#reading 'i would go to wall street if this was the stock this was the stock this was the stock this was the market'

[desideriumwriter]

Metamorphosis | F.W. x Reader

Summary: Fred has been acting differently since he got hurt during the War. You're not sure how many more of his outbursts you can handle.

CW: established relationship, mentions of a head injury, TBIs, migraines, blood, being cut from broken glass, yelling, arguing, crying, not proofread

WC: 4.3k

A/N: now this one is a rollercoaster

based off this request! | f.w. masterlist | navi

Things had been difficult since May.

Voldemort was dead and the war was over. But everyone was dealing with the aftermath.

Things were quiet for a while, people were quiet. Distant but united at the same time. It took a few months for everyone to try and go back to normal.

Now it was November, and Fred was still dealing with the aftermath.

Of course, a head injury from being hit with a spell and a literal stone wall falling on him would have its long-term effects. You’d already read the list over who knows how many times.

Memory loss, light sensitivity, aggression, problems with multitasking, communication issues, irritability, mood swings, forgetfulness, etc. The list went on and on, you hated how long it was. 

You did research on it, listening to his doctors and picking up as many books you could find on head injuries or TBIs.

You even got your hands on some textbooks that muggle medical students used.

George and you took care of Fred after he came back to your shared space above the shop. He spent his first week after being discharged from the hospital at his mums, due to Mollys demands.

Things slowly went back to normal after a few months. Most things.

Shops reopened all along Diagon Alley, including the twins, people felt safe to go out and chat with each other again. 

Life went back to how it was before the war began.

The cold weather was getting harsher and so was Fred. 

You knew that the irritability and mood swings would come along with the injury. You just weren’t expecting it to be so constant.

Fred had his bad days and he had his better days. Today was one of those bad days.

You could tell he was really struggling remembering what was in stock and what needed to be made more of. You sat with him at the counter as he wrote down on a notepad what was needed. Taking notes was one of the things that helped him nowadays.

You saw him look up, the cogs attempting to turn in his head.

“Peruvian Darkness Powder.” You said softly, it was the next thing that needed to be restocked.

“Right. That. Thanks.” He muttered out, crouching over to write it down, his hand shaky and handwriting a bit wobbled.

Frustrated with his shaky hands, he threw the pen down, putting his head in his hands, rubbing his face.

“I just don’t get why it’s so hard. I feel like I can’t properly do anything.” He groaned, the annoyance clear in his voice.

“Fred, it's what the symptoms of a-”

“I know it’s a fucking brain injury. I’ve heard it enough goddamn times. You don’t need to spell it out for me.” Fred spat out, ripping his hand from yours and walking past you. That was the fourth time he snapped at you today.

After closing that night, you sat on the bench right outside the shop. Elbows resting on your knees with your head in your hands.

You were really trying here. Trying your best not to get mad at him, to yell and spit at him as he did you.

He was still your Fred that you loved. He was just a bit different now, and that was okay, he was still your Fred.

The door to the shop opened, the silly tune of the charmed bell playing as a tall figure stepped out. Fred stood to the side of you now, his frame blocked out the light shining on you from the street lamps. The only light now being from the inside of the shop, illuminating his and your face once you looked up.

You breathed in deep, closing your eyes for a second, trying to keep any tears from falling. The cold wind wasn’t helping.

“Hi.” He gave you a shamefaced smile.

George had definitely scolded him and told him to apologize once you went outside. It’s not the first time he’s made him do it in recent times.

“Hi.” You sighed.

“I’m- I didn’t mean to snap at you when you were trying to help me with what needed to be restocked, or when you offered to sort the mail.” He shoved his hands in his pockets, suddenly feeling small. The feeling had become constant for him now.

“And before both of those, when you snapped at me in your office. Then in front of one of the cashiers.”

“I did?” He said softly, genuinely shocked. You nodded, brows knit together.

“Oh, I didn’t even realize. I don’t even remember that. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be so harsh.” Fred looked down, having the same expression as a kicked puppy.

“It’s okay, Fred. I know you don’t mean to.” You slowly nodded.

“I’m trying to not be so rude. I’m trying to be better, I promise.”

“I know, Fred. I know.” You sniffled.

The doctors said practicing patterns would help with cognitive ability. Patterning. So stocking the purple and orange mystery boxes in a pattern would be Fred’s practice.

He began to practice different patterns:

Purple. Orange. Purple. Orange. Repeat.

Then moved onto a bit more strange ones:

Purple. Purple. Orange. Orange. Purple. Orange. Repeat. 

He was struggling a bit more than usual today, you watched as he did, and it broke your heart.

You sighed as you put your notepad away, pausing writing down the grocery list for now and making your way over to Fred.

You reached out, putting the next correctly colored box on the shelf for him. He grumbled out a ‘thanks’.

“I can do the rest for you. Go give your brain a break.” You breathed out a laugh, trying to be lighthearted as you picked up the large box filled with the remaining mystery boxes to be put away.

“No, it’s fine. I’ve got it.”  Fred mumbled out, paying you barely any mind.

“Fred, I can tell your stressed enough just let me-“

“Will you piss off? I said I've got it!” Fred didn’t mean to yell, especially in the middle of a busy store, he was just frustrated. 

Your cheeks heated up in embarrassment and anger due to all the staring eyes of confused customers looking at the both of you.

“Fine, fucking do it yourself then.” You shoved the box into his hands. Walking off, pissed off as you threw off your hat onto the counter.

George murmured your name as you walked by, trying to put a hand on your shoulder, you shoved out his grasp.

You hid away in the back stockroom. George followed, entering a tiny bit after you.

You sat on a wooden box, leaned over with your head in your hands. 

“You know he doesn’t mean it. He got blasted pretty hard, it’s just one of the side effects.” George sighed, shoving his hands in his pockets.

You were so tired of those two words. Side effects. Yes, of course you knew what the side effects and symptoms were, that they wouldn’t be pretty or easy. But you were just so sick of hearing it.

You shrugged, lifting your head up.

“He's frustrated. With himself.” George sat down next to you, intertwining his hands into a ball. “He always feels bad after he gets angry.”

“I know, and I’m trying my best to help him out but it’s like he never fucking wants it. He refuses.”

“He’s never liked help, always wanting to be so damn independent and stubborn.” George let out a weak chuckle and shook his head. “It took him five minutes to accept the money Harry gave us. Even after that he tried to tell Harry he’d give it back if he changed his mind.”

“I remember, I was there.” You smiled a bit to yourself at the memory, Fred was so adamant about Harry keeping the money, or at least most of it.

“Chocolate?” He pulled a small bar off one of the shelves, you shook your head. “It’ll make you feel better.” You persuaded, you let out an amused sigh and took it.

“You stole that line from Lupin.” Unwrapping it and biting off a small chunk.

“Yeah, but it works doesn’t it?” You let out a defeated nod and smile in response, taking another bite.

“He’s not gonna be like this forever. You know that. He’s gotten a lot better since May. Just, his moodiness will stick around for a little bit.”

“I know. I’m just so worried about him. I can’t help it.”

George was at Angelinas for the night. It took him ten minutes to stop worrying and finally go, constantly reminding you if you needed his help with Fred, if Fred starts getting mean, to send him an owl and he’d come back immediately. You shooed him off and assured him Fred and you would be fine, that he should go have a worry-free night with Angelina.

It was going well, you watched a short movie and shared some snacks and cuddles on the couch. It was all going so nicely until you both decided to get changed and go to bed.

You slipped on a night shirt talking to Fred about the movie as he opened the top drawer on the wooden dresser. The one that creaked and occasionally jammed from time to time. 

Tonight was one of those times.

He pulled out a pair of pajama pants from the drawer, his eyebrows knitting together when he pushed the drawer and it barely moved. You looked over and frowned disappointedly.

“It’s stuck again.” You sighed, thinking out loud. 

“I know.” Fred muttered out under his breath, you didn’t catch it.

You watched as he repeatedly tried to push it, it wouldn’t budge.

“It’s just old, maybe tomorrow we could go window shopping for a new one?” You suggested sweetly as he didn’t respond, he just clenched his jaw as he continued trying to close it.

He used a terrifying amount of force as he slammed the drawer shut with one last push, causing the whole thing to ratter. The sudden movement and sound made you jump. You took a step back, Fred noticed. His expression faltered for a moment as his eyes scanned your body language.

“What, are you scared of me or something now?” He muttered, an attitude in his voice.

“No, I never said I was scared of you. You just…”

 “What? I’ve just what?” 

You were so sick of his attitude. You took in a deep breath before speaking.

“You’ve been acting up, you’ve been slamming doors, throwing things down when you’re frustrated, you yell more. At George and I especially. You’re unpredictable.” You let out quickly.

“Unpredictable? I have not been that bad. You’re dramatic.” Fred shot back, he was a bit hurt by your words, yet deep down he knew you were right. His actions had become surprising. But he was too damn stubborn and he was in the middle of a beginning argument, so he wouldn’t admit to it now.

“I’m not, you’re proving your point with how you’re being now. You’re being stubborn and defensive. You get angry and you yell at me. When I’m just trying to help! The doctors said-”

“I don’t give a shit what the fucking doctors told you! Or those stupid books you’ve been wasting your time on!” All this yelling hurt his head. But the words were spilling out his mouth like a waterfall of poison. 

“Have you considered your not being any help? If you really wanted to help you’d let me do shit myself instead of acting like I’m fucking stupid! You wouldn’t be walking on eggshells around me! You’d let me be instead of being a pounding in my head!” His chest heaved, his face slowly being filled with regret as he saw you. Taking a step back with the most painful stare at him, astonishment and hurt written all over your face.

He watched as you brought your arms up around you, holding yourself as if it was a way of shielding yourself from his words.

“Is that really what you think of me?” Your voice went soft. A small crack in your delivery of words as you rubbed your upper arm.

“No! Absolutely not! I just- I’m-” Here comes the sputtered out apologies, the regret filling him up immediately, you just shook your head.

“Forget it, I’m done with this conversation.” You barged out the room. That look never leaving your face, it will haunt him forever.

“Where are you going? I thought you were going to bed?” He called out as you went down the hallway.

“I’m sleeping on the couch tonight.” You shouted back, more of a loud mutter really. Fred said your name disappointedly, leaning against the bedroom door frame. You didn’t respond, you didn’t turn around, you made your way to the couch.

He didn’t run after and stop you. Knowing you’d give him the silent treatment and refuse to get in the same bed as him. For tonight only. Hopefully.

Though you tried to muffle and hide your sobs behind your hands, Fred could still hear it all the way from the bedroom. Those pained sharp breaths in that turned into wheezes, the little hiccups and whimpers of sadness you made when you breathed out were far too loud to be hidden.

You cried for two hours until you finally got a grip of yourself. Getting up and going down the hallway, not to get back in bed, but to see if Fred was.

You peeked your head in just enough to see his side of the bed, he was laying on his back peacefully, his eyes puffy. Had he been crying also?

He was relaxed now though, resting. At least he was getting some sleep. You quietly sneaked back to the living room. Lying back down on the couch and using a throw pillow for your head. 

You couldn’t get comfortable, couldn’t keep your eyes shut, couldn’t stop thinking, you couldn’t sleep. You missed him, you really just wanted to be next to him.

By the time the clock ticked to 2AM, you got up, tiptoeing back into the bedroom. Sneaking to your side of the bed, so carefully pulling back the sheets. You moved so carefully, so lightly, so gently as if everything was made of fine china. 

You debated if you should snuggle up to Fred, not wanting to wake him. What if he got annoyed again? You really didn’t want to deal with another conflict.

You carefully scooted over to him anyways, testing your luck. You slowly wrapped your arm around his torso, ever so lightly laying your head on his chest. He began to move and your body immediately tensed up.

His arm hooked around you, circling your waist, the other arm reaching over, his hand softly placed on the side of your head. Your body went limp in happiness. You could start crying again from all the joy you felt in this moment.

This is how you knew Fred hadn’t become a whole other person than the one you knew before the accident. His hands on you, holding onto you so sweetly, just like he used to. There were still those little remnants of his true self hanging around. He was still Fred. He was still your Fred.

You woke up to an empty bed. The sunlight shining down on Freds side of the mattress.

You changed into more presentable clothes, hearing the chatter from downstairs and knowing the shop was open. 

Going downstairs, Fred was nowhere to be seen while George was moving around helping customers and constantly casting spells to organize things.

Owning a joke shop was absolutely not a one man job.

“Where’s Fred?” You asked, looking around as you approached the counter. George was stacking cards. 

“In his office. Another migraine.” He tucked in his lips, seemingly annoyed.

“Oh. Well, I’m gonna go out, probably window shop. Do you need anything?”

“Could you get some cabbage? And a few more quills and ink? We’re running low.” He said, swiveling his way out from behind the counter.

You may have stayed out longer than you meant to.

Thinking you’d be back before five, you got home at nearly eight instead.

You did some looking around in local furniture shops, and you picked up what George asked for. You mostly just walked around the quieter streets, needing to get away from all the noise.

By the time you got back it was a bit dark outside and there was a closed sign on the shop door. You unlocked and locked it quickly, moving upstairs tiredly.

The living room light was turned off, the moonlight from outside being the only thing that made the room somewhat visible. Fred was sitting on the couch.

“Hey.” You spoke softly. 

“Hi.”

“Where’d George go?”

“He stopped by Angelina’s for dinner.” He said blankly. Everything felt so awkward.

“Oh. Have you eaten?” You asked as you set down the bags of supplies.

“Yeah, I had some leftovers.”

“Okay, well, what’re you doing in the dark? Get some light in here.” You giggled as you flipped up the light switch, overhead light brightening up the room.

Fred quickly scrunched his eyes closed with a pained expression, he put a hand up to shadow his face.

Fuck. Light sensitivity. He was already dealing with a migraine, that’s why he was in the dark, and you turning on the light made it much more intense.

“Shit. Sorry, sorry, sorry.” You blurted out as you hit the switch down, the room going darker again.

“Here, I’ll- I’ll get you a glass of water.” You sputtered out, running over to the kitchen sink and grabbing a glass, filling it up with cold water from the tap.

“No, you don’t have to.” Fred muttered out.

“Please, it’ll help. Just let me help.” You pleaded as you ran back over to the couch, sitting down and holding the glass towards him. He denied it again.

“Fred, just drink-“

“I told you! No!” He shouted, pushing your hand away.

The glass slipped out of your grasp. Hitting the floor and cracked into pieces, somewhere in the impact a small shard hit your lower leg. Nothing serious, it could be quickly closed up with a spell, but it was bleeding heavily already.

Fred realized what had happened once you felt the stung and winced, holding a hand over your small injury, crimson staining your hand and dripping onto your sock.

“Oh Merlin, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to.” He panicked as he straightened up, patting his sides for his wand, he had left it in his office. He saw yours on the coffee table.

“Here, let me fix-” He reached one hand towards your wand, the other laying on your shoulder.

“Don’t. It’s fine, I’ve got it.” You said as you reached across, grabbing your wand and leaned your shoulder away from his touch.

His stomach twisted, the guilt was eating him up. He fidgeted with his fingers, not knowing what to do with his hands now that you refused his touch and his help.

You said a quick spell, the cut swiftly closing, skin looking unharmed and the only evidence of what happened being the remnants of drying blood on your leg and hand.

“I’m gonna go wash off my hands.” You said so quietly, almost a whisper. Fred stayed silent as he watched you get up and walk away, he wanted to cry.

You returned to the living room with a packed suitcase, quickly walking past Fred on the couch and to the chimney. His eyes stayed glued on you the entire time. You didn’t look at him.

“You’re leaving?” Freds brows knit together in a sad way, he sat up straight from his spot on the couch.

“Yeah. Not for long. I’ll be back.” You spoke, back facing him as you put down your small suitcase.

“Where?”

“A friends place. For a few days.” You didn’t tell him who, he would most likely send letters apologizing.

George was the one who suggested it surprisingly. Once he came home as you were washing off the blood, he told you to go take a few days to yourself.

“No offense to you, you’ve been doing great. But I’ve lived with him for nearly twenty-six years. I know how to deal with him when he’s mad.” He held your shoulders.

“I know how to deal with him too, you know.” 

“Of course I do. But I know you’re worn out as well. You need to take some care of yourself. Focus on you for a few days.” You really didn’t want to agree with George on that, it felt rude to do it. There was really no good way of saying he was wearing you down.

“I’m sorry.” Fred spoke out.

“I know, Fred.” You let out a heavy breath. “I’m not mad at you. I think we should take a break from each other.” You tried not to let your voice wobble.

“You don’t mean a break up, right?” He stood up from the couch.

“No. Of course not.” You finally turned around, looking at his gloomy face. “We just need to spend some time apart, just for a day or so. Okay?” You kept your voice soft and nurturing, hoping it would hide the way your own words were breaking your heart.

"Can I just get a hug before you leave? Please?" Fred took a few steps closer, his steps cautious. You closed your eyes and nodded.

You didn’t want to look at him for too long, both of your faces were threatening to deteriorate into tears, and you couldn’t stand to see it.

He pulled you into him nicely, hands slowly and carefully wrapping around you like you would crack if he moved the wrong way.

“I’m sorry I’m like this. I love you.” He said softly, sounding like it was a plea for you to stay.

“I know.” You mumbled into his chest.

Fred’s injury didn’t bother you. The forgetfulness of struggles with certain things didn’t bother you, you didn’t care if he struggled to keep track with things. 

It was just his anger. His outbursts. His shouting. That’s what bothered you, it was nothing like him. Sure, he’s definitely gotten moody or stubborn or annoyed before like during Quidditch matches back at Hogwarts or when a much needed shipment arrived late at the shop.

But you’ve rarely seen him truly mad, yell like he does now, the only time you can remember him like that is when he had to be held back from helping George and Harry beat up Malfoy after a match in his seventh year.

“I still love him, of fucking course I do. But he’s changed so much. it’s like,” You stopped, clenching your jaw and trying your best trying to keep tears from returning. “It’s like sometimes I look at him, and he’s a ghost, he’s a completely different man I fell in love with all those years ago.”

“You’ve changed too.” Alicia commented, “You’re not as much of a hermit as you used to be.” She joked, poking you.

“Oh piss off.” You let out a breathy chuckle, face falling soon after. “I’m scared. What if he stays like this forever?” You whispered out, a small crack in your voice.

“He won’t. You told me already, there’s still that cheeky little Fred that you’ve always know still in him. He’s getting better day by day.” She tilted her head. “And fuck it. Even if he doesn’t, even if it takes a while, you gotta grow with him.” You looked at her, puzzled expression on your face.

“If you don’t grow with him, if you aren’t willing to go through that, then what in the hell are you doing?” She shrugged, laying back in her chair. “You’ve gone through these shitty times with him before, right? And you both made it through. What makes you worried you won’t be able to do it again?” 

Alicia was right. You’ve gone through rough patches with him and made it out just fine. Casual disagreements, arguments and fights, yet you always made up. Leaving those arguments in the past and loving each other in the present.

“You staying another night?” Alicia asked you, taking a sip from her glass.

“No, I think I’ll go back. I’ll send an owl and tell them before I go.”

Once the green flames subsided and you stepped out of the chimney, dusting off your clothes. Fred came running into the room, a bouquet of all the flowers in his hand.

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

“Feeling alright today?”

“Yeah. Yeah. Are you?”

“Yeah.”

God, you hated the awkward tension in the air. It felt like this every time you had a conversation.

“That’s good. Uh, these are for you.” He stuck out the bouquet nervously, hand trembling. You put down your suitcase and stepped closer. A small noise of adoration left as you looked at the flowers, it was all your favorites.

“I may not be able to remember much. But I remembered these were always your favorite.” He let out an awkward laugh.

The last time you told him what flowers you liked was in year five. You took the bouquet from him with hesitant hands, surprised by the gift. Fred swallowed his anxiety before he began to speak again.

“I didn’t mean to be so rude. I just get so frustrated with myself, I don’t want to act like that anymore. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t take it out on you, you didn’t deserve it.” He moved to cup his hands around your face, bringing your teary eyes to meet his.

“I promise you I’m going to be better. I swear on everything. I will be better.” He gave you a sweet kiss on your forehead, then pulled you into a hug. 

You held on tightly to his torso, turning the flowers away to keep them from being crushed.

“I love you.” You said into his sweater, tears beginning to fall.

“I love you too. So much.”

tell me what you thought! <3

[thefirsthogokage]

Fuck AMPTP and the bullshit going on. I'm tired, might not do this well:

(link to article in above picture) From The Article

Receiving positive feedback from Wall Street since the WGA went on strike May 2, Warner Bros Discovery, Apple, Netflix, Amazon, Disney, Paramount and others have become determined to “break the WGA,” as one studio exec blatantly put it.

To do so, the studios and the AMPTP believe that by October most writers will be running out of money after five months on the picket lines and no work.

“The endgame is to allow things to drag on until union members start losing their apartments and losing their houses,” a studio executive told Deadline. Acknowledging the cold-as-ice approach, several other sources reiterated the statement. One insider called it “a cruel but necessary evil.”

The studios and streamers’ next think financially strapped writers would go to WGA leadership and demand they restart talks before what could be a very cold Christmas. In that context, the studios and streamers feel they would be in a position to dictate most of the terms of any possible deal.

[Image IDs: Twitter thread by David Slack posted July 12th, 2023 that reads in totality:

And right on cue, here’s the inevitable Deadline article claiming that the AMPTP and their CEO bosses are ready to wait us out and let us “go broke.”

They’re not. They can’t. This studio propaganda, and here’s why.

In the increasingly mega-merged and hedgefundified Hollywood, these companies live or die on their quarterly earnings reports. It only takes one bad quarter for their stock price to plunge, putting the company and the CEO’s job in jeopardy.

But their stock prices are holding steady, right? Right. For now. Because our industry is a pipeline that starts with writers. The TV and movies they’re releasing now are shows we started making for them 4-12 quarters ago. But what happens when that pipeline runs dry?

What happens is they run out of product. No new shows in streaming to drive and sustain subscribers. No new shows in broadcast and ad-supported to bring in ad revenue.

No shows, no money.

No money, bad earnings report.

Bad earnings report, bye-bye stock price. Bye-bye CEO.

After 70+ days with no writers to create their product for them, the pipeline is running dry.

Their stock price isn’t tanking yet. But if they don’t make a deal with us, it will.

And they know it.

If they make a deal soon, they might be able to weather it. Stretch out releases. Rush some new stuff through.

But the longer they keep us out, the longer that pipeline runs dry, the more unavoidable a catastrophic dip in new high-quality shows becomes.

And they know it.

So yeah, the studios are planting articles in the trades that make it sound like they’re so determined not to pay us the 0.02% of company revenues we’re asking for that they’re willing to hold out forever.

Bullshit.

I’m sure the AMPTP bosses would love to break our union. But they love their jobs more. They love money more. They can’t make that money without us.

And they know it.

Ignore the trades, walk the line, stand together, and win. #WGAStrong

/End ID]

Bonus: John Rogers' Reaction

[Image ID: A tweet from John Rogers that he posted July 12th, 2023 that reads:

I was trying to be cool and professional about this strike, but this AMPTP “we want to drive them to homelessness” shit means I’m going to be dug in at WB Gate 4 like Hiroo Onada. They’re gonna have to send @ellenstutzman with a bullhorn to order me out of the bushes.

The second image is Ellen Stutzman's Twitter bio that says:

Cheif Negotiator for WGA MBA, Assistant Executive Director, Writers Guild of America, West; Cornell ILR and UCLA Anderson alum. Views are my own.

/End ID]

EDIT: Please see the update on this HERE

[ghostboneswrites2]

hiii! I just wanted to say I absolutely love your fics, you write Daryl so accurate and well 😊 beautiful reads all throughout your page!!

I was wondering if you could write something where daryl comes to like the reader eventually (fem!reader), and she’s shy, keeps her distance, and only is spoke when spoken to, a little like Daryl himself! he then goes to her home to ask her about what stock is needed for foods or something idk haha (Alexandria era) and sees her masturbating through the window, calling out his name, obviously he had no idea she even liked him as she keeps herself to herself. so he joins her, and guides her through it 😉

I hope this is okay to work with if you wanted to use it! Have a great day 🤎🙏🏽

A spider fell on me while I was writing this :') and thank you so much for your compliments they mean the world!!!

Note: OOOOOO SPICYYYYYY 

Don't Stutter

18+ MDNI || Warnings: profanity, graphic depictions of masturbation and smut, fingering

No summary needed, request says it all :)

**NSFW GIF BELOW CUT**

        He watched from a distance as you strolled through the streets of the peaceful community. Not a single incident in months, how about that? It was nice to relax for a while.

        Deanna had put a halt on recruiting for a while, after the attack by the Wolves, so Daryl had kind of been twiddling his thumbs, begging for an excuse to leave beyond the walls. He felt so closed up.

        He had too much time on his hands, too much room in his brain for thoughts and feelings. He didn't like it. Ever since he stopped going out, he crossed your path often. You were quiet, shy even. You rarely spoke up unless spoken to. You didn't make eye contact often, if at all. But most of all, you were beautiful. From your head to your toes. He'd often find himself admiring your (hair length) (hair color) hair. It framed your face perfectly. When the sun would shine just right, your (skin tone) skin would glow in ways he hadn't noticed before.

        Your body was something else entirely. The shape of you drove him nuts. The way your ass swayed when you walked. You didn't even have to try, you were effortlessly seductive.

        He gulped as you walked up your steps and went inside. He wondered how hard it would be to initiate a conversation, to get to know you. He shook his head. Surely that was a foolish idea. As a whole, he had bigger things he needed to be worried about. So, surely asking you about something important would be harmless, right?

        You worked at the pantry with Olivia, who had mentioned to him recently that they'd need to stock up soon. He decided to ask you to make him a list. Then, he'd get to talk to you, and he'd have an excuse to go on a run. Two birds, one stone, right? Right. He sucked in a breath of confidence and strode to your door. He went to knock but his fist stopped just centimeters from the door.

        "Oh.." He heard you whine. Were you crying? He tried to peek through the tall slender windows on either side of your door. The glass was lightly frosted, so the image was blurry, but he could make out a silhouette on the couch.

        "Daryl.." You moaned out louder. His heart stopped. His neck and ears heated ashe gulped. Were you...?

----

        You stared at the sidewalk as you walked home from work. You couldn't get the image out of your mind. Daryl was there earlier, rearranging shelves for you and Olivia. In his tight black button up shirt, his muscles bulged against the fabric, aching to bust out. Or, maybe you were just aching to bust them out. Either way, your lustful mind couldn't get enough. The visual was painted vividly in your mind's eye, and you'd be storing it permanently in your vault of lewd thoughts about the quiet archer.

        The entire rest of your shift was spent silently fantasizing about all the ways you'd let him use and abuse you, if only he wanted anything to do with you. You'd never even spoken to him, beyond a quiet and polite thank you or a curt nod in passing. By the time you made it to your door, you were throbbing between your legs. You couldn't hold it back. You didn't even care to scurry up the stairs and hide away in your bed. No, you simply threw your pants to the ground and sprawled out on the couch, slipping your fingers right inside your panties.

        You started with a gentle trace up and down your slit with a single finger. You stared up at the ceiling, using your imaginary paintbrush to paint a picture on the white canvas. Images of Daryl, his arms, his hands, the way he walked, each drag of a cigarette.

        You got worked up pretty fast. You got tired of teasing yourself. Wasn't lusting over an unattainable man torture enough?

        You slipped a finger inside yourself and sucked in a sharp breath, using your wetness to rub circles over your clit. "Oh..." You whined, closing your eyes, picturing his fingers in place of your own. You sped up the pace a little, rocking your hips as the tension began to build. You pictured the way he'd look down at you if he were there instead of your fingers. How he'd hold you still so you couldn't wiggle out of his grasp, how he'd make you cum until you begged him to stop, and he'd probably keep going.

        "Daryl.." You moaned out, feeling a knot build in your abdomen. You were getting so close.

----

        He listened closely. You were moaning, that was for sure, but all he could see through the foggy windows was a blob on the couch that appeared to be moving.

        Fuck it, he thought. The tension was killing him. If you were moaning his name in there, there was no reason for him to hold back and be polite. He only hoped he could catch you in the act.

        He carefully grabbed the doorknob, hoping you wouldn't hear him. He twisted softly, and when he realized it wasn't locked, he pushed the door open.

        You jumped up and pulled your hand out of your panties, startled and wide-eyed as you stared at him. Shame washed over you as he gazed at you, pushing the door shut behind him.        

        "Daryl.." You breathed quietly. Your heart was beating so fast your chest could explode. He made slow steps over to you. Each thump of his boots on your floor made you flinch. "W-What are you doing..?"

        He glanced down at your wet panties and back up to you as he approached, towering over where you sat on the couch.

        "Could be askin' you the same." He rasped. You gulped.

        "I was just--"

        "You were sayin' my name." He cut you off. Your eyes grew wide. So, he definitely heard you.

        "No I wasn't." You lied.

        "Mm." He hummed. "Sure sounded like it."

        "Well even if I was you shouldn't be eavesdropping at my front--"

        "Shh." He hushed, tracing a calloused finger over your lips and down the front of your throat, hooking it on the collar of your shirt. His gaze was predatory, scanning down your body with a sense of starvation that made you tremble.

        He dragged another finger up your thigh, sending shivers up your spine. He admired the goosebumps that raised on your soft skin in the wake of his touch. His eyes met yours.

        "Tell me to stop and I will." He whispered. Your eyes widened as he leaned in and fluttered shut as his lips brushed against yours. You gasped into the kiss as he snapped with elastic of your underwear against your skin. He pulled back and peered down between your legs. You hadn't told him to stop, but he still hoped his next move would be okay. "Lemme see."

        "W-What?" 

        "Lemme see." He repeated, tugging at the hem of your panties. You were too nerve stricken to act, so you just nodded.

        Slowly, he dragged your panties down your thighs and held them up with a nearly invisible smirk. You glanced at the wet spot and blushed shamefully. "All for me?" He teased.

        He spread your legs wide.

        "Show me." He instructed. Your eyebrows met in confusion. "Show me how ya play with yourself." He clarified.

        "I-- I don't.."

        "Don't get nervous on me now. Sounded like ya had it under control just a minute ago." 

        With a shaky hand, you reached between your legs and aimlessly traced a circle over your clit with a single finger, never looking away from his face. He watched you for a minute and shook his head. 

        "Stop." He ordered. You did. You gasped as he traced his own finger right down your slit one time. "Like this..." He took your finger back to your clit and guided it, gentle laps around your clit causing your hips to jerk. "Now, do it just like that."

        You continued as he took his hand away, holding back the noises that threatened to escape. You kept asking yourself what you were doing, if this was even real. 

        He admired the show for some time, but it became quickly apparent you'd never make yourself cum with him watching like that. You were too nervous and clumsy. You couldn't keep a rhythm and you faltered every time you started to build yourself up to a climax. He gently pulled your hand to the side again.

        "Need some help?" He offered. You didn't respond. "Need an answer, darlin'."

        You hesitantly nodded.

        "Mm. Gon' need more than that." He taunted cockily. You nodded quicker this time, eagerness in your eyes. He smirked. "That's more like it.." He cooed, tracing his fingers up and down your clit gently. You let out a tiny whine. 

        Between him cutting you off right before you came earlier, and all those times you almost came trying to masturbate in front of him, you were so sensitive, and he could tell. Your clit was swollen and red and every little touch made you jolt and writhe.

        "Don't hold out on me. Let me know ya like it." He said as he slipped a finger inside you. You gasped and moaned as he massaged you, slipping a second finger in when he found your sweet spot. You bit down on your bottom lip and rolled your hips. Your moans grew louder and more confident as pleasure crept over you. That bashful, reserved girl from the pantry was quickly melting away, leaving you in a raw, lustful, dirty state. 

        Your eyes closed as your head fell back on the couch. His thumb pressed down on your clit as his fingers worked carefully inside. You moaned again as his rough thumb traced skillful circles over the sensitive area.

        "Say my name." He ordered.

        "Daryl.." You moaned shamelessly. He smirked.

        "Again."

        "Daryl." You whined. He was getting you close.       

        "Look at me." He demanded.

        You opened your eyes and watched him. Your eyelids were lazy and your eyes were glazed and sex drunk.

        "Say it."

        "Daryl." You squeaked. You were so close. That knot in your stomach was back, tied so tight that the rope was begging to snap.

        "What's my name?"

        "Daryl." You breathed.

        "C'mon, darlin.' Ya wanna cum or not?"

        "Daryl... Daryl.."

        "That's it." He slowed his pace to a stop, leaving you right at the edge. 

        "Daryl!" You whined and pouted. 

        He ignored your plea and pulled your shirt over your head before he tugged your bra down to expose your breasts. Your nipples were hard and bumps littered your skin as the cold air conditioning hit them. He pinched one hard, eliciting a small cry. He played with them a little before he slipped his fingers back inside you and worked his thumb over your clit again. You shuttered and exhaled a shaky moan. That was like, the fourth or fifth time your orgasm was cut off right before it started. It was torture. Painful, blissful, pleasurable torture. 

        You flinched and squirmed against his fingers, walls clenching and pulsating around his fingers, making it a little harder for him to work them. Nonetheless, he pressed on.

        "Look at me." He demanded. You obeyed. Your eyes welled up with tears as he built you back up. 

        "Please..."You begged.

        "Please, what?"

        "Please, Daryl."

        "Wha'd'ya want?"

        "Please, Daryl. I wanna cum."

        Triumph washed over him as you begged. 

        "I'm so close." You whispered. 

        "Then say it."

        "Daryl." You cried.

        "Again." 

        "D-Daryl.."

        "Don't stutter."

        "Daryl!" You moaned loud. A wave washed over you as you finally reached the climax. Your body shuddered, legs shaking as you moaned and writhed. He kept going until you rode the entirety of your high, only stopping when he was sure you couldn't take anymore.

        He looked down at the wet stain between your legs where the couch cushion soaked up all your cum, save for the mess all over his fingers. You shook and whined as he pulled his fingers out, watching with your mouth hung open as he sucked them clean and licked his lips.

        "Next time, just ask." He whispered as he kissed your forehead and left your house.

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[korcariqueen]

A Second Shot ~ Logan Howlett x Fem! Reader

Content - Worst! Wolverine needs to take a break from the chaos of the apartment and goes to find a bar. Lucky for him he walks in to the one you work at.

A/N - Thank you so much for the love already. All the likes, comments and reposts have been so encouraging. I'm gonna go ahead with writing a full series. Like I said before this will be more adult 18+. Ya know sex, violence, swearing. All the good stuff 😂 stay tuned ❤️❤️❤️

Hi 👋 this is my first fic. Please comment if you like or have improvements. I have an idea to make this in to a full series that would be more 🌶 adult. Let me know if any of you are interested in reading that. Warning: Slight swearing

Logan needed to get out of the apartment. Wade and Peter had started to brainstorm the rebirth of X-Force 2.0, which Wade promised would be at least 40% less lethal than its predecessor. And for unknown reasons the ‘brainstorming’ included multiple whiteboards and creating a practice plane to ‘stick the landing unlike last time’. The ensuing DIY project caused Laura to barge out of her room, screaming at Wade about the noise. The merc with the mouth then thought it was wise to make a ‘menies’ joke. Not surprisingly Laura launched herself on the man, claws out.

I’m too sober for this.

That was enough for Logan to grab his leather jacket and head for the door. Logan walked down the busy New York streets. It was late September, the night was chilly with light rain splattering on the sidewalk. Logan was surprised by how lively the streets were for the time of night, before remembering it was a Friday. He wondered how long it had been since he was sober enough to remember the day of the week. He continued down the street, silently taking in the bustle. Taxi drivers were hitting the horns like they were paid by the noise. Young couples were making out in darkened alleys, lost in their own world. Logan smirked to himself. God when was the last time he did that? He shook the urge to wander down memory lane. He passed a few bars, neon lights flickering invitingly. He peered in. Bachelorette party. Could be fun but he just wanted a quiet drink tonight. Another. Karaoke night. Logan winced at the off tune, drunken singing. Heightened hearing had its downsides. Every bar and pub seemed packed with drunken revellers, ready to enjoy their night and invite the weekend with a killer hangover.

Logan was ready to give up and head back, knowing full well that Wade and Laura had probably destroyed the apartment, when he glanced across the street. A small bar, tucked away from the hustle and bustle of the street. ‘Sammy’s Bar’, adorned the sign above the door. Logan focused his hearing. There was definitely people in there but it sounded quiet enough. He crossed the road and walked down a few steps to the wooden door, before pushing it open. 

He stepped inside, the smell of hard liquor wafted in the air. The place was a decent size, something you wouldn’t be able to tell from the street. The space was dimly lit, a few old looking sconces dotted the far left wall above booth seating. A few people sat there, engrossed in hushed, alcohol soaked conversations. Small round table seating were dotted around the open middle section of the bar, their patrons loudly arguing over politics as the few ancient looking chandeliers above swayed slightly with the roar of traffic outside. On the far right stood the solid wood bar with a few high stools lining it, with a couple of people sitting watching a boxing match on the TV in the right corner. The bar had a few beer taps, the usual stuff and a few European beers. Logan rolled his eyes before catching the well stocked liquor on the wall. This will have to do. Logan walked to a vacant stool by the bar, next to a greying older man nursing his drinking and quietly reading a book. Shrugging off his jacket and lightly shaking off the droplets of rain that clung still to it. 

“Be there in sec.” called a voice from one of the tables. Logan grunted in response as he sat at the bar. He propped his forearms on the worn wood, interlocking his fingers. Bar must’ve been here a while judging by the wear of the wood. His eyes began to trace the scratched names on the surface. “Josh was here”, “For a good time call Chloe” “Kenny hearts Lisa”. He heard the hurried footsteps of the bartender rounding the bar to stand in front of him.

“So what can I getcha?,” came the cheerful voice. 

Logan lifted his head, “A double of..” His voice caught in his throat as his eyes widened slightly. You stood there with a bright smile adoring your face, head slightly cocked to the side. You looked to be in your late 20s, early 30s if he had to guess.Your hair was up in a high ponytail and you wore a black t-shirt that hugged your figure. Logan glimpsed your slightly loose jeans. Comfortable for working in a bar. 

“Ahem” Logan cleared his throat. “A double of Jamesons, neat. Thanks.”

“No problem. Coming right up.” You flashed him another stunning smile.

Oh fuck.

You pulled out a small step to help you grab the whiskey from the shelf. Your t-shirt riding up slightly showing off the small of your back and waist. Logan wondered what it would feel like to grip your waist as he- 

“Pipe down old man” Logan mentally scolded himself. You hoped for the step stool, whiskey in hand and began to pour his drink. You chatted with the, what he assumed to be, regulars sitting beside him; laughing and commenting on the match they were watching. 

God, even your laugh was beautiful.

“There you are”, you said as you placed Logan’s drink in front of him.

“Thanks.” He managed to muster without his voice cracking like a kid whose balls hadn’t dropped. He took a slow sip, letting the warming amber liquid melt his day’s stress away. 

“So I haven’t seen you around. We don’t get many new faces here.” You offered idle chat as you cleaned the bar around you.

“Urm no. Not been here before.” Logan offered in response.

“New in the neighbourhood?”

“Yeah you could say that” You have no idea.

“Well, welcome to our neck of the woods. Umm?” you asked.

“Logan. Thanks. Sammy?”

“Oh no.” You laughed, placing your hand on your chest. “ No Sammy’s my boss and owner of this fine establishment. I’m [Y/N]” you offered your hand to shake. Logan took it, his giant hands enveloping yours. He could have sworn he heard your breath hitch slightly at the contact and feel your heartbeat a little faster. You quickly retract your hand, Logan smirking slightly at your sudden awkwardness.

“Well Logan I’m happy you found us.”

“Yeah, most of the places ‘round here got too many people. Way too loud.” Logan said as he took another sip of his drink.

“Yeah. That’s why most of the old timers like it here…” Your hand flew to your open mouth as you realised what you had said. “I mean not you obviously.” you stuttered as you tried to recover your accidental insult. “I mean like the older guys like a quieter ambience you know like Leonard is always complaining about how those places you can’t hear yourself think” You are tripping on your words as your brain goes into overdrive. “Not saying you have the same issues as a 65 year old man!” Logan couldn’t help but laugh at your attempts to salvage your blunder. 

“I’m older than I look, darlin,” he says with a coy smile, glass still hovering at his lips.

“What? No you can’t be much older than me. Definitely under forty!” you stuttered out, still frazzled.

Logan's smile spread into a toothy grin. He was enjoying how flustered you were. 

“Hey [Y/N]! Another one when you’re done flirting with the new guy.” A man on the far side of the bar shouted, holding his empty pint glass.

“Shut up Leonard!” you yelled back. The man, Leonard, laughed in response. “Well I think I’ve embarrassed myself enough. I’ll leave you to your drink, Logan.” You gave a quick embarrassed smile as you hurried off to see to the other patrons. 

Logan let out a small laugh as could hear you scolding the man he presumed was Leonard. 

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Oh come on I’ve never seen you get all jittery before. Besides, you looked like you were drowning out there. What the hell did you even say to him” 

“Nothing! Just drop it or I’ll tell Martha you were here last Thursday when you were ‘working late at the office’.” you snapped back, glaring at the man. Leonard put his hands up in surrender, quietly conceding. 

[Y/N] quickly glanced over at Logan to see if witnessed the exchange. Logan kindly dropped his head, pretending to be fascinated by his glass. You let out a small relieved sigh, before leaving the bar to clear some tables. Logan lifted his head back up, making eye contact with Leonard across the bar. The man gave him a wide smile, lifting up his glass in a silent cheers, clearly enjoying how flustered he made their favourite bartender. Logan mirrored the action with his whiskey glass before taking another sip. 

The old man in the stool next to Logan began to stand up, closing his book and placing a few dollars on the to pay his tab. Grabbing his coat, he called out to you, “I’m off now [Y/N].” 

You turned, smiling at the man, “Okay Kenny. You take care. Bring Lisa next time, I miss her.” 

“I will. Night” The rest of the bar called out their goodbyes to the man as he finished putting on his coat. He began to walk past Logan before he stopped. Logan shifted slightly in his seat toward the man.

In a hushed tone “She works here most nights.” He flashed Logan a knowing smile and wink before donning his flat cap and walking out the bar. 

Logan couldn’t help but laugh and shake his head. Yeah this will definitely need to be a regular spot, especially if it means being served by a certain beautiful bartender. 

[toomanystoriessolittletime]

How did it end?

Summary: A flashback to the night that changed your lives forever.

Pairing: past Joel Miller x fem. reader

Wordcount: 2.4k

Rating: T

Warnings: angst (so much angst), flashbacks, some really hurtful words, cursing, crying, pregnancy tests, Joel being a dick, Calvin being the best supportive brother

A/N: somehow I feel in my mind like this should have been worse, but I am sure you all do not feel like that at all so I'm sorry lol

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part three of invisible string

Even before the outbreak you dealt with your anxiety or with big life decisions the same way.

You were stress cleaning. 

After walking out from Joel you made your way into the town centre, picking up your kids and then got back home where your brother Calvin was already trying to cook something but you mutually made the decision that you were gonna cook while he bathed the kids. 

You both did not want him to burn the house down.

He wanted to ask you how it went, having run into Maria on his way home from the Patrol meeting, who had told her that you had been at the clinic to see Joel. 

But this wasn’t the time or the place. 

It ended up being a nice evening all things considered. 

You had dinner, played some boardgames, read a good night stories to your kids and watched them sleep in their little beds until the nervous energy in your body left you walking back downstairs.

Once the house got quiet after the kids and you brother were asleep (he had an early morning with his first big day on Patrol the next day) you were alone with your thoughts. 

And your thoughts were loud, and demanded to be heard. 

So you went into the kitchen, took a look at all the cleaning supplies that were still stocked under the kitchen sink and got to work. 

You started with the top of the kitchen cabinets, standing on the counter as you scrubbed what felt like centuries of dust off of them until you were satisfied and moved to inside the cabinets. 

What a picture it would be if one of your new neighbours caught the crazy lady next door deep cleaning the kitchen at 2 am during the literal apocalypse.

Cleaning usually had the power to make the thoughts inside your head shut up. 

But as you emptied the cabinets so you could clean them inside, your mind drifted to the last time you had tried to deal with whatever was going on in your life by extensively deep cleaning every surface around you. 

The Outbreak might have been an excuse for many people to let things like cleaning the place where they lived become unimportant. 

Which deep down it was of course.

Why have a clean kitchen when just down the street, behind the fences and walls the so called new government had pulled up, there were people and what once were people dying or fighting (or eating) each other?

But you always lived by the mindset of clean home, clean mind. 

And what you desperately needed right now was a clean mind. 

Two ten year old positive pregnancy tests you took this morning after feeling off for the last couple of weeks and missing you period were enough reason to freak out. 

But you couldn’t freak out. 

Joel would do that for you, you were sure. 

That was, if he ever decided to come home to you again after being on a run with Tess for the last four days. 

He hadn’t even told you or kissed you goodbye this time. 

You had woken up to a note on the kitchen table telling you that he’d be gone on a run with Tess and he didn’t know how long.

Something about your husband had changed in the last few months. 

It changed ever since Tommy left and Tess was his only influence outside of you. Not that you had much influence on anything he did nowadays. 

It wasn’t like he was the most attentive men to begin with. 

But you fell for him. 

You fell for the complicated, traumatised and closed off man who to this day was the most handsome man you had ever met. 

And deep down you knew he fell for you, mumbling his confessions of love into your skin when he thought you were asleep. 

It was the way he looked at you. 

The way he brought home a new book to read whenever he went out of the QZ. 

The way he made you forget about the fucked up word outside of the walls you made your home whenever he gave you his full attention. 

He wouldn’t have put a ring on your finger years earlier as you laid in his arms, asking you to be his until the day you both died, if he did not love you, would he?

You loved him, you loved him even when he seemed to make it his personal goal to make you hate him. 

He used to be home every night in the beginning. 

He used to love to spend time with you and you with him. Staying up just talking for hours if he wasn’t making love to you. 

Because even when he was fucking you, it felt different. More… intense. More passionate.  

He used to smile at you. 

By now you couldn’t remember the last time he smiled at you now. 

And by the time you had practically polished the whole shitty apartment you and Joel lived in it was dark outside and he still wasn’t home. 

In hopes he would be home and it would lift his mood you had made dinner that now sat cold on the stove.

It was after 11pm and you were tired, having been in the bathroom brushing your teeth when you heard the door unlock and open. 

A nervous flutter in your stomach made the dinner you had earlier almost come up but you took a deep breath, looking at yourself in the small mirror over the sink. 

You were wearing one of Joel’s old worn flannels, his familiar scent in your nose. 

What was the worst that could happen?

It was not like you could just turn back time?

You were pregnant and he just would have to deal with it. 

Right?

You would never forget the way his eyes hardened once you said the words

„I am pregnant.“

He had been in a relatively good mood when you joined him in the small kitchen, having already taken his shoes and coat off, his hair damp from the rain outside. 

It made you reconsider telling him for a tiny moment, wanting to just enjoy this with him. But maybe he would not react like you thought he would? Maybe he would be happy?

You wanted to ask a million question about how it went but you were too nervous, having instead kissed his cheek with a whispered „I miss you“ and then offered to warm up some food for him. 

He had put his hand on your waist, his fingers brushing over your stomach as he went into the bathroom, his lips against your temple telling you that he would just take a quick shower. 

It was after he ate, the table cleaned that you told him. 

Sitting across from him at the tiny shitty table you had, your hands flat on the surface, the silence after you told him the news sickening.

His whole face had changed, expression hard, by the time he opened his mouth to speak. 

„Is it mine?“ He asked and you just blinked at him, speechless, your head falling back as if he had slapped you, before you answered. 

„What do you mean? Who else would it be? We’re married,“ you said and he scoffed. 

„Doesn’t mean you don’t open your legs for anyone else while I’m gone,“ he sneered and you flinched at the accusation and the tone he used. 

Sucking your bottom lip in you looked at your hands, still on the table, nodding your head slowly. 

„Good to know what you think of me after all these years,“ you whispered, still trying to process his words. 

„What did you think would happen? That I’ll be happy? Newsflash darlin’, this isn’t one of your dumb romance novels you keep reading,“ he said, before he brought his fist down on the table, making you jump. He got up from where he was sitting, walking over to the cabinet that held all the liquor he scavenged, opening the one bottle of original Jack Daniel’s and taking a long sip. 

„You gonna get rid of it,“ he said and you looked at him. 

„Excuse me?“ You asked. 

„Don’t want no kids of mine in this fucked up world. And especially not with you,“ he said and you felt slapped again. One blow after the next coming from him. You crossed your arms in front of your stomach protectively. 

You had imagined his reaction would be bad, but this wasn’t bad. This was destroying you.

„So that’s it, you don’t want a kid, and I have to just comply?“

„That’s exactly how it is, sweetheart,“ he grinned darkly at you, shaking his head and leaning against the wall and you desperately tried to find the tiniest part of the person you had fallen in love with as you looked at him. 

But there was nothing left. 

Maybe you just had been too blind to see it until now.

„I thought you loved me,“ you whispered, tears in your eyes. 

„How can someone love you? You thought because I put a ring on your finger everything would be okay? We’d be a happy little family and live in this shitty apartment in this shitty QZ while the world around us is fucking dying? How did you think this would go?“ He asked. 

„You made it sound like I planned this. Do you think I like this? Do you think I like being pregnant by a man who even though treated me like the fucking dirt beneath his shoes for the last months, was still the man I thought I would spend the rest of my life with?“ 

„Then get rid of it and we can get back to it,“ he said and you scoffed.

„You really think things are gonna get back to how they were after you said all that?“ You asked. 

He shrugged. 

„Where would you go? You have no family. No friends. All you have is me,“ he said. 

„And you’re so different? Who do you have? Tommy left because…“

„Do not talk about my brother,“ he threatened and glared at you. 

You shook your head, taking a deep breath. 

He was drunk. 

This was not going anywhere. 

This would never go anywhere.

„Things are not going to go back. I can find someone better than you on every corner,“ he said and you could not stop the sob that shook your body and you were pretty sure you could hear your heart breaking. 

„I don’t love you. I never did,“ he said and the tears you had tried to hold in finally fell. 

„Get rid of this, before I take care of it,“ he said, and a chill ran down your spine at his tone. 

„And then get the fuck out of my life.“

You were in the last touches of finishing cleaning the kitchen when you heard footsteps coming down the stairs. 

You hadn’t even noticed the tears until Calvin pulled against his chest, his hand running soothingly up and down your back. 

„You wanna talk about it?“ He asked and you shook your head. 

„Not yet. Not ever if I’m honest,“ you mumbled and he chuckled. 

„Need to talk to him though,“ you said and leaned back, turning around to turn on the stove to heat up some water and make some tea for the both of you. Looking at the clock hanging on the wall you noticed that it was just before 5 am. 

„Don’t need to do anything,“ he said and opened the fridge, getting the lunch he had prepared the day before for his day out and grabbing some stuff to make himself a sandwich. 

„I can’t ignore him forever. As much as I would like to. He’s…. He’s here and he won’t go anywhere. Neither will we. So we have to…. Co-exist somehow.“

You both get to your tasks before you both sat down at the table, you with two mugs of tea, one for him, him with two sandwiches, one which he pushed towards you. 

„You still love him,“ your brother said after a while and you sighed, looking up at him. 

„Yeah. But it doesn’t matter. I don’t think I’l ever be able to forgive him for everything that happened,“ you smiled sadly. 

„Well,“ your brother said before he got up and put his plate in the sink.

„Then you should talk to him and tell him that so you can both move on with your lives.“

You followed him towards the front of the house where he put his shoes on and checked if he had everything in his little backpack for this first patrol. 

„What if he wants to be in their lives?“ You asked, nodding upstairs to where both your children were still sleeping. 

„Do you think he wants to? He made himself pretty clear from what you’ve told me,“ Calvin said. 

„I don’t know. It’s been a long time and he seemed…. He seemed really sorry? I just….“ You took a deep breath, shaking your head.

„Nope. I am not gonna spend any more time thinking about Joel Miller. I’m gonna go upstairs and take a two hour nap and then I’m gonna go and explore our new home while my children are learning stuff in an actual school,“ you said. 

„There you go!“ Calvin grinned.

„Be safe today!“ You said, grinning back and hugged him quickly. 

„You too,“ he smiled, before he opened the door, your face falling as you saw Joel stand on the porch, his hand held up in a fist as if he was about to knock. 

„I’m here to pick you up for patrol? Tommy’s gotta stay home today,“ Joel said as he looked between you and your brother. 

„Well that is gonna be fun,“ Calvin said, winking at you, before he stepped out and pulled the door shut behind him, giving Joel no chance to try to say anything more if he wanted to.

You watched them through the window next to the door as they walked down the porch and then down the street until they were out of sight. 

Letting your shoulders fall while you exhaled with a sigh you shook your head before you made your way upstairs. 

This was gonna be a long day. 

[milunalupin]

— sugar

sirius black x reader ★ 1k words

a/n : first post ! ty for reading <3

Honeydukes was packed with witches and wizards of all ages as it always was on the weekends, tables and shelves stocked with most colorful and exciting sweets in the area. You made your way to the back of the shop where your favorite treats were, relieved the see this part of the store empty.

As you scanned the wall for your sweets, someone cleared their throat behind you. You turned to see a man grinning at you, leaning against the shelf behind him. He was wearing a fitted black shirt, and a leather jacket. His dark curls perfectly framing his defined face.

"You've got good taste, I see. Honeydukes always has the best sweets. What's your poison, chocolate frogs?"

You eyed the handsome man in front of you, then offered a smile towards him.

"I'm more of a sugar quill girl."

The curly haired stranger chuckled, his grey eyes crinkling in the corners.

"Ah, a woman of refined tastes, I see. Sugar quills are definitely a good choice. The only problem is, you're going to need something to wash them down with. Say, a butterbeer?"

"That is quite a problem, isn't it?" you bit your lip, your eyes twinkling mischievously.

His grin widened, a knowing sparkle in his eye.

"Sure is. Lucky for you, I've got a solution. Allow me to take you to the Three Broomsticks, where I can ensure you have the most delicious beverage available to pair with your equally delicious snacks."

You couldn't help but smile, his charm almost impossible to resist.

"Take me away, handsome."

"Sirius Black. Shall we, sweetheart?" He offered you his elbow, a gentleman through and through.

You took his elbow and gave him your name, grinning up at him as your eyes twinkled with excitement.

The two of you walked up to the counter and after a few "Sirius, no!"s and a "I've got it, sweet girl", the cashier handed you the bag of sweets Sirius paid for. You thanked him as you left the candy shop and walked down the streets of Hogsmeade together.

As you entered the Three Broomsticks, Sirius escorted you to the bar, pulling out a stool for you. He ordered a round of butterbeers and pumpkin pasties for the both of you, the bartender nodding to his request. As you waited for your drinks, Sirius leaned back on his stool, watching you with amusement.

You looked around and smiled softly at the cozy atmosphere, then turned to him when you noticed him watching you. You smiled nervously, bringing a hand up to your mouth.

"Do I have something on my face?"

"No, you're perfect, love. But I wonder.. why a woman like you would be having a butterbeer with a known troublemaker... some might think you have a thing for bad boys."

"And what if I do?" You smirked at him, taking a small sip of your butterbeer.

Sirius's eyes twinkled in response. He seemed to find your spirit and openness refreshing.

The two of you talked about anything and everything as you drank together, Sirius especially interested in your work with magical creatures.

You cut your pumpkin pasty in half, sliding one half over him before taking a bite out if your own half.

"Here, before it gets cold."

Sirius chuckled, reaching out to take the offered half. Their hands touched briefly, and he felt a tingle run down his spine. He blinked, trying to play it off.

He felt his cheeks grow warm. Even the way you ate a pumpkin pasty was endearing. His eyes flitted across your face, his heart pounding in his throat. His mind was racing with possibilities, thoughts that he hadn't let himself think in years. He was in trouble.

"Um, would you care for another butterbeer?" He motioned to the nearby bartender, who nodded in acknowledgement. He was going to need a whole tankard of butterbeer if he had any hope of keeping himself from completing embarrassing himself in front of you.

He knew he should stay cool, but there was something about you that threw him off his game. Before he even realized what he was doing, he blurted out, "Godric, you're beautiful."

Your eyes widened and you let out the biggest laugh, throwing your head back. The blush on his cheeks deepened as your laughter filled his ears. He leaned in, his words filled with sincerity.

"And you are the kind of woman who can make a man forget about all of his worries. I could listen to you laugh all night, love."

He reached out, taking your hand in his, his thumb stroking the back of your hand gently. He was falling for you hard and fast, and he had a sinking feeling that he was in trouble. But at the same time, he couldn't be happier.

"You're trouble, you know that?"

You looked down at Sirius stroking your hand, then looking back up at him with a teasing smile.

"Trouble? You're the one who kidnapped me."

Sirius chuckled, the soft melody of your laughter tugging at his heart. He felt warm all over, his lips curving into a soft smile. He was never the romantic type, but there was something about you that made his heart ache with longing.

"I may have kidnapped you, but you're the one who's stolen my heart." Sirius's voice was soft, a whisper meant for your ears only.

It was your turn to be flustered, your cheeks turning pink as he looked at you sincerely.

"Merlin, who knew you'd have such a way with words." You chuckled softly, tilting your head to the side.

"Maybe I've been saving them all for you." Sirius took a deep breath, trying to maintain his composure.

A small gasp left your mouth, giggling at the man sitting beside you.

"Sirius Black, where have you been all my life?"

Sirius chuckled, his eyes twinkling at your reaction. He knew you were feeling the same way he was, and it made him feel alive. You had lit a spark within him, one that he thought had died long ago. He was thrilled to have found you, and he wasn't about to let you go. He leaned closer, his voice just above a whisper.

"Waiting for you, sugar, waiting for you."

[sumsumstrashbin]

𝟏-𝟖𝟎𝟎-𝐡𝐨𝐭-𝐧-𝐟𝐮𝐧 ✧

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 𝟏.𝟕𝐤

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: (𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝) 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐚 𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐝, 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐡𝐨𝐭, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐮𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐝.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 𝐚 𝐛𝐢𝐭 𝐬𝐮𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞, 𝐬𝐦𝐨𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠(?)

𝐚/𝐧: ��𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫 𝐬𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐮𝐬 𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐨𝐟𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐝. 𝐦𝐨𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐧, 𝐧𝐨𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐜 𝐚𝐮!

─────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───────

Neon lights casted a vibrant pink and blue glow onto the cracked pavement outside of Platform Nine, a quaint concert venue and club all in one, that pulsed with life. Inside, the air was thick–humid with sweat, perfume, and the blaring music bouncing off the walls. Music thrummed through the floors, bass sending waves of vibration up the stilettos of women on the dancefloor. Laughter, flirtatious murmurs, and sounds of shakers behind the bar hummed lowly underneath the beats of the music–proving Platform Nine to be the most live venue on the street. 

You were settled outside, perched on the back steps of the building with a cigarette between your fingers. Even outside you could feel the beats of the music thumping in your chest, but you were unphased–it came with your lifestyle.

As the lead guitarist of Divination, most of your nights began like this.

“We should head in, Y/n. We’re on in ten.” Your bandmate, Lily, spoke, fanning away the smoke from your cigarette and scrunching her nose. 

“Yeah, you go on. I’ll be there in a minute.” You replied, giving her a reassuring smile.

“I’ll take that.” She plucked the cigarette from your fingers, tossing it to the pavement and crushing it with the bottom of her shoe. Before you could retort, she gave you a cheeky grin, running inside through the backdoor.

You rolled your eyes, smiling–she had been your best friend since highschool, and god knows she’s been telling you to quit smoking since the day you met.

Since the day the band was formed, you’ve had one particular rule–you would never start a show without scoping out the crowd first. Whether big or small, you’d go on–you just wanted to know what you were getting into. 

With the muscle memory of your rule, you headed down the side alley of the venue, turning a corner to be faced with the neon sign reading Platform Nine shining on your face. It had always been your favourite venue, particularly for the vibe, and the crowd that it attracted. It was guaranteed that if you were performing at Platform Nine, you’d be gaining some new fans, and that was important for your band.

Despite the inside of the venue being very much alive with party goers, the outside was quiet, minus the sound of music. No long line of people–just cars whooshing by and a few people with “normal” plans walking down the sidewalk. The coolness of the night air sent goosebumps up your legs, barely covered by the fabric of your fishnet stockings.

For the most part, you were all alone–or so you thought. As you approached the front door, a voice broke the “silence”.

“Are you lost?”

You turn on the heel of your boot, finding yourself face to face with a tall, sleek (and extremely hot) figure, long black hair blowing over his sharp cheekbones in the breeze of the night. He almost looked too good to be true–and with the way his hair was flowing in the wind, you felt like you were in a very cheesy (bollywood) movie. 

“Sorry?” You ask, raising a brow at his question.

“I said, are you lost. Don’t think I’ve seen you at Platform before.” He spoke, shoving his slender hands into his pockets to shield them from the night air. 

“Well then you must be blind.” You retort, crossing your arms. You certainly did not have the time for useless flirtation tactics, especially when you were supposed to be on stage in five minutes. You were used to this kind of thing, however, it was undeniable that there was something particularly alluring about him. 

His brows furrowed at your response, though a smirk quickly curled the corner of his lips. “Tenacious, aren’t you?”

“Quite.” You responded flatly, uncrossing your arms and turning back towards the doors.

“I’ll see you inside, then, yeah? Where can I find you?”

“On stage.” You countered, and though your back was facing him, he could feel you smirking as you made your way inside.

─────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───────

You made it onstage just in time, your bandmates unphased–they were used to your lack of urgency. The crowd hushed to a low hum at the presence of your band on stage, providing Lily with a moment to introduce the band. As you slung your guitar around your neck, you noticed a certain individual in the crowd–the same man from outside. You leaned over to Lily, speaking lowly in her ear. “I’ll take this one, Lils.” 

Lily nodded, stepping aside to let you take your place in front of the microphone.

You wrapped a hand over the mic on its stand, the dim glow of the stage lights glimmering in the glossy maroon lacquer painted on your nails. You brought your mouth a few inches away from the microphone, beginning to speak.

“How’s everyone doing tonight?” You spoke casually, beaming at the crowd's roaring response in cheers and whistles. 

“That’s what I like to hear. Listen, we’ve got some good music coming your way in just a minute, but first, let's get you acquainted. We’ve got Mary on drums, Marly on bass, Lily on vocals, and of course, me on your lead guitar.” The crowd cheered as Mary played a quick drum roll, Marly strummed a quick riff, and Lily bowed.

“Now, who’s ready to rock?” You questioned, Mary counting the four of you in before the crowd even had a moment to respond. 

Your performance nearly rocked the roof off of the venue, the crowd quickly erupting into a frenzy of dancing and cheering. You tapped the heel of your boot to the beat of the drums, strumming your fingers up and down your guitar, feeling every chord echo through your body, dancing through your chest along with the notes of Lily’s powerful voice.

Normally you wouldn’t pay such meticulous attention to the people in the crowd, but your eyes continuously found one man in the sea of people.

He weaved his way through the crowd, making his way right to the front–just in time for your solo.

As part of your usual routine, you got down on your knees, your fingers dancing wildly across the strings of your guitar, nearly drawing blood as you crushed your solo. You locked eyes with him, a curtain of wild hair obstructing your view, and he grinned, clearly enjoying your performance. 

─────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───────

After the show, you made your way backstage, the roar of the crowd fading away in the music that resumed its blaring through the speakers. Divination had certainly livened up the place even more than before, the crowd more rowdy than ever, almost everyone on the dancefloor.

There was only one thing on your mind–the mysterious man in the crowd. He had disappeared some time during your final song, and although your mind was telling you it was a bad idea to go looking for him, you found it hard to battle the impulse. 

Regardless, you made your way out the back door for another smoke–you’d need it before you headed back inside to interact with your recent audience.

As you hopped down the steps, you heard the crunch of a footstep on gravel, just around the corner in the alleyway. Although any normal person would probably take this as a sign to head back inside, you peered around the corner, only to be met with the very sight you were hoping for.

There he was again, leaning against the brick wall, one arm folded across his chest and the other holding a cigarette up to his lips. 

He blew smoke from his mouth, turning his head towards you.

“I was hoping I’d catch you out here. I was almost 100% sure you were a smoker, I smelled it on you when we met outside.” He spoke, his voice velvet-smooth, low, and dangerous. Each syllable that rolled off his tongue clouded your senses more and more, commanding your attention.

 You knew he would be trouble, but so were you. 

“I’m not sure if I should be offended that you’re saying I smell like a smoker, or flattered that you paid such close attention.” You responded, your calloused fingers reaching into your pocket for your pack of cigarettes, removing one from the box  with your mouth before stashing it back in your pocket. You reached for your lighter, but he put a hand out, reaching into his own pocket with the other hand.

“Allow me.” He flipped open the lighter, flicking it to life and holding it up to the cigarette in your mouth. “And I’m sure I wouldn’t have to pay close attention to smell it, you reek. No offense, of course.” He teased, that stupid smirk quickly plastering itself on his face again. “But anyway, I was paying attention.” 

“Do I really?” You question, burying your nose into your leather jacket to investigate for yourself.

“Nah, not really. I’m just teasing.” 

“Mm. Okay.” You roll your eyes. You couldn’t help but smile. “Did you enjoy the show, mystery man?”

“Mystery man? Is that my name, now?”

“You never told me your name.” You argued.

“Yet I know yours. Y/n, is it? Lovely name. And yes, to answer your question, I did enjoy the show.”

“I’m sure you did. You slithered your way to the front, didn’t you?”

“So you were watching me, then?” He teased.

“Observant, aren’t you?” You quipped, rolling your eyes yet again. “You still haven’t told me your name.”

“Forgive me, miss Y/n. Sirius. Sirius Black. Now tell me, when can I see you again?”

“Two quick interactions and you’re already wanting more?”

“How could I not? Beautiful, feisty, and good with her hands. What more could I want?” He joked, chuckling at his own words.

“Oh, you’re dirty.” You said wryly, provoking another chuckle from Sirius.

“So are you, judging by your lack of disgust.” He remarked wittily, flicking away his cigarette, the dim embers fading away on the pavement. “Give me your number.”

“Not much of a romantic, are you?” You commented sarcastically. 

“I suppose you’ll have to find that out for yourself, yeah?”

���────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───────

[wonkawinka]

we’ll meet again

“we’ll meet again… don’t know where, don’t know when…”

alastor x angel!daughter!reader

CHAPTER TWO: smile like you mean it!

— — CHAPTER THREE: weak ankles!

warnings/notes: EPISODE 6 SPOILERS! not proof read, no use of y/n, used she/her pronouns, reader is on the fem side, maybe vaggie x reader and maybe emily x reader if you squint but its all platonic

chère- french for dear

remercier dieu- french for thank god

court reporter- someone who transcribes everything said during a court meeting

wc: 2336

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

ROLLER skates. flashy lights. bursting colors. street jazz at every corner. twists and turns.

NEW ORLEANS had it all. all you could need in your heart. soft, live jazz rung through the tiny diner that everyone got their morning coffee from. skating through the diner, you tipped your hat from one couple to another. there was the occasional (and by occasional you mean somewhat often) jerk who flirts with you, a teenager, but you brush it off.

ever since the stock market crash of 1929, people have been living off the hook ‘round these parts. you were lucky enough to snag a job, let alone have a father that's able to put food on the table for you.

the bell of the door rings exactly at 9:01 am, you don’t even need to turn around to check who it is.

“good mornin’ ladies! fine morning today, isn’t it?” alastor’s voice rang through the diner, sound waves bouncing the walls and into your ears. his presence was certainly not something anyone would miss. your coworkers nodded in agreement, saying their tiny welcomes, the occasional giggle for one of them.

pouring out straight black coffee into a medium sized cup, you skated towards the counter and slipped your dad a napkin and his cup.

“mornin’ papa.” you said with a smile, taking his coins and filing it into the register.

“good morning, my dear!” he said with his chipper smile, one that made the men grumble and ladies swoon, but it just made you happy to see your father happy. “day treating you well, i hope.”

he took the coffee and took a sip. a sound of satisfaction left his lips “perfection! you know me so well, chère.”

“pa, you drink the blackest coffee on earth. it’s not hard to mess up, dontcha think?”

“ah, don’t sass me now, little miss. i’ll have you know this is the best coffee i’ve had since yesterday mornin’!”

“i made that coffee yesterday morning.”

“hmmm, did you now? seems i dont remember…” he grinned teasingly, pushing up his glasses in ‘thought’.

“yeah, course ya’ dont, ya old man.” teasing back, slipping him a slice of pie “i know you didnt eat, pops, cant have ya flopping dead during your morning show. who knows, maybe the cannibal will getcha. then i’ll have to take over the show.”

he smirked at her words, ha, if only she knew.

“well, aren’t you the sweetest little thing?” he said, taking the to-go box from her hands.

“well, you raised me, so you tell me.” you smiled brightly

his laughter rang through the diner, and soon yours as their vocals mixed together in a medley of sounds. they nearly mixed together perfectly. nearly.

some people looked at you weirdly, but you both never really minded. everyone in town knew you were his daughter and everyone in town knew he was your father. the talk of the town, especially when people found out your father of all people adopted you all those years ago.

he smiled at you wholeheartedly, something you only get to receive from him. “thats my girl.” his hand cupped your face, thumb brushing against the skin.

you placed your hand on top of his and smiled. “love ya’, pa.”

“love you more, my dear.”

you patted his hand, signing him to let go. “now shoo, before you’re actually late. you got an audience waiting for you all ‘round the area. can’t have them sitting for too long, hm?”

with a tip of his head, he bidded you and the ladies of the diner farewell, grabbing his coffee and pie, slipping out the door.

one of your coworkers called out your name “hunny, you better help a girl out! is your fatha’ up for grabs?” she giggled, winking at you.

“oh hush, lonnie! that's my dad..!”

——————— PRESENT.

“OH, don’t worry, it’s really not that hard! you just flip the book and let them in! see? simple.” st. peter directed you to the golden podium of the pearly white gates.

“are you sure i’m even allowed to do this? look.. i’m happy to help. i just don’t wantcha to get in trouble with the Seraphims.” you floated down onto the podium, scanning the big book of entries.

“it wouldn’t be for long! thank you so much, by the way. you really are heaven’s little helper, huh?” he elbowed you and gave that big smile he had. it was almost blinding. literally.

“haha, yeahhh… if you say so.” you turned and flipped through the pages for what seemed to endlessly go on.

“who names their kid breakfast?”

“now, now, we dont go and judge what those humans name their offspring!” he placed his two hands on your shoulders in reassurance. you cock an eyebrow at his word choice, but next thing you know hes already flying off to do who knows what. ‘saintly duties.’

“huh.” you continued to flip through the pages to examine the very odd name choices, nodding at some and… skipping through others.

minutes, maybe even hours went by until sudden echoes from down the golden pathway filled your ears. they shoot up in reaction to the newfound sound.

“uhhh, heelloooo? helloooo!” the blonde hair girl called out

“hiya!,” you call out , “how may i help ya’? well, getting into heaven i guess, huh?” you laughed at yourself, watching the girl’s nerves calm down a bit. behind her was a recognizable individual. you know, it nearly looked like vagg—

“OH— uh, uh, uh— hello! my name is charlie morningstar. heh.”

“alright, lets see…” you flipped through the alphabetized record only to find every name known to man BUT a charlie morningstar.

panic fills your core when you cant find it, scanning the page over and over and over again to no avail.

“uhhhh, you see, slight problem, hun...” you start, throwing in a name to ease her name. “i, uhm, can’t find your name… but you know! the trek all the way to the uh, other place, is a long way. maybe i can like… sneak ya’ in—”

“OH, no, no, THAT won’t be necessary. uh— see, my dad got me this meeting, so maybe try lucifer… morningstar..”

THAT CERTAINLY RANG A BELL.

“OH, uh.. uhuh.” you nod “i see.” you nod quicker. your eyes darted to the gray haired girl who looked at you with the same tense expression.

“i think there may have been a, um..” you put your hands together “mishap… but i am SURE it is a just BIG misunderstanding, haha!”

a mighty voice called out to you, one that could shake all of heaven’s foundation.

“remercier dieu…” you say, quite literally.

“don’t worry, we can take it from here.” sera’s voice reassured, the normal call smile present on her face. you bowed your head in respect which she kindly returns.

behind her was an excited emily which shot you an ecstatic wave. her smile was about to explode with happiness which only grew more as she approached charlie, the princess of hell.

st. peter pops out of nowhere and of course, starts singing his welcome song.

see, you didnt think it was bad, it was quite good, but hearing it over and over again for the past century really takes a toll on your ears.

after his musical number, em is basically ready to explode into a pile of rainbows and sparkles. “oh, oh! i gotta show you! the zoo, the petting zoo, the aquarium, the- the EVERYTHING!”

her and charlie jump for joy as they start running off.

“oh come on, do we need to ru— yEUP okay.” you’re dragged along the crossfire, em tugging on your wrist.

you catch a glimpse of adam and lute. they did not seem… very ecstatic.

hm.

“em. emily. emmy. e.” you bring her to the stop. her happiness was contagious, a sickness, her happiness basically flooding into your veins.

“i know you’re excited, sugar,” you start, “but maybe, i show them their room first. how's that sound?”

with some reluctance, emily allows you to guide the two girls to their temporary room.

“here, let me get that—” with an easy spell you learned, you pick up their bags weightlessly.

“follow me, i’ll show ya your room.”

— — — — — — — — — — — —

on the way there, you’re bombarded with questions from the princess. not that you were complaining of course, you found it quite endearing.

“wow, your sprinkles have RAINBOWS in them?!”

“yup, those are just rainbow sprinkles,” you chuckle lightly at her innocent excitement, “so.. about this hazbin hotel you were talkin’ about, mrs. morningstar…”

“oh, please, call me charlie!”

“charlie,” you smiled ,”i really do love the idea. quite innovative! you have my support. do you already have people staying?”

“oh, we only have.. two residents. but we do have lovelt staff! we have a maid.. nifty, she’s harmless, most of the time.. and a bar-tender, husker, he’s great, grumpy, but great! vaggie, my lovely girlfriend keeps the hotel safe,” she smiles brightly at her partner, “oh, and our host, alastor! he’s uh.. the radio demon, BUT HE MEANS WELL! i think.”

the name rung in your mind, bouncing off the walls and causing them to shoot jolts through your head. it was like a migraine, but worse. radio demon. it was strikingly familiar resemblance to your father (father?), but who knows! there are probably many alastors that loved radio.

“i see,” you nod, “well i wish you luck on the growth of your hotel.” you opened the entrance of there room and landed their bags perfectly in the corner.

“wow, okay, i LOVE heaven! everythings so clean and nice! AHH, and emilys going to bring me to a zoo where everythings fluffy and soft!” you zone out the rest of their conversation before charlie bids her goodbye.

“safe travels, charlie.” you bow your head in respect, earning a giggle from the princess.

“thank you sososososo much for your help! heh, alright SEE YOU LATER!”

silence filled the room.

“vaggie.” you started, not bothering to around and fully face her. “knew that was you, cant hide from me under all that hair. looks good, though.”

“uhhhhhhhhhhh—” she says your name in a frantic manner, causing you to cock your eyebrow “ah, fuck, i can’t think of an excuse.”

“look, vaggie, i dont know.” you sigh “you disappear for your ‘yearly outing’ to god knows where then you go missing for years, now you come back to be dating lucifer’s daughter.”

“i know, i’m so—“

“no no, don’t apologize. i get it. im happy for ya, vags, but damn, years. i dont know what you do on that one day, but adam and lute didnt seem very happy when they saw ya today.” pinching the bridge of your nose, you turned to her.

“look, adam tried recruiting me to god knows what when you went missing. said i got good aim or something. im just telling ya to be smart. i got no idea what he was trying to do with me, so im telling ya’ to not give in to that prick. i’ll be at todays meeting; i work as the court reporter.”

she pondered your statement for a bit, snapping out of her thoughts once you handed her the room key. you offered her a smile, which she hesitantly returned.

“ah, come on, smile like you mean it! though a smile may not mean everything, you’re never fully dressed without one.” that phrase rang in vaggie’s ears. that was oddly familiar.

a little too familiar.

it was your time to bid farewell, but before you did, she called out to you.

“thank you.”

“ah, don’t mention it. we’re friends, arent we?”

and with that you shut the door.

— — — — — — — — — — —

SCRIBBLING. writing. swirls of ink as you titled the paper in preparation. COURT ISSUE 36789127. it made you think, whos counting all these issues?

“WHAT’S UUUP, BA-BY!” the annoying ring of adam’s voice filled the court room. he was like a toddler, ironic as he is the oldest human soul known to mankind. he was mankind. a sick joke for it too.

every little thing he said you were required to write down, even if it was a dumb, immature response.

“we are gathered here today to determine whether or not a soul in Hell, can be redeemed into heavenly realm by the means of this Hazbin Hotel… Princess Morningstar?”

the blonde takes a stand and clears her throat,

“Webster’s Dictionary defined redemption as—”

you scribbled that down.

“..incredible progress..”

scribble.

“… the porn demon …!”

scribble.

“well, if you know so much, what do you think it takes to get into Heaven?”

that puts a halt in the discussion, causing you to lift your head and wait for an answer. she had a point. how did you get here in the first place?

a copy of adam’s terms were presented to your table: act selfless, don’t steal, stick it to the man.

well damn, if those were the terms, even your father (father?) would be in heaven, right now.

evidence was presented, words have been thrown, objections were made. the endless back and forth of right and wrong being thrown around the courtroom. not even the written word could convey the thick tension lathering the walls of the heavenly court.

all the evidence weights to charlie’s side, and yet, the judges say otherwise.

“wait, none of you know what gets someone into Heaven?”

this sparks a musical entrance from emily which you would say was surprising, but you would be lying to yourself.

good thing i took band and choir you thought. perfect pitch came in handy as you noted every chord and pitch in your work.

at this point, you were ready to combust. it was clear who won but the rulers of heaven seemed adamant to keep it from happening. it was suspicious, ironic even.

“..don’t you care, sera…”

scribble.

“..just because someone was dead..”

scribble.

“he blew the shot like the cocks in his…”

scribble.

“..come down and exterminate you..”

your quill snaps in half as you look up from your paper. extermination.

murder.

genocide.

from heaven itself.

[genericpuff]

So Webtoons is getting sued by a bunch of law firms in class action lawsuit. Saw it on reddit. Apparently they lied to shareholders about revenue which is like one of the worst things I could imagine doing to your shareholders. Then their stock dropped again. Wow....wonder how this is gonna effect readers going forward or how they're gonna be more exploitative in the future. Not saying the down of Webtoons has begun but I wonder if it's gonna be the start of it.

Yep, I've been following this since the initial investigations began.

All that said, we likely won't see anything of this for a while, if anything even comes of it. The reality is that Webtoons... really didn't actually lie about being bad at making money. It's literally outlined in their IPO documentation:

So these lawsuits, at least in my opinion (*I AM NOT A LAWYER NOR AM I ANYONE WHO HAS ANY EXPERIENCE PLACING WALL STREET BETS, TAKE WHAT I HAVE TO SAY WITH MOUNTAINS OF SALT) is less about Webtoons 'lying' to shareholders and more so about them kicking the debt down the road which these lawyers want to try and hold them accountable for. It's not uncommon for startups to seek out private and/or public funding to help them stay out of bankruptcy, but such practice is incredibly shitty because if a company was already near the point of bankruptcy to begin with, what exactly is going to change to ensure that they actually make that money back with an additional net gain for those investors?

So in that sense, either something will come of this, or it won't, nothing's really a guarantee as of now. It's just as common for startups seeking public investments to get sued within their first 1-2 years because a company not returning on their initial investments within 3-6 months is a prime cut for lawyers to drool over. Despite their attempts to be honest about their earnings, the vast majority of Wall Street investors are paranoid little fuckers who invest in whatever's new and exciting with the hopes that it'll turn them a profit quickly and without headache. Unfortunately, Webtoons isn't a company that's known for having huge profit margins, which these investors would have realized if they knew anything about this industry or at the very least, bothered to read the fine print that Webtoons was obligated to lay out for them in their documentation. At best the majority of them saw Webtoons' offering that covered buzzwords like "content generation" and "AI" and went "yes please, I love money!" without realizing that webtoons, as a medium, have some of the highest production expenses to lowest-paying demographics out there and therefore companies like Webtoons aren't going to be a short-term gratification. It's more like waiting it out for the "next big thing" that will make that stock valuable again, a massive gamble that isn't guaranteed to payoff. And that's just the game of Wall Street in general.

That said, it's because of how difficult it is to directly monetize digital comics that Webtoons often has to rely on selling merchandise and IP rights in the hopes they'll land a whale - but even their pre-existing whales like Lore Olympus and Let's Play have either nothing to show for themselves, or have left the platform entirely. Of course, they'll vaguely claim that two of Netflix's highest-performing projects came from their platform, but any peek at an aggregated Top 10 list will prove that that is simply not true, and at best, they're referring to True Beauty's live action adaption, which is simply not even close to breaching that list of all-time top-performers (except probably in Korea but this is Goldman Sachs and their American investors they're trying to convince), All of Us are Dead (see above, same situation as True Beauty), and Heartstopper which is... not even an Originals series. Of course, that didn't stop Webtoons and Tapas from boasting about Heartstopper's Netflix adaption and its success on the platform, but literally none of its success is exclusively owed to either of those platforms, Alice Oseman flies solo and if anything, Heartstopper never would have gotten to the point it's at if it were tied down to a Webtoon Originals contract.

So in a sense, until anything comes of these lawsuits, they're more so just lawyers jumping on their own investment opportunity - the opportunity to get settlements from Webtoons for both their clients and themselves by extension. At best what they feasibly have against Webtoons is the company getting way too high on their own supply without anything to feasibly show in terms of profit for their IP's. Considering how many IP's they sold to television and film production studios back in 2019-2022 when they were at their peak over the lockdowns - a peak that is long in the rearview mirror - they are incredibly behind in actually paying off those promises. Even in a recent meeting they held just the other day with Goldman Sachs, they're quoted as saying: "When Rachel Smythe was a graphic designer in New Zealand, 4 or 5 years ago, and she had a story to tell, we enabled her to not just tell it in one part of the world, but globally. She became a NYT Bestselling author, she is rumored to be releasing soon as a major animated release."

When even the company that hosts Lore Olympus as its prize pig can only say that its long-anticipated TV production that both Rachel and Webtoons have been assuring people on repeat that the show is "still happening" and that what they've seen so far "looks amazing" is simply 'rumored to be releasing soon'... I don't even have the words to describe how embarrassing that is for them. Never mind the fact that Lore Olympus has been over for months and both it and its creator, Rachel, have been falling into the pits of irrelevancy. They don't have any other home-runners to bet on, they're just continuing to bank on Rachel as their own example of someone who "got big" even though it was years ago and that fame is now shrinking with the passage of time, you can even see the performance of the series dipping in its own front-end metrics over time. They are trying so hard to convince people that they're worth investing in when the one thing that actually DID have that kind of allure has now come and gone.

Never mind the fact that again, most Wall Street investors probably don't even participate in webtoon culture so the name "Rachel Smythe" isn't some golden ticket to fortune. Lore Olympus might get a bit more of a reaction, but it's going to be a lot more mixed due to how divisive the series became in the end, and general audiences who are new to Webtoons as a public company (and the medium as a whole) are still not so likely to know what the fuck that means or why it's significant. The best time to pull the "we have Rachel Smythe!" card in the public investing pool was, like many other things Webtoons has fallen behind in, years ago. Now it's clear Webtoons thinks that Rachel is their own personal J.K. Rowling, but they forgot the part where Rachel is creating for an incredibly niche and historically unprofitable medium that is nowhere near as big as what Harry Potter was back in its prime, and - personally speaking - that Rowling and Rachel are both, well... terrible at what they do.

Webtoons also has the added burden of not being a startup company. They're not some grassroots Silicon Valley tech startup run by a bunch of friends "with a dream", they're an extension of an industry that thrives overseas but barely has any infrastructure to support it here. They've been bankrolled for years by an overseeing tech company - Naver - but have consistently failed to get out of the red and so of course, now they're turning to public investments to help them out and subsequently, are passing that debt off to the next highest bidder, which is Wall Street. They had nearly a decade to figure their shit out here in the West and while they had their opportunities to thrive, those opportunities have come and gone, a lot of doors have closed and now this all feels like their own attempts to rip those doors back open again.

There is a LOT to insinuate already that Webtoons - a Korean-hosted platform - wasn't ready to enter the Western market and this fumbling of their public stock image is yet another great example of that. Even outside of Webtoons, other Korean-run platforms like Tapas have relied on private investments to keep them afloat (and still do, Tapas is still operating privately) and have routinely struggled to get a real foothold in the greater Western industry despite how much they hyped themselves up as the "next big thing". They're all playing the same game over and over again expecting better scores even though the playing fields are entirely different than what they've come to expect in Korea, where much of the entertainment industry is built around webtoons, much like how our entertainment industry in the West is built around comic giants like Marvel and DC (and even those giants are faltering as we've been seeing over the past several years).

Anyways. I don't know if this lawsuit is gonna go anywhere, there's a lot to the legal process that could lead to a variety of different outcomes, but at the very least, their plummeting stock value and the lawyers circling them from above is yet another notch on their belt of fuck-ups over the past few years. I know it's easy to say this in hindsight and I'm not the kind of guy to say "I told you so", but considering I've been following along with the bullshit of these major platforms for years and knew as soon as Webtoons was rumored to be going forward with an IPO that it would lead to disaster, I'm pretty confident in saying, "No really, I told you so." And I don't entirely blame the investors for that (except for the ones that clearly didn't read the fine print) - I also blame Webtoons for that, because they are a chronically unprofitable company run by a bunch of clowns who manufactured their own demise by getting in WAY over their heads and clearly don't even have a concept of a plan let alone an actionable one.

And that sucks, because the people who stand to get hurt the most are the ones who were made those empty promises years ago, long before the platform entered Wall Street - and that's the creators who were promised that their livelihoods would be secured and their work would be protected.

I will forever bully and make fun of Webtoons for everything they've done in and to this industry. I hope at the very least those investors learned an expensive lesson, and that the damage these lawsuits have already caused to Webtoons' public image - regardless of whether or not these lawsuits win - empowers others who have been screwed over by them to speak up and make their moves. They are not a monolith. They are a brittle business operating from the trunk of a clown car on their way to becoming a penny-stocks sham.

Fuck Webtoons <3

[bettyfrommars]

I'm on Fire

biker!Eddie Munson x fem!artist!Reader

Part 5

18+Only, MDNI, implied smut, eventual smut, biker gang, violence, aggression, boxing, street fighting, alcohol consumption, slow burn, mutual pining, mature themes, angst, jealous!Eddie, first kiss, brief mention of what reader is wearing, mention of blood.

Word count: 8.4k

Series Masterlist

In part 5, a new situation blossoms between your roommate Katie and Robin Buckley, while you get up the nerve to give Eddie a call. Eddie gets questioned by the police (Chief Hopper) and you go to your first Fight Night, where the adrenaline-fueled dramas are plentiful. You and Eddie finally enter new and intimate territory.

I do re-read these several times, but it's almost impossible for me to edit my own work, so I hope it's not too fraught with errors.

“Tell me now, baby, is he good to you?

Can he do to you the things that I do?

I can take you higher.”

______

Around 8 o’clock the next morning, Robin and Steve were moving around the kitchen, bumping into each other like zombies, making coffee and dolling out the ibuprofen into each other’s palms. They both had the day off, but Wayne would be dropping Oliver by soon, and they had to get ready to be semi-functioning parents again.

Their voices were just below a whisper though, and their footsteps light as they tried to step on the parts of the old floor that didn’t creak, doing their best not to wake Katie who was asleep on the sofa in the living room.

Steve found Robin leaning against the archway that separated the two rooms, staring at the form of a body all wrapped up like a burrito in a red and white quilt, facing the back of the sofa, the top of her head the only visible part of her body.

They both had coffee mugs in their hands, steam rising from the freshly poured brew.

Steve nudged Robin with his elbow, his voice nothing but a scratchy murmur. “Should I wake her?”

“Don’t you dare,” Robin returned, quickly. “It’s her spring break, let her have a few more minutes.”

Steve put the rim of his mug to his lips and took stock of Robin’s smile as she watched Katie twitch in her sleep.

About a half hour after Eddie left the night before, you started to hit a wall as far as socializing went, and asked Katie if she was ready to hit the road. Katie, Robin, and a couple others were just setting up a folding table to play a game of cards, but you could feel your eyes drooping and knew you wouldn’t make it much longer.

“She can sleep here,” Robin said to you, but then realized she might have jumped the gun, fueled by her own enthusiasm for the idea. She turned to Katie, “if you want to, that is. You can stay here with me...on me...on our couch, I mean.”

Katie wasn’t one to casually “crash” at people’s houses; she loved waking up in her own bed. But, she was having an incredibly good time, and she didn’t want you to have to be forced to stay sober and wait for her, so she took Robin up on her offer.

You wondered if Katie might regret her decision in the morning, based solely on the fact that she was three sheets to the wind, and waking up with a hangover in a strange house is never optimal, but the intense flirting going on between her and Robin gave you all the reasoning you needed.

There were a few times you noticed Steve flirting with Katie, but she would always gravitate back to Robin; it was a fascinating triangle that you enjoyed being a witness to.

Back at the house that next morning, Robin let out a heavy sigh, and lifted her eyes to Steve for a beat before directing them back to Katie on the couch. “I think I’m going to need to take this one off your hands, Dingus.”

Steve swallowed a sip that was a bit too hot and clicked his tongue, the sides of his mouth jerking down. “Oh, I figured as much.”

Robin knew she wouldn’t get much of a fight out of him. Sure, he was attracted to Katie, but she was currently just one out of many crushes and conquests he had going on. The fact that he knew what it was like to kiss her, and been inside of her, made Robin jealous more than anything, but the second she felt her affection for Katie reciprocated, all bets were off.

“Besides,” Robin murmured just as they heard Wayne’s truck coming up the driveway. “She has already drooled on my pillow. It’s meant to be.”

Fully awake and playing possum, Katie’s nose was pressed against the back of the sofa, and a huge smile spread across her face.

----------

Later that afternoon, Eddie had a truck on the lift at his garage, wrenching away under the hood in his coveralls, hair tied back, Faith No More belting out from the stereo, when one of the other mechanics called over to him: “Munson, we’ve got company.”

It didn’t scare Eddie that the police were here, but it annoyed him. Getting questioned by Chief Hopper was standard procedure whenever the Coffin Kings were involved with something---whether Eddie played a part in it or not.

It just so happened that this time, he had played a part. He hadn’t been involved in the actual hand off at the Illinois border, but he rode as protection, hired muscle to bulk up their numbers to deter other gangs from trying to infiltrate their run. He never asked too many questions mostly because, in this particular situation, ignorance was bliss. The trade off had gone as planned, but an informant had tipped off the police about the delivery, and that’s what Hopper was there about.

“Hey, Jim, how’s the family?” Eddie came out to the parking lot to meet him at his bronco, leading with the standard polite banter they always started out with. Any other police Chief would’ve sent an officer out to ask these questions, but Jim did it himself as a courtesy because he liked Eddie, and he’d known the kid since he was in high school.

Hopper had on his tan uniform and hat, silver hair dusting his temples and mustache. “Oh, you know, the wife keeps me busy,” he grinned, referring to Joyce Byers. “All the kids have families of their own now, so the holidays are a nightmare.”

“I bet.” Eddie said it like he understood, but he had no idea what it was like to have a big, extended family.

Jim put one hand on his hip and asked about Wayne and Oliver, and then he took a deep breath before asking if Eddie knew anything about the run the Coffin Kings did the night before, and the stash of guns missing from a local warehouse.

Eddie creased his forehead like he was considering the question, and then shook his head. “The guys come here to have their bikes worked on, but I don’t get involved in that other shit. My days as a criminal on the run are behind me.”

Jim looked relieved by the lie. “I figured as much,” he shifted the brim of his hat. “I still have to ask where you were last night, just for the sake of the paperwork.”

That next part was easy, because he didn’t have to make too much of it up. The barbecue went late and he crashed at Steve and Robin’s.

“They’ll confirm this?”

Robin knew the drill, he never had to wonder. He did have to admit though, the little white lies were getting to him. He wasn’t a fan of cops in general, in the first place, but Jim had always been decent to him. He was doing his best to move away from the outlaw world, but it had been a part of his life for so long, it had its claws in him.

Once the serious questions were over, they both relaxed back into the banter of two people who had known each other for over a decade and cared about each other as friends do. Jim headed around to the driver’s side of his bronco and Eddie kept pace with him.

“We’re hosting another Fight Night here this weekend,” Eddie told him, gesturing with a tilt of his chin to where they usually set the ring up at. “You should come, have a few beers. Bring Joyce.”

Hopper chuckled. “Joyce should get in the ring, she’d wipe the floor with all of you.”

“I have no doubt,” Eddie grinned, thinking about that tiny firecracker of a woman. “If I were a betting man, all of my money would be on her.”

Jim got in behind the wheel and shut the door, leaving his window down. “Thanks for the invite. I’ll check and see if my warden has other plans for me.”

They said their goodbyes, and Eddie stayed to watch him exit the compound, offering a wave as he went.

That night, Eddie came out of the shower and into the bedroom of his apartment enveloped in a cloud of steam, with nothing but a dark blue towel wrapped around his waist, and wet hair hanging down his shoulders. He gave the phone on the nightstand a cautious look when it started ringing, his mind racing with all of the people he did not want to hear from at that late hour.

When he finally picked it up just before the fourth ring with a suspicious and informal, “Yeah?” his heart stuttered in his chest to find out that the person at the other end of the line was you.

--------

“So, are you two a couple now?” You asked Katie once you got home from work to find her giddy about the new developments between her and Robin.

“We haven’t even kissed yet,” Katie said from where she was at kitchen counter, washing lettuce for a salad. “But by lesbian standards, we’ll probably be moving in together next week.” It was a joke, of course, but there was also an element of truth there.

You sat down at the kitchen island to rest your chin on your fist. “I like you with Robin. Much better than Kelsey.” Kelsey was a long distance girlfriend that Katie had stayed faithful to for over a year before she realized that she was being cheated on mercilessly.

“Ugh,” Katie shivered at the thought. “You can’t even compare the two. Not even from the same universe.”

“What about you?” Katie asked as you slumped over with your coat still on and your bag over your shoulder. “Did Eddie break the seal yet?” She turned to raise her eyebrows a few times, suggestively.

“Please,” you barked a laugh. “At this rate, we’ll be in the nursing home before this escalates to dry humping,” as much as you were ready to crack jokes, the fact that he wasn’t jumping down your throat like every other guy made you like him even more. “I think he’s kind of shy, like me.”

“Wait, you’re shy?” Katie snickered.

“You know what I mean. Cautious, reserved: insert appropriate adjective here.”

“What is this, Mad Libs for dysfunctional adults?”

You let out a pensive sigh, your shoulders dropping. “Am I an adult? Because I haven’t felt this goofy over a guy I haven’t even kissed yet since I was a tween.”

Katie stopped what she was doing and dug in the front pocket of her jeans. “That reminds me. This is for you. It’s from Steve.”

With a tired frown on your face, you opened the lined notebook paper to see a phone number written in black ink, with Eddie’s name on top of it.

What were you so afraid of? He was just a hot, hard working, tattooed biker dude, with soft lips and kind eyes who you could absolutely see yourself falling in love with. What was there to be hesitant about??? Call him!

No...wait….

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

It took you a few hours to build up the courage, but you finally got settled on the wicker chair in your room with your Conair clear phone with neon insides balancing on your knee.

It was a while before he answered, and you were just about to hang up when his voice came on the line, stern and gruff.

“Yeah?” He didn’t sound glad to hear from you, but to be fair, he didn’t know it was you, yet.

You cleared your throat. “Hello, I’d like to speak to Mr. Edward Munson, please. Is he in the office today?”

Relief flooded through Eddie’s body, pumping refreshing blood into his heart when he recognized your voice. “He’s not here at the moment, you might want to try is vacation home in Greece.”

“I’m not here either,” you teased. “I’m calling you from outer space.”

Wet hair dripping down his chest, Eddie brought the phone closer and sat down on the edge of the bed, hard pressed to wipe the grin off of his face.

“I...called to let you to know I was thinking about you,” it just came bubbling out. There would be no pretense of hard to get here, you had no game.

The sincerity struck him dumb for a moment, but then, he wrapped one arm around his chest, tucking his hand into his armpit, giving himself an excited squeeze. “Yeah? Well, that’s a coincidence because I was just thinking about you while I was in the shower.”

Munson! *internally slaps forehead* Don’t tell her you were in the shower, god. She’s going to think you were doing exactly what you were doing which was jerking it to the thought of her being in there with you.

“I mean, when I got out of the shower, and saw your painting, I thought about you,” his eyes closed at the pathetic nature of that rebound.

You skipped over all of that and jumped to that next thing he just said. “You hung my painting in your apartment?”

He looked over at the painting in question, adjusting the towel at his hips. “Of course, silly. Where did you think I would put it? Above the bar at the Hideout?”

You fiddled the phone cord, twisting it around your finger. “I was thinking it would go in your coffin or tomb, wherever you sleep at night.”

He gave a low grumble of a laugh. “Oh that painting is definitely getting buried with me, I can promise you that.”

The conversation ebbed from talking about work, to asking about family. You learned that Eddie’s uncle Wayne was like a father to him, and that his biological parents were no longer a part of his life. This mirrored your loneliness at the fact that your father passed away two years ago and you weren’t close with your mother. You didn’t have the equivalent to an uncle Wayne though, but you wished that you did.

After a half hour or so, Eddie said, “hold on for just a second? I need to put some clothes on,” and your brain plummeted off a cliff to a really dirty place. Had he been naked for the entire time?

There was a dragging sound and a click as he picked the receiver up again, “sorry about that. I’m back.”

“I know it’s late,” you were trying to pull your thoughts out of the gutter, but they were rolling around in the mud, kicking their feet and giggling. “I should probably let you--”

“No, I mean, I’m not---” he stretched out on the bed and put his head on the pillow, his hand on his stomach. “Unless you need to go. I like the sound of your voice.”

“Well, you see, I don’t have any clothes on either. So, if you’re dressed, then I might as well throw something on too.”

“Wait, what?” Eddie stiffened, his eyes bulging wide for a blink. Was she serious?

“Clothes are so retraining. I want to be free, Eddie.”

He snorted and ran his hand up and down his belly. You were joking. But, now he was picturing you naked and his cock was growing. He reached down to palm it over his gray sweats, hoping to calm the beast. Phone sex was not out of the question, and he’d jump at the chance if you were down, but he was enjoying the soothing effect you had on him; it was the first night in a while that he felt relaxed and not pacing around the room, moodily spinning his wheels.

You were telling him the story of how you and Katie met, because he asked, and, as you did, he stretched over to flick the bedside lamp off so that he could close his eyes and let your voice wash over him in the dark.

“What about that fight thing Robin mentioned? Is that still happening?” You asked, and then you heard a soft little snort, as if he had drifted off to sleep for a second. You were snuggled down in the cushions of your chair with your cat Charlie in your lap, and your head snapped up. “Eddie?”

“I’m here,” he groaned in a whisper. “Sorry sweetheart, I don’t know what is happening to me.”

Sweetheart.

“Oh, I have a plethora of boring stories that will have you seeing sheep in no time, trust me.”

“You’re not boring,” he smiled against the phone. It was like you could hear his smile, day old stubble scratching against the receiver, a bit of saliva popping at the corner of his mouth. “You’re one of the most unique, interesting people I’ve ever met.”

There was a self-deprecating urge to quip, “well, then you haven’t met many people,” but you decided to just accept the compliment and move on.

He hadn’t planned on inviting you to Fight Night, only because it was a powder keg of testosterone and booze, and he didn’t think you’d be into it. He had grown up on the streets, thinking that getting into fist fights was the norm, but then in high school, Wayne got him into boxing, and he was grateful for the form, cadence, and stamina it afforded him.

Also, what if he lost the fight? Highly unlikely unless he decided to throw it on purpose, but did he want you to see that? Did you even want to see that? But Robin had already mentioned it, and he didn’t want you to think he didn’t want to see you.

“Yeah, the fights are Friday night, here at the compound. It’s pretty lame, actually. Lots of grunting and dick measuring,” he exhaled a heavy breath, his eyelids fluttering. “I would love to...take you on a date though, a real one. Somewhere nice.”

“It doesn’t have to be too nice,” you bit your lip, hoping he didn’t think you needed the full white tablecloth experience like some other women he knew. A cozy dinner and a movie was the type of scene you preferred. “You might be surprised at what a cheap date I am.”

“Back to The Hideout it is,” he clapped his hand to his chest, finishing with a throaty, warm chuckle.

You could tell he was fading away, and so you thought up a story to tell him; it was a personal favorite about a road trip you took with your dad when you were little. You knew any story would do because, after about 5 minutes, you heard his breathing get progressively heavier until there was a slight whistle in his nose at the intake of breath. So, you finished the story, and then held the phone close to your ear for way too long just to listen to him breathing.

“Sweet dreams my Eddie,” you whispered just before you reluctantly disconnected.

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

The next morning, Eddie woke up feeling more refreshed than he had in months. He had a solid 7 hours of sleep, which was unheard of lately, and it put an honest to god spring in his step. Of course, when he realized that the phone was by his head omitting a blank dial tone, he cursing himself for an early sleep to embrace him on that night of all nights. He’d just slipped into oblivion while you were talking to him, lulled to sleep by your sweet voice. He thought he had dreamed it, but now he was sure that you had said goodnight to him. Had you called him your Eddie? Maybe that part had been a dream, but not an impossible one.

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

While Katie had the week off, deservedly so, you were working overtime at the gallery to get ready for another show. Eddie called you on Wednesday night, but you got home way too late and had to hear his message on the answering machine because Katie was out somewhere with Robin. On Thursday night, you were there to answer his call, and the two of you talked for hours, even though you both agreed that you hated talking on the phone. Because of the new show at your gallery on Saturday night, the two of you made plans to go on an official date the following Tuesday, and Eddie told you he would pick the place, after asking a few questions about things that you liked.

There was still Fight Night on Friday to consider, but you got the feeling that the thought of you being there made Eddie uncomfortable. You had a strange protective nature that came over you when you cared about someone, though, and this nonsensical part of you want to be there to...make sure he didn’t get hurt? How would you manage that? You had very little to offer by way of physical strength, but you would, indeed, pull the fire alarm if Eddie looked like he was getting in over his head during the fight.

Robin and Katie and Steve were all going to be there, so you felt like it was the obvious plan. You even considered inviting Jeff because he was always complaining that there was nothing fun to do in town since he moved to the little hamlet from Chicago.

Also, you just really really missed Eddie, and wanted to see him. Tuesday was only a few days away, but it might as well have been a year.

----------

On Thursday night, Eddie fell asleep while on the phone with you again, as he told you he might, and you didn’t mind. Not only was he falling asleep, but he was officially falling for you and, for the first time in his life, he liked the way it felt. He got 8 hours of shut eye that night, on the eve of Fight Night, not realizing at the time how badly he would need it.

-------

The second Robin parked her jeep around the block for Fight Night, you understood why Eddie might not want you there.

It was like a carnival, but for booze, bikers, and strippers, complete with a DJ at a huge stereo system near the fence blasting out the song Only by Anthrax, and there were hot girls...so many of them...scantily dressed to kill, wandering around the property. White string lights draped around the fence, illuminating the walkway and there were also cast iron clad bonfires at every corner that groups huddled around. You weren’t even through the front gate yet, and you could already see two half naked women in the ring, executing a few pre-rehearsed wrestling moves for a bunch of howling bikers.

“What the hell?” Jeff murmured to you as three of the young, studly Prospect biker boys walked by, hair slicked back, wearing all leather. “Where have I been? Where did all these hot, dirty boys come from?”

He held onto your arm as you walked, hurrying up the sidewalk to the compound a few steps to catch up with Katie and Robin, both of whom were holding hands and taking turns leaning over to kiss each other as they walked. Steve was ahead of them, giving a signal to the bouncers at the gate to let them know that you were all with him before they let you in. He told you on the ride over that they had to have strict security at the event, and someone from the Coffin Kings, Westside Reapers, or Hell’s Belles (an all female MC) had to vouch for you, since the one time a rival gang showed up a few years back and there was a huge brawl.

“Hey, lovebirds,” you popped your face in between Robin and Katie’s pressed together shoulders just as they pulled back from another electric smooch. “No one told me this was basically a clothes optional event?”

Just inside the gate, as the three burly, bearded bouncers looked you all up and down, Robin turned and gave you a concerned look. “Eddie didn’t warn you about what a pussy fest this would be?”

Eddie had warned you, just not about that part specifically. You left the house feeling plenty cute enough in your skirt, fishnets and Doc Martens, but the fact that you had a shirt on over your bra made you feel extremely overdressed.

Eddie hadn’t even thought to mention the strippers and the arm candy and the groupies because he truly didn’t even give them a second thought. Since he met you, other women didn’t appeal to him beyond the casual acknowledgment of their attractiveness, and the whole scene just bored him damn near to death. Aside from a few exceptions being women who were taken by other guys in the club, Eddie could take any one of them up to his room at the drop of the hat, and that just wasn’t what he wanted anymore. The thrill was gone, as they say. He was up in his apartment doing some last-minute pushups as he listened to the crowd get rowdy down below. Steve called earlier to let you know that the girls were coming, including you, and for some reason, it gave him a nervous flutter in his stomach. He wasn’t too concerned about the other women bothering you, because he knew you had the confidence to handle your own. His worry had to do with the other dudes at that party and wanting to make sure none of them tried anything with you. Pity the fool who tried to make a move on you under his watch.

The parking lot of Munson’s Garage was huge, but that night it was still easy to bump shoulders with people as you walked because there were so many of them. There was a keg and two ice tubs full of beer, as well as the many flasks of hard alcohol you saw being passed around. You saw a beautiful woman with long black hair giving one of the bikers a lap dance, and then burst of cheering exploded in your ear as one of the women in the ring threw the other one against the ropes.

Steve was immediately manhandled by two of the tattooed groupies who could’ve been models and looked like twins. He gave a shy tilt of his head but a charming waggle of his eyebrows as they kissed his cheeks, rubbed his chest, and asked him where he’d been. Robin had one arm around Katie’s waist, and her other arm motioned for you and Jeff to follow them to get some beers.

You and Jeff both looked like the proverbial deer in headlights. Not even full-grown deer, but little baby does on wobbly knees who were looking for their mommy.

Jeff assessed the cans in the tub of ice. “Not a white wine spritzer in sight,” he muttered to you, but mostly to himself. “I am not excited for the beer bloat I am going to have tomorrow.”

“Your brave sacrifice has been noted,” you told him, reaching down for a can, while the girls chose to tap the keg. There was a small fee for the beer, and Robin threw some money in, letting you know she had the first round.

The music cut out suddenly as the women in the ring did a farewell pass around, picking up the cash that was being fluttered over the ropes to them. The DJ asked for applause for the girls, and then he announced the names for the first fight of the evening. According to Steve, the first couple fights would be mostly amateur hour, a few younger Prospects from the Coffin Kings, and a couple of the other gangs that were in attendance. After that, there’d be 3 main fights, all different weight classes, and Eddie’s was last. The fights were a mix of bare-knuckle boxing/kickboxing and mostly just for fun, but there was some friendly betting that went on, and there was always a chance for someone to get really hurt as the adrenaline ran hot. Eddie knocked his opponent out so hard last year, the guy confessed to actually seeing stars.

A tan, busty blonde in a red string bikini did a tour of the ring holding up the large card to give the official mark for round one. For the first two fights, you enjoyed the time with your friends, amused at how easily the beer was going down for Jeff, considering he supposedly didn’t like the taste of it. Robin introduced you to some of her friends who rode with the gang Hell’s Belles, and she introduced Katie once as her girlfriend, which was an accidental slip up, and she worried it was too soon, but, honestly, Katie liked it.

As the third and final amateur fight got underway, your eyes shifted up to Eddie’s apartment, and in that second, you decided that you couldn’t wait, that you needed to see him, you didn’t want to hold out until the end of the fights. You gave your beer to Jeff and told him to stay with Katie and Robin, and then you made your way over as Back in Black by AC/DC played for the first fighter walk-up.

The garage was locked up, and the porch to Eddie’s door was fenced off, but there were a couple of leggy girls in skintight dresses and stiletto heels hanging around just outside of it, near one of the fire pits, as if waiting for him. You excused yourself as you weaved around them, oblivious to their judgmental stares, angling with your hand to reach down and flick open the temporary fence gate.

“Excuse me, sweetie, what the hell do you think you’re doing?” The one who looked like Paris Hilton said, eyeballing your outfit.

You gave a broken laugh, confused. “I came to see Eddie, he’s a friend of mine.”

One of the other girls snorted, and Paris put her hands on her narrow hips. “He’s busy, sweetheart, but if you want to leave a message with me, I’ll be sure to pass it along.” She was not being sincere when she said it, in fact, the rest of them started giggling, mockingly so. They were all taller than you, but only because their heels put on another 4”.

She moved to block the gate, and before you could think of the next thing to say, the Paris girl was in your face again. “Like I said, sweetie, move along. There’s nothing for you here,” and then she flicked her hand a few times for emphasis.

Confusing your politeness for weakness was her first mistake. You took a step towards her, straightening your shoulders, narrowing your eyes on her obvious rhinoplasty. “I’m not going anywhere until I see Eddie.”

“Listen, bitch---” Paris crossed her arms and sent daggers from her eyes, just before she was cut off.

“Erika!” Eddie growled from the doorway; forehead clenched. “Move.”

Relief took the vise grip off of your chest at the sight of his face. Hulking in the doorway, he gave you a tilt of his chin, and then his attention went back to the Paris/Erika girl.

“Oh sorry baby,” Erika turned around, her voice high pitched, her demeanor completely changed. “I figured you didn’t want to be disturbed so I was---”

Eddie ignored her as he went over to unlock the makeshift fencing that he only put up for events so that he could have a space of his own. He had on a black muscle shirt with wide, scooped out arm holes so that his sides were visible and a pair of sweats. Heat radiated off of him and little hollow spot his throat glistened with sweat like he had just been working out, dark hair hanging long, passed his shoulders.

He held the short gate open for you, his back to Erika, as you scooted into the space. “You look good enough to eat,” his eyes traveled down your body and then back up to meet your eyes.

“In that case, I hope you’re hungry,” you replied with a coy grin. Your responses always caught him off guard and he blew a quick laugh out his nose. One of the guys in the ring got socked in the nose by his opponent and stumbled back against the ropes, dazed.

He locked the gate again and turned toward you, but you peeked around his body to make eye contact with Erika one last time. “Have a good night, sweetie,” you told her, flashing a fake smile.

The disgust and jealousy on her face was palpable and priceless.

You and Eddie hadn’t physically progressed beyond the point of brief handholding yet, but it felt like you hadn’t seen him in a month, and you needed to be close to him. You stepped forward, leaned against his chest, and pressed your cheek above his heart, ziplocking your body to his as your arms wrapped around his muscular frame, palms smoothing in circles on his back.

Eddie returned the embrace with a needful sigh. “Mhmm this is what I needed, right here,” he murmured, planting a kiss on the top of your head. The two of you just swayed there for a bit; he rocked gently, shifting his weight to each foot, taking you with him.

You tilted your head back to anchor your chin on his chest and he looked down to meet your eyes.

“I couldn’t wait till after the fight,” you admitted. “I missed you.”

When you declared your affection for him, even in the slightest way, it made his insides go all gooey and sweet, but it also made a part of him tense up, awareness of how lost in you he could get striking a healthy amount of fear in him. Putting his trust in someone, giving over his heart, had never gone well for him in the past.

“Yeah?” he used the tip of his fingers to push a few strands of hair off of your forehead, and then ran his knuckle down your cheek. “Well that’s funny, cause I’ve been missing you pretty bad too.”

The referee blew his whistle and called the fight. You and Eddie had a close view from the front of this place, and both of the guys coming down from the ring had swollen, cut faces, and one of them was limping. The DJ played Engine No. 9 by Deftones as they prepared for the main event fights.

“Who are you fighting tonight?” You asked as you slowly and reluctantly lowered your arms, and he did the same, but he kept one hand at your back, scooping you securely to his side, craving contact with you.

Eddie checked the crowd to see if he could spot the big redhead, but no luck; there were way too many fucking people there. “His nickname is Critter, he runs with the Westside Reapers. He’s a good fighter,” Eddie shrugged, and then he looked down at your concerned face, squeezing your shoulder. “but don’t worry, Princess, I’m better.”

“Hey War Machine,” a gruff voice came from the other side of the fence, near the garage. You both turned to see a tall, bald, older man in a Coffin Kings cut addressing Eddie. “Doc is ready for you.”

The guy wasn’t actually a doctor, but he was a medic, and he helped to tape up hands before the fights, and then tape up faces after. Eddie also needed to change his clothes and get all lathered up with Vaseline.

Eddie told him he’d be right there, and then his attention came back to you. “Wait for me after?”

You were smiling like an idiot at him, loving the hell out of his face. “Of course.”

You didn’t care if “after” meant 48 hours from now; you’d still be waiting there.

And then he kissed your forehead and went over to jump the fence.

---------

“Am I drunk, or is that guy really hot?” Jeff asked, nudging to direct your eyes over to a shy looking biker boy with a curly blonde pony tail and shockingly blue eyes. He had an absolute baby face, he couldn’t have been much older than 20.

“He’s definitely your type,” you assured him. “I think he’s been checking you out for a while, too.”

“Okay, so it’s not just my imagination?” Jeff balked, relieved that he hadn't lost his touch.

Just then, the guy lifted his hand in a covert wave, and Jeff mimicked it. “Oh my god, I love you for bringing me here,” Jeff whispered without moving his lips. “Besties for life.”

You bought the next round of beers just as the second main fight finished and it was about to be Eddie’s turn.

“Damn, I didn’t know I’d get this nervous,” you told Robin, looking down at your feet.

“It never gets easier to watch, I’ll tell you that,” she returned, agreeing with you, a smile in her eyes as she caught sight of Katie coming back through the crowd. But then her eyes shifted to see the genuine set of fear and concern on your face. “Hey, I know he’s kinda humble about it, but Eddie’s a beast, and he’s smart. He can take care of himself up there, don’t worry,” and then she rubbed her hand on your arm and it felt very warm and motherly.

Critter, the guy Eddie was fighting came out to a good amount of claps and shouts; he was a stocky redhead with his hair in a faux hawk, covered in really crude, homemade tattoos. He had on silky sapphire blue shorts and the word “REAPER” inked in large, old English letters across his upper back.

He bounced around in his corner, shaking his hands out, and working his neck.

Eddie came out to Walk by Pantera and everyone went nuts for him when they announce War Machine was entering the ring; arms all raised high, cupping hands around mouths to shout, a lot of fingers throwing up the symbol for devil horns. You wanted to be closer, so you pushed your way through the crowd, keeping your eyes on him as he came up the steps and climbed in through the ropes.

His chiseled but natural muscle tone literally glistened, accentuating the big tattoo on his chest, and now you could see that part of his was a menacing bat with fangs. Big tattoos on each bicep, and then there were a few on his forearms, and a couple designs on his thigh and back that you had never seen before. The other guy, Critter, had surprisingly skinny legs, like he spent his time training upper body and nothing else. Eddie’s physique on the other hand, was built for power at all angles. His shorts were black with a dark purple cluster of bats on one side, just like his tattoo.

You had never spent much time watching boxing, but for in the movies, and both of them had a “corner man” who helped to take care of them, and in this case, for Eddie, it was the bald, older Coffin King you’d seen earlier. Eddie had his hair tied back in a knot, and you watched as his corner man helped him secure his gloves as he bounced a little in place.

You got in as close as you could, not realizing at first that you were standing right behind Steve. You tapped him on the shoulder. “Is this guy any good?”

Steve looked at you over his shoulder. “Who? Eddie?”

“No,” for some reason, you were whispering even though the place was too loud for anyone to hear you. “The other one.”

He hitched his head to one side and brought his shoulder up. “Meh, he’s alright. Nothing to worry about.”

Once the fight started, Eddie wasn’t one to dive in for a kill; a big part of his advantage was how patient he was, and how well he was able to disconnect from his emotions. He had already scanned the crowd for you, knew exactly where you were, and his eyes would shift there from time to time.

Critter charged him like a bull, and Eddie stepped away so fast, the guy looked confused, like maybe he had suddenly elevated into the sky. The guy had a lot of energy and aggression, and those things alone had won fights before, so Eddie stayed alert.

Critter wasn’t great at keeping his guard up, and so Eddie lit a good one to the side of his head, and then a jab to the gut just before the two were asked to break apart for a minute.

“Do I know you?” A voice materialized at your ear. The ref had just told the two fighters to pause, and so you looked over to see who was asking.

It was another biker, but he didn’t look like he was with one of the gangs. He had an Ethan Hawke look about him. “I don’t think so,” you told him, eyes returning to the match.

“That’s crazy,” the guy kept talking, leaning closer to you, his stubble catching in your hair. “Cause I swear I recognize you from somewhere. What’s your name?”

For some reason, instead of telling him to buzz off, you gave him your name, and then he stuck his hand out to shake yours. “Nice to meet you, they call me Brick.”

Eddie was just getting ready to dodge a swing when he saw it: the dude leaning over, in your face, with your hand in his.

Critter made contact and clocked him a good one to the eye socket. Eddie stumbled back, blinking, his skull vibrating. It took him a second, but then he drove forward and caught Critter with a left hook, and then grabbed his head and slammed it into his knee---which was an illegal street fighting move, and the ref blew the whistle.

Your hand flew to your mouth with a gasp when Eddie got hit, but he seemed to recover fairly quickly and then went after the guy ten-fold, in a way that almost made you feel bad for Critter.

Suddenly, that emotionless, in control part of Eddie was slipping away, and all he could think of was how he didn’t want that guy to be anywhere near you. He wanted this fight to be over.

Critter caught him again because Eddie slipped his guard, and then he got a second one in the ribs for losing his concentration. He barreled down on Critter like a hammer after that, landing one after the other until the ref had to stop things and check on the other dude.

You hoped that the guy next to you finally got the hint that you weren’t interested in chatting, but he was still standing there, unnecessarily close, with his shoulder locked against yours.

“Do you live around here?” Brick continued.

You were just about to say it was none of his business when there was a lull in the crowd, and Steve heard his question. The flirtatious nature of his tone made Steve turn around to see who was talking.

He made eye contact with Brick and jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “Dude, get lost. Go find another girl.”

“Nah, I think I’m fine right here,” Brick countered, lifting his eyebrows.

The tension got thick real quick.

The fight in the ring started up again, but now Steve was turning all the way around to square his shoulders at Brick. “I said, get lost,” he enunciated every syllable with force, dark brown eyes glowing.

Eddie got jabbed in the kidney for pausing too long, and it was at that moment when he decided he was done with this shit. He took a giant step and cracked a tight punch to Critter’s jaw that actually made him spin half-way around in the air before dropping to the mat with a final thud. The ref blew the whistle, waved his arms like crazy, and then went over to make sure the dude was still breathing.

Eddie did not look happy as he jumped the ropes.

Steve hadn’t liked this guy at first glance, and now he was being disrespectful? Not happening.

Steve got up in Brick’s face, challenging him, chest to chest, and even though you were trying to back away as quickly as you could, the crowd behind you would not give. Brick brought his arms out to shove Steve back, and his elbow caught you in the mouth. You yelped as your head snapped back, teeth clamping onto your tongue, tasting blood, rocking on your feet.

Eddie was shoving people out of the way to get to you; he felt like things were moving in slow motion, like he was in some kind of nightmare where he couldn’t get to you in time and somehow you ended up getting really hurt. Finally, he was catching you by the arms and pulling you tight to his chest. Pieces of your hair glued to the stickiness of his skin as you clung to him for dear life. He took your face in his hands to find that your teeth were pink and a bit of blood was spilling from the side of your mouth, and a low growl escaped his throat. “Sweetheart,” he said softly, trying to wipe the blood from your chin with his thumb, but it only smeared, and angry tears welled in his eyes.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the guy swing at Steve, but it didn’t land, and Steve pushed him back with extreme force. Brick stumbled back, but then bounced off the hands of the crowd and returned like he was shot from a rubber band.

The crowd was jostling now, buzzing with shouts and people turning to see what was going on. Your vision was blurry. Some of them were yelling to break it up, but some of them wanted it to escalate.

“Steve...Eddie!” Robin screamed as she scrambled to come up next to you and Eddie, breathless, Katie and Jeff close in tow, all of them stressed out. Actually, Jeff looked more amused than anything and you knew he couldn't wait to retell this story.

“Take her,” Eddie said to Robin, passing you off reluctantly so that he could take care of business.

Eddie put his hand out to catch Steve’s shoulder and stop him in his tracks. “I got this,” he said, eyes narrowing on Brick.

Just as intimidated by Eddie as most people were, Brick took a stutter step before lashing out with his best punch, only to have it effortlessly blocked. Eddie got close enough to grab him by the jacket, making a tight fist in the material, yanking him closer, and Brick tried to get a punch in, but he didn’t have much reach. Eddie’s other hand reeled back to make a fist and land a bare-knuckle blow with just enough force to clock his lights out. Brick’s eyes rolled back in his head as he went limp in Eddie's grasp for a second and then fell sideways, and a couple of leather clad Hell’s Belles stepped out of the way so that the pavement could catch him.

Eddie and Steve walked over to stand above him, and found that the guy was stunned, eyes rolling in his head, but he was conscious. He really did have a hard head; now it made sense why they called him Brick.

Eddie spit on him. “I ever see you again, I’ll fucking kill you,” and then he looked around at all of the eyes on them, and added, “someone get this piece of shit out of here before the cops show up.” And then there were hands coming out everywhere to drag Brick away and throw him in a dumpster down the block where he could think about what he’d done.

You were scared of what Eddie would do to that guy, but you weren’t scared of Eddie. When he was on his way back, you slipped free of Robin’s grasp and met him half way, rushing into his arms, reaching up to feather your fingers over his swollen cheek and eye that was soon to blacken. There was hair stuck to his cheek and you smoothed it away just before he took your hand and kissed the middle of your palm. Most of the crowd went back to socializing as normal, as if this had been just a casual thing that they were used to, and the DJ started the music again.

Sinking into heavy, adrenaline fueled breaths, he held your chin in his curled knuckle while his other arm went around your waist. He brought his face close to yours, and cupped your throat, noses brushing side by side, foreheads touching, exchanging oxygen through parted lips, like two deep sea divers whose lives depended on it. You had wiped the blood from your chin, but you could still taste the copper penny tang, and he moved his mouth to plant a kiss on the side of your lips, softly, a low purr omitting from his chest as he did so.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice cracking, lips grazing, as your hands sought each other, trying to get as close as you could. He pulled back to inspect every inch of your face, and then brushed his lips over your mouth.

“I am now,” you told him.

He took your hand and held it to his chest, sweaty and still viscous with petroleum, oblivious to the rest of the party continuing on around you.

You could feel his mouth hovering, wanting more, but hesitant, so gentle. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he breathed.

“I can’t feel a thing,” you confessed, referring to your bitten and numb tongue. “But, my mouth is bloody.”

“I don’t care,” he said, and there was a bit of an eager whimper on the intake of breath as his plump lips melted onto yours, moaning as he did so, tightening his grip on you, grabbing your face, aching, feeding on the air from your lungs and your bloody kisses as the rest of the world faded away.

----------

“She took them both to the grave

to the grave

to the grave

a pair of souls become undone

Where were two, now are one”

- Bloody Kisses, Type O Negative, 1994

----------

Part 6

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@tlclick73 @aysheashea @hellv1ra @bexreadstoomuch @kurdtbean

@seventhlevelofhell @stylesxmunson @ireidsmut

[biblioflyer]

Genosha allegories: constructive reads and hot takes.

Anger is an appropriate response to Genosha, not hopelessness.

This is Part 2 in a 5 part essay on the implicit pessimism of X-Men as a setting.

Part 1 lays out the core assumptions of the setting.

I think X-Men ‘97 is the smartest Marvel offering since Captain America: Civil War brought us the debates over the Sokovia Accords. There are a lot of crappy discussions about the ethics of Magneto’s Blackout and the broader question of whether Xavier is as corrupt, infantile, and naive as he’s accused of both by other characters and the audience. 

However, people really do need to be mindful of the hard wired setting conceits that ensure that the X-Men’s world is one in which there is an unhappy median that wobbles back and forth from slightly better to a lot worse and this itself is not (I hope) the actual message of the setting.

There are some real life parallels that I see that may validate a pessimistic reading, but other metrics like the number and acceptability of interracial, interreligious, and same sex marriages in the United States have improved by staggering degrees. We have not achieved true equality or safety for people who have traditionally struggled for full acceptance, but if we don’t allow the perfect to be the enemy of the good, we can see that positive change is possible.

Whether positive change is truly lasting and able to be expanded upon is a more nebulous question, I’m not one to buy into “end of history” narratives so I would never say that we cannot go backwards, I often worry we’re on the cusp of doing just that, history is often, to borrow a Dan Carlinism, like a stock ticker, but we’ve had a pretty good run of adding more freedoms for more people. 

Although obviously different groups of people are at different places in their struggle to achieve safety, acceptance, and equity and thus their gains are less entrenched and more subject to backsliding. 

Sprinkled in amongst the narrative of progress are setbacks and atrocities: Genosha could stand in for the likes of Tulsa’s Black Wall Street, the Stonewall raid, the anti-Jewish pogroms of the 1880s in the Russian Empire, or the brutal suppression of Arab nationalists by European empires under the mandate system. 

Magneto surely would not want us to forget these things when he says the first priority of Mutants should be to look after their own and trust of Humans should come slowly, but probably never.

There again, I do think it is possible to hold multiple thoughts: that progress is often not uninterrupted or linear but it is possible and, at least in the United States context, significant progress has been made given how bleak conditions were for women, non-Europeans, queer people, and even the wrong kind of European at various points in history. 

Right or wrong, I think this is the history that Xavier is temperamentally oriented towards, but then it is easier for him as a child of privilege and someone who is not visibly a Mutant.

The next part will go into greater detail about the allegories behind X-Men and why the X-Men setting is hardwired for doom by intent.

[aheathen-conceivably]

Antoine and Zelda were laying on their bed, listening to the clock tick from the parlor below. It had been almost a week since Black Thursday, when the American stock market crashed before beginning an even more brutal descent into economic ruin. It was as if the world were stuck in a collective gasp, not wanting to breathe out and accept the reality of what had just happened.

Their own economic situation had been growing worse for years, along with the whole of the city of New Orleans, its decades of golden years and seemingly unstoppable economic growth now in an unhinged tailspin toward poverty. Only this felt like some sort of existential death knell, the writing on the wall that no one wanted to read. Zelda knew that now, any hopes she had for a return to their lives at the club years before were destroyed.

As they lay there together, the clock just kept ticking, and ticking, until it’s constant drone threatened Zelda’s sanity past the point of silence, “Antoine, what…what are we going to do? It’s not coming back like you said. It’s only getting worse. Do we…”

Before she could finish Antoine moved his hand from her hair and sat up. He stared at her for a moment, a creeping madness slowly overtaking his face as he tried to fight back the anger and speak. He opened and closed his mouth before a desperate embarrassment flashed in his eyes and he turned away, “I fucked up, Zelda. I fucked up, okay? I was wrong. We should be well and gone from this place by now, somewhere I could actually provide for you, somewhere better, somewhere safer.”

She reached toward him, but at her touch he rose to stand, his entire frame slouched with defeat as he retreated from the room.

“Antoine, wait, where are you going? What happened?”

“Im going out, Zelda. I can’t be here anymore.”

Zelda was left sitting there, unwilling to go after him this time. She listened to his footsteps gradually fade until they disappeared into silence. She waited for the sound of the piano but it never came, signaling that Antoine hadn’t even stopped there, but kept going through the club and into the deserted streets.

In the void of his absence, the ticking returned. On and on it went, maybe for hours, maybe for minutes, until Zelda couldn’t take it anymore. She threw herself off of the bed and into the hallway in search of the noise, the damned noise that had broken her peace and ripped her life apart.

She walked into the parlor to see it sitting there on the mantle, seemingly innocuous as it ticked on and on and on, counting down the seconds until her life imploded and her patience ran out. She glared at it with every frustration and every disappointment she had ever felt, hoping that her stare alone would be enough to silence it; still it ticked on and on, impervious to her presence.

For a moment she reached toward it, considering picking it up by it’s gilded base, her fingers entwined with the swirling vines and flowers as though to feel their arabesques and delicate carvings, before she smashed it onto the parquet floorboards to silence it forever.

[builtbybrokenbells]

Catch-22 | v

To let go, or to hold on even tighter?

Masterlist

Listen while reading: Everywhere, Everything - Noah Kahan

Pairing: Sam Kiszka x f!reader

Word Count: 9k

Warnings: angst, fluff, underage drinking, underage smoking, making out, talks of heartbreak/break ups, anger, anxiety, sadness/depression, long emotional talks, hurt/comfort (platonic), nightmares, lots of existential dread/crisis, mentions of blood/bleeding, swearing, sorry if i miss any!!

hello you lovely people. i apologize dearly for the wait, and i thank you immensely for sticking with me through my lack of updates. as always, be kind, enjoy, and don’t mind any grammar mistakes!

The taste of cheap beer lingered on your lips and the smell of cigarette smoke clung to your clothes. Just an hour earlier, before the moonlight struck the sky, you had anxiously waited in the long line at the general store on the corner of main street and west avenue. Your foot was tapping against the ground as Sam held a 40oz close to his heart, also nervous but trying his best to keep it hidden. When you reached the cashier who looked no older than twenty-five, he casted you a knowing glance as you placed the glass bottle on the plastic shield that was protecting their stock of scratch-off tickets.

“I.D., please.” He sighed, knowing that he would be met with a nervous response as Sam tried to find an excuse as to why he didn’t have one. Instead, he pulled out his wallet and flashed the card to the cashier. You had to admit, the fake was scarily realistic, but you still had your doubts. The older boy read over the information, and with a shrug of his shoulders he scanned the barcode. “Is that everything?”

“Can I also get a pack of Malboro Reds?” Without argument, the employee turned to the metal cabinets lining the wall behind him as he searched for the correct label. Eventually, he slid one open and pulled out a tiny cardboard box that was perfectly wrapped in plastic film. He scanned it and placed it on the counter with the alcohol. Sam handed him a fifty, and you watched as the cashier counted out the change.

“Have a good night.” He said, watching the two of you as you each grabbed an item.

“You, too.” Sam said, surprised by his own confidence. With that, you turned to the door and pushed it open, stumbling into the warmth of the summer evening. You looked over your shoulder at Sam, a laugh stuck in your throat as you took off into a run. He cursed your name, but it was with blatant love, then tried to catch up to your fast pace.

Your ran all the way to the park, where you stopped in the corner of the dew covered field nestled behind a few large oak trees. From there, you waited for him to join. You grabbed a blanket from your backpack, throwing it down on the grass to make the scene just a little more comfortable.

When Sam finally slowed to a stop in front of you, he was breathless from running the distance, but there was a smile stuck on his lips. He was happy to be in your company, and nothing could ever change that. You twisted the cap off the forty, the sizzle of carbonation filling your ears as you pressed the bottle to your mouth, tilting your head back as you took a long drink. You swallowed it down, grimacing at the taste but so high on life that it didn’t even matter. Sam sparked up a malboro, the smell immediately sticking to your clothes to ensure you would not get away with your night of shenanigans without punishment from your parents.

“Can you believe we got away with that?” He said, coughing at a particularly harsh inhale of smoke.

“Not really.” You laughed, shaking your head. “Guess that fake is way better than we thought.” The adrenaline coursing through your veins was making you woozy; your heart was thudding against your chest and your body felt light.

“We need to get you one, too.” He passed you the lit cigarette, the cherry red ember glowing in the darkness of the night. “You’re gonna need it. I won’t be there with you to use mine all of the time.”

Now, you were drunk and starting to feel sick from the amount of smoke you had inhaled. Sam’s hand was resting on your own and music was drifting through the speaker of your cell phone, which was a broken hand-me down from your oldest sister. School would begin again in two weeks, and your nights of staying out until four a.m. were nearing an end. This time, returning to school was not as simple as packing a backpack full of notebooks and hopping on the school bus that stopped in front of your childhood home every morning. It was packing your whole life up into boxes and playing Tetris to fit them all into the car, and then driving three hours away to a completely new place where you would essentially start your life from nothing all over again. More than that, it was leaving to start new and leaving Sam behind. The thought killed you, and neither of you cared for saying it aloud.

But, you were eighteen, and the world had not yet managed to drag you down into the depths of its despair. You had your entire life in your hands, the possibility endless and the fear obsolete. Underage drinking and thrills from a cheap pack of cigarettes was better than anything else, and summer love was sweeter than nectar and as warm as the sun itself. You had no bigger worries, and you were completely content with mischief and nightly hookups in the back of your old, beaten down, third-hand car. That was the magical thing about being young; life never seemed so serious, and peacefulness was so attainable even on your darkest days. You did not know enough to hurt, and you did not know what loss truly was. New was exciting, and never scary. At eighteen, the thought of starting over was not as daunting as it would be if you were thirty.

The summer night clung to your skin, the humid air thick as you laid on the old blanket, gazing up at the stars that littered the sky over Frankenmuth. It enveloped you in a cloud of protection, the warmth begging you to close your eyes and submit to the sleepiness burning in your chest. Sam’s head was resting on your stomach as he laid on the blanket perpendicular to your body. The hand that was holding yours was clutched tightly to his chest, and when you focused for long enough, you could feel the soft thud of his heart against his ribcage. Your other hand was running through the locks of his hair, delicately twisting the strands around your fingers as the two of you sat silently. He wanted to stay with you like that for the rest of his life, exactly like he was in that moment, just so he could stay with you the same way even after death.

“I’m going to miss you, Rapunzel.”

“Don’t say it like that; it makes it sound like I’m going to die.” You whispered, your eyes intently focused on the twinkling light of the stars. It was barely noticeable, and Sam still claimed that you were lying when you talked about it. You tried to teach him the difference between spotting a star and a planet almost every night, but he was too stubborn to learn.

In truth, it was not his stubbornness stopping him from recognizing the difference. Every time he tried, he found his gaze drifting back to your face as you explained it. He couldn’t focus on the sky for long enough to understand what you were saying. To him, no beauty could compare to yours. Not even the twinkling stars in the sky.

“What if you forget about me?” He mumbled, drunkenness and exhaustion affecting him more the longer he laid there.

“Sam, you know that’s never going to happen.” You promised, looking down at him. His face was illuminated by the moonlight, the white glow casting him in an even more ethereal light. He was the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen, and he always took your breath away. “You are everything, and you’re with me everywhere I go. I’m not me without you.”

“I always knew this part would be the worst.” He explained, an air of sadness hanging around him. “I knew it was coming, and I tried to prepare myself, but I still knew it was going to hurt.”

At eighteen, love means little. For the two of you, it was the most profound thing you would ever feel in your entire lifetime. Loving each other seemed like the very thing you were put on the earth to do.

“I’ll come visit, and you’ll visit me. It doesn’t have to be scary unless we make it scary.” You said, dropping your hand down to his cheek to caress the soft skin. He turned his head, craning his neck to catch a glimpse of your face.

“You’re right. You always are.” You gave him a soft smile. His lazy eyes and loving smile made your stomach flutter with butterflies. He shifted in his position, moving towards you to pull you into a kiss. Through the sloppy grip and the awkward position, euphoria began to creep up on you. The only time you ever felt right was when his lips were on yours.

Blissfulness was not uncommon when in his company, but when he shifted so he was laying atop of you on the dirty blanket, uncaring of the public display of affection, you felt like you were floating through clouds and ascending to the sky. The moment was perfect, and it felt as if the two of you were infinite; endlessly intertwined and destined to float through life together until the earth caught fire and burned into nothing. It was unlike anything you had ever experienced, and when he pulled away from you, the grief of the loss was debilitating. Tears filled your eyes and your lungs felt like they were filling with blood. You were suffocating under your own undying need for him, and the very thing that breathed life would also be the thing to take it away.

“Don’t stop, Sam.” You pleaded, unable to bear the thought of being separated from him.

“Never.” He promised, leaning down and kissing you again. Your hands were tangled in his hair, and the hand that wasn’t holding himself up was cupping your cheek with the utmost of caution.

‘I love you’ was pounding against your skull, but you couldn’t seem to find the strength to say it. You loved him so much that it felt like your bones would breath underneath the weight, shatter into dust that would eventually blow away in the wind. You loved him more than anything you’d ever known, and more than anything that would ever come. Your love for Sam was the reason your heart continued to beat and the blood pumped through your veins. It was all you knew, and it was all you wanted to know.

Why couldn’t you say it?

Why wasn’t he saying it?

You knew he could feel it too; the heat of the emotion was radiating from his skin, searing your skin and leaving a memory of scars to remind you of his touch for eternity.

Suddenly, you couldn’t breathe. You were choking on the breathlessness and panicking underneath the weight of his body. You could not move, nor could you summon enough strength to push him off of you.

You could, but you did not want to.

Dying while actively loving Sam was the most peaceful way to go, and you did not want to risk dying without the feeling of his touch. Instead, you let him bleed the life from you, falling limp underneath him and closing your eyes to await the eternal sunshine that was looming just overhead.

You were on the cusp of death, and you felt your heart slow and your mind calm. You were okay, it was time, and you knew you would wait on the other side for him to join you someday.

Then, he stopped. He pulled back, looking down at you with unfamiliar eyes. When your eyelids fluttered open to meet his foreign stare, you did not know what had come over him.

“Who are you?” He asked. Panic flooded you, unknowing of what was happening and confused at his standoffish expression.

“What?”

“Who are you, y/n?”

“It’s me, Sam. You just said it.” You pleaded for him to understand, unsure if you could handle the sudden change in direction. The sudden switch from bliss to fear sent you spiraling. The ground seemed like it was disappearing from under you and the sky seemed to be falling down on top of you. Little by little, the clear picture of his face turned into a soft hazy cloud, disappearing without a trace. His body was there, still crushing you under the concrete-like weight, but his face was nowhere in sight.

“You’re not the girl I fell in love with.” He shook his head, the words echoing in your ears. “I miss the girl you were before the heartbreak. I want her to come back.”

When your eyes opened and you were not met with the dirstorted picture of Sam’s face nor the feeling of him hovering atop of you, disappointment filled your heart. Not long after you came to the realization that you were alone, a violent wave of nausea washed over you and your brain throbbed against your skull. You shook your head, trying to pry yourself out of the dream-like state, but it only made your head ache with more intensity. You raised your hands to your eyes, trying to rub the sleep from them, but found that your cheeks were damp with tears.

“It was a dream, y/n.” You muttered, annoyed at your own emotional turmoil. “It was just a dream.”

If it was all imaginary, why the hell did it hurt so bad?

You were in your bed, safely tucked away in your childhood bedroom. Old posters and pictures littered the walls and the itch of your comforter on your legs confirmed your existence in real life, but your heart was still living within the picture of your mind. You were laid on a blanket hidden by trees, half-drunk and eighteen again with Sam laying on top of you. You knew you were not really there, but god did you want to be.

‘And what did he mean by ‘you’re not the girl I fell in love with?’’ You thought to yourself, upset at his question and angry with him for even asking such a thing.

“He didn’t ask that, y/n. You’re an idiot. You asked yourself that in a dream.” You spoke aloud again, grogginess still laced in your tone as the cool winter sunlight pooled in through the windows.

Perhaps you weren’t an idiot, but definitely crazy enough to be talking aloud to yourself.

Crazy seemed to be all you knew as of late. It felt like insanity was a lethal side effect of falling in love with Sam Kiszka.

But the dream had truth, and even if Sam was not the one asking about your change in personality, it was still a good question.

Who were you before he broke your heart, and why was it so fucking hard to be that person again?

The pain you held in your chest was so intense that it bled into every aspect of your every day life. More than that, it had been there for so long that it was familiar, and worst of all, it was comforting. You did not know what it felt like without it accompanying you all of the time, and above all, you feared that you did not know who you were without it. If it suddenly fled you tomorrow, would you recognize yourself in the mirror? Would you still be the same?

There were too many questions and not enough answers, especially considering your physical well-being in the moment. You could worry about your brains incessant thoughts after you dealt with the sick stomach and blinding migraine. At first, you thought the general malaise was due to the bottle of wine you’d topped off with Brooke the night before, but you knew that you did not drink nearly enough to make you feel so hungover. Your sickness was not due to your love for alcohol; it was due to your hopeless love for Sam, and the lack of a place to put it down for a moment. The strength in which you felt it made you physically ill, and you worried that it would only worsen as time went on.

You climbed out of bed, slipping your feet into a pair of slippers as you stood, hoping to avoid the chill of the hardwood floor in the early morning. You grabbed your phone off the charger, still dazed from the heavy questioned that appeared in your dreams. You clicked on the screen, looking down at the notification bar filled with missed texts and unanswered calls.

Maybe that was why Sam had been weighing so heavily on your mind.

Since the night of your date, you’d made it a point to disappear off the face of the earth. Every call went to voicemail and every text was left unopened. You felt bad for leaving him hanging without as much as a goodbye, but you couldn’t bear the thought of letting him in again. The sex with him that night was mind blowing, and it seemed like everything you had been yearning for since his hands last touched your body, but that was the exact problem. When Sam was around, it felt too good. It was so fantastic that it made you forget every mistake and wrong-doing, and it inevitably meant that when he left, it hurt so much more. Of course, it did not feel good when he wasn’t around at all, but the dull ache was easier to handle than the devastation of another breakup. Sometimes, you could even ignore it if you thought about something else for long enough.

Then again, that wasn’t necessarily true. The pain was always lingering, even if you weren’t focused on it. It made your stomach ache and your limbs weak, and it burrowed holes in your brain and bled into your nervous system. It was the type of pain that begged to be felt, and it took over every single aspect of your life. You could convince yourself that you didn’t feel it only because it was so persistent that you did not remember what it felt like before it started.

The only time the ache was truly gone was when Sam was in your life, but you could not risk what little sanity you’d regained since you left the last time.

For some reason, he hadn’t picked up on the fact that you were ignoring him yet. For the last three days, he had been more persistent, and worst of all, more consistent than he had been in the last two years. Just as you threw a hoodie on over your tank top, your phone chimed again. You did not want to read the message, knowing who it was from and what it would say, but you couldn’t seem to help yourself.

Sammy 💘

Did I do something wrong? Can you at least call me and yell at me? I’m even starting to miss that too.

Your nausea worsened at the words. You knew that ignoring him was the best way to protect yourself, but you couldn’t help but feel like the worst person in the world for doing such a thing. Then, you realized that you ought to change his contact name. The pink heart no longer suited the relationship between you two, and all it did was cause more suffering every time you looked at it. You shut off the screen, placing your phone back in your pocket as you walked out of your bedroom, closing the door gently behind you.

The house was eerily quiet, and as you trudged down the stairs, you wondered if everyone went somewhere without telling you, or if they were just sleeping so soundly they didn’t even notice your screaming despair as you moved in the halls. When you entered the kitchen, you noticed that the light was on, but nobody was there. You peeked around the wall that separated the kitchen from the living room, noticing your dad sitting on the recliner chair, snoring while the television played softly in the background. You rolled your eyes at the sight, realizing he’d probably woken up at six just to come downstairs and sleep until noon. At dinner, he would complain that he was awake earlier than everyone else if someone mentioned they were tired, despite the fact he had dozed away the whole morning.

Your father was a very predictable man, and after more than twenty years of living with him, nothing he did came as a surprise.

You opened the fridge in search of the bottle of orange juice you had bought just a couple days prior. After looking around and finding nothing, you cursed your sisters for drinking it all.

Everyone in your house was predictable, and since coming home, you realized how excited you were to not have to endure the same routine ever again.

You settled for a shitty homemade coffee and toast with homemade jam that your elderly neighbour kindly dropped off for you all every year. When the seasons changed, she loved making as much preserves as possible. When she finished, she realized she made more than she could ever dream of eating, so she crafted little gift baskets for some of her favourite families on the street and dropped the rest of it off the food banks. She was a charitable woman who you always quite liked.

As you waited for the toast to pop, you sipped at the bitter, overly strong coffee you’d tried to make. You promised yourself that if you managed to finished it, you could go to the cafe with Ellie and Brooke later that afternoon. When the pop of the toaster scared you out of your fantasy of expensive coffee, you grabbed a plate and prepared the rest of the food. Before you got the chance to sit down at the table and enjoy it, you heard a knock on the front door. You heard your Dad exhale a sharp snore in response, knowing that he would never wake to such a soft sound. With a sigh, you discarded the plate on the table next to the mug of (horrendous) coffee.

The blinds were closed on the window of the door, making the identity of the visitor completely unknown. You unlocked it, twisting the knob and pulling backwards. Daylight flooded the entryway and the bitter cold nipped at any available exposed skin. The flimsy fabric of your pajama pants were no match for the harshness of December.

“Oh, wow.” You breathed, completely taken aback by the person standing on the other side.

“Long time no see, sweetheart.” He gave you a blinding smile, one that completely knocked the air from your lungs and begged tears to be shed. You didn’t know what to do, nor how to respond. Instead, you stood frozen in place while the cold air attacked you even further. Even the threat of frostbite on your exposed ankles could not compare to the aching sensation deep in your chest. “Can I come in?”

“Fuck, yeah, of course.” You shook your head, snapping yourself out of the trance. You wished you could let go of the dazed feeling and return to your regular self, but it seemed as if it wanted to stay. You stepped backwards, allowing him entrance to your home. The scent of sandalwood filled your nose, the persistent familiarity that was surfacing memories only made your pain worsen. It had been far too long since you’d seen him, and you almost didn’t realize how much you had missed his brotherly love. “How are you, Jake?”

“Much better now that I get to see you.” He chuckled, closing the door behind him. “It’s been far too long, y/n.”

“Yeah, it has.” You agreed, breathing out a heavy sigh. As you did, the weight crushing your chest seemed to ease slightly.

There was no way in the world that you were feeling relief from seeing Jake.

But, your heart did not lie, and the longer you stood and watched him, the more peaceful you felt.

“Would a hug be too much?”

“Of course not.” And you sprung to action first, stepping forward with open arms and a smile so genuine that it pained the apples of your cheeks. As soon as your limbs anchored around his midsection, he responded with glee, doing just the same. For a moment, the two of you sat in the entryway, completely immersed in the comfort of the company. It almost seemed like nothing had ever changed at all. Then, the brutal reality struck you in the stomach, sending you stepping backwards and shying away from him. “Come in,” you cleared your throat, fighting away the tears that were rising rapidly. You hadn’t realized how much you missed him, and now that he was standing right in front of you, you couldn’t bear the thought of it.

The two of you walked to the kitchen in silence, your light footsteps sending the floorboards creaking when you moved them in just the right way. You took a look at the table, noticing the coffee and toast that was waiting for you.

“Am I interrupting?” He asked, nervous about his intrusion.

“No, of course not.” You shook your head, looking over at him. “Can I get you something? Are you hungry, or maybe a coffee?”

“Uh, sure. I’ll have a coffee.” He gave you a smile, watching as you scurried to the cabinet to grab a mug. As you placed it under the coffee machine and replaced the pod in the top, you clicked the button and let it brew itself. You focused on the whir of the machine, which eventually began trickling the liquid into the mug. You closed your eyes for a moment, regaining your composure and settling your mind.

“Should I ask why you’re here, or do I already know?” You moved to the fridge, grabbing the coffee creamer and flashing it in his direction. He gave a nod of approval before answering your question.

“Depends… why do you think I’m here?” He challenged.

“On behalf of your stupid brother.” You grumbled, adding a little cream and stirring the drink with a spoon. You tossed the silverware in the sink and placed the mug in front of him, taking a seat in front of your own coffee.

“Well, sort of.” He chuckled, giving a slow nod. “But probably not for the reason you think.”

“I’m so sick of talking about Sam.” You chuckled too, but you did not find the situation very humorous. “It always seems to be the same old story, does it not?”

“Yeah, unfortunately it does.” He agreed, sipping at the drink you made him. He did not grimace like you had upon trying your own, so you hoped you did a better job. It’s not like Jake would ever tell you if it was bad, anyway. “We don’t have to talk about him if you don’t want to.”

“Defeats your whole reason for being here, though.” You gave a tight-lipped smile, trying to feign some kind of kindness despite being in agony. The thought of Sam always struck a painful part of you, and so did talking about him. Part of you wished Jake had just lied and told you he wanted to see you, because the half-truth would have been better than the reality.

Jake was many things: a guitarist, a songwriter, your ex boyfriend’s brother, and your sister's ex boyfriend. He was also funny, kind, a bit withdrawn but with a sharp tongue. He spoke when needed, but never more than that. Unless he was drinking, of course. Above any of that, he was your friend, and he always had been. Yes, your sister had never recovered from the summer they spent together, and neither did he from all you knew, but that didn’t seem to matter. It also didn’t matter that when Jake turned the right way, you caught a glimpse of Sam in his expression, or when he laughed, the striking similarities of their smile sent a shiver down your spine. What mattered was that Jake was a person whom you’d grown to care deeply about, and who knew the parts of you that you liked to keep closed off more often than not.

Jake existed in a separate part of your mind; one where most of the time, Sam could not even reach. He was the closest thing you had to a brother, and the closest thing you had to a best friend outside of Sam. This was not the first confessional over coffee, nor was it the first time he sat expectantly while he waited for you to pour your heart out to him. Somewhere in your soul you knew that it was not likely to be the last, either. Even in a world where you and Sam did not exist together, you hoped that Jake would be a part of it still. Even if it was selfish, and even if you had been a terrible friend to him over the last two years, the love in your heart still existed.

Josh was the same, but his blinding optimism led the two of you astray at times. When it came to Sam, optimism was the last thing you needed.

Daniel was a whole other story, one that was much too painful for you to think of yet.

But Jake was a good man, and a great friend. He was a realist when it came to the hurt his brother caused you, and he was a great shoulder to cry on. Even when it was about all things that were not related to Sam, you still felt the same way. Maybe it was part of the reason you had welcomed him with such warmth.

No, that was only because you had missed him more than you could ever put into words.

“He doesn’t know I’m here, by the way.” He assured you, watching as you bit into a piece of (now cold) toast.

“That’s good, I wouldn’t want you to give him any ideas.” You said after you swallowed down your food. The jam was delicious, and you made a note to bring a jar back to university with you. Jake let out a hearty laugh, the sound coming straight from his chest and echoing off the walls.

“Think he had that idea first, actually.” He hummed, a far away look in his eyes forming as he tried to properly phrase his words. “His persistence is charming. To be twenty-three and still throwing rocks at someone’s window is admirable.”

“That’s true.” You smiled, genuine in the expression. “Took me by surprise, that’s for sure.”

“I told him it was a bad idea, but I’m not sure why I thought he would listen. He never has before.”

“Sam’s never listened to anyone but himself.” You explained, choking down the bitter coffee in your cup. It was almost as bitter as the feelings you held for Sam in your chest.

“I don’t think that’s true, sweetheart.” Jake shook his head, taking a long look over your face. “He’s always listened to you.”

“Hardly.” You scoffed, rolling your eyes at the incredulous notion.

“More than you realize, I think.” He continued, certain of himself. “I’ve grown to know a completely different Sam these last two years, and in some ways it’s been good, but in other ways, not so much.” He caught your attention, which was exactly what he was hoping for. You were now fully immersed in the world of Sam again, despite trying your hardest to stay away from it. “He’s grown up, but he’s completely lost without you, y/n. You know that I’ll never be the one to stick up for his shitty behavior, but I am the person who will tell it like it is.”

“So let him be lost, Jake.” You sat back in your chair, shrugging your shoulders. “I can’t keep sacrificing myself to make sure he’s happy. I love him, yeah, but I also fucking hate him. Maybe it’s time that he suffers just a little bit, and maybe it’ll help him realize that life won’t always fix itself after he fucks up.”

“I agree, y/n. You shouldn’t sacrifice yourself to make him happy, but he is suffering, and more than you seem to realize.” He sighed, rubbing his face in his hands. “Sam is the stupidest person I know; to see him have someone as wonderful as you just to fuck it up every time is sickening. He’s also my brother, and it wouldn’t be right of me to sit here and shit on him without acknowledging the good, too.”

“Right.” You agreed, feeling a slight bit remorseful over your harsh words. You knew you would defend your sisters with a fervour, even if they were in the wrong.

“I didn’t come here to tell you to get back together with him. I came here because he’s been miserable since the two of you went out to dinner, and I can only imagine you’ve been feeling the same way.” He explained, catching your eye so he could see below the tough exterior you’d built up. He could see the exhaustion lingering in your face, and he could see the sadness begging to break through the cracks in your false happiness. He knew you, and you could not hide your feelings from him. You never could, and you were unsure why you thought you could get away with it, now. Two years did not change very much at all.

“Did he tell you anything?”

“Yes,” he nodded, chuckling slightly. “But nothing that was unexpected. You two have a habit, and I think we all knew what the outcome would be when he ran into you at the bar.”

“Yeah,” You nodded, a solemn agreement with everything he was saying. “It was great. I feel like I finally got everything I needed off my chest, but when he brought me home, I panicked. I haven’t been ignoring him to punish him, but to protect myself from getting hurt again.” You explained. “Two years ago, when I left, I never thought I’d see him again. Well, I was hoping I would never see him again, but I knew he’d find his way back eventually. It’s just how it works with us.”

“Seems so.” He agreed.

“I spent two years building myself back up, healing from everything that happened even before that night. I thought that with time, the part of me that missed him would fade away. I thought if I healed, I wouldn’t feel the need to go back to him.”

“Did it work?”

“Fuck no.” You laughed, finding the idea funny. “Stupid question.”

“Yeah, it was.” He laughed, too.

“Every night I sat there and watched his name pop up on my screen, and it hurt a little bit more. When he stopped calling, I thought that eventually, that hurt would stop too. It didn’t, and in some sick way, it seemed to get worse. It settled down for a while, it was bearable, but every now and again it would just take over my whole body. I’d sit in my room and I’d look through pictures and letters and all of that stupid, sentimental shit. I’d lay in bed and try to remember what it felt like when he was there next to me. No matter what I do, I can’t ever seem to stop thinking about him.” Your voice was quiet and your stomach was churning with discomfort. Your throat itched with the scratch of tears and you wished that for once, it didn’t have to hurt so bad. “Even after he hurt me so badly so many times, I still only ever wanted him. I still want him, Jake, but I’m so scared. He said he changed, and you’re saying it, too. I want to believe it, and I even got to see a little bit of it when we went to dinner, but I’m just so afraid of losing him again that I can’t risk having him.”

“You’re allowed to feel that way.” He assured you. “He loves you, but he’s really good at hurting you. I’d feel the same way if I were you.”

“No, you probably would have moved on by now.” You corrected him. “It’s not normal to be this hung up on someone after so long, especially after so much heartbreak.”

“Well, that’s not necessarily true.” He argued. His eyes flickered up to the family photo hung on the wall above the table. It was so quick he felt no need to worry if you noticed, but you did. His eyes lingered over your sister's face for just a second too long, the emotion in his face the same as when she inadvertently asked you if Jake was back in town. “When you really love someone, logic doesn’t exist anymore.”

“It feels like that sometimes.” You sighed. “I turned him away when he showed up here that night, and I surprised myself. I’ve never had the willpower to resist Sam. Then, he showed up at the coffee shop, and he sat down. At first, I was true to my word. Whatever happened, I don’t know, but we started laughing like we used to and I saw that familiar sparkle in his eyes and I just… I couldn’t walk away. I never can.”

“You can, though, and you did for two whole years. That’s very admirable in my opinion. You don’t give yourself nearly enough credit.”

“I only give credit when credit is due. I don’t think it counts if I go back on my word.”

“You have to want to stay away, y/n.” He reminded you. “Do you want to stay away?”

“No,” you shook your head, the thought of never seeing Sam again pained you so deeply that it made your bones ache. “And I guess that’s the stupid part. How does it make sense to still want to be with someone who’s hurt you so much?”

“It’s not always been bad,” he reached out, placing his hand atop of yours on the table. “There has been a lifetime's worth of happiness between you two. The painful part was terrible, but it shouldn’t take away from all that good that’s happened, either.” He was right; although pain was abundant in your relationship, it wasn’t nearly as abundant as the happiness that came with his company. For twenty or so years, Sam was the best part of your day, even when you were mad at him.

“I know, but it’s been extremely hard to separate the two.” You confessed, sniffling away a tear that nearly fell. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Shoot.” He nodded.

“Am I the same person?” He watched you, unsure of the depth of the question.

“What do you mean?”

“Am I different than I was before? Like before all of the bad happened?”

“You’ve grown up, but I don’t think you’re different. Maybe a little more reserved, and a little quicker to tell someone off, but you’re the same y/n we all love so much.” He explained. “Why?”

“I’m scared that the heartbreak changed me so much that I wouldn’t even recognize that girl anymore.” You whispered. “Do you remember when we broke up the first time? You came over and we sat here like this for hours.”

“F’course I do. How the hell could I forget that?”

“I can’t take it, Jake. I’ve never felt like this in my whole life. I don’t think I can handle it anymore.” Your cries could be heard throughout the entire house, shaking the walls and shattering glass. They were so loud and chilling that it made him squirm in his seat as he held you in his arms. “I love him so much, and he walked away like I was nothing! After sixteen years, it’s just over—“ you cut yourself off by another sob, your body vibrating and your chest aching. You wanted it to stop. You wanted everything to stop. The thought of a life without Sam was horrifying, and even at sixteen you knew that a love like that would never come again.

“I feel like I lost a part of myself. When I sat here in your arms, crying like I’d just faced death itself, there was a moment when I swore I could feel a little part of something, I don’t know, whatever it was… it was just gone. I could feel it dying off with every tear, and I don’t think it ever came back.”

“Innocence?” He offered, raising an eyebrow. “At sixteen, what other heartbreak hurt that bad?”

“Nothing.” You confirmed. “I had never hurt like that in my life, and I still haven’t. Even when he broke my heart both times after that… nothing compared. But I still felt the same every time he walked away, like I just lost something forever.”

“Hope, maybe?”

“Yeah, maybe.” You shrugged. “I don’t know… I’ve just never felt the same. Always like there’s this looming sadness, or hurt, or whatever. It’s there, and it sucks, and I can never forget about it. It feels like there’s a piece of my heart that’s gone, and I’m scared I’ll never be able to find it again.” You breathed, the confession heavy and straining. “I miss that person, the girl who was always happy and excited to be alive. I miss the girl who was so scared to get in trouble. I miss the person I was before he broke my heart, and if I’m being completely truthful, I’m not even sure if I know who she is anymore. There’s been so much hurt for so long it’s started to become normal. It’s the only thing I feel, and it’s always on my mind. The pain has become so normal that I’m afraid I don’t know who I am without it.”

“Does it always feel like that? Or do you get a break from it sometimes?” He asked, begging you to see the bigger picture.

“It’s there most of the time.” You nodded, not realizing he was hoping for that answer.

“Most of the time.” He said, quick enough to catch you off guard. “When is it not there?” You stared at him, shocked at his ability to listen so carefully. You blinked a few times, unsure if you were willing to say it aloud. If you did, it just proved how wrong you’d been about the whole thing.

“It wasn’t there on Friday night.” You finally admitted, your voice so quiet that it barely broke through the static silence. “When we were together in the car, in our spot. It felt right. I felt better than I have in years.”

“That’s what I mean, y/n. You can only move on if you really want to, and to me, it doesn’t sound like you do.” He said, a sad smile crossing his lips. “I know Sam has hurt you, and you are allowed to be upset over it. I expect you to be, actually, because you shouldn’t just let him get away with it. But he has changed, and he’s grown up, and he’s paid for every injustice he’s done to you. Right now, it sounds like you’re angry, and it sounds like you’re scared, but it doesn’t seem like you want to let him go.”

“I don’t!” You exclaimed, frustrated with yourself. “I want to want that, but I don’t, and I never have. I’ve spent the last two years hating him while hoping he’d show up at my front door! I had him again, and it was fantastic, but how do I move on from all of that? How do I let it go and trust that it won’t happen again? I love believing in the best of people, but he’s made it so hard for me to do that with him.”

“I can’t answer that, sweetheart. It sucks, but you just have to trust in it. You don’t have to forget it, but if you want him, you’re just suffering by trying to deny it. And he’s suffering because he wants the same. If you want to try again, you have to have faith that it’s going to work. After this long, it has to mean something that you still feel the same way. It has to mean something that after two years, you ran right back into each other like you were never meant to be apart.” Tears were pooling in your eyes now, falling down your cheeks with no signs of stopping. You were overwhelmed, and you were hurt, but more than anything, you were desperately and irrevocably in love with the boy you knew you shouldn’t have.

Jake stood from his chair, walking towards you and wrapping his arms around you. You melted into the touch, soothed by his presence but hurting because it was not the arms you so badly wanted to be in. “I love him so much Jake, but I don’t understand why it hurts so bad to do it.”

“I know.” He smoothed the hair on the top of your head, holding your head to his chest while you cried away the sorrowful feeling. “I’m not telling you what to do, or even that I want you two to be together. I want you to be happy, because after twenty three years of knowing you, you will always be my friend. Even if I never see you again, I’ll still love you the same. You deserve to be happy, and however you choose to do that, you know I’ll support you.”

“I love you, Jake, and I’m sorry I disappeared on you, too.” You sniffled, moving away from him to look up at his face.

“I’m sorry I let you walk in on him that night, and I’m sorry I didn’t check in on you. I thought you blamed me, and I was so scared you never wanted to see me again.”

“I could never blame you for that.” You shook your head, denouncing the idea immediately. “Thank you for showing up today, because I need it now more than I did back then.”

“I’ll always be here, y/n. Like I said, you’re my sister just as much as he’s my brother.” You felt guilt at the sight of his tear stained t-shirt, and you felt even more at the sight of the sadness in his eyes. “I just hope I did more than make you cry.” He chuckled.

“You did.” You promised, flashing him a smile through the sorrow. Just as you did, you heard footsteps on the stairwell.

You turned to face the entryway, curious about who was making their way into the emotional mess of the kitchen. After a few seconds, a head of brown hair flashed from around the corner, and you bit back a grimace. Brooke’s eyes landed on you first, noticing your tear stained eyes and red cheeks. Then, she turned and looked towards the boy standing next to you. The sight appeared to affect her the same as a knife to the stomach. The air seemed to be knocked from her lungs and her shoulders slumped with the weight of her emotion.

“Brooke,” he greeted, seemingly just as distraught at the sight of her.

“Jacob.” She replied, just as curtly.

Whatever it was about the Kiszka’s falling in love with the y/l/n’s, you did not know.

“I, uh…” he cleared his throat, his eyes glued to her face. “You look good.” He mustered the strength to compliment her. Her cheeks dusted red, so similar to how yours would if Sam were to say the same.

“Thanks.” She smiled, her eyes nervously floating to the floor. “You home for the holidays?”

“Yeah,” he nodded “you too, I see?”

“Yep,” she agreed.

“How’s school going?”

“Great, I should be graduating soon.” She explained. “And how’s Nashville?”

“A dream come true.” He said, but there was something incredibly unfamiliar in his eyes. You weren’t sure if you’d ever seen such a profound emotion in Jake’s gaze.

“I always knew you could do it.” She said, her eyes softening from the protective harshness they held just moments before.

“And you were right, like always.” He chuckled. “I should get going.” He said, placing a reassuring hand on your shoulder along with a small squeeze. “It was fantastic seeing you both.”

“Yeah, you too.” Brooke said, sincerity dripping from her tone.

“Thank you again, Jake.” You said, watching as he took a step towards the door. He sent you a subtle wink, assuring you that it was his pleasure. Without another word, he waved to both of you before retreating to the entryway. When you both heard the door shut, you looked at each other with a questioning gaze. For a moment, you thought she would ask about it. For another moment, she thought you would. Instead, both of you stared, dumbfounded and confused about the energy in the air.

“Starbucks?” She asked, flashing you her car keys. You had to laugh at your combined abilities to ignore the obvious. You hated calling bullshit, and when it came to the Kiszka’s, bullshit was all there was. “Looks like you need it.”

“Yeah, okay.” You nodded, happily dumping your terribly made coffee down the sink. When you turned back towards her, you felt a little bit more like yourself. Your head was clearer and the fog of sadness seemed to lift. You grabbed your jacket from the closet, slipping it over your shoulders as you stepped into your shoes. When you settled in the passenger seat of her car, you pulled out your phone.

You finally clicked on the notification bar that lead to Sam’s contact. You were met with a plethora of texts and voice notes, including a few desperate voicemails left after he was met with radio silence from you. With a breath of courage, you typed out a message, rewording it a dozen times before hitting send.

You

I’m sorry for not answering… just needed some time. Can you come over tonight? I’d really like to see you.

You watched as the blue bubble was flagged delivered. Within seconds, the read receipt sold him out. The three dots enclosed in a gray text box let you know he was typing, and almost immediately, his text came through.

Sammy 💘

Of course, Princess. Just tell me what time and I’ll be there.

You bit back a smile as you watched the trees pass out the window. In that moment, you understood that it did not matter who you were before the heartbreak, because it was not possible to ever be that person again. What you had gone through thus far had changed you, and for good reason. You were stronger, more resilient, and more willing to protect yourself. The pain, although terrible, served a purpose. You had to get hurt to understand how to protect your peace. You could let Sam in comfortably because you knew it was survivable. You’d done it before, and you could do it again.

The happiness that came with being with him was too much to pass up. You missed him so terribly, but you had picked up your pieces and glued them back together all by yourself. The cracks were still visible, but you were not nearly as fragile as before. You loved him enough to try again, but you loved yourself enough to know that he was not the whole world. With Jake’s help, you remembered that you were the whole world. You chose what you wanted, and you chose what was left behind. Most importantly, you got to choose what was best for you, and right now, Sam seemed like the perfect choice.

Creatures of habit always go back to the same thing, but you hoped so desperately that somehow, the same old thing would turn out to be beautifully different and refreshing this time around. You needed it to be different, and the only way you could find out was by giving it a chance. So, you put your fear to the side and made a promise to try again, for better or for worse.

You prayed that just for once, what you had with Sam was not for the worst.

TAGLIST: @itsafullmoon @freefallthoughts @lightsofthe-living-gvf @heckingfrick @sagekiszka @clairesjointshurt @thetroublegetssoloud71 @torniturntomyarrow @dannythedog @jordie-gvf @lallisonl

[sajirah]

Come Away O Human Child

Part One

I did a thing. And by that, I mean I spent the last week writing the most problematic filth ever. I'm sorry, but also maybe...you're welcome? I hope you all like very evil!Rhys (and he is evil in this. If that's not your jam, please keep scrolling and take care of yourselves).

Trigger Warnings Include: Dubious Consent, Kidnapping, Mental and Sexual Coercion, and a severe Power Imbalance.

Anyway, thank you to @whatishowedyouinthedark for being the most wonderful, supportive, and unhinged cheerleader while I was writing this. This one's all for you. I hope you like it.

(To be clear, this is Part One of Two. Maybe Three. I tried to make this a one-shot and then it got stupidly long so here we are)

Read on AO3 or down below. Enjoy.

-o0o-

People disappear all the time. 

Once, the world had been a more mundane place. At least that’s what Nesta would tell her sister in those rare, quiet moments when they were lucky enough to find someplace safe to hunker down. Feyre herself could barely even remember that world. She’d been so young when the disappearances began. 

At first, they had been treated like any other missing person case. Someone would go missing. Police would be called. Investigations and manhunts would ensue. And then, when no person or body was found, everyone would give up and mourn. 

But then more people began to go missing. 

And more. 

And more. 

By the time Feyre saw her tenth birthday, almost everyone she knew had lost someone. Fathers who left for work and never returned. Mothers who vanished without a trace after running to the grocery store. Children who disappeared on the walk between home and school. One by one people vanished from the world like so much smoke, leaving families bereft and society ever more paranoid. Ever more frightened of one another. 

Who was taking everyone? Where were they going? Why had no one ever been found?

Rumors ran rampant. 

“It’s the deep state!” One man had cried on a street corner Feyre and her sisters passed by on their way to the store. 

“It’s aliens!” another, a neighbor, had whispered fervently while stopping by one day. “They’ve come to use us as breeders!” 

But just before Feyre could ask him what a breeder was, Nesta had hustled her back into the house, glaring at the old man. Not that it had mattered in the end. He had disappeared like all the rest. There one day and then gone the next. 

Feyre was pulled out of school after that. 

Her days became an endless malaise of watching cartoons while her sisters whispered fearfully in the background. None of them dared leave the house anymore. Elain started growing vegetables in their garden. Nesta began taking stock of everything they had in the house. 

And then their father never came home. 

Things spiraled quickly then. 

Nesta had tried to call the police. Only the once. Whatever they had said to her on the other line, Feyre didn’t know. What she did know though, was that afterwards Nesta behaved, for all intents and purposes, as if their father were gone on an especially long work trip and had just forgotten to tell them. 

“We just have to take care of ourselves until he gets back,” she had said to her wide-eyed sisters. 

“But nobody comes back Nesta!” Feyre had exclaimed in a panic. 

But Nesta couldn’t be swayed. 

Eventually they gave up on making her see reason. What did it matter? They were orphans either way. 

They weren’t exactly sure when society had finally fallen apart, having sequestered themselves so thoroughly within their home, but Feyre suspected it was sometime around when she had turned the TV on one morning and was greeted by an endless wall of static. Every channel had been like that. No cartoons. No 24 hour news cycle. Not even the boring soap operas and reality TV her sisters seemed so fond of. 

The power went out soon after. 

In the end, it was Elain’s abduction that clued them in to what was happening. 

Because that was what it was: an abduction. 

She had been out in the garden when it happened. They all had. They knew better by then to never be alone. Where one sister went the others followed, terrified of never seeing each other again. Feyre had been watching her older sister tend their wilted cabbages when he appeared. 

From one blink to the next there had suddenly been four people in that garden, where once there had been three. 

He had been beautiful. That’s what she remembered best. That flawless tawny skin and rust-red hair. Those feline eyes that reminded Feyre of a fox. Clever and curious and wild. 

There hasn’t even been time for her to react. To stand up. To do anything before the strange man had pulled Elain into his arms like she belonged there and then…vanished. Gone almost as soon as he appeared. Their sister with him. 

They never saw Elain ever again.

That had been five years ago. 

-o0o-

They had run out of food. 

They had gotten by for a while raiding the homes of their neighbors. The ones who had disappeared. They hadn’t dared venture out further than that. But even their neighbors’ pantries could only feed them for so long before they had to resort to drastic measures. 

It was Feyre who finally forced Nesta’s hand. 

“We’re going to starve Ness.”

And her sister had looked at her then. Feyre, her only sister left. Her only family left. So bony and gaunt that her too small clothes gaped over her like they were three sizes too big and not Elain’s shrunken cast offs from middle school. 

They left the house that same day. 

It was easy to pinpoint the houses that were abandoned. The still-occupied ones were boarded up, the windows covered in newspaper, as if the inhabitants were terrified that kidnappers would waltz up to their windows to peer inside for fresh victims. But the abandoned houses…they looked for all the world as if the owners had just stepped out for a trip to the store and would be back at any moment. 

For those houses, it was a simple matter of tossing a rock through a window and then helping themselves to everything inside. 

No one stopped them. 

And, for a while, they survived that way. 

…But, eventually, that food ran out too. 

They started braving the next street over. 

And the next. 

And the next. 

Until, once day, Feyre found she and her sister wandering into the empty city streets, miles from their house. 

“Don’t you think this place would’ve been picked clean by now?” She whispered to Nesta warily, eyeing the overgrown sidewalks and silent crosswalk. 

They passed by an abandoned car by the side of the road. It had been so long since she’d seen a car and she marveled at it, remembering the rumble it would’ve made when it was running. 

“We don’t have a lot of other options,” her sister replied testily. 

“Yeah, but-”

He came without warning. 

She heard Nesta gasp. That’s how she knew what she would see before she spun around. 

And there he was. 

One of them. 

He was just as beautiful as the man who had taken Elain all those years ago. But he had an edge to him that the other hadn’t. Where that man had been a fox, here was a dragon. Powerful and dangerous and hungry. 

She couldn’t stop staring at his eyes. Like purple little jewels that burned straight into her soul. 

“There you are,” the man sighed, as if she were a wayward pet. “I’ve been looking for you.”

She felt something in her head then, like an itch she couldn’t scratch, before realizing with horror that it was him. 

Come along my little mate. Time for us to go home. 

Feyre didn’t even have time to cast one last glance at her sister before the man pulled her close and then-

-o0o-

She startled awake. 

Wait, had she been asleep?

Feyre blinked around at unfamiliar surroundings. A lavish room. A plush bed. And not a single modern amenity in sight. 

Where was she?

“Home.” The voice caught her so off guard she nearly jumped out of her skin. 

And there, in the corner by the door, was her captor. He leaned against the wall, peering back at her curiously. She wasn’t fooled though. She could feel that foreign sensation in her head again, rifling around like he belonged there. 

“But I do belong there my love,” he drawled amusedly. “You are mine after all. But don’t you worry. I take such very good care of my things.” 

A shiver rolled down Feyre’s spine. Danger, her instincts whispered. 

“I…I don’t…” She stumbled over her words, terror and adrenaline making her shake. 

She felt like a pair of claws were caging her mind. Like a cat gently holding down the tail of a mouse. Playing with its food. 

“…Please…” she whispered. “Please let me go.”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that,” he said, and then he was suddenly sitting on the bed beside her, looming over her. 

Feyre wanted to flee. She tried to flee. But her body wouldn’t move. It seemed no longer under her command. Those claws gripping her brain a little tighter. Encouraging her body’s obedience even when she herself was screaming at it to move. 

“Calm now. There’s a good girl.”

It was like getting a heavy dose of Xanax injected directly into her brain. Her racing heart slowed. Her terror cooled. She felt dizzy. Sleepy. 

Docile. 

He leaned over and kissed her on the forehead. 

“Sleep my love.”

And she did. 

-o0o-

He wasn’t there when she woke up. 

She checked every corner (even under the bed, to assuage her childish instincts). But her strange, beautiful, cruel captor didn’t make any further appearances. 

So, of course, she immediately went looking for the exit. 

It seemed to be…a palace, she was in. Or, at least, what she could only describe as one. An endless series of extravagant rooms and shiny marble floors. Fine tapestries and luxurious furnishings. But no phones. No computers. No electronics of any kind. Not even a single electrical outlet. It was like she’d been plucked from one century and deposited into another. 

Eventually, she finally stumbled upon an open air balcony. 

The view was stunning. 

It also led to a thousand foot drop. 

Feyre stared out at a looming mountain range and thick greenery. And not a single sign of civilization to be had. Where the fuck was she? 

It was there that he finally found her, contemplating her escape route. 

“Enjoying the fresh air?”

Feyre felt her blood freeze. 

She didn’t even need to turn. He strolled up from behind her, all predatory grace and flashing teeth, before leaning back against the bannister to face her. 

Maybe she could push him over? How much momentum would she even need?

“Vicious little thing aren’t you?” the man grinned at her like a proud parent. “Plotting my demise already? Surely you can do better than shoving me off a cliff.”

Feyre choked. “What…how…?!”

The man tapped his temple. 

“I can hear your thoughts my love. Every last one.”

Oh. Oh fuck. 

“Yes, even those ones.” He was being…very chill about the whole trying to escape thing. It made her antsy. 

“Oh you’re more than welcome to try and find a way out. In fact…” he gave her a feline smile. “I’ll make a bargain with you.”

Feyre stared at him. She felt like a fly being baited by a spider. This had to be a trap. In fact, there was no way it wasn’t a trap. But then, no one had ever said she was smart. In fact, Nesta routinely told her the opposite. 

“What kind of bargain?”

The man looked delighted. A terrible sign. 

“Scour my home for a way out. If you find one and actually manage to leave, you’re free to go.”

She narrowed her eyes. That sounded far too good to be true. 

“And?”

“And, if at the end of every night you still remain in my home, you will submit to me until dawn.”

Feyre gazed over his shoulder at the open sky. She would be dumb to agree. There was no way he’d even keep his end of the bargain. After all, he was a creepy kidnapper. If he snatched women so easily off the street who was to say he any shred of integrity at all?

“Not every woman,” he said, amused. “Just you.”

She scowled. 

“Deal.”

The moment she said that word, a strange itching sensation encompassed her hand. Frowning, Feyre glanced down and gasped in horror. 

“What the fuck?!”

Her entire forearm was covered in an intricate tattoo, from elbow to fingertips. At the center of her hand, a wide all-seeing eye stared back at her. 

“Oh yes, I forgot to mention. Here, bargains are sealed with magic. So there will be no…how do you say? Take backs?”

Feyre could only glare back at him murderously. 

“Enjoy your treasure hunt my love.” He said gleefully. “I’ll be back to collect on my dues at nightfall.”

And then he was gone. 

-o0o-

She was frantic by the time night came. 

Every hallway she traversed led her in circles. Every door she opened led to another room. Every window was either sealed shut or opened to a frighteningly steep drop into the valley below. Far, far below. 

By the time her captor returned Feyre had started smashing things out of sheer frustration. 

“A sore loser I see.”

Feyre bared her teeth and threw a vase at his head. Unfortunately for her, he easily dodged it and it crashed against the wall. The sound it made as it broke and its pieces scattered healed something inside of her, even as her heart sped up with dread. 

“Time to pay up my dear.”

“You never even specified what submit means!”

The man smiled that cat-like smile of his. “I didn’t did I?”

Oh. So that had been his trap. What an idiot she was. 

“You can’t make me do anything.”

“Oh my love. I think you’ll find that I very much can.” His voice was almost pitying. Almost. “But, even putting aside that…you made a bargain.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Everything my dear,” he said simply. As if it really were that simple. “Bargains are made with magic. And magic is binding. Once a bargain is struck it cannot be undone. And you will be forced to comply with your end of the deal. Whether you like it or not.”

Feyre’s head spun. 

Magic? Surely this was a joke?

But then where had that tattoo come from? A little voice in her head asked.

“I forget sometimes that you humans don’t have magic in your world.”

You humans?

For the first time, Feyre took a close, hard look at her captor. As always, her eyes caught on his perfect face and broad shoulders…but then, the longer she looked, the more she began to notice other things. His unnatural purple eyes. His strangely pointed ears. And the way that darkness seemed to cling to him even when he stood directly in the light.

“…What are you?”

White teeth flashed wide in a shark’s grin. 

“I am yours. And you are mine,” he said. “And now, little love, it is time to uphold your end of the bargain.”

-o0o-

His first order of submission, as it turned out, was for them to have dinner. 

He brought her to a little sitting room where a table laden with more food than she’d seen in years lay invitingly. He didn’t even need to compel her to sit down. She fell on the food like the starving woman she was. She couldn’t even remember the last time she’d eaten anything. Two days ago? Three?

Her captor only smiled. Strangely pleased to see such feral table manners. As she tore into a meat pie though, she suddenly noticed something. 

His plate was empty. 

Feyre glanced down at the roasted vegetables and spiced meat she’d been tearing into and suddenly felt her stomach curdle with alarm. Had the food been drugged? Poisoned?! 

“Now why would I do that after all the trouble I took in getting you here?” The man said dismissively. 

Then why aren’t you eating? She couldn’t help but think.

“Simple,” he said patting his lap. “You’re going to feed me.” 

Before she could work herself into a lather again though, he slithered into her brain like a python and squeezed. Immediately, her body sprang into action, sliding onto his lap as if this were a well practiced maneuver and not the first time she’d ever sat on anyone’s lap outside of her father’s. 

“Well. Go on.” He said the words flippantly but Feyre almost thought she could hear an undercurrent of…anticipation?

Annoyed, she plucked a grape off the table and shoved it into his mouth. 

He didn’t have the reaction she was expecting though. There was no sarcastic, taunting remark. No predatory grin. Just dilated pupils and a ragged inhale as soon as he swallowed the piece of fruit. Like he was shocked. 

Or excited. 

“What-“ was all she managed to get out before he swept his arm out behind her and knocked all of the food to the ground. 

“Hey!” She cried, outraged. That amount of food could’ve fed she and Nesta for a month. 

He wasn’t listening though. Instead, he was too busy hauling her up onto the tabletop. Their clothes suddenly vanished between one moment and the next and she barely had time to properly process that fact before she felt a warm, wet tongue swipe up her neck. 

Her whole body broke into shivers. 

What…what was happening? How did she go from eating dinner with her kidnapper to this?

“You’re mine,” he rasped against her neck. He seemed…rapturous. Drugged. 

“Only by the smell of your sweet cunt,” he answered her thoughts as he spread her legs wide even as she tried to snap them shut. 

“Wh-what?!”

No one had ever spoken to her this way. Who even could have? She hadn’t seen or spoken to another human being outside of her sisters in years. But before she could voice any of this he chased those words right back into her mouth with his own. 

It wasn’t like any kiss she’d seen on tv as a child. Romantic or passionate or tender. Instead, he grasped her neck, fingers spanning from ear to collarbone, holding her firmly in place so he could plunder her mouth with his tongue. Below, she felt something thick and hard prod between her legs. 

All she could do was gasp as she felt those mental claws invade her mind the same way his tongue did her mouth. Hungrily. Overwhelmingly. She couldn’t even fight back. Those claws scraping gently along her brain and sapping all fight and strength from her. She felt like a kitten facing down an elephant. 

“There you go,” her captor cooed as her limbs went slack. He cradled her to him as a dragon would a hoard of gold. “Isn’t that better? Doesn’t that feel nice?”

It did feel nice. 

It also felt alarming. 

But just as soon as that thought entered her mind it was swept away like it had never even been there in the first place. 

Feyre blinked. 

What had she been thinking about again?

“How good this feels,” the man answered, whispering in her ear and making her shiver. “How much you want me. How you deserve to feel only pleasure.”

He was right wasn’t he? Didn’t she deserve something nice after all those years subsisting off of expired canned beans and so little affection from her surviving sister? No one had ever paid much attention to the youngest Archeron. When even was the last time someone had touched her with any sort of affection or love? Elain? Her father?

“I’ll touch you,” her companion purred earnestly, fingers delving down between her legs. “I’ll never let you go.”

Those words should’ve horrified her. Made her want to run. To take her chances flinging herself over that balcony and into the valley below. And a part of her was horrified. 

But another part of her felt…delirious. Desperate for his touch. For him to fill her and never stop. 

The man groaned in response to that thought. 

Fingers brushed along the seam of her and Feyre couldn’t help but squirm and pant. She felt hot. Fevered. Wild. Something bloomed in her abdomen. A queer mixture of pleasure and panic. 

She wanted to tell him to stop. To let her be. But all that came out was, “Please!” 

“Shhh, sweet thing,” he murmured softly, face pressed into her hair. “It’s been so long since you had this hasn’t it? Let me give you this. Let me see you come apart.”

It didn’t take long for her to give him what he wanted. She couldn’t have stopped it even if she wanted to. Her orgasm barreled through her like a freight train and all she could do was gasp through it and clutch at the man responsible like a lifeline. 

He was enraptured. 

Those violet eyes stared into hers with the kind of intensity that made her want to hide. She’d always thought the saying ‘stared into your soul’ was a silly exaggeration. But not now. Now she was sure that if anyone knew what her soul looked like, it was this man. 

She shuddered. Though, due to pleasure or terror, she couldn’t begin to guess. 

Large hands came up to cup her face sweetly even as she felt the obscene brush of his cock between them, that rigid, leaking, straining piece of himself that prodded her still pulsing and twitching cunt with an intensity that nearly frightened her. 

“Open for me my love.”

And, damn her, her body obeyed. Her flesh split open like ripened fruit and she felt the press of him into that deep, dark part of her. She felt…invaded. Conquered. Like her body was no longer her own. 

And she liked it.

A strange mix of guilt and desire flooded her veins. 

She…she wanted this. And she didn’t understand why. Didn’t she hate him? Wasn’t he the one who plucked her from her home and the only family she had left? Why was she enjoying this? Why did it feel so…good?

He grunted next to her ear, breath hot against her skin, fingers clutched too tight over her hips. There were going to be bruises. Visible reminders of his dominion over her that she’d be forced to see even when he was gone. 

Why did that thought excite her so much?

“Because you’re mine,” he groaned, breath strained and violet eyes fierce and hungry. “And your body knows it. That you’ve always been mine. That you always will be.”

And then he was driving into the heated split of her and all Feyre could do was gasp. There were no more words after that. Nothing but the frantic press and slide of bodies and the shuddering moans and groans that came with it. He kept hitting some place deep inside of her, the thumb on her clitoris unrelenting, and pleasure radiated off of her like a fever. 

Her body seized. 

He swore. 

All coherent thought melted out through her ears. Feyre felt resplendent. Divine. The best she’d felt in years. Possibly ever. 

“Yes!” The man hissed triumphantly, even as she felt something hot flood inside of her. 

Her limbs felt heavy in the aftermath. Eventually, he made to pull back and Feyre couldn’t help the cry of loss that left her lips. She couldn’t think logically anymore, brain addled by too many endorphins and sweet words. She wanted to dig her nails into his flesh and never let go. 

She need not have worried though, because the man only lifted her so he could resettle on the forgotten chair behind him, cradling her once again in his lap, cock still buried deep inside of her where it belonged. 

“Sweet thing,” he murmured tenderly as his fingers stroked her hair. “That’s all you needed. For someone to give you what you deserve. And I will. I’ll give you all of it.” 

Those words should’ve scared her. 

They didn’t at the time. 

But they would. 

-o0o-

The next several days were nothing short of debauchery. 

A strange sort of fever had set in. Like an itch she couldn’t scratch…but someone else could. And that someone else was more than happy to oblige her insatiable need. It seemed like every moment she wasn’t in her captor’s arms, she was thinking about him. His sensual mouth. His large hands. And, of course, his perfect cock. 

Especially his cock. 

It had become her new mission in life to see it stuffed inside of her as often as possible. At one point, he’d tried to get her to get up to eat something but she’d only snarled at him and rocked more forcefully, desperate to keep him inside of her as long as possible. 

Eventually though, he did finally manage to get her out of bed. Mostly by taking advantage of her exhaustion and carrying her to the dining room like a sleepy child. 

“You need to eat Darling,” he had told her gently as he sat down and settled her in his lap. 

Feyre only grumbled in response, mouthing at his neck, drunk on the taste of his skin. 

He shivered. 

“None of that now. You haven’t eaten in days and you won’t for a few more if you keep doing that.”

That seemed like a wonderful plan to her, but before she could properly lick under his ear she felt his presence invade her mind and ramp up the hunger pains she’d barely noticed until now. Suddenly, the spread of cheese and fruit and wine seemed much more appetizing. 

And so it went. 

The days blurred together. 

How long had she been here? A few days? A week? Two weeks? It was so hard to tell in her lust-drunk haze. All she knew was the taste of her captor’s skin and the feel of him between her legs. 

“Eventually you’ll have to start using my name.” He remarked to her once as they lazed about in a rare moment in-between fits of passion. 

Feyre stared at him, confused. 

“Your name?”

His lips quirked wryly. “You keep calling me ‘captor’ in your thoughts. And I can’t help but think my name would sound so much sweeter on your lips.”

“But…what else would I call you?”

“My name perhaps?”

She blinked. “I don’t know your name.”

He froze. 

Then, a look that could only be described as charmingly contrite crossed his perfect features. And then, amazingly, embarrassment. 

“Ah. Yes, I suppose I never got around to introducing myself now did I?”

Feyre wondered when exactly a kidnapper was supposed to introduce themselves during a kidnapping but she held her tongue. Not that it mattered. It wasn’t like he couldn’t hear every thought in her head anyway. 

“For what it’s worth, I am Rhysand. High Lord of the Night Court. Though you, my lovely creature, may call me Rhys.” 

He acted as if those words should’ve held some sort of weight or meaning for her but she just shrugged. 

“I’m Feyre,” she said simply. “But you already knew that didn’t you?”

Rhysand just grinned. 

And then that strange erotic frenzy began anew and there was no more talk. 

-o0o-

Eventually though, Rhysand had to leave and go…wherever high lords went when they weren’t fucking their human captives. 

And, as soon as he was gone, that hold on her mind loosened. 

Not gone. Never gone, but it was like a noose around her neck that suddenly slipped open just enough for her to suck in a deep gasping breath. 

A fog lifted. Clarity returned. And she remembered. 

Though perhaps ‘remembered’ wasn’t the right word. She’d always known she was his captive. He hadn’t taken that fact from her. He’d just made her…docile. Content with her lot. Ravenous for the heat of his skin and the sound of his voice. She’d been made to play his willing, insatiable little plaything. 

And she was livid. 

Fury pulsed through her like a heartbeat. But instead of making her want to smash something it centered her thoughts and narrowed her focus like a bloodhound scenting prey. 

He would be back. Of that she had no doubt. But, with any luck, she wouldn’t be here to greet him when he returned. 

And so, calmly, Feyre got up and set about looking for the exit once more. 

-o0o-

Failure tasted like sea salt and citrus. 

“Oh don’t be too disappointed my love,” Rhys consoled her that same night, licking into her mouth unrepentantly. “There’s always tomorrow.”

[bts-0t-7]

Slithered | JJK | Chapter 1

Pair: Mafia Jungkook x F Reader 

Summary: Jungkook was wandering the streets in the middle of the night and coincidentally passed the little flower shop you work at. Due to your odd working hours, you don’t have much socialising on a daily basis much less customers. So just imagine your shock when a handsome man, clad in all black, entered your shop in the ungodly hours of the night. Never would you have thought that the polar opposite of the worlds would collide and cause such a trouble. 

Genre: Fluff, mafia au, soft reader 

Chapter Warnings: mild violence, mildly creepy JK watching reader close up shop (if anybody does this irl, please smack the living shit out of them. Stay safe!), rape (I won’t go much into detail of this during the scene but it is implied. Do not be insensitive on this topic. For those who are sensitive on this, please do not continue reading)

A/N: Bold is for flashback.

WC: 2579

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Jungkook didn’t know how he ended up in an alley that sells flowers in the dead of the night and neither did he know why he was here. He was taking a stroll in, spending some time to himself when he smelt the citrus scents of the flowers, following them to where it currently led him. Most of the flower shops in this area are closed for the night or temporarily not receiving walk-in customers. 

However, there are some shops where they are open and busy. There may be no customers in the shop but orders seem to be piling on the desks where the arrangements are made. Jungkook spotted a swift-moving medium, constantly running from place to place in the shop. He stopped right outside it. The interior was made in a way where the arrangements of flowers made the whole shop seem like a home. 

A home full of plants.

But even from outside, Jungkook could clearly see the neat arrangements and lining of the labels. You, on the other hand, were running around the shop, trying to get the necessary flowers and stocks to make the last arrangement before the driver arrived and collected them. This project was big on money and your boss would be furious if you were to ‘fuck it up for him’.

Jungkook entered the shop, doorbell chiming as he pushed open the door. Your head whipped up from your working station, instantly greeting him at the front door. 

“Hello! Welcome to Fior Arrangements!” You chirped. It may be two in the morning but you worked the night shift while your other colleagues work the morning and evening shifts. Most of them did not want to work night shifts so you took on the initiative. 

Not that you minded. 

You never had much of a social life due to your personality and you had always been quite a night owl. Most of the time, there were fewer people at night, which means that packaging orders would be easier than in the daytime. 

“Hello.” The young man bowed. 

“What brings you here?” You asked, honestly curious as to why a man wearing a full suit with a coat over, would come in the middle of the night. Anybody could see that he was stocked.  His boots were, his hair slicked back, and the material of his clothes looked soft to the touch. “Any flowers in mind? 

He shook his head. 

“Well, every flower has a meaning.” You pointed to the labels on the walls. These are the names and meanings of the flowers. Feel free to look around and call me if you need help!” 

Jungkook nodded at you. 

As he walked around, reading the labels, he spied a few blurry-looking men walking into the shop. Instinctively, his hand shot to the gun hidden under the lapels of his jacket only for you to cheerily greet them. It shot a pang of jealousy through him.

Why was he jealous? He just met you!

Jungkook silently shook his head to clear his thoughts. With half his attention to his surroundings, he overheard the conversation between you and the men. You seemed to know them very well, conversations easily flowing between you. 

“Yep! There are more at the back. You know where that is.” You laughed and Jungkook’s heart felt like it stopped. And started. And stopped and started again. It was so pure and melodious that he would do anything to keep you laughing like that. 

“How are your kids, Peng?” 

“Not too bad. Just refusing to study as usual.” The guy in the black shirt and oversized jeans told you. 

“I mean… It’s kids these days. Plus, I’m sure when we were at their age we didn’t want to study either.” You snickered. 

Peng laughed. “True, true. Very true.”

The four men spotted Jungkook walking towards the cashier as you signed the papers and stamped them. Handing them the customer copy, you waved them goodbye and finally headed over to Jungkook. 

“Hiya, need help?”

Jungkook nodded. 

“Well, what is the occasion?” You asked. 

Jungkook didn’t come here for a specific reason. In fact, he didn’t even come up with a reason. So he just shrugged and answered, “Just wanted something calming in the house. It’s far too empty.”

That could by far be the worst lie he ever came up with. 

But all you did was nod and head over to the pails of flowers, picking up stock after stock. You then carefully cut off some of the stems and plucked some leaves, arranging them in a glass bottle. Your body covered most of the work at times and Jungkook stayed at where he stood. He didn’t want to spoil the surprise for himself. 

You didn’t take long, expert hands moving nimbly to arrange the flowers prettily. You turned over to him with the glass bottle in front of you, walking over to give it to him. 

“How’s it?” Jungkook could see that you were nervous. The little ticks of indication like the furrows of your brows and wringing of your fingers behind your back. 

“Do you always do this for customers?” Jungkook gently smelt the flowers. Lavender was the most prominent scent. 

His favourite and you didn’t even need to ask. The scents weren’t strong and it did was already doing wonders to calm him. 

You looked back at him, humming and shaking your head. “Just you and a few other more privileged customers. Seems like you’re one of them on the list now.”

Your eyes sparkled as you turned to him. Perhaps you knew the brands he wore or perhaps you guessed that he was more than rich. But as he brought out his card to pay, you declined him. 

“No need. You looked like you needed this. So it’s on the house.” Your smile was blinding and at that moment, Jungkook knew that he would have you even if it took years and years. He would protect you. 

You were closing up that day. Usually, the shop is 24 hours and the next colleague of yours who would be doing the morning shift would be the one to clean up the place. However, it was a public holiday and the flower shop was closed. Your boss had given all employees two days’ break so after your shift, you had to tidy up and ensure that all the flowers are placed in their exact locations a the back of the store so that they do not wilt by the time the shop re-opens. 

Honestly, you couldn’t be happier. While your job was fairly simple and relaxed, going without a day’s break even on the weekends can truly drain your energy. You don’t have much time to yourself and it can affect you when you are overloaded with your senses. 

Turning off the lights, you shut the door and lock it, the door code being with an indication that it has been locked. Scanning your surroundings and patting yourself down, you hummed, glad that you did not forget anything. 

As you started to walk back home, you felt an eerie feeling in your gut. One that warns you that something is most certainly not right. The hair on your neck started to stand as you got goosebumps, making a sharp 180-degree turn to walk back to the store. You were instinctively aware that there were more than three pairs of footsteps following you. And every time you sped up or slowed down, they would keep the same pace.

So you did the next best thing your overdriven brain thought. 

You ran. 

Jungkook was driving his car up the little hill to visit the flower store. He wasn’t sure if you were still on shift then. He knew from silently watching you the past few days that your shift ends at five in the morning. And currently, the time was 5.30 am. 

The road got too narrow for Jungkook to continue driving up so he threw his car into parking mode and left. 

He was only going to take a while. 

But as he got out of the car, he sensed that something was wrong. The air did not feel right and as much as he wished that his sensitivity would not follow him when he was off work, life has its way of throwing stones at him. 

A shrill scream broke him out of his trance. If it was anybody else’s scream he probably would have just continued with his plans and walked up the the store. But he recognised the voice - the sound. 

Yours. 

Your scream - filled with terror and pain. 

Without thinking, Jungkook ran towards the approximated direction where he had heard you. Your second scream for help was abruptly cut off making him pump his legs and arms faster. He didn’t want to think of all the horrid things that you might be going through right now. He needed to get to you. 

Jungkook came to a stop the moment he saw you, held by your throat, against the wall. Your hair and clothes were in a mess, eyes bloodshot, and valuables strewn everywhere. But the most avergrating thing was the six males standing there, choking you as tears streamed down your cheeks, laughing. 

Blood rushed to his head. 

How dare they. 

How dare they touch you. 

Jungkook didn’t care for consequences as he pounced on the men. 

You tried to run but they were too fast and too silent for you. You were pinned against the wall and stripped down against your own will. 

“Now pretty lady, how about I do the talking and you do the answering?” 

You didn’t want to but all you could do was struggle and struggle as they manhandled your body, stripping you bare of your own dignity. You cried and struggled as they took their turns, your body betraying you.

“Hey now, why are you crying, pretty?” They laughed, gagging you. “You’re enjoying it, see?”

Tears streamed down your face. You weren’t. You weren’t. 

And yet, you knew that nobody was going to come help you. To come stop these men from doing more than they already did. You were so close - so close - to resigning to your fate when you were suddenly dropped to the ground. 

Too tired to keep your eyes fully open, you watched through hooded lids as a mass of black pounded onto the males. You should’ve been scared - you should’ve cowered back, pleading with him to not come for you as well - but you didn’t. 

Especially as that mass of black picked you up into his arms, snarling and hissing words that seemed incoherent to you, you felt safe. Perhaps it was the adrenaline doing the job but you curled yourself deeper into him. His hands were gentle, unlike the ones that handled you earlier. These hands were calloused - probably seeing worse days as they skimmed over your naked body - but they were respectful. They did not venture where the rest did and you found yourself wrapped up in a jacket before being lifted up once again. 

Unable to keep your eyes open any longer, your head rolled to the side as you blacked out. 

Jungkook has seen many things in his short life. Twenty-six years and he has seen death one too many times.  But nothing has scared him more than seeing you black out and going limp in his arms. Pressing two fingers on your neck, Jungkook confirmed that you were still breathing. In shock you most certainly were but now Jungkook needed to bring you home and he did not know your address. So the next best thing was to bring you to his home. 

As Jungkook’s black Mercedes Benz GT63S pulled up to the front lawn, he hurried out, passing the car keys to the butler and carrying you into the house. 

In the midst of the whole case, it completely slipped his mind to inform his family that he was bringing somebody home. All he had done was hurriedly call the group’s private doctor, not caring what the guy was up to. 

“Kook, what the hell! You can’t just bring a random person home like this!”

“Oh shit -”

“Fuck that girl is naked!”

“Jeon Jungkook, what the shit is wrong with you?”

“Did you fuck a girl out?”

“JUNGKOOK!”

Jungkook couldn’t be bothered. He’ll explain later. Right now, he needed the doctor to check you over and ensure that other than the physical and psychological trauma you’re going to have once you wake up, you were fine otherwise. 

“A little bit of a bump on the back of her head, scratch marks and bruises. That’s about all.” The doctor placed some pills on Jungkook’s bedside table. “I suggest you give these to her, twice a day after meals. Antibiotics. You can give her paracetamol if needed. Ensure that she is kept hydrated.”

Jungkook thanked the doctor and leaned over to cover you with the sheets when the doctor stopped him. “It would be best to clean her up first.”

With that, the doctor left, leaving the six men standing at the threshold of his bedroom door. They watched as he got a few clothes, cleaning you up, making sure to use soft cloths so that you would not wake from the oversensitivity. Only after Jungkook deemed you clean enough did he take out his silk pyjamas and tug them over you. 

The boys had silently excused themselves, only leaving Jimin as he helped Jungkook dress and tuck you into bed. Closing the curtains, he turned off the lights, leaving the moonlight on so that the room would not be encased in total darkness with the possibility of scaring you if you woke up without him there. 

Jungkook knew that the topic at hand would not be easy to talk about and he most certainly knows that he was in the wrong as well. Well, a little bit in the wrong. 

He would never apologise for bringing a person in need home, much less you. So as Jimin and he entered the living room, the boys were all seated, faces holding stoic glares. 

“Jungkook -” Hobi hyung started. 

“She works at the flower shop. She was the one I told you about - the reason why my room has a glass of flowers.”

“Still, you cannot just bang her up and -”

“She was raped.”

The silence in the room was pregnant and suddenly everybody’s breathing sounded too loud. 

“I parked the car in the middle of the hill as it was getting too narrow for me to pass through. I couldn’t get there fast enough. By the time I reached, she was already taken.” Jungkook harshly rubbed his face with his hands. He wished that he could’ve been there earlier - faster. If only work hadn’t kept him up, the whole situation wouldn’t even have happened. 

A soft hand landed on his shoulder, patting him gently. “Don’t beat yourself over it, Kook. It was good that you made it there.”

“But I couldn’t stop her from -” His throat choked up. He just couldn’t bring himself to finish the sentence. 

“Some things are inevitable.” He looked up from his crouched position to look at Namjoon Hyung. “What matters is that you got there.”

Jungkook nodded. 

“I think today was more than enough of a fulfilling night. Let’s go to bed.” Seokjin Hyung called out and grunts of agreement were heard as everybody got to their feet. 

[hailqiqi]

these secrets beneath your fingertips

I'm going to (eventually) post all of my fics over here on tumblr, so here's the next one! Content warning for non-graphic L&O SVU style content in the first part. This fic was originally supposed to be crack. I'm not sorry.

Characters: Lucy, Skull, Sir Rupert Gale, Lockwood.

Words: 6,207

Read in full below or on AO3 here.

>>>>>>>>>⚔︎

Three in the morning was a good time to be out if you didn't want to be seen. It was still dark for a few hours yet, so most of the country was asleep indoors safe behind their ghost wards and lavender smoke. It being the end of the night, most agents were safe at home, too — maybe clean and in pyjamas, or maybe conked out on top of their quilts, still covered in grave dirt and magnesium ash and the other detritus of the profession (as I’d been known to do on particularly hard nights).

The only people on the roads were night cab drivers, DEPRAC workers, and the Night Watch — but few and far between, and all at the ends of their shifts. I’d only seen a single car on the short walk from Marylebone, and it hadn’t seen me. That suited me fine.

Now I crouched outside the front door of a semi-detached townhouse in St James’s. The windows were dark, as they should have been at that hour. The front garden was lovely and well-tended, with luscious fronds and rows of short palm trees celebrating the last vestiges of summer, and offering almost complete privacy from the road. My rucksack — with the ghost jar — was upon my back, my rapier hung at my hip, and my belt was well stocked, though I’d swapped most of the salt bombs for extra flares. I was after human prey tonight.

‘Since you’re picking locks like a cracksman, I assume this isn’t a social call.’

I hushed the skull quietly and turned my wrist a fraction, intent on hearing the tiny ‘click’ as the bolt slid into place. Two more seconds and the lock came free. I caught the door before it could open all the way, but paused.

‘There’s still time to turn back, you know. You haven’t told me what you’re up to but I know it’s a terrible idea.’

He had a point. I thought of the fight on the bridge, when swords had been drawn so quickly I hadn’t seen it happen. Twice Sir Rupert had challenged Lockwood, and twice Lockwood had been hard-pressed to fight him off. And I’d never beaten Lockwood in a proper spar yet, despite my suspicion that he was still going easy on me. I was definitely outmatched here.

But then I thought of George lying in Lockwood’s bed, so small and weak and broken and everything George wasn’t. I slipped inside the house.

The door closed silently behind me, and I took a moment to let my eyes adjust to the darkness. To my left and right were doors; presumably leading to the sitting and dining rooms. Ahead of me was a dark flight of stairs leading to the first floor, and a dim hall that probably led to a kitchen at the back of the house. The decor was surprisingly tasteful, given Sir Rupert’s garish fashion choices, though I couldn’t make out the colours in the dark. The walls were mostly bare save for some classical artwork, and the carpeting and furnishings in the hall both had a luxurious, moneyed look about them. At a glance, it all looked like the type of aesthetic Lockwood would pretend to like.

Out of habit, I closed my eyes and opened my inner ears to Listen. The streets outside were quiet, the area was well-defended, and the house itself had the usual iron and silver ghost charms (along with a costly runnel outside) so I expected it to be quiet. It was. I moved on.

The skull was quiet as I did a quick sweep of the ground floor — the kitchen was a modern, airy room that ran along the back width of the house, with floor to ceiling windows and doors leading straight out into the back garden that made it feel more like a conservatory. An open doorway led back towards a room of thick carpets and white chesterfields, and a matching doorway at the opposite end of the wall led to what appeared to be a library. Another door was set in the side wall close to the library which presumably led to a cellar of some sort.

I’d already decided not to open any unnecessary doors — silence was the name of the game here — but the cellar door gave me pause. The door was wooden, painted white to match the wall, but decorated with silver tracework that ran in thin curves to cover the entire length and width of the door. The handle was small and unobtrusive, but undeniably silver. 

‘Do you feel that, Lucy?’

I stood before it and Listened, one hand on the wood; the only sounds I couldhear were the ticking of the clock on the wall, almost echoing in the quiet, and my own soft, even breathing. Still, the skull was right — there, underneath the darkness, hushed by the expensive carpets, was some sort of disturbance. It was muffled and restrained to the point where I couldn’t tell you anything about it. It didn’t have a discernible sound, there wasn’t an underlying current of distress or fear or anger like many psychic disturbances emanated. All I could recognise was a feeling of wrongness, and it wasn’t malaise.

Two nights ago — or was it three nights ago? I couldn’t remember at this point — Sir Rupert had quite clearly Seen the Clapham Butcher Boy in the pillar at Fittes House. Something told me that, despite the defences, he didn’t fear Visitors as much as most adults. Anything could be behind that door.

Carefully, I re-checked all the pockets on my work belt. Then I stepped away and padded back towards the stairs, keeping my footsteps as silent as I could.

‘Not going to check, Lucy? How very sensible…and un-like you.’

I couldn’t answer, but it didn’t matter. The skull was still acting much more subdued than its usual abrasive self; likely it had realised how tenuous the grip on my sanity was these few days and had wisely opted to cut the snark out of self-preservation. It certainly hadn’t offered any sympathy for George’s condition — but it had made an effort not to twist the knife, and for that I was somewhat grateful. Still, I couldn’t really tell you why I’d brought it with me tonight. Perhaps I just wanted the company.

Boots weren’t the best choice of footwear for this kind of job, but thankfully rich people loved their peace and quiet. The carpet absorbed most of the sound as I crept up the stairs towards the first floor.

The same hushed stillness permeated the first floor landing. Artwork hung on the walls, dimly lit by the moonlight filtering in from the window at one end. To my right, a staircase led to an upper level — likely guest rooms, or rooms that used to serve as servants’ quarters. Only three doors led off this landing, and it was anybody’s guess as to which one I wanted.

Maybe the skull could help. I jostled my rucksack quietly, hoping it would offer some insight. Luckily, it caught on quickly.

‘You’re not alone up here,’ it said, its voice pressing against my mind. ‘I don’t think I want to know what you’re actually planning, but stay quiet.’

I risked a whisper. ‘Is anyone awake?’

A pause, and then: ‘I don’t know. Tread carefully.’

Not very helpful, then.

One out of three, pick a door. It was a game agents often played in the dead of night, one we dreaded. It was a game that was always worse to play alone, of course, but at least I’d grown used to that the year before. I crept towards the door closest to the window and eased it open.

For a moment, I thought I’d found another library, this one more modern in décor and lit by coloured string lights, like my attic was now (George had once called it ‘basic teenage girl lighting’ and I’d immediately stormed out to buy another string). But then my eyes adjusted to the strange light in the room and I began to make out the details.

Thick, dark curtains covered two large windows, blocking out the light from the street and the ghost-lamp outside; the room itself was mostly open space, furnished with a few trophy cabinets and display cases, and the walls were covered in frames clustered around individual wall-mounted boxes. It was a trophy room, like we had back in the basement at home. I turned to leave, then paused.

It was a little too like the trophy room at home, actually. The pale blues, yellows, and lilacs were eerily familiar, as were the shifting glows cast as they shimmered across the floor in swirling ripples. Too familiar.

I walked softly towards the nearest light source, my mission momentarily forgotten. The pale blue light was contained within a small wall-mounted display case, a silver-glass box stuck to the wall at around waist-height. Inside the case was a severed finger, still wearing a ring — and, of course, a ghost.

As an experienced agent, these things shouldn’t affect me anymore. I’d seen worse — just five months prior I’d walked in another world of glittering frost and starless skies, a place where the only living beings were myself and Lockwood beside me. But sometimes the shock still gets to you, even when you were expecting it.

This one wall held at least five similar display cases interspersed between ordinary picture frames, all containing Sources glowing various colours. I counted seven on the long wall — the one with no windows or doors. The other two walls, with their large windows, held only one or two each, and each display cabinet held at least three Sources, scattered amidst dark frames and boxes. Gaping at the sheer scale of it, I shrugged my rucksack onto one shoulder and loosened the top so that the ghost in the jar could see out. 

‘Oh, so now you want my— that’s…unexpected.’ The ghost inside swirled with a green light as the face spun, taking in the vast array of Sources on display. ‘Lucy… Where are we?’

‘Sir Rupert Gale’s house,’ I muttered, transfixed.

‘Marissa’s bodyguard? The bully with the bum-fluff moustache and terrible fashion sense?’

I nodded. Maybe he’d been an agent before, back in the day. Maybe, like Lockwood, he collected trophies from successful cases. He was admittedly an excellent swordsman; likely he’d had a great deal of those. And, I supposed, like many adults past their prime he longed for his glory days — the days before his Talent deserted him, the days when he was still useful in the fight against the Problem — and with all the money at his disposal, he’d decided to create a display room to help him remember.

But Sir Rupert’s glory days weren’t behind him yet — he still had excellent Sight, if the other evening was anything to go by, and it was hard for me to think he might be trying to fight against the Problem, when he seemed so devoted to the person we suspected of causing it. No, whatever this was, it was something else.

With a glance at the open door, I took my torch from my belt, set the light to low and flicked it on.

I expected the frame directly next to the box containing the finger to contain a newspaper cutting or perhaps some information on the Source itself. Instead, it contained a photograph: a simple picture of a slim boy about my age, dressed in an old-fashioned agency uniform and holding a rapier. He was smiling at the camera, all confidence and easy charm.

The next frame contained a newspaper cutting featuring an article about a successful case from the 80s, the sealing of a Dark Spectre that had caused several deaths by a team from the newly-established Sebright Agency. The boy in the first photograph was part of the team, again pictured holding his rapier. His name was James Hynes and he was 16 years old.

Above the article was another photograph of the same James, this time crossing the road with a smaller boy. He seemed unaware of the camera in that one. Next to that one, closer to the case, yet another photograph, this one taken in a shop. Then another of him on a street I didn’t recognise, leaving a building with the DEPRAC logo hanging above the door. There were a few more shots, all clustered to the right of the Source in a haphazard semi-circle — all candid shots where he was seemingly unaware of the camera.

I followed the images round, slowly moving my light up and around, to the frame hanging above the case. This time James was looking at the camera, but that charming smile was nowhere to be seen. His hands were bound behind his back, a gag was around his mouth, and his naked body was bruised and bleeding. He looked terrified.

Heart in my throat, my eyes roved frantically roving over the next few photographs. Clustered around the other half of the case were similar pictures of James naked, beaten, and terrified, his body growing more and more broken as the photographs went on. I didn’t get very far along that terrible journey — three or four more photographs, and then I looked away. I didn’t need to see how it had ended.

Perhaps in response to my turbulent emotions, the blue glow from the Source in front of me brightened, James’ ghost shifting restlessly, swirling and ebbing with new urgency as it tried to escape the confines of the silver-glass. Taking a calming breath, I reached out with my senses, trying to establish some kind of connection, but could only pick up the barest whispers of anger and frustration through the glass. Opening my mind further, I concentrated, trying to pick up a sense of the other Visitors in the room.

The feelings were muffled, but they were there: anger, sadness, and an almost overwhelming sense of frustrated helplessness. And so many of them. The sheer scale of it made my breath catch; for a moment, I was back under Aickmere’s, with the ghosts of those who’d been left to die, forgotten and abandoned until I’d found them — and then they’d been unceremoniously dumped in the fires at Clerkenwell, removed from this world without a shred of justice. Maybe I could do better here.

Determined, I stepped away from James’ display and moved further into the room, towards the next. Before I could take a proper look, however, the skull spoke.

‘Lucy…I think you should leave.’  

I paused, my hand on the hilt of my rapier. ‘Why? Is he coming?’

‘No,’ it replied slowly, as though carefully weighing each word. ‘But I’ve…known people like this before. You don’t want to be at their mercy. They don’t have any.’

I checked my watch; it was half past three. I still had at least two hours before dawn, and likely more than that before Sir Rupert would wake up. I could afford to spend a few moments learning their stories, and I told the skull as much. It grumbled, clearly displeased, but by now it knew me well enough to know when I wouldn’t be dissuaded.

The next case held a human ear and a swirl of lilac plasm. The photographs to the right — all seemingly candid — showed a tall slim boy; the ones to the left showed the same boy, bound and gagged in what appeared to be the same windowless room that James had been in. I didn’t look too hard at those ones. A newspaper article on his disappearance named him Harry Newman, a 15-year-old agent who had worked at Grimble’s in the 90s.

I moved on. The next set of photographs showed an unnamed smiling boy with dark hair and a slender build, dressed in a Rotwell’s uniform. His Source was a rumpled and bloody prayer booklet. Another case contained a ring, like the one Lockwood wore, belonging to a dark-haired 17-year-old called Denis Butler who’d worked for Tendy’s just before I was born. Next to Denis rested Reginald Spencer, a tall 16-year-old Fittes agent in the 70s who was now a Dark Spectre tied to a mummified hand. I kept going.

Josh Murphy, 18, tall, dark-haired, cocky smile. Went missing ten years ago and now resided in what looked like his kneecap. Noel Hart, fifteen with a floof of curly dark hair, was an agent at Sinclair and Soanes eight years prior, now tied to a broken rapier hilt. Smiling Louis Burton, 17, a team leader at Mellingcamp in the 80s before being reduced to yellow light and a couple of teeth.

On and on it went, boy after boy after boy. My head was spinning, but somehow I managed to keep it together as I swiftly worked my way through the room. The last one made the bile rise in my throat: Lachlan Thomson, a tall, friendly Scottish Listener from Staines that I’d worked with over the Black Winter. One of the astonishingly few agents I’d enjoyed working with during those cold, dark nights, I’d been upset to hear of his disappearance five months back. I stared at the shifting maroon hues of his ghost with sorrow, remembering how he’d put himself between me and the Spitalfields Horror with zero hesitation, holding the Changer back while I broke free of the ghost-lock and gathered my wits. He’d been brave, and kind, and competent (which was shockingly rare), and he’d talked me into meeting him for coffee as thanks for a job well done. I’d had hopes that I’d made my first new friend as a freelance agent, but we’d never found the time to meet up.

‘Lucy! Lucy, look at this!’

The urgency in the skull’s voice pulled me from my reverie, and I glanced quickly at the door, hand on my rapier. The landing was quiet.

The case next to Lachlan’s was dark — I’d initially suspected another Dark Spectre, but a brief inspection showed it to be empty. There were, however, photographs, and the first one stole my breath in an instant.

It was Lockwood. I knew the photograph well, as it was one of my favourite images of him in our album back home: a mid-air shot of him leaping between two floats at the doomed ‘Take Back the Night’ Carnival last year, sword in hand, coat billowing behind him, the thrill of the chase clear on his face. George had cut it out of the Times and pasted it on the inside cover of our album.

But this wasn’t our album, and it wasn’t our cut-out. And it shouldn’t be here. In a panic, I checked the case, but of course it was empty; Lockwood was safe at home, hopefully still asleep on the library sofa. The frame hanging above the case — the one that would show the initial stages of the torture — was empty too. I stared at it, breathing hard. It seemed to me as though it were waiting.

‘Lucy, isn’t that you?’

Wrenching myself away from the empty frame, I shone my torch on the other frames to the right. It was a collection of candid photographs — Lockwood at Arif’s, Lockwood and Holly outside The Times offices in town, Lockwood sweeping the steps at home, Lockwood at Satchell’s. And there, as the skull had said, a picture of Lockwood and myself, though my back was to the camera. We were standing by the penguin enclosure at London Zoo, on a day last summer after the business with the Bone Glass — I’d mentioned that I’d never been to a zoo before, and Lockwood had managed to scrounge up a pair of tickets a week or so later, so we’d gone. It had been odd, walking around with Lockwood in the daylight without the excuse of work to distract us, but pleasant, too, in ways I wouldn’t have wanted to admit to anybody else.

He’d bought a flower from a passing vendor and presented it to me, and the photographer had captured the moment he’d tucked it behind my ear. It had been a sweet, unexpected gesture, a private moment between friends that cemented our closeness…but now it was here, hanging on the wall in a serial killer’s house.

I was horrified. ‘He’s been following him for over a year…’

‘Yes, well, he has proven rather difficult to pin down.’

The skull at my back let out a litany of profanity and I whirled around, drawing my sword in one fluid motion and dropping into a defensive stance. Sir Rupert Gale leant against the doorframe, sword held casually at his side, dressed in garish purple silk pyjamas that reflected the shimmering lights of the Sources in the room. For once, his arrival wasn’t heralded by a cloud of aftershave — I suppose that was his one concession to the late hour — and the smile he bestowed upon me was polite and genial, his eyes glittering with a benign amusement like a jolly old grandfather at a family dinner who had caught the children hiding their vegetables. He terrified me.

‘I rarely have guests, Miss Carlyle,’ he said, pushing away from the doorway and slowly moving into the room. I took a step back and strengthened my stance. ‘And when I do receive visitors, they tend to stay downstairs.’ His smile grew. ‘Only very special visitors get to lay eyes on this room, and unfortunately you don’t meet the qualifications yet.’

‘You mean I’m not dead,’ I spat, my heart pounding. I kept my eyes on his hips — after the chase at the carnival he’d attacked so fast I hadn’t even seen him move.

‘Lucy!’

He paused by one of the display cases in the middle of the room and raised a hand, as though to greet the Visitors on the shelves within. For a moment, his face took on a curious expression, something blank and almost gentle. An instant and then it was gone, his posture taking on a predatory air as he turned to me again. ‘I rather think, Miss Carlyle, that they failed to teach you proper manners in that hovel you hail from. I can fix that, if you accompany me to the cellar.’

I’d seen enough photographs of the cellar to know what that meant. My lip curled. ‘Fuck you.’

‘Are you sure? I’m a rather good teacher.’ He tapped lightly on one of the wall-mounted display cases as he prowled closer. ‘This young man was rather polite by the time I was finished with him. Used all his P’s and Q’s perfectly.’

‘And look at where that got him,’ the skull interjected. ‘Lucy, you have to get out of here.’

‘I know,’ I answered, gritting my teeth.

The problem was, there was nowhere to go. We were trapped in this strange dance, him slowly prowling closer, me slowly edging backwards, trying to keep up the niceties when in reality we were circling each other like two tigers waiting to strike. Only I didn’t feel like a tiger. I felt like the prey.

I’d never been foolish enough to believe I could beat him in a fair fight; the plan had been to slit his throat while he slept. But it seemed that, in all my hurt and fury, I’d forgotten something: I was an agent, not a killer. God, why hadn’t I listened to Lockwood? He’d said he had a plan. For once, couldn’t I have just listened? 

Sir Rupert moved closer, regarding me appraisingly. ‘While it’s unfortunate that you’re nothing like my usual preference, I suspect I’m going to rather enjoy your extended stay.’ His smile was all teeth, like a shark. ‘At the very least, you’ll make excellent bait.’

A wave of fury rushed through me. ‘Never!’

‘I think you’ll find you don’t have much say in the matter,’ he said calmly, and in the same breath he lunged.

I parried the blow, barely dancing away from his follow-up in time to avoid having my thighs sliced open. He pressed the attack, and even as I tried to counter he caught my rapier with his own and tried to push it to one side. I only just managed to disengage before he twisted his wrist, scarcely avoiding the attempted disarm.

‘Lucy, let me out!’

‘How?!’ I cried, whirling out of the way of another swipe and letting the momentum carry me, futilely trying to put more distance between us. Even if I’d wanted to, I didn’t have the hands to do it; Sir Rupert was relentless.

Yellow light flared at my elbow and on impulse I feinted high, then used the split second of time that bought me to fling myself to the side and smash the hilt of my sword down hard on the display case. At once I was engulfed by a wave of fury, a desperate need for freedom and revenge that was abruptly cut off as Sir Rupert dispatched the Visitor with a swipe of his sword.

But the distraction had already served its purpose and before he could turn on me again I threw a flare at the display cabinet behind him. In an instant, it all changed: glass shattered, bright light burst against my tightly-closed eyelids, and a freezing cold wave of psychic energy slammed me back against the wall. My inner senses were immediately bombarded with a cacophony of sound and I winced, blinking away the last of the flare-light to see three or four Visitors converge on Sir Rupert.

He burst into movement with a roar of fury, his blade flashing as he whirled to defend against the advancing ghosts. Two were already rematerializing as I scrambled upright.

‘Oh, you’ll let them out, but not me,’ the skull groused.

‘Shut up,’ I answered, ripping another flare from my belt and lobbing it at where two cabinets stood close together. ‘You’re not as accessible.’

‘I’m also less likely to turn on you.’

‘Or more likely, depending on your mood.’

I braced myself and covered my face as the second flare exploded and more glass flew. Sir Rupert was — in a feat of particularly impressive rapier work — somehow holding his own, though I doubted it would last as the numbers grew. The most important thing was that he was no longer after me.

The ghosts weren’t after me, either. The first ghost I’d freed had rematerialised less than a foot away and completely ignored me, instead moving towards where a wild-eyed Sir Rupert fought for his life with a single-mindedness reminiscent of George with a new book. I moved along the wall towards the door, smashing cases as I went for good measure.

‘Are you going to let them all out? What’s the plan for when they’re done with their revenge?’

‘No idea,’ I huffed, ducking as the Dark Spectre floated to hang overhead. ‘He’s making a good go of it, hopefully I'll be out by then.’

The skull grumbled a response, something about a lack of planning. Part of me wanted to point out that I had no other choice, but as usual: it had a point. Annie Ward had moved on once she’d exacted her revenge on her killer, but there was no guarantee these spirits would. And there were so many of them — Spectres, Wraiths, a Raw-Bones, plus a few Type Ones. Leaving would be the smart option.

But I had one thing I wanted to do first. I spun around, carefully avoiding a Shade hanging at the edges of the fray as I cut the corner and flung myself at Lachlan’s display case, driving the hilt of my sword into it with my full body weight. The maroon glow flared brightly then disappeared, reforming right where I’d stood a moment before into the shape of a boy. His naked torso was covered in bloody gashes and bruises, the skin hanging off in places, the bones twisted and broken. I blinked back a tear.

The Wraith regarded me silently, and I held its gaze, my breath fogging in the frigid air.  There was no trace of Lachlan’s confident smile on its visage, only a deep, hollow exhaustion. Then Sir Rupert screamed, and it turned and glided away towards the centre of the room.

I didn’t see him hit the ground but I felt it all the same when he lost the fight; the energy in the room suddenly shifted, expanding as the frenzied, focused rage lost some of its strength. Whether he was dead yet or not didn’t really matter; he would be soon.

‘Time to go, Lucy.’

‘I know.’ I stopped in front of the empty case beside Lachlan’s and snatched the photo from the zoo off the wall.  Then I got the hell out.

⚔⚔⚔

The dawn chorus was in full swing when I slipped into the front hall at home. Quietly, very quietly, I placed my rapier in the umbrella stand, removed my boots, then tiptoed towards the library where Lockwood slept.

He’d shut the door.

‘You’d think he’d at least leave it open so you could watch him sleep.’ The skull sighed dramatically. ‘How short-sighted of him to deny you one of the few simple pleasures in your miserable existence.’

I scoffed and turned for the stairs. It was past four-thirty in the morning; I didn’t need to see him to know that Lockwood was fast asleep on the sofa, long legs slung over one end. George’s harsh breathing was audible on the landing, so I knew he was safe too. All was well.

Still, twenty minutes later I stood outside the library door, my hair damp from the shower. The skull’s derisive laughter echoed in my ears. It was irrational, and it was stupid, but…I just needed to be sure. I couldn’t rest until I’d checked.

The door opened with a soft creak and my entire being sagged with relief: there lay Lockwood, one arm thrown up above his head, his too-long legs hanging off the opposite end of the sofa, the spare blanket he’d taken from my room cutting out at his shins. I drank him in for a moment, studying the way his fringe flopped over his brow and the way his expression was relaxed and serene. Tomorrow he’d be a force of nature, a tornado of sharp focus and purpose as he rallied the troops for the next great challenge. Right now, he was just a boy.

The clock in the hallway chimed five, and he stirred.

‘Luce?’

‘Go back to sleep, Lockwood,’ I said gently. ‘I’m sorry for waking you up.’

‘S’okay,’ he mumbled, blearily rubbing his eyes. ‘Did you have a nightmare?’

I thought of the photographs covering the walls, of breaking glass and the smell of magnesium smoke. I thought of Sir Rupert’s shark-like smile as he moved towards me and found I couldn’t quite dismiss it. ‘Something like that.’

‘C’mere then,’ he said, shifting and lifting the blanket with a yawn. ‘There’s room for two if we squish.’

On any other night, I would have declined. I’m sure my face would have turned scarlet at the offer alone — surely only made because he was half-asleep — and I would have insisted that I was fine, that all I needed was a bit of warm milk and a book and then I’d be out like a light, all by myself. But tonight? Tonight I was haunted by images of an unaware Lockwood on the street, by wide, terrified eyes and horror and gore and cruelty too great to name. Tonight I had no strength to resist.

I crawled under the cover and he shifted to accommodate me, arms coming around to press me to his bare chest and keep me from falling off. Our legs tangled together, and I pulled the blanket up to my shoulders before wrapping my free arm around his back. Somewhere, at the back of my mind, time dipped and whirred; the clock on the bookshelf ticked softly, but my world was spinning with the way my face fit perfectly in the hollow of his throat, the way his breath tickled my ear, the way his hand felt so warm on the skin of my back where he’d slipped it underneath my top. We’d never been so close before, not even when we’d sheltered under the same spirit cape. And the circumstances had been quite different.

Eventually, though, I relaxed, the tension gradually drawn out of me like a slow sigh by the warmth of his body, his steady heartbeat, and the rise and fall of his chest. This was new, but this was Lockwood. I’d wanted to reassure myself he was alive, and really: how much more alive could he get? Neither of us had spoken since I’d lain down with him, but I could feel the lines of his muscles relaxing as I melted into his embrace.

‘Do you want to talk about it?’ The question was soft, murmured into my hair. I shook my head. ‘Okay then,’ he whispered. ‘Go to sleep, Lucy.’ His hand brushed a strand of hair behind my ear, and the gesture sparked a memory.

‘Lockwood?’

‘Mm?’

‘Do you remember that day we went to the zoo?’

‘Yes?’

If I hadn’t been safely ensconced in his warmth, my face hidden in his neck, I would never have asked. But it turns out certain things are easier to voice when you’re snuggled up in the dark, and the way he’d looked at me in that photo…it was making me connect all kinds of dots. I needed to know, so I asked.

‘Was that a date?’

‘...Yes?’ His voice was laced with sleepy confusion, but the answer still made my heart skip a beat. ‘Wait, Lucy, did you not know that was a date?’

He tried to shift away, probably to get a look at my face, but I stubbornly pressed closer and shook my head.

‘Lucy, I gave you a flower!’

‘I thought it was just…you know, a flower,’ I said, my voice a strangled whisper. ‘You never said—’

‘I’m quite sure I did,’ he replied, his tone incredulous. ‘Even George knew.’

‘Oh.’ That explained why George had given me such an odd look when I’d invited him to join.

‘Did you really not know?’

‘I really didn’t know,’ I said, shaking my head again. My cheeks were burning, and I was very glad for the darkness. ‘Um…Do you think, maybe, when all this is over, we can go on a second date?’

Lockwood was silent for a moment, then his chest began to rumble with laughter. ‘Lucy,’ he began, ‘what did you think that day at the fair was?’

‘Oh!’

‘Oh,’ he agreed, burying his face in my hair as he laughed softly. ‘Oh my god, Luce. This explains so much.’

I was starting to laugh now, too, embarrassed though I was. ‘Like what?’

‘Like why you were always so hot and cold. One day I’d feel like we were doing great, and the next day I’d be wondering where I stood with you.’

‘Oh my god. Wait, so how long were we dating for?’

His arm around me tightened. ‘Well, you broke up with me when you left—’

‘I wouldn’t have if I’d known!’

 ‘—but if we ignore that, about a year?’

‘Wait, really?’ I finally pulled back so I could look at him. He looked as exhausted as I remembered from earlier — his smooth face lined and weary, the bags under his eyes prominent even in the dim dawn — but his eyes glittered with amusement. ‘Did you think we were dating now, too?’

‘Didn’t we just go out for lunch last month?’

���That was a date?’

‘Lucy.’ He threaded a hand through my hair, drawing me closer. ‘It was a fancy restaurant. You wore a dress. Remember?’

His breath ghosted across my lips, and my laughter died away as we gazed at each other. Dark hair fell across his eyes, that floof I always wanted to reach out and push back, and I suddenly realised that he definitely wouldn’t mind if I did.

His hair was soft and silky beneath my fingertips. ‘Have there been others?’ I whispered, searching his gaze. ‘Since I came back, I mean.’

‘A few,’ he breathed, gently touching his nose to mine. ‘How did you not know?’

‘You never kissed me.’

His eyes darkened. ‘I could fix that.’

‘Please do,’ I replied.

His lips met mine — soft, gentle, tentative — just for a moment, and then he pulled back. I closed the distance for a second one, laughing as our noses bumped, pulling back just as quickly. But we were fast learners, Lockwood and I, and years of living and working together had us pretty in sync; it didn’t take long to find our bearings, to figure out how to melt against each other as what had always been between us deepened into something slow and warm and perfect.

Outside the window the first rays of sunlight spilled across the street, chasing away the last remnants of the night; here, inside, I held my own piece of sunlight safe in my arms, and let his warmth melt away the remnants of mine. Later, I’d have to tell him what I’d done, but for now? I’d let him help me forget it.

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