#never fails to murder me ;; i love how he can so easily express how much he appreciates ryuu T~T

[tenacquity]

If Kazuma’s impressively confident stride all of a sudden coming to a stop wasn’t enough to incite hesitation in Ryunosuke’s own, then that solitary utterance of his name just as well did the trick. He should’ve been ashamed, the power that voice wielded over him: how Ryunosuke could hear those syllables roll off his partner’s tongue over and over, multiple times a day, in so many situations, and no matter what, they still hit him like a spray off the sea. Shocking, manifesting the jolt in his heart that could be defined as nothing but exhilaration . . . and perhaps a yearning for there to be more. (Coming back full circle on this one, aren’t we?)

The timbre whisking his name out into the air stalled Ryunosuke’s steps just moments before Kazuma took it upon himself to usher them off to the side. Like he was a mere boy in school again, he stood at attention, but said attention was more than just the politeness drilled into him as a child: it came from somewhere else. It came from that deep pit in his stomach where a seed had been planted what felt like ages ago, traveled up the vines that radiated warmth through every gap in his ribcage. And it blossomed there above his heart, open and exposed, wanting . . . waiting for the man who had sowed that seed to say or do anything—

Because after all this time . . . ? After all the two of them had been through and the trials they’d faced both alone and at each other’s side, Ryunosuke had decided he’d never take even another one of Kazuma’s breaths for granted. He wasn’t going to miss a thing.

So he stood there. Obediently still. Devotedly attentive. With the only break in eye contact being that occasional need to blink.

And, indeed, no surprise to anyone, Kazuma knew him better than everyone. Ryunosuke’s lips parted with that inherent urge for modesty, though far from empty and forever a genuine desire to give credit to all the people in his life who had helped him help Kazuma. (Was it odd to say that even Kazuma himself counted? After all, Ryunosuke would not have been able to offer him anything if the headstrong and stubborn man hadn’t at some point allowed it.) But Kazuma countered him before a peep escaped his mouth, leaving Ryunosuke again in silence for a few moments longer.

His fingers instinctively and responsively twitched in Kazuma’s hold, curled tighter between those warm palms as they offered an affectionate squeeze. When Ryunosuke let out an exhale, it came unsteadily . . . though he covered it with a light laugh to hide the real tremble of emotions thrumming through him. (They were standing here in public, after all; no one needed to see the poor little foreigner go weak in the knees.) 

“I’d do it all again,” Ryunosuke said unhesitatingly. “And again. As many times as I need to, in as many ways. I regret that I wasn’t able to help you sooner, Kazuma, as you have always done for me, but . . . now that it’s all come to light, now that I know—” His other hand gripped the hilt of Karuma. “I hope it’ll become easier for you to rely on others. Or at the very least me. Just as long as you want me by your side . . . I’ll be there.”

A smile became fuller on his features, though an unwavering devotion outshined everything else. “Besides, I still have plenty of growing to do myself, plenty I have yet to understand. We can help each other.” Ryunosuke inched closer, lifted his chin with an almost proud and playful air. “How does that sound to you?”

Attuned as he was to Ryunosuke's...well, everything—he sensed the disquiet that ironically led to a prolonged silence. Previous levity slipped from Kazuma's expression the longer it lasted, until he studied that handsome profile with patient concern.

In the calm after the storm, for the first time since the incident aboard the SS Burya, Kazuma felt right again. Thus, one could imagine his surprise when the very person who was the source of so much of that comfort called it all into question. Two little words formed a would-be innocuous question, if not for all they'd been through since their departure from Japan. If not for all that Kazuma's own actions had put them through. His steps drew to a pause.

"Ryunosuke." The utterance held the same confounding amalgamation of untold strength and debilitating weakness that Kazuma always felt in his partner's presence: firm with resolve, yet so tender. Unhesitatingly, he tugged Ryunosuke aside so the pair stood on one edge of the sidewalk to allow other Londoners to pass by. Yet even if the Queen herself had strolled past in that moment, Kazuma's gaze couldn't have been persuaded away.

"Surely you must know that I already have—and I owe a great deal of that to you." Now standing opposite, Kazuma held his hands in both of his own. "In my blind thirst for justice, I would have condemned another innocent man while the true culprit walked free. It's because of you that Lord Stronghart will pay for his crimes."

But he knew Ryunosuke: how he was blind to the profound effect he had on those who shared their lives with him. "Don't try to downplay it," he preemptively scolded before the other could interject, with fondness playing on his lips and a warmth in dark eyes that could never be done justice with mere words. "You're the reason that my father's spirit can finally be at peace, as can I."

A squeeze of his partner's hands affirmed that truth. "The role you played in putting everything to rest...I never would have asked that of you. I spent most of my life preparing to come here, and yet nothing went as I'd planned. I didn't think...I had no idea what it would do to me. Perhaps if I'd known..."

Viscerally, deep in the core of himself, Kazuma was aware of his family's blade at Ryunosuke's side: a reminder of the demons within his heart, born from a lifelong lust for vengeance. But he banished those shadows for now with a shake of his head. "I still have my own actions to atone for, but...If I'm being entirely honest, with my father's name cleared and you by my side, my soul is the most at peace that it has ever been."

[llycaons]

ep28 (1/2): jc comb L

I burned out most of my allocated images in this first conversation because !!! it's EVERYTHING!!!

well first of all wwx saying that not living up to his promises would impact his reputation is hilariously ironic given the situation, and he knows it. but jc is not messing around

I've said before he's easily manipulated and not a great political mind, and I stand by that, but he's got a decent grasp of the situation here honestly, and this cnversation is so painful and emotional because they both care so much but they can't get around their differences. I don't even think there was much miscommunication. but I'm getting ahead of myself

yeah he noticed. also sorry for getting that shot of wwx. my bad, man

and here's the kicker. jc and wwx are in agreement here. jc says 'this is dangerous, you have to completely stop this or else they'll find a pretext to kill you'

and wwx counters with 'if these people are doomed, I have to stay with them because there's no other way to protect them' and jc says 'WHY DO YOU CARE ABOUT PROTECTING THEM'

and wwx gets so mad at that he doesn't even deign to emphasize 'murdering innocent people is wrong' because...obviously

jc says keep your head down! this is a lost cause! nobody will help you or support you!

the barehanded sword grasp oof

and this is honestly jc's most iconic monologue (?)

like he kind of gets is. he understand the trials that wwx is facing. he's just unwilling to face them with him. he's a pessimist, and has no genuine moral compass.

I actually don't judge him too harshly for these choices until postcanon, until we see how entrenched he's become in this position. he never once expresses regret for deciding that turning over the wens was the right choice. he never reflects on his behavior. he fails to take responsibility for the role he took in this. too insecure, too traumatized, too fragile, too grief-stricken to look inward. he bears some of the blame for what happened and he knows it but he's too burnt out on his own losses to care

and wwx goes FINE! then I'll do it alone! because jc is right, this is doomed. but wwx is also right, he can't just abandon these people

this is the line that kills me. bc it's clear how painful this is and it's clear that jc wants to protect wwx but he just doesn't see a way he can. not the imaginative type. but this is as clear communication as we can get

another strike to the heart! wwx loves his family and his home so much! he's not doing this because he wants to!

but even if these were all total strangers he'd do the same. ugh he was too good for this world

now that is a very hurtful thing to say, jc. you know what your mom was like

THEY ARE BOTH CRYING??? I NEVER NOTICED

we get a shot of jc in his pjs with his little sleeping boots (?) and he doesn't have a blanket. anyway

very very funny that jc asks wq why she didn;t come to him and she was like 'well would you have HELPED me' and he can't even say that he would have. WHY DID YOU OFFER THEN. in his mind he's like 'of course wwx did exactly what she needed because he's better than me,,,,he just HAS to be a hero....the woman I love likes him better and he doesn't even care bc he's gay...fml'

not haunted by the people there he wants to condemn to death, but by his own failures and inadequacies. he really is quite a self-centered character and it boggles the mind that he's portrayed as anything else. I mean in his essential characterization, not one-offs

missed the shot but there are truly so many fucking candles in this place. aren't they worries about wasting them

HE'S SAYING HOW MUCH IT HURTS 😭

wwx playing rest out in the night in his iconic outfit....love it

[togesbunny]

kazutora x reader

warnings: feelings of guilt, spoilers, breeding kink (?), fluff

you feel as though you’re betraying mikey. sleeping with kazutora is sleeping with the enemy and knowing this never fails to make you feel any less guilty. especially when he’s your dead brother’s murderer and has been trying to kill your only living brother.

so you pray, pray that shinichirou will forgive you for letting his murderer fuck you, love you. you hope that if mikey were to ever find out about this... situation he’d forgive you as well.

regardless of praying, of hoping, and of the guilt eating you alive—you simply cannot leave kazutora. and you genuinely hope your siblings will understand. you love kazutora so much that leaving him seems to be impossible.

you’re addicted to him, the taste of him, the scent of him, and everything about him. you can’t help but find yourself in his arms every time, underneath him with your legs wrapped around his shoulders as he fucks into your sloppy cunt desperately.

“fuck, angel” kazutora groaned. “you’re such a dirty little slut.”

god, you were. a dirty whore who is letting a bad man like kazutora fuck you like this. but you don’t care not when he’s making you feel this good. not when all you can think about is how deep his cock is inside of you.

“k-kazu— daddy!” You hiccup, pussy fluttering around his cock that’s hitting all the right places.

“mikey would be so pissed if he saw me fucking you like this.” kazutora laughed, hips snapping against your ass with his cock digging deeper into your pussy. his cock throbbed at the thought of mikey walking into the two of you in this lewd position.

the sane, good side of him felt a tiny bit of guilt knowing that he’s ruining another sano sibling. however, the cruel, fucked up side of him didn’t give a shit—not when you were the one asking for this. it’s your own damn fault for begging him to fuck you, breed you with his fat cock.

he’s the only one who truly knows how depraved you are, how much of a desperate slut you truly are. the only one to know that the good, innocent angel you make yourself out to be is really just an act.

“daddy,” you whined, nails digging deep into the skin of his back. He thumbed your clit harshly as he slams his hips roughly against yours, groaning as he finally bottomed out, cock throbbing and twitching inside of you before spilling his milky seed one last time. You shudder underneath him as you clenched your teary eyes, nearly screaming his name, pussy spasming around his cock. The both of you bask in each other’s warmth, chests rising from mere exhaustion.

he carefully laid on top of you, pressing his ear against your chest where he can hear your heartbeat. it’s his favorite sound (besides your sweet moans, of course.) it’s proof that you’re still here, breathing. you hesitantly scratched his scalp and let out a tired sigh while a smile forms on your lips as you noticed how relaxed he is.

(he’s normally anxious and often fidgeting with his hands around you.)

“ne, kazu-kun?”

“hm?” drowsy, sandy eyes briefly glance at you before looking away anxiously.

“do you love me?”

there’s silence for a few seconds and you can easily tell he’s flustered from the way he hides his face into your neck, his ears flushed pink. you simply giggle because you already know the answer.

“...of course I do, you already know that.” he mumbled shyly.

he doesn’t have to look to know that you’re beaming at him with that happy look in your eyes. you have that same expression you give him when he takes you out on dates. and when you’re looking at the dumb cat plushie he won for you at the festival because you wanted it so bad.

[leaky-pen]

Ok this was requested so here i am going wild:

First of all. The names for all of them are so perfect . I am a huge lover of puns and just funny sounding words in general so all of these have amused me so much.

I also adore how silly some of these are. I feel like compared to pokemon these are allowed to just be silly/goofy. Like yeah we've got silly pokemon but these just hit different.

Also sorry this took so long i kept getting distracted

So let's just do this in order ig.

Fondude: Literally love its expression. that is such a lil guy who is up to some mischief. You will probably hear this so many times i'll sound like a broken record by the end but it's name is also just so immensely entertaining to me. It do be a lil cheesy dude. The smile is so funny to me it looks like it would jaywalk.

Fonduo. I told you it looked it wold commit crimes and now it has. Also the name. So simple yet so perfect again. Its now two of em so its a duo. The way one of em is just stabbing the other? Kinda morbid but in the funny way. Like yes ur honor my client may have murdered a man but in his defense it was funny. And the expression on the stabbed one is so funny to me. Maybe i just suck at reading facial expressions( i mean i do) but he doesnt even seem in pain as much as just inconvenienced.

Meltitude: why do i love all of these names so much i am so easily amused. I've always had a soft spot for designs that are just a bunch of smaller things horribly fused. maybe it's just cuz i;m a fan of body horror but even in the most cartoony forms it never fails to satisfy me. Amalgamations from Undertale and that one enemy from Diablo 3 my beloveds. Love how it still has the hat but its now way too small for the creature as a whole. And is that the two little prongs of the fork sticking out? Has it just been near completely absorbed? Cuz that's great if so. Also looks incredibly deadly but that might be the lactose intolerance speaking.

Dubberuck. The name. That honking name. It is so fun to say out loud. That is like peak vocal stim material right there. It is such an amusing set of syllables. And look at it. Its a lil rubber ducky. With 2 heads. I love it. This thing is a peak lifeform. I want one irl.

Kadayadak: Aaaaa! The name is a palindrome! And it's design is the visual equivalent of a palindrome! And it's still a ducky!!! I wonder if this thing is big enough to ride on...? I want one of these as well i am literally on love. Its so cute!

Bubeloon: This thing. This adorable goofy lil thing. I love it's face so much. Look at its mouth. I can practically hear the goofy noise it seems to be making. And it's a lil pufferfish! Also kinda looks like one of those sea mines which i think is intentional? But yeah those mines kinda look like underwater balloons which fits with the name. Either way i think its positively adorkable. I love its sharp lil teeth.

Zeppeloon: Another name i love. I mean i just like the way zeppelin sounds already so makes sense i would like this as well. And i simply adore the concept of something like blimp being mashed with a wale and i'm surprised i haven't seen it done yet. I mean blimps are just like sky wales huh? Both are massive and float around in their respective environment.

Isopo?e: I actually cannot read what that one letter is.. uh that's on me i don't do well w anything other than typed text. But this thing. I want a line of fruit snacks shaped like it because that sounds like an untapped market. This thing is so cute. It is a lil isopod! it's just round and adorable. Idk what the size of it would be but i wanna be the kind of villain that spins around in my chair to face the hero but instead of a cat i'm just petting one of those things in my lap. I know we already have an isopod pokemon(and i adore it) but listen i love isopods and you can never have enough funny lil creatures. This thing is so round and friend shaped.

Kaisopod: I actually really like this thing. Like i cannot pinpoint what exactly it is that draws me to it other than my love of isopods but this is probs one of my favs from all of these. I love all of the legs. If this thing was big enough to ride on like a horse i want one. But i can also picture one being like moderately sized and you look out of your window at night just to see a huge gathering of them just scuttling across the empty streets. Would be really cool but also kinda spooky i bet. But like it an epic way.

Inseparapod: maybe its just cuz im in my splatoon era(yeah if the shiver pfp didnt clue ya in already) but i love octopi. They are genuinely such cool animals. And look at these lil things. And the as always the name is so good.

Octangle: Another top tier name and it feels like such a natural progression from the previous phase. If i was playing a game with these and my Inseperapod evolved into this i would genuinely laugh out loud. It is so funny. I would name it linguini and cherish it forever.

Uturnip: took me embarrassingly long to get the joke but i love this thing. Look at it scamper. I love this li thing. And not something i would EVER think to design. Its so novel and fun. And i love the way it was executed its so cute.

Daicone: Another concept i would never think of in a million years but still works. I love its lil face its got such big eyes. I don't have much to say like it just works.

Mareenghareta: I don't think i spelt that right but i'm too lazy to go double check. Anyway. Pizza fish?? Pizza fish. I love this thing. This would be another thing i want a plush of. Look at its silly little face. I ADORE this thing.

Tropizza: Not to be that person but pineapple does NOT belong on pizza. But i will make an exception for this guy as he is adorable. I love the shape/silhouette of it with the pineapple tail.

Dabberonni: I can confirm that i WOULD die for this thing. It would make such an epic blanket design btw. Anyway just like. Look at this thing. It's one of my favorites out of all of these stunning designs. I literally love its face. I could stare at this thing for hours.

Ok split this up so tumblr would stop yelling at me cuz of the however many character limit per block thing ig

Counterpillar: took me a second to try and guess what the concept was but i think its one of those lil thin things with all the discs on it you use to count with? like a single row of an abacus? I'm not fully sure still. If that is the design tho i love it. Might just be my love of the way bugs look talking again but this thing is so cute. Its so simple but so well executed.

Fortoon: i always had a love for cocoon shaped pokemon just because the idea of them were always hilarious. And this thing is all that and more. It is 5 steps above what metapod could ever be. It's a lil dice!! its a cube!!! Its so adorable

Blufferfly: took me a second to get the name cuz im a lil stupid but once i did i was in love. This is probably another one of my favorites. Its so simple but so wonderful. Its a butterfly with cards for wings. Its just that but it works SO unbelievably well. Its design just resonates with me like its so good. I dont even know what to say like i just love it.

Coboom: the first one i don't quite grasp. Still think its funny looking. I like it :)

Cocoboom: Explosives are just inherently funny. Have you ever seen cartoons? And this ones a pun so +100 points.

Combat: this was the only one that made me actually laugh out loud when i saw it. Like yeah some of the others were really amusing but this one made me straight up spit tea on my laptop screen. It is just so unbelievably amusing to me. Combat. Combat bat. Its just a bat with boxing gloves on. Funniest thing ive ever seen.

Upperkite: Its also really good. I know i say this for all of em but the names are so good. Its got more arms no which equals more punching. Which is great.

Elasteal: I love this thing. Its little face is full of such kindness.

Sealastic: Another one of my favorites. I just don't even know how to explain it but it fills me with such joy. It looks like a gummy worm ad i love it for that.

Crustatic: Another anther favorite. This thing is easily top 3. I love it so much design wise. Like i just love it so much i don't even have words its so good. I want to hand it sticks and watch it break them. I hope it will be my new best friend. I want to pick it up and hug it. I will feed it treats and love it forever.

Squeep: Do i even need to say anything? In a word: Squeep. But fr this thing is so amusing. I don't even know what squeep means but like yeah it sure is a squeep. I love it.

So yeah basically i was not kidding when i said the tags would have been a mile long if i wrote it all out. And yeah basically i literally love all of these so much. Thank you so much op for blessing my eyes with these.

okay so fun fact several months back i was brainstorming a game concept (basically: a pokémon clone, but with sillier types like cheese type or bone type, and battles are more like earthbound style, being up to 4v4 by default. also the creatures are called jankies (singular janky)) and designed a bunch of them together with a friend

our magnum opus is this one

[missinghan]

cold sun ⤖ han jisung

❖ genre : soulmate au; fluff; angst

❖ word count : 2,6k.

❖ warning : slight swearing

❖ summary : in a world where one will lose something if their soulmate doesn’t reciprocate their words of love once they turn sixteen, jisung is willing to take the risk so you won’t have to bear the burden.

❖ note : i just realized how i always tend to write for jisung when i'm down :')) anywho this piece is a little different than what i usually come up with but i hope y'all enjoy it ♡

It’s the first day of the week.

“Hey, Y/N. I like you!”

And Han Jisung is really annoying.

Those words come out so easily. It's casual in a way that makes you bury your red nose deeper into the soft fabric of your scarf, which makes your footsteps quicken unknowingly as his voice chases after you loudly. Either way, this isn’t the first time Jisung has said so. In fact, it’s become a habit for him to remind you every other day.

There’s no particular reason why. Or at least that’s what you think.

It’s the end of the week. Jisung decides to hang himself upside down on your bed while you’re stressing over a presentation. “Hey, Y/N.” A cold winter breeze comes rushing against the perplexing glass of your window, shaking the frame violently before all motions come to silence.

Until, “Y/N, Y/N, Y/N,” he creeps up from behind you and chirps into your ear.

“What?” you let out a groan of displease when tempting warmth embraces you whole, prompting you to drop your attention and looking over your shoulder.

Jisung pouts, “You didn’t answer me.”

“It’s because you’re annoying,” you sigh.

“Answer me when I call your name,” he pulls you in a fraction tighter, careful enough not to hurt you but firm to not let you slip away at the same time, and cradles your neck warmly, “So I’d know that you’re still here with me.”

“Alright, stupid.”

The all too familiar gummy smile returns instantly. “Hey, Y/N?”

And you can’t help but roll your eyes. “Yes, Jisung?”

“I like you,” he giggles into the hug, “I like you a lot.”

Han Jisung really is annoying.

He’s annoying because he talks too much. He’s annoying because of how he always asks for your notes after a gaming night with Felix just to nap in class. He’s annoying because he’d drop you in a heartbeat for a single slice of cheesecake from Jeongin’s mom’s bakery. He’s annoying because of how well he can get along with everyone.

Chatty, down-to-earth, easy-going with a lovable smile—attractive, very attractive.

It’s the week after that. “What...happened?”

“He lost his voice,” Jeongin sighs, looking like he genuinely wants to facepalm himself against concrete while walking with an incoherent Jisung to school; expressive hands with his mouth agape and all.

You tilt your head, “...for real?”

“For real.”

After a few seconds of eyeing Jisung struggling with converting what’s in his head, you exhale deeply and quickly rummage through your backpack, “Just stop, you look ridiculous.” And he does just that, zipping his mouth metaphorically and giving you those typical puppy eyes. “Here, use this.”

His eyes light up like stars when you rip off a page from one of your notebooks and offer it to him along with a pen. Truth is, you’re expecting something as predictable as ‘I like you’ or ‘It’s alright it’s just the worst cold I’ve ever caught’. But then, what’s displayed on the piece of paper right now only baffles you.

Park is going to murder you if he sees some uglyass tear in your Ochem notes :)

A forced grin splits your lips open. “Not if I murdered you first and then the entire school and then myself.”

The first genuine smile blossoms on his lips when you give him a mini-sized notepad and pencil the day after—his sixteenth birthday.

And Jisung decides this is it.

It happens when the sun hasn’t even come out yet and the irritating blue light from his phone reads 5:32 AM.

It happens when he sees your reclined figure leaning back against his mattress, his pupils tracing your delicate features. Perplexed emotions fill his eyes to the brim, fulfillment bursting within his chest when you stare right back at him with such purity. So pure that it seems you can do no harm to him and neither can he.

“Hey stupid,” you murmur quietly, shoving a notepad and pencil against his chest, “Happy birthday.”

Jisung gives you a bright smile, opens his mouth, and snaps it close mere moments later. Sixteenth birthday. Early in the morning. Tired grins. The fondness of being so disgustingly in love.

He can’t help but lean in and caves into the taste his soul has longed for as long as he can remember.

Two weeks have passed since Jisung has lost his voice.

Nothing has differed if you’re being completely honest. Han Jisung is still annoying. His lack of ability to speak doesn’t appear to be a problem to him at all. He loves chatting with people even though he’s more of a listener now. But with the small notepad you gave him a few days ago, being socially active is the norm for him even now.

Thanks to his rather short-period experiences of observing people’s expressions and how their features contort in certain ways when they’re feeling certain emotions, Jisung catches onto your mood more quickly during bad days to help you release your inner turmoil by scribbling down something stupid on the notepad. It’s kinda nice like this, you’d think to yourself sometimes.

Other times, you’re more scared that you might have forgotten what his voice sounds like.

“No wonder you got a fucking cold. Stop taking midnight showers already.”

You wave Jisung over when he closes the wooden door to your bedroom, droplets dripping from his hair as he scratches his stomach tiredly. His hair is a mess when he lazily crawls onto your bed, the cushion beside you dips slightly.

His index finger pointing at his post-shower head and a shit-eating grin are all you need to snatch the white towel around his neck.

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed,” you mumble while rubbing the cotton fabric into his hair, “But you’re awfully upbeat for someone who’s lost their voice. Can’t you at least pretend to be sad about it?”

A noise of protest escapes his throat like second nature as your eyes carefully read the quick movements of his mouth. “And can you not be so mean to someone who’s lost their voice?”

A faint smirk creeps its way up to your lips. “Still like me now?”

Jisung thinks hard for a few moments before jumping out of bed to snatch his notepad from your studying area. Of course, I like you. I like you a lot. Your heartbeat momentarily spikes at his scrawny handwriting. Just when your gaze is averted away to cool the blush on your cheeks, he tugs at your sleeve again and points at a different mess of scribbles. You’re more gentle when I’m like this. And you’d always find me if I ever got into trouble. What’s there for me to be sad about?

“Annoying little shit,” you swallow your pride and let him settle his head against your chest.

His presence melts into yours during the hardest hours of the twenty-four, heartbeats on heartbeats and warmth on warmth. Your one regret is that you’re unable to register his tears that night, only the incoherent, breathless hiccups almost as to desperately call out your name.

It’s been a month since Jisung’s lost his voice. And the night when he kisses you for the second time, his notepad is long forgotten next to your pillow.

I-can’t-talk. Give-me-a-break.

Jeongin. Cheesecake. Please? Pretty please?

I’ll fucking kick you.

Wait, there’s homework?!

...so you’re telling me LMAO isn’t how French people laugh?

“This is what you’ve been doing during breaks huh…” you mumble under your breath while lazily flipping through the papers. The occasional ‘I like you’-s do pop up every two pages or so, which is more than enough to make you smile like an idiot. But that is until a peculiar paragraph yanks your attention by its neck and tosses it against a brick wall.

Mom, promise me you’re not going to cry.

He made auntie cry?!

I lost my voice for real now but it wasn’t supposed to be like that at first. I just wanted to mess with Y/N and freak her out for a day.

I’m seriously going to punch him.

She was a lot softer toward me after that, you know. I know it’s extremely selfish of me but I just can’t help being so happy. I’m sorry, mom. I really am.

Han Jisung you fucking idiot.

I was going to surprise her on my birthday by saying ‘good morning’ out loud but nothing came out. My voice was gone.

Guilt, anger, remorse take over you. You knew nothing of this. You never once questioned for a logical reason behind the loss of his voice and kept moving onward as if it’s not that big of a deal. You didn’t suspect it as a kind of prank, either. But you still care, all this time! You have been doing everything in your power as a way for both you and Jisung to treasure himself even if he can’t speak anymore.

I went to a check-up last week. Nothing came up. I’m sorry. Please don’t cry.

However, without fail, the obnoxious part of you will keep wandering back to the concept of soulmates that has been engraved so deeply into the society you’re living in. It makes no sense to you that Jisung lost his voice for no reason right before his sixteenth birthday. This explains it all now.

It’s going to be okay, mom. Because I have Y/N. I know she would come running toward my side over and over again even if she can’t hear me anymore. I really don’t know what I’d do without her in my life.

Jisung knew the penalty for being the first to exchange any words of love yet he still did it. And you were too busy overlooking that stupid pride of yours to say those three words back.

It’s getting to the point where I’m starting to forget what I used to sound like. I’m sorry. Please don’t cry.

Jisung fixes the strap of his backpack, looking up at his mom after slipping into his sneakers. She ruffles his bed head and hands him a small white box with Jeongin’s bakery’s signature logo on it.

He tilts his head in faint confusion, peering at the box of pastry in his arms.

“Give it to Y/N on the bus, okay? Her parents aren’t home right now. You know how she would always skip breakfast when they’re out of town.”

His eyes light up instantly in realization and Jisung nods, preparing to bid her farewell. Just then, his front door comes flying open. It can’t be a mere acquaintance because there are very few people other than his parents and himself who know of the spare key hidden under the welcome mat.

As Jisung turns around, he’s keenly aware of your teary eyes already trained on him. Which in hindsight, makes no sense. As a result, panic rises within the hollowness of his chest, his lips falling agape but no coherent words come out.

“Y/N, sweetheart,” his mom flinches, slightly caught off guard, “Is everything okay?”

A scowl stretches over your contorted features as you shut the door loudly. “What the hell is this?” you question, shoving the familiar notepad into his chest. “A prank? A prank?! Do you think that this is funny?”

Jisung’s frantic eyes move to read the paper and every single color on his face drains tremendously. He easily recognizes the peculiar paragraph by how much lighter the ink is compared to the rest of the messy lines because his pen was running low and his hand couldn’t stop shaking.

Your voice.

His eyes avert back to look at you. His brows furrow timidly and shaky breaths burst from his lips almost like a desperate cry for help. There’s too much he wants to say, too many things to explain, and too many questions running through his head that he can’t process what to do next. He might just overwhelm both you and himself.

I need to hear it again.

And you might not stay by his side this time.

“Okay, don’t answer me then, I guess,” you chuckle lowly, dipping your head and turning around.

Jisung grabs at your sleeve instinctively and drops the pastry box, his gaze empty and all too knowing. Sorrow glazes over his starry eyes when it starts becoming hard to breathe properly. The outlines of his lips are moving non-stop yet nothing comes following after that.

“I don’t know what you’re saying,” you rasp out and tug at his hand. Then it hits you. He’s like this because of you. Jisung lost his voice because of you.

His mom cuts into the conversation, “Y/N, you don’t understand!”

“I’m sorry, auntie,” you smile sadly and take off running into the streets.

You, in the midst of your self-loathing and guilt, allow your feet to go wherever they want as your vision spirals into a blur. A single droplet threatens to fall when a forceful hand yanks you back to reality.

It takes Jisung a moment to regain his regular breathing pace. And when he finally gets it, all he can do is call out to you with the same inaudible sounds and the same desperation in his eyes. It seems as though he’s fully aware that the prank was the stupidest, most irrational thing he’s ever done. But there’s more to the ocean within his eyes than just remorse.

“I already told you,” you clench your jaw and slap his hand away, “I don’t fucking know what you’re saying!”

A deep sigh. “Why am I mad? Of course, I’d be mad! It’s because of me that you lost your voice! It’s because I like you, too! Yet I never said it back… You lost your voice because of me! Don't you get it? Why can't you just hate me for the sake of it?!”

You miss his voice. You miss it a lot.

You want to hear it again. You want to hear him call you by your name. You want to stay up late and talk about anything to the ends of the Earth and back with him. You want him to be the obnoxious, chatty Han Jisung you've always known.

You miss how annoyingly loud he is.

“Y-Y...Y/N…!”

Jisung collapses onto his knees, a hand on concrete while the other is on his neck. His chest rises and falls unevenly, muffled noises of discomfort echoing deep down from his throat. Despite that, what you heard just now, is his voice.

“Answer me when I call your name. So I’d know that you’re still here with me.”

“I promised you, didn’t I,” you spread your arms and smile warmly, “That I’d always answer when you call my name. As long as I can still hear you, I will come running toward you over and over again. Doesn’t matter what it takes, doesn’t matter where you are.”

Jisung lifts his head and tears come rolling down on his cheeks. His throat feels swollen when he stutters with difficulties, trying to convey what’s in his head, “Y-Y/N, don’t- don’t go! Please don’t leave me...!”

“Come here,” you close your eyes with the widest grin on your lips, “I’m not going anywhere.”

Only when Jisung grows closer and throws his arms around you, sobbing into your uniform do you convince yourself that all of this isn’t a hallucination. The hug is a lot stronger than what you’d expect. First of all, you nearly fell over from the impact and your arms are pinned so tightly to your sides that you feel like your ribs are going to snap.

Everything is so overwhelming that all you can say is, “Ow.”

“Sorry,” he mumbles into your hair and loosens his arms a bit so you can loop your hands to the nape of his neck and hair.

“You’re so annoying, Han Jisung.”

He purses his lips, sniffling, “You tried to make me snap on purpose. Meanie.”

You quirk a playful brow, “Still like me now?”

“Yeah,” Jisung smiles, “A lot.”

Because he knows that he has you. Until every last star in the galaxy explodes as a supernova, Jisung has you.

[always-andromeda]

my thoughts on velvet buzzsaw (2019)

non-spoiler section!!

Right off the bat I'm going to say that I was genuinely excited within the first ten minutes of starting this one. The setting is one that I'm fairly familiar with and the entire set-up is perfect for lots of commentary on the art world and commerce.

However, it was somewhat disappointing by the end. This movie is labelled as a horror movie? But I never found it particularly scary or even simply unsettling? While I still enjoyed watching it, the entire time I was thinking about how it could've been made into so much more. While it was entertaining, it was nothing incredibly special. Velvet Buzzsaw is a movie that tries very hard to say something meaningful but doesn't quite make it.

my final thoughts:

A solid 6/10 movie. I would recommend it if you lower your expectations; don't go into it expecting intelligent commentary or effective uses of horror. It's just a good goofy watch and Jake is wonderful in it.

Morf Vandewalt, my beloved 💗✨

❗️spoiler section under the cut❗️

Velvet Buzzsaw was a very conflicting watch for me. On one side, I liked the concept and the characters but hated the execution of it all. Each character is distinct and vividly played, which I think is vital for movies like these where basically everyone dies. But there's never really a clear purpose for these caricatures other than haha, art snobs are funny! Which, they are, don’t get me wrong. But like…that’s such a surface level thing to pick at?

I read an article from the director where he talked about his inspiration for the film. It seems that he went into the movie with the intent of showing how dangerous it can be to view art as more of a commodity than an expression of someone's soul. And that is a worthy subject to explore. The idea of the spirit of a tortured artist going after the people who strive to exploit his pain? Interesting. But the movie never really says anything profound about this. It just tells you, hey, this artist was fucked up!!!! Guess the art is just gonna murder people now lmao.

Any bits of actual horror is extremely underwhelming. For example, they say once that the artist literally mixed his own blood into the paintings? And they completely gloss over that and move on. EXCUSE ME, WHAT? THAT COULD BE SO HORRIFYING TO EXPLORE?? BUT THEN THEY DIDN’T. Even the death scenes…the only one that really resonated with me was Gretchen’s. But that’s only because of how people reacted to her body once she was found. The rest of the deaths are pretty underwhelming.

There’s so much that could’ve been done with this concept. Because the director is right! I think a modern art museum is such an interesting setting for a horror movie. There’s such an idea of art coming from pain and pain being profitable. Because humans love dissecting the human experience, the more gruesome the better, typically. And here you have all of these characters that get too wrapped up in commodifying art. None of the characters are allowed to grow from these failings. Which is fine in a normal slasher. But this movie acts as if it’s an elevated horror. It just seems very confused about whether it wants to be a goofy horror movie or something profound.

Now that I’ve gotten my complaining done, I’ll talk about my favorite parts. First and foremost being Jake Gyllenhaal. With all of my biases removed, this man put his entire ass into playing Morf and you can tell. He’s easily the best realized character and I am absolutely disappointed that he wasn’t allowed to make it through the movie. #JusticeForMorf

Honorable mentions: John Malkovitch as Piers, Toni Collette as Gretchen, and Zawe Ashton as Josephina. They absolutely understood the assignment and I loved their performances. I almost wish there was a little more of John Malkovitch specifically because his portrayal of Piers was so intriguing? He plays an aging artist who seems to be having trouble keeping up with the modern art scene and seeing how jaded he is in the face of the commercialism was so interesting and I wish there was more of it.

Overall…this was such a painfully mediocre watch? I was entertained enough, but I wish it had pushed the envelope. I wish this was a movie that earned the pretentiousness that it uses. Extra props, however, for giving me a brand new Jake Gyllenhaal character that I am in love with. ❤️🥰

[minkdelovely]

GOOD FUCKING MORNINGGG CHERISHED ONES.

A WHIRLWIND.

AN ABSOLUTE FUCKING WHIRLWIND HAZEL.

I ONCE AGAIN HUMBLE MYSELF AND BOW BEFORE YOUR ALTAR 😮‍💨🙏🏻❤️‍🔥

…also… are my eyes deceiving me or did you just tease some RADIODUST??? 🫠🫠🫠

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧     ✧     ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

He was staring off in front of him. “For putting you in danger before. In the park. I am sincerely sorry.”

…I am SINCERELY in love

Every bad feeling that night had brought you had been carried away by good morning kisses and gentle words before sleep. Nearly every night was spent in his bed, Alastor dropping you off at your apartment when he went downtown for work.

THEIR DOMESTICITY IS GONNA RUIN MEEEE 🫠🫠🫠

Tough act for a woman who jumped up to pour some man’s coffee.

SAME???

His hand slipped onto your thigh, expression softening before his own smile grew again, “Don’t lie to my face so easily. I am very special, we can all agree.”

how many times do I have to tell you: STOP IT 😌🫠

Alastor crumpled against his steering wheel momentarily, your words cutting his heart open in a most wonderful way. He could never have predicted getting kisses before beginning his dark work. What had he done to deserve this? Perhaps proof someone in hell was in full support of his actions. Straightening his back and checking his hair and glasses in the mirror, he flashed you a smile before slipping out of the car.

THE JUXTAPOSITION IS WHAT I’M HERE FOR ❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥

Crawling into the driver’s seat, you tried to remember what he had taught you. How to get it started up, how to make it go backwards. How to make it go, in general. You’d never driven a car. Well, not until Alastor insisted on teaching you. Driving up and down the long stretch of road he lived on, Alastor white knuckling the door handle as you jerked the car forward with every failed shift. You had started on his land, but he feared for his home's safety with you behind the wheel.

SOBBING. I AM SOBBING 😩🫠

“No, the issue isn’t the stealin’. It’s what he does with the people with,” he had been delicate as he said it, taking another long sip of whiskey, “other things of value. And the fact this man has no need to steal. It’s ridiculous! His family has been land ownin’ and well off for generations.” Alastor was always impassioned when discussing the things he hated, even when slipping into drunkenness. His accent came through when he had too much to drink, his real accent. The accent his mother had. “You robbed men for power balance, for their assumptions you were easy to manipulate to begin with. He? Uh, Him? He’s just a piece of shit. He thinks he’s better than everyone else. And no one would report him ‘cause his family name.”

ETCHING THIS INTO THE BACK OF MY EYELIDS SO I ALWAYS HAVE IT WITH ME

His drink spilled a little, when you had offered to clean it he just slipped the button up off. He lost his usual classy air as the bottle emptied. Which you actually liked.

AGAIN I SAY: SAME

It would be nice. It was nice. Because Alastor couldn’t wait for God to make the world his mother mentioned. He grinned ear to ear, gloves a second skin, as the man crawled backwards in the grass like an animal cornered.

😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨 our boy is gorgeous and haunting

He wished he had many arms, as many as he could imagine, to slash and tear in tandem.

THE WAY I FUCKING GASPED. HAZELLLL 🫠🙏🏻

Alastor’s smile softened slightly, remembering tossing you a wallet once before.

HE’S SO IN LOVE IT CUTS THROUGH THE FOG OF MURDEROUS INTENT 🥲

Alastor grabbed your face with both wrists, hands bloody and one still holding the knife, and kissed you when he’d flagged you down.

I WANT IT

“No, just happy to see you.” A mischievous grin that made your knees weak, his body shimmied closer until he was pressed against you, stealing another kiss. His arms stretched out to keep from bloodying you. Your fingers slid up his cheeks to return the kiss. “Thank you, dear.”

it’s too early for me to be such a mess 🫠🫠🫠

What would you do if you didn’t have any reaction at all?

UGHHH THIS GOT ME GOOD

You grabbed the aprons from the wall hooks, Alastor letting you slip it over his head and tie it for him. “Why so tight?” || “I like the way it makes your waist look.” You’d seen him wear it when making biscuits. It made his shape so clear. It reminded you of watching water drip down his sides and roll off his hips in the shower.

I’M GONNA CHEW MY FUCKING ARM OFF

He beamed, “I’m listening. What exactly do you like about my waist?” Sharp brows raised as that friendly tongue peeked out at you.

MY EYES ARE WATERING JESUS CHRIST

Shaking your head, you set down the next item for him to inspect, “Nothing. You’re just so cute when you’re talking about your passions. Your face lights up from the inside out.”

I WANT TO DEVOUR HIS GENUINE FEELINGS LIKE POPCORN

His breath hitched, smile actually lost as he processed every syllable. Your turn now to notice him staring as you looked up from your work. You recognized that look though, the wide eyes and serious lips. The air of the kitchen felt like the atmosphere before a thunderstorm rolled in.

OH FUCK

“Come here.” He nodded his head to space in front of him. The way he said it, that tone, made your heart begin to skip beats.

OHHH FUCK

You slid between him and the table, Alastor lifting you up with a startling ease and setting you onto cool wood. Kicking your legs a little, you set nervous hands onto your lap. You wanted to touch him. To pull him by the apron straps into you.

OHHHHH FUCK

“Why is your idea of right the same as my idea of the truth?” You could feel the grin. Sighing into your ear, down your neck, his hands grabbed your hips and pulled you off the table enough to press your core into his clothed erection.

THEY CAN’T STOP FLIRTING WITH EACH OTHER IT’S INSANEEEE

“I won’t be letting you get far enough away from me for that to be a problem.”

BRB CALLING AN AMBULANCE

Not a single soul. Why did it feel like this was all you ever needed? Eyes closed and lips on lips, hands in his hair, it felt like you’d been holding your breath all of your life. His body on yours was a gasp of air.

THE YEARNING IS REACHING CRITICAL PEAKS OMGGG 🫠

So when your tongue swiped up his lips, he moaned as he opened for you. Not because he was new to kissing someone with so much lust. He’d grown accustomed to the things you did to him. No, because you were a fever that had taken hold of him and your kiss the medicine that soothed his delirium.

SISIDHXJJSSBSSJISSUWHSWJ

His hands pressed flat against the table to balance the deep roll of his hips against you. One of your own fell behind you to keep from falling backwards, the other flung over his shoulder. When you moaned into his cheek he captured the sound with his mouth and slipped his tongue back into you.

OH MY FUCKING GODDDDD

He’d known people to love and not like their partner an ounce, but the way you appreciated his quirks made his heart sing in its brittle cage. You never ceased to see him. The issue with always putting on a show is people tend to be disappointed when the actors become human again.

HAZEL SHAKESPEARE AT IT AGAIN

He dared to think maybe he could inspire more from you. A thought that made him twitch below the belt.

OHHHHH MY GOD 🫠

Closer. He needed you closer. He needed you so near to him that he’d never forget the feeling of being wanted. It’d be imprinted on his chest and his arms and his lips.

TEARS IN MY EYES AGAIN OHHH MY GODDDD

“Are you particularly attached to these panties?” His eyes were looking up and over his glasses.

THE IMAGE THIS CONJURES IN MY MIND’S EYE IS GONNA HAUNT ME FOREVER — THANK YOU FOR YET ANOTHER GIFT MY LOVE

Maybe you two could start another Eden. A pomegranate’s juice the new red staining his skin.

FUCKING GORGEOUSSS

“Oh?” You didn’t have a real question in mind when he tucked the panties into his back pocket. Just a need to express you saw it and didn’t understand it.

I SAID STOP IT

Alastor took your hand and pressed it against his hardened length, eyes locked onto yours with a sharpness to them. But when your hand took hold of him and squeezed, everything softened in his features. Funny how where one area grew stiff another melted.

OH RIGHT… WE���RE STILL IN WARTIME???

He rolled his eyes closed as you finally undid his belt and pants. A struggle you didn’t see, Alastor trying to keep from pouncing on you like a horny virgin. He didn’t want to rut into you, he didn’t need the pleasure. He needed something he couldn’t see or explain. He just knew you held it behind your teeth.

THIS IS ABSOLUTELY FUCKING INSANE YOU REALIZE THAT RIGHT???

He knew better than to talk with his mouth full, so he let two fingers work their way into you with shallow thrusts. Easing you open for him.

JESUS FUCKING CHRIST

“Where’s the fun in that?” His mouth returned to your mound, broad tongue forming a point and finding your clit.

OHHHH MY GODDD

Alastor felt confident everywhere but rarely did he feel comfortable. When your thighs came together and squeezed him at the ears, he felt positively cozy. Would you be so kind as to be his ear muffs come winter? He’d have to remember to ask when his mouth was free. How many cold nights he could now rest assured he would have warmth just a little dive of his head away.

I THINK I’M ON FIRE THANK GOD I QUEUED AN AMBULANCE

The huffs of exhales you were making triggered a moan from him that you felt through your skin. His enjoyment was tripling your pleasure.

MELTING…

Dozens of times before— he truly was a rake in some aspects, though admittedly it was all in the pursuit of avoiding “sex”, as defined by most, not chasing it — he helped a date find release with his tongue. But it never did anything for him. They moaned and said his name and screamed. Which was lovely. Who doesn’t enjoy recognition?

AAAAHHHHHHHHHH!!!!

He felt like an apex predator when killing, tearing open animals made for him to hunt. But you made him feel baser. Prey in your gentle bite.

WEEPING

Ah, he loved when you swore. It punctuated your otherwise preternatural aura with a touch of humanity.

RUTHLESS OHHH MY GOD 🥲

You admired his shape in his apron, his broad shoulders and sharp eyes.

MHMM MHMM MHMM

You wanted to say it. But not now, not like this. You didn’t want Alastor to connect love and sex. To think one was necessary for the other.

HAZELLLLL IT’S TOO PERFECT AND BEAUTIFUL

Close. Finally. You began where he ended, a natural extension of who he was and who he could be. The things he could have. A relieved sigh he didn’t try to hide before he began moving, a moment when his tension could melt. You were both an unseasonably warm autumn day and the cool comforting shade of an unfamiliar tree. Both the heat and the relief.

HAZELANGELO 😩😩😩

Your new favorite place was right in front of him, wherever his line of sight was you wanted to be in it. Nose to nose, heads tilting to recapture soft lips and softer moans.

UGHHHHHH OH MY LORD I CAN’T FUCKING HANDLE IT

“I want the neighbors to hear you.” That smile half cocked across his upsettingly handsome face. His hand slipped between you both to repeat the motions he learned before. Hard and fast, no choice but to raise your voice.

MISCHIEVOUS LITTLE DEVIL

You felt like a teenager again. When his tongue swiped over your soft flesh before he began to suck on the skin there you could feel the heat rising off your chest. You could feel him everywhere, and with the knowledge he wanted to hear you, you tossed your shame out of the kitchen window and relaxed into the pleasure.

MY FINGERS WERE JUST HOVERING OVER THE KEYBOARD CUZ IDK WHAT TO DO

“My dear,” he slowed his hips, autopilot keeping them moving at all, “I don’t think now is the time for,” you tightened around him to trip him up, which worked spectacularly. Alastor had take several seconds before continuing, “talks on family planning.”

I shouldn’t be able to hear this in my mind the way I do omg…

Soft and swollen lips parted as his breaths ran ragged. A smile spread across your face as you watched his eyes open, witnessing a pleasured blow out of his pupils.

FFFUUUCCKKKKKK 😩😩😩😩

After a few drinks he pushed the coffee table against the wall and you drunkenly swayed around the room to something playing smooth and low. As much as you enjoyed your conversations, having your head tucked under his chin as neither of you said a word somehow filled in the little cracks of your heart more so than any talk. For him too. No tension after sex, no stress of how long he’d get to breathe before the next instance of prodding to do it again. He could smile and close his eyes and feel the room swing and sway in total safety.

ABSOLUTELY SOBBING

“There she is!” standing, he extended the shoes to you, “Don’t stare like a deer in the lights. I’m sure you knew I was coming. Slip these on, we’re going for a ride.” He gave them a shake, “You can call your mac* from the station and let him know you’ll be late.”

GODDAMN YOU KENNETH!!! OTL

A Doe in Fall (part 7)

⟢HumanAlastor x FemaleBurlesquerReader - A Doe in Fall

Part 1 - Pretty in Red smut💦 Part 2 - Liar smut💦 Part 3 - A Tragedy smut💦 Part 4 - Enough Part 5 - Too Much Part 6 - Learning smut💦 Part 7 - Recognition

Part 7 Recognition

It was time to start again. Alastor couldn't forget what his mother had wanted, even if she didn't ask it of him directly. And while he finds his comfort again in killing, Detective Brady finds a lead.

「Warnings/Promises: Human Alastor x Fem Burlesquer reader, smut, reader's thighs as ear muffs, referencing cruel racists in the early 20th century south, reference to marital violence, pussy eaten, p in v sex, no creampie BOO, bad dancing, Alastor's southern accent, Alastor's mother, gossip, murder, greed , two idiots pretending they aren't madly in love, poor family planning, lots of 1920's slang with notes for your ease」

I think I fixed the broken tag list!

....it's been over a month. Here's nearly 9000 words of our favorite idiots. I feel weird labeling this smut now as...we are...kinda past the smut point and just making sweet sweet love. lol ugh gross. thank you to everyone whose offered help, donated, and shared the word about my mom! It’s been an immense help and has made her a little emotional (in a good way) <Florida stole my moms teeth— explanation and donation link> unrelated, anyone want some RadioDust?

Minors���. Minors. My inbox counts as interacting when you’re literally in there requesting smut. I know your bio has no age but baby honey darling I can tell by your writing. 🔞 Do Not Interact 🏠🚗

A development he knew was coming even if no one else believed him. A drug addict with debts to the local crime syndicates disappearing was neither suspicious nor a mystery. Everyone was confident it was obvious Tommy was at the bottom of Lake Pontchartrain or halfway to California.

But not to him, not for Detective Brady. He had been on the beat for the better part of a year, convinced there was a connection between some of the disappearances in town.

No one wanted to hear it though, most people didn’t even care the people were missing. Only the occasional wife, concerned how she would keep a roof over her head and food in her kid’s bellies with the man of the house gone. But other than that, no tears or chest beating for the missing men and women.

Which made him confident there were countless more unreported cases. Just because no one missed them, a crime is a crime.

But, no bodies, no blood, no crime scenes… he looked like he had lost the fucking plot to his colleagues.

The city didn’t want the bad press, not to mention the fact there was no actual crime to be reported. Someone up and left down? Okay, he was a wife beater? Probably left with his mistress. The cruel den mother of the home for unwanted kids? Her assistant takes the lead and she moves onto a new town to menace. Probably running from the people angry with her.

But he finally had something. Tommy was pimping out dancers, and even laid hands on one. Surely there was a man looking for revenge for that. Can’t knock around a man’s woman and have it go unanswered.

So he tried again to find the woman whose only name he knew was a moniker. Autumn Hind.

Every time Brady came to the theater, another excuse. You left early. You were on the roof smoking—- oh, you slipped out the back. Weekends were your off days, so that was useless.

“You’re obsessed.” Detective Freeman threw an eraser he’d picked off his pencil at Brady. He had seen the man devolve slowly over the past couple months.

“Thanks.” Brady was staring at his notes.

“Not a compliment, Kenny. Shit happens, people leave town. You’re acting like a handful of no shows are some conspiracy.” Freeman came to stand behind Brady, leaning over to read his notes, “How can you even read that chicken scratch?”

He clapped the notebook shut, “Every report was a person less than liked. What are the chances they all leave town in the middle of the night, last seen in the same general area?”

Freeman patted his shoulder, “Did you just ask me why a bunch of assholes,” he stood up and made a show of stretching out tired muscles, “who liked illegal hooch* and jazz with plenty of enemies disappeared?” (*booze)

Brady slapped his desk, “There! You said it! They had enemies. But what— what if they had one enemy in common. A bar manager or — or a,” he was still looking for that link.

“Kenny, the boogeyman isn’t roaming New Orleans killing people. If the higher ups don’t care, if the families don’t care, it doesn’t matter. Let it go.”

The sleep deprived detective sunk into his wooden chair, swiveling side to side anxiously, “Tommy’s mother cares.”

“Yeah well mom’s are famously bad judges of character.” Slipping on his jacket, he shot a worried look to his partner, “Ya gonna go home? Janet’s probably a mess. You’ve been keeping late hours.”

“Nah not yet. I gotta get to the theater before this dame goes ghost on me again.”

“Yikes, still? You’ve been chasing her for a while.” He was making a slow inching walk to the door.

“It’d be easier if I had some support. I gotta do this on my own time.” A deep sigh, well past the point of hiding his frustration with his colleagues and bosses. Freeman looked over the wrinkled shirt and wilted tie, evidence of a man losing his grip.

“Welp, good luck buddy. Hope you get to the bottom of whatever this is.” He gestured at the messy desk and disheveled man, “See ya tomorrow.”

Brady waved without looking up. His eyes were staring into the black leather of his notepad. Tommy was the only recent assumed victim with any real suspicion. The woman whose husband disappeared after going to see a show? Only enemy to him was her, and she wasn’t strong enough to take him down. Deadend.

Most recent, nice young man from up north. Went out for a good time, hoping to catch a little lady for some stress relief, according to his coworkers. Never showed up at work the next day. No one had a bad word to say about the man. Making him an outlier, but still. He was young, strong, soft spoken. Not an enemy in sight but no family to worry, either. Deadend.

But Tommy. Someone cared he was gone. He was in the jazz game, the drug dens, the illegal drink business, and had a heavy hand. He was the perfect bad man, right?

He looked across his desk. Bad men. The occasional unsavory woman. Maybe it was just their time. They pissed off the wrong people.

Or the wrong person.

Someone who worked downtown, someone into dance and drink, someone with nights free to do his work. Maybe a hired gun? No, some of these people didn’t have the money for that.

Plus, one person and so many missing? That would be unheard of, it’d be some kind of record for Louisiana.

A record Brady could claim.

When he entered the theater James, the manager who replaced Tommy, noticeably rolled his eyes, getting in front of the man. “It’s real bad for business to have a cop in here all the damn time. Come on, if you’re not here for a raid then could you be a little less obvious.”

Brady looked past him, “What do you mean?”

“You’re— what is it? What can I do for you?”

“Here again for Miss Autumn. Care to give her real name yet?”

“No can do. Ain’t my business to tell. She’s finished her set, asked to head home early.” Brady turned and kicked a chair over, a large man approaching behind the manager before seeing the hip badge and backing up. “Nah we’re not doing that. We’ve told her you’ve come by but she’s a busy lady. Several gigs here and there. Enough, you’re harassing the dancers now.”

With a snap, Brady had his finger in the manager’s face, “Whatcha gonna do? Call the cops?”

“She. Isn’t. Here. What the fuck do you want? For me to tie her up and bring her to your station?”

That’d be ideal.

A month, nearly. Coming once or twice a week to try and speak to you but every time he missed you. He was going to snap if he heard one more time you were gone. Maybe everyone was in on it. Maybe you werenin the back right now laughing at him.

Brady scanned the room, “Where’s she live?”

“How the fuck would I know— please, leave.” James gestured to the doors.

He lifted his badge up, waving it at the patrons seated closest to him, “Yall know it’s still illegal to partake-,”

“Jesus! Enough!” The manager pushed him back, flashing an apologetic smile to the guests, “She moonlights Sundays at The Dime near the park on 5th, singing for a friend. That’s all I got about her life off stage. Will you fucking go?”

The detective perked up, “See, was that so hard?”

Finally, he could feel his fingers grasp the shifting shadow that was his only lead.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

“I never said sorry.”

You turned your head, not expecting him to say something serious. Waiting, he didn’t add explanation. Sorry? What had he done… ran out of milk? Forgot to bring in the towels before it rained last week? A quick search of your memory yielded nothing.

“For what?”

He was staring off in front of him. “For putting you in danger before. In the park. I am sincerely sorry.”

You’d somehow almost forgotten. It’d been weeks. Every bad feeling that night had brought you had been carried away by good morning kisses and gentle words before sleep. Nearly every night was spent in his bed, Alastor dropping you off at your apartment when he went downtown for work. The incident in the park was a different lifetime already.

Had he really put you in danger? Or had you rushed into the danger of his hobby to feel closer to him?

“I put myself in that situation. You didn't throw me at that guy. I don’t do a damn thing I don’t want to do. You should have learned that by now.”

Tough act for a woman who jumped up to pour some man’s coffee.

You shook your head, you had to stop equating doting on Alastor as a show of weakness. It wasn’t. Even if admitting that meant admitting you were wrong.

But he had put you in danger’s way, he knew it. “No, you wouldn’t have ever been in that situation if it wasn’t for me.”

Your laughter bounced off the car windows, “Alastor, you met me getting choked to death by a strange man. People will always make dangerous situations for women to be in. Don’t act like you’re special.” A sly smile to ease his anxious heart. “I’d rather be in danger for you than just because I’m a woman. If it’s gonna happen anyway, might as well be worth something.”

His hand slipped onto your thigh, expression softening before his own smile grew again, “Don’t lie to my face so easily. I am very special, we can all agree.”

You looked around, the two of you alone in his car on a side street, “All? You know the trunk is still empty, right?”

“Oh, is that so? You’re quite dangerous yourself, I nearly forgot why we were here.” He patted his pockets to make sure he had what he needed. “When I give you a wave, back up to me, okay? Don’t leave the car. Just drive off if-,”

You kissed his cheek, “Shut it. Not a chance. Go give em hell, baby.”

Alastor crumpled against his steering wheel momentarily, your words cutting his heart open in a most wonderful way. He could never have predicted getting kisses before beginning his dark work. What had he done to deserve this? Perhaps proof someone in hell was in full support of his actions. Straightening his back and checking his hair and glasses in the mirror, he flashed you a smile before slipping out of the car.

When Alastor said he was ready to begin killing again, you were a mix of excited and scared. Excited for normalcy to return but scared of the dangers presented there in. You’d been dodging the blue eyed detective for a while already, and moving forward meant possibly making mistakes he could grab a hold of. Not mentioning the risk of someone hurting Alastor again…but for your part in everything, you and Alastor found a compromise.

A deal had been made. You’d stay in the car and bring it to him when he was done. He had asked you flee if something went wrong but you both knew that wasn’t going to happen. Crawling into the driver’s seat, you tried to remember what he had taught you. How to get it started up, how to make it go backwards. How to make it go, in general. You’d never driven a car. Well, not until Alastor insisted on teaching you. Driving up and down the long stretch of road he lived on, Alastor white knuckling the door handle as you jerked the car forward with every failed shift. You had started on his land, but he feared for his home's safety with you behind the wheel.

Your hands slipped down the steeling wheel, big and round. Your mother would’ve had a hoot had she seen you in the driver’s seat. Clearing your throat, you leaned into the back of the car and double checked the canvas was properly secured.

Another man tonight. The few times you’d both gone out for leisure, having preferred to spend time alone at home, Alastor had gotten gossip that piqued his interest.

You remembered the way the woman’s hand touched his arm when she leaned in. “You didn’t hear it from me but it’s best to avoid French Study on Thursdays. Real piece of work slipping something in drinks and robbing people.” He reported what she had said back to you. It’d panicked you, realizing you were closer to being on Alastor’s list than you’d realized.

“No, the issue isn’t the stealin’. It’s what he does with the people with,” he had been delicate as he said it, taking another long sip of whiskey, “other things of value. And the fact this man has no need to steal. It’s ridiculous! His family has been land ownin’ and well off for generations.” Alastor was always impassioned when discussing the things he hated, even when slipping into drunkenness. His accent came through when he had too much to drink, his real accent. The accent his mother had. “You robbed men for power balance, for their assumptions you were easy to manipulate to begin with. He? Uh, Him? He’s just a piece of shit. He thinks he’s better than everyone else. And no one would report him ‘cause his family name.”

His drink spilled a little, when you had offered to clean it he just slipped the button up off. He lost his usual classy air as the bottle emptied. Which you actually liked.

The benefits of drinking on his back porch was no need to worry about decorum. Music was softly spilling from the open window behind you, Alastor’s prized record cabinet spinning the newest presses.

“It’s like there’s a little bug under my skin,” he wiggled his fingers over his sternum, “It’s gonna dig into my bones if I don’t cut it out.”

Despite your own drunkenness, you nodded and followed along, “So, ya gonna kill ‘em?”

Alastor pouted, making you snort, “I don’t want to think about that right now.” He enunciated every word clearly in his practiced and professional voice.

You’d ended the evening playfully arguing the merits of prohibition on the jazz scene and watching Alastor dance around the wrap around porch. But the conversation hadn’t ended for him.

Little hints he was still focused on it popped up over the following week. Alastor randomly asking you how it felt to be drugged, did you wake up in pain? Embarrassed? Scared? You caught him staring at the greenhouse from the window one morning, lost in thought. Before he had finally said he wanted to go out again, you understanding what that meant, you’d seen him turning a dinner knife over and over in his hand impatiently.

And now here you were. In the car beside a park late Thursday, Alastor having done some scouting while you’d finished up early at the theater.

It took hours. Which was good, it meant Alastor wasn’t rushing. He liked the stalking aspect of killing, of watching someone from across a room knowing exactly how their night would end. And as that man whose name would soon be buried with him alternated smiling and barking orders at staff, Alastor felt his stomach flutter. Like watching a slab of meat slowly turn over the fire. The crueler he was, the worse he acted, the more Alastor found his fingers tapping on the bar with anticipation. Perfect. Damn yourself more. No fake smiles or double faces, no, people like him didn’t even try to play the game others were forced into. Born with money and land already theirs, they didn’t even know the rules.

But Alastor did. Alastor mastered them at the tender age of 14. When he realized his father’s features were a shield. His mother’s lessons on manners and charm his weapons. The first time he was in mixed company, when someone leaned in and whispered a cruel “prank” he had planned for a young dark skinned woman on the other side of the room, he understood. They pulled back and smiled at him, and he managed to muster one of his own. Just smile, they’d take it to mean whatever they wanted it to mean because they thought he was of the same mindset. They assumed it. Like so many other things people would assume about him as he grew.

When he told his mother the story after getting home, she shook her head. When he had asked her what he should have done, she set down her book.

“Well, I’d love to say you should have stood up for her. But I’d also like to have my son above ground.”

He asked her why she couldn’t have both.

“Sweetheart, we don’t usually get the choice to do either, let alone both.”

He offered a solution, after a moment of thinking, “I shoulda buried him first then.”

“Wouldn’t it be nice if that was how the world worked?” She returned to her book, “If God just struck em down dead as soon as they hurt people. Better yet, before.”

It would be nice. It was nice. Because Alastor couldn’t wait for God to make the world his mother mentioned. He grinned ear to ear, gloves a second skin, as the man crawled backwards in the grass like an animal cornered. His heart was pounding in his ears. Where to cut first? The gut, his family fat and soft from the money they made off the labor of others? The pale neck of a man who never spent a day outside, instead indoors drugging strangers for sport? The chest covered in a fine cotton shirt he didn’t appreciate?

He wished he had many arms, as many as he could imagine, to slash and tear in tandem.

“What do you want? Money?” the animal asked him.

Alastor shook his head no. No, he didn’t want money.

“Do you know who I am?”

Alastor nodded. “That is precisely why I am here.”

Would he beg? Cry? Bargain? Experience told him it’d be the latter.

“Alright well, if you know who I am you know you’re making a mistake. Here.” The man opened his wallet and pulled out a few greenbacks, holding them out for Alastor. Alastor’s smile softened slightly, remembering tossing you a wallet once before.

He reached down with his left hand to take the money, but instead grabbed the man’s wrist. Swiftly, quicker than the man could process, he took the knife tucked into his belt behind his vest and stabbed the man in the stomach.

Staring into his eyes, he could see his own image looking back at him. Smiling.

Alastor grabbed your face with both wrists, hands bloody and one still holding the knife, and kissed you when he’d flagged you down.

“Is this for bringing the car around without running you over?” Your eyes glanced at the knife beside your head. He apologized, tossing it into the trunk.

“No, just happy to see you.” A mischievous grin that made your knees weak, his body shimmied closer until he was pressed against you, stealing another kiss. His arms stretched out to keep from bloodying you. Your fingers slid up his cheeks to return the kiss. “Thank you, dear.”

When you returned home, to his home, that is, you took to task bringing in the laundry he’d left on the line and putting away the things still on the counters from breakfast. You couldn’t resist going to the second floor room and looking down into the greenhouse. You couldn’t see perfectly well, but you could see nonetheless. Alastor didn’t want you in the greenhouse yet when he was working. He said it was the ugliest parts, the kind that would sure give you nightmares or rob you of your appetite.

Considerate. But, it only made you more curious. Would you be sick if you saw? Would you never eat meat again?

What would you do if you didn’t have any reaction at all?

You watched Alastor leave the greenhouse and lock the door behind him, so you hopped down the stairs to meet him in the hall beside the kitchen.

He’d been sweating, shirt open to reveal a thin white undershirt, and under his arm was a canvas roll. He lifted it up, “Tools. Rinsed them off but I’d like to dry them under the electric lights.” You grabbed the aprons from the wall hooks, Alastor letting you slip it over his head and tie it for him. “Why so tight?”

“I like the way it makes your waist look.” You’d seen him wear it when making biscuits. It made his shape so clear. It reminded you of watching water drip down his sides and roll off his hips in the shower.

He beamed, “I’m listening. What exactly do you like about my waist?” Sharp brows raised as that friendly tongue peeked out at you.

“Hush.” You cooed.

You stood on the long side of the table, him at the short, and took turns wiping the tools dry and checking the other’s work.

As he grabbed each one he would tell you what he used it for. Holding up the garden shears and explaining the point along the blade that had the strongest force. The advantage of curved pruning blades when used on a human body. His eyes were gleaming as he spoke, looking so lovingly at each item like it was a loyal pet.

He finally noticed you were grinning and chuckling softly, so he dropped his smile for dramatic effect, “What? What’s so funny?”

Shaking your head, you set down the next item for him to inspect, “Nothing. You’re just so cute when you’re talking about your passions. Your face lights up from the inside out.”

His breath hitched, smile actually lost as he processed every syllable. Your turn now to notice him staring as you looked up from your work. You recognized that look though, the wide eyes and serious lips. The air of the kitchen felt like the atmosphere before a thunderstorm rolled in.

Alastor set the tools back onto the canvas one by one and carried them to the counter. Before returning he picked up a small knife and set it near the edge of the table.

“Come here.” He nodded his head to space in front of him. The way he said it, that tone, made your heart begin to skip beats.

You slid between him and the table, Alastor lifting you up with a startling ease and setting you onto cool wood. Kicking your legs a little, you set nervous hands onto your lap. You wanted to touch him. To pull him by the apron straps into you.

“How do you always say the right things?” He closed the distance between you, one hand on your neck while his mouth came to your ear. “The things I didn’t know I wanted to hear?”

Swimming. Your mind was swimming. “Why is your idea of right the same as my idea of the truth?” You could feel the grin. Sighing into your ear, down your neck, his hands grabbed your hips and pulled you off the table enough to press your core into his clothed erection. Even through his pants and the apron, you could feel him clearly. When did he get so hard? You always wondered in those moments if it was the topic of discussion. Or the knives. Or your need. Biting your lip wasn’t a thought out action, but Alastor loved to see it. Rolling his hips into you in response.

“Wanna go upstairs?” you asked.

He shook his head, slipping off his glasses.

“Oh no, don’t even wanna see me?” You teased, but firm hands held you tighter to him in response.

“I won’t be letting you get far enough away from me for that to be a problem.”

When he leaned down and his lips so very gently pressed into yours, you could feel it. That missing something from before. It was in the air, it was rolling off of his body and dampening your senses. A desire, a drive that you felt that first time you had sex with him in that apartment above the theater. A motivation that was lacking last time in his bed.

His eyes were staring down into yours, waiting for your response. Eagerly you replied by chasing his mouth with yours. A chain of kisses as you tried to ever remember enjoying kissing another person as much as him.

Not a single soul. Why did it feel like this was all you ever needed? Eyes closed and lips on lips, hands in his hair, it felt like you’d been holding your breath all of your life. His body on yours was a gasp of air.

For Alastor, he couldn’t even think of breathing when around you. Let alone when your mouth was on him. Every time you touched him all he could think about was the word ‘affection’.

So when your tongue swiped up his lips, he moaned as he opened for you. Not because he was new to kissing someone with so much lust. He’d grown accustomed to the things you did to him. No, because you were a fever that had taken hold of him and your kiss the medicine that soothed his delirium.

He wondered, was that why people called it ‘love sick’?

“You really like me, don’t you?” He asked, nose sliding up your jaw.

An opportunity presented to you. A chance to spill over the edges.

You pushed it away, legs wrapping around his waist and pulling him closer.

“Something like that, yeah.”

His hands pressed flat against the table to balance the deep roll of his hips against you. One of your own fell behind you to keep from falling backwards, the other flung over his shoulder. When you moaned into his cheek he captured the sound with his mouth and slipped his tongue back into you.

You liked him. He’d known people to love and not like their partner an ounce, but the way you appreciated his quirks made his heart sing in its brittle cage. You never ceased to see him. The issue with always putting on a show is people tend to be disappointed when the actors become human again. But you never met his persona. He was knife wielding, bloodlusting Alastor from the first word. So when he was himself, you recognized him clearly. Because he was all you ever knew.

And you liked him

You appreciated him.

He dared to think maybe he could inspire more from you. A thought that made him twitch below the belt.

Closer. He needed you closer. He needed you so near to him that he’d never forget the feeling of being wanted. It’d be imprinted on his chest and his arms and his lips.

Impatient hands slipping up your sides, along your neck, down your chest. His greedy mouth suddenly understanding the same greed he once marveled at in your own kisses. Hot tongue sliding over yours, delving deeper into you with every return.

When his hands seemed to come to an agreement, they yanked you forward again. You’d fall off ass-first if he pulled you any further.

You watched with only slight horror has he grabbed the small knife and hiked up your dress in tandem. A gulp, worried the other shoe had finally dropped on a too-good situation.

“Are you particularly attached to these panties?” His eyes were looking up and over his glasses.

“No?” Did you really need panties, you wondered. Ever? Girdles we’re falling out of fashion perhaps you’d all be naked again soon enough. Maybe you two could start another Eden. A pomegranate’s juice the new red staining his skin.

Not even a tremble, his hands lifted each side and sliced them free.

“Oh?” You didn’t have a real question in mind when he tucked the panties into his back pocket. Just a need to express you saw it and didn’t understand it.

Alastor took your hand and pressed it against his hardened length, eyes locked onto yours with a sharpness to them. But when your hand took hold of him and squeezed, everything softened in his features. Funny how where one area grew stiff another melted.

He rolled his eyes closed as you finally undid his belt and pants. A struggle you didn’t see, Alastor trying to keep from pouncing on you like a horny virgin. He didn’t want to rut into you, he didn’t need the pleasure. He needed something he couldn’t see or explain. He just knew you held it behind your teeth.

When your skin pressed into his and you both moaned together he was sure you were the same. One person, split into insufficient parts. Finally lined up flush in place.

When you circled your hips against his aching cock, he wondered what you were chasing after. Was it the pleasure? He’d give it to you in spades.

He was on his knees with his face between your legs before you could close your thighs in surprise.

You needed both hands now to keep from falling back onto the table. “Alastor,” a whine.

He knew better than to talk with his mouth full, so he let two fingers work their way into you with shallow thrusts. Easing you open for him.

“Yes?” His eyes didn’t leave his fingers, glistening under the kitchen light. You hadn't thought much ahead past his name, once his fingers were in you and curling up to find your spongy and soft bundle of nerves your mind had gone empty.

“We can just fuck, if you’re horny.” You watched him watching himself.

“Where’s the fun in that?” His mouth returned to your mound, broad tongue forming a point and finding your clit.

A lazy moving tongue would be frustrating if not for his fingers punishing your g-spot. Consistency was key, and his hand was focused and skilled.

Suddenly you remembered the piano in the sitting room. That’s where you knew that movement from. That clearly practiced muscle memory.

Alastor felt confident everywhere but rarely did he feel comfortable. When your thighs came together and squeezed him at the ears, he felt positively cozy. Would you be so kind as to be his ear muffs come winter? He’d have to remember to ask when his mouth was free. How many cold nights he could now rest assured he would have warmth just a little dive of his head away.

Lowering his mouth, nose buried in your muff, he wriggled his tongue in with his fingers. Not enough, rarely was anything enough any more. He stilled his hand and prodded at your sensitive walls with that intrusive tongue, relishing the little movements you made in response. Taking his digits out entirely, he buried his wet muscle as deeply as he could reach.

The huffs of exhales you were making triggered a moan from him that you felt through your skin. His enjoyment was tripling your pleasure.

Goosebumps ran up your arms at the combine sensations of his moaning and prodding.

When his lips and tongue returned to their uneven teasing of your clit, three fingers now swiping past your inner spot with every thrust, your hands came to his head. Fingers slipping through his hair and gripping every time your body shook. Encouragement, the more you tugged the surer he was he was doing the right things.

And oh, he was. You said the right things but Alastor always seemed to act on them. Your senses lodged themselves between the even stroking of your g-spot and the unpredictable movements of his tongue. One kept the pressure rising as your orgasm climbed, the other pushed you along jolt by jolt.

Curious thing. That night in the park he didn’t have much reaction to your enjoyment, but he found himself not fully softening in his lap as he continued. Normally, unless still physically stimulated or the rare time you stirred something in him, he wasn’t very… battle ready.

But the feeling of you pulling him in by the head, fingers in his hair and thighs at his cheeks; this was different than the others. He was sure now it wasn’t just physical pleasure you wanted. His pride said it was more.

Dozens of times before— he truly was a rake in some aspects, though admittedly it was all in the pursuit of avoiding “sex”, as defined by most, not chasing it — he helped a date find release with his tongue. But it never did anything for him. They moaned and said his name and screamed. Which was lovely. Who doesn’t enjoy recognition?

When you said his name, it was heavier. It was material, it had mass and as its gravity began its pull he found his mind circling that sound. He was pleasing his darling, not placating. And it made him react in that unusually crass way.

He felt like an apex predator when killing, tearing open animals made for him to hunt. But you made him feel baser. Prey in your gentle bite.

As your orgasm mounted, you began tugging at his hair to pull him off. You didn’t need him to stop, but everything was suddenly too sensitive. It was alarming to feel your body rocking from overstimulation. A strident cry filled the kitchen as your back arched off the table. He didn’t let up, despite how much you thrashed under his mouth. Rolling pleasure, muscles electrified and shaking beyond your control.

You patted his head harshly, “Good, I’m good. Alas—tor! Fuck!”

Ah, he loved when you swore. It punctuated your otherwise preternatural aura with a touch of humanity.

He stood and leaned over your now reclining body. Your pussy still clenching and legs shaking as he admired his work. You admired his shape in his apron, his broad shoulders and sharp eyes. Caught between your legs like a lion in a mouse trap; he acted like he had no way free of you. His grin widened and he made a display out of licking each finger clean. Eyes never leaving yours.

You knew many men to squawk at going down on a woman. To balk at wearing an apron. To grimace at the suggestion of cooking a meal while their lady took a nice bath or enjoyed a coffee. Alastor seemed to not think twice about any of it. How nice it would be. To have a partner beside you, to not be the woman in the often referenced “behind every great man is a great woman.”

“Alastor, I want you.” You pulled him down by the neck and stole a kiss. When he began to stroke himself fully back to life you pressed that hand to his chest. “Not like that. Though I’m not declining the offer.”

His eyes saw something in yours. “Sweetheart, you have me. There is no part of me that isn’t possessed by you. I know we keep things relatively… tightlipped for safety but I’m your fella and you’re my gal.” His nose touched yours. “But if you want more, I’ll become more. I’ll break myself apart and make myself better.”

Your heart sank. Sitting up to command a little authority, a feat given you were sitting panty-less on a kitchen table, “Don’t you dare. I’ll always meet you where you are, got it? Don’t go… groping around in the darkness for me; trying to find what I need. I’ll always come to you. Because you’re more than enough as you are.”

A little cough to clear his tightening throat, “I’ve not had a day of darkness since you arrived.” A kiss to your forehead before a soft thumbpad wiped at the corner of your eye. “Did I make you sad?”

You wanted to say it. But not now, not like this. You didn’t want Alastor to connect love and sex. To think one was necessary for the other.

While you were coming to learn how lovely it was to pair the two together, it was a fact they were wholly independent things. And you couldn’t allow him to think they were a set.

“You’ve made me too happy. It’s absolutely terrifying.”

But Alastor had found your expressions of acceptance always tumbled the circle of Love to overlap with that of Sex. It was only in that mixed space did he find desire in pleasure.

A wicked smirk, “Let me pile on my affections and drown out your fears.” His hips rolled into you again, a surprising eagerness returned to his lap. “Can I continue?”

With a nod and a smile, “But not another word of change, buster.” You leaned back on your hand for support. Alastor was happy to return to your heat, lining up and sinking into you. An embrace like no other, one he found particularly earnest when with you.

Close. Finally. You began where he ended, a natural extension of who he was and who he could be. The things he could have. A relieved sigh he didn’t try to hide before he began moving, a moment when his tension could melt. You were both an unseasonably warm autumn day and the cool comforting shade of an unfamiliar tree. Both the heat and the relief.

He watched your body rock against the table, even fully dressed you managed to look more scandalous than any show he’d seen downtown. He was grateful he didn’t seek this comfort often in others, the way his mind melted made him feel vulnerable. He couldn’t think straight. And then you began to make those lovely little groans, high pitched and needy, and he was sure his soul was errant.

As his thrusts deepened, cock no longer kissing your cervix but ramming into you with good intentions, you dropped back as you lost the battle against his hips.

Alastor’s arms slid up our waist and pulled your arms towards him, “Too far, I can’t see your face.”

Your arms were slung over his shoulders as your back curved for him, “You don’t need to see my face.”

“Tsk, wrong.”

Your new favorite place was right in front of him, wherever his line of sight was you wanted to be in it. Nose to nose, heads tilting to recapture soft lips and softer moans.

Until the softness left, Alastor’s skin slapping against yours as he dragged those lovely sounds from you. He watched your eyes roll closed, mouth open as you moaned with the safety of the seclusion of a country home. A thought bubbled up, inspired by you.

“I want the neighbors to hear you.” That smile half cocked across his upsettingly handsome face. His hand slipped between you both to repeat the motions he learned before. Hard and fast, no choice but to raise your voice.

Your head fell back, clit still sensitive, “You don’t have neighbors!” A new moan hitting the walls.

“I do— just a few miles down the road, dear.” His mouth latched onto your neck but he didn’t suck like he wanted, he couldn’t bite. Your skin was your job, your body not his to mark. Suddenly he remembered, “Do you still have that make up? For your bruises?”

You couldn’t understand why he would bring that up while balls deep in you but you nodded.

“Would it work on your neck?” He nipped lightly.

It clicked, “Absolutely.”

You felt like a teenager again. When his tongue swiped over your soft flesh before he began to suck on the skin there you could feel the heat rising off your chest. You could feel him everywhere, and with the knowledge he wanted to hear you, you tossed your shame out of the kitchen window and relaxed into the pleasure.

As he moved up your neck he left little marks behind. There was no sense left you didn’t occupy. He could smell the soap and sweat of your skin, taste your cunt still on his tongue, your sights and sounds a decadence he couldn’t get used to. And the feeling of you… velvety walls, a feeling finer than silk as he slipped in and out of you. So incredibly hot on his most sensitive areas, pulling him back in with admirable strength.

He felt his orgasm ratcheting up but tried to hold back. He wanted more time to experience your ecstasy, to wallow in your openness. Even pressed skin to skin now wouldn’t satisfy that deep desire for this unique level of intimacy. So he wanted to enjoy it for as long as he had it.

But, he knew he should prepare. “I don’t want to dirty your dress.” A lust heavy voice penetrating the nap of your neck. He’d made a risky release before at your urging, something he often thought about when work got quiet. But he knew he needed to think clearer now.

“Then don’t.” A terrible reply but you wanted all of him, every drop of his hunger for you. “Keep the mess in me.”

“My dear,” he slowed his hips, autopilot keeping them moving at all, “I don’t think now is the time for,” you tightened around him to trip him up, which worked spectacularly. Alastor had take several seconds before continuing, “talks on family planning.”

A pang of nausea and fear, small and sharp in your abdomen. It wasn’t that you weren’t aware of biology, just that Alastor brought out your baser animal instincts, too. And before, when he came buried as deeply as he could reach, it felt like you’d actually completed some ritual. Bears hibernated, birds migrated, Alastor came in you.

You’d never let a man do that before Alastor. “I just want to… accept everything you are willing to give me.”

He bit his bottom lip to redirect some attention away from his now throbbing member, “And when you’re sure on me, I’ll always provide.”

A pout that he kissed, you accepted the terms. An argument could be made you were already very sure, but you were well aware how naive that sounded when you’d known each other for so little time. Had a coworker told you she’d met a guy and within three months was ready for… the consequences, you’d have laughed and asked if she was drunk or just stupid.

Alastor wanted to provide. But he knew you’d be the one with the raw end of the deal, he couldn’t risk coercing a decision in the heat of the moment. If your mind was half was addled as his with pleasure then you were in no state for big decisions.

Life changing decisions.

Decisions that filled empty homes.

Fuck, why wasn’t he a less considerate man?

When his kiss deepened, so did his ministrations. He was fully sheathed and so unwilling to draw back more than a couple inches you wondered if he had changed his mind. It felt like a man not wanting to stray too far from home. One hand on the small of your back, his other other on the back of your neck. When he pulled out he pressed his tongue further, only stopping the kiss when he came onto the little space of table between your thighs. Soft and swollen lips parted as his breaths ran ragged. A smile spread across your face as you watched his eyes open, witnessing a pleasured blow out of his pupils.

When he grabbed a kitchen towel and cleaned the table, you chuckled at his grimace. “See? My way is cleaner.”

He didn’t reply at first, taking the cloth and hovering over the sink before tossing it into his trash. “Only in the short term. We can finish up tomorrow with the tools?”

Your legs kicked again, not ready to slide off, “Mm, it’ll be easier in the daylight.”

“Instead,” he zipped his pants but removed the belt and set it on the counter, “Let’s get zozzled* and sway around the sitting room? Crash where we land.” (*drunk)

“I’ll pour if you get the music on.”

He turned to leave but paused, “No, I’ll handle the drinks. You always have too heavy of a hand.”

“I didn’t hear you complaining last time…”

“I’m not sure I remembered I was at home and not at a drum* last time…,” He uncorked the label-less whiskey, grabbing two glasses with one hand. “Didn’t wanna insult the pretty waitress.” (*speakeasy)

Fair. You weren’t much for drinking and always underestimated the strength of illegal hooch. Some were weak and some could kill you. But fancy Alastor had connections with the kind of people no one dared to risk harm to, so he always had the most trustworthy goods.

Good music, great whiskey, and even better company. You thanked him for being safe while working, he praised your ability to learn new skills so quickly. After a few drinks he pushed the coffee table against the wall and you drunkenly swayed around the room to something playing smooth and low. As much as you enjoyed your conversations, having your head tucked under his chin as neither of you said a word somehow filled in the little cracks of your heart more so than any talk. For him too. No tension after sex, no stress of how long he’d get to breathe before the next instance of prodding to do it again. He could smile and close his eyes and feel the room swing and sway in total safety.

A safety neither of you knew was being threatened from afar.

When you woke, Alastor was gone. A note on the table letting you know he’d run out to grab some things for breakfast. Telling you to relax and recover.

You put the furniture back, bringing the glasses to the kitchen and his belt to the bedroom.

Coffee and a slow perusal of his home. Intimate details you tried to not stare at when he was there. The rare photo of his mother, a woman you didn’t speak about, a conversation you didn’t need to have, but someone you knew existed fondly still in his life. A silent thank you to her.

No photos of a man to give thanks to you so you turned to the little curios and mementos. 

Little seashells and sand dollars, a small gator’s skull. Books, about anatomy and history. Novels about crime and love and mystery. Ticket stubs for films he’d seen. Little bits of his mother scattered in. A woman’s necklace. A chatelaine* with all of the accessories and tools. (*wikipedia page)

When you felt you’d spied enough, you crawled into his side of the bed and inhaled as deeply as you could. His pillow smelled like him. You let yourself sleep off the hangover surrounded by pieces of Alastor.

Pieces you couldn’t contain. Pieces left around town as a dick* hunted for his personal monster. (*a detective, but also, a dick, fuck this dude?)

Beth, or Betty as you called her, the friend you often sang for, was cleaning up from the previous night when Brady walked in. She tried to tell him they were closed, but he took a seat at the counter anyway.

“I’m looking for a singer named Autumn. She been around lately?”

She paused, knowing the name was tied to your work. This man didn’t know you. “Whose asking?”

“The city of New Orleans”, he set his badge on the counter top.

“Is she in some kinda trouble?”

“She the kinda dame to get into trouble?”

Beth laughed, “She doesn’t try to but men, liquor, and jazz tend to make it happen. She’s okay, right?”

He took a deep sigh, trying to blink away the exhaustion and remember he needed to be someone strangers trusted. Being honest hadn’t been working and being rough barely got him a lead. “Well I was hoping you’d know. Found out someone roughed her up a bit ago and just wanting to make sure she’s okay. But I don’t have her legal name, no address, nothing to track her down.”

Shaking her head, she leaned onto the counter, “What? Some egg* forget it’s just a show?” Brady shrugged. “I can’t say. She hasn’t been by in a couple weeks.” (*man)

He asked why. Feeling the deadend approaching.

“She was just doing me a favor. Once she got a guy she didn’t have much time.”

Fighting the urge to slam his fists against the wood and sling his notebook across the bar, Brady took slow breaths. Jaw clenched as he grabbed his pencil, “That is wonderful news. Hopefully a fit guy who can… keep her safe.”

Beth laughed a little, “I don’t know about that. He’s kind of a daisy*, but real kind.” (*a non-masculine man)

“Could I get a name? Or her address? Wanna follow up. See for myself that she’s doing well.”

She tapped the bar with two fingers and winked, “Ah no can do. Flatfoot* or not, I don’t tell men where to find sleeping ladies. But her fella is in radio though. I recognized his voice right away. Popular too, really ritzy air about him.” (*cop, detective)

As he left, he slapped the notebook against his palm over and over. When he stopped to take a second to congratulate himself something caught his eye. Across the street was a park he knew well. Following the block and turning, he could see the white and green awning of the cafe he’d seen you at before.

Had he been there? He hadn’t questioned why you were alone on such a nice day. But maybe you weren’t. Maybe you’d been playing him from the start.

Enough games.

When you took the stage that evening, a Friday show with a promising crowd, you felt like solid gold. Alastor would be there to pick you up in a few hours, you had every need met. And now you had the adoration of strangers to pump up your chest.

Until you passed your come-hither eyes over the crowd and a striking ocean blue pair knocked the wind out of you.

James was standing behind Brady, mouthing an apology. You missed a beat in your routine but forced your smile back. It took a second, to slide back into the actress you were when away from Alastor. Every time it got harder and harder to fall back into that role but you managed. His eyes never left your face, and you thanked God your heaving chest could be seen as fatigue and not the sheer panic that had taken ahold of your body.

When you were on the other side of the curtain you considered rushing out the side door, into the alley and down the street. But you couldn’t. You’d successfully brushed him off for so long but now that he had seen you, had made it clear he was there for you, you couldn’t flee. Innocent people don’t hide from cops.

Feet dragging, you saw some of the dancers standing around the dressing room door. “He’s out of his gourd if he thinks I’m changing with him in there.” One said loud enough to ensure Brady heard. When you entered the room he was sitting at your make up table, legs spread and your shoes in his hands.

“There she is!” standing, he extended the shoes to you, “Don’t stare like a deer in the lights. I’m sure you knew I was coming. Slip these on, we’re going for a ride.” He gave them a shake, “You can call your mac* from the station and let him know you’ll be late.” (*man)

˖  ݁𖥔.Summoning the Horny Little Deer Cult.𖥔 ݁ ˖

@cxrsedwxrlds , @nonetheartist , @tsunaki , @janchei ,  @moonmark98 , @hoebihoeshi , @pansexual-opera-house , @polytheatrix , @lorddiabigmommymilkers , @backinthefkingbuildingagain , @harley2223-blog  , @poinappel l , @midnightnoiserose , @spookieroz , @missmidorima a , @ivebeenthearchersstuff , @downbadforfictionalppl , @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx , @sleepylittledemon , @aether-th3-enby , @dontfuckbutimfab , @breathlessaura , @aperfectidiot , @certainlygay , @jth12 , @star-kujo-platinum @ivebeenthearchersstuff , @rubyninja1 , @simphornies

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[anika-ann]

In the Strangest Place (We Just Might Find Love) - Pt.2

Type: two-shot, pretty much canon

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader     Word count: 2750

Summary: You’re hiding from your boss in a supply closet, minding your own business, when a stranger joins you unexpectedly.

Steve is not entirely��a stranger anymore; he knows about your troubles and you know about his. And he’s determined to sort out yours this very moment.

Warnings: mention of sexual harassment, a bit of angst, language, something that might be close to a panic attack if you squint

A/N: There we go... hopefully I’ll make mid-week a bit sweeter for some of you ;)

Part 1

“Alright, kids. Let’s have a trip.”

And you just stared.

…what?

“W-what?” you stuttered, suddenly consumed by the familiar feeling of losing the firm ground under your feet at the idea of trying to confront Gregory head-on. Not even Steve at your side was helping at all as the four of you started walking towards the IT department.

“I-I don’t have any prove! I can’t-- he told me he would--- that he would-”

“That he’d twist it around, convince the HR that you were crushing on him and he turned you down, which turned you into a soulless bitch craving revenge?” the billionaire finished for you and you just uselessly opened you mouth, unable to let out a word to deny it. It seemed to amuse him, because he scoffed; and there was something very bitter in that sound too. “Kid, he’s not the first asshole to take advantage of his superior position. I’ve seen the types. Relax. If Cap here believes you, then so do I. Plus, I know a liar when I see one. And you ain’t lying.”

You breathed in shakily, a flicker of hope igniting in your chest. Could it really be so easy? That couldn’t be right…

“T-thank you, Mr. Stark. I-”

“Yeah, yeah, just name your first kid after me,” Mr. Stark uttered, waving it off.

The Falcon next to you chuckled and you shot Steve a confused gaze. Was that how Mr. Stark usually was? You had never met him in person; you had only ever heard him giving a speech on TV and you knew he had a certain reputation, but this was… different.

You were surprised to find Steve watching you; perhaps he worried about your reaction to such bluntness, since he had seen your outburst in the closet. Upon meeting your gaze – probably shy and undeniably surprised – he charmed a tiny smile for you.

“It’s gonna be okay, see?”

“What are you even worried about? You have three Avengers coming with you!” Mr. Wilson questioned lightly and you bit your lower lip as you thought of the source of anxiety indeed.

Yeah, I have three Avengers and they are all men. Sue me for not being sure which side they would take – not until now.

“You’re not a full-time Avenger, Wilson.”

Falcon gasped, clutching at his chest theatrically at Stark’s remark. “Ouch, Tony. My heart.”

You let out a breathy laugh at their banter and felt yourself relax despite your better judgement. You almost let yourself believe it truly would go alright. Well, as much as dealing with such shitty thing could.

“You’re all my heroes,” you whispered timidly, which earned you a bright smile from Sam Wilson.

“Thank you, ma’am.”

“Cruel, Birdboy. You stole the old man’s line,” Mr. Stark hummed, amused.

“Heh! Sorry, Cap. But I’m sure you have a whole set of other lines to use on her.”

You choked on your own spit as Steve faltered in his steps, his grip on you growing stronger. What the hell did the Falcon just say?

“Oh my God, Wilson, shut up before we get stuck with another harassment report.”

“I don’t think this a subject for joking,” Steve interjected, slightly irritated, and you shot him a grateful look, because he definitely had a point.

Except… once you weren’t in such a sticky situation, you totally wouldn’t mind Steve Rogers using a line on you. Not at all. And his hand around yours felt nice for multiple reasons, the wordless comfort and support only being one of them. It was warm and slightly calloused, a reminder of his physical work, and it was bigger than yours, so sweetly and distractingly enveloping yours…

But now it was so not the time.

Your peculiar group approached the office and you didn’t even have the time to brace yourself as Tony Stark simply threw the door open, not bothering to knock.

“Thomas Ian Gregory, you are fired this very second,” the billionaire exclaimed dramatically.

You would think he was just being a drama queen, except he sounded deadly serious, using your boss’ full name which he must have read out on the door, and his eyes were throwing daggers at the man sitting behind the desk, looking as if he was the fucking king of the world.

Your boss blinked in surprise and eyed all four of you; Falcon with his arms crossed on his chest, Ironman minus his suit with a murderous glare and a hand raised towards him as if he wanted to point a finger and then Gregory’s gaze fell on your hand connected with Steve’s; you wanted to retrieve it quickly, but Steve wouldn’t let you, his grip growing firm. Anger flashed through your boss’ eyes for a second, before he composed himself and rose from his chair with an innocently confused expression.

You wanted to puke and you felt your legs turning into a shaking mess of jello. This was it. Now he would use his slimy words to turn this situation around and you were about to get fired and humiliated so much that jumping under a bus would be the most likeable option for you.

“Mr. Stark, it’s an honour. Captain Rogers, Mr. Wilson. What do I owe the pleasure?”

You couldn’t believe this--- this pig. Seriously. Who the fuck did he think he was?! How could he--- just lie so easily, pretending that everything was perfectly fine?!

But Tony Stark was not fooled by the charade and you mentally sighed in relief, sure they must have heard the weight falling off of your shoulders even in Jersey.

“I’m sure you heard me, Mr. Gregory. You quit and you’ll be hearing from the HR soon. And you’ll be damn lucky if this young lady right here won’t sue you.”

You honestly wished you were invisible when Gregory’s gaze flickered to you, subtle anger with a promise of consequences in his irises – consequences that would come should you not cut this bullshit right now.

“I’m afraid I don’t understand, Mr. Stark. If this is about the unfortunate feelings my assistant has for me-”

Tears of rage and baseless shame stung in your eyes at his words and you breathed in sharply to defend yourself; before you could, Gregory continued.

“Though I can see they weren’t very… honest. Obviously my inferior seems to be the ‘love them and leave them’ type, which I should warn you about, Capta-”

Breathless at his malicious made-out theories, you did not expect Steve to drop your hand in favour to tower over your boss, making him shut up with one single glare.

Alright, you could see why he had thought that simply appearing at your office would make Gregory tremble in fear. Your boss actually backed off and learnt onto a table, looking as if he was supporting himself under the weight of Steve’s judgement.

“I met this woman for the first time not half an hour ago, hiding from you, too scared of your dirty hands to return to her own workplace. Trust me, it left an impression, just like you are leaving one now,” Steve grunted menacingly, causing your heart to pound in your chest in fright even with his words not aimed on you. “If I can give an advice, you pack your things as fast as you can, apologize to her profusely, begging for her forgiveness and you don’t set a foot in this building or speak to her ever again. Do we have an understanding?”

You weren’t the only one affected. Your boss tried to reciprocate Captain America’s glare, but he failed miserably. He visibly gulped and circled his desk, still watching the soldier as if he was expecting to get hit; then his eyes just dropped to his desk and he frantically started picking random things from it.

You watched the scene in front of you, paralyzed. Your heart was beating its way out of your chest, pulsing in your temples, your breathing alternating between hitching and picking up. Your vision started to swim.

Holy. Shit.

“Cap, I think you broke her.”

Steve spun to you at instant, his eyes roaming your face; or you thought so. He looked worried now; or you thought so. Thinking and frankly evaluating the stimuli your senses were receiving was a bit difficult at the moment.

What the hell had just happened?

Gentle hands took yours, leading you out of the room. You blindly followed, unsure how to put one foot in front of the other, your body running on autopilot.

It was over. Thomas Gregory was no longer your boss and it had happened without you losing your job. And Steve Rogers had scolded him as if he was a five-year old kid – a very pervert one, but a kid nonetheless. Steve put a fucking fear of God into him. All of that happening within three minutes. And you just… couldn’t quite process all that.

You barely registered getting into and out of an elevator, being seated on a couch, having a blanket tossed over your shoulders and a cup of warm liquid pressed into your hands. You automatically brought it to your lips, only to be stopped by a tender fingers curling around your wrist.

“Careful. It might be too hot,” a pleasant voice warned you and you blinked, finally focusing your gaze, finding rather worried and very handsome face staring back.

You glanced at the cup, surprised to identify the drink as Steve’s hand let go of yours.

“Is that… is that hot chocolate?” you stuttered, bewildered. Well, more like… astonished.

“Yeah. You’re not allergic to milk or anything, are you?”

You looked up back to Steve’s face, only to find him with his brows furrowed in concern, lips thoughtfully pursed. It snapped you to action.

“No! No. It’s just… I didn’t have one in years. Thank— thank you.”

His expression cleared, as he was evidently pleased with himself. “Good. You’re welcome.”

The words fell off his lips so easily. As if he just hadn’t… hadn’t saved your career. Or your mental health, really.

You eyed the table by the couch, setting the cup down, only to fully turn to him. He seemed a bit confused at that; but God, you had something important to say and since you didn’t want to give up the blanket just yet, you decided to get rid of the mug at least to look less pathetic.

“No, Steve, I… thank you,” you whispered sincerely, feeling tears in your eyes for like a millionth time that day. His smile widened a little.

“You’re welcome. I’m sorry if I… if I scared you down there. It wasn’t meant for you.”

“You didn’t-” you blurted out in attempt to deny it and make him feel better, only to waver as his eyebrow rose, picture perfect of doubt. It made you chuckle at yourself self-deprecatingly. “It’s not your fault that I was… surprised by your little hulk-out. I guess I just didn’t see it coming.”

“Hulk-out, huh? How do you feel?”

You shrugged, exhaling slowly, thinking hard about your answer.

“Like I just watched my life take a way better turn that I would expect... and I’m still only watching,” you whispered honestly, which led to his face twisting in a grimace.

“Anything I can do?”

You couldn’t help it; you scanned your surroundings, realizing you were in something that looked fancy enough to belong to Tony Stark and was way too big to be part of an actual apartment. You ran your hand down the blanket covering your shoulders, reaching for the abandoned cup to blow on it softly and take a careful sip of chocolate. Steve’s questioning gaze observed you while you did so and you smiled blissfully into the cup as the delicious rich taste caressed your tongue.

“You mean besides comforting me despite being a complete stranger, getting my harassing boss fired and scaring the hell out of him, taking me to--- here, giving me a blanket and making the best cup of hot chocolate I had in years? Give me a second, I’m sure I’ll figure out something else,” you babbled and Steve’s smile grew, tense shoulders relaxing. “Seriously, Steve. This is the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me. I owe you. I- I know you’re a hero and all that, but… yeah. I should be asking you what I could do for you in return.”

“That’s not-- I’m not--- ...you make a pleasant company,” he said in the end as if he realized he couldn't deny any of the things you had listed. You lowered your gaze to the chocolate as his eyes twinkled at the statement.

“Ditto.”

“Does that-” he blurted out and you tilted your head to side, watching him curiously when he stopped talking just as abruptly. “This is a terrible timing, but that’s apparently an infamous quality of mine, because usually I wait too long, and… uhm…”

Your heart skipped a beat at the suddenly embarrassed soldier scratching the back of his neck, peeking at your through his eyelashes. Was that--- was he trying to-? No, it couldn’t be.

“Yeah?” you softly encouraged him to continue.

He wetted his lips, causing your previously tight gut to warm up.

“I understand that it’s the last thing you’re thinking about right now, but… when you settle down again... and things are a bit calmer for you… would you- uhm,  like to… maybe spend some more time with--- with me?”

If he had blurted the sentence in one go, you would have dropped your mug in surprise despite suspecting this incredible thing when he had turned bashful. But he didn’t so your brain had enough time to process the words slowly leaving his lips, one after another, little shy, little hopeful. Your heart was speeding up with each of them, ready to burst when he finished with a tiny nervous smile.

Well. How could you possibly say no to that irresistible creature in front of you? You smiled into your drink.

“Yeah, I’d like that.”

His face lit up. “Really?”

You wanted to chuckle at the pure surprise on his face, but it was just too endearing and so you had to fight the urge to make an embarrassing sound like an aww instead.

“Yeah, Steve. I’d really like that,” you repeated, hiding the teasing note in your voice. “But you’ve got to teach me how to make a chocolate that good, because seriously, it tastes amazing.”

“I can’t do that.”

“Why not?” you demanded, a bit hurt, rather surprised. “I don’t want you to give up your secret recipe right away! Just… in time.”

He grinned at you boyishly, leaning a bit closer to you. You held your breath in anticipating, a the change. “I could. But then I wouldn’t get to enjoy the process of preparing it for you and your smile in return.”

You stared at him for few moments, taking the statement in, wondering if he was teasing you or was being serious. The corners of his lips were quirked up as if he was indeed joking, but there was a certain spark of honesty in his eyes.

You decided to play along, whether it was a game or not. Perhaps it was the relief of newly found freedom from a sleazy man in your life that plucked up your courage and woke up your jovial side.

“Aww, Steve, that’s so sweet. Is that your way of telling me you’re planning on spoiling me? Because then I would need significantly less time to… settle down.”

His grin widened at your words. “Is that so?”

“Mm.”

“Well then…” he brought up lowly, torturing you with anticipation when he didn’t continue, only to watch you with a mischievous smile.

“...then?”

“What are your plans for Friday evening?”

Oh, you were so glad you were sitting, because otherwise the force of the moment in which Steve Rogers asked you out on Friday night would knock you down.

You tried to think of an answer that wouldn’t sound like an over-enthusiastic YES, but his blue eyes staring into yours made it very difficult for you.

Dammit, it was harder to talk to him when you could actually see--- you smiled smugly at the idea that popped up in your head and raised an eyebrow in silent challenge.

“I’m hiding in a supply closet. Why, you wanna join me?”

Steve burst out laughing, throwing his head back with that sound and the picture armed your heart so thoroughly it was unfair.

“Sure thing. Would you like me to bring muffins and coffee or do you prefer an actual dinner?”

You found yourself laughing too and you suddenly believed that your life would indeed get better. It already had, after all.

S.R. masterlist

Beautiful divider by @whimsicalrogers 

Thank you for the kind feedback on the first part and I hope you liked this one too :))

Thank you for reading!

[jolalibrary]

Stood Up + Salads

Diego Hargreeves x Fem!Reader Words: 1.5k AN: Set with a S1 Diego but not S1 or S2 storyline. For a friend, you know who you are.

He didn’t need to look up when the door goes, he knows it’s you. Because when it rains, it pours.

Diego wonders if he should be more upset about his father, rather than being upset he’s had to see the others. Only for him to take his frustration out on you, consciously or not.

The fact you allow the door to meet the frame with such a loud thud is enough of a signal to him that you’re pissed.

Diego takes a second, thinking of his next steps as he swipes his tongue over his teeth, staring at the punching bag, as if it’s going to provide any answers on what he should do. How he could get out of this. Because if he plays this wrong, which he will, it’s going to spiral. Becoming so much worse than it already is.

A whole lot fucking worse.

And it’s already bad.

Hitting the bag once, twice and then thrice, he pays attention to your footsteps nearing. Not turning, not needing to see if your arms are folded, lips pursed and giving him one of you signature dead expressions. He knows you will be, because Diego fucking knows you and you know him.

And he hates it.

He despises that you know about his tick. About his family. About his upbringing, talent and everything else in between. He hates that you suggested calling off the meal before he did, and he hates himself for agreeing to go even if he knew he wouldn’t attend.

Because he’s decided he hates being happy.

He likes being miserable, likes fighting petty crime without anyone to come home to.

“Asshole.”

Rolling his head, he casts his eyes over you. Finding you exactly as he’s imagined. The only—slight—difference is the look in your eyes.

Sadness. A look which doesn’t suit you. One which stands out to him, because he’s seen it so rarely.

It swirls in your eyes, mixing with your usual shade, darkening them as they pin him to his spot. Or try to.

Letting his hands fall to his sides, he lets out a sigh before he can help himself. And the glare you send him is enough to force him to turn to face you.

When it comes to you, he isn’t sure if he hates how close you are to him physically or metaphorically; not sure if he dislikes it more that he wants to kiss you or let you love him.

“Hello to you too.”

Your lips twitch into a smirk. “You don’t deserve a hello.”

“Touché.”

“Surprised you know that word.”

“Under all this, I’m clever y’know?”

“Are you?” you snap, and you roll your lips together.

Those painted plump lips that’s kissed every inch of him. That he’s woke up dreaming about and gone to sleep pressed against.

“You’re angry—“

“Oh, I’m past angry, Hargreeves,” you says, tapping your foot on the gym floor. “I was angry when I was on my second glass, wondering where you were. I was fuming when I left, embarrassed and ready to hunt you down. Now, now I’m almost murderous.”

He hasn’t been called his surname in sometime. Hasn’t found himself in hot waters, with you at least, in sometime. Even angry, he feels your eyes rake down his frame, following a bead of sweat which falls from his neck down his chest and stomach.

Pulling the gloves undone with his teeth, snaps your eyes back up. And he finds himself smirking at you and his own foolishness simultaneously.

Because deep down he’s known this day would come, where you—like most—tired of him. Finding yourself irritated with his ways, of his selfishness and his impulsiveness.

“Let me have it then.”

He throws the gloves to the floor, shifting his weight as he notices the slight narrowing of your eyes. The way your lips twitch, whether a smirk or a smile, he can’t be sure. Usually, there’s less talking when you’re like this; usually you’re already pinned under him or against something. Now, you don’t even look at him like you’d welcome that.

Diego hates you for that too.

Despises that you have gotten under his skin, throwing him off his game. He’s dated. Well, since Patch they’ve not been constant. Real or permanent.

But you, you got to him. He still doesn’t even know how.

You don’t bend as easily, don’t surrender as you should. You fight him, sometimes tooth and fucking nail, and fuck, he doesn’t hate that about you. He loves that. He loves it when you steal the wind from his sail; when you cut him down. You don’t pander to him, you call him out, and he needs that even if he can’t admit it.

He even doesn’t mind that you sooth the insecurity, recognising when enough is enough. Halting anything before it goes too far, leaves too many wounds. You make him want to try to be a little better, even if he fails most days.

“No.”

“No?”

You snort. “No. Because if I rip you a new one, you’ll find some way to say sorry. And, then you’ll kiss me, and I’ll melt, and then you will forget that you’re an asshole.”

“I don’t think I’ll ever forget that.”

Your jaw tenses, almost impossibly so. “For someone in your position, you have a lot of snark.”

“Be careful, you may hurt my feelings.”

Nodding, your lips twist before straightening to an unreadable expression again. “Oh, don’t worry. I’m done.”

His muscles relax.

And his heart stops.

Yet Diego is somehow, not as surprised as he should have been.

Even if he looks at you, staring at your eyes and hoping to see a tease, a jest. He looks hoping you will change your mind, that he hasn’t successfully pushed another person away.

“Took you long en—“

“Im done talking,” you continue, cutting him off. Taking closer steps, slow ones, full of purpose as you dig your eyes into him. “I’m not gonna ask you to do right by me, I’m not gonna ask for an explanation why you decided to stand me up tonight. Hey, you don’t even have to talk to me.”

His forehead creases, flicking his eyes from your eyes to your mouth.

“Because I know why. You want me without the commitment, without the expectations of being a good person. You want a hole to fuck, so here I am, Hargreeves. You’ve got one.”

Fuck.

He stifles a sigh, especially as your finger press into his chest, nail digging down into the skin as you roll your lips and then he has to focus on not groaning. Especially when you bat your eyes lashes and smirk so condescendingly he wonders if you’ve been sent to test him.

“You want to pretend you don’t crave normal, that you don’t deserve it,” you continue, looking up at him, “I’ll play pretend. Hey, I’ll become the best damn actor in your movie you’ll ever know. But, I’m done talking.”

You place your other hand on his, moving his to your hip as you smirk.

“So, lights camera action, baby. Where do you wanna fuck me first?”

He feels your lips ghost over his. His hand clenching around your hip. Everything inside of him telling to just go with it, to not talk, to not burst open in front of you.

To kiss you.

To throw you down on the mats and not talk for hours.

“I-I’m s-sorry.”

“No. No you’re not,” you says, full of sadness, your expression not changing to match your tone. “If you were, you’d have come to dinner. You’d have stabbed your fork into the salad before I’d have told you I want street food.”

You didn’t move, and neither does he. Your hand spreading over his chest, his hand still on your hip.

“You don’t let yourself enjoy anything, because what? Your dad was an asshole and your brother went to the moon?” You ask, head tilted. “Diego, I don’t give a shit if you’re number two, you’re number one for me. But you have to try. You have to try at least ten percent otherwise it’s just me, forcing you to be with me.”

He never feels forced. Not with you.

You’re sometimes the only thing which is good. Which isn’t fucked, tainted or ruined. You’re good, if not a bit too sweary and a bit too good at drinking. But, you’re… nice, and unwilling to let him settle.

“You’re m-my number o-one too.”

“Cool.”

“I mean i-it.”

“Nice.”

“Baby, c'mon?”

You sigh. “What, Diego?”

Diego. He’s Diego again.

He doesn’t smile, even if he wants too.

He doesn’t kiss you, even if he’s fighting every part of himself.

He just stares, using his other hand to cup your cheek. “I am sorry.”

“Salad at a fancy place too good for you?”

He smirked. “Yeah, kinda.”

“Good. Because it’s too fancy for me too.”

“So why we’re we even fucking going, baby?”

“Because,” you say, defiance in your tone, “it’s what normal people do. They don’t meet over a bad game of darts and several beers, and fuck on a boxing ring. They don’t fight a literal mugger with trained assassin-level knife skills a month after beginning to sleep together.”

Your shoulders sink, your expression softening. “They date, at restaurants who charge too much and hold hands across parks. And for a second, one tiny fucking moment, I wanted that for you. I wanted normal, meet-cute type romance before we grabbed whatever was in a cart and we fucked on my new sideboard.”

His thumb brushed over your cheek. “I’d have liked that.”

“You’d have loved that. But—“

“I’m sorry,” he says again, softer, more meaningful, “I’m s-s-sorry. I really am.”

“I’m still mad.”

“That’s okay.”

“You owe me a fancy salad.”

Smirking, he nods. “Baby, I’ll give you a salad bar if you want it.”

“I don’t like salad.”

“No?”

“No.”

Smirking, he cups your cheek with more purpose. “What do you want then, baby?”

He watches your eyes darken. "Oh."

"Oh, indeed. You have a lot of making up to do.”

[saidrabbles]

how i would end "my name"

i feel like my name could have ended in so many other ways without destroying me this much :") but in a way, jiwoo had sacrificed so much for her revenge and would all have gone down the drain had she turned herself to the police. so i have this ending/sequel in mind that i wanted to write down.

disclaimer: the characters and the story are not mine, im only writing how i would want the ending to be. enjoy ! (also one of the best osts ugh)

"no matter what happens from now on, i will always be by your side" pildo looked at jiwoo reassuringly. for the first time in a long while, she had felt safe. she felt the genuineness in his voice. in his eyes. in his smile. after her father's death, she believed that only mujin really cared for her. she didn't express it in words much, neither did he, but they both trusted and secretly cared for each other. after she knew that he was the killer, she couldn't see straight. how can she be so utterly fooled by his words? from the way his eyes softened and his sad smile whenever he talked about her father, to the way he saw dong-hoon as his only true friend...was it all a lie?

lost in her thoughts, she fails to see the biker that emerges beside their car. she looks up, noticing the person that was holding a gun pointed at them. mujin. a shot is heard. she freezes. she keeps looking at mujin, her pupils ever so slightly shaking. it was when pildo fell into her arms, and mujin sped off, that she started to process what was going on. pildo was shot. she starts shaking uncontrollably. she doesn't know what to do, but she sees in her vision the other team members rushing to him, and she opens the door and run the opposite side.

she runs and runs until her feet give up and she falls down. she touched her face, to notice that it had become wet. she was crying. she felt broken. her phone then rings. she looks at it, it was one of the team members calling. she accepts the call "he's in the icu right now. he's been shot in his abdominal area. he's in a dangerous position and i...." he stays silent. "he really cared for you, you know. he needs you by his side." you were silently sobbing the whole time, putting a hand over your mouth to prevent your cries from being heard. "im sorry...it's all my fault" was all that you could barely manage to say before you hang up. you wipe away your tears, and continue running to the place that had the answers you needed.

she fought her way to the top floor, being injured here and there, but still managing to walk. she pushes her way into the murderers office, losing her only bullet to a stubborn jerk. she pushes open the large door, and mujin looks up to her expectantly. "took you long enough." "shut up-" she glares at him "if you knew i was the killer, why did you not come after me?! isn't this the reason you got rid of the evidence and got me out of jail !?" he screams. "i wanted to be a human for once. i wanted to be treated like one. when i found out the truth, i couldn't breathe. i couldn't believe any of it, i thought it was all a lie. i never thought you could betray me like that." he smirks "well now you know. it won't end until one of us dies. i thought we were similar, but we're distinctively different. you can never kill a person." her tears welled up so quickly. "how...why...did you kill pildo? when someone finally loves me and sees me for who i am" she sobs " when i finally met someone who did not care about my horrible past" she looks up "but you're right, because i hesitated, because i thought i could ever be human, i lost another precious person to me". you smirk "i will become the monster you want me to be."

that's when they both plunged at each other, brutally and confidently hurting each other in any accessible place they see. she gets weaker by the second, falling down easily and having a hard time standing up. "get up...stand up!! come at me, stab me !! and somewhere in that confidence, she can feel the guilt overtake him. she feels his breath hitch everytime she falls down. she stands up, her eyes never leaving him for a second. she plunges at him one last time.

groans can be heard. they both fall down, jiwoo being on top of him. he was stabbed. but the pain was not in the place she had stabbed him, his thigh, but rather, his heart. he looks at her. "the guy that you shot, did everything he could to stop me from destroying myself...the overwhelming guilt you're feeling, i want you to continue feeling it. that's your punishment. you want me to kill you so that you feel less guilty about it all, but it won't happen. i want the deed that you did to keep haunting you for the rest of your life." she bores her dark eyes into his. tears well up his eyes and he tries to hold them back, never leaving hers. she's never seen him cry. "you are not a monster, you never were. you're just broken, and that guy was your salvation. even if its too late...im sorry. for killing your father. for killing my best friend." he turns his face to the side, unable to look at her. she couldn't stay there any longer, so she weakly tries to stand up, giving him one last, final look, before walking to the door.

she aimlessly walks in the dark, wondering if the surgery went well. she couldn't call, she may never know whether he lives. she prays to god, for the first time in her life, to not take pildo away from this world. this world needs him. he still has alot to experience. she chokes up tears, eventually falling on her knees, sobbing. after a while, she gives it her all to stand up again, as she's been hurt badly. she continues.

6 months later

pildo opens his eyes, hissing from the brightness of the room. he tries to open his eyes again, this time his eyes adjusting better to the lights. "where...." he trails off. he looks to his side. no one is in the room. then it all comes back to him at once. "from now on, whatever happens, I'll always be with you." her eyes. her tears. her smile. he sits up abruptly, groaning in pain due to the sudden movement and a splitting pain in his head. "where is...where is she !! jiwoo !!" he screams with everything in him. one of the team members opens the door and rushes to him. "pildo, you're awake !! i can't believe this...let me call the rest-" pildo pulls his hand "where is jiwoo?? is she okay? what happened-" "you've been in a coma for 6 months and she is the first person you think about? i feel hurt" he chuckles. but he notices how worried pildo is and says "she's...she disappeared. i don't think she was shot, but she ran off after you got shot...we tried finding her but to no avail. it's like she completely vanished from this city." pildo's mouth is left agape "i've been asleep for six months..?" the latter nods. pildo chuckles in disbelief. he pulls out the needles stuck to him, attempting to get out of bed, only to fall once he tries to stand up. "hyung it's too early for you to get up!" he holds pildo up. "i need to find her." "why would we look for her when she's the reason you're like this !!" he screams "she's not. i need to find her. i needs to make sure she's safe and sound. i need her." the other sighs. "get better quickly so that we start looking for her again" he smiled.

after another few weeks, pildo was in his office again. looking for her. "okay listen up! this is what we know last about her" and goes on to explain the situation. "please be okay, ji." he says it loud enough for him to hear it.

a/n: an alternative universe would be jiwoo and mujin making out after beating tf out of each other. but i like the way this turned out for now. hope you enjoyed <3

[fandom-imagines-stories]

Trapped Secrets

Dr. Spencer Reid x Reader, Derek Morgan Platonic x Reader

Words: 3692

Summary: With no time to lose, you and Morgan storm an unsub’s house before the rest of the team gets there. After not hearing back from you, Spencer and the team start to panic. Injured, trapped, and keeping a major secret, you and Morgan have to stay alive in a frightened unsub’s basement. 

Notes: I picture this in season four because that’s where I am in the series. Plus I really like Spencer’s hair cut at the beginning of this season.  I am totally in love with Spencer Reid so expect to be seeing more imagines for him and for Criminal Minds in general! I hope you guys are as excited as I am. 

Find more Spencer and more HERE

-

“You’ll be careful, right?” You asked, straightening your boyfriend’s tie underneath his vest. 

“Only if you are.” Spencer gave you that little awkward smile that he always gave you. “Besides, I’m not going with Agent Action Hero.” He motioned to Agent Morgan; your search partner for the evening. 

“He’s not an action hero.” You laughed, strapping on your vest. “He just really likes kicking in doors.” Spencer snickered slightly, but his expression was still uncomfortable. 

“You jealous that I’m riding with your girl Reid?” Morgan laughed, patting the younger agent on the back. 

“Morgan.” You hissed, jerking your head towards Hotch. 

“What? We all know about you and the brainiac.”

“Yeah, and Hotch doesn’t exactly like being reminded about it.” The relationship between you and Dr. Reid wasn’t exactly protocol, especially on the same team. You hadn’t quite been able to figure out why SSA Hotchner hadn’t reported you or told you to put an end to it. 

“You guys better get going. We only have about five hours before he’ll likely kill Audrey Lang.” Spencer hooked his finger with yours, only for a moment, but it sent a sweet, tingling feeling up your arm. With both of you being new to any kind of serious relationship, you stuck to pretty small signs of affection. You didn’t mind. It was personal and perfect. Spencer went to join Hotch and you headed to the car with Morgan. 

“Is it just me, or did Reid actually look kind of worried?” Morgan asked. It was more to tease you than from concern. 

“Shut up.” You couldn’t help but grin. Morgan had that effect. You got into the passenger side and waited for his list of snarky comments. He wasn’t done poking fun at you yet. 

“I have to say, you’ve got ‘rule breaker’ all over you, but I honestly did not see this coming from Dr. Teacher's-Pet.” He shook his head with a smug smile and started the car. You just sat and rolled your eyes. Any response would just mean more provocation. “But dating a younger man… I always pictured you as more of the ‘Silver Fox’ kinda girl.” Now that pressed your buttons.

“Okay, first of all, just because I like Richard Gere, doesn’t mean I like older men.” You retorted, “Secondly, I’m not even that much older than Reid. There’s what, three years, between us?” 

“Uuuhuuuh.” The side eye he gave you made you want to slap him. Morgan chuckled. “Come on, you and I are friends, right? Don’t I get a few little details?” From the smirk on his face, you knew what he was talking about. 

“Derek Morgan, we are on a case. We are professionals on a case about three murdered federal employees. I will not divulge information regarding my sex life!” 

“I never said anything about sex, Agent Y/L/N.” His grin grew and you begrudgingly turned your face to the window. Morgan laughed at the red flushing your cheeks. You would be mad if he wasn’t your best friend. 

In the other car, Reid rode beside Hotch in tense silence. Spencer knew that his relationship with you could potentially get both of you into trouble with the bureau. Every time he was around Hotch, he waited for the reprimand. The unusual quiet was almost worse. Hotch turned a corner and took a heavy breath. 

“It’s a bad idea. You know that right?” 

“I know it’s against the rules, if that’s what you mean.” As intimidating as his superior could be, Reid was sure of himself. 

“The rules are there for a reason, Reid.” Hotch sighed. He would give anything to not be having this conversation right now. 

“Have either of us proven to be less efficient?”

“That’s not the point.” 

“If our relationship complicates our work, I can assure you that Y/N and I will be the first ones to address it.” 

“Reid-”

“You know, if anything, I think that we’ve working better together than we have in the past, which is saying something because Y/N and I-”

“Are you happy?” He asked a little more aggressively than he had intended. Reid just blinked at him blankly.

“What?”

“Are both of you happy?” He glanced over at the younger agent and Spencer shifted in his seat. He was awkward, but assertive. 

“I can’t totally speak for Y/N, but… yes.” He sat and waited for his superior’s response. Hotch fixed his eyes on the road. 

“Okay.” 

“I’m sorry?”

“I said okay.” Maybe he was going soft, but he’d never seen Reid or you like this before. If this relationship could help the both of you get through the horrors you saw every day, then turning a blind eye might not be the worst thing. 

“Thank you.” Spencer felt a small smile creep onto his face. Hotch scowled. 

“If a single problem arises, and I mean any dispute or laps in judgement-”

“You didn’t know anything about it. Got it.” Spencer stared at his lap to hide his smirk. 

You were still avoiding Morgan’s inquiring gaze when Garcia’s voice came through your earpiece. 

“Guys, Audrey Lang’s phone just turned on.” 

“Where?” Morgan’s grip on the steering wheel tightened. 

“157 21st Street.” Your stomach turned. As selfish as it was, a part of you had hoped that someone else would be closer. Morgan whirled the car around. 

“That’s just around the corner from us. We’re right on top of him.” He slammed on the brakes in front of the house and the two of you jumped out of the car. The house was about what you expected from a paranoid, conspiracy-obsessed unsub. The windows were boarded up and two different cameras looked down at you from the roof. 

“Morgan.” You pointed to the devices. Jacobs knew you were here. He nodded and spoke into his radio. 

“This guy has surveillance everywhere. He’s going to panic.” He glanced back at you, waiting for you to have his back. Despite your building panic, you didn’t have time to hesitate. You gave him a strong nod. “We’re going in.” 

You pushed your fear to the pit of your stomach. If you showed even the slightest panic, Morgan would know and you could jeopardize everything. So when he kicked in the door, you were right behind him. 

The house was silent. With guns raised, you both covered the first floor, finding nothing but scattered notes and ‘Big Brother Is Watching’ flyers. You located a flight of stairs leading to the basement and cautiously followed Morgan down. Similarly to the floor above, the basement seemed other than a desk with a few surveillance screens. Across from the stairs was a large metal door. It was open.  

Morgan charged towards it, but something wasn’t sitting right with you. 

“Hotch, how close are you and Reid?” You asked tentatively. 

“Five more minutes. Have you found Mrs. Lang?” 

“She’s in here!” Morgan announced. You stepped into the room, but kept close to the door. Morgan was kneeling over the unconscious body of Audrey. While she was out cold, she was still breathing. 

“What about Jacobs?” Hotch asked. 

“We looked everywhere upstairs and he wasn’t there.” 

“Reid, when you went to the other crime scene, you said that the victim had been covered and made to look like part of the rubble, right?”

“Yeah, Jacobs wanted to hide the body. If the construction worker hadn’t been working there, it likely wouldn't have been found.” Spencer’s voice wavered as he figured out where you were going with this. You looked at Morgan with wide eyes. 

“Then how did we get here so easily?” 

Hotch yelled into the radio. 

“It’s a trap. Get out of there. Now!” 

You whirled around and came face to face with Steven Jacobs. You fired your weapon, but didn’t get the chance to see if you hit him. Instead, you stumbled backwards and the large metal door slammed shut. 

“No!” Morgan shouted, throwing his weight against the door to try and break it down. “Hotch, can you hear me? Reid!” The radio connection was dead. Morgan slammed against the door again. 

“Derek.” 

“We’re going to get out of here.” He searched the door for any point of weakness.

“Derek.” 

 “Let us out, you son of a bitch!”

“Derek!” You finally yelled. When he turned around you watched his face morph with panic. Blood leaked through your fingers, your hand pressed against the wound in your shoulder. It wasn’t your gun that had gone off, it was Jacobs’. And you were hit. 

-

The street swarmed with teams from local police, S.W.A.T, and the BAU. In the middle of all of it was Spencer. He just stared at the front door. Somewhere in the basement of that house, his girlfriend and his closest friend were trapped by a paranoid schizophrenic with a gun. Neighbors reported already hearing a shot go off. Judging by the lights still on in the house and the fact that you and Morgan still hadn’t come out yet, it wasn’t one of your guns to make the shot. 

“He must be using something to jam the signal.” Prentiss huffed, her attempts to get a hold of either of you failing. “We need to get in there.” 

“We don’t know what Jacobs has in there.” Rossi said gruffly, joining them after meeting with the S.W.A.T leader. “For all we know, he could try and blow the whole block.”

“The longer we wait, the longer he has Morgan and Y/L/N.” Spencer ran his fingers through his hair. “Audrey Lang is probably dead and we don’t know who shot the gun or-”

“When they found her, Morgan didn’t say anything about Lang being dead.” Hotch said sternly. 

“He didn’t say she was alive, either.” Spencer’s voice was harsh considering he was speaking to a superior. 

“Reid, I want to get them out just as badly as you do, but if we try and storm in there, Jacobs will likely kill them and himself.” Hotch’s tone was stern and surprisingly calm. 

“You thought you had me, didn’t you!?” A voice boomed from the house. Every agent in the street tensed and raised their weapons. Prentiss was the first to lower her gun. 

“Look in the bushes.” She pointed to the shrubbery on either side of the door. “Speakers.” 

“You all thought you would silence the truth! Well I’m smarter than you. That’s right. And I will not be silenced!” 

Hotch looked at the hostage negotiator, who gave him the okay to talk. 

“Mr. Jacobs we don’t want to silence you.” 

“Tell that to the three spies in the other room.” Underneath Jacobs' voice was the sound of banging. Like fists against a door. Listening closer, Spencer could hear a yelling voice. 

“Morgan.” He whispered to the others. They listened to the sound of their coworker- their friend- trying to break free. 

“Jacobs you son of a bitch, we’ve got two injured people in here!” Derek screamed. You closed your eyes, trying to drown out the sound that was just making the pain worse. 

“Derek, don’t antagonize him.” You grimaced, trying to keep pressure against the still gushing bullet hole in your shoulder. “It’ll just piss him off.”

“Y/N, we need to get paramedics in here. Audrey is barely breathing and you’re bleeding out.” He knelt in front of you, lifting your hand slightly to look at the wound. 

“I thought you weren’t supposed to tell the patient they’re going to die.” You teased, trying to get your mind off of the guilt and regret. Derek winced. 

“You’re not going to die. I didn’t mean that.” 

“Go check on her.” You motioned towards Mrs. Lang. “I’ll be fine.” You adjusted slightly so your vest was in your lap. You had to take it off in order to tend to your wound and it left you vulnerable. 

As Derek crossed the room, you felt your vision blur with tears. You should have told him. You should have told him. 

Outside the tension was only getting worse. Jacobs had gone quiet and the team was itching to break the door down. Spencer was pacing, running through plan after plan in his head. If Garcia could hack into Jacobs’ system, they could cut the surveillance feed and go in. But if Jacobs noticed the hack, he would kill everyone inside. Finally, the shrill voice came back over the speakers. 

“One of your spies is dead.” He laughed frantically, a madman slipping more and more into his delusion. Spencer froze. “She said she didn’t know anything, but I knew she was lying. You train them well, you know.”

“She.” Spencer whispered, the panic making his hands shake. 

“Mr. Jacobs, which woman is dead?” Hotch asked carefully. Jacobs laughed again. 

“You have chips in all of them, you tell me.” 

“Mr. Jacobs, I need to know who died.” While he kept his gaze focused on the house, Hotch could tell that the team was holding their breath. 

“Damnit!” Derek exclaimed, slamming his hand against the floor. Audrey was dead. 

“There was nothing you could do, Derek.” You said grimly. You looked around at the metal walls and felt the last bit of hope leave you. “He’s going to kill all of us.” 

“No, no, you don’t get to talk like that.” Derek crouched in front of you and put a hand on your cheek. “We are not going to die in here.” A tear slipped down your cheek and you shook your head. 

“I never even got to tell him.” Maybe it was shock, but you started to hyperventilate. “I didn’t tell him, Derek.” 

“Sweetheart, what are you talking about?” 

“I didn’t tell Spencer.”

“Tell Reid what?” Derek’s eyes searched yours until you watched the realization on his face. “You’re not…”

“Yeah, Derek. I am.” You wiped another tear away. “I found out a couple of weeks ago.” 

“You’ve known that long and haven’t told anybody?” He sighed, sitting down beside you. You laid your head on his shoulder. 

“I’m telling you now, aren’t I?” You laughed humorously. “I know I should have told Hotch as soon as I found out, but I couldn’t tell him before I told Spencer and I just couldn’t figure out how to tell him.” Your voice cracked and Derek pressed a kiss to your temple. 

“It’s okay. It’s going to be okay.” 

It was eerily quiet. Jacobs had stopped his rambling and the sirens outside seemed distant now. Your hands fell to your stomach and you smiled sadly. 

“Help me think of names.” 

“Hmm?”

“Come on, distract me from the pain. Help me think of names for the little genius.” You shifted so that you were looking at Derek. “I was thinking that, if it’s a girl, I want to name her Diana. Spencer’s mom has always been such a big part of his life and I think that’s what he would want.”

“Diana is a beautiful name.” He gave you a sweet smile and took your hand in his. “What if it’s a boy?”

“See, I can’t make up my mind on that. I’m sure Spence would want some super smart author’s name or something, but... he’s the smartest person I know.” You spread your fingers over your belly, thinking about everything you had to lose. 

“Well if Spencer Jr. doesn’t stick, you could always name him after your favorite profiler.” Derek chuckled. His smirk fell when he looked at the sorrow on your face. 

“I need you to tell him.” 

“What?”

“If I don’t…” You gulped. “If I don’t make it out of this, I don’t want him to find out from some doctor. I want him to hear it from you.” 

“Don’t go there. Don’t you go there, you hear me?” He stood with new determination. “We are getting out of here and you and that wonder baby are going to be just fine.” He brought your hand up to his lips before turning towards the door. 

“What are you-”

“Jacobs!” He pounded on the door. “I’m ready to talk! I’ll tell you anything you want to know.” 

“Derek what are you doing?” You struggled to stand and Derek moved you to the wall beside the door and motioned for you to stay still. 

“I’m ready to talk, Jacobs! You win!” You both readied your weapons and Derek stood in the corner. 

It didn’t take long for Jacobs to take the bait. Slowly, the metal door opened and Jacobs cautiously stepped inside. His wild eyes locked on you and your gun and he charged towards you. Before he could get far, Derek kicked the door into him. The impact made him stumble forward into you, shoving you against the wall. Your head hit the concrete hard, disorienting you long enough for Jacobs to aim his gun at your stomach. 

This time the shot wasn’t his. And you didn’t miss. 

-

The second shot had everyone ready to go in. Teams were prepping when the front door opened. 

“Hold your fire!” Morgan shouted. “I’ve got an injured agent here!” He emerged from the house walking as fast as he could. He was carrying you. Spencer broke into a sprint, rushing alongside him and trying to examine your injuries. 

“What happened? Is she okay?” Before he could answer, paramedics swarmed them. 

“She was shot in the left shoulder, no exit wound, and she’s lost a lot of blood. She also hit her head pretty hard, but she’s remained conscious.” He informed them. 

“Sir, you’ll have to come with us so we can examine you as well.” One ordered. 

“I’m coming with you.” Reid said firmly. Nobody argued with him and so they all climbed into the back of the ambulance. 

They sat Morgan and Reid down and got you onto a gurney. 

“Agent Y/L/N, can you hear me?” 

“Agent Morgan, did you sustain any injuries in Mr. Jacobs’ basement?”

“Dr. Reid, I need you to stay over there.” 

So many things were happening at once, Derek could barely get a word in. 

“There’s something you need to know before you give her anything.” He told the woman tending to you. He finally looked at Reid. He’d been avoiding his gaze since he stepped out of the house, but now he had to keep his promise to you. He had to tell him. “She’s pregnant.” 

The paramedics acted accordingly and Spencer just stared at him. 

“What?” 

“She’s pregnant, kid.” Derek put a hand on his shoulder, but he shrugged it off, his gaze shifting to you. 

“That’s not… she would have told me. She would have-”

“She wanted to tell you. She was just scared.”

“Scared of what?”

“I don’t know, kid.”

“Don’t call me that!” Spencer pushed away from him. 

“Sir, I need you to calm down-”

“Reid-”

“You should have waited! If you had waited for the rest of us, this wouldn’t have happened.”

“We were trying to save Audrey Lang.”

“Audrey Lang died!” Spencer snapped. “And now so could Y/N. She could die and could my…” He trailed off, his anger fading quickly into a devastated panic. 

“This is really not the place for this argument.” One of the paramedics warned. 

“She’s going to be okay, Reid. Her and your baby are going to be okay.” He pulled the younger agent into a hug, trying to convince himself as well. 

-

The whole team was in the waiting room. Hotch watched Reid carefully as he paced relentlessly. Judging by the tension between him and Morgan, there was something the two weren’t saying. 

The bodies of Audrey Lang and Steven Jacobs were found in his basement. Hotchner would be filling out the paperwork as soon as they found out your condition. When the doctor finally approached them, everyone was on the edge of their seats. 

“Agent Y/L/N will have to wear a sling for her shoulder injury and she’s suffering from a concussion, but in time, she will make a full recovery.” Everyone breathed a sigh of relief. The doctor continued. “As for the other matter,” She gave Spencer a small smile, “she’s asking to speak to Dr. Reid before any other visitors.” 

With everybody’s eyes on him, Spencer followed her back to your room. You looked a lot better now and you were giving him a nervous smile. 

“Hey.” 

“Hey.” He stood in the doorway for a moment, unable to move. 

“I’m going to go fill out some forms, but I will be just down the hall if you need anything or have any questions.” The doctor said before leaving the two of you alone. Spencer shoved his hands in his pockets and slowly shuffled forward. 

“Is everything okay?” He asked. “I mean… is the… are you-”

“We’re both fine, Spence.” You held your breath, waiting for him to react. Spencer pulled up a chair and took your hand in his. His hands were shaking slightly. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” 

“Spence…”

“Were you that afraid of how I would react?”

“No!” You exclaimed, laying a hand on his cheek. “Spencer, I was afraid of everything. I was afraid of facing it. I love you and I want this child, I do. But… I know geological profiling and how to link victims and what to say to a grieving family. I don’t know how to be a parent.” 

“You think I do?” He laughed anxiously. “I don’t know the first thing about being a dad. But…” He gulped. “I know that I have been happier with you than I have in my whole life. I don’t know a lot about love, but everything I do know, I know because of you. And if you can do that, then we can figure this out.” 

A grin spread across your face and you pulled his lips to yours. You were too distracted by each other to notice the other figure at the door. 

“I believe I was told something about naming a certain baby after me?” Derek smirked. Spencer gave you a look. 

“You’re delusional, Morgan.” You laughed. Derek looked at Reid. 

“Are we good, kid?” 

Spencer smiled. 

“Yeah. We’re good.” 

[dracowars]

obsessed | tom riddle

pairing: tom x reader

word count: 2,9k

summary: where y/n dislikes tom's obsession of becoming the dark lord

a/n: my first tom imagine for @creeping156tin !!! i hope you enjoy it as much as i enjoyed writing it <3

warnings: angst, claustrophobia, mentions of blood

universe: harry potter

A loud, painful scream suddenly pulls you out of your deep, peaceful sleep and you shoot up from your bed, your dorm room almost completely wrapped in darkness except for a few dim candlelights.

"What was that?!", your roommate asks you in fear and lights up all the lamps in your room with a spell. The other two girls also look around anxiously and neither of you know an answer to the question.

Until you suddenly hear numerous voices and steps outside your room and you quickly jump up, your friends accompanying you as you quietly open the heavy door. Carefully, you peer out of the narrow gap, only to see how all the other students in your house are running around in front of it, frightened.

"What is going on here?", you ask one of the students who you get hold of first, and look at him expectantly but somehow also a little bit scared.

"Somebody is supposed to have died!", he answers you shortly and as fast as you stopped him, he sprints off again, following the others.

Taking a look at your friends, who are still standing close behind you at the door, you can see the pure fear in their eyes. And even though they do not look like they want to leave your dorm any time soon, they nod understandingly as a sign that they still want to come with you. After all, there have always been a lot of rumours going around Hogwarts that were ultimately false anyway.

Hastily grabbing your cloaks in the colors of your house, you follow the other students out into the dark and cold corridors of Hogwarts. One of your friend is clinging onto your left arm while you are busy seeing where everyone is going.

Although you are never really afraid of anything, you now have a very uncomfortable feeling in your stomach area. The high-pitched, deafening scream from earlier still gives you an incredible amount of goosebumps all over your body and thousands of questions fly through your head.

If someone was actually killed, then who? And above all, by whom?

The four of you continue to follow the crowd, which already seems pretty strange to you as this succeeds without further problems because no teacher is patrolling the corridors like usually, and you finally stop in a long, illuminated hallway. Half of the school is probably in this certain hallway right now and romps into a big pile.

The feeling of fear is suddenly overshadowed by worry as your thoughts wander off while you get closer to the crowd. They wander off to Tom Riddle, your best friend.

The questions where he is and whether he is okay or not buzz through your mind and your knees become much shakier than before.

What if something happened to him?

Not wanting to further think about the possible worst case scenarios, you continue on your way. Everyone in the crowd is whispering wildly and you can only pick up a few snippets of words here and there that do not help you at all. The longer you stay among them, the worse you get. However, you are abruptly freed from this bad feeling when a loud shout echoes through the corridor all of a sudden.

"All students have to go back to their rooms immediately! There is nothing to see here", you recognize Armando Dippet's, the headmaster's, voice in the exclamation that silenced everyone.

But due to the fact that the headmaster himself is here right now, the feeling of uncertainty returns inside of you because it cannot mean anything good if he has to be here at this late hour. Apparently not only you think that way, because suddenly the murmuring around you gets louder again.

Across the hall you spot Dippet and several other teachers, including Dumbledore, who are currently trying to hold the students back. At first it is quite difficult for you to see from what exactly they are holding them back, but in the next moment you notice the door to the girls' bathroom and how it opens.

An unknown person steps out of and you catch a glimpse through the now opened door to a stretcher with a white cloth on top of it. You have to swallow hard at the sight, but you do not have time to see more as you are rudely pushed aside.

"It's Myrtle!"

"The Chamber of Secrets has been opened!"

The teachers from each house immediately begin to bring the students back to their common rooms after the exclamations, which is why you are pushed around even more now. Meanwhile you have already lost your friends in the crowd and the whispering around you is getting louder and louder with each second, so that you slowly but surely lose your orientation.

But suddenly everything around you falls silent when your gaze lands on him.

"Tom!", you loudly call out his name and try to somehow fight your way through the crowd. However, he does not seem to have heard you and just keeps staring in the direction of the bathroom before turning away to walk into the other direction.

Finally being able to free yourself from the crowd, you take a deep breath and follow your boyfriend as quickly as possible so that you do not lose him in the labyrinth of corridors and staircases.

"Tom! Wait!", you yell after him when you spot him at the end of an empty hallway. He flinches briefly before he turns around and recognizes you, relief written over his face.

Your steps echo loudly from the walls as you fall around his neck and deeply inhale his scent, calming you down right away.

"What are you doing here, Y/N? You should be on your way back to your dorm by now", he says with such tension in his voice that you immediately break the hug and get away from him, looking at him worriedly.

"What is it?", you ask him directly, his expression how you have never seen it before. Kind of obsessed.

"Nothing. What should be, sweetheart? I am fine", he assures you and places his hand against your cheek, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead which is apparently meant to calm you down. You softly press his hand back on your cheek with your own as he tries to loosen it.

"Somebody was murdered, Tom. How can you be doing fine? That is terrible!", you express frightened and look deep into his eyes, in which you can see nothing but a crazy twinkle. "There is something else that is bothering you. I can see it, Tom. Tell me."

Finally removing his hand from you, he stares at you for a moment, completely speechless. It just does not go into his head how you can see through him so easily, how you can detect everything within seconds. He was never used to beeing looked after by someone, but since you came into his life, his otherwise dark and cold soul started to feel a little bit brighter and warmer with each minute he has spent with you so far.

"Talk to me, Tom. They said something about the Chamber of Secrets. Have you not been talking about it for two weeks?", you mention and want to step closer to him again, but he immediately takes a step back and lets the cold of the night envelop your body.

"You wouldn't understand anyway", he scoffs, averting his gaze from you while convulsively clenching his hands into fists and all of a sudden he no longer looks like the Tom Riddle with whom you fell so deeply in love with.

"What did you do, Tom?", you shakily breathe out, fear flowing through your body because of the fact that might really have something to do with this. Since his response is taking an unnaturally long time to come, tears already form in your eyes, but your voice is failing you as you try to speak up.

"I finally made it, Y/N. I finally opened the Chamber of Secrets", he admits and your breath gets caught in your throat, the satisfied smile on his lips disturbing you. "I can finally sleep in peace again. It was amazing, Y/N!"

Staring at him in disbelief as he is basically enjoying what he has done right in front of your eyes, a tear finds its way down your cheek and you barely dare to say your next words.

"Please tell me that you have nothing to do with her death", you utter, hurt evident in your voice, and look at him with a heartbreaking expression on your face.

"It is not my fault that this stupid girl was in that bathroom, but believe me I would do it again every damn time", he explains in all honesty and tries to convince you that nothing is wrong with his actions. "I would open the chamber again every time, Y/N. I knew you wouldn't understand!"

In fact, yes, you could not for the life of you understand. None of his words make any sense to you. You have had this conversation many times already in the past. And every time it ended the same way: you were deeply hurt and he just left. For him everything revolves around his dream of becoming a Dark Lord who rules the whole wizarding world.

"Tom, you killed someone! Of course I do not understand! What do you expect from me? That I am happy for you?", you yell at him, now with much more anger than sadness in your voice.

"Well, yes. That would be an idea for once instead of trying to reprimand me again and again", he rolles his eyes in annoyance and gives you a derogative look.

"All I ever wanted was to protect you from doing something stupid that you may never be able to to reverse, but obviously I miserably failed", you sob as you cannot longer keep your tears under control.

"I never asked you to", he hisses with no emotion.

"I have always taken care of you and this is how you thank me!?", you angrily scream in his face, but he does not even move an inch. "Stop this stupid rambling about becoming a Dark Lord or.. Or otherwise I will never talk to you again, Tom."

"Then leave! I don't need you. Get out of my life!", he yells at you when he can no longer hold back his emotions and you feel your heart break in two, but do as he pleases and leave without another word.

Two weeks later and almost no one talks about the incident anymore, even though a fellow student was brutally killed. However, it is more than fine for you if it means that you will not be reminded of him and his hurtful words towards you every time.

"Hey, Y/N. You look so pale today. Is everything alright?", your friend asks you as she worriedly looks at your still full plate, which you have not touched yet, just like the weeks before.

With a forced smile you nod at her, signalising that you are fine, when in reality you are anything but fine. You have never felt this bad in your life.

Maybe you and Tom were just best friends and not meant to be, but you always felt a different kind of feeling towards him that was definetely beyond friendship. And for a while you even imagined that he could maybe feel the same way.

Oh, and how wrong you were.

Listlessly moving your meanwhile cold food around on your plate, you listen to the conversation of your group of friends who are animatedly talking about today's Quidditch game. But somehow your brain cannot process any of their words correctly since your thoughts keep wandering back to him.

You have not seen him since the terrible incident, neither in class nor in the hallways. Even though you forbid yourself it, you still worry about him despite everything that happened between you. You do not want to give him the satisfaction that he is still continuously on your mind, but you just cannot help it.

"Y/N! Will you be at the Quidditch game today as well? We want to make a detour to the lake afterwards", one of your friends asks you enthusiastically and without really thinking about it, you agree with a nod. A little distraction will not hurt you.

Later in the day, after your class in Muggle Studies, you make your way back to your dorm to prepare for the Quidditch game later. Stepping up the stairs you spontaneously decide that you want to let your thoughts dangle a bit more so you make a detour through Hogwarts to get to the courtyard to get some fresh air.

With your books tucked under your arm, you run down the stairs and slowly walk through the long corridor to the clock tower. With your gaze focused on the deserted hallway in front of you, you are about to reach the junction to the courtyard when a person steps into your field of vision. A person you did not expect.

At the other end of the corridor is none other than Tom himself, who, just like you, abruptly stopped walking when he spotted you on the other side. For a short moment you stare at each other from the distance.

This moment does not last long when the painful memories appear in your head again. You lower your gaze to the floor, avoiding eye contact, press your books against your chest as if they could protect you as a shield, and turn to the courtyard.

Fortunately, you do not hear any footsteps behind you and you assume that he does not dare to follow you, which is why you slow down your pace and take in a deep breath when you arrive outside. There is no one around, only the birds happily chirp over your head, until you hear loud steps behind you all of a sudden.

"Y/N!", he calls you and you freeze in your movement, your heart racing.

With shaking hands you turn to him, despite the countless warnings in your head. Tom is only a few meters away, a sad look on his flawless face.

You do not say a word, just wait for what he has to say to you. If he even has anything to say at all.

"I am so glad I found you", he exhales heavily and runs his hand through his brown hair. You immediately notice the dried blood on his hand.

"You are bleeding", the words pour out of of you unintentionally, obviously showing him that you still care about him after all. You prevent yourself from thinking about the cause of his injury.

"O-Oh, yes. Well, that is not that bad", he laughs nervously, but your eyes stick to his injured hand until he hides it behind his back. "We need to talk, Y/N."

"What is there to still talk about? I have nothing to say to you."

"I know", Tom sighs, not quite sure what to say himself. Silence spreads between you again until you break it with a loud scoff.

"Good. If you have nothing to say either, then I can go", you accuse him before walking past him, but you are promptly grabbed by the wrist and pulled back.

"I love you", he confesses out of nowhere and even though these are the words that you always wanted to hear so bad, tears form in your eyes and you angrily swat your hand out of his grasp.

"That is not fair, Tom! You can't just tell me something like that after you broke my heart and destroyed our friendship!", you whine and quickly wipe the tears away as he gets closer to you.

"I was so damn stupid, Y/N. I did not know what I had until I lost it", he explains dejectedly and watches how one of your tears slowly rolls down your cheek. "I am so sorry. I am not worth crying for."

"It is too late for that now", you sob and want to turn away again when he suddenly grabs your face with his hands and pulls you into a gentle kiss that says more that words could ever express. And the worst part of it is that you do not fight against it, you just let it happen. You might even enjoy it a little even though this is definetely not how you imagined your first kiss with him to be.

"I really love you, Y/N. I realized it now", he whispers after he broke the kiss, a small smile on his lips because you did not reject him.

"Tom-", you try to answer, but he stops you by laying his finger on your lips.

"I know what you want to say. I closed the Chamber of Secrets again and finished thinking about becoming a Dark Lord once and for all. Your are much more important to me than that", he tells you and you can cleary hear out the sincerity in his voice.

He is back. Your Tom is finally back.

Happily, you jump around his neck and tightly squeeze him, wettening his cloak, and in the next moment you punch him hard against his chest. Laughing, he takes your hand in his and places a kiss on top of it.

"Now please tell me what you did with your hand and do not lie to me, I warn you", you admonish him while he lets you take his hand to have a closer look at his small injury.

"You wouldn't believe me if I said that I wanted to get you flowers, right? But funny thing is that it is exactly what I tried."

[strawbabysimp]

Adult Trio Soulmate Strings AU HCs

Chrollo

No one had told him what the string meant, what was on the other side waiting for him. Children in Meteor City knew how to fight and how to live and how to kill. Not how to love. Or maybe they did and the world simply told them they shouldn't. That they weren't deserving of it. As he got older Chrollo eventually sought out the meaning of this mysterious red string, finding his answer in one of the books he managed to get his hands on in that wretched and beloved place. A soulmate.

There was a person out there just for him, but more importantly, there was a destiny. A plan for him. He knew he had to find them, to secure this irrefutable connection to another. The leader had planned to meet them when he got out of Meteor City, it was part of the reason he formed the Troupe. Though, as the years went on and life took its toll on him, as it did anyone, the desire to find this person faded. By the time The Spiders had managed to become a notorious group, it was a dream within a dream. A soulmate? How tragically philosophical.

That's not to say he wasn't curious, but he lost that drive, running on autopilot as he searched for a passion without the motivation to even want one. Sometimes he did find himself especially enraptured by the red string secured around his finger though, toying with it during meetings or tying small knots that soon came undone while laying in bed.

Guilt wasn't something he felt often, taking lives and valuables without a second thought was a regular occurrence, but with you? He felt utterly in the wrong. To deny you of something even he found beautiful simply because he "didn't care?" That's when he felt like a monster. He found comfort in the title though, embracing the fact of what he was. He was selfish and greedy and somehow still found a way to prevent himself from gaining the one thing that could save him.

One day he had been twisting the string between his fingers, a mannerism that even the others around him had picked up on when there was a tug back. It became a regular occurrence, the two of you pulling on the string lightly back and forth. You tried to beg him through the string to come to find you, pulling him in your direction, but he never did come. You knew it was impossible to tell, but it seemed he had gotten even farther away.

The only connection you'd ever have with him was through those small motions and you'd go on to love someone else. Maybe not in the way you would have loved him, but there's not much to do when you're destined to love someone who was forced to learn how not to.

Hisoka

"I don't have one" he'd respond calmly. This was his and his alone, so what if people thought he was a freak? He wouldn't allow someone to interfere with this in even the most minuscule way. A person who relied on him and only him to fulfill the grandest idea of love? Nothing could hold more power than the blood-soaked string tied around his ring finger.

Heaven's Arena was a well-known spot, a tourist attraction of sorts, so you simply had to stop by when you happened to be near. As you made your way to the stands and gazed on at the stage you found him already looking at you, giving you a quick smirk as your gaze fell to his hand with a shocked expression. At the end of his "performance" he typically met with fans but this time he naturally went straight to you, a single blood-stained rose held out in a tender gesture. You didn't question how he had managed to obtain the flower, too busy processing the fact that this bizarre man was your soulmate.

Every moment with you is too much for him to endure. It's an adrenalin rush that he's become addicted to but whenever he looks at you he gets this urge to tear everything you are apart and cover himself in the pieces he could never think to reach from the outside. Being close to you is never close enough and the only way to satisfy this feeling of need would be to destroy you. He can't bear to do that but it's so tempting.

At rare times something in him seemed to break, going off on tangents about the cruelty of his thoughts and how he longed to turn you into yet another victim of his murderous desires. He had planned to take over your life, wishing to bask in the high your undying love was sure to give him. A man becoming weak through the pursuit of power is a pitiful sight even for one not tied to them by fate. "My love will never complete you. I take and I take and I offer up only the worst parts of myself because that's all I have to offer. That's the tragedy of loving me, my dear. I will not apologize because I do not feel bad, however, I will not allow myself to hurt such a lovely thing."

You always come back to each other, the string acting as a sort of magnet between you two. Eventually, you both come to accept the situation for what it is; deadly but far too tempting to not risk everything for. He was the most beautiful thing you'd ever laid eyes on and if the image of him was the last thing you ever saw you'd consider it a privilege.

Surprisingly enough, the magician never does end up taking your life, finding the unfamiliar task of restraining himself a new sort of challenge to prove his strength. Holding you close to him, pressing your body against his as he watches your auras merge, was a common occurrence. When his bloodlust rose and your fear spiked just a fraction he would plant a gentle kiss on your cheek before pulling away with some excuse, you both knew he did this to protect you but he'd never admit that.

Illumi

Soulmates were a weakness in the eyes of the Zoldycks, hypocritical to say the least as Silva and Kikyo were tied by fate, but that was typical. Despite the harsh words his parents had told him, his curiosity would eventually get the better of him and he would seek you out. Traveling in the direction the string took him without fail. It was an easy task when you had money and power. Locating you was not the issue, deciding what to do with you once found was. Simply approaching you wouldn't do.

He watched you for a long time, disappearing into a crowd or dark corner whenever you felt eyes on you. One day you found yourself doing trivial tasks, walking the streets on your way to pick up a snack, or do some light shopping when an unfamiliar feeling hit you. It wasn't unpleasant so much as it was surprising. You even describe it as lovely.

Despite his best efforts to keep himself hidden from your view, Illumi had never been trained to hide love. Pain, fear, anger, sadness, all these were painstakingly buried deep within him to the point that even he didn't know how to release them. But what he felt when looking at you grew greater with each small action and he didn't notice it slipping through until it was too late.

The second your eyes met he was a goner. It was like a drug to the emotionally-deprived man and while he knew it wouldn't do any good to engage you, the selfishness that was ripped out of him from a young age came flooding back full force. Both of you remained shocked as you approached one another but the small smile you gave him was enough to make him think that maybe this was the one time surrendering himself to feelings was okay.

Marrying you was a plan he wants to put into action as soon as possible, using the piece of paper as a form of protection. "Never kill a family member" read the Zoldyck rules that were engraved into the assassin's mind. This would be one of many forms of rebellion you had influenced Illumi in making, and while it wasn't necessarily against the rules, it was certainly not something he thought his parents would approve of.

When you're hanging out he remains a bit stiff, not sure of how to act around someone casually. You begin to feel off-put by the awkward composure of your soulmate though he picks up on it easily, his ability to read people far more advanced than the average person. Illumi allows a small bit of his aura to shine through the veil to reassure you of his contentment, and while he won't acknowledge it, you're grateful for his efforts. It's during one of these dates, hidden away in a hotel relaxing beside one another, that the usually warm and comforting aura changes. His arm comes to hold you just a bit tighter and the love he allowed to encompass you shut off. This had happened times before but your attempts at reassurance through small touches did no help to soothe the Zoldyck.

Later that night his hand would rest gently against your cheek as the light in your eyes dies, your face is wet with tears but a forgiving smile still rests kindly on your face. You're already gone. He can feel it. Despite this he holds you against him late into the night, only letting go when he can no longer bear to see you in such a state. His eyes stay downcast as he refuses to look up at the state the sky is in, not wanting to face the fact that the wetness of his cheeks could be from anything other than the weather. He sends one message before putting his phone away with shaking hands. Yet another job is done.

[axwalker]

Creep 2: I don’t care if it hurts

HIGH SCHOOL AU

Pairing: Drake Walker x MC  (Lexie O’Brien) Book TRR

MASTERLIST HERE

Synopsis: Drake and Lexie are star-crossed lovers. Her father hates him and forces Lexie to stop any contact with Drake. Lost and heartbroken, he “bullies” her for two years until he discovers the truth of Lexie’s behavior.

A/N 1 This came up to me after I got an ask from @nestledonthaveone​ to write a fic based on the song CREEP.

I used to hear this song when I was a teenager, so when I read this ask, I immediately wanted to write something angsty but situated in high school.

A/N 2: Because they’re younger than usual, I decided to change my  FC. 

Words: 4,110 

WARNINGS: Parental abuse, domestic violence, toxic love.

THIS IS NOT YOUR USUAL MARSHMALLOW DRAKE. He was abandoned as a boy, he’s tortured and he doesn’t know how to express his love. His behavior is not excusable.

This is a dark love story. If you’re not comfortable with it, PLEASE do not read it.  

ALL MY FICS ARE 18+

TAGS ON THE COMMENTS

As this is darker than usual; I’m only tagging the people who commented in the previous chapter. If you want to get on or off the list for this fic, please do not hesitate to ask!! 

DRAKE

Even if she never looks at me or speaks to me again, she’s mine. Even if I’ve been a horrible jerk to her for two years and she pales every time I pull into the parking lot on my motorcycle, she is mine. Just seeing her with him enrages me, so I walk straight toward my usual seat, directly behind Lexie, and slam my textbook down onto the desk.

Startled, Rys looks up at me, “Hey, Walker. What’s up?” 

It’s not the first time he tries to make a move on Lexie. Last time –two years ago, we almost killed each other. Pretty boy might be an entitled ass, but he knows how to fight. Maybe he thinks Lexie is game again after all this time. He couldn’t be more wrong. 

 “Don’t you have a class this period?” I ask him. Liam cocks his left eyebrow, adjusting the straps of his backpack. 

“I fail to see why that concerns you, Creep.”  

My smile is murderous. “Get the fuck out of here before I break your face, pretty boy.”

I think he has a death wish because he looks at Lexie when he talks, “See you after class, Alexis, when your watchdog will be busy mowing my lawn.” Finally, he just shakes his head and gets out of the classroom. I resume my daily routine. Staring at the back of Lexie’s head, tracing the curve of her perfect neck, my cock getting hard over her perfect cherry scent. 

“So that’s what you like,” I say, leaning forward to speak an inch from her ears. “You like them with blond hair and pink polo shirts. Prospects for Cambridge or shit. A huge trust fund. Don’t you? A brat like you needs someone who can spoil her. I bet you’d introduce him to daddy, wouldn’t you?” 

She doesn’t respond. She never does. Her eyes stay stubbornly on the front of the class where the teacher has started writing today’s lesson on the board—my hands fist in desperation. I’m dying for her to talk to me. To look at me. Anything. “Too bad, Lexie. I’ll scare every single one of those fucking entitled boys off. You’re going to sit alone in your house on prom night, crying into your designer sheets like a baby. And I’m going to enjoy it.” 

The only sign that she hears me at all is the quickening rise and fall of her shoulders. Even that tiny display that I’ve upset her is agonizing, floods me with self-loathing, but I can never stop. She ripped out my fucking heart, and I can’t deal with the consequences of that alone. I can’t let her go. I’ll never let her go. This toxic feeling is the only thing left between us. My hands shake with the urge to take her in my arms, to stop the trembling I caused. To protect her from everything. Even myself. I’d love to move my fingers up into the silky, brown hair that reaches the middle of her graceful neck. I don’t have a lot of money; most of the cash I earn as a handyman goes to food and fixing my dad’s cabin, but I’d give every last cent for her to turn and lock those soft brown eyes on me, just one last time. Sometimes when I jerk off, all it takes is fantasizing about Lexie looking at me, giving me one of those shy smiles, and I lose it. One stroke. Maybe two. Done. I can’t breathe without having her close. And I can’t breathe with her close. It’s a strange condition, this obsession, but she’s an addiction that I just can’t give up. 

How could I? She’s intelligent, strong, and so damned gorgeous. Once upon a time, I thought she had a good heart too. But that was before she broke my pathetic heart only because I’m poor. I’ve been hurting since then, and I need her to hurt too. To know what it feels.

“Do you actually think that dumb rich boy would be a good choice for your first time, Lexie?” I grip my desk so tight it nearly breaks down, just thinking about her being kissed –touched by someone else. “At least that’s one thing us poor motherfuckers have going for us. We know how to fuck. If you went out with Rys for a while, you’d eventually give in and come slumming it one night, wouldn’t you? Knock on my rundown cabin door, begging me to fuck you as we both know you’d like.”

A pretty blush is starting to climb her neck. I have to take a deep breath to keep from kiss her pink cheeks. But I think if I got to touch her skin, my wall of bullshit would crumble. I’ve only fucked one girl. Since seeing Lexie for the first time freshman year, there’s been no one but her. I want no one else. She owns my cock as sure as she owns my heart. How easily she’s forgotten about both leaving me in agony. 

“Stop,” she breathes. I freeze. Did she just speak to me? It’s the first time in two years that she’s even remotely acknowledged my existence. 

“Lexie,” I managed to say. I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. That’s all it took. One pleading word out of her mouth, and I’m done. 

“Just stop,” she says again, turning her head slightly. “Please.” 

I fall back in my chair, my heart thundering on my chest. If we weren’t in the middle of class, if I didn’t feel like a monster, I would pull her into my arms right now. I’d hug her until she stopped struggling, then beg her to hit me, bruise me, make me pay for every shitty thing I’ve ever said to her. But before long, the class is over, and she’s leaving the classroom to get out of here. To put distance between us as quickly as possible—and I have no choice but to watch her because I feel physically ill. Still, I manage to get out into the student-packed hallway, my plan to apologize for being crude and a jerk and torturing her for so long. 

My head is telling me not to apologize, though. It’s telling me she deserved it for being such a snob, for breaking me, for valuing money and status like everyone else. My damned heart is telling an entirely different story. It’s insisting there is an explanation for her behavior. Am I going to apologize or not? The decision is taken out of my hands when Lexie opens her locker, and the little gift I left before class falls down. It’s a picture I cut out from our last yearbook. In the photo is a gorgeous smiling Lexie above the caption Most Likely to Succeed. Except I’ve crossed out the caption and added my own. Most Likely to Be a Trophy Wife. Watching her read it, I almost get sick right there in the hallway. Usually, she’s perfectly composed, not betraying a trace of emotion where I’m concerned—a real Ice queen. I’ve always thought she honestly didn’t care. Today, though… she’s not pulling it off. Something is not okay with her, and I don’t like it. She has to bite down on her bottom lip to stop it from quivering as she puts the photo back into her locker, out of sight, her bright eyes finding me briefly, massacring me where I stand. Betraying with one single look how much she has been affected by my actions. Christ. She hasn’t been indifferent at all.

Before I can react, before I can call her name, she’s gone, vanished into the crowd of wild students excited to be leaving for the day. And I know what I have to do. I have to see her. To apologize. To get an explanation for everything. Tonight. I’ll return to her house for the first time in two years.

LEXIE

I’ve known this was coming all day. Sitting on the couch in my living room, trying to make myself as small as possible, I watch my father pace. He rants, gesticulating noisily. This isn’t new, my father’s rage threatening me. But it’s going to be worse than usual. Business has declined for him and it’s put his temper on a trigger. Dad’s new wife, Nancy, hates to be on a budget, and she’s been spending his money like crazy all over Paris --where she’s now. When dad gets home from the office, he’s rarely in anything but a horrible mood. A tornado eating up everything in its path. Completely terrifying. At least dad’s temper makes me forget what Drake told me today, the ugly words he said to me, the boiling anger in his eyes when he looks at me. 

“Are you even listening?” The slap across the face comes as a shock because I’d momentarily disappeared into my thoughts, but the sting quickly brings me back to reality. 

“Yes, sir,” I say, my ears ringing. “I’m listening.” 

“This C on your algebra test is going to drag your whole average down.” He’s waving the test in my face. “What a disappointment you are, Alexis. Your teacher shared my disgust.” I nod solemnly, but I’m listening for the rain outside. “I guess you’re your daughter’s mother after all. A poor Mexican girl who could barely count.” It’s not true. My mom learned English and Greek by herself, and she was a great Spanish teacher in Portavira, but my father would rather die than acknowledge how smart she was. 

“Don’t talk like that about her,” I retort.

My father snorts. “I beg your pardon?” He takes a step towards me, and I can see the threat in his eyes. 

“I’m sorry.” I hate to be such a coward, but I know what he can do to me.” I’ll do extra credit. Something to bring my grade back up to an A.” I wet my lips. “Even if I can’t manage to raise the grade, it’s not going to show up on the college transcripts I sent off with my applications.” That’s the reason I let my focus slip a little in algebra. The finish line is in sight for everyone, and we’re just waiting to find out where we’ll be accepted for college. It’s a wonder I’ve been able to maintain my focus this long in any class, considering Walker sits behind me in every period, brooding making me feel … something. At the reminder of him, I want to close my eyes and dream about him. I replay that night in my garden when he kissed me two years ago, so tenderly and passionately, when he spoke to me so sweetly and honestly before he became the second villain in my story. Someone I dread, as much as I crave the sight of him.  

At least that’s one thing us poor motherfuckers have going for us. We know how to fuck. If you went out with that punk for a while, you’d eventually give in and come slumming it one night, wouldn’t you? Knock on my trailer door, begging me to ride you right. 

Should I be ashamed of the way my body reacted to those words? I grew uncomfortably damp in the hard plastic chair, the center of my body clenching, seeming to beat like a heart. His breath on my neck made me shiver, head to toe. Even the way he scared off Liam Rys did something to me. Aroused me. Deeply. It got so bad that I broke the rules and asked him to stop. I can still hear him saying my name in that tortured way after. That shocked, uneven sound. Lexie. And whether I’m ashamed of myself for it or not, I know I’ll think of it when I touch myself tonight. His voice, his hands, his eyes obsess me. 

“College?” My father snorts, tearing the test in half. “You’re not going to college.” 

This grabs my attention. A horrible feeling is making me cold. “I’m…what? What do you mean? I applied to nine different schools. I have a four-point five GPA.” 

For the first time, I notice his red face is about more than just rage. There’s…humiliation. I’ve never seen him display that emotion. 

“None of the American colleges that accepted you offered scholarships.” 

“I’ve been accepted?” I gasp, sitting forward, heart pounding in my chest. “Where? I didn’t see the letters—” 

“All the mail in this house goes through me, Alexis. I read them. And you failed to get academic scholarships. You failed. Not that I’m surprised.”

 I don’t point out that his refusal to let me participate in any extracurricular activities is more than likely to blame for that. I’m too worried about what he’s saying, what this means. The blood is draining from my head, making the room spin around me. 

“Okay, I’m sorry about that. I’m sorry. But…we have money. We can pay tuition, can’t we? Or colleges in Cordonia are almost for free. I can go to any of them; I don’t have to go to NYU.” I have to get out of here. I have to get out of here. This is my way out. College is the escape route. I counted on going back to New York, but I can stay here and go to college in Cordonia City. 

“Listen to you, so quick to spend my hard-earned money—spoiled brat. And of course, you can’t go to college in Cordonia. What for? To end up being a schoolteacher like your mom? A housewife as Nancy?” He laughs bitterly. “No, you’ll stay here, and I’ll help you find someone suitable to marry.” 

I shake my head. “There’s financial aid, then. Loans or I can get a job and go to college in Portavira…” 

“You want to leave, just like her, don’t you? You’re all the same.”

 I don’t even flinch when he yanks me to my feet, shoving me into the wall. In fact, for the first time, I took him right into his eyes. And I can see the violence burning on them has nothing to do with me. It never had anything to do with how I behave, my choices, how hard I worked in school. How welcome I made Nancy feel or cooked a roast. It’s about him and his self-loathing. It’s his sickness. Not mine. I can also see that he was never going to send me to college. Because he wouldn’t be able to control me from a distance or stop me from sharing what I’ve been subjected to since my mother died. Not like he does now. He wasn’t physically abusive all the time. Especially not when his new wife is around. But she traveled often, and then he’d push me. Shove me. Slapped me several times. I’ll graduate at the top of my class for nothing. He knew I would all along. 

That’s when I realize I’m free. I don’t have money, but college is free in Cordonia. I can work, save a little and go to college in one or two years. I’ll be a writer; it’ll just take more time than I thought. “Go to hell,” I whisper. 

He steps back, giving me the momentary satisfaction of his shock. “What did you say?”

Liberated, I scream it this time. “Go to hell!” From the moment I sat down to have this conversation, I knew tonight would be worse than usual, but I’ve just bought myself a ticket to hell. Usually, I can retreat to the untouchable place inside of me as he unleashes his rage, but not tonight. He doesn’t stop at one or two slaps. He punches and kicks, and I’m present for every punch and kick. Every yelled insult. Finally, I start to get scared. I’m crawling across the carpet on my hands and knees, searching for a weapon I can use in my defense when I glance out the window and see Drake staring back at me, his face a mask of horror.

 Drake

 What I’m seeing just isn’t possible. It can’t be real. My head won’t accept it. Not until her terror-filled eyes meet mine through the window and the truth pounds on my chest, leaves no doubt that this is real life. Lexie’s father is beating her. Her mouth is bloody, one of her eyes beginning to swell, arms and legs visibly weakened. I can barely fucking process it before my body is springing into action, desperate to protect her. To put a stop to the worst thing I have ever seen. What the fuck. Scorching hot rage takes over. I kick in the front door and throw myself between Lexie and her father. His fist is raised, but it pauses when he sees me, his momentary confusion giving me the time I need to knock him out cold. It only takes one right uppercut from someone his own size, and he goes down, his blank, glassy eyes staring at nothing, mouth opened. It’s not satisfying enough.

Nothing will ever be satisfying enough. I want to kill him, destroy him, but my Lexie is struggling for breath behind me, and she’s all I can think about. Turning, I approach her, my heart threatening to jump off my chest. As gently as I can, I catalog all of the cuts and purpling skin. No. No. Who could do this to her? Who could lay a finger on her in anything but reverence? Get her out of here. Calling her name, I reach down to pick her up, but she flinches and hurries back, bringing her body up against the wall. 

“Don’t touch me!” Those words filled with fear rip the soul clean out of my body. My hands drop limply to my sides and two years come rushing back, hitting me in the chest like a hammer. Every word, every action. Everything I did to make her life harder when this is what she’s been dealing with at home? Fuck me. 

“Lexie…” My voice is as kind as I can. I feel broken. “I’m sorry. I came here to apologize. For everything.” 

She puffs a humorless laugh, testing her cut lip with the tip of her tongue. “Bet you weren’t expecting to see this.” 

“If I knew this was happening, I would have been here a long time ago. I would have stopped it. I swear Lex.” 

Her expression can only be described as stunned. Maybe even a little pissed. “You are not my savior, Drake. You are my enemy. You’ve been for two years, and I want nothing else from you now.”

 “I am not your enemy.” Those words barely make it out of me, my chest hurts so fucking bad. “Don’t say that.” 

Unsteadily, she uses the wall to try and stand. I try to help her, but she recoils, and it’s a dagger straight into the center of my throat. Nothing less than I deserve, though, isn’t it? Her distrust of me is entirely my fault. I’ve made her hate me. There has to be some way to fix what I’ve done. Please God, let there be away. But right now, my main concern is her physical safety. Knowing she’s been in danger all along is unbearable. I only decided to come here tonight a few hours ago. What if I didn’t? What if I arrived an hour later? The possibilities are going to haunt me for the rest of my life. From the floor, her father groans, shifting slightly. 

“We need to get you out of here,” I say, anxious to get her free of this place. “Now, Lexie. I need to get you somewhere safe.” 

She’s standing now. Leaning against the wall and cradling one arm to her stomach, regarding me warily. “How do I know I’m safe with you?” It’s so much worse that her question is honest. Not meant to hurt me. She honestly doesn’t know if I pose a threat. It guts me where I stand. 

“You are the safest with me,” I say thickly, cursing myself. Wanting to erase the last two years so badly, my hands shake. “Please believe me. I’d die before hurting you. I’d never, Lexie. I’d never do something like that.” 

Her father rolls over onto his back and slurs a few words before losing consciousness again. Still, the sound of the older man’s voice seems to scare Lexie, “I…maybe you can just give me a ride to…a motel maybe?” She pushes off the wall, her step uneven as she walks toward the stairs. “I need some things from my room.” 

It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell her we don’t have time, but I’m just grateful she’s trusting me enough to leave with me, so I don’t argue. I just wait until she’s halfway up the stairs, then tie her father’s hands behind his back with my belt in case he wakes up before we leave. I have no problem knocking him out a second time, but Lexie has seen enough violence for one night. Cautiously, I walk up the stairs toward the light coming from a room halfway down the hall. This place is a far cry from my home. It’s elegant and clean, and tasteful, but it lacks any warmth whatsoever. It’s cold, like a museum. Turning the corner into Lexie’s room, it’s time to hate myself all over again. There is nothing on the walls, none of the expensive furnishings. Just four white walls, a bed, and a dresser that doubles as a desk. Several textbooks. She looks back at me over her shoulder as if judging my reaction, and I keep my features impassive, though I’m dying on the inside. 

“What can I do?” I ask. 

“How long do we have?” 

“As long as you need.” It’s physically painful not to pull her into my arms when I’m standing this close, and she’s hurt. Sad. Yet full of more inner strength than I’ve ever witnessed in another human being. I’m lucky just to be in her presence. I fucked up royally. And if she allows me back in, I’ll never do it again. It’s probably, definitely, too much to hope for. Being allowed back in. She doesn’t even look sure about having me in her room. Let alone her heart. I was trying to protect my own heart, but I lost it instead. 

 “Um…” She closes her eyes to focus, a familiar trait I’ve seen in class countless times. “There is a black bag in the hallway closet. Can you just stuff anything into it from the bathroom that looks useful?” 

Ask me to bring you a unicorn. I’ll find a way to do it. “Sure.” We work in silence, Lexie taking things out of drawers and adding them to the bag, which I’ve left open on the floor. I add toiletries from the bathroom, and once it’s zipped, I wait, watching her hesitate in the doorway. 

“Lexie?” Conflicted chocolate eyes meet mine. 

“I can’t just leave, can I?” 

“You’re not safe here, baby,” I say softly, trying to keep the residual rage at bay because it’s the last thing she needs. Not to mention she’s had her fill with negativity from me. No more. “How long…how long?” 

She shrugs, the saddest expression in her eyes. “My mom died five years ago. Ever since then, it’s gotten worse and worse. Although I never had a chance to talk to anyone about what happened behind closed doors, you know? I don’t think a person can evolve into a monster. It’s inside him.”

 “I don’t know,” I say. “I became one, didn’t I?” 

That gives her pause, forms a line between her delicate brows. “Yeah. I guess you’re right.” 

She starts to walk past me, stops, standing close enough to fill my nose with cherry. “He told me if I ever spoke to you ever again, he would hurt me. Ruin you, have you evicted. Make sure you never got hired again. I didn’t mean to…hurt you. Or hurt your feelings, if that’s what happened.” 

That revelation destroys me, sets me on fire. “Jesus, Lexie. You were protecting me? And I…I tortured you for it?” I twist the neck of my T-shirt, trying to calm down, but it doesn’t work. I’ll never be calm again “I’m so fucking sorry.” 

She glances at the doorway, then back at me, eyes closed again in that way that says she’s thinking. “All I want from you now is a ride out of here, okay? And on Monday morning, you’ll stop.” She opens her shining eyes again. “No more bullying, Drake. If you’re really sorry, you’ll do that for me.” 

Fuck. I couldn’t say one more single shitty thing to her if my life depended on it. Put me at gunpoint, and I’d rather get shot at than torture this girl for one more second. But I’m highly, painfully aware that with an end to the bullying comes an end to the possessiveness. No more scaring off guys who show interest in her. No more getting close enough in class to count the hairs on her head, to smell her sweet fragrance. And to tell the truth, I’m pretty fucking worried I don’t know how to give those things up completely. I don’t think I can physically do it. This addiction with Lexie isn’t something I can cut off. A leg would be easier to sever. But my hesitation is causing her eyes to worry. If I don’t agree to, essentially, let her go… she’s not going anywhere with me. And that means her safety won’t be guaranteed. I need it to be. More than anything. 

“No more bullying,” I say, finally. A moment later, I follow her out of the room and down the stairs, trying desperately to count the hairs on her head before I no longer have the chance.

[jlalafics]

"The Long Weekend"-Part One

Happy belated birthday @keelaree!

Hope you enjoy this first part. Thank you for being such a wonderful part of my writing life, and an even better friend. Can't wait till we can reunite in SF, so we can tea time together and eat soup dumplings.

Love you!

Summary: Two assistants who barely tolerate each other. One snowy cabin. One very long weekend.

Oh, and one bed.

-----

“I’m making the turn now, Haymitch,” Peeta told his boss as he navigated the icy road. “Should have everything prepped and ready by the time you and Effie arrive.”

“Thanks,” Haymitch replied over the speakerphone. “I should tell you that I did ask for someone to help you out. Someone who knows Effie better than I do sometimes—”

Peeta slowed his car as he spotted the cozy cabin in front of him. However, he grimaced seeing the red Jeep already parked on its side.

“You didn’t.”

“Peeta, Katniss knows Effie very well,” his boss said calmly. “Just like you know me. I know that you two don’t get along—”

“Understatement of the year,” Peeta replied as he parked roughly.

“This is important. I’m proposing to Effie and I want it to be perfect,” Haymitch explained. “Katniss knows all the foods she likes to eat, and how to decorate the place to make it comfortable yet romantic. Effie and I are finishing up our meeting with Mr. Snow then we’ll be making our way up to the cabin for the holiday weekend. I’ll call you when we’re on our way so you and Katniss can take off—that is if you haven’t murdered one another by then.”

“I’m only doing this because I’m your assistant,” he called out.

“You could at least like me!” Haymitch joked. “I pay you an obscene amount for an assistant.”

“Katniss probably gets paid more.”

“Well, she picks up tampons for Effie without being asked so probably.”

“Everything will be ready by the time you get here,” Peeta promised. “And I’m doing this because I like and respect you.”

“Thank you, Peeta. Call you soon.”

++++++

Peeta Mellark sighed as he stepped out of his car, bags in hand. The snowy wind picked up and he wrapped his parka tighter around himself before rushing up to the porch. It was getting worse up here, and he hoped that the soon-to-be engaged couple would make it safely.

Getting out the key that Haymitch lent him, Peeta unlocked the door and quickly stepped in to keep the cold air from entering with him.

“Oh, you’re finally here.” Katniss Everdeen sailed into the room, placing a charcuterie board on the coffee table in the center of the sitting room. “I thought you died or something.”

Peeta gave her a wry smile, placing the bags on the floor before shaking off his parka and hanging it on the hook by the door.

“Thought or hoped?” He searched his bag before pulling out the champagne that Haymitch asked along with the two glasses. Going to the table, Peeta placed them on the table before going back to the bag for the champagne bucket. “Is there ice?”

“The fridge has an ice machine,” Katniss informed him tersely, nodding her head towards the left. “I’ve already gotten their dinner started.”

“Not surprised.” Peeta walked into the kitchen, heading to the stainless-steel fridge. “You’re so anal that you’ve probably carved those little radish flowers for garnish.”

“They’re in the fridge so they’ll be fresh.”

Peeta wasn’t sure why they didn’t get along.

For one, Katniss was admittedly attractive with her long dark, and almond-shaped grey eyes. The first time he saw his stomach had definitely done a little flip. She had been walking alongside Effie, notebook in hand, wearing a fitted black dress with a peter pan collar and paying scant attention to anything else around her.

She literally knocked him to the ground.

Katniss had apologized, holding out her hand to help him up.

And Peeta had fucking tingled at her touch.

Over the next few days as he learned the ropes of being Haymitch Abernathy’s assistant, Peeta noticed her across the hall. Effie Trinket’s office was directly adjacent to his boss’ and Katniss’ desk was in the same spot as his.

She kept her head down, never acknowledging him, so wrapped up in her work or answering her phone.

So, Peeta asked around.

“She’s an ice queen,” Cato, who was in Marketing, informed him. “Never wants to hang out with anyone or even join in during happy hour. It’s important here to form relationships with everyone. Panem Industries is all about workplace harmony and Katniss embodies none of that.”

“Yeah, she’s snooty, too,” Clove from IT added. “I once asked her something about her family and she replied that it was none of my business. Like I was just trying to get to know her!”

“Wow. I guess if Katniss is that much of a head case, then I shouldn’t bother to ask her for help,” he told the two.

After that, during any interaction, she treated him indifferently…cold even. Peeta couldn’t help but be disappointed that Cato and Clove’s words were true.

And that was the end of his fascination with Katniss Everdeen.

“You want to get out here and help me or was the ice machine too hard for you to maneuver?” Katniss suddenly called out.

Peeta quickly filled the bucket and stepped out.

Katniss was bent over the couch, arranging the pillows, and he felt a heat rush through his skin.

There was also the slight twinge in his crotch at seeing a firm apple-bottom in tight ski pants.

It seemed that Katniss Everdeen had a bigger effect on him than he realized.

++++++

Peeta Mellark had a huge effect on her.

Katniss struggled to keep the heat off her cheeks as she fixed the pillows that she bought for the cabin. Effie loved those cheesy sayings, so she went on Etsy and ordered custom-made pillows with her favorite quotes.

No one should spend so much time arranging pillows, but Katniss could feel his stare on her. It made her nervous…and tingly.

However, these feelings didn’t belong—especially in a work situation and she needed this job.

Taking a breath, Katniss turned…to find Peeta right behind her.

He jumped back, startled by her abrupt movements.

Whoa—was he checking her out?

“Why were you so close?” she blurted out.

“Sorry. It looked like you were confused about how pillows worked,” he replied, rolling his eyes. “You were there for a millennium.”

“Funny.” She sighed at the amusement in his gorgeous blue eyes—stop it!—and steeled her expression. “Do you think you could help me set up this romantic dinner for our bosses instead of standing there like an ass-licker?”

“You mean asshole.”

“I stand by my words,” Katniss replied and was surprised when he chuckled, his eyes crinkling as he did. She couldn’t help but let her mouth rise. “The table is in that closet next to the door. I got some table linens from a vintage shop that Effie likes last week.”

“Wow, you’re really on top of it,” Peeta remarked, going to the closet. “How do you have time for a life?”

She didn’t.

As in, Katniss didn’t have a life.

She had work, she had a home, but a social life was non-existent. Katniss knew what everyone said about her; that she was cold and distant, never wanting to be part of the team. It never bothered her because she did have her reasons.

So, she was surprised at how hurt she was when she heard Peeta call her a headcase.

Katniss hadn’t meant to eavesdrop, only passing the breakroom to get to the copy machine. However, she stopped at the mention of her name.

Cato’s words were no surprise, though he failed to mention that her iciness was due to him inappropriately putting his arm around her and telling her that they should get to know each other on a personal level. Katniss also didn’t trust Clove for shit; she was the office gossip.

It hit hard to know that the one person who had made her tingle was so easily influenced by two douchebags.

Katniss had decided, then and there, that if Peeta didn’t see past her exterior, then he must be like the rest of them.

“I’m very organized,” she replied. It came out harder than she intended. “I have to be.”

Peeta had already set up the table in front of the fireplace.

“Well, it’s in your favor,” he told her. “You’re a good assistant.”

Katniss looked up in surprise. “You think I’m a good assistant?”

Peeta snorted. “Like you didn’t know it—where are the tablecloths?”

She handed him a beautiful fuchsia tablecloth followed by a cream lace one.

“Fuchsia first then layer it with the lace,” she told him. “I always hope I am. Effie is a great boss and she’s so supportive about work-and-homelife balance. I want to make sure this is all perfect for her.”

Katniss helped Peeta straighten the cloth, smoothing it down and making sure that there were no wrinkles. They settled into a light conversation about working with their respective bosses while setting the rest of the table. While Peeta worked on the place settings, he told her about how he admired Haymitch’s down-to-earth attitude despite being one of the most successful people in the company.

She arranged the florals in the center of the table while telling him how she had worked two jobs prior to getting this one.

“I was a waitress and housekeeper before this,” she revealed. “I was working a crazy lunch rush when I met Effie. We got to talking because she noticed how I met her coffee exactly the way she liked it despite my ragged expression—her words not mine. Effie kept on coming in, and a month after we met, she offered me the assistant job. Said she like my gumption.”

“That’s really cool,” Peeta said. He set down one of the forks he was cleaning and met her eyes. “You know, this is the first time we’ve really talked. I kind of believed you thought of me as your enemy.”

“I thought the same thing.” Katniss placed a folded napkin on the plate in front of her. “You called me a head case.”

His blue eyes widened, shocked at her words. Slowly, she could see in his eyes, the memory of his words.

“I didn’t know you heard that,” he said quietly. “I didn’t mean it and I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine!” Katniss stood up abruptly. The pain of his words churned in her stomach. “I know that everyone talks about me. In my defense, Cato was completely inappropriate when we first met. I thought acting like a bitch would stave him off. Clove has no filter—”

Peeta’s brows furrowed at her sudden coldness.

“I realize that now—one year later…is that why you completely ignore me? Why you act like the sight of me makes you sick?”

“I do not!” Katniss cried out into the room. “You avoid me at all costs!”

“Because the one time that I attempted to ask you a question—you brushed me aside!” he shouted. “If you had bothered to talk to me, I wouldn’t have believed what people said in the first place—” Peeta’s phone rang, and he quickly picked up, seeing his boss’ face on his screen. “Haymitch? You on your way? What? No, I haven’t looked outside—”

Katniss rushed to one of the front windows, pulling back the curtain.

White everywhere.

She couldn’t even see her car and it was bright fucking red!

“They’re not coming.”

Turning, Katniss found Peeta putting his phone in his pocket as he approached.

“The snowstorm came unexpectedly, and the roads are blocked. They’re staying at Effie’s to wait it out while we…are stuck here until it passes.”

++++++

The good thing was that the house was fully equipped. Food was stocked in the fridge since the couple had planned to stay for the long weekend. Both he and Katniss had even brought Haymitch and Effie’s luggage so there had clothing.

“Well, dinner must be ready,” Katniss informed him with a sigh. “If you want to get more comfortable, you can probably change to something of Haymitch’s. I have a call to make before my phone dies and then I’ll pull the food out of the oven.”

Peeta nodded numbly, grabbing Haymitch's duffle and going to the opposite open door where the bedroom was. He tossed the bag on the bed—

The one bed.

Turning, he rushed out of the room to look for his female counterpart. “Katniss!” He found the sitting room empty and headed into the kitchen.

“Yes, I’ll be fine,” she spoke quietly into the phone. “Just be nice to Johanna, okay? I’ll be home soon.” Her voice sounded completely different, light and happy—even affectionate. “I love you, too. Good night.”

He knocked on the archway and she turned to him.

“We have a problem,” he told her. “There’s only one bed.”

“And the couch is really just a loveseat,” Katniss mused as she pulled the food—steak with roasted asparagus and potatoes. Her expression was pained, and she blew out a breath. “I don’t really want to think about this right now. Why don’t we just eat?”

Peeta quickly nodded in agreement, rushing to the sitting room, and grabbing their plates.

“Why don’t you let me set this up?” he told her, seeing how frazzled she seemed. “Have a seat. Open the champagne—”

Katniss laughed and the sound of her lightened the load on his chest.

“You trying to get me drunk, Mellark?”

Peeta smirked. “If it makes you like me, then yes.”

“Fine, fine…” Katniss sauntered off towards the doorway. She stopped at the archway and their eyes met. Her gaze was nervous, but he could see the warmth in her greys. “You’re not my enemy, Peeta. And…I like you more than you think.”

Katniss disappeared, but not before he spied the blush on her cheeks.

Peeta felt another twinge. This time—in his chest.

++++++

Instead of sitting at the table, Katniss grabbed Effie’s luggage, a classic Louis Vuitton that cost more than her old Jeep, and brought it to the bedroom.

The one bedroom. With the one bed.

A sudden image of herself spooned contentedly against Peeta in that very bed rose in her mind—

“Stop tripping off him!” she chided herself.

Distractedly, Katniss opened the bag, sorting for something remotely comfortable in her boss’ luggage. However, it looked like Effie was expecting some sort of kinky weekend. The only sleepwear she had was a tiny red number that Katniss would probably bust out of; Effie was a tiny but fierce woman.

Maybe she could borrow something from Haymitch’s pile—

“Katniss?”

“I’m coming!” she called out before stuffing Effie’s lingerie back into the back.

Walking back into the room, Katniss saw that Peeta had already placed the plates on the table. He stood waiting for her, looking obnoxiously handsome as he had the day they met.

That first time, she had knocked him to the ground so caught up in following with Effie’s rapid pace. When Katniss held out her hand to him, she was caught up in the open smile he gave her. Then it was the gold waves along his forehead, which Katniss desperately wanted to brush back and the blue of his eyes—they had a tinge of grey in them.

For a moment, she was just a girl, and he was just a boy. Peeta didn’t know anything about the rumors of her iciness or how someone like her, with no college degree, managed to get a position like hers.

In that moment, Katniss was pure.

“You alright?” Peeta asked, interrupting her moment down memory lane.

“Yes.” She let him help her into her seat. “I was just thinking about something.”

“Was it the one bed thing?” he joked. “I’m fine with sleeping on the floor—”

Katniss held her hand up. “Let’s be grownups. It’s a big bed and we can put a pillow between us.”

“Very to the point,” Peeta replied, holding up his champagne glass. “To being grown-ups.”

“To being grown-ups.” She clinked her glass to his and took a full gulp. The liquid bubbled through her, making her laugh. “Wow, that’s some good shit.”

Peeta guffawed. “We’re going to have some fun.”

END OF PART ONE

[omg-im-such-a-masochist]

💎💍TO CATCH A THIEF💍💎

Prompt: Inspired by the song: To Catch A Thief by Lovage

Word Count: Really Long, girl 😩

Pairings: 1930’s Mob! Roman Reigns x Reader

Warnings: Cursing, smut (implied), murder, manipulation.

Tagging: @ziasaph , @marlananicole , @akiko-tanaka , @nicolewoo , @saccreigns , @mindofasagittaruis , @reigns-5sos , @auawdo , @lustyromantic , @babydee17 , @yungbludjazz360

Notes: As cliche as it sounds, I’m a truly lover of music and love different genres. I love to be able to show different types of bands/ projects/ music that sometimes people might not even know exists. So this little fic is inspired by one of my favorite music projects EVER: LOVAGE (it has Mike Patton on it, so of course I would love it! The man has been my musician crush since I was 9 years old! And he’s amazing, so). Y’all know the drill loves,sorry for misspellings,english isn’t my first language (bla bla bla),check out my other stories if you’d like to(it would make your girl here very happy 😊) You can check them out on my Masterlist. Okay,now let’s get to the fun part, shall we? Hope you’ll enjoy 😉

Of course I’ve heard of them and of course they’ve caught my interest! The Reigns’s and Uso’s were one of the biggest gangsters families among the USA, who were responsible for the biggest robberies across the country.

The current rumors spreading around the neighborhood swore they were here, hiding from the authorities, in our small little town.

And I would give anything to meet one of them. As the daughter of a prostitute, my only fate was to follow my mother’s footsteps but I am more ambitious than that! The only way to prosper in life is to be completely feared. Be feared not respected as Machiavelli himself taught. And I know, for a fact that, that is completely true! Growing up in the red light neighborhood had proved to be quite the life lesson, actually. ‘Don’t trust the police’, ‘Make alliances with criminals’, ‘Trust no one’, ‘Don’t snitch’, ‘You never hear or see anything’, ‘Mind your own business’, ‘Don’t allow people to mind YOUR business’, ‘Show no emotions’, ‘Always be smarter than your enemies’, were a few of those rules. People think that, for a woman to be perfectly successful in the 1930’s she needs to be a trophy wife, nothing more than a beautiful face with zero brains and a pair of open legs to a rich husband. But they are wrong! You see, any woman can use her beauty and charm to manipulate and conquer whatever she wants, but she can only maintain that manipulation power if she’s smart enough. I’ve had the town mayor, Mr. Heyman, gift me a beautiful diamond crown (that originally was meant to be his wife’s birthday present) just with some charm and sweet nothings whispered to him. I didn’t needed to warm his bed for it, I just had to be smart enough to understand his weaknesses and say the right words! I know what I want, so I get it, and believe me when I say: I will have Roman Reigns all to myself.

Things were disappearing in my neighborhood

Once again somebody was up to no good

I saw that you were wanted, but not like I wanted you

And that's when I knew I had to be with you

And that's when I knew if I didn't, I'd be through

To end my grief I'd have to catch a thief

Your love was my relief my love is your release.

Ah! Mayor Heyman’s high society ‘charity gala balls’ (aka meet your husband’s new mistress), were the most futile yet amusing events of this town. I wasn’t a high society woman, economically speaking but again I’m good at saying the right things to the right people. So it’s no surprise to see my name in the mayor’s guest list.

I entry the big doors of the city hall wearing my most recently acquisition: an emerald green velvet dress (gifted by the Senator John), my high heels (Another gift from Mr. Smith, the banker) and my hand purse (from the all so lovely Mayor Heyman)...Speak of the Devil.

“Y/N” He greeted

“Oh, Mayor Heyman. What an honor” I smiled sweetly

“Believe me, it’s my honor, dear” He kisses my hand in an flirtatious way. And it’s a good thing I’m great at keeping my gag reflex in control.

“Oh please, I’m the one who has to thank you for always reminding little old me for your tremendously chic events. I can’t express my gratitude enough for you always having so much compassion in your heart!” I scoot closer to him, slightly fixing his tie “It is such a shame that you’re a married man, mayor Heyman, I would have loved to be your wife” I whispered softly

He gulped “I can change that” He smirked

“Oh please, mayor!” I stepped back with a offended look on my face “As a Christian woman, I cannot support divorce! That is some type of thinking that will lead us directly back to sodom and gomorrah! I can’t believe you just said that to me” I make the sign of the cross

“I am so sorry, Y/N it was not my intention-“

“I am not a prostitute or a home wrecker, mayor Heyman! I am a woman devoted to the Lord and I will not accept or tolerate that type of language or insinuations towards me!”

“I am deeply sorry Y/N, I truly am! Let me make it up to you. Here” He fastly signed a blank check “Please take this”

“I can’t” I whisper, pretending embarrassment

“Please, Y/N! It’s the least I can do. You can use it for whatever you want, no matter the price. I could never offend you! You’re such an amazing woman. Please accept it!” His pleading eyes let me know I had him hooked.

I ‘reluctantly’ accepted “Well, thank you, so much” I murmur with tears upon my eyes

“No, I’m the one who has to thank you, for dismissing my ogre behavior” He smiled “I’ll leave you now, so you can fix your makeup”

“Thank you, mayor Heyman”

Once he’s out of my sight, I can drop the naïve girl routine.

“Impressive” A deep male voice spoke from behind me

When I turn around, my knees almost failed me... it was him.

“I beg your pardon?” I ask

“The little stunt you just did with the mayor, was truly impressive. I swear that if I didn’t saw you get out of your naïve christian woman character I would have one hundred percent believed too” He smirked

“Mr. Reigns. That’s a compliment coming from you”

“You know who I am”

I shrugged “I’ve heard a few things here and there”

He gets closer to me, until our faces almost touched

“Yeah? Tell me, Y/N. That’s your name right?” He asked and I nodded

“What have you heard, Y/N?”

“How your the head of the table on your family’s business” I mumbled

“How does a woman like you, know about my family’s business, Y/N?” He walks forward, making me step back until I my back reached a closed door.

“I was raised on the streets”

Roman’s eyebrows raise in surprise “Really? You don’t seem like the streets type” He said, caressing my cheek.

“I had to learn how to be more polished if I didn’t wanted to become a hooker”

“I see” He buried his nose on my neck, inhaling deeply my perfume as his hands rested on my waist “And I imagine your perfume is also a result from a similar scene with the mayor” Roman whispered in my ear

“The senator not the mayor” I cackled

He amusingly laughs on my ear “You have friends in high places, huh?” His hands moved up, cupping my breasts through the dress

“People use what they have, Mr. Reigns” I look into his eyes “You use you intimidating strength” I squeeze his biceps “And I use my womanly charm” I batted my lashes “They’re both means to an end”

Come into my window

It's open every night

That's where I'll be waiting

I'll keep off all the lights

I'm lying on my bed

Crown jewels on my head

The loud knocks on my front door made me quickly get up. Going down the stairs I can see a tall manly figure waiting for me to come and answer. I grab my Colt 1908 Pocket Hammerless gun from the little drawer on my cupboard.

Placing my finger on the trigger I opened the door.

“Yes?” I ask harmlessly

“Mrs. Y/N?” The tall Samoan man asked

I nodded once

“My name is Jey and I’m here in behalf of Mr. Reigns”

I nodded again

“Why don’t you come and take a ride with me?” Jey coldly smiled

I'd never give you up

So come in from the cold, let your guard down

I'd hide you from the cops

Don't be frightened now my love

I'll take the life of crime, all to make you mine

The hotel room is big, fancy and very expensive by the looks of it. If I had to take a lucky guess, I would say that he’s not paying for anything in here, it is all a curtesy from the mayor.

“I’m glad you came” Roman smiles

“Did I had a choice?” I tilted my head

“No, you didn’t” He chuckled “Can I offer you anything to drink?”

“Are you going to drug me if I say yes?” I joke

“Depends on your answer to my proposal” He smirked

“Proposal?”

“Yes” Roman got up from his chair coming to stand in front of me

“You see, Y/N. You’re a very, very interesting woman. Ambitious, smart, charming, intelligent and gorgeous. You’re not easily scared, in fact, it looks like you enjoy danger” He pulled me closer to him, until our bodies were pressed together “I could use a woman like you in my business. At the gala ball you told me about your goals in life and I could see with my own eyes you successfully work your magic on every men in that room. So, what I propose to you is: come with me, I’m leaving town tomorrow and I would like for you to come with me, be a part of my team, use your looks and your brain to our favor.”

“And what’s in it for me?” I asked

“Money, power, jewels...Anything you want” He sincerely said

“What if I would like to add you to that package?” I whispered

Come in off that roof top

You're so handsome dressed in black

See you in the shadows

I'd like to see you on your back

Take this precious treasure

And I will treasure you

Roman smirked “So be it! If you want me too, then you can have me”

He leaned down, capturing my lips in a famished kiss. Pushing me down on the bed, his broad body hovering over mine, grinding, kissing, biting, panting, pounding and moaning until the first rays of sunshine from the next day peaked through the curtains...

6 MONTHS LATER

“What do you say about we take a drink, Mrs. Reigns?” Tony, my husband’s arch enemy and Capo of the Italian Mob asked

“I would love to” I smile sweetly as I hook my arm in his. Going to the back alley.

“I figured it was already time for you to leave that husband of yours for a real man, you know? And I knew you would come to me, sugar” Tony winked

“You’re right, Tony. I do need a real man” I smirked to the shadows when the gun fired.

Tony’s body fell down by my side on the dirty alley street

“But you didn’t thought you were that man, right?” I cackled

Roman’s arm circle around my waist, pulling me closer to him.

“Hello Tony” He smiled “Did you really thought you could have her?” Roman chuckled “C’mon, we both know she’s too much of a woman for you! You can’t handle it! I bet you’re regretting to have thought with your dick now, don’t you?”

“She will leave you eventually Reigns. Just wait for it!” Tony spat

I pressed my high heel on his chest wound, pressing it down and making Tony scream in agony

“You watch your mouth, you fucking fat pig! You know nothing, you ARE NOTHING! I would never leave Roman for you” I laugh “I will never leave him for anyone” I smile at him, aiming to his head and pressing the trigger right afterwards.

We'll run away my dear

Some place special have no fear

We'll even change our names

We'll be kinky, we'll be strange

I'll take the life of crime, all to make you mine

All to catch a thief

Your love is my relief, my love is your release

Your love is my relief, my love is your release

All to catch a thief

“You are perfect” Roman whispered, kissing me vigorously in front of Tony’s dead body. “C’mon. Let’s get out of here” He opened the passenger door of his Rolls Royce and I enter it.

Once we’re driving through the highway he says

“I can’t wait for us to get to the hotel” Roman kisses my hand, intertwining our fingers “I’m going to fuck you senseless” He growls

And I can’t help the happiness smile that spreads on my lips..