ren turned around, an amused smirk on his face, as if he was challenging Andrew to defy him. “Yes?”

        “Please… just take care of (Y/N).” Andrew muttered, her name feeling like poison to his throat.

        “Of course. I’ve always taken care of her.” Ren smiled. 

        Andrew and Ren had different ideas of ‘care’, but it won’t concern Andrew anymore after today.

        “Bye now!” Ren waved, walking down the apartment steps with the suitcase (Y/N) was in.

        Andrew said nothing, watching him walk away, before he finally left his view. Andrew shut the door, shutting them both out of his life.

        .

        .

        “And that’s how you’re here!” Ren smiled, watching as (Y/N) squirmed and tried to kick, her efforts fruitless as she was strapped to an expensive chair. 

        “Shut up! I hate you! I hate you, cunt!” she screamed, trying to bang her head bang onto the chair, but the straps around her forehead didn’t allow that.

        “There’s no point in screaming; we’re in the middle of nowhere! Have you forgotten where our home is already?” Ren chirped.

        “This isn’t my home!” (Y/N) shouted.

        This is no home. This is Hell, pure Hell as she stared down the Devil. 

        There is no home for her, only settlements until she ups and moves to the next location. This should’ve never happened.

        “How… how did you even find me?” (Y/N) muttered.

        “I’ve been keeping a close eye on your parents. I had an AirTag in their car, so when they left town, it notified me and I followed them.” Ren explained. “They led me right to your apartment! So when they stayed the night, I hired a hitman to kill your parents when they leave town, do whatever so they just controlled an AI car to crash into the gas pump, hence the explosion at the gas station that killed your parents!” Ren beamed, as if the story was something to be proud of.

        Fucking Apple. Whoever made AirTags probably made them under the guise to stalk his wife, or husband, no judgment. 

        “You’re terrible.” (Y/N) muttered.

        She looked around the room, trying to find anything to aid her escape, but it was fruitless. She was stuck in Ren’s bedroom, in a pricey chair with fancy restraints that he no doubt planned for her to be strapped in. 

        She’d be watched while Ren is here, and even if Ren led to go work at his father’s prison that he’ll inherit when his father dies, there’s probably a camera and microphone hiding somewhere in the room to supervise (Y/N) while she’s away.

        She had no way of escaping due to these damn rubber straps preventing her movement, she can’t even tilt her head. The chair was screwed into the ground, preventing her from even lifting up the chair or knocking it over.

        “Why can’t you just leave? Leave me alone!” (Y/N) exclaimed, pissed off. 

        “Oh, my angel. You’ll understand one day that this is all because of my love for you.” Ren cooed, reaching out and cradling his hand on her cheek.

        She tried to snap back and bite his finger, but the straps preventing her from tilting her head to bite him, trapped and felt vulnerable to whatever he wants. 

        “I really don’t think you understand the gravity of your situation, pretty. You do know that I can easily turn you into the police?” Ren smiled.

        “You won’t.” (Y/N) challenged. “You’d miss me too much.”

        “I can just visit you in prison everyday and night. Besides, my father owns the place, so I can do whatever I want.” Ren hummed, smirking as he knew the advantages he has to this situation. 

        (Y/N) frowned, annoyed as she looked away from him.

        If only this chair was a normal wooden chair, then she’d just bang the chair legs down on the ground until they cracked and broke the chair. Or at the very least, alert neighbors in the apartment; but Ren lived in the middle of nowhere. Curse this secluded private town and it’s distance from neighbors—the only time she’ll complain about having privacy.

        Either way, she’s trapped. It’s not like anyone in this town is even aware that she’s back, or would they even care considering her reputation here is worse than a sewer rat’s. If anything, they’d probably say she deserves it. 

        Is this to pay for my sins? (Y/N) thought to herself, shutting her eyes.

        There’s nothing to do but accept the situation. Maybe after a few months or years, he’ll let her out of the chair and she’ll be able to escape after building enough rapport (because she seriously doubts she’ll develop Stockholm Syndrome for this bastard). 

        (Y/N) chuckled, laughing to herself at the bizarreness of the situation. 

        Her father’s kindness to see her turned into her ultimate demise. Or perhaps it was her fault for writing her parents contact information as an emergency contact for her hospitalization. 

        Everything just always seems to come and bite her back in the ass.

        “So what happened with Andrew?” (Y/N) questioned, smiling. “Did you kill him too after he drugged me?” 

        “No, he’s alive.” Ren answered.

        “Shocking.” (Y/N) commented.

        “Well, we did make a deal after all. I don’t go against my word.” Ren smiled.

        “Funny, considering you said you’d protect me; yet you’re the only threat.” (Y/N) scoffed. “You didn’t protect me from Ashley or Penelope either. Some protector you are.”

        “Well I could’ve protected you if you just didn’t run away! You and your silly little brain, angel.” Ren chuckled, smiling as he shook his head, like he was laughing at a toddler. “I am sad to have missed your first murder; but I at least saw your second!” Ren smiled, pulling out some photos of (Y/N) killing Penelope from his pocket, waving it in her face.

        (Y/N) frowned. So this was it, the rest of her life with the man in front of her. He has permanent blackmail on her, so even if she did somehow manage to escape, it’d be hard trying to get a whole new identity once a warrant would be out for her arrest, let alone trying to get a damn car to escape. 

        Damn you, Andrew… (Y/N) thought to herself, though she probably deserves this after killing his sister.

        A Grave for a Grave.

        .

        .

        Maddening. That’s how it felt without her. He hasn’t been able to sleep in three days, or was it four? He already can’t remember. It’s been a month, maybe a month and a half? He can barely get more than 3 hours of sleep a night, tossing and turning and tossing and turning in an endless loop. 

        God, he missed hugging her at night. Only a week of sleeping together in the same bed and he was already hooked on her warmth and softness that’s now permanently gone.

        Andrew’s always considered himself as an introverted guy, but it feels like living Hell by not being able to see her.

        He finds himself re-cooking the meals she’s made, scavenging through her drawers and cooking the recipes she left—but it never tasted like her cooking. 

        He finds himself using her bath products, reminiscing in the familiar scent—but it always missed the scent of just her.

        He finds himself sleeping in her bed alone, only the ghost of her cold touch hugging him, but it provided no warmth or comfort like she did. Even her scent was starting to fade from the sheets. He missed her touch. 

        He finds himself waiting by the front door for her, leaning against the wall, sitting on the floor, peeking out the peephole looking for her; but he knows deep down he won’t see her. He just wanted to see her again. 

        It was his fault after all, he was the one that turned her in. He probably didn’t have much of a choice anyways, it was either that or die, but honestly death seems like a much more bearable situation than having to deal with the burden of loneliness and isolation. 

        Her phone was left on the charger. He had retrieved it from her purse and used it to call Ren and take her away, but he regrets the decision now.

        He managed to crack the password on the fourth day of living without her. It was annoying, but he didn’t have her thumb to unlock it, and it was hard trying to come up with a password since she regularly changed her password as she does with other things in the apartment. 

        After meeting Ren, he understands her paranoia of security.

        He unplugged her phone and looked through her pictures. She barely had any, only pictures of her in high school with who he can only assume were old friends. One had blonde hair with pink highlights and the other had strong muscles and short black hair. 

        The picture was taken from an angle. (Y/N) sat on a couch with a computer and notebooks in her lap as she wrote. Meanwhile, black hair was taking up some of the couch as she leaned on the armrest, glaring at the blonde who intruded on the picture with half of her head in the way. 

        The black hair looked like the brawns, the pink hair looked like the beauty (though Andrew thought [Y/N] was just as pretty, if not more), and (Y/N) looked like the brains. 

        Other pictures included her family farm, some good harvests of the year, pictures of old CD’s she listened to in high school, and old church gatherings.

        Andrew found himself staring at her in the pictures, wondering why he never took a picture with her to remember.

        He looked closer at the church pictures and saw one of the whole church members combined. (Y/N) stood in a blue dress with a white bow on it, and standing a few persons away from her was Ren, staring at her at he wore a white button-up and black slacks.

        That damn man… Andrew thought, annoyed.

        Even in their teen years, he was pestering her.

        He swiped through more photos, finding more of her family farm, before noticing a picture that caught his eye.

        It was a picture of a smaller (Y/N), a few years before her pre-teens, standing next to a wagon filled with a berry harvest. She posed in front of a sign that said (L/N) Family Farm: Fresh is Best below the big font, there was an address.

        12920 N Estrella Lane, 39302, Luna, GE

        Wait a second.

        Andrew plugged the address into the phone maps, coming up with an address 34 hours away. 

        There wasn’t a moment’s hesitation the way he shot up from bed, scrambling to find his shoes. He grabbed a trash bag, piling some clothes, phone charger, and snacks into the bag. He put on a jacket (Y/N) bought him and a disposable mask he found in (Y/N)’s drawers. He picked up his wallet, an envelope of money Ren mailed to him, (Y/N)’s car keys, and something helpful from (Y/N)’s drawer. 

        He locked the door behind him, hopping into (Y/N)’s car Ren left considering he couldn’t trust (Y/N) to drive with him (nor would he allow her to drive anywhere and escape him again). 

        Andrew put the keys into the engine and plugged the (L/N) Family Farms into the car’s GPS. 

        It wouldn’t give him an exact location, but it’s at least a start. If Ren followed (Y/N)’s parents from their farm, then they must live in the same town. It at least gives Andrew a place to start searching. 

        Andrew just has to make a quick stop before he confronts Ren. Hopefully, nothing bad has happened to (Y/N) during this past month.

        .

        .

        “Darla Carving got 8 years for poisoning her husband, under the charge of attempted murder.” Ren explained, sitting on his bed, eating some grilled chicken.

        (Y/N) tuned him out, annoyed as she stared at the wall.

        “Remember how we went to school with her? She used to be an artist, but now she’s just an inmate.” Ren smiled. “But hey, maybe she’ll be the next Van Gough in prison, I’d buy a piece—you’re not listening again.” Ren frowned.

        (Y/N) rolled her eyes, annoyed. “Can’t you just shut up and eat?”

        “Speaking of food…” Ren smiled, setting down his plate onto his nightstand. “It’s time for you to eat!”

        (Y/N) frowned, already clamping her mouth shut, biting her teeth together.

        “Now, now, it’ll be easier for the both of us if you just listen.” Ren smiled.

        “No!” (Y/N) snapped, watching as Ren grabbed a bowl of tomato soup from the dresser.

        “Say ah.” Ren smiled, holding a spoon to (Y/N)’s mouth.

        (Y/N) kept her mouth shut. She would turn her head the other way if it wasn’t for the straps holding her head still.

        Ren gave up trying to gently spoon it into her mouth, before grabbing her chin and forcing her mouth open, jabbing the spoon down her throat, before scooping up more soup and repeating the process.

        Ren finished trying after some scoops, making sure she swallowed before placing the spoon down.

        “See? It doesn’t get any harder, only you make it tough.” Ren smiled, setting the bowl down onto the nightstand.

        (Y/N) grimaced, closing her eyes as she gave him the silent treatment.

        “Soon the Rohyopnol will kick in, then we’ll get you your bath!” Ren cheered.

        The tomato soup was laced with Rohyopnol, it just makes it easy for Ren to carry her around, hold her, and bathe her without (Y/N) trying to escape, considering she’ll be dead asleep.  

        “What pajamas today? Black or purple?” Ren hummed, holding up two pairs of pajamas, both with pants and long sleeves since she’s not allowed to sleep with a blanket in case she tries choking herself (as if she can escape the straps). 

        (Y/N) stayed firm with her silent treatment, ignoring him. She had 30 minutes before the Rohypnol kicks in and she’ll lose consciousness—she plans on spending that time being petty and spiteful. 

        (Y/N) kept her eyes closed, ignoring him like a child would.

        If you can’t see it, it’s not real.

        “Look at me.” Ren snapped, grabbing her lower jaw. “Stop being difficult.”

        (Y/N) kept ignoring him. 

        “I wish you’d just accept your situation. It’s been a month now, can’t we just get along?” Ren frowned.

        (Y/N) mentally rolled her eyes, annoyed.

        At this point, she’ll suffer from muscle dystrophy being stuck in this chair all the time with no exercise. Perhaps she can bargain with Ren on that; have time out of the chair and regain her strength until she can escape. 

        “Listen to me!” Ren exclaimed, desperate for control even with the upperhand in this situation. “Why don’t you ever listen, Angel? Is it really so bad? I could do worse such as—“         

        A shot rang out through the room, Ren collapsing to the floor, hunched over.

        “What the f—“ Ren looked up to be met with the barrel of a gun, Andrew’s holding the trigger before quickly pulling it without any hesitation.

        “You know, you’d think a guy like this would have security or even good quality locks.” Andrew commented, sighing before he looked over at (Y/N)

        (Y/N) froze, unsure if he was a threat or not. He had traded her in, and now he has a gun after turning against Ren. Will he turn on her again?

        “(Y/N)…” Andrew spoke, taking in the sight of her, happy to see her before he noticed the straps on the chair.

        He walked over to her, walking behind and undoing the leather straps attached to the chair, releasing her.

        She stood up, stumbling a bit as she grabbed the nearby nightstand for support. 

        “What the fuck is your issue?!” she spat aggressively, her legs shaking before collapsing onto the ground near Ren’s bleeding corpse. 

        It was a pathetic sight, like watching a newborn fawn try and stand up on their nimble legs. 

        “Get away!” she snapped.

        “(Y/N), shh. It’s okay.” Andrew frowned, concerned as he crouched down to her level.

        “Who do you think you are?! Some hero?” she spat out, hitting his chest. “You think you can just show up and everything is suddenly sunshine and rainbows? What’s your intentions?” 

        “(Y/N), I just wanted to help.” Andrew spoke, fighting her hits, placing the gun in his waistband and grabbing her shoulders. “Hey, listen.”

        “I hate you!” she spat.

        “Can’t you shut up?” Andrew hissed, annoyed. “I made a mistake, okay? I wasn’t thinking, it was my life on the line!” 

        “How can you think you can save me when you’re the one that put me in this situation?!” (Y/N) scoffed in disbelief.

        “I had to do what I had to do!” Andrew snapped. “You said it yourself. ‘It’s yourself for life!’”

        “I didn’t mean trade me in though!” (Y/N) hissed.

        “You would’ve done the same in my shoes!” Andrew hissed. “You killed my sister for your life! I turned you in for my life!” 

        (Y/N) paused, annoyed at how she could see the semblance, even if the circumstances were a bit different. 

        “We’re even now, okay?!” Andrew spat.

        Almost. If anything, it felt like (Y/N) owed Andrew more. He killed her stalker and he saved her, meanwhile all she did was kill his sister and lie to him.

        She’ll take what she can get. She’s not stupid to try and push this on more when she doesn’t have any good cards in her hand.

        “Okay… okay, I get it.” (Y/N) sighed, woozy as she sat down on Ren’s bed.

        She ignored the shiver of disgust that crawled up her spine as she sat down on Ren’s slumber spot. While (Y/N) sat in the chair in the dark, she could hear Ren’s peaceful slumbers as he slept under warm blankets.

        “I… just want you to know, he gave me some Rohypnol.” (Y/N) explained. “It’s gonna kick in eventually, so I can’t do much.”

        It was probably a small pill crushed up and distributed throughout the entire soup, so she probably didn’t drink enough to make her pass out, only enough to be drowsy and possibly caused temporary slow mental processing. 

        Andrew nodded, looking around Ren’s room before rummaging through his nightstand.

        He found a tissue box, some Rohypnol pill capsules, a bottle of lotion, and some polaroids of (Y/N).

        “Ick.” Andrew groaned, rolling his eyes, already guessing what this drawer was used for.

        “What?” (Y/N) questioned, trying to peek over his shoulder.

        “Don’t worry about it…” Andrew muttered, closing the drawer.

        “What are you looking for?” (Y/N) questioned.

        “This.” Andrew smirked, holding up Ren’s wallet.

        How alike they are; they kill someone and they rob them. It’s not the like the dead person will need it anyways.

        “Let’s go.” Andrew spoke.

        “If we drop by the bank, I can use an ATM and draw out money from him.” (Y/N) spoke.

        “You know his username and password?” Andrew questioned.

        “Please. His username is his first and last name, and his password is my birthday.” (Y/N) scoffed.

        “How cute.” Andrew commented sarcastically, stepping over Ren’s lifeless corpse.

        “Not!” (Y/N) snapped, glaring at him.

        Andrew led (Y/N) out of the house, glad that Ren lives on acres upon acres, therefore having no nearby neighbors. 

        “You stole my car?” (Y/N) huffed, walking out of the house as she saw her car parked near the gate.

        “How else did I get here? Public transport?” Andrew scoffed, taking the keys out of his pocket. “I’m driving.”

        “Yeah, duh. If I did, I’d fall asleep behind the wheel.” (Y/N) spoke in a ‘duh’ tone, hopping into the passenger seat.

        “Moody…” Andrew muttered under his breath, annoyed.

        “You’re the one that practically sold me for some money!” (Y/N) snapped. “Of course I’m moody!”

        “And it was for my life.” Andrew added. “Besides that, what’s next? Back to your place?” Andrew questioned.

        (Y/N) paused, thinking. 

        She can’t go back. Penelope’s dead, and even though Ren erased the store’s camera footage, there’s probably a backup file on an ICloud somewhere. Even if the evidence was completely removed, she doesn’t feel safe going back to that city.

        Ren might’ve told someone about her old dwelling, probably his dad, current owner of the jailhouse she was living in for some weeks before Ren bailed her out. If Ren is found dead in his home, (Y/N) would be a major suspect.

        Even if she did decide to go back to that apartment, she doesn’t want to live in that shitty city anymore, not with all the crazy shit that’s happened there.

        She needs to move away. 

        “Wanna go on a roadtrip?” (Y/N) smiled.

        “Where to?” Andrew questioned, confused.

        “Go back to our apartment. We’ll pack up our stuff, sell the car, and take a train.” (Y/N) explained.

        “Why the sudden idea? Are your intrusive thoughts winning over?” Andrew raised an eyebrow, putting the keys into the ignition.

        “Okay, look. You’re stuck with me; and I’m stuck with you. We have too much blackmail on each other—both ends. So we might as well stick together to keep each other quiet.” (Y/N) explained. “It’s too dangerous for us to go back and stay. Not with all the murders recently. They’ll think it’s you since your home city is just a few cities over. And when they find evidence showing it’s me, it’s over for me too. You need me for money; I need you to keep quiet.” 

        “Yeah, sounds about right…” Andrew sighed. “So, an official truce now, right?” 

        “Seal the deal with a kiss?” she questioned, smiling.

        Andrew looked over at her, smirking. “Ah, but I thought you were still throwing a temper tantrum?”

        “I’m over it. You were reasonable.” (Y/N) hummed, smiling. “A few pecks could really help me, though.”

        Andrew smiled, placing his elbow on the glovebox and leaning on it, leaning in and quickly pecking her awaiting lips.

        “Hey!” (Y/N) frowned, unsatisfied with the rushed kiss. 

        “You said a peck." Andrew smirked.

        “You know damn well I didn’t mean that! A real kiss!” she huffed, grabbing him by the collar and kissing his lips more firmly, staying there for a few seconds before pulling away. 

        “Women. You give them what they want and they want more.” Andrew playfully sighed, grinning at her.

        “Ahaha. Get going and drive, chauffeur.” (Y/N) hummed.

        “Yes, ma’am.” Andrew teased, driving out of the driveway. “There’s some chips in the back if you want them. Have a real snack.” 

        “I’m gonna take a nap and sleep off the pills…” (Y/N) spoke. “When I wake up, I can take turns driving next.”

        “Sure.” Andrew smiled.

        As if. He thought, mentally scoffing. There’s no way he’s letting her drive, he’s a gentleman after all!

        “You just sit back and get some shuteye…” Andrew hummed, placing his hand on her thigh while driving.

        .

        .

        “All set?” (Y/N) questioned.

        “All set.” Andrew nodded, smiling. “Granola?” he offered, holding out a wrapped bar as he snacked on one himself.

        “Thanks.” (Y/N) smiled, taking the granola bar in her hands, watching as Andrew swiftly picked up her bags. “Hey! You did that to distract me.”

        “You’re just too slow is all.” Andrew smirked, carrying the luggage to the car.

        “Mm… right.” She smiled, shutting the door and locking it. 

        Andrew prepared the car while (Y/N) turned the apartment keys to the complex owner. She exited, finding Andrew waiting for her in the driver’s seat.

        “Hey, I should be driving. That’s my car.” (Y/N) frowned.

        “Not in 30 minutes. It’ll be someone else’s from Craigslist.” Andrew smiled. “Now hop in before we’re late to meet them.” 

        (Y/N) smiled, getting into the passenger seat. Andrew drove out to a public supermarket to meet the new owner of the car. (Y/N) negotiated with the customer and managed to snag a few thousands for the used car. 

        (Y/N) took a cab with Andrew to the train station, getting a first class booth so that they could have a closing door for privacy, that way nobody noticed their faces.

        “Hey, look. You’re on the news…” Andrew spoke, although not happy for the news as he pointed his phone (he got from Ren) to her.

        “It was only a matter of time for them to find Penelope’s body and the security footage. It must’ve produced a foul smell in that box and—hey! That photo is so unattractive!” (Y/N) exclaimed, cringing at her photo.

        A photo of her three years ago, the photo for her legal driver’s license. Her hair was messy and her eyes had sunken in with black eye bags under them, showing her malnutrition since at the time she was homeless in her car.

        “Yeah, not so pretty compared to you now…” Andrew hummed, holding up the photo to her to compare.

        "Stop that!” (Y/N) huffed, snatching his phone. 

        “I’m just saying!” Andrew chuckled, smiling before it dropped. “Hey, you sure about this?”

        “Don’t worry…” (Y/N) smiled. “Well come back, for Ashley and Hailey. I promised them flowers after all.”

        “You promised them flowers? Even Ashley?” Andrew questioned, surprised.

        “Of course I did.” (Y/N) frowned. “She might’ve been… a specimen, but she was still a human after all. I mean, I’m supposed to be saving lives as a nurse, whether they’re a kid or not.” 

        Andrew nodded, looking at the window and smiling, before changing the subject. “Where we going anyways?”

        “I dunno…” (Y/N) hummed, thinking. “Greenland?”

        “And freeze my ass off?” Andrew huffed. “No.”

        “Don’t you wanna see the northern lights. It’ll be so romantic!” (Y/N) cooed. 

        “Huddling together for warmth like penguins under solar rays?” Andrew smiled, grabbing her waist and pulling her into his side, resting his arm around her shoulder. “Maybe that can be a vacation one day. I don’t feel like starting a fire all the time.”

        “They still have heating there…” (Y/N) pouted.

        “No. No yearly winter.” Andrew spoke firmly.

        “Fine. Iceland?” (Y/N) questioned.

        “We can’t go out of states, dummy. We need passports.” Andrew groaned. “Meaning they’ll discover our identities and we’ll take a vacation to prison instead.” 

        “Let’s take a cruise then.” (Y/N) chirped. “I’m sure not all cruises or boats check passports! Let them leave without us and boom, we stay!” 

        “So persistent.” Andrew hummed. “Okay, maybe. But I don’t want to live in a damn city, I’ll tell you that. Find a town to live in.” 

        “A town where we can see the northern lights.” (Y/N) huffed.

        “Deal.” Andrew smiled. 

        “Seal the deal with a kiss?” (Y/N) questioned.

        Andrew smiled. He’s definitely come to enjoy their promise kisses.

        Andrew leaned in, kissing her soft lips for a few seconds, before pulling away.

        “Sealed.” He murmured.

        “Good.” She smiled, pecking his lips again for extra measures. 

        She rested her head on his chest, looking out the train window at the scenary.

        It doesn’t matter where she lives. She’ll find another  hospital to work at after completing her degree at one of the Treegrowth hospitals for a falsified certificate. It's not the best to becoming a good person, but it's something; however, as long as she has Andrew, she has a feeling things will turn out just fine.

A huge thank you to those who have been following this little book since day one, and a huge thank you to every new reader who just made it here. I truly couldn’t have done this without each and every one of you. All your comments and positivity and criticism helped me tweak my writing to just not mine, but yours.

If you want to read more Andrew Graves x reader stories of mine, congrats! I will be doing an Andrew Graves x Two-Faced! Serial Killer! Reader! I hope to see you there!

Want more Andrew Graves content? Check out the Andrew Graves masterlist!

Inbox is OPEN for questions about the story and new plotlines/ideas, not for requests!

Chapters: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, final chapter (current).

Want to listen to music while reading? Check out the Star Patient's Official Playlists! Multiple different playlists and genres!

[sopaprimordialy]

Boppers, hear me out.

Victor is Luther's father.

Ok, now, you might be thinking: "what the actual fuck are you talking about?" Well, in this essay I'll expose favorable arguments to my theory/theses/head canon that, in the album, the police officer Victor is Luther's father. Keep your radio tuned tight, boppers, bcs I might be crazy OR I might be onto something.

(There will be spoilers)

1. First of all...

For context, Victor is the cop that kills Fox. He's played by David Patrick Kelly, the actor who plays Luther in the original movie, The Warriors (1979). This alone is a huge reason for me to believe that they are somehow connected, BUT THERE'S MORE!

I think we already established that what a character claims to be their reason for doing something is not always their real reasoning, or, at least, not the entirety of it. I do believe Luther kills Cyrus because he enjoys the chaos and has a lot of hate in his heart, as Swan wisely says, but I don't think that's all.

We have hints among his lines that he's also misogynistic and racist. "Well, duh?" You might say, because there were few white men who weren't those things by the time this story takes place, but sometimes we may underestimate how heavy this stuff weighs in the narrative. If he really likes chaos that much, why not kill, Idk, a police captain? That would certainly create generalized chaos just as he likes, but instead, he deliberately targets marginalized groups' leadership — he kills a black woman, a powerful black woman who was trying to unite her community.

She was obviously an obstacle for the cops to keep up with their oppression towards these groups because unity is strength, and all they don't want is strong communities that knows their rights and won't accept to be chased down like animals when they've done nothing but trying to survive.

In the very first track of the album, the question "but is Cyrus atractin' police action?" Is asked. The answer we find further on, especially when the police invades Van Cortlandt Park right after she's killed, is: *yes*, of course she is.

* Also, the timing here is too convenient, don't you think? Just like the police knew exactly when to attack, when the desperate crowd would be disorganized, when they would be easy prey... anyways 😛

2. That weird af phone call

Now that we have established that there would be a lot of interest on the police's part to have Cyrus killed, let's move on to the next topic.

Suddenly, without any further context or this being ever mentioned again, Luther talks to *someone* on the telephone. This happens in the album, and in the movie as well, it is not confirmed who the hell Luther was talking to on that phone call. I've already seen some people theorizing that he has contacts inside the force and that he's talking to them, and I agree, but I think he's not talking with some random cop, I believe he's talking to Victor.

Come think with me: how did Luther instantly knew Ajax had been taken by the cops ("Holy shit, Warrior down [...] Picked the wrong fight / now she's in for a long night", I'll talk about this later btw), and most importantly, what exactly was Victor doing at Union Square's station?

Let's compare this approach with Barnes' one at the park.

Barnes was alone in the bench, and only when Ajax approached him (and started beating the shit out of him), he called for police reinforcements. It didn't feel planned, even tho he was trying to bait them to come closer to him, I think it was much more about sexual harassment than him actually intending to arrest them. With Victor, however, it doesn't feel like a random encounter.

"Officers are on the scene". This line repeats a lot during Reunion Square, that alone indicates that there are a group of cops there, like they've been called. They knew the Warriors, specifically the Warriors, would be there, and why was it so important for them to get the Warriors if they're just a "likkle Coney Island crew"? Because Luther would be FUCKED if the Riffs reached them alive.

Of course, the Riffs could just not believe the girls, but he was not willing to risk it — after the phone call, Luther tells Cropsy the Riffs wanted the Warriors alive, but they don't. And he was right, wasn't him? Cleon being alive and telling the Riffs the truth was the only reason for him to be caught and... well, we don't know for sure what they did to him, but we can imagine they weren't gentle.

That being said, we have strong evidence that Luther was in touch with the cops, else he would have no way of knowing Ajax was grounded. And Victor needed a reason to be there as well; not only an informant, but also a motive, and if we consider the theory that he was talking to Luther, we have both things.

3. Trust in the impunity of a daddy's boy

During the entire musical, Luther thinks he can get away with about everything. I atribute that not only to the fact that he's a white man targeting women of color, but he must also have other reasons to believe he's immune to justice of any kind, and there's where I start to try to convince you that he's Victor's son.

I mean, when Cropsy shows that he's worried the Riffs would go after them, Luther, rather ignorantly, responds with "they're looking for the Warriors, remember?" As if the fact that the Riffs are going after the Warriors is enough for him to believe they would never even think about interrogating them, trying to find the murder weapon, etc.

This behavior suits someone that has never been held accountable for any misdeeds at all, and who would fit this description better than a cop's son?

Let alone that Victor is a captain. He holds even MORE power within the police. Being the son of a cop, even if you're a fucking gang member, you'd feel safe enough to do just whatever the fuck you want without even thinking about the consequences.

Like, how many times he could have been caught doing something illegal, just tell the cops "do you know who my father is?" AND IT ACTUALLY WORKING? I firmly believe he was the one to inform the cops about all of this — the gathering, the Warriors' location, and the fact that he needed daddy to arrest the women who could potentially cause something to happen to him, because the Riffs are not the police, they'd not give af abt who his father is, even someone like him would have to be a little worried about being taken by them.

4. Fox & Luther — Parallels

I bet you did not see that one coming. "What do you mean there's something in common between Fox and Luther specifically that makes Victor killing her an interesting parallel with his (supposed) son?"

Well, games. That's kinda it. Old games.

So, there are only two characters that canonically like games in the musical, because they actually mention them: Fox ("A-yo I'll take you on an Odyssey like Magnavox") and Luther (with his multiple references to Pacman during the entire thing and other game expressions, like "I was at the top of the screen when I took that shot")

The Magnavox Odyssey is actually mentioned on the movie (according to my own father. I confess I don't remember this part, but I trust my nerdy father who actually have a connection with old consoles to notice that) by the Lizzies (fem version of the Bizzies), and Fox was not even there at the moment. Actually, movie Fox does not have a lot of... personality, if you ask me, he was kinda irrelevant. Anyways, even if Lin and Eisa wanted to reference this specific part in which the Lizzies offer to play Odyssey with the Warriors to lure them, why not have the Bizzies saying that? Why Fox?

Because that would be a bitter irony in the future. I might be crazy, BUT HEAR ME OUT, Victor killing a young woman that shared his son's interest for games was a foreshadowing for him being responsible for Luther's death as well — because he failed.

This is other thing they share: they failed. Victor failed to stop the Warriors from going home, Luther failed to kill Cyrus and blame the Warriors with no consequences, they failed together at silencing them, and this CAUSED Luther's (probable) death.

5. A gang member who endorses the police?

Ok, this last section is based in my belief that, even tho the crews fight and have their diferences, they all share a common enemy: the cops. That was the reason for them to accept the truce after all, the cops are their common enemy.

But somehow that doesn't feel true for the Rouges.

First of all, they killed Cyrus, which obviously means they were not in favor of the truce. But why? They sure would suffer from police brutality too if they were a normal gang. And we can all agree that they are even more violent than the average gang (I mean... have you listened to their leader?).

Also, this line intrigues me.

I mean, "picked the wrong fight"? It is clear that Luther's view is biased to take the cops' side. In this case, one could argue that his misogyny would play a big part on him diminishing Ajax's will to fight against an abuser. Anyhow, I think that this evidences that, even tho he's a gang member, he has a strong connection with the police.

CONCLUSION

I think we can all agree that Luther has something going on with the police, and I hope I have convinced you that he has something going on with Victor specifically.

It is possible to argue that their connection is only "tactical", or even go as far as to say that they are friends or something (tho, I don't think that's possible. One thing about brats like the Rouges: they don't go well with old people, with all due respect. I don't personally see this working as a friendship), but I'll stand with the father-son relationship till the day I die!!

Thank you for reading this madness and please lmk what you think! If there's something that doesn't make sense, if you have your own theories... I mean, I'm far more invested in this than I ever thought I would be, please give me more content 🙏🙌