#this happens a lot. anxiety strikes again

[lupinqs]

CHAPTER THIRTEEN ━━ Swimming in Sin

☆ ━ pairing: hopkins!paige x oc (dani callan)

☆ ━ word count: 6.6K

☆ ━ warnings: homophobia, religious themes, mentions of conversation therapy, emotional & physical abuse (it’s not much but if you’re uncomfortable reading it, don’t)

☆ ━ links: my masterlist, take me to church masterlist

☆ ━ author’s note: imma just leave this here

IT’S MONDAY now, and Dani sits in the passenger seat of Paige’s car, the engine off but the faint hum of life around them in the parking lot loud enough to feel present. Students mill about the edges of the lot, but the two of them are hidden away in Paige’s old car. The smell of Paige’s half-eaten sandwich lingers between them, mingling with the faint scent of Dani’s lavender hand lotion.

Paige slouches dramatically in the driver’s seat, her legs stretched out so far her sneakered feet almost hit the pedals. Her sandwich sits abandoned in her lap, crumbs dotting the fabric of her sweatpants, and her face is twisted into a scowl.

“I mean, two and a half weeks,” Paige groans, leaning her head back against the seat. “It’s so dumb. No leaving the house, no seeing any of my friends, no hanging out with you. What am I, bro, twelve?”

Dani picks at the edges of the granola bar in her hand, peeling back the wrapper bit by bit. She keeps her voice light as she says, “What’d you think was gonna happen? He just lets you off the hook? You threw a party, Paige—and never even tried to get permission. And you were completely wasted.”

Paige rolls her eyes so hard Dani thinks she might actually sprain something. “It’s not like I killed someone,” she mutters. “And it’s not like I wasn’t gonna clean up after. Besides, you were there to take care of me. He should’ve been thanking you, not grounding me.”

Dani shakes her head, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth despite herself. “I don’t think that’s how he sees it.”

“Well, he’s being dramatic,” Paige insists, sitting up now, her hands gesturing wildly as she speaks. “Two and a half weeks of this? How am I supposed to not hang out with you for that long? I get separation anxiety!”

Dani shrugs, fighting a smile at the last sentence, though the thought tugs at her too. She’s upset about it, of course she is, but she’d seen this coming. In fact, she’d half-expected Bob to ban her from their house altogether after Saturday. Two weeks of grounding, in the grand scheme of things, doesn’t seem so bad.

“You’ll survive,” Dani says, trying to sound casual even though she knows Paige won’t let it drop that easily. “Besides, it’s only two weeks. And we can still hang out at lunch and in Lit every day. And we can FaceTime whenever you want.”

Paige groans dramatically, as if the suggestion alone is an insult. “But it’s not the same,” she whines, slumping back against the seat again. “I can’t cuddle you over FaceTime, Dani. Or kiss you.” She leans over suddenly, draping herself across the center console so that her head lands against Dani’s shoulder. Dani stiffens for a moment, glancing out the window to make sure no one’s looking, before relaxing.

“It’s not the same,” Paige repeats, her voice muffled against Dani’s jacket.

Dani sighs, tilting her head down to rest her cheek against the top of Paige’s head. She feels the familiar weight of her girlfriend pressing against her, grounding her, even as Paige continues to pout. “I know it’s not the same,” Dani says softly.

She shifts, her free hand moving to tilt Paige’s face up toward hers. Paige’s blue eyes, always so clear and striking, look impossibly—and dramatically—sad now, and it tugs at something deep in Dani’s chest. She leans in, pressing a light kiss to Paige’s lips. It’s quick, barely more than a brush, but it’s enough to feel the way Paige melts against her.

When Dani pulls back, Paige lets out a little whine, her lips still parted as though she’s waiting for more. Dani grins despite herself, resting her forehead against Paige’s for a moment. “Only two weeks,” she murmurs.

“Two weeks too long,” Paige mutters, her eyes closing as she leans into Dani’s touch.

Dani chuckles softly, brushing a stray strand of hair out of Paige’s face. “You’ll survive,” she repeats, though this time it feels more like a promise than a statement.

THE DRIVEWAY is quiet as Dani parks, the hum of the engine cutting off abruptly and leaving her in stillness. She exhales, her breath visible in the icy Minnesota night air, and slouches forward for a moment, forehead pressed against the steering wheel. The gymnastics meet had been a long one—nearly three hours of standing, crouching, and angling for the perfect shots. Her back aches, her legs are sore, and all she wants is to crawl into bed and disappear under her blankets.

But there’s homework waiting, a mountain of it she’s been putting off. AP Calculus, a Lit essay, and some editing work for the yearbook photos she’d taken tonight. Dani groans quietly to herself, leaning back in her seat before finally mustering the energy to grab her photography bag from the passenger seat.

The cold hits her immediately as she steps out of the car, sharp and unforgiving, slicing through her sweatshirt and sinking into her skin. She hurries up the walkway, her sneakers crunching against the thin layer of frost on the ground. Her fingers fumble with the keys, and she’s relieved when the door finally swings open, the familiar warmth of home enveloping her.

Dani kicks off her shoes, letting them fall in a heap by the door, and shrugs off her coat, tossing it onto the rack. Her keys find their place on the hook by the wall, and she drops her photography bag by the entryway, too tired to care about putting it away properly. Her stomach grumbles softly as she pads toward the kitchen, craving something quick and easy before she tackles the rest of her night.

But the second she steps into the kitchen, she freezes.

Her dad is sitting at the table, his hands clasped in front of him, his eyes already locked on hers.

The look he gives her is unyielding, sharp enough to cut through the fog of her exhaustion. His mouth is set in a firm line, his jaw tight, and there’s a weight to his gaze that makes Dani’s stomach twist.

She knows.

She immediately knows.

She doesn’t need him to say anything. She doesn’t need an explanation. She can feel it in the air between them, heavy and suffocating.

He knows about her and Paige.

Dani’s body goes cold. It’s not just the March air still clinging to her from outside, nor the exhaustion weighing her limbs from the long day. This is something else entirely—something that feels like dread pooling in the pit of her stomach, clawing its way up her throat.

She forces herself to meet her dad’s eyes, but it’s like staring into a storm—chaos barely contained behind the sharp lines of his face, his clenched jaw, his rigid posture. He’s keeping his tone measured, his voice low, but somehow that makes it worse. Scarier, almost, than if he were yelling at her.

When he gestures to the chair across from him and says, “I think we should have a talk,” her legs nearly buckle.

Her hands are trembling as she pulls out the chair and sinks into it. She sits on the edge of the seat, stiff and awkward, her fingers finding their way to the edge of the table to anchor herself. It doesn’t feel real. It can’t be real. This isn’t happening—not here, not now. But the look on his face tells her otherwise.

It feels like an out-of-body experience, that the thing she’s feared the worst over the past few months is finally coming true.

“I was talking to Beau’s father earlier today,” Dani’s father begins, his voice cool and detached. “You know—your apparent boyfriend.”

The way he spits the word out makes Dani flinch, her nails digging into the underside of the table. Her heart pounds so loudly she’s sure he can hear it. She doesn’t know what to say, so she says nothing.

“I hadn’t gotten the chance to talk to him since the fall,” he continues. “You know, since he switched companies and we no longer worked together. But today, he told me some very… interesting things.”

His eyes are sharp as they pin her in place, his words deliberate. “Do you want to know what they are?”

Dani can’t respond. Her throat is dry, her chest tight, and the room feels like it’s closing in on her. She can only stare at the table, her fingers now nervously picking at her nails beneath it.

When she doesn’t answer, he presses, his voice dropping to something sharper. “Except, I think you already know what they are, Danielle. So, do you want to tell me yourself?”

Dani’s breath catches. Every instinct tells her to run, to get up and leave before this gets worse, but her body is frozen, glued to the chair. Her father is watching her so intently, waiting for her to break, and she doesn’t know how much longer she can hold it together.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, she swallows the lump in her throat and forces herself to speak. Her voice is small, barely audible. “Beau and I broke up.”

The admission feels like a death sentence, but she can’t take it back now.

Her dad’s laugh is cold, devoid of any humor, and it makes her stomach churn. “Yeah, you did,” he says, his tone dripping with disdain. “In November, apparently. Over four fucking months ago, Danielle!”

He slams his fist against the table, the sound reverberating through the room like a gunshot. Dani jumps, her pulse skyrocketing, and the first sting of tears pricks at her eyes.

“I just…” she begins, her voice breaking, “I didn’t want to disappoint you.”

“Disappoint me?” he repeats, his laughter sharper this time, almost unhinged. “Oh, we haven’t even scratched the surface on that.”

Dani can’t bring herself to look at him anymore. She stares at her lap, blinking back tears, wishing she could disappear.

“You want to know the most interesting thing Mr. Hudson told me today?” he says, his voice cutting through the silence.

Dani doesn’t answer, but he doesn’t seem to care.

“He told me that Beau said you broke up with him for a girl.”

The words hang in the air, thick and suffocating. He lets them settle, lets them twist like a knife in her chest before he repeats himself, his voice dripping with disgust.

“A girl.”

Paige.

Dani’s lungs constrict as her dad’s words pile onto her like stones, each one heavier than the last. Her heart pounds so loudly in her ears she can barely hear him, but the venom in his voice is unmistakable.

“I didn’t want to believe him. Not even a little bit,” he says, his voice trembling now, teetering on the edge of something raw. He shakes his head, as if trying to erase the very idea from his mind. “I couldn’t help but think to myself that no, my little girl wouldn’t do this—not again. I thought you’d learned your lesson, gotten past these types of things.”

Her stomach twists violently at the phrase these types of things, a wave of shame and dread crashing over her. She can’t meet his eyes anymore. She focuses on a crack in the table, blinking furiously to keep her vision clear. But it doesn’t work. A tear slips down her cheek, then another. She wipes at them quickly, desperate to hide any sign of weakness.

“I thought that maybe the Hudson boy made this up,” he continues, his tone brittle, almost pleading. “To save face, you know? To make himself feel better about the breakup. I refused to believe it because I’ve been so proud of you, Danielle. So proud of all the progress you’ve made.”

His voice breaks on the last word, and it’s like a knife twisting in her gut. She feels the weight of his disappointment like an iron shackle around her neck, dragging her down.

And then he drops the pretense of restraint entirely. “But I came home,” he says, his voice growing sharper, harder. “I needed to figure it out for myself. So I went up to your bedroom and looked around. And sure enough, Beau Hudson was telling the truth. You did leave him for a girl. The same girl you nearly ruined your life for last summer!”

Dani’s breath hitches, panic clawing at her chest as he pulls items off the chair beside him, tossing them onto the table like damning evidence in a courtroom.

A Hopkins basketball sweatshirt. Paige’s sweatshirt. He must’ve found it in her closet.

The printed photo from last week’s state championship, where Paige’s mom had insisted on taking a picture of the two of them. In it, Dani and Paige are standing close, too close, their smiles wide and happy, the kind that only come from people who are comfortable in each other’s orbit. Their shoulders are pressed together, and Paige’s hand is wrapped around Dani’s waist.

A folded note with the initials PB scribbled on the front, the one Paige had slipped into her photography bag last week after practice.

More things follow: a pressed flower Paige had given her after a walk in the park, a ticket stub from the movie they’d gone to see together last month, a journal entry about Paige that Dani had foolishly written—her father must’ve ripped the page from the notebook. It’s all so mundane, these little artifacts of their relationship, but to her dad, they’re something else entirely.

All the air seems to leave Dani’s body as she stares at the pile. There’s no way out of this. None. He’s found everything.

Her dad begins pacing, his hand dragging down his face as his breathing grows heavier. His movements are frantic now, like he’s trying to physically outrun his own fury. He seems to be losing himself, his voice starting to rise, too.

“I thought we were past all of this!” he shouts, octaves echoing off the walls. “I thought you’d learned! I thought you’d grown! But here we are, right back at square one, and you’re still the same little sinner, getting caught up in all this gay bullshit again. It’s disgusting, Danielle.”

The words hit her like a slap to the face. She feels her cheeks burn, but it’s not from anger. It’s from humiliation, from the sheer weight of hearing him say the words out loud, like her existence is something filthy, something shameful.

Her breathing quickens, shallow and erratic, as he barrels on.

“I sent you to camp!” he yells, gesturing wildly as if the memory of it alone should be enough to set her straight. Truthfully, it might. “They told me they fixed you. They told me you got better, that you understood the weight of your actions, the power of God.” He pauses, running both hands through his hair, his eyes wide and wild. “I mean, Jesus Christ, Dani, I’m really gonna have to send you back there. Do you know how fucking embarrassing that is for you? That you’re gonna have to be sent back for a round two because you couldn’t get it through your thick fucking skull the first time?”

“No,” Dani whispers, her voice barely audible over the sound of her pulse roaring in her ears.

Her dad doesn’t hear her—or doesn’t care.

“I sacrificed so much to send you there!” he continues, his voice rising again. “And for what? For you to come back and make a mockery of this family all over again?”

“Please, no,” Dani says again, louder this time, but her voice wavers and cracks.

She can feel herself spiraling. Her hands shake uncontrollably as she grips the edge of the chair, her knuckles white. She can’t go back to camp. She can’t.

The memory of it flashes in her mind—cold, sterile rooms; endless hours of lectures about sin and shame; the suffocating, unrelenting pressure to repent for something she doesn’t even think is wrong. The thought of being trapped there again, of losing herself completely this time, is unbearable.

Dani feels herself sinking, her father’s tirade muffling into a dull roar as the panic grips her fully. Her breaths are shallow, too quick, and the edges of her vision start to darken. She clutches at the back of the chair, trying to steady herself, but the weight of his words is unbearable.

Not again. I can’t go back.

But his voice cuts through her spiraling thoughts like a blade. “Do you hear me, Danielle?” he shouts, slamming a hand onto the counter. “You’re going back. I don’t care what it takes. You need to fucking learn the severity of the sins you’ve been swimming in! I’ll send you on the next flight if I have to!”

The words snap something in her, a thread pulled too tight finally breaking. Her mind drags her back, unwillingly, to that first day at camp.

JUNE 2019

The air inside Mrs. Keating’s office is thick and stifling, a mix of lavender and cleaning solution that seems calculated to force calm. Dani sits in the chair across from her assigned counselor, her shoulders curled inward and her hands clenched tightly in her lap. She doesn’t meet Mrs. Keating’s eyes, instead keeping her gaze fixed on the wall behind her.

Mrs. Keating looks calm, unnervingly so. She’s an older woman, her hair pinned back into a severe bun, her glasses perched neatly on her nose. There’s nothing about her that invites warmth or softness.

She’s quiet for a moment, studying Dani like she’s some kind of puzzle to be solved. “Do you know why you’re here, Danielle?” she asks finally, her voice calm and deliberate.

Dani shrugs, her movements small and tense. “Not sure,” she says, her tone clipped.

Mrs. Keating tilts her head slightly, like she’s trying to peer inside Dani’s mind. “You’re here because your actions have led you down a path of sin. A path that separates you from your family, from your faith, and from God.”

The words sit heavily in the room, and Dani shifts uncomfortably in her chair. Her pulse is steady but loud in her ears, and she can feel the way her body tightens at the mention of God. It’s always God with them. Like He’s some weapon to wield against her, not some presence she’s ever known to feel safe or loved by.

“I haven’t done anything wrong,” Dani says after a long pause. Her voice is soft, almost apologetic, but there’s a firmness beneath it.

Mrs. Keating nods slowly, as though she expected the answer. “You believe that because the enemy—the Devil—has planted lies in your heart, Danielle. Lies that make what you’ve done feel natural, even good. But deep down, you know that it’s not. That’s why you feel guilt, isn’t it?”

Dani swallows hard. She doesn’t feel guilt—not about Paige, anyway. There’s guilt about other things, sure. About being sent here. About what it’s doing to her dad, about how she’s made everything so messy and complicated. But not about Paige.

Still, the way Mrs. Keating speaks gets under her skin. It’s calm, calculated. Like she’s dissecting Dani piece by piece and cataloging her flaws for some case study. Dani hates it. It makes her feel small. Exposed.

“I don’t feel guilty,” Dani says, but the words come out quieter than she intended. She’s not sure she even believes them.

“Of course you do,” Mrs. Keating counters smoothly, leaning forward slightly. “If you didn’t, you wouldn’t be here. Your father wouldn’t have sent you.”

That makes Dani flinch. Her father. The sharp sting of his disappointment still weighs heavily on her chest, pressing down in a way she can’t escape. His face when he’d told her she was going to camp had been full of anger, yes, but there had been something worse beneath it—something that looked like shame.

He hadn’t even looked at her when he dropped her off.

“I don’t want to talk about this,” Dani mutters, her voice barely above a whisper.

“We’re going to talk about it, Danielle,” Mrs. Keating says, her tone firm but still devoid of emotion. “Because this is the first step. You have to face the reality of your actions if you’re ever going to heal.”

Dani’s hands tighten in her lap, her nails digging into her palms. “There’s nothing to heal from,” she says, more forcefully this time before repeating, “I didn’t do anything wrong.”

Mrs. Keating doesn’t respond immediately. Instead, she sits back in her chair, her sharp eyes fixed on Dani like she’s waiting for something. Dani shifts under the weight of her gaze, but she doesn’t break the silence.

Finally, Mrs. Keating speaks. “Tell me about the girl.”

Dani’s chest tightens. She doesn’t look up.

“The one your father mentioned,” Mrs. Keating presses. “The one who led you astray.”

“She didn’t lead me astray,” Dani protests quickly, the words tumbling out before she can stop them.

Mrs. Keating doesn’t react to the outburst. “So you do feel something for her, then.”

Dani freezes, her stomach twisting into knots. She doesn’t know how to navigate this, doesn’t know what answer won’t be used against her later.

After a moment, she settles for, “There’s nothing wrong with me. Nothing. Paige isn’t wrong. What we had isn’t wrong.” Her tone is slightly more argumentative, more confrontational than usual. But she’s been sent to this unfamiliar, scary fucking place so she supposes she has a right to.

“What you had,” Mrs. Keating repeats, leaning forward slightly. “You speak as though it’s in the past. Is that because you already know it cannot last? That it is not sustainable?”

Dani’s jaw tightens, her teeth grinding together. She doesn’t say anything, doesn’t trust herself to speak without snapping. She can feel her nails biting into her skin, but the sharp pain is grounding. It keeps her from falling apart completely.

Mrs. Keating takes the silence as an opening. “This is a safe space, Danielle. You can be honest here. Talk to me.”

Dani doesn’t talk to her. She doesn’t talk at all. She looks away, her gaze zeroing in on a jagged pattern on the wood flooring, eyes wide and unblinking. Her eyes burn, but she won’t let Keating see her cry. She won’t give her that satisfaction. She refuses.

Eventually, Mrs. Keating stands, the movement slow and deliberate. She walks around the desk and stops in front of Dani, placing a hand on her shoulder.

Dani stiffens at the contact, trying to shrug the hand off, but Mrs. Keating’s grip is firm. It doesn’t hurt, not quite, but it feels invasive.

“You have a lot to learn here, Danielle Callan,” Mrs. Keating says quietly, her voice unshakable. “But that’s why you’re here. To learn. And you will.”

THE MEMORY lingers in Dani’s mind like a weight she can’t shake, thick and suffocating. Mrs. Keating’s calm voice echoes in her head, the grip on her shoulder a phantom pressure she swears she can still feel. She shakes her head slightly, trying to dislodge the thought, but it refuses to leave.

She can’t do it.

She can’t do it again.

Her dad’s voice cuts through her thoughts, sharp and furious. He’s been yelling for what feels like forever, pacing the length of the living room with heavy, deliberate steps. Every word he spits out feels like a lash against her skin, each syllable steeped in anger, in disbelief, in the kind of disappointment that makes Dani feel impossibly small.

“How could you do this to us again?” he barks, throwing his arms up. “After everything we went through, after everything you went through—this is how you repay us? By… by flaunting it like this? You didn’t even try to hide it this time, Danielle!”

Dani winces at his words, each one sinking into her chest like a stone. She stays seated on the hard chair, her hands balling into fists on her thighs. Her fingernails bite into her palms, the sharp sting grounding her, keeping her from unraveling completely.

He stops pacing suddenly, turning to face her with his hands on his hips. His eyes burn with conviction, his expression a mixture of frustration and bewilderment. “What do you have to say for yourself?” he demands.

Dani’s breath catches in her throat. She can’t hold his gaze for long, can’t stand the way he’s looking at her, like she’s some broken thing he can’t figure out how to fix. Her eyes drop to her lap, and she shifts uncomfortably in the chair.

Her throat feels tight, her eyes burning with the threat of tears she refuses to let fall. She swallows hard, her voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t—I…” she starts, trying to force the words out. “I can’t be fixed, Dad. This isn’t something that’s fixable.”

The silence that follows is heavy, almost unbearable. She risks a glance at him, but his face is unreadable now, his mouth a firm line, his eyes locked on her.

So she keeps going, her voice trembling but steady enough to push through. “I didn’t choose to like other girls—like Paige—like that. It just… happened. I was born like this. I’ve had these thoughts since I was little. I can’t be fixed, can’t be changed. The—the ‘gay’ stuff you’re talking about can’t just be prayed away.”

The words hang in the air, and for a moment, Dani thinks maybe, just maybe, he’s heard her. But then he straightens, his expression hardening, and he shakes his head. “You didn’t try hard enough,” he says firmly, his voice like steel. “You weren’t at camp long enough.”

The words ignite something in Dani, something sharp and bitter and raw. Her head snaps up, and for the first time, she meets his gaze head-on, her eyes flashing. Her voice is louder now, trembling with emotion she can’t contain.

“I did try!” she says, standing up as the chair scrapes against the wooden floor. “I tried so hard! I didn’t talk to Paige for months; I completely pushed her away. I dated Beau like you wanted me to. I did everything that was supposed to be right! And I was miserable for every second of it!”

Her voice cracks, and she feels the tears spill over now, hot and relentless. She swipes at them angrily but keeps going, because she has to. Because if she doesn’t, she might never say it again.

“I wasn’t happy that way!” she cries, her voice breaking with the weight of it all. “Can’t you just let me be happy, Dad?”

The tears come harder now, blurring her vision as she stares at him, her chest heaving with every breath. She’s willing him to understand, willing him to hear her, because all she wants—all she wants—is to be happy.

But the silence stretches on, suffocating, and Dani’s heart feels like it’s breaking all over again.

Dani’s dad stares at her, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths as if he’s physically restraining himself from exploding again. His gaze feels like it’s drilling into her, searching for something, as if the right words might pull her back into the version of herself he’s convinced she’s lost.

Dani meets his eyes, even though everything in her screams to look away. They’re both standing now, face to face, close enough that she can see the tight lines of his jaw, the furrow between his brows that only deepens the longer he looks at her.

For a moment, she thinks maybe he’s going to soften, maybe he’ll finally hear her. But then his face hardens all over again, and his voice comes out sharp, slicing through the fragile silence.

“This is a sin,” he snaps, the words like venom on his tongue. “You think you know better than God? You think this is how He made you?” He throws up his hands, his voice rising with every word. “No, Danielle, you were not born this way. You were fine until… until her.”

Dani’s stomach drops. She doesn’t have to ask who he means.

He doesn’t stop. “It’s that Bueckers girl! She did this to you—she’s the one who ruined you!”

“No, she wasn’t!” Dani yells, her voice breaking halfway through. Her hands shake at her sides as she takes a step closer, her eyes wide and pleading. “Dad, no! Everything she did, I did too! There was no… no influence, no manipulation! I’m telling you, this isn’t something you or anyone else can fix!”

But he’s already shaking his head furiously, his expression twisting into something cruel. “It can be fixed!” he shouts back, his voice booming in the small space. “I refuse to watch you go to hell over this! I refuse, do you hear me? You’re gonna go back to that camp, and they’re gonna help you, and you’re gonna stay long enough this time to be saved, I swear it!”

Dani feels like the floor is falling out from under her. “I’m not going back there!” she protests, her voice cracking with desperation. She thinks her nails might be digging so harsh into her that it’ll draw blood. She doesn’t care.

“Oh, yes, you will!” he yells back, his eyes flashing with a fire she’s never seen before.

“You can’t make me!” she throws back, her voice raw.

For all his negative words directed at her, all the screaming and yelling, all the accusations—there’s always been something that’s held him back from ever going past using his words. He’s never dared lay a hand on his daughter. But whatever that something was that stopped him has clearly been thrown out the window.

It’s so fast she almost doesn’t process it. His hand comes down, hard, across her face. The sound of the slap reverberates in the room, sharp and deafening, cutting through the air like a whip.

Her head jerks to the side from the force of it, her cheek immediately stinging, a fiery burn spreading across her skin. For a second, she can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t do anything but stand there, frozen.

Her hand comes up slowly, almost instinctively, to press against the spot where he struck her. Her palm is shaking as it touches her face, as if to confirm the reality of what just happened.

She stares at him, wide-eyed, her vision blurring with tears she refuses to let fall. There’s something unfamiliar in his eyes now, a look she’s never seen before, and it chills her to her core.

Disbelief crashes over her like a wave, drowning out everything else. She doesn’t move, doesn’t speak, just stands there, her heart pounding in her ears, the sting on her cheek the only thing grounding her in the moment.

For a moment, Dani stands frozen, her mind struggling to catch up with her body. Her breath is shallow and ragged, her chest heaving like she’s run a marathon. Some people freeze in fear, others run. Fight or flight—it’s instinctual. And Dani has always been the kind to freeze up.

But the fear in her now is different, deeper, and it sinks into her chest like a weight she can’t dislodge. It’s not the kind of fear that paralyzes—it’s the kind that propels. She can’t stay here. Not with him like this. Not when she doesn’t know what he’ll do next.

Her gaze darts to the table, where her phone lies just within reach, and she finally forces her limbs into action. Her hand trembles as she lunges for it, but before her fingers can graze the sleek surface, her dad’s hand intercepts her.

“Dad—wait—”

Her words barely leave her mouth before he wrenches the phone away. She watches, helpless, as he hurls it across the kitchen with a furious motion. The phone hits the tile floor with a sickening crack, the sound cutting through her like a blade. Bits of glass scatter, catching the light, and the air feels heavier, oppressive, as if the walls themselves are closing in.

Dani lets out a strangled sob, the sound escaping her throat without permission. She takes a step back, and then another, her hands coming up instinctively to shield herself. Her back bumps against the edge of the counter, and she feels trapped, like an animal cornered by its predator.

Her father’s voice cuts through the silence, sharp and commanding. “Do you hear me, Danielle?”

His tone isn’t loud anymore, but it’s worse that way. The quiet intensity of it crawls under her skin and wraps around her chest like a vice. She can’t look at him. She’s too scared of what she might see. Instead, her eyes dart toward the shattered remnants of her phone, then back to the floor, her body trembling.

“Dad, please,” she whispers, her voice barely audible. Her throat feels raw, her words choked by the tears she’s holding back. “You’re scaring me. Please, just—just stop.”

But he doesn’t stop. He moves closer, his footsteps deliberate, until he’s towering over her. Dani flinches as his hands reach out, but he doesn’t hit her again. Instead, his fingers clamp down on her shoulders, firm and unyielding.

“You’re going back tomorrow,” he says, his face mere inches from hers. His voice is calm now, too calm, but every syllable lands like a blow. “You’re going back. And you’re staying there until they fix you.”

Dani tries to shake her head, tries to move away from his grip, but he holds her in place. Her tears spill freely now, hot trails streaking down her cheeks.

“I can’t,” she chokes out, her voice cracking. “I can’t go back there. You don’t understand. I can’t do it again.”

“You don’t have a choice,” he snaps, his grip tightening. “Go upstairs. Pack your things.”

His words slam into her like a physical force, and she feels herself crumbling beneath the weight of them. She’s trembling, her knees weak, but she doesn’t move.

“Dad, I—”

“No.” His voice is steel. “Do you hear me, Danielle? Do what I said. Now.”

The intensity in his eyes pierces through her, and for a moment, all she can do is stare back at him, tears blurring her vision. She feels so small, so powerless, her body shrinking under the weight of his anger. The room is suffocating, the air thick and unrelenting.

When she finally finds her voice again, it comes out soft and broken. “I don’t want to go back.”

Her father doesn’t answer. He just stares at her, his expression set, his hands still gripping her shoulders as if holding her in place. The silence stretches between them, heavy and unyielding, and Dani feels herself breaking under it.

Dani doesn’t think; she just moves. Her father’s grip isn’t as strong as his words, and she twists out of it with a force she didn’t know she had. Her pulse pounds in her ears as she spots the keys hanging on the small hook by the door. They’re so close—just a couple of feet away.

She can make it. She has to make it.

Her body acts before her mind can catch up, surging forward. Her dad’s hands grab at her, but she slips free, adrenaline pushing her faster than his reaction time. Her fingers curl around the cool metal of her car keys, and she yanks the front door open in one motion. The air outside is cold and sharp, but she barely notices as she sprints out onto the porch and down the driveway, her socks sliding slightly on the concrete.

“Dani!” her father’s voice bellows behind her, furious and disbelieving.

She doesn’t stop. She can’t. Her breath comes in ragged gasps, and the ache in her chest is overwhelming, but her body doesn’t let her pause. The car is right there.

She reaches it just as he does, her hands fumbling to open the door. Her father’s voice is louder now, closer, almost on top of her. “Danielle! Stop this right now!”

But she doesn’t stop. She slides into the driver’s seat, slams the door shut, and locks it in one fluid motion. Her hands are shaking so violently she can barely grip the steering wheel, but she manages to press the ignition button.

Her dad is at the window now, his face red and furious, his voice muffled but still terrifyingly clear through the glass. “This is my car!” he yells, banging on the window. “I pay for it! Get out right now!”

Dani can’t look at him. She keeps her eyes straight ahead, her vision blurred with tears. Her whole body is trembling, her hands slipping on the wheel as she shifts into reverse.

“Danielle!” His fist slams against the glass again, making her jump, but she doesn’t let it stop her.

The car jerks as she pulls out of the driveway too fast, the tires screeching slightly against the pavement. She doesn’t care. Her dad’s voice fades into the background as she speeds down the street, her hands gripping the wheel so tightly her knuckles turn white.

She doesn’t look back. Not at him, not at the house, not at the neighborhood she’s known her entire life.

Her chest feels like it’s caving in, her breath coming in shallow bursts. She’s crying so hard she can barely see, her tears mixing with the streaks of rain on the windshield. Everything feels blurry, distorted, like she’s underwater and the world is pressing in on all sides.

Her mind races as fast as the car. The words he said replay over and over, looping endlessly until they feel burned into her brain. You’re going back. You need to be fixed. I refuse to watch you go to hell.

Her dad’s voice has always been loud, always sharp, but this… this was different. Because for the first time in her life, Dani was scared of him. Truly, bone-deep scared. Not just of what he might have said to her, but what he might have done to her.

The thought of going back to camp makes her stomach churn violently. She can still hear the echo of Mrs. Keating’s voice in her head, those sickly sweet tones that masked something far darker. She can feel the weight of the prayers, the way they crushed her under their expectations, as if forcing her into a mold she could never fit.

I can’t go back there, she thinks, the words looping through her head like a desperate mantra. I can’t. I can’t. I can’t.

Her fingers tighten on the wheel, and she forces herself to focus on the road in front of her, though she has no idea where she’s going. The streets blur together, familiar landmarks passing by unnoticed. In the back of her mind, she knows she should have a plan, but right now, all she can do is drive.

In an ideal world, she’d go to Paige’s. Paige would know what to do. Paige always knows what to do. But Dani can’t. Paige’s house is too close, just one door down. Her dad would’ve followed her there in a heartbeat, and Paige is already in trouble enough as it is.

She lets out a shaky sob, her shoulders heaving as she turns onto a random street. The car feels too big and too small all at once, the silence inside it deafening. She’s not even sure how far she’s gone, but it doesn’t matter. The tears don’t stop.

Her hands are shaking so badly that she has to pull over, the car screeching to a halt on the side of a dimly lit road. She sits there, gripping the wheel as though it’s the only thing tethering her to reality, her body trembling with the force of her sobs.

Dani feels lost—nowhere to go, nothing in front of her.

[flickering-nightfall]

I wanted to update my design refs (I never posted the old ones, but they're from maybe six months ago now). But then it took forever because I kept putting the iterators into ten bajillion outfits. Well here they are now!

I'll probably do this with the slugcats too.

[keravnous]

diet mountain dew; john wick/fem!reader (smut, 18+)

dating john wick - the playlist

The Boogeyman is out to get you. Little does he know, that you too are willing to do quite a bunch of things just to stay alive.

warnings: blood, guns, knives, injuries, physical violence/fighting, assassination attempt; dub-con, rough sex, unprotected sex, fingering, oral (female receiving), choking, dirty talk, spanking, a lot of manhandling bc for the love of god he doesn't know how to be soft anymore, gun kink, knife kink, size kink, strength kink, squirting, body worship if you blink, is this hate-fucking? idk; john has a horse cock change my mind; john is in his 50s, the reader is in her 20s; set somewhere after the series i guess? (I refuse to accept he's dead); problematic family relationship as a plot device; let's all collectively ignore the fact that he would actually never touch another woman or even dare to catch the smallest of feelings again; john gets off on the violence

word count: 10,6 k

thank you mel for a) listening to my ramblings and b) reading a good chunk of the first third of this dumpster fire and still going nuts about it, kissies and thank you v for listening to my keanu ramblings without losing faith in me

You wonder, if praying will help you. Probably not.

The sound of carnage, screams and gunshots in the hallway abruptly stops. You hear the assailant's heavy footsteps echoing off the floorboards outside of your hotel room mere seconds before the door bursts open, flies out of its hinges and rattles to the ground, wood creaking and breaking, splinters flying everywhere.

There had been a hit out on you for two days and every single soldier in your father's militia was ready to defend your life with their own.

Literally. You can tell by the man entering your suite.

You can tell by just how much he is covered in blood. You can tell by the way it drips down his forehead and how it soaks his white shirt - even the soles of his shoes creak with it. You can tell by the way he is totally and utterly drenched in red red red, and because you are certain it is not his.

They literally gave their life for you. The thought hits you like a blow to the head. People have died because of you. Fathers, brothers, sons. You recall your last conversation with your own father. They want us dead, they put out a contract on us - you had never seen him so nervous, so disheveled. What does that mean - his anxiety had been washing over you in seeping hot waves, sending cold shivers down your spine. It means, I need you out of the house - now.

Nausea bubbles in your stomach as the man now approaches you, casually strolls into the suite with his finger on the trigger of the gun dangling from his hand and you stare back at him - a deer in the headlights, frozen by fear in the eyes of its deadly predator. One of your father's men jumps from his cover, fires a shot and gets hit back with one straight between his eyes. It happens so quickly, that you can't turn your head away. You see the bullet piercing his forehead, blood splattering as soon as it exits the skull on the other side. His head flies back a little, and then his body goes limp, slack, as he falls to the ground with a heavy thud.

You want to scream. You want to vomit. You want to run. But there is nowhere to run to, nowhere to hide from him.

There's only one soldier left with you in the suite now and he is hiding around the corner, near the bathroom. The stranger - the assassin, the killer - does not lower the gun again, and does not let his eyes stray from you as he carefully enters the room. You feel terribly exposed, dressed only in your negligée, not daring to move.

Now, that the dim light of the suite's living room strikes his face, you can finally see him, see the man who has come to end you. He is older than you, maybe nearly twice your age, with dark hair and even darker eyes, matching his black suit. Lean and athletic, chest heaving slightly with physical exhaustion. The Boogeyman.

You do not know who or what you had expected, what cruel and dreadful images your brain had conjured up in the past 48 hours - 48 frightful hours of being moved around from hideout to hideout by your father's men, not staying in one place longer than necessary - but it certainly was not that. Not him. He is a lot more handsome than his reputation has led on. Seeing him on the subway around rush hour you would have never suspected him to be in this business. He looks nice. And that is exactly what makes him dangerous.

You have heard his name before. Echoing from the walls. Baba Yaga. Whispered with both: fear and respect. The Boogeyman. Blurted out: like a curse or like a blessing. Mister Wick: like redemption, like damnation. Jonathan, the king's son walking the earth as the devil.

John. The sound of his name is oddly human - disturbingly human - for someone looking as calm and collected, focused and concentrated as he does right now, while being drenched in blood and pointing a gun at you.

You must have said his name out loud, because his eyebrows twitch irritatedly, a movement so quick you barely missed it - must've sound desperate too, then.

Vision zeroing in on the barrel of his gun, your hands clutch the sofa's edge. There is so much adrenaline pumping through your veins right now that it freezes your limbs, has your ears ringing. The only thing responding to your brain fully are your eyes, and they snap away from the gun and over to the remaining soldier. It's a quick look, not even a second, but the hitman seems to recognize it and - with near inhumane speed - flicks his gun, and fires two shots. Blood splatters against the white door as the shots pin the soldier's body against it, and is it finally drops to the ground heavily it leaves a nasty trail, all wet and sticky and red.

Could be you.

You want to scream, but your body does not belong to you anymore, does not respond to your commands. It is a desperate, cruel sound that leaves your throat instead as you flinch with the sound of the gun being fired.

"Let's make this quick" his voice is gravelly and rough, like he has seen a thousand grim things and the pain of it has etched its way into his throat, left a nasty mark on every tone that ever dared to cross after.

That is when your fight or flight suddenly kicks in. Well, more specifically, it kicks in while he is speaking, as he starts to swap the empty clip of his gun.

He underestimates you. Everyone does. Your father, your brother. The countless men lying dead littered across the hotel's 25th floor. It will be his mistake.

You latch forward, grabbing the vase from the coffee table in front of you. The weight of it in your hand drags you down.

With all the strength you can muster, which is quite a lot considering the massive amounts of adrenaline that are currently amping up your body - you throw it at him. It connects with his forehead sharply; a deep, irritated noise bursting from his throat as it crashes, splinters and falls to the floor.

You are braver, braver than you should be as your assault does not end there, your body pushing you forward, leaping over the table and crashing into his broad shoulders.

I will not die today

Body ramming into his, he stumbles, as your fist connects with his chin. You have only been partially trained in hand-to-hand combat, after pleading your brother for months until he eventually gave in. Sadly, he wasn't nearly as thorough and honest with it as he was training his drug dealer and gun runners. But now, it is the only thing you can rely on.

There is nothing else; no one else left alive in that building who might be able to help you. It is up to you. So, you might as well try.

And Oh, does desperation fire up your blood.

I will not die today

The diversion does not last long and he - John John John only human only human only human - grabs you by you waist hard, fingers digging into your flesh and into the expensive silk, before he slams your body into the ground. All air leaves your lungs with a dull sound erupting from your chest, just as pain blooms around your ribs.

You cough and he looks down at you, confusion making his brows twitch, before cold-hearted determination takes over once more. John aims his gun at you once more, pulls back the hammer and you do not even think about it, your leg rising as you kick against his hand. The shot misses, buries itself deep into the expensive carpet a few inches next to your skull. You have no time to do either: panic or sigh in relief; instead, you deliver him a kick to his stomach, fighting yourself back onto your feet, punching him straight in the face.

John grunts and grabs your wrist, but you see it coming and throw yourself into his wide frame, wrapping your other arm around his back and thus hooking it underneath his right shoulder, dislocating his arm and preventing him from aiming his gun at you. You claw onto him as he twists your arm close to his stomach, while you wrap your legs around him, making it harder for John to shake you off.

I will not die today

You kick and dig the heel of your foot into his thighs and the back of his knees and he grunts and buckles a little, but turns wild and relentless quicker than you can blink, throws the two of you into the next wall. You gasp sharply as your back connects with the large mirror, splinters digging into your back - not deep enough to actually cut skin, but it stings nonetheless, the impact making you dizzy.

Sharp pain shoots through your back and your neck, but you are not willing to give up yet, as raw energy and rage and desperation surges through your body - one of your legs coming loose and your knee hitting his stomach repeatedly, making John grunt in pain and you use your momentum to dig your hand deep into his back, holding onto him and then swirling out of the deadlock he has got you in, jumping his back like a monkey.

His gun clatters to the ground and for a split second, the room falls silent. Then, roaring like an animal gone wild, he grabs your calves and slams his back into the nearest wall, has you screaming with the impact. You can feel blood pouring from your nose, feel it trickling down your lips.

I will not die today

John is stronger than you are, so so much stronger - the apex predator: all muscle, unbreakable focus and the sheer will to kill. But you are not only a little quicker; you also really want to stay alive. It is a force he rarely encounters. And quite frankly, it irritates him.

He may be older than you, taller than you and stronger than you but you have something he does not have: you actually still got something to lose.

And you fight like it, too. All scratches and sharp yells, as you punch and scrabble at his shoulders and tear at his tie, trying to strangle him with it. John is struggling against it, gasping for air and winding beneath your assault and then his grip around your claves grows hard like iron, seconds before he pulls - throws you over his head like you weigh nothing. You land on the expensive carpet with a heavy thud - groaning as you crash onto your side with sharp pain shooting through your shoulder, down your ribcage.

I will not die today

John sputters and stumbles forward, looking for his gun but you are quicker, kicking it away with your foot. It clatters back onto and slides over the wooden floorboards.

For a second you consider your choices, fighting yourself back onto your feet but John - a practiced and seasoned fighter - beats you to it and lands a blow to your upper back, sends you back down with him - a mess of sputtering saliva and painful groans. His body topples onto yours and he quickly rolls the two of you over the floor.

John is heavy and warm on top of you, as he keeps you in a tight headlock, your chest pressed to the floor and neck bend in a painful angle. He presses his strong forearm down onto your windpipe and you choke and cough, feet kicking, hands dragging across the wood, clawing at it feebly.

You can feel his breath on your cheek, hot and damp. You can feel his torso pressing against your back as he kneels behind you.

I will not die today

Mustering all your remaining strength, you trash against him, ramming your backside into his stomach. He grunts and for a split second, his grip loosens. It is all you need. Throwing your elbow back, you hit him in the chest and he caves in.

You cough, crawling forward and then scrambling back onto your feet, one of your negligée’s straps falling down your shoulder in the process. You hastily pull it back up, seconds before John launches a cascade of punches onto you.

A few of them hit you as you try to block them; dull pain igniting in your body, blooming in your face and arms. Your breath goes heavy as you stumble backwards. You cannot do this. There is no way. You just physically can't.

He is stronger. Taller. Heavier. Deadlier. Your body and every single muscle, bone, nerve in it aches and you wheeze but he is already onto you again, half-tackles you and grabs your waist, ready to smash you back onto the ground.

You cling onto him with all your remaining strength, struggling against his huge frame, wrapping your hands around his neck in an attempt to get him to stumble.

His hair tingles on your naked arms. Oh wait --

Tearing at his hair - which has him grunting in both, pain, and irritation at the unusual attempt - you clumsily pull yourself up onto his shoulders, cutting his face right above his eyebrow with your nails in the process until you finally wrap one leg around his throat and close it around there tightly, choking him. John tries to pull you off him and succeeds after quite the tussle, only to find your frame clinging to him, legs and arms wrapping around his body, hands scratching and feet kicking.

I will not fucking die today

In an attempt to either get rid of each other or submit the last blow, to finally kill the other, you two swirl through the room - a deadly dance of torn skin, smashed glass panes and mirrors, bruises and cuts. Somewhere in between kicks and punches, he managed to pick up his gun - and right now, you are mustering all of your exhausted strength to prevent the barrel from pressing against your skull.

Eventually, John crashes your bodies through a large wooden door, and is not quick enough - unable to stop his own oxe-like strength - to stop himself from stumbling into the room. The two of you only come a halt as his knees hit something soft and ironically that is what finally topples both of you over, landing onto the mattress of your bedroom with a soft thud and deep, exhausted grunts.

Your ears ring, and you are ready to lash out at him again despite the physical exhaustion, to strike him square across the face, as --

There is something hard pressing against your crotch.

The world falls silent.

No. No, there's no fucking way. It's got to bea hidden weapon. Must be.

But clearly, it is not. There, between your spread legs, his hard cock presses snugly against your panty-clad pussy.

And he just feels so huge - mouth-watering huge - that your body responds in its own way, hips snapping up, stuttering against the hard bulge. John lets go off a shaky, ragged breath, hand still clutching his gun. And you know, that this is your window.

Feeling the warmth that his body and his hard dick are radiating through his expensive suit, you roll your hips once - a languid, slow motion, rubbing your pussy over his bulge.

And he groans. A deep, primal sound that sounds a little coarse. John is looking at you, starring you down, but there is a shadow dancing over his eyes, turning his brown eyes into deep and dark, black pits that gives him away.

He is horny. The Boogeyman is fucking horny. You would laugh, if the realization wasn't knocking all air straight from your lungs. Because it just another reminder, proof of what he actually is: human.

And what a sight he is to see - eyes turning darker every second, his chest heaving with every breath and making it seem like his shirt is going to pop a button or two any second now, his cock prodding against its restraints and your clothed cunt.

It makes you want him. The thought leaves you dizzy, makes you gasp.

Apparently, that is all he needs to roll his hips back into yours. And that - that is just unfair. It's playing dirty. It's, it's -- His dick feels huge as it trails along your folds, has the muscles in your abdomen clenching.

"Fuck", you breathe, a little overwhelmed with and helpless at the sudden surge of lust that ignites your body, the wetness pooling between your legs.

John is not saying anything, just stares you down while he continues to slooowly roll his hips into yours, grinds his cock against your cunt. Your pelvis twitches upward as you start to meet his movements, and then you can hear it. He let's go of a deep breath, and it sounds like the faintest moan.

You need to hear more of that. You need more of him, your cunt aching and hole clenching around nothing already.

"John", and this time you say his name - consciously - it sounds a different way of desperate: your voice reduced to a small whisper, torn at the edges by a wanton whimper ripping from your throat.

If it throws him off-guard he does not show it, does not let you see it. Instead, he grabs your chin hard, gaze locking with yours. Dark pupils blown wide, swallowing the honey-brown of his eyes, and your breath hitches.

"Yeah?", he rasps, and it does not take more than one long look from you for him to lean in, to press his lips onto yours.

The kiss tastes of blood and adrenaline and doom, and you relish in it. Relishing the way his lips move against yours and his beard tickles a little, relishing how his tongue presses into your mouth. It feels like he is eating you whole, licking into your mouth, one hand dancing over your waist - featherlight, like he doesn't know how to touch a body without hurting someone, destroying someone.

I will not die today, motherfucker

Your whole body now sings with it, the security of an impending victory, as you roll your hips into his once more, your tongue now licking back into his mouth. For a second you think about how to strike again, now that he is seemingly distracted, but all will to fight leaves your body as one of his hands brushes over your knee, wanders further and eventually rests on your thigh.

The touch is electrifying and then his hand grows braver, his movements more certain, as he grabs your thigh, feels you up. It happens so suddenly, that you gasp into the kiss.

John parts from you, his lips a little plush already. "Oh God", you whisper as you stare Death Turned Human straight in the face, not a single thought remaining in your skull despite your lust.

He doesn't speak, as he gently let’s go off your leg and straightens back up and for a second you think he is going to hurt you, with the way his brows are furrowed - but he doesn't.

Instead, he moves in, right over your comparably tiny frame - a mountain of a man. John kneels above you, his weight pinning you down while he straddles your thighs and Jesus fucking Christ - what a sight he is to see.

Dark locks falling into his forehead, a little sticky with sweat and the bits of blood from the cut your nails gave him moments ago - right above his left eyebrow, still lazily trickling down into his lashes. His chest heaves with ragged breaths, as he hastily gets rid of his jacket, carelessly drops it to the ground. His black button-down clings to his muscular body underneath his waistcoat and his equally as muscular thighs pin you down to the bed, black fabric nearly tearing at the seams. And then there is his hard cock.

It looks as huge as it felt, with the way it bulges his pants, the outline of it clearly visible as it buckles proudly against its restraints. You are certain, you will not be able to close your hand around it fully - not a chance.

One of his hands - the one lacking a finger, which you only now notice and what sends shivers down your spine - wanders over your body, pulling your negligée down in the process, right tit spilling out of the soft silk. He immediately grabs it, cups it with his large hand and squeezes. You mewl, marveling at just how big his hand is, just as his whole body is in comparison to you. His fucked-up finger digs into the flesh, sending shivers down your spine.

John's hand gropes your tit, before he impatiently pulls the neckline down roughly. You sigh, arousal shooting down your spine and tingling in your lower belly, as two of his fingers nudge your nipple, pinch it.

He watches your face intently, as he continues to grope you, rolls your nipple between his fingers. You mewl, breath accelerating a little but it is just not enough and you buck your hips upwards. John grunts in, what you assume is an approving manner, and let's go off your tit, reaches to his belt at his loins.

Quickly pulling a knife from God-knows-where exactly, a sharp blade enters your vision.

You blink, panic seeping through your lust and your legs twitch a little with fear. If John notices it, he neither shows it nor does he say anything, just moves the knife closer to your body.

The blade shines in the dim light as it dances over your exposed thighs carefully, the metal cooly pressing against your skin, before he flicks it and cuts your negligée open. The thin, soft fabric cleanly cut in half it now lazily slides from your aching body, falls to its sides. Your chest heaves, shivers running down your arms and back.

It happens so quickly that you can only blink. As your brain finally catches up with your eyes, you come to realize that he is holding a real fucking tactical knife. You have thrown one once - they are sharp as hell and deadlier than a bullet. The sound of fabric tearing easily, like paper, proves your point.

And John's movements with the blade are so fast that your breath hitches, a little afraid he might cut you. But he does not, instead, he quickly pulls the torn silk off you and away from under you, carelessly tosses it into the dark of the room.

The edge of the blade dances over your skin and you do not dare to breathe, as he trails it up and down your curves, gently nudges your nipples. "I could kill you", he says calmly and then, in lightning speed, presses the blade into the crook of your neck. Your head sinks back into the mattress, in an instinct to flee the sharp edge.

All it does is to expose your neck further and something gleams in John's eyes, as he presses the sharp tip down slowly, carefully nudging your skin with it. The metal is cold and hard and sharp and your breath hitches. Just a little bit more and it might burst your skin, draw blood.

But, to your own confusion, you do not feel threatened anymore. Oddly enough, your nerves tingle with excitement. You blame it on the already high levels of adrenaline that still pump through your veins, rushing back and forth from your brain and your lungs, but a small voice inside of your head whisper gently, deviously, that you know That's not it. And he knows it, too.

It's in his eyes as well, the sheer excitement of it all, the fucked-up pleasure it evokes in the both of you lays heavy in the air.

It turns you fucking on. It turns you on, that the man who - minutes ago - tried you kill you and did hurt you very fucking badly in the process of it, now decides to let you live.

It turns you on, that you are at his mercy.

It turns you on, that he decided to spare you - just for now.

It turns you on, that these large and strong hands holding the knife have that sort of power over you. And thus, as the blade nudges your head back further, you moan.

"I could cut your throat", John's voice is heavy and thick with arousal and you can feel your heartbeat picking up, breath accelerating. His gaze drops down, watches the rapid rising and falling of your breasts hungrily, while another soft moan escapes from your lips.

"Don't", you breathe softly.

The knife practically burns on your skin, and you can feel arousal flooding your clothed pussy, rubbing your thighs together for any sort of friction. John can feel your squirming underneath him, but he can also see your eyes turning watery and dark with lust, pupils blown and a pretty pink spreading on your cheeks, your breath growing shallow. And he just really needs to fucking taste you right now.

As quickly as it appeared, the blade vanishes from your throat before he twirls the knife like the ruthless, reckless professional that he is, and buries it deep to the hilt in the mattress next to you. The sharp sound as it pierces the thick fabric has the hairs on your body standing up, goosebumps rolling over your skin.

"I'll do it later", he rumbles - casually, like he is talking about doing chores or picking up groceries - before hunching over you, grabbing your chin with his fucked-up hand, and kissing you again. His tongue immediately pushes into your mouth, like he is starving to taste you.

John eats you whole, with the way his lips move against yours. His hand cups your face, tongue licking into your mouth, toying with yours. His kiss steals your breath and you start to get dizzy with it, hips bucking. You can feel his lips curling up and then he parts from you, leaving you a gasping mess, spit pooling at the corners of your mouth.

"Let me touch you, John", you whisper, voice a little small because you do not know why you feel that way, and if he will even allow it. But you just need to feel him.

For a long moment his gaze dances over your face and something shifts behind his eyes, like a shadow gets lifted and then very quickly returns. Ultimately, he gives a court nod, so small you nearly miss it and gives you a little more room while straightening back up.

Carefully, as if not to spook him, you dart one hand out, place it on his chest. The muscle is firm underneath his suit and you run your hand along the lapel of his jacket, down and then back up, before it slips beneath it.

John's body radiates warmth under the black fabric of his shirt and your other hand comes up, before you shove the jacket off his shoulders and onto the floor next to the bed.

Your breath hitches.

He is wearing a holster, a reminder of his deadliness, of the gun laying somewhere next to you. Maybe, he sees the fear returning in your eyes, but he is quick to shrug the holster off, throws it into the dark where it clatters onto the wooden floor boards. What is left in front of you are broad shoulders and a muscular chest, the fabric nearly tearing at his movements.

As you run your hands over it, you cannot help yourself - you need to fucking feel him for real.

Quickly making work of his waistcoat and tie you toss both to the side carelessly, before your hands roam his broad chest. His button-down clings snugly against his upper body and you can feel the muscles work beneath the black fabric as your hands brush over them. You tug at the shirt, pulling its tails from his pants before hastily opening the first few buttons. The skin underneath is pale, littered by blue - red - black bruises, birthmarks scattered in between like stars. You pop open the rest of the buttons, greedy to touch him. And as the shirt falls to the sides your hands are already onto his chest, roaming over and admiring the muscular, defined canvas of strength, that violence has painted a pretty picture on.

John is watching you intently as you undress him and then explore his body, your pupils blown wide and dark, mouth agape a little. He is a little taken aback by it - by someone not seeing his body as the ultimate tool of death that it is, but as something else, that he cannot really pinpoint because he can't even look in the mirror without seeing destruction and decay. But the way your gaze wanders over his body, the way you touch him, is different from that and he has not felt anything like it in years.

And John wants. Carnal desire tugs at his brain, shoots arousal between his legs, makes his cock twitch and a low growl escaping his throat.

The sound gets you going: pushing yourself up with one hand, the other wrapping around his strong neck for leverage as you sit up, mouth immediately clutching to his throat. He tastes of sweat and after-shave - sharp and musky - and you run your tongue over his skin greedily, licking and sucking at the skin while your naked body presses against his.

It disarms him. The gentle touch that you put his body up to, while everything still aches from plowing through the better half of your father's militia and beating the hell out of you, confuses him. Your touch, your lips on his skin are soft and not aiming to hurt - instead, they grow more and more needy, wanton and hasty, as you lick over his bruised skin, tasting his sweat. Your hands over his abdomen caress his defined muscles, in awe of his utter strength, thumbs brushing through the soft and dark trail of hair leading beneath the waistband of his trousers. And all John can do, is watch, his gaze locking with yours as goosebumps erupt on his skin.

And you - oh you; your head swims with the way you turn this animal into a human again, unlock a different set of animalistic needs within him and hearing John's breath growing heavy really fucking does it for you, feeling his scarred and beaten-up skin underneath your hands, wrapping them around the deadly machine that is his body. It makes you want more.

Shedding his blood-stained shirt off of his shoulders, your hands roam over his upper back - feeling the scars there: of knives, larger and small ones and round ones of bullets that once pierced his skin. There is something else, a burn scar, in the shape of a cross and he hisses as your fingers brush over it, nails digging into the stunted skin.

It pulls John out of his stasis, reminds him of who he is and you can feel the air swinging with it seconds before he moves. His large hands wrap around your shoulders and then he pulls you off him, throws you back onto the mattress. You yelp, eyes growing wide as you watch his face as it turns from lightly dazed back to stern, wild, with his brows furrowed.

"That's enough", he says, voice coarse and it still feels like a small victory, even though he spreads your legs roughly, hands digging deep into your thighs - hard enough to bruise - before he kneels between them. He yanks your body forward at the back of your knees, watches your tits bounce and then leans in, his lips immediately attacking your throat, your neck.

His lips are surprisingly soft against your skin, his beard tickling a little as it brushes over your tits, your stomach, your thighs while his tongue licks fat stripes over your nipples and down down down your upper body, right to your navel. One of his hands creeps up your body once more and roughly cups your tit, squeezes, and gropes it, rolls your hardened nipple between his index and middle finger. His stunted ring-finger digs deep into your tit and you gasp, hips bucking. John's lips suck and nibble at your skin, before eventually ghosting over your pubic bone, teasing you before assaulting your thighs again, teeth biting down gently into the soft flesh. You gasp and moan while he gropes your body, inhales your scent - as you watch how his lips, tongue, and teeth dance over your thighs, moving closer to your cunt.

John finally, finally, puts his mouth onto your pussy, peppers open-mouthed kisses around your clit, before clothing his lips around it and sucking on it hard through your panties. Your hips buck as a high-pitched moan erupts from your throat, hands flying into his greying locks.

"Fuck", you whine, feeling fresh wetness flooding your folds, dampening the thin fabric further. John can see the outlines of your wet pussy pressing against your panties and parts from your clit momentarily, only to lick a fat stripe over your clothed cunt, watching it twitch.

"That's fucking pretty", he rasps, gaze locking with yours and you feel all air leaving your lungs. His eyes are so fucking dark, like gleaming black pits swallowing you whole, his breath a little flat with arousal.

You want him to fuck you. Really fuck you. To plow you open, rail you until you cannot sit nor walk. He is already so so close to you, but too far away at the same time. "Please", is all you manage to utter out. And it seems to be sufficient enough for him; seems to get across what you want, what you need.

John's fingers wrap around the front of your lace slip, tugging at the fabric - that rubs along your cunt at the sudden motion and has you gasping quietly - and then he pulls. The lace tears easily as he rips it apart, and cool air hits your wet and hot pussy, as he practically peels you out of your underwear, throws it to the side. The look on his face is wild and you can hear him taking a deep breath, smelling your arousal, before he spreads your folds apart with his thumbs, gaze wandering over your plump and flushed cunt.

Teasingly brushing over your clit with his thumb, John watches your reaction intently. And fuck, you do not disappoint. Throwing your head back, you moan, drawing in a deep breath through your opened mouth that heaves your chest, your eyelids fluttering.

You are dying for him to touch you and as he does, it feels like your body catches fire - lust washing away the dull pain in your limbs and near your ribs.

"Oh God", you breathe out as his thumb draws another wide and slow circle over your clit, your hands darting out and grabbing the sheets "Please."

And John complies, his thumb rubbing over your clit in a slow but steady rhythm.

Gasping, your hands clutch the sheets, knees darting away from each other, giving him more space. John accepts the invitation, grabs one thigh hard, fucked up ring-finger digging deep into your skin. His fingers move further, abandons your clit and dance over your folds, down to your hole. It flutters as two of his digits tease it, gently circling around it.

"Please", you whine once more, lifting your hips a little, a desperate noise leaving your throat. John smirks to himself, before pushing two of his fingers into you.

The stretch is sudden and bigger than expected and you moan coarsely, as he pushes his digits along your walls deeply and nestles them into your seeping hot cunt up to his knuckles. And Jesus, you feel so full already; your head swimming as you consider how big his cock must feel, then.

Your breath goes quick and shallowly as he starts to move them, and then he leans in. Nudges your clit with the tip of his tongue, licks over it.

You feel like combusting on the spot: your nerves tingling with arousal, your whole body still aching from the beating you gave each other earlier - the pain in your back blooming as you stretch it with your hips desperately shoving themselves near his touch - your pussy squeezing his fingers.

John pumps his thick fingers in and out of you, his tongue rubbing and circling your clit and soft, needy moans fall from your lips. Obscene, wet sounds fill the air, mingle with your moans and heavy breathing. His lips close in around your clit, sucking at it while his fingers rub along your spongy walls and your cunt squeezes them hard as fresh wetness floods your folds, your squirt wetting his beard and dripping down on the sheets below.

You can hear - feel - John humming against your pussy, peppering the wet skin with open mouthed kisses, licking over it, and tasting your slick.

You feel so fucking good - lust pulsating through your veins, loins on fire - and your head falls to the side, body rocking with sharp gasps and your mouth agape, eyelids fluttering as --

There's the gun. And the knife.

You could easily grab either one or the other next to you, pull the blade out of the matress or the hammer back; put a bullet right between his eyes or plow the blade deep deep into his skull. Killing the Boogeyman. Killing Baba Yaga.

That would do wonders to your family's business. It would emancipate you from it, you would be free. Free to rule.

"Thinking 'bout killing me?", John rumbles, tongue licking a fat stripe over your cunt, nudging your clit. Your gaze flickers back to him: hair a mess, eyes gleaming darkly, hands on your thighs to keep your legs spread. He does not look surprised. Neither does he look worried.

Realization hits you like a blow to the head: he is toying with you. Has been the whole fucking time. The wolf hunting the deer, running a few rounds through the woods to weaken it; its breath whistling with exhaustion, long legs buckling before it collapses - an easy kill. An easy kill for an old wolf, one, that can't quite handle a real hunt anymore.

But maybe, just maybe - judging from the look in his eyes - he got lost in his own game. Its reins slipped from his bloody hands, the wolf tumbling to the ground.

Looking back at him, your lips curl into a sweet smile. "Not anymore", your hand darts out, brushing the loose strands of dark hair from his face - the soft gesture leaving him visibly confused -, "John."

Two can play this game. And maybe, just maybe, the deer can tire the wolf out first.

Something gleams in John's eyes, dances over them like a shadow and he seems to accept the challenge - readying to tire you out - tongue licking over your clit once more, making you shiver and mewl, as he pulls his fingers out of your dripping hole. You feel empty and --

"Do you really think, you could kill me?", he rumbles, voice deep and rough around the edges, "Stupid slut."

And then, quicker than your brain can process it, his hand comes down on your dripping wet pussy.

Your breath hitches, topples over and leaves your throat as a raw, needy moan. Softly stinging pain blooms between your folds and sets your nerves on fire. Blame it on the bruises, blame it on the pain you both inflicted on each other moments ago, but: it riles you up. Mingles with your aching bones and aching cunt, has you arching your back.

"Y'really think you could kill me", he doesn't sound offended, not even amused - voice plain, like he is inquiring if you really believed the earth to be flat. Like you really are stupid.

And you start to feel stupid, too. There was never a chance. You never had a chance. Your death was sealed, determined the second John stepped into the hotel.

You were stupid to believe you could outrun or beat him. You are stupid. And John has every right to show you, teach you, punish you for it.

Giving your cunt another firm slap, John watches your hips twitch, hears your pussy squelching and soft moans falling from your lips. "Shit", you sigh and he slaps your wet pussy once more, feels your slick folds wetting the palm of his hand.

"D'you like that, girl?", and as your only response are wanton gasps falling from your mouth John chuckles deeply, gives your pulsating cunt another two firm slaps. Seeing how he is pulling you apart, how good he makes you feel really seems to do it for him, gets him quite talkative.

"Uh-huh", you make dumbly, quite illiterate, watching him stroking your flushed, hot cunt with two of his fingers. Shivers run down your spine.

And then he leans back in, licks a fat stripe over your sensitive, flushed cunt, from the hole up to the clit.

You squirm, mewl as his beard brushes over your overstimulated skin, leaving a slight burn that mingles deliciously with a fresh wave of arousal that floods your body scalp to toes.

The muscles in your abdomen clench as two of his fingers circle your fluttering hole and then push in, rubbing along your plush walls agonizingly slowly and you can feel yourself tightening around it. Your juices squelch from your cunt as you squirt against his tongue and your slick runs down your folds, wets his fingers and palm while his tongue laps at your pussy, tasting your sweetness.

John pushes is fingers deeper as you moan and sigh, hands fisting his hair and hips moving against his tongue, his digits thrusting into you.

"Oh god", you huff as his lips close in around your clit, sucking on it and the tip of his tongue flicking against it occasionally.

Another wave of fresh wetness floods your cunt as you squirt once more, wetting the sheets below, your slick running down John's wrist.

John parts from your clit, nudges it with his tongue, his beard glistening with your juices.

"Yeah, that's fucking it", another one of his thick fingers pumps itself into your tight little hole and his other hand - also slick with your juices - grabs your thigh, "That's a good girl."

You feel so full, your spine feels like it's on fire and your brain tingles with it, sends wave of pleasure down down down your body; muscles in your loins clenching, chest heaving. It becomes all too much as he leans back in, rubs his tongue over your clit, lips sucking and teasing your folds.

The slight burn of John's beard tickling your plush, hot cunt. His fingers working your open and stretching your tight little hole open far and wide, obscene squelching sounds filling the air as he works you open, brushing against your g-spot occasionally and making you see stars.

But it's too little. It's just not enough.

"Fuck", you whine as John's thick fingers brush over your g-spot with quite some force, tongue lapping at your seeping cunt, "Shit, please. Please, just fuck me, please!"

You can feel him grinning against your wet cunt, beard a little sticky with your juices, letting go of your pussy with an obscene pop. "Yeah", he licks his lips, tastes you on his tongue, "D'you want my cock?"

And that - that might be what makes you lose your mind. Because yes. Yes, you do.

You have been craving to touch it, to feel it since it had pressed against your clothed pussy earlier. Thus, all dignity leaves your body with one, clean whine that breaks free from your throat.

"Yes, fuck - oh god, John", you brabble, legs falling apart further, inviting him in, his digits sinking deeper into your soaking wet hole, "Shit, please fuck me, John - please, please, please --"

Pleas are still falling from your lips like a chant, as a surprising noise breaks the silence, so strangely beautiful that it has you nearly shuddering: John is laughing. It's a nice baritone sound, and the fine lines around his eyes crinkle with it - it's so beautiful, that it drowns the world out. You watch him in awe, as he shakes his head, avoids your gaze.

"Jesus. Look at you", he huffs, voice dripping thickly with amusement, "If you need it that badly--"

Straightening back up and kneeling between your legs, John slips his fingers from your cunt and makes quick work of his belt, trousers, and boxers. The second he frees is cock, you start to drool like a fucking pavlovian-dog.

His dick is so fucking huge. It is nicely curved and cut, the bulbous pink head glistening with pre-cum and a thick, pumping vein at the bottom that rakes from the base to the tip, as it rests between trimmed, dark pubic hair. His cock bobs against his abdomen as it bounces free, smears the pre-cum along the pale skin, twitches at the sudden contact. And Jesus fucking Christ, you just want to fucking touch it, feel its velvety skin in your palm. But you just know that you won't even be able to wrap your hand around its base fully, it's impossible, it--

"I-it won't fit", you whisper, a little taken aback by his sheer size.

"Oh, I'll make it fit, baby."

John takes his cock in one hand, thumb right beneath its head, and rubs it against your slit. And Jesus fucking Christ. Your hips snap up, meet his movements, and he grunts while he spreads his pre-cum along your cunt, gathers your slick. The thick head of his dick prods against your entrance and you take a deep breath, looking down between your legs. You watch how he slooowly pushes in and you gasp at the sudden intrusion, the delicious stretch making you moan.

His cock feels so fucking big, hot, and heavy, as he nestles the tip in, your hole clenching around it. John's brows furrow, and he doesn't wait long until he pushes his cock in further.

The thick base starts to stretch your slim rings of muscles, a sharp pain shooting through it. He can feel your hole protesting, can see you wincing. "Breathe, baby", he hums, "Let me do the rest."

His coarse voice mingles with his words and the waves of pleasure shooting through your body despite the dull pain, conjures up a pretty pretty image that floods your brain - there's sunlight everywhere, orange rays of it hitting a bed covered in white sheets, sweaty bodies on top of it; limbs entangled, hands intertwined with their golden rings shining brightly in the warm light, heavy breathing and sloppy kisses, and lazy thrusts as his cock fucks you awake. The thought makes you dizzy, your legs falling apart and hole fluttering open, inviting him in.

The slight burn leaves you a gasping, whimpering mess as he pushes himself in deep, nestles his huge cock in between your aching, hot, and tight walls.

And John feels like he is going to pass out. No blow to the head, no bullet to the chest, no knife to the stomach could ever make him feel as dizzy as the feeling of your hot cunt squeezing him does right now. His whole body is vibrating with want and lust and he just really hopes that you don't notice that he has gotten a little rusty. The thought quickly gets drowned-out as he looks down, where his thick cock practically splits you open, vanishes in your hole.

"Shit", he huffs out, places one large hand on your stomach and thrusts. Feeling himself moving inside of you has him moaning, gaze shooting up to you, meeting your eyes, as his hand presses down. "You feel me right here, baby?", he rasps and you nod, mouth agape by the sheer force of his thrust, tip of his cock prodding your cervix.

John can see his cock moving inside of you, the way your stomach bulges a little. He gets a little dizzy with, and then his eyes make the mistake of moving up to your face. And it takes a whole lot of fucking will-power of him to not just thrust and thrust and thrust and fuck you until you cry, bleed.

You are so fucking pretty. Mouth agape you watch how his cock vanishes between your legs, splits your cunt open, with his eyes heavy-lidded and cheeks flushed. Your lips are plush and red from his assault.

Your hands grip the sheets and your breasts heave with your deep breaths, that grow a little more flaccid. Next to you lays his gun, knife still buried into the mattress. His eyes drop to the weapons and his breath hitches. And for a split second, like a flash of light, he wonders what in God's name he's doing here. He is a professional. The Ballerina works like that. He doesn't.

A sweet, sweet noise rips him out of his thoughts. "J-john", you mewl, eyes still trained on his massive dick splitting you open, "I-it, it's --"

"Yeah?", he breathes, the sound all soft and careful around the edges.

"Heavy", you breathe.

"Does it hurt?", he kind of wants it to. Make you pay for what you did to him. He kind of doesn't want it to. Make you enjoy what he's got to give.

John realizes he is fucked.

You nod, head flying back into the cushions, while your brows dart together.

John's free hand flies to your clit, nudges it gently, before slowly rubbing wide circles over it. You gasp, as you feel fresh wetness flooding your cunt and dripping down your folds to where his cock splits your hole open, pools around it. He carefully pulls out a little and then pushes back in, assisted by your slick. The way you moan spurs him on and the circles on your clit grow faster and smaller.

Aching your back, you lean into the touch. "That's a good girl", he whispers, voice raw and coarse, dripping with lust and the exhaustion of holding back. John bottoms out, while continuing to rub your clit and he can feel your walls growing plush, your hole fluttering around his dick, relaxing with your hot, seeping cunt inviting him in. "Feels good?"

"Yeah, fuck", you feel like you are being split open, with his thick cock filling you to the brim and rubbing along your walls with every little movement, the thick head prodding gently against your cervix, "Shit, John."

It feels so fucking good, all thoughts being washed away from your brain as he starts to move carefully, thrusts into you once, twice. You moan, lips slightly parted, before your gaze flies to him.

And Fuck. John's chest is flushed a little, muscles of his abdomen flexing with every thrust while his gaze is trained down to where his cock fucks into you, brows darted together a little and his breathing audible.

"John?", you whisper, and his gaze immediately shoots up to you as your comparably tiny hand wraps around the wrist of his hand that is still rubbing your clit.

"Yeah?"

"Fuck me."

For a long moment, he just looks at you and you think - no, you are convinced - that you can see a glimpse of the human being he once was. Caring, sweet and gentle; as he seems to really take it into consideration if you are ready yet, if you know what you are begging for.

Apparently, he does deem you prepared enough, and the soft gaze gets replaced by a dark gleam as all gentleness vanishes from his face once more. Without a warning, John rolls his hips back only to thrust into you again, deep, and hard, immediately picking up a quick rhythm.

It comes as a genuine surprise to you and you gasp, mewling but it quickly feels just so fucking good, practically lights your body up and leaves every nerve-ending on fire, each thrust has you moaning loudly.

It spurs him on, makes him grunt and for a while, you both just watch him gliding in and out of your tight hole, with him feeling your muscles squeezing him and you feeling his cock stretching your open further and further. Your lips as slightly parted and his brows are furrowed as he rolls his hips into yours and you feel time getting lost on you, the only thing of importance remaining is the feeling of him filling you up. John's hands roam your body, wandering over your thighs and your stomach, your hips before angling your leg, pushing the heel of your foot on his shoulder, and grabbing your ankle with one hand, his dick slips into you even further, balls slapping against your ass heavily with each thrust.

You can tell that John has not fucked in a long, long time. It's not the way he does it - all fluid, languid thrust of his hips, muscles dancing under the soft skin. It's mostly the way he pants and grunts - sounds just as desperate as you feel. And still, he has the stamina of a racehorse.

You can feel that he wants to prove it, too, as his free hand grabs your thigh and hoists your other leg over his hip bone, practically pulling your lower half off the bed in the process. Your pelvis now clings to his, obscene sounds of his cock fucking into your wet pussy filling the air while he huffs with his thrusts, yet does not slow down.

The grip on both, your ankle and your thigh are hard, and you are certain his hands will leave a bruise but you just cannot bring yourself to care. Deep down you know, that someone will see them: your maids, your friends, your family.

But all thoughts, all worries get swapped from your brain as your gaze wanders up from where John's dick hammers into you steadily, rakes over his defined stomach and chest and finally, finally lands on his face.

He looks downright, utterly, and breathtakingly -- pornographic.

John's dark pupils blown wide gleaming with arousal, his cheeks are slightly blushed and a thin layer of sweat makes him glow in the dim light of the living room falling onto the bed. It surrounds him like a halo, a Saint of Death and Decay, with his dark hair falling into his forehead and onto his shoulders. He brushes it out of the way with his stunted hand, a ragged breath making his chest heave. There is still some of your slick wetting his beard.

You can't help your mind from going there, from wondering how different things could have been. What it would be like if you had met me in a bar instead of him entering your suite, leaving the hallway behind him looking like a slaughterhouse. Maybe he would have laughed at your jokes, in the dim light of your favorite bar in the city. Maybe he would have liked the same music as you do. Maybe, just maybe, he would have brought you home only to stay the night and fuck you until you would have lost your goddamn mind.

Your hand wanders down your body, strokes your waist and hip in the process, before it languidly drops between your spread legs, two fingers darting out and rubbing circles over your sensitive clit.

John moves quickly, his usual deadly precision shattering your peaceful fantasy, his hand ditching your thigh and closing in around your waist. "Don't you fuckin' touch yourself", he growls, and it's the first time you hear real, actual emotion dwelling in his throat - not his toneless, cold and mechanical rumble. He sounds pissed. Offended.

And the best part is: it seems to get him fucking going.

John leans in, your calf still resting on his shoulder and the slight pain of the stretch is delicious as he nearly folds your body in half. You can feel his dick sliding in even deeper into your hole and you gasp and whine, one hand coming up to dig into his biceps to just hold on. Hold on, while he pounds into you with perfectly angled, deep and strong thrusts, hitting your g-spot with every single one of them.

You know that the suite's door is in shambles, that anyone could walk in here and see you having your brains fucked out by the man who is here to kill you - but you don't care. Part of it is, because the gun is still resting next to your head on the sheets. You could just grab it and shoot anyone dead in heartbeat, whoever is trying to disturb the pleasure that shoots through your body.

But it is also him.

It's the way John is towering over you, back hunched, looking all wide and powerful and deadly, with the way he shields your body from view and harm as he thrusts into you. As he pushes all his rage, adrenaline, and strength into your tight hole, groans, and pants into your ear.

There is nothing you can do, despite holding onto him, nails digging into his back, clutching his broad shoulders, fingers running over his tattoos desperately. He is fucking the living daylight out of you, your body moving like a ragdoll underneath the mountain of muscles and strength. Your cunt is being split open by his cock, as you feel him hammering into you and you feel like you are going to lose your mind, panting and moaning with each of his thrusts.

"John, fuck", you moan sweetly, eyes rolling into your skull as he pounds into you, "You feel so fucking good, shit --"

"Yeah", he huffs, his forehead slowly sinking onto yours, "You too, baby."

You can see his eyelids fluttering, feel his upper body heaving beneath your hands, smell the blood on his skin, mingling with his musky scent. Blaming it on the sickening cocktail of hormones that is flooding both - your brain and your body - you lean in, your lips desperately smacking against his.

And Jesus Fucking Christ. Does John kiss you.

Kisses you like he is starving for it, licking back into your mouth - his body pressing yours into the mattress with his whole weight and muscle, while still thrusting into you.

Your hands tangle into his hair, tugging at it. John moans against your lips and your stomach flutters at the sound, and you want more. One hand moves to lay at the crook of his neck and your tongue presses against his, licking back into his mouth. Adding some force to his neck you invite John deeper into the kiss, and he follows suite, steals you the last bit of air your lungs were holding. Panting you part from him, thumb brushing over the crook of his neck.

Greedily breathing against his lips, you can't help yourself. You feel so alive and you want him to wreck you, to leave something behind that you will remember for every day your heart continues to beat. Greedily breathing against his lips, you can't help yourself but to whisper: "Harder."

John blinks, hips stuttering. And then, he grunts. His hand digs into your waist as he grabs you there, hold you in place will his hips rut into you. Picking up a near brutal rhythm, obscene sounds of your slick being pushed in and out and in out of your hole as he jackhammers into your g-spot, the bedframe rattling as John's thrusts pound it into the wall - leaving you a gasping and moaning mess. His belt clinks with his thrusts and you cling onto him, sharp whines escaping your throat.

"John John John", his name leaves your mouth like a mantra, sharp and high-pitched. His head falls forward, dark locks brushing over your cheek as his temple rests against yours and then you hear it.

John moans.

It's a deep, carnal sound. Your stomach flutters and lust shoots through your body at the noise, your tight cunt squeezing his thick cock as you squirt around his cock like a broken fucking hose, wetting his pubic hair. You can feel it rubbing along your wet folds, the sensation making you mewl, leaves your hips shuddering.

"Shit", you breathe, hands cradling his muscular back and then you can feel his dick twitching inside of you, accompanied by yet another one of his sweet, sweet moans, "Fuck, John--"

He raises his head and your gazes connect, before he leans in, presses his lips onto yours once more. The kiss is surprisingly soft and in stark contrast to the way he ruts and pounds into you and then he hits the spot once more and -

Everything goes white as your muscles clench and unclench suddenly, as you nearly scream against his lips; your hole practically milking his cock as you cum, pussy gushing and squirting around him like a broken hose.

John continues to fuck you through your orgasm and his heavy breathing reaches your ears through the cotton candy, that slowly wraps you in as everything turns light and bright. He moans deeply against your cheek as he comes, too - shoots hot ropes of cum into you and paints your walls with it.

His movements still as he buries himself deep into you, cock twitching with each thick rope of his cum and you can feel him fill you up, as his massive frame slowly sinks down onto you.

Your legs grow heavy and the stretch of your left leg is turning painful and you - a little clumsily - pull it away from his shoulder, stretch it out. Your limbs start to shake and you close your eyes, drawing in deep breaths through your nose.

The room is silent, the air heavy with the musky scent of sex.

Your chest still heaves with the remains of your orgasm, bliss still spreading in your brain and your veins, making you feel like you are flying. Your heart is still racing, as you feel him moving again.

Blinking up at him, you can see him grabbing the gun.

"Don't", you say softly, voice coarse from screaming your lungs out in pleasure just moments ago, "Please, don't." You are not ready to scream yet again. Not ready to scream in pain, instead of pleasure.

John does not reply. He pulls the hammer back, checks the chamber - all with one hand.

"Kill him instead, please."

He freezes, eyes locking with yours. "Who?", he sounds just as exhausted as you. The wolf, tired out. The deer, bleeding, limping.

Call it Post Nut Clarity, call it Finally Taking Your Future In Your Own Hands, call it Emancipating Yourself. Call it Having Wrapped A Deadly Assassin Around Your Pinky.

You were not safer here. You never were. Just more isolated. Easier to locate.

Easier to kill.

Realization hits you like a blow to the head, your vision swimming.

See? I will not die today.

"My father. Kill him."

[basketonthedoorstepofthefbi]

I love how you characterize Aaron Hotchner! Would you please write something for him along with the quote ‘keep your eyes open, sweetheart’? Completely up to you, but was definitely thinking about some heavy angst 🙃🙃

"look at me" - hotch x gn!bau!reader - 985 words

cw: injuries and depictions of violence, general angst, anxiety, hotch literally just being a hero as per freakin usual

why hello my love! thank you sm for this request <3

i don't write a lot of angst, it's certainly something i need practice with! but i really enjoyed writing this and i smooch ur lil forehead

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People always say that in a near-death experience, your whole life flashes before your eyes. 

Not yours. 

You didn’t see your whole life, no. You saw bits and pieces - learning to ride a bike, walking at your high school graduation, pinning your FBI badge to your blazer. And then you just saw Aaron. 

The first time you met, shaking hands as a brazen formality in the middle of a case, feeling his deep, brown eyes scrutinize your every move, watching him watch you. He was testing you back then, seeing if you’d be a good fit for the team.

The first real conversation you shared with him - The Beatles, which song was his favorite? Laughing at him when he said Yellow Submarine. 

When he held your hand for the first and only time on a particularly rough case, about four months ago, and promised you that things would get better. 

When you comforted him for the first time, about three months ago, after Haley left him. You promised him that everything happens for a reason. 

Five minutes ago, when you told him you felt certain the unsubs were going to strike again. You felt it in the pits of your stomach, you told Aaron. And he just nodded and said he trusted your intuition. Then he held the door open for you, and led you out of the police station, into the dead-quiet night of the street.  

He clicked the key fob in his hand, and the SUV burst into red-hot flames and sent you both flying. You were immediately knocked unconscious, your body thrust out into the street flippantly, like someone had simply thrown a baseball. 

You come to on the concrete, your head pounding. All sound is muffled, but you see Aaron on his knees, hovering over you. His face is covered in dirt and soot and blood, and he keeps cupping his hand over his ear. 

“ - hear me?” Sound is restored in the middle of Aaron’s question. It’s abrupt, like someone changing the channel on the TV, but you can hear again. You feel dizzy and disoriented as you prop yourself up on your elbows. 

“Stay down,” Aaron instructs, guiding you gently to lay flat on your back once again. Your entire body is throbbing. 

“Aaron,” you feel a panicked, whispered sob escape you. He grabs your hand and you feel him squeeze it. Your eyes roll into the back of your head. You feel dizzy, like you might pass out again and Aaron’s grip tightens around your hand. “It hurts.” 

“Keep your eyes open for me, sweetheart. Please?” The endearment rolls off of Aaron’s tongue like he’s said it a million times before. He hasn’t. Your relationship with him has been professional-ish up until this point. You’re not sure how he feels about you, exactly, but at this moment, it doesn’t matter. 

 He doesn’t even acknowledge that he said it. “What hurts?” Aaron’s speaking loudly, like someone who has headphones in. His hand is still pressed against his ear. 

“All of it,” you murmur. “Everything.” 

You feel tears in your eyes. Your stomach is in knots and you feel like someone is sitting on your chest. You blink a few times, feeling the tears drip down your face and onto your lips, salty and full of dread. 

Aaron’s checking you over, you realize, lifting your head gently and quickly to make sure you’re not bleeding. He’s talking to you, telling you what he’s doing so you don’t panic even more. He uses feather-light touches to lift your arm, and pain shocks you, coursing through your wrist. “Shh, hey, I’m sorry,” he says, laying your arm by your side. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Your wrist is broken.” 

You blink a few tears away. 

“I’m going to pick you up, Y/N,” he tells you. He never calls you by your first name, but you’re in so much pain that you can’t even be jarred by it. “Can you move your other arm?” 

It feels laden, but you can. You nod and whimper in confirmation. 

“Can you hook it around my neck?” He asks as he slides his hands under you. The crooks of your knees and your back are cradled by Aaron’s arms and you wrap your arm around his neck. Once he determines you’re stable in his arms, he lifts you up. You hear sirens blaring as they get closer, and you see Aaron grimace. You feel his body tense up, his fingers curl around the fabric of your shirt. 

“What’s wrong?” You ask him in an unfiltered mumble, sniffling as he carries you towards the nearest ambulance. 

“It’s just my ear. I’m fine, Y/N. I’ll be fine,” he promises, but you feel how labored his gait is. It’s taking everything in him to carry you to the ambulance. You want to tell him to stop, to remind him that the paramedics can bring the gurney to you. But you’re so tired, so dizzy. You think maybe if you just rest your eyes a little bit, you might feel better. Your head tilts to rest in the crook of Aaron’s neck. Your eyes flutter shut. 

“Y/N, you might have a concussion. You have to stay awake, okay?” Aaron’s voice draws you back. Your eyes are shaky when they open, and you see him looking at you with weighted concern as he sets you onto the gurney. 

The paramedics load you shakily up into the ambulance, and you reach your uninjured arm out. “You’re going to the hospital with me, right?” You ask. 

Aaron nods, climbing in after the paramedics and sitting beside you. His eyes are piercing and full of consternation as he takes your uninjured hand in both of his. He runs his fingertips over your knuckles, nodding assuredly, though you are certain he is feeling exactly the opposite.  “Yeah. Of course. I’m not going to leave you.”

[joonsytip]

Only for Love || Mingyu - Part 3

Pairings: Mingyu x Fem!Reader

Genre: Angst, Fluff, Smut, Husband!Mingyu, Cold Wife!Reader, Arranged Marriage au, Contract Marriage au, Divorce au

Synopsis: When an accidental discovery has your perception of happy married life crumbling down, you do what you think is the best for everyone involved. Naturally, your opinion of the best doesn't cater to your husband's. So what happens when things spiral out due to unforeseen events?

Warnings: character death, mentions of pregnancy, Mingyu acts dumb, reader goes through a whole lot of emotional turmoil, mentions of divorce, tears, profanities, major angst.

Word Count: 5.7k

@wongyuuu thanks a lot for brainstorming out this with me & happy birthday, love! 💕🎂

[ SVT Masterlist ] [ SVT Flick - Fic Masterlist ]

Teaser | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Epilogue

Mingyu returns to an empty house. He waits for you for an hour, two hours and when the clock strikes midnight his mind clouds with concern. He fishes out his phone and ignoring the series of notifications that keeps on popping up, he calls you.

But with all his calls remaining unanswered, Mingyu surges in panic and calls Soonyoung who's extremely pissed and shows his discontentment through a dry, edgy reply.

"She left with Minghao."

That's the only line Mingyu hears before getting hung up. And Soonyoong does not pick up his call again.

And now he sits rooted to the couch, tapping feet in anxiety and worry with no idea about your whereabouts and who the hell is Minghao?

His thoughts bounce off the walls and he decides to take his car and drives off to find you aimlessly. He goes to your office only to be greeted by the security. He goes to the café you are regular at, knowing very well that it would be closed but he makes a round just for his sanity. He knocks on your apartment door but it's empty just like the house was.

Dejected he fishes out his phone to call your uncle when the notification of your name flashes on the screen.

'Meet me at home within fifteen minutes.'

There's no way he's gonna get home within the said timeframe but just as he rushes towards his car, his phone vibrates again.

'Half an hour. Don't run the red lights, don't run over people.'

Mingyu listens to your advice and thankfully he reaches you in one piece.

But he stands frozen as he sees you in the hallway carrying a duffle bag.

"Where were you?", no greetings, you ask checking your watch.

Mingyu knows you know and you know that he knows that you know.

"I had to leave with Sora."

"And who's she?"

Mingyu bites his tongue before answering, "My ex."

"What made you go somewhere with your ex rather than watch your wife getting felicitated?", your voice is calmer than usual and it scares your husband to the bones.

He stays silent. And you wait for him like you have all the time in the world.

"I can't tell you right now, Y/N. I'm sorry.", he answers quietly, lowering his gaze.

"Okay.", you say and Mingyu looks at you flabbergasted. Before he could speak, you add,"I'm going to stay at my uncle's."

Mingyu feels electrified, the sensation which burns his whole body, itches on his skin and scratches at the throat.

"I'm sorry, I know it is an unacceptable behaviour of me but please trust me. I haven't done anything to be ashamed of.", Mingyu grabs your hands and blabbers, "You can stay with your uncle but please tell me when you are going to return, that you're going to return."

You pull back your hands from his grip, "I don't think I'll be returning anytime soon.", you say sternly, "I had something to share with you but this isn't the right time."

"Y/N--"

"Before I leave, tell me one thing. Are you going to keep seeing her?"

Mingyu flares at this, "I'm not seeing her for fucks sake! I would never do something bad, I'm your husband."

You stare at him for a solid minute, "You didn't answer my question. Anyways, I'm disappointed. Keep yourself in my shoes and give it a thought."

"Let me drive you, it's late.", he offers.

"You don't have to worry about me, Minghao is already waiting with his car."

Mingyu twitches on hearing the name for the second time, "And who's that?"

"I can't tell you right now, Mingyu. I'm sorry.", you mimic his words from before and just as you are about to cross the threshold, you whisper shaking your head, "You can't even put yourself in my shoes..."

Mingyu watches you leave with a grim heart.

It's been a two weeks since you've been living with your uncle. And though you've left home in despair, Mingyu has somehow made it a mission to win back your trust.

But who's gonna tell him that you never doubted him, you were just mad, just like a teenage girl who can't keep her act straight in front of her love.

He calls you every night. For the first week you didn't pick up his calls but when your anger started to subside you entertained his calls but never spoke much, just listened to him telling how his day went. He asks every time if could visit you, getting a straight no as reply. He might be obedient but he's sneaky as hell because most of the times when you're getting off work you somehow see him engrossed with some conversation with Soonyoung at the parking.

What is he doing at your workplace almost everyday, when he could crash at Soonyoung's place. Why does Soonyoung have to call out your name every time when you're walking past them, roping you into some small talks.

Soonyoung is the imposter.

And why does everytime aa you are about to take leave after the conversation, Mingyu asks you the same question, "When are you returning?"

You never answer.

"You've gotta be kidding me!", Seokmin yelps. They all have gathered at Mingyu's place because everyone is stressed and wants to know what is actually happening.

"There are all sorts of rumours at the workplace. And I wanna punch everyone in the face.", Soonyoung says dejected, "Minghao and Y/N went to the same university so some are saying that they have dated during that time." he takes a chug from the can and continues, "And since Mingyu didn't show up at the event last time, it has sparked the speculations."

Mingyu sits head lowered, rubbing his hands all over the face.

"I'm sure Minghao likes her. I can tell by the way he looks at her.", Soonyoung puts it down.

"What about Y/N?", Mingyu asks his heart beating in his chest rapidly.

"What do you think dumbass?", Junhui glares at him.

"Woah, I'm offended now that you asked that question.", Hansol speaks in distaste.

"It's been a month without her.", Mingyu sighs, his lips curl down, eyes filled with concern, "I think everything was going back to normal, assuming by the way she responded, I felt like she'd be coming back anytime but she has gone radio silent suddenly. For the past two weeks she isn't responding to my calls or texts, she is even working from home."

"Yeah maybe Minhee can tell something", Junhui suggests, "But I doubt she'd spill anything if Y/N has told her not to."

The evening bleeds into night and the guys keep on chatting when suddenly Jeonghan who hasn't been much involved decides to speak.

"Now that Sora is back? What are you gonna do?"

The laughters die down and room falls silent with all the eyes on Mingyu.

"What's going on guys? Is there something we don't know?", Seokmin asks in fear.

Jeonghan leans back on the couch and looks at Mingyu, saying, "I think it's time, they should know. I'll go first, that day Mingyu left with Sora to meet me. Apparently, the guy Sora had left Gyu for turns out to be a douch. Won't go to the details but he kept blackmailing her, so desperate to save herself and afraid that I won't be meeting her if she went alone, she took him with her. I'm skipping the legal parts and that guy has been sort of taken care off. But that's not where it ends.", he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose, "The problem is that Sora wants him back now."

Gasps erupt through the room.

"Why did I see it coming though?", Seokmin says, "You have said no straight to her face right, Min?", he asks Mingyu.

The silence that follows horrifies every other one present in the room.

"Don't tell me...", Hansol trails off, eyeing his friend in utter disbelief.

"It's not what you're thinking.", Mingyu frowns, "I haven't said anything to Sora. But I have loved her for so long it's rolling back like a habit.", he hesitantly looks up and sees a bunch of disappointed faces, "But if it had been the previous me, I'd have gone to her in a snap but I'm changed now."

Mingyu gives a wry smile when looking at the relief washing over his friends.

"Here's the real deal begins. We have been married for over two years, in a few months we'd be hitting the three year mark. It's a long time right?", he sweeps his gaze across the large wedding frame of you both on the wall, "Instead of being a couple, I feel like living with a roommate. No feelings involved. She's stoic, nonchalant and even inconsiderate sometimes, even if I think that there's something between us, her actions act as bucket of cold water on those thoughts. I understand that not everyone is the same and I agree that Y/N has changed but somehow we're still at the starting point and it's starting to tire me out. Maybe I shouldn't have agreed to this marriage--"

There's a sudden thud and all the necks turn in unison only to find you standing by the hallway and your bag on the ground.

Heartbreak is one thing but the humiliation is another form of descend you're currently facing. You return your home only to find your husband shit talking about how unhappy he is in this marriage to his friends.

And the biggest loss turns out to be how you're the only one who thought that it's a happy, perfect marriage. Your husband isn't wrong when he said that you're inconsiderate.

Tears prick at your eyes but aren't you stoic, nonchalant so why should the people infront of you get the leverage to see you vulnerable? They shouldn't, so you pick up your bag and walk past them going straight into the guest room.

There are continuous knocks on the door. Your phone keeps ringing but you pay mind to none. Your mind only reels the words of your husband from before.

The previous you would have stomped out of the house but now, you can't. The situation has changed, the circumstances are different and you are totally lost.

Because there's a life is growing inside you. The reason you decided to return home tonight but your second attempt at letting Mingyu know that he's gonna be a father cracks again. The first attempt was the night where Mingyu chose Sora over you. He doesn't want you, would he want to raise a child with you?

Maybe you shouldn't have gotten married, maybe you shouldn't have fallen in love with your husband and maybe she's better, the previous you who knew you're undesirable, who knew that people like you are unlovable, who very well knew how to maintain a boundary.

You have lost the track of time but you sure can hear voices from the other side of the door. You think attachment is something you can't effort, you are not people's people.

So that's how what Mingyu had said, you turned into his roommate. Since that day, you have settled in the guest room. You don't get out of your room unless it's an emergency. You leave for work early and return home at late hours.

You haven't spoken to Mingyu since that day. You've rejected all his advances of striking a conversation. But you're thankful to him for making you food everyday because you can't eat anything else, it makes you nauseous.

"Hey, are you okay?", Minghao asks worried as he takes a sit beside you at the cafeteria of the office, "You have been throwing a lot."

You nod your head, avoiding his gaze, "I'm fine."

Minghao doesn't buy your words but you both settle in the comfortable silence and until he gasps.

You cock brows looking at him.

"Are you pregnant?", he gasps, "Oh my god."

You freeze and slap your hand over his mouth and proceed to tell him everything that has been happening.

"So Mingyu doesn't know yet. And he's being a jerk ever since his ex-girlfriend returned.", Minghao says in anger. He sweeps a gaze across your face and his eyes soften, "You love him, don't you?"

You avoid his gaze again, you don't answer him.

A sad smile graces on his lips as he reminiscences the past. How he had practically clinched himself in your life. How he had fallen in love with you but knew that you wouldn't reciprocate, the reason why he disappeared abruptly from your life years ago. The apologies are always on the tip of his tongue for leaving you alone, for creating the safe place but also leaving it void.

"You know you shouldn't be taking stress. I know it's not easy but I'd suggest for you both to sort things out, atleast for the baby.", he says patting your back in a comforting manner, "If Mingyu does anything to hurt you again, tell me I'll beat him for you."

"Thanks Hao.", you say smiling.

"Also let me know if Soonyoung bothers you. I'll handle him as well."

You shake your head laughing, "He insufferable Hao, you'll give up."

"We'll see that.", he smiles softly, "But do plan on telling him. Uncle also needs to know, he'd be so happy."

"I want the baby's father to know first. Then I'll tell everyone.", you assure him.

Mingyu knows he went overboard. He knows he was being an absolute asshole when he uttered those baseless words in your favour.

Maybe he should never have compared the type of relationship he had with Sora with the one he's having with you. It's a grave mistake and the lack of your presence is taking a toll on him. But he understands if you need space or even don't want to see his face. He's willing to give you all that but he plans to apologise to you and if you don't forgive him, he'd understand.

Work is hectic but the situation at home is feverish. He has been getting earfuls from all of his friends and family, specially Minhee. She has been giving him shit routinely.

His reverie breaks when he receives a text from you. Hurriedly opening the text, his eyes widen with a mixture of horror and anticipation.

'Come home as soon as possible. I have something to tell you.'

His mind could only hint at it being something ominous.

You pace around the entire house nervously.

"Mingyu, I'm pregnant. You're gonna be father."

You shake head at the selection of words.

"Congratulations! You're going to be a dad!"

Sounds too exciting for an unplanned pregnancy.

"You're pull out game was weak. Guess what I'm pregnant."

Too snappy, rejected.

"Kim Mingyu, you're pregnant, I will be-- wait what no-- I'm pregnant, we're expecting."

You sit down pulling your hair in frustration.

After another hundred million failed rehearsals you sort to say whatever your heart would feel like at the moment in his presence.

But where's Mingyu? You check the clock, it's past his work hours. Maybe he's running late for some reason. It's your third attempt to tell him about your pregnancy and you hope that you'd succeed this time.

Your phone rings and you would never have guessed that your world would come crashing down.

You stand with head your head bowed down the entire time at the funeral hall. The band wrapped around your arm acts as a constant reminder that you're the chief mourner. You don't raise your head, not ready the see the picture that's kept on the board.

The heart attack was so brutal that it claimed the life of your uncle without a chance of revival. When you were informed he was already gone.

No last words, no goodbyes. Now you're left with only his photo and memories. You walk into the room where his body is kept as you've made a special request to let you meet him before he's taken into the coffin.

He's almost unrecognisable as you sit beside the body. Gently caressing his head, you finally let the tears fall.

"You were so eager to meet everyone that you left me alone here.", you sob, "What do I do without you now?"

You caress his cheeks gently, "Whatever I have become it's because of you. Even though I was the reason they died, you took me in and raised me like our own."

"I have something to tell.", your hands place themselves back on his head, "I'm pregnant. You're gonna be a grandparent. Tell mom, dad and aunt that I have grown up. Tell Sejin that he's gonna be an uncle."

You spend some more last moments with your uncle before there's a knock on the door. You quickly wipe the tears and look up to see Mingyu standing at the threshold.

"It's time.", he says solemnly.

You nod and look back at your uncle saying, "Thank you for everything. Have a nice reunion with everyone up there. Forgive me if I have been a bad daughter. Goodbye comrade."

You don't like the pitiful look everyone throws at you. You hate it, it claws on your skin and you feel like throwing up. Running into the washroom, you sit down opening the lid to empty your stomach when you feel your hairs being pulled back in gentle grip.

It's Mingyu, you know even though even without seeing him. He doesn't care about entering a ladies washroom when he has to look for you.

"Here, drink some water.", he uncaps the bottle and offers it to you.

He's presence is somewhat comforting, he makes things bearable. Your uncle is laid beside the rest of your family and you request everyone to be left alone. It's night time when you leave the place only to see Mingyu waiting for you.

There's silence throughout the ride back to home, no words spoken when he makes you eat something he cooked when you were showering, unspoken words when you go back your room and he goes back to his.

You mourn for days and while you do so you take notice of a lot of things.

"Y/N, I'm sorry for that day. I didn't mean anything I said, I was just being an idiot.", Mingyu  says after barging into your room one night because he had enough. He decides he won't let you suffer alone anymore.

You nod your head, "It's okay.", your short and curt reply doesn't settle well with your husband.

"I know one apology isn't enough and I understand if you won't forgive me but please let me be there for you.", he pleads closing the gap and taking your hands within his. His eyes searches for your face and his brows crease when he finds you avoiding eye contact.

You pull back your hands out of his grip, "I can take care of myself, Mingyu."

Your call of name rings oddly in his ear. It's rare for you to call him by name, it's always husband when throwing banter or Gyu while being affectionate.

Affectionate? His mind reels in the moment. Aren't you unexpressive then how could his mind produce that word in your wake?

"I'm tired. Let's call it a night.", you say poised, "There's no need for an apology. Everyone has the right to voice out about anything they don't like."

Mingyu feel like he's not your husband rather an office colleague. Your tone is so formal and dry. Your words cut him like a dagger. He wonders if he has caused damaged beyond repair.

It's so fucked up that he wants to hold you sleep, say sweet nothings to calm your senses but he's afraid to ask you to come back to the master bedroom.

So he lets you bask in your own company. He'll interfere with your personal space for sure one day, hustle in forcefully if you don't let him, no matter how rude and irritating it is, he'll mend the broken bond.

His heart breaks when he notices that you don't look him in the eyes anymore. You always had a strong lively gaze, but they are now hollow. You don't call him when you're struggling to open the jar, you don't ask for him when you can't reach something kept on the top shelf.

His friends are all dejected at how you don't indulge them anymore, they're sad at how they don't get to see you nowadays.

Mingyu had attempted to gauze you out of the coop by inviting the guys to the apartment. But you had locked yourself in the room the whole time.

His parents lament on how he ruined something so beautiful, his sister cries at how you don't communicate with even her nowadays.

He's already going crazy and Sora's pestering him by showing up outside his workplace often or making thousands of phone calls almost everyday, makes him ponder upon how was he even in love with her at some point.

He regrets again, now that he can clearly see the difference. You are you, the actual indifference you're showing is now and it's driving him crazy.

He wants to fix this. He needs to fix both of you because he needs you.

You're in the middle of some paperwork when there's a knock on the cabin door.

Soonyoung enters and the look that you give him is sharp enough to scare him off.

"How have you been doing?"

"Breathing fine, alive."

He should have taken the clue and left but it's Soonyoung and he lives as if he has nine lives.

"We miss you, please stop ghosting us."

"I'm not ghosting anyone."

"Minhee is miserable."

The writing stops, your hand halts for a moment before continuing. Soonyoung knocks on the table demanding your attention on him.

You sigh, having no option but look at him.

"You can be mad at your husband but we didn't do anything, Y/N. I don't even know Mingyu, I'm your friend."

The corner of your lips threaten to curl up. Your heart twinges and you smile sadly, "It's better to be prepared ahead so that you all will get accustomized to it later. Attachments are always painful."

Soonyoung looks at you quizzically, "What do you mean by that?"

"Nothing.", you drew yourself back in the papers, "I have a meeting in ten minutes, I need to go over these documents before that."

Soonyoung maybe callous at times but somehow seeing you and hearing your words today makes him bothered.

Another weak passes and you are packing your bags the entire time little by little, unknown to Mingyu because your door is always locked. Your office room is almost empty except for the systems. When Mingyu's not at home, you roam in the bedroom, swaying in the memories you both made there. You lay on the bed, sniffing the pillows because they smell like him.

You crave his touch all the time and him being in your vision doesn't help at all when you could sense the longing in his eyes.

Mingyu doesn't know that you've stolen one of his shirts and a hoodie. He should never find out.

Your soul knows. It tells you that it’s time to distance yourself from those who no longer align with you mentally, emotionally or physically.

"I can't stay here.", you whisper to yourself as you continue to pack rest of the items.

"I'm cursed.", you frantically wipe your tears, "People related to me keep dying."

Your body shakes, eyes producing another batch of fresh tears, "No one should be associated with me. I need to cut everyone out of my life for their sake. Without me, they'd be safe."

You heave a breath, in an attempt to calm yourself, "Mingyu doesn't like me anyways. I'm just a burden. He'll be free once I leave, he can be with Sora.", you rub your chest as it stings, "He'll be happy and that is what I want."

Your gaze instinctively lands on your belly, hands gently rubbing circles, "I promise, even if we won't be together, me and your dad will try our best to raise you. I can't wait to meet you, to hold you."

Mingyu, on the other hand is set on winning you back. He knows you don't like anything extravagant, so he plans to surprise you out a romantic date at home. He's ready to go to the lengths to make you forgive him. He craves your presence, your touch, your shy smiles, the way you call him when you want something from him.

He wants to love you, wants to make love to you. He has been dreaming a lot about starting a family with you. He wants the little versions of you both running around the house. When his friends took the initiative to show him how he has changed and it's for better he knows that it's true. He wonders if all the frustrations were because his heart wasn't ready to seek out the real feelings.

But now he has figured it all out, he likes you, likes you a lot. So he wants this marriage to work out.

He hopes for you to like him back. So who's gonna tell him the truth?

Some free time at work and he's watching new recipes to cook for you. Before going to bed, he's open the phone gallery and goes over your pictures, the pictures which are candid, the ones in which you posed, the best where he's with you in them.

Would you like it, if he throws pebble at your window and serenades you at the middle of the night? Would it be a good idea if goes down on his knees because he hasn't done it before and know he wants to.

Mingyu is all giddy making up scenarios in his head. He wishes to watch them all happen successfully.

"Are you having mood swings?", Jeonghan asks him one day when everyone gathers at the former's home, "Or do you have dissociative identity disorder? You were regretting getting married to her some weeks back and now you're saying that you like her?"

Junhui is grumpy, he takes a look at Mingyu and smacks him hard on his head causing the later to scream out in pain.

"He claims he is the most closest to Y/N and he is grieving because she is not responding to his texts.", Seokmin clarifies and eyes Mingyu in disbelief, "Seriously dude, what's wrong with you? How can you mess up this bad?"

Before Mingyu could speak up, Hansol interjects, "How hard it is to sort out your feelings? How could you even utter such ridiculous things about her when you know how difficult it had been for her, the whole life. Now she even lost her uncle. Imagine listening to your husband yapping about how much he dislikes you when you think he is one you can lean on? And that too instead of voicing out your mind to her first, she heard you telling it to us."

Hansol is a calm man, he never loses his cool except for some situations and this being one of it.

"It's not only me and Jun. Everyone is upset.. I know I'm making it sound bigger, we know that she is your wife, first and our friend, second but we can see that even though she never shows it she cares a lot. I'll tell you no one has ever entertained me constantly to help me, not even you guys. She even suggested me tools that she thought might help me with the editing though she had to invest time on getting to that point. She gifted Jun a diffuser as the previous one was causing him throat irritation but he was too stubborn to discard a newly bought machine."

Seokmin adds up to Hansol, "Didn't she help you with the paperwork late at night even though you both work in an entirely different industry? I'm sorry but did Sora ever do that being in the same line of work? No right. If you would have noticed she has always tried to accomodate herself within us even when it was difficult, it was all new to her."

Mingyu sinks his face into the palm of his hands, as he says regretfully, "I made a huge mistake. I let my intrusive thoughts win and ended up hurting her."

"What if it's too late to fix things?", Soonyoung speaks, his vision dazed as your words from before keeps reeling in his mind, "You should resolve the matters before it's too late."

The following week is hectic for Mingyu. The clients are visiting and everyone has to stay late attending them. It's a whole damn hustle, draining the employees out. The week goes on and out with him spending most of the time in office when all he wants is to go home just to see your face.

It's the last day of the visit and Mingyu thanks the heavens. He's usually patient but now all he wants is to avail the comfort of his home.

It's around one at night but unlike other times the hallway is lit in dim lights flooding  into the dining. There's an eerie silence and something unpleasant awaits.

"Let's get divorced."

When Mingyu came home late at that night to see you awake and waiting for him, there was an uncanny feeling that settled within.

Your hands are crossed, face void of any expression. He almost misses your words. If not for your next words, he would think he's hallucinating.

"We can decide on the terms and clauses, all as per your convenience.", you stress, "I do not expect any trouble from your side."

Mingyu finally registers everything you have said till now and everything hits him all at once.

"W-What are you talking about? Why do you want a divorce all of a sudden?"

Your monotonous tone rather asks him another question, "We have been married for over two years, nearing its third anniversary. Do you really want to be tied in this marriage?"

Though Mingyu thinks he doesn't know you well enough but he knows you enough to catch the wind of your words. He knows its not because of something he had said that day.

A familiar set of papers lying on the table catches his attention. His gaze then turns towards his office room and his suspicion confirms to be correct when he sees the door opened ajar.

"Why did you enter my office? I had clearly warned you about not doing so.", he says in a strict voice.

"That doesn't answer my question.", you say getting up, "Anyways it doesn't matter anymore. I'll get a lawyer, you get one too and proceed with the divorce. Oh, you already have Jeonghan."

As you turn back, you feel your husband's hand wrap around yours.

"How are you so calm? Why are you not asking me anything? Do I really mean nothing to you?", you hear his voice laced in frustration, "We are married for almost three years now and your cool headedness after, I'm assuming, knowing everything makes me aware of the fact that I really don't know you."

You jerk your hand out of his grip and turn back to look at him, "And how is that my fault? Maybe you've never tried to know me.", your voice drops another octave, "You can stop with the doting husband act now that I know the truth."

Mingyu doesn't miss the way your eyes show vulnerability for a moment. Your words strike a chord within him.

"You signed a contract with my uncle in exchange for marrying me.", you chuckle bitterly, "All you wanted was the stocks of the company uncle owned, a goddamn promotion, this house, everything else but me. I was never on the list. I was just a pawn. I don't know what my uncle saw in you to desperately marry me off to you. I hope all of this was worth it. The stocks must have passed down to you smoothly as it can only be acquired by someone working in the company. You can keep this house, keep everything."

"Y/N--"

"I don't wanna hear anything. I was waiting for you to come back so that I could make you aware that you're busted. I'll to go bed."

Mingyu reaches out for you again but you lay out a hand, "Please, I'm tired."

"O-Okay.", Mingyu backs down noticing the resignation in your demeanor, "But we're gonna talk it out tomorrow morning.", he sounds sincere when he says, "I'm sorry. I hope you'll give me a chance to explain everything."

But little does he know, you've already closed the room for any diversions, that you've decided to part ways with the person who has betrayed your trust.

→ Do not copy, re-post, translate, or share any of my works on other platforms! All stories are copyrighted, joonsytip.

[reve-writes]

—the set-up; kaz brekker.

ʚ kaz brekker x reader | grishaverse | 1,8k words. ʚ from this request. | three times the crows plan to set you and kaz up + the one time they find out you're married. ʚ fluff; the crows are featured (incl. wesper & helnik ship); kaz's touch aversion isn't featured. ʚ a/n this has been sitting in the drafts for a bit. ive been suffering down the leon brainrot hole (honestly an excellent one to fall into). kaz calls reader schatje (i have a fic where he does this. i chose schatje because ketterdam is loosely inspired from 1500s-1700s amsterdam!). i wrote this in a goofy way honestly.

one. he smiles.

Wylan fiddles with jars and tubes filled with an assortment of chemicals—some of them tend to explode, all of them horrible smelling. He's supposed to be on guard duty and he prefers it over running around guns blazing alongside Jesper—as much as he loves the sharpshooter, gunshots give him a lot of anxiety.

He peers into the room where most of the work is happening.

You are poring over stacks of documents, eyes scanning quickly top-to-bottom to find relevant information. Kaz has his ear pressed against the front of a safe, gloved hand twisting the lock. You move around him in the cramped office space with relative ease, grabbing more files to read on the desk.

It doesn't take long for the safe to swing open.

“No safe is safe from Kaz Brekker, the safe-cracker, huh?” you comment. A light, teasing smile decorates your lips.

“Please never say that sentence again.”

To Wylan's surprise, the ever-frowning Dirtyhands smiles. Not the half-hearted hospitable smile he occasionally gives out, or the scary half-sneer half-smirk that is so intimidating it scares even Wylan sometimes. No, a genuine, amused smile. It is so unnatural that he has to look away, a hand clasped over his mouth in shock.

When he tells Jesper, the taller man mirrors his reaction, dark eyes blown wide and jaw unhinged.

“He smiled?” Jesper gives an incredulous stare as if Wylan has just told him that he is a member of the Council of Tide—which is impossible with Wylan's lack of Grisha ability, let alone tidemaking. “He smiled over that?”

Wylan nods enthusiastically.

“We are talking about the same Kaz?”

“Are there any other Kaz that we know?” Wylan sighs.

“Well, no—”

“I think we have to proceed with the plan,” Wylan ponders. Jesper blinks widely.

“The plan?”

“Nina's plan!” Wylan looks at Jesper as if he's just gotten a strike of inspiration, hand in the air, pointing at nothing in particular. “Operation Kaz and ____. Remember?”

Jesper remembers. It was so ridiculous that it remains impossible to remove from his memory to this day, even though it was mentioned in passing.

Nina, flushed red from too many drinks, suddenly shoots her hand up, flailing it limply. The founder of the idea seems to have a plan ready to set in motion.

“We are the gods of love!” She drunkenly declares, free hand moves to tap Wylan's cheeks repeatedly. “And as the benevolent gods that we are, our first mission is them.”

Nina pushes Wylan's face towards you and Kaz, sat at the bar, deep in conversation. The rest of the Crows followed suit, realising Nina's suggestion. She stumbles over drunkenly and with little-to-no care on making it look as natural or accidental as she can, "trips" over her foot and falls forward.

You take the brunt of the force, being pushed forward that you fall onto Kaz. The latter glares at Nina, hand coming to your shoulder to steady you.

“My bad.... It seems I've lost my balance,” she slurs. “Oh! Would you look at that? The two of you would make quite a pair, don't you think so, Matthias?”

Matthias raises an eyebrow, already hauling Nina with him to get back to their table.

“Poor Helvar,” says Kaz simply, nudging you to get back on the barstool.

“He doesn't seem to mind,” you retort, noting Matthias' loving gaze as he escorts Nina.

It doesn't take long before the chaos settles, leaving you and Kaz, still engaging in conversation as the last patrons leave the Crow Club.

“We would make a good pair, huh?” You tease, reaching over to brush your hand against his, leather soft under your palm. “You think so?”

Kaz looks at you pointedly, tugging your left hand towards him, fingers pressing on the small diamond adorning your ring finger. “Would I have given you this, if I didn't?”

Smooth with his words without even trying. A trait you find both annoying and endearing after all the years you've been together.

“I mean you have a lot of diamonds lying around—”

“Schatje.”

“Yes?” All train of thought immediately halts on its tracks. The petname has a hold over you that he oh-so-often uses as leverage. You pout. “Stop distracting me.”

He smiles—soft and uncharacteristic, contradictory to the harsh rasp of his voice and the rough scars on his skin. He smiles a smile he reserves only for your eyes, and you're falling for it, a hundred times over.

two. the demjin.

You don't like when Kaz gets like this—all wrung up over a waivable matter. It reminds you a lot of what he had to be before, the things he had to do and what Dirtyhands actually stood for. Not at all akin to the Kaz Brekker you know—the one who immediately comes whenever one of your crew is threatened, the one who stays up with you as you wait for the rest of your little heist crew to return, the one who goes out of his way to collect little trinkets to bring home to you.

You are hurt, shallow cuts all over your body from a little dagger scuffle with a mercenary, but you're a member of the Dregs—this, you can take. A little Heartrender magic and some bandages, you will recover in no time.

“You're back.”

Kaz stops and you look over him to find his knuckles bloodied, hair stuck out of place and clothes disheveled.

“You're alright, schatje?”

His room at the Slat isn't big contrary to popular belief. He sinks into his chair with a huge sigh. You're watching him three steps away from the edge of his bed.

“What did you do?”

He shrugs, tugging his coat off. “Business.”

“You went after them.”

“It was one part of the business.” He pulls at his gloves, shedding them into the trash—too bloodied for him to bother cleaning. “Are you sure you're alright?”

You tuck your hands into your elbows, displeasure visible across your features. “Are you?”

“Why wouldn't I be?”

“Kaz.”

“They deserved it,” he stubbornly says. “I had to make sure they know not to involve themselves with us. You understand. Besides, I'm alright.”

“I do understand,” you relent. It is business. The Barrell doesn't stop for poets or musicians or lovers, no, it thrives off of the back of violence, taking an eye for an eye. “I just wish that you were here when I woke up.”

His shoulders loosen and he is your Kaz again. Not the one molded by Ketterdam, birthed at its harbour. He's the man so in love that he will dry the seas for you if you say the word. Kaz takes your hands. They are warm on his skin and his heart swells.

“I am sorry, schatje.”

You kneel in front of him, leaning your elbows on his thighs to press a brief kiss on his lips. “Let's stay off business for a while.”

“Kaz?” A sound outside the door, followed by three raps. “Are you in there?”

“He is, Jesper. Give us a moment,” you reply.

You hear hushed whispers—both low voices, so you assume it's Wylan. Your suspicion is confirmed when the second voice sounds from behind the door.

“No, we—no, Jes—don't have anything urgent. We simply wanted to know if he is well. Take your time. We'll be going now.”

“Good night, Wylan,” you reply, immediately hearing fading footsteps soon after.

“Fifty kruge says they're already together,” says Jesper, out of your earshot.

Wylan rolls her eyes. “Fifty on them not dating yet.”

Jesper immediately clasps Wylan's hand with a loud “Deal!”

iii. the marketplace.

“Busybodies,” Kaz complained, walking a step behind you as you're treading through the Ketterdam food market. “They are not even hiding. In broad daylight. How have they never gotten caught before?”

“Kaz, my love.” You are trying not to laugh as you're picking and choosing fruits. “They usually do a better job on actual missions.”

They refer to your five lovely friends who have decided to tail you as you're coming down to the market. Kaz is the first to take notice—blurry figures moving erratically ten steps behind you.

“I should assign them something to do instead of... whatever it is they're currently doing.”

“They're curious.” You shrug, handing over a few slips of Kruge to the seller and leaving with your bag five apples heavier. “We've been acting suspicious lately. They'll find out soon enough.”

“I'll bet Inej finds out first.” Kaz nudges your fingers with his, taking the bag from you as he matches his step with yours. “The Wraith does a better job at spying.”

“My bet is Matthias.” An unlikely one. He's probably the least nosy out of the five.

Suddenly, you're pulled into a small nook, squuezed between buildings and he presses a kiss on your lips. One turns to two and you're smiling like a lovesick fool when he pulls away.

“We're being followed and you pull this?”

“Schatje, our pursuers are horrendously bad at this.” He shrugs, pulling away. You resume your trek through the market. “Look. They've lost us.”

iv. the marriage certificate.

“Fake IDs,” Kaz says, pointing at the towering Fjerdan. “You'll be collecting them from Anika.”

Matthias doesn't mind running errands, although he does think that he'll be better suited for physical fights other than fetching papers, but he doesn't argue. It seems he is doing more than simply fetching papers though.

“That is real?” He asks Anika, pointing at a marriage certificate she has on her desk. Marriage certificates are mundane enough not to warrant this type of reaction, but it is the name that shocks even him to the core. Kaz Brekker and you, married?

“As real as can be around here.” Anika scrambles to hide it away. “Here are your IDs. Don't tell anyone about it.”

In Matthias' defense, he doesn't end up telling just anyone. He tells Nina and Nina is the one telling everyone else. Within a week, every member of the Crows have known about it.

Wylan hands Jesper slips of fifty kruge, grumbling that this is unfair. Nina looks like spring has just arrived. Inej is probably the least reactive—but that is because she's already found out long before the others. She's the Wraith after all. Matthias is anxious. For all everyone knows, he is the one responsible for the news.

You strut into the dining room, seeing everyone gathered and raise an eyebrow.

“Why are you all here?”

“We want to ask—”

Before Nina can finish her sentence, Jesper blurts out. “You're married?”

You chuckle, shrugging. “You found out.”

“How long?”

“Kaz? Really?”

“How did that happen?”

A series of questions that you don't actually answer. You stand there, leaning on the back of one of the wooden chairs situated in the room—remorseless to your very core.

“Ask him about it.”

That ends the discussion. None of them will actually ask him about it and even if any of them actually finds the courage to, the likelihood of Kaz answering anything that's not a sarcastic remark or a threat is close to none.

“How did you find out anyway?”

Everyone points towards Matthias and to the Fjerdan's horror, Nina's pointer finger finds him, too.

You only smile, silently planning to brag to your spouse that you've won your bet.

[ ].

[godsfavdarling]

waiting for the day to end (pt.2)

my masterlist, part 1

pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader summary: You wake up and regret everything that has happened. words: 2,3k warnings: angst, hurt, comfort, crying, mentions reader's ex-bf who was an alcoholic, no y/n a/n: i feel like what spencer is saying is a bit messy and repetitive but i wanted him to say a lot. sorry. and thank you for all the love on part 1! means the world!

Your eyes flutter open, heavy and reluctant. The dim light of the room makes you squint. 

For a moment, you lie there, caught in the haze between sleep and waking, the unfamiliar surroundings pulling at your senses. 

The bed beneath you feels wrong—not yours, too soft in some places, too firm in others.

You blink slowly, the shadows in the room shifting into focus. It’s Spencer’s bedroom. 

Memories from the night before make their way into your mind, and you let out a slow, shaky breath.

Your body feels heavy, weighed down by restless, uncomfortable sleep. 

Your limbs ache from lying in the same position too long, and there’s a dull pressure at the base of your skull, a reminder of how little rest you truly got. 

You roll onto your side, but it doesn’t help. The discomfort isn’t just physical.

You close your eyes again, just for a moment, letting the stillness settle over you. 

Last night feels like a bad dream, hazy and disjointed, but the details are there, sharp enough to sting.

Spencer, drunk. 

You, spiraling. 

The way he looked at you, worried but still so gentle, so Spencer.

A wave of embarrassment washes over you, hot and suffocating. You feel stupid now. He’d had a few too many drinks, sure, but he didn’t do anything wrong. 

He wasn’t like your ex—he didn’t yell, didn’t lash out. He’d been careful with you even when he wasn’t himself.

But you were everything but careful. You were being a bitch.

And now Spencer is probably planning how to easily get rid of you.

You press your palms against your face, groaning softly into the quiet room. 

Why couldn’t you just let it go? Why couldn’t you just let him be human for one night without dragging your past into it?

This is over. 

The thought strikes like a shard of glass, sharp and unyielding. Spencer wouldn’t want to be with someone so stupid, so irrational. Someone who couldn’t let go of her past long enough to see the difference.

Your eyes dart around the room and then you remember—he didn’t sleep here. You were alone. And you had taken his bed.

Shame twists in your stomach. 

He’d been drunk and exhausted, and you made him sleep on the couch. The image of his long limbs curled up awkwardly there, trying to get comfortable, makes you want to bury yourself under the covers and disappear.

Your unreasonable anger and spiraling anxiety had turned the night into a nightmare—not just for you (not that it mattered) but for Spencer, too. 

He hadn’t done anything to deserve that. He’d been patient, sweet even, despite how drunk he was. And yet, you’d let your emotions take over, let them ruin everything.

You clench the sheets in your fists, the fabric twisting under your grip as guilt settles like a stone in your chest. 

Why couldn’t you just stop? Why did you have to make everything so much harder?

You shift under the covers, staring at the ceiling as the thought creeps in—you need to find Spencer. You need to apologize. The longer you wait, the worse it will feel, and you already feel like you’re drowning in guilt.

Let’s get this over with.

Swinging your legs over the edge of the bed, you hesitate for a moment, your bare feet brushing against the cold floor. 

What if he doesn’t want to hear it? What if last night was too much?

You push the thoughts away, standing slowly. You owe him this, no matter how awkward or painful it might be.

You open the bedroom door carefully, wincing as the hinge creaks slightly. Stepping into the quiet apartment, you glance toward the couch, half expecting him to still be asleep. But he isn’t.

Spencer is lying there, his back to you, a book in his hands. His legs are stretched out, his socked feet resting on the armrest. 

You pause, watching him silently. His fingers trail lightly over the edges of the pages, caressing them before he turns each one with a practiced, gentle flick.

For a moment, you forget why you came out here. 

The sight of him, calm and focused, is mesmerizing. The lines of tension you’d seen in his face last night are gone now, replaced by something softer.

“Hi,” you say softly, not wanting to startle him.

Spencer turns his head, his curls shifting slightly as he looks over his shoulder. 

His face lights up with a gentle smile, one that somehow makes you feel both better and worse. 

“Hi,” he replies, closing the book and sitting up, making space as if inviting you closer.

You walk over slowly, your steps hesitant, and sink into the armchair he’d been sitting in last night. The memory flickers in your mind—his drunken sigh, the wave of your anxiety.

For a moment, the two of you sit in silence.

You look at him, studying his face. There’s something in his expression, a flicker of hesitation. You can tell how much he wants to say, but he stops himself, holding back, letting you decide where this is going to go.

Why is he being so sweet? 

You ruined everything, and he isn’t even mad. Or maybe he is, and he’s just really good at pretending. The thought twists in your chest, making it hard to breathe. 

Better to get this over with.

“I’m sorry,” you blurt out, the words tumbling out before you can second-guess yourself. “For last night. For... all of it.”

Spencer shakes his head almost immediately, his voice soft. “There’s nothing to apologize for.”

You let out a laugh, sharp and bitter. “Of course there is. I got mad for nothing. I was being stupid and irrational, and all you did was have fun with your friends. And then I—” your voice cracks, but you press on, “my stupid brain decided to punish you for it because once, a long time ago, there was an idiot who hurt me. And now you’re paying for it. It’s not fair. None of this is fair.”

The words tumble out in a rush, your voice climbing as the floodgates open. 

You know you’re rambling, but you can’t seem to stop yourself. “I shouldn’t have made last night about me, and I shouldn’t have freaked out, and I—”

“Stop,” Spencer says gently, his voice cutting through your spiral. He leans forward slightly, his hand hovering over yours as if he wants to comfort you. 

But then he hesitates, his hand pulling back as if he’s remembering how you pulled away from him last night. Twice.

You notice it. You notice everything—the hesitation, the way his fingers falter mid-air before retreating. And it breaks you.

Tears sting your eyes before you can stop them, blurring your vision as they spill over. You cover your face with trembling hands, trying to muffle the sob that escapes.

Spencer watches you quietly for a moment, his brow furrowed with concern. Then, with a slow exhale, he speaks, his voice calm but firm.

“Look,” he starts, his tone gentle but insistent, “I’m not mad. I’m not. I know things got... messy last night, but that’s not something I’m going to hold against you. I wish I knew what happened so I could understand.”

He shifts in his seat, his eyes never leaving you.

His voice comes softly, almost hesitant as if he’s afraid of pushing you too far. “Can you tell me what happened?”

You freeze for a moment, your breath catching. His question isn’t forceful, but it feels like a gentle nudge toward something you’ve been keeping locked away.

His eyes meet yours, full of patience and quiet encouragement, and it’s enough to loosen the knot in your chest.

“It’s stupid,” you whisper, trying to dismiss it, but Spencer doesn’t let you.

“It’s not,” he says firmly but kindly. “If it’s hurting you, it’s not stupid.”

You take a shaky breath, your fingers nervously playing with the hem of your sleeve. “My ex…he used to drink a lot. And when he did, he wasn’t—he wasn’t a good person. I spent years walking on eggshells around him, trying to predict what mood he’d be in when he was drunk. And he was drunk a lot.”

Spencer’s expression softens even more if that’s possible. He doesn’t interrupt, just lets you speak.

“It’s been years, but last night…I don’t know. Seeing you like that, even though I knew you’d never hurt me, it just…it felt like I was right back there again. Like I couldn’t breathe.” Your voice cracks, and you bite your lip, willing yourself not to cry again.

“I’m so sorry,” he says softly. “I wish I’d known. I never would’ve—”

“No,” you interrupt, shaking your head. “It’s not your fault, Spencer. You didn’t do anything wrong. It’s my own stupid brain.”

“It’s not stupid,” he counters gently, "Your feelings aren’t stupid. What you went through—what you’re still dealing with—it’s valid. And I’m never going to hurt you. Never. And I’m not angry with you. I am not upset at all. How you felt last night wasn’t wrong or stupid or irrational.”

He lets the words hang in the air, giving you a moment to absorb them before continuing, his voice softening. “I care about you. And that means I’m here, even when things get difficult. Even when you’re upset. Even when you’re not making sense to yourself. I’m here.”

He pauses, his gaze searching yours, like he’s looking for any sign that the words are getting through. “Please don’t think this is about you doing something wrong. You’re not wrong. I’m not mad.”

You wipe your eyes, still trying to steady your breathing, and you look at him, your voice barely a whisper. “You’re not?”

He looks at you, genuinely confused. “Why would I be mad?” he asks softly, leaning forward just a little.

You can’t help but feel the weight of his sincerity, but it doesn’t quite make sense to you yet.

He continues, his voice steady, but with an edge of regret.

“What you are feeling isn’t wrong,” Spencer repeats, “You had every right to feel how you felt. I should’ve been more careful, I should’ve been more aware of how much I was drinking. I’m sorry that I made you uncomfortable.”

His eyes are full of genuine remorse as he looks at you. “I never meant for that to happen. I got reckless last night, and that’s on me. I’m sorry for that. But I swear to you, it’ll never happen again.”

He pauses, letting the silence settle for a moment, before he adds, “You deserve to feel safe with me. You deserve to feel like you can trust me. And I’ll make sure that’s the case, from now on.”

You glance at him, your voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t want you to stop drinking because of me.”

Spencer shakes his head with a small, reassuring smile. “I don’t even like it,” he says softly. “Last night was just…” He hesitates, searching for the right words. “Everyone was celebrating, and I thought…maybe for once, I’d loosen up, try to be part of it. But honestly, I didn’t even enjoy it. I don’t need it.”

His gaze locks with yours, earnest and steady. “I’d much rather make sure you’re okay than ever drink again. That’s what matters to me.”

As Spencer speaks, his words wrapping around you like a blanket, the tears you’ve been holding back start to spill over again. 

This time, they come in heavy, silent waves, each drop carrying the weight of everything you’ve been trying to hold in.

You can't stop the sobs, your shoulders shaking with the effort to breathe.

Spencer watches you, his heart breaking at the sight. Without a word, he shifts closer, but he hesitates, unsure if you’ll let him. 

“Can I…?” he starts quietly, his voice trembling slightly, “Can I hug you?”

His gaze is full of uncertainty, but it’s also full of care. He’s giving you the space to decide.

You can see the yearning in his eyes — the desire to offer you comfort, to take away just a fraction of the pain and frustration you’re feeling.

You laugh through the tears, a small, shaky sound, but it’s enough to break some of the tension in the air.

Your voice comes out in a whisper, “Yeah, you can hug me.”

Spencer doesn’t waste a second. He sits carefully on the edge of the armchair, making sure not to crowd you, then gently pulls you into his arms. 

It’s a soft, tentative hug at first as if he’s giving you the room to pull away if you need to. 

But you don’t.

He holds you close, with just the right amount of pressure, like he’s trying to hold you together without suffocating you.

Your forehead rests against his chest, the steady rise and fall of his breathing grounding you.

His shirt, soft but slightly wrinkled, brushes against your cheek, the faint scent of his laundry detergent still lingering. Your tears seep into the fabric, darkening small patches, but Spencer doesn’t seem to notice—or care.

You can feel the faint thrum of his heartbeat beneath your temple, steady and calm, a stark contrast to yours. His touch is neither too tight nor too loose, just enough to remind you that he’s there and he is letting you crumble safely in his embrace.

His chin rests lightly on the top of your head, and he whispers, his voice hushed and warm, “I’ve got you, okay? I’m here.”

There’s a tenderness in his touch, in the way his hand moves to the back of your head, smoothing over your hair, like he’s trying to calm the storm inside you. 

“I’m not going anywhere. I’m not mad at you. And I never will be.”

[pyrpaw]

Can i have uhhh first year gang visiting yuu in their world? Thank youu

hell yeah you can have that 🙏 I did a little intro to the situation, and then some head cannons

(contents: might be a but ooc because I imagine they'd be pretty happy to see you again after you disappeared without saying bye, (name) is mentioned to go to school and have a job, their age isn't mentioned but they are implied to live alone(for plot reasons<3))

How did... you get here?

(I had no gif ideas)

You thought you were crazy, you got transported into some place called "Twisted wonderland" and then, you randomly got back home! and seemingly no time had passed, was it just an elaborate dream?... you had no clue, but you had to continue your life like normal. So, going back to school, your job, all of that, left with no one to rant to about how you missed your friends from Twisted wonderland... because are they even real?

Turns out, they were real! because at 2 in the morning you were doing your homework and heard banging and talking from another room, it sounded like multiple voices so you quickly tried to find your phone... only to realize it's downstairs. So, grabbing a hammer in your room you silently made your way outside your room and as silently as you could, downstairs. You heard the voices growing closer and closer, your anxiety peaked as you held your breath and froze, panic filling you as when one of the figures was about to round the corner. Once you saw a foot step out you immediately stood up and lifted the hammer up in a panic, ready to strike down.

And once your hands were already going down you met eyes with a familiar green haired fae who flinched as his head was struck with a hammer. You two stared at each other in shock and confusion, as the other first years came over to see what happened, everyone's eyes widened when they saw you... and the hammer that connected with Sebek's head.

"... Sebek?" You spoke in a quiet voice, slowly pulling the hammer back down as you stared at him. He silently nodded as the others stared at you in awe. You couldn't comprehend any words, before getting tackled into a hug from Ace as he buried his face into your neck and spoke with a shaky voice. "... I thought I'd never see you again.." and before you could even reply, Deuce came up and tightly hugged you too. "... you didn't say bye to anyone" he mumbled as he pulled back and stared at you with teary eyes.

So, after a whole lot of reunions, the boys explained that they didn't know how they got there, or how to get back, so obviously they're allowed to stay with you.

Ace Trappola

He's definitely gonna make fun of your decor, your clothes, basically anything... even though hes gonna steal your T-shirts even after they all got their own clothes

If you're not constantly going out with friends or talking to them he's gonna bully you about being a loser, however if you are constantly talking to friends, he's gonna complain that you're not giving them enough attention and you're being a bad host (even though he really only means that he wants more attention)

Deuce Spade

He won't automatically think about getting a job, but if he hears that you're struggling with paying for all of them then he'll find some kind of job and complain about it 24/7, especially because it'll probably be in customer service due to his age and having no records of anything

Unlike Ace, Deuce automatically starts to help you with funds, he'll probably find a customer service job, maybe even two

Jack Howl

He'll probably get a good reputation with your neighbors, always offering them any help, and usually being gifted something, whether it be muffins or just money

I think that he would kinda just stay home mostly, really only going out with you where he can follow you like a lost puppy (only because he doesn't know this world like you!)

also-he totally takes note of what decor, music, and clothes you like even more now, so that he has ideas for a potential gift and or way to bond with you

Epel Felmier

So... he kinda had to be... barricaded in a way, until you could find a proper hat to cover his ears, he couldn't leave... because some preteen will bark at him

Once he can leave the house though, he immediately gets a job... and spends a bit of the money on a gym membership (also, if you go to the gym he is hyped, he's following you around it the whole time totally not trying to show off his strength)

I think he'd honestly get a job at a gym, maybe a personal trainer even

He basically took up the chore of grocery shopping, like he meal preps and all, it's mainly just veggies and meat that he buys

Sebek Zigvolt

He's thrilled to finally be away from Vil and Rook, now he can actually be himself! His stupid dirty jokes and overall roughness has definitely amped up now that he knows Vil won't find out

He couldn't really find a job due to having no proof that he wasn't a girl, but like Deuce he takes up jobs from your neighbors, getting some cash here and there

He also usually goes on grocery trips with Jack, with Jack getting healthy food, and Epel begging him to get at least a few junk food items, plus he's great at picking out what fruit and veggies are the best

Ortho Shroud

Hes definitely having a hard time with the whole... all humans... no magic thing, to the point that he kept accidentally using his magic in public and got house arrest by you, leaving Ortho to make sure he didn't leave

He's still allowed to go out with supervision though, and anytime you go out to town with him he basically acts as a body guard, glaring at anyone would date approach you

He was given the task of cooking, because he obviously had to learn so he didn't have to eat Lilia's cooking, so him and Jack discuss meek plans for the week/month

He's also like a guard dog when he's outside just in the yard, he's keeping coyotes away, Bobcats, bears, any predator, he's keeping it away with no doubt

Grim

Much like Jack, he couldn't leave the house due to being a robot, technically he could leave and would just get some weird glances for having a "cosplay" on, but he decided to stay back and keep Grim company... and watch Sebek

Whenever he gets bored he'll rummage through the house and find old objects that you clearly don't use anymore... and somehow end up upgrading any technology in this house?? like you came home and suddenly your laptop had the power of a damn PC

He'll also go around when he's bored and clean up for you, putting things away, sweeping, mopping, everything, he's very considerate!

now.... Grim obviously can't leave, he has fire ears! So he's pretty pouty, but after you got him a few toys and a tablet (iPad baby I'm sorey), he calmed down, but he's still not happy!

There are a few acres of forest nearby, so sometimes he'll sneak out there with Ortho to get some outdoors time, but he's almost gotten caught a few times, each time getting scolded by you or Jack

He's secretly very happy to be able to sleep on top of his henchmen again, hes always clinging onto you now, after having the biggest scare of the one person he considered "family" randomly disappearing and leaving him all alone!

[mssorceressupreme]

Hi! I absolutely adore your writing (also going through a maze runner hyper fixation🤭).

Would you be able to do a fic where reader was thought to have died when they originally escaped the maze but reader got out with Gally. Then Minho and reader reunite when they see Gally again (if this makes any sense).

Thank you!! 🫶🏻

hiii aw thank you love that means a lot 💓💓 omg yesss this is such a lovely prompt!! I love reunions lol especially when one s/o was thought to be dead 😝

——

Into Your Arms

Pairing: Minho x Reader

Summary: the gladers thought you were dead (you were shot instead of chuck), but what happens when you’re reunited at last. Your bond with Minho proves unbreakable as you face the future together.

Warnings: mild violence, mentions of bullet scars

——

You sat in the dimly lit room of your shared safe house in the Last City, your fingers tracing an old scar on your stomach.

It was a constant reminder of the day you had narrowly escaped death, a brutal memento left by a bullet from Gally, who wasn’t in the best state of mind a year back.

The pain of that moment, both physical and emotional, had nearly broken you. Yet, here you were, alive and determined, haunted by thoughts of your friends from the glade. Every night, you wondered if they had survived, if they were out there somewhere, fighting the same fight. If Minho was doing alright.

The last memory you had of your boyfriend was him shedding tears as he cradled you in his arms, before you passed out from the loss of blood. That was when they presumed you were dead. Everything after that was a blur, well, until Lawrence and his crew rescued you and Gally.

A knock on the door broke your reverie. Gally stepped in, his expression serious but tinged with something else—hope. “We spotted something, or rather, some people, and we’re bringing them in soon. You might want to be there when we arrive back.” What did he mean by that?

Though Gally was the person who gave you that scar, you forgave him for it. The both of you looked past that and decided to start fresh when Lawrence brought the two of you to his army. Gally even became a brother figure to you, constantly on the lookout to keep you safe.

Moments later, they returned.

Your heart pounded as you waited for their vans to reveal the mystery guests inside.

No shucking way.

The sight that greeted you made you gasp. As soon as the doors slid open, familiar faces emerged. Your gladers. Thomas, Newt, Frypan—they were all here. Relief and joy surged through you, but a sharp pang of anxiety struck you when you didn’t see Minho.

You stood there blending in with the crowd, not knowing what to say or do.

“Hey Greenie.” Gally greeted Thomas, to which he replied by striking Gally’s jaw. Gasps were heard and our soldiers cocked their guns, aiming at Thomas.

“Woah woah woah—stop, stop!” Newt rushed to the front, preventing Thomas from striking Gally once more.

“He killed Y/N…” Thomas spat, “do you have any idea what that did to Minho!”

“I know, I remember. I was there…but I also remember that he was stung and out of his mind.” Newt defended Gally, hoping to calm Thomas down before a fight escalated.

“I’m actually right here...” You said aloud, pushing past the crowd and making your way to the front. You slowly helped Gally up and stood face-to-face with your fellow gladers.

“Y/N??” They gasped in unison. Thomas and Newt rushed to hug you, Fry followed not long after.

“It’s so good to see you again.” Thomas softly said, squeezing you, “He would be elated to know.” You immediately knew who he was referring to. But where was he?

“H-how?! How is this possible? We watched you die. Both of you.” Newt questioned, glancing from Gally to you.

“No, you left us to die.” Gally retorted, “We were lucky Lawrence found us when he did, if not Y/N wouldn’t have made it.”

“What’re you guys doing here anyway?” You inquired, “and where’s—” Before you even finished your question, Newt read your mind.

“Minho. WCKD has him here, we’re looking for a way in.”

Your heart sank, he was here the whole time and you didn’t know?! “Let’s get him then! Gally?”

Gally nodded, “I can help with that. Follow me.”

——

The hours that followed were a blur of planning and preparation. You donned WCKD soldier suits, your faces hidden behind masks. Each step you guys took inside the compound was a step closer to Minho, but also a step deeper into danger.

The tension was thick enough to cut through it with a knife, every sound amplified, every shadow a potential threat.

As you fought your way through the facility, the adrenaline was mixed with fear. You were fighting to save someone you thought you’d lost forever.

“We’ll wait here.” Gally and you waited outside a tall modern building, WCKD’s headquarters, squatting behind a large pillar.

“Are you sure they’re doing alright inside? Shouldn’t we go in to help them?” I demanded, “I need to know that Minho and the others are safe.”

“Trust me, they’ll find a way out of that building.” As though Gally had predicted the future, a glass window on one of the higher floors smashed, and out jumped three figures.

“That’s our cue!” Gally hastened, both of you got in position and followed the other “WCKD soldiers” as they approached the trio.

“Freeze! Put your hands in the air!” One of them commanded pointing guns at your boys, “Uh uh uh!” He continued, when Thomas reached for the gun in his leg strap.

Gally and you acted quickly, shooting them, one by one the soldiers passed out.

The trio stood there dumbfounded, and finally sighed with relief when Gally revealed his mask first.

“Gally?” Minho’s jaw dropped.

“Minho.”

You followed, revealing yourself next.

Minho froze, eyeing you up and down. He shook his head, tears welled up in his eyes, “Y/N?….”

You nodded, wasting no time running up to him and embracing him. “Minho!” You breathed, your eyes filling with tears, body trembling with relief and emotion.

He held you tightly, his breath ragged in your ear, “You’re alive…?!?” He whispered, disbelief and relief mingling in his voice, “All this time…baby, I thought you were dead.“

You pulled back slightly, tears streaming down your face, and punched him playfully on the shoulder, “You were here all this time, and I didn’t know?”

Minho’s eyes were wide with emotion, his voice cracking. “I thought I lost you forever when you got shot in the glade…by him,” He glared at Gally but couldn’t find a reason to be angry now that you were alive, “I mourned you every day.”

Your heart broke at the raw pain in his voice. You reached up, cupping his face in your hands. “I’m here now, Minho. I’m here.”

He hugged you again, tighter this time, as if afraid you might disappear. “Gally took me under his wing,” you explained softly, feeling Minho tense at the mention of Gally.

Minho’s eyes flickered over to Gally, anger flaring briefly, “You shot her,” he said, his voice hard.

Gally raised his hands defensively, “I was stung and truly didn’t mean to—”

“Thank you.” Minho’s responsed baffled Gally, he was sincere, “Thank you for taking care of her.” Once Minho saw that you were safe and well, forgiving Gally was easier.

Minho’s anger dissipated as quickly as it had flared. He sighed, his shoulders relaxing, “I’m just glad you’re okay.” He said, looking back at you, “that’s all that matters now.”

——

Timeskip to Safe Haven (and Newt survives cause I want him too 😩):

After the festivities of celebrating your first day at the safe haven, Minho guided you to a quiet corner, his eyes never leaving you while the others continued socialising.

“Let me see your wound,” he said gently.

You lifted your shirt slightly, revealing an old scar. Minho’s fingers traced the mark, his eyes filled with sorrow. “I never should’ve left you at the glade,” he whispered, “I should’ve protected you then.”

“You couldn’t have known,” you replied, placing your hand over his, “none of us could have known what would happen.”

He looked up at you, his eyes wet with unshed tears, “When I thought I lost you, I didn’t know how to go on.”

“You don’t have to anymore,” you gently replied, “We’re together now. We’ll face whatever comes next, together.”

He pulled you into his arms, and you rested your head against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. For the first time in what felt like eternity, you felt a sense of peace. The nightmares of your separation were over, and you had been given a second chance.

As the night wore on, you talked with Minho, your words a balm for your wounded souls. The two of you shared everything—what you had endured, the fears you faced, and the hope that had kept you going. Each word, each touch, strengthened the bond between you.

The sun began to disappear into the horizon of the sea tinting the sky a beautiful shade of orange, purple and pink.

That was when Minho finally spoke the words you had longed to hear. “I love you,” he said, voice raw with emotion. “I never stopped.”

“I love you too,” you replied, your heart swelling with joy. “I always have.”

You held each other close, the horrors of the past fading in the light of your reunion. You had found each other again, and together, you were ready to face whatever the future held.

[000marie198]

What were to happen if Sonic and Tails both became babies? Y'know, besides Knuckles and Amy having to wrangle their clingier than usual sibs.

Imagine two gremlin twin kittens who just got reunited staring at you with these faces:

:3 :3

Moments before disaster strikes

.....

But this happens after they are placed in the same space together and make friends.

The first instinct of baby Tails would be to pounce on his fellow age mate cuz he wanna play

The first instinct of Sonic would be to yip in terror and roll away from the fox and tremble while still curled up in a teeny ball. He won't know it but his action will make baby Tails pause and tilt his head in confusion and then curiously approach the still trembling ball to nudge it. It pricks him due to quills and he also yips and scuttles away, then whimpers and sniffs, holding his bleeding snout.

The hedgehog, recognizing the sounds as expressions of pain and fear and not sensing anything else for a full minute uncurls slightly to make a little peek at the kit, he's cautious but also curious.

They don't really have the memories of their lives but the general instincts and bonds are there and seeing the teary blue eyes and soft sad sniffles... Little hoglet is not able to handle it and uncurls completely and whimpers too.

He hurt the other. He doesn't want the other to be hurt. He's really sorry he hurt the other.

Little hoglet stumbles towards the sniffling kit and pats him with his little paws over and over till baby Tails stops tearing up with a hiccup and stares curiously at the hoglet.

Baby Sonic let's out an open mouthed smile. Tails gets curious and comes closer, which reactivates the hedgehog instincts and Sonic rolls away again.

Baby Tails realizes the other one can get scared if he comes close without warning or pounces so he doesn't do that. He just sits and waits, tails lightly swishing back and forth, watching baby Sonic till he calms down and uncurls, meeting the fox replicating his earlier smile.

Big wide eyes staring at each other and slowly they both become comfortable enough to actually start communicating, in babbles and gestures but it's still communication.

In a while, Sonic's stomach growls, he has always had higher metabolism okay. Baby Tails starts sniffing around to find him something to eat. He sniffs something he likes, FLIES OUT OF THE PEN, locates a cookie and brings it to Sonic. The hoglet muches on it and offers it to Tails after 3 or 4 bites. Tails also munches on cookie.

They start competing on who can munch louder, it's a miracle one of them hasn't choked on a crumb while giggling so much.

They bond over chocolate cookie :]

........

There's a lot more moments we can add afterwards, aka once the two have become friends. .

Both babies would literally have that package deal, Do Not Sperate level separation anxiety specifically and only when it comes to the other.

Knuckles would carry Tails away to feed him something and Sonic would start wailing and reaching, Tails doing the same. They are very loud and they won't shut up till you reunite them, which will end up in close hugs and sniffles

There was that one time Amy had to take Sonic away for a little bit to give him a bath and Knuckles had to fight to hold a frantic clawing fox kit away, especially when Sonic's cries of sorrow turned into screeches of fear. This was so not easy.

Tails bites both their older friends after that while Sonic naps in the background all freshened up and tidied.

........

You cannot leave the babies unsupervised anywhere! They will work together to escape one way or another no matter where and they will drive everyone nuts looking for them only to be found inside a barely ajar cupboard with cereal scattered all around them and blinking like deer caught in a headlight.

......

You give one of them a toy or teether or rattle and they'll fight over it and scream. Sighing, you take away the toys. Next time you make sure to give both of them identical toys. They still look at the other and try to snatch it, starting another fight.

.......

There are two gremlins rolling around and flying all over the house, getting into the craziest, unreachable places. Sonic just scuttled under the fridge, Tails is perched on a ceiling fan. Everything is scattered

.......

The next time baby Tails pounces on the hoglet to play with him, Sonic doesn't curl up in fear

[carmyberzattosjournal]

Entry 11: Fistful of Tacks

Bearblr Promptober Day 11: Corn Maze

Summary: Carmen's girlfriend (who he refers to as Darling) joins the kitchen crew on a trip to a corn maze and pumpkin patch that Nat organized, and Carmen is struggle bussing. (Feat. Sydney, Marcus, mentions of Tina, Richie, Eva, Nat, Pete, Nat's daughter)

Warnings: Anxiety, self-worth issues, mentions of disordered eating, mentions of nausea, mentions of panic attacks, swearing, fem reader who is a trauma surgeon (nothing gross described), she/her pronouns, mentions of The Devil (Chef David)

Notes: All journal entries will be titled as such and tagged with #cb journal.

Thank you for reading. Thank you to @carmenberzattosgf for putting together this prompt list.

11 Oct 2024

Why the fuck do people like corn mazes?

No, thank you, I don’t feel like getting lost in fucking corn with a bunch of random people for hours; I could be doing so much more with my time. It’s corn. It invades everything in the Midwest already, for what purpose would you want to intentionally seek out more of that invasion? Getting some freshly-harvested corn for grilled corn, corn chowder, creamy corn sauce with gnocchi, I’m pretty sure Marcus could make a killer sweet cornbread crumble-type thing—sure, I’ll haul my ass to the nearest fucking cornfield—

“Is that a no on the corn maze then…?”

“It’s a fuck no on the corn maze, Syd.”

—But no, I’m not doing a damned corn maze.

Syd recoiled. “Oh. Alright, okay, Jesus. Sorry for bothering you.”

Darling hugged my arm tighter and pouted. “Aw, but I did them with my grandma all the time when I was little. They were so fun.”

I covered my eyes and dug my thumb and fingers into my temples to stave off the dull ache forming in my frontal lobe. “I don’t feel like getting lost in corn.”

Syd. “You just follow the left wall, though.”

Marcus joined us at our table. “You do what now?”

“That’s how you solve mazes, you follow the left wall.”

“Huh.” His voice drew closer to my ear. “You okay, Chef?”

I nodded. Still had my palm over my face. It wasn’t the loudest it could’ve been—again, we beat a lot of families with kids, who tended to show up after 2 pm, according to the people who ran the pumpkin patch and corn maze, and Chicago decided that particular Sunday would be the respite day of hell-with-some-respite season, so it wasn’t murderously hot or humid out. Richie and Tiff were off co-parenting Eva in the pumpkin patch, so that meant I didn’t have to listen to his bullshit—though, admittedly, he was much less bullshit since his stint at Ever, even if we hit that snag after Friends and Family where I thought about launching knives at him every time he happened to be within striking distance.

Boy, am I glad I’m too much of a coward to actually act like the animal I sound like sometimes.

Nat organized something of a family and friends’ get-together to celebrate half a year of being open as a restaurant—and maybe to force us all to take a bit of a break now that we weren’t looking at a bad week potentially shuttering us. I brought it up to Darling not expecting her to jump at the prospect of meeting the whole group—should’ve known, she’s a social butterfly, and, if I was being honest, it was the primary reason I asked. So, she could help buffer in a social setting. These were people I worked with, would take a bullet for, but outside the restaurant, I had barely any social footing. And I wanted to. Have social footing, that is. Darling liked being around people, and while she never complained about me wanting our time together to be our time together, something nagged at me to at least be able to tolerate socializing.

We met up and poked around the market they had nearby for some small decorations we could put in the restaurant that fit the season. Little things that locals made by hand—a macrame wall-hanging, little ceramic pumpkins with paper florals arranged in them, some planters. The planters were Syd’s idea. Bring a bit of greenery to the four-tops. Tina was fawning over Sug and Pete’s baby while they took pictures of her first fall. Or. Something. I don’t know, I had too much on my mind and my head was killing me before we even made it to the pumpkin patch and corn maze. Darling suggested we stop for a bite to eat, sit at the covered tables to get out of the sun for a bit.

She’s smart like that.

We weren’t doing the best with our margins. I forwent being paid to make sure Syd made enough to keep her apartment, and even she was making sacrifices in her pay to make sure front-of-house didn’t get shafted. About 2 weeks ago, my apartment's stove goes, then two of the radiators do, and the landlord—an aside here: fuck landlords. I hope hell exists so landlords can burn in them with me.—anyway, the landlord is being a shit about it, so I’ve been crashing at Darling’s place. But then her range and oven also go to the shitter, like, 3 days later?

Like I said: fuck landlords.

Which means I’m on week two of having to rely on overnight oats and fucking granola bars, family, and takeout or unviable food from service that’s still at least calories, and because we’re getting this shit dialed, that usually means scraps. If any. And you’d think a motherfucker like me who got his shit kicked in when working in New York would be able to tolerate eating literally anything, but that’s the thing—I already did this shit, and it’s already fucked me up. I can’t even get it down anymore without my arms and legs exploding in goosebumps. Without seeing, hearing, feeling, smelling Empire and The Devil all over again. Half the time, I just go hungry and ignore the pangs in my stomach until I get caught up enough in work that I forget about eating, and then whoops, 14 hours have gone by and I haven’t eaten a thing and bile surges at the base of my throat and my eyes water, I can’t breathe. And I get to Darling’s place with what used to be a local favorite, and four bites in, I’m so sure I’m going to throw up because it just tastes like stomach acid and my guts are twisting into knots from anxiety anyway.

Something slid across the table in front of me, and two breaths later, the scent of grilled meat, pepper, vinegar, onions, and mustard filled my nose. My jaw stung as my mouth watered. Darling untangled an arm from around mine and rubbed across my shoulder blades.

“How about we try to eat something, hm?” she cooed.

I picked the pickles off the Chicago dog before inhaling a third of it in one bite. Goosebumps exploded under my jacket.

“Wow, how’d you do that?” Syd asked.

“How’d I do what?”

“Get him to do, uh, anything?”

“Fuck off, Syd,” I said through a mouthful of food.

She snorted into her apple cider.

“Sweetheart,” Darling warned, punctuating it by raking her fingers through my hair to get it off my forehead.

“She did not just call you ‘sweetheart.’” Syd again. I could hear her smiling.

My face flooded with warmth.

God fucking dammit.

Thankfully, Marcus spoke up. “Come on, let ‘em have it or we’re gonna torment you when you find yourself someone nice.”

“Like hell you are!”

“Oh, I’ll remember! Karma, baby!”

Syd let out a huff of a laugh. I wish I would’ve seen her face to get a better sense of how she felt about the idea of letting someone into her life. It’s strange, really, how similar yet different we were, like two clippings taken from the same tree, planted in different pots, placed in different homes. There’s this deep, unidentifiable thread of connection that I feel with her—and she feels with me, I’m sure of it because how else could she call my bullshit for what it was while still preserving the feeling of safety that eluded me everywhere else but a locked room or, sparingly, though getting more frequent, in Darling’s arms? Sort of like a family member you haven’t seen in an eternity but you know would have your back in an instant if you got into trouble. If I’d found out we were twins separated at birth, I wouldn’t question it for a second. And I doubt I’d want to protect her any differently.

She’s got that fire in her eyes that I used to see in my own when I stared into my reflection back in Copenhagen. Feels like an entire lifetime ago (Darling told me that trauma can make time feel like it’s not real, and I’m only finding more and more reason to never doubt the woman) but, back then, I did want something out of cooking that went beyond flipping Mikey the bird. It wasn’t that I wanted the best chef title or even a bullshit star, I wanted to prove something to myself. I wanted to throw a fistful of tacks back at that persistent, shitty voice in my head that kept telling me that I’d never do much, never make a thing of myself. I never did well in school, I didn’t get into college, I didn’t have any friends, I wasn't funny, I couldn’t help my mom, I couldn’t stop Sugar from going mad, I couldn’t keep up with Mikey, I couldn’t ask Claire out, I never made it past districts in wrestling—I was good for fuck all, and that stupid fucking phonograph reminding me of all the shit I couldn’t or didn’t do wouldn’t shut. The fuck. Up.

Syd’s got that fire in her eyes. Syd’s got that passion that I wanted, that I found for a brief stint before The Devil sunk his claws into me. And yeah, I could do fuck all to protect Mikey from his own demons or Sugar from mom’s, but I will glass this planet before I let it stamp out her flames. And doing it like I did? By cutting out people and burying myself neck-deep in the craft of food? Would I stand by and let her do that to herself, too?

Darling erupting into a giggle fit brought me back to the pumpkin patch.

“It looks like it’s got a big ol’ pot belly—look at it!” Syd pointed at a pumpkin with a large lump in it and did an exaggerated walk with her arms up and her cheeks puffed out. Eva giggled at her antics. Darling and I were a bit away from the others as they discussed... something about the pumpkins, I couldn’t even begin to figure out what. I glanced around, tried to get a sense of where and when I was.

“Hi, sweetheart,” Darling murmured, circling around in front of me and taking my face in her hands. “There you are. Where’d you go?”

Her hands were cool, familiar, grounding. I didn’t feel like I was boiling in my skin, which had to be a good sign, right?

“How-how long, uh...?”

She shrugged as Cousin, Eva, Tiff, Syd, and Marcus laughed again. “15 minutes, maybe.”

“Why-why didn’t you snap me out of it?”

“Well, you did eat your food. I figured it probably was a good idea not to interrupt that. And you weren’t warm. Or shaky. Or upset.” She finger-combed my hair back again. “I figured it wouldn’t be the worst thing to let you process for a bit... We gotta do something about your hair, baby.”

“Yeah, I need to get it cut.”

She shook her head. “I don’t think you need to—unless it’s bothering you. But you should put something in it.” Some strands got caught on her fingers, and I flinched at the sting. “Ope, sorry. It’s starting to get crispy on the ends.”

I eyeballed the sign pointing to the entrance of the corn maze while she picked through more knots in my hair.

She kissed my cheek. “What’cha thinking, handsome?”

“How long do you think the corn maze would take us?”

“Um. Hm.” She wrapped her arms around my waist and tucked her head under my chin. I forgot about the friends and family present and hugged her back. Kissed the top of her head. “Maybe an hour. Why?”

“I’d like to try it.” It came out like a question.

My phone dinged.

She pulled back and beamed at me. “Yeah? You sure?”

Her excitement wrenched a smile from me, too. How could I not? She was adorable.

“Yeah. Just need some quiet time.”

She took off for the maze, and I followed. Glanced at my phone to make sure it wasn’t something important.

2 messages from Sugar.

A photo of the two of us hugging, followed by a message saying, “You two are so cute. I'm proud of you, Bear.”

I stopped, glanced back at her. She was holding her daughter, giant smile on her face, in the middle of pocketing her phone. She tipped her head in the direction of the maze and mouthed “Go.”

I saved the photo to my favorites album and headed to the corn maze.

[dreamingofmarauders]

I'll Always Love You

Sirius Black x Fem!Reader

Summary: In which Y/n feels unloved and isolates herself from the rest, and Sirius wants to know what is going on in his gorgeous girl's mind.

Warnings: Anxiety, feeling low/depressed, isolation, sad, angst, panic attack, points of fluff here and there throughout

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

Y/n lay down on the ground, the grass providing a soft yet weak cushion, as she stared up at the sky. Looking up into the outer world, a sense of hopelessness filled y/n. She put a hand out, to reach for the sky. A sky that stretched out wide, out of her reach, just like her happiness and love. Only sadness and dread filled her. Her eyes glossed over.

She was all alone.

It was all fine at first, and her heart ached for the days where she smiled naturally, laughing and enjoying her life so much with friends and family, that she had felt like the luckiest person in the world.

It was the sixth year at Hogwarts and everything was wonderful. Y/n had an amazing group of friends, Lily, Marlene, Alice and on the other side were the Marauders. She would study with Lily and Remus in the library in the evenings, sneaking in laughs in between. Y/n played Quidditch alongside, James, Marlene and Sirius, sparing no effort as she was the best on the team, making James grumble at times but he was proud of her nonetheless. Y/n would listen attentively while Peter explained weird facts no one ever knew. All in all, she was happy.

A soft padding caught her ears and beside Y/n plopped down a figure.

"What are you doing out here, darling?"

Y/n's gaze slowly moved from the blue sky to the striking grey eyes of her beloved.

It was near the spring break and when Y/n thought things couldn't get any better, they did. Sirius and Y/n were out at the astronomy tower, and on their way back, the two were walking peacefully until a pair of footsteps began to echo up ahead. Y/n looked at Sirius with wide eyes, who grazed his eyes over the landscape until they halted upon a wooden door. Sirius grabbed Y/n's hand and ran for the broom closet, ushering her in before closing the door behind. Sirius lit up his wand and felt the breath leave his lungs.

Y/n stared up at him with a sparkle in her eyes, her hands resting upon his chest, the two standing flushed together as the broom closet contained barely any space. Sirius reached down and brushed a strand behind Y/n's hair. Y/n let her eyes shut for a brief second, her heart pounding madly in her chest.

"Y/n," Sirius softly whispered out, "I fancy you." He said straightforwardly. "A lot." He paused awaiting an answer but silence greeted him as y/n processed his statement. "Shit, I genuinely hope I didn't just ruin our friendship-"

Sirius broke off as Y/n pressed her lips to his. It took Sirius a few seconds to process what was happening before he shut his eyes, his hands sliding down to Y/n's waist. It was a slow yet affectionate kiss, and the two slowly pulled apart, foreheads resting together, as they tried to catch their breath.

"I like you too, doofus." Y/n breathed out lovingly.

Sirius softly smiled, "I figured as much, love." Sirius paused, "Would you like to be my girlfriend?" Sirius felt himself melt entirely when he saw Y/n's face beam with happiness.

"I would love to."

Sirius returned her expression, "Perfect." He said, before pulling her in for a kiss again.

After that day, the two were together and strong as ever. Their friends were exhilarated when they found out, revealing they had even placed bets on the couple. Unfortunately, James and Marlene owed the others, for which they cursed the pair playfully as they were happy for their friends nonetheless.

"Y/n?" Sirius spoke out softly. He was beginning to get worried. He knew something was off. Ever since the start of the seventh year, his Y/n's been off and it's killing him not knowing how to help her. "Are you alright, dove?"

"M'fine." Y/n mumbled, closing her eyes once again.

Sirius frowned before speaking, "How about we head inside? We could work on our homework together."

"I already did mine." Y/n replied.

That was a lie.

Y/n had begun to lose her motivation, her energy. She performed well in school and met deadlines. However, now her grades were slowly dropping. She disliked going to class because she hated seeing people, when no one out of the many at Hogwarts truly cared for her.

"Alright then." Sirius drew out, and placed his jacket on the grass, laying down beside his girlfriend.

The y/h/c haired girl peeked through her eyes. "What are you doing?"

"Spending time with my girl." He instantly replied, flashing a smile down at her. Despite the heaviness she felt, a very tiny warmth flickered in her heart for a second. A small yet brief smile crawled onto her lips, and Y/n reached out to interlock her fingers with Sirius'. At that, Sirius smiled.

His girl was still in there somewhere.

°˖✧✿✧˖°

"Miss. L/n, a word please." McGonagall said as the final bell of the day rang, signalling the end of lessons and the start of the weekend.

Y/n heaved a breath, already knowing where this was headed. Sirius slightly frowned, wondering what McGonagall could possibly want with his girlfriend, after all, she was one of the smartest students in the entire year.

Sirius threw a small smile at Y/n, telling her he would meet her back in the common room. Y/n nodded and headed to McGonagall's desk while Sirius left through the door.

"Yes, Professor?"

McGonagall studied Y/n for a moment before beckoning her to sit, the latter doing as instructed. "Miss. L/n, I am concerned about your academic performance. You are one of the best performing students and yet, suddenly, your grades have begun to drop, and not just in my class, but your other professors have expressed the same concern."

Y/n released a breath, "I just..." She trailed off, unsure of how to respond.

McGonagall's expression softened. "Have a biscuit, Miss. L/n."

Y/n politely accepted the one offered to her and nibbled on it as McGonagall spoke once again.

"Miss. L/n, I am not just your Head of House but also someone who cares about you, whom you can talk to whenever in need. How are you actually doing, Y/n?"

Y/n's eyes slowly glossed over, "I am sorry, Professor-"

"There is no need to apologize." McGonagall said, "Just remember to take care of yourself and that I am here for you. Do you want to talk about it?"

Y/n slowly shook her head.

"Very well, you may leave."

Y/n stood up. "Thank you, Professor." She said before rushing out, not noticing a certain grey eyed boy who had been listening in on the conversation. He felt his heart clench.

Y/n was definitely hiding something but he couldn't figure out a way to help her.

°˖✧✿✧˖°

"Everyone line up!" The Defence Against the Dark Arts professor yelled out, as all the students in the room scrambled into a single file line, pushing and shoving each other as they awaited their turn with the Boggart.

With the war coming, it was necessary to review and practice all skills, so even though the students had worked with a Boggart before, the professor thought there was no harm in trying again.

Each student went one by one, until it was Sirius' turn followed by Y/n's.

Sirius paled at what stepped out through the cupboard. It was his mother, followed by his father, dragging along his younger brother, Regulus, who looked so small and fragile and broken. Sirius had faltered, his hand beginning to shake but before he could succumb to his fears and insecurities, he flicked his wand while muttering "Riddikulus!" And the horrible sight vanished to be replaced with a black dog trying to chase his own tail, which managed from Sirius and his fellow marauders, shit-eating grins.

As Sirius stepped aside, Y/n stepped up, her hands beginning to sweat, not prepared for what was to come. In the blink of an eye, the black dog warped into what were Y/n's parents, whose usual faces of kindness and love were replaced with anger and disappointment, and Y/n felt all the breath leave her lungs. Sirius watched with concern, realizing something was wrong.

"How can you disappoint us like this?" Y/n's mother spoke. "We've given you nothing but love, and you can't even complete your education like a normal person!?" Her mother suddenly shouted making Y/n flinch as a tear slid down her cheek. Suddenly, another figure appeared, making Y/n whimper.

Sirius.

Looking broken, disappointed and angry.

Y/n began to shake her head.

"I've given you all my attention since day one and you can't even let me in!? How am I not good enough for you!?" Sirius screeched, making Y/n let out a sob as her body began to shake.

"That's enough!"

And the Boggart disappeared as the real Sirius appeared into Y/n's view as he wrapped his arms around Y/n, who was sobbing loudly. The whole classroom was dead silent, astounded by what had just transpired. Lily and the girls exchanged worried looks while James, Remus and Peter looked on with disbelief.

"It's alright, I'm right here." Sirius whispered into her hair as he rubbed comforting circles into Y/n's back.

Y/n hiccuped and broke away from Sirius, leaving the young Black slightly startled.

"I'm sorry." She said before she ran out of the room, wanting to get away from everything. She ran and ran and ran, until she got into the safety of one of the girl's bathroom cubicles.

Y/n slid down to the floor, crying her heart out. Why was everything so hard? She was being so unfair to the people around her and she hated herself.

Y/n felt her chest begin to tighten and she placed a hand on her chest as she felt herself unable to breath. Her body shivered uncontrollably and her heart felt as if it would jump out of her chest any second.

The door opened and rushed in Sirius, who surveyed the situation and realized what was happening. He knelt down, pressing Y/n's hand to his chest.

"Love, look at me, copy my breathing." He instructed, but Y/n could barely comprehend what he was saying, hell she could barely see his mouth moving as she felt her vision begin to blur.

"Dove, tell me five things you can see." Sirius said, and Y/n drew in a excruciatingly painful breath.

"Y-you, the door, your tattoos, the toilet a-and my hand." She uttered out.

"Good, darling. What can you hear?"

Y/n spoke out a bit slower this time, "Your voice, the sound of rain outside, students moving out in the hall." She finished, taking in a shuddering breath as she felt her body very slowly begin to relax.

"That's it baby girl, you're alright, you're safe." Sirius spoke out gently, rubbing comforting circles into Y/n's hand, which he softly held between his hold.

"I'm so sorry." Y/n said as she kept her gaze on the floor, too embarrassed to look at Sirius.

"Hey, Y/n/n, look at me, love." He placed a finger under her chin and moved her head until she was looking into his eyes.

"Y/n, I love you so much, and I really care for you. It's hard to watch you losing yourself. You will have to tell me what's going on if you want me to help you."

Y/n felt her eyes burn and she buried her face in his chest, as Sirius placed his head upon hers whilst murmuring reassuring words.

"I'm so sorry, Sirius. I don't deserve you." You said while crying. "I have been so unfair to you and everyone else and I'm sorry for it."

"Shh. You don't need to apologize. I'm sorry I didn't try harder." He pulled away to cup Y/n's face. "What's going on in that gorgeous mind of yours?'

Y/n let out a small watery laugh as she wiped her tears. "I just don't feel good anymore. I feel so... empty. So hollow and alone, I can't find it in myself to think that there are people in my life that truly do care for me. I can't find the motivation to keep up with school. I don't..." She let out a defeated sigh, "I don't see a point in my life when all I'm doing is hurting and disappointing the ones around me."

Sirius felt his heart shatter into a million pieces. He knew something was wrong but he had no idea his beloved Y/n was going through so much. He placed a kiss on her forehead.

"I'm sorry, darling, I wish I had known sooner. But believe me when I say this that we all do love you. Lily's been worried and keeps asking me constantly what's on your mind but I had no answer for her." Sirius sighed, running a hand through his hair. "You matter a lot. You have no clue what would happen to me if I lost you, you're my life, Y/n. I can't bear seeing you unhappy." Sirius took her hands between his. "I promise you, we will work through this together, you and me, alright?"

Y/n nodded, feeling a sense of gratitude wash over her, making her heart feel warm after a long time. For the first time in a while, Y/n felt loved and felt a certain satisfaction that she was in good hands.

She embraced Sirius tightly.

"I love you."

Sirius smiled, pulling Y/n closer.

"I love you too, darling. I'll always love you."

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

A/N: I hope you all liked the oneshot. I was going to do a birthday party for the reader and everything but I felt this was the best place to end it off.

For anyone ever feeling they are not enough, you are enough and deserve the whole world. If you ever want to talk, just send me a message. :)

I had begun writing this when I was feeling low. I felt unhappy, I couldn't smile, it was a bad phase. I felt that no one around me actually cared for me, but I know some people will always be there for me and others need to be let go (which I suck at doing). I still do at times feel that I will never be enough and no one wants to be around me, but I am trying. Anyways, I love you all so much and you all deserve the world and beyond! I hope you're all doing well and staying smiling! ❤

Love,

Serina

P.S. Also, can someone please get me a Sirius, like where can I get one from? He's too precious 😭

[indiaalphawhiskey]

Just some thoughts.

“There’s only so high you can go. At some point you’re not gonna make that expectation. Going out on a high and now feeling like I’m starting a fresh, came to terms with the fact that, that was so great and if I never get to do that on that level again, that’s okay.”

— Harry Styles, Behind the Album

Ever since Harry’s started saying his goodbyes on stage, this quote as been echoing in my head. All the variations of how he’s been saying thank you, and I’ll miss you, and talking about his break; it’s an unpopular opinion, but none of them ever really strike me as some big, final “goodbye” in the strictest sense. Rather, it feels like he’s thanking this era, giving it it’s time in the sun and reveling in what he has whilst he has it, before giving it a proper send off and putting it to bed.

The Fine Line and Harry’s House eras have meant an unprecedented skyrocket in his profile, and for a person who thought One Direction would be the pinnacle of his time in music, to find out it wasn’t, is a lot. A lot of joy, a lot of pride, but also a lot of pressure.

It’s safe to say this is the most popular and most successful he’s ever been, and I’m sure it’s incredibly reminiscent of where he was and how he felt when the band went on hiatus, which can easily bring about those same anxieties of “Well, what happens next?”

I think the reason he’s using this certain language to say his goodbyes is, in my opinion, not because he’s leaving and never coming back. It reads more like he’s giving himself the room to acknowledge that this chapter of his career (just like the last) was so beautiful, so memorable, such a high, in order to come to terms with the fact that if it’s never like this again — if it turns out he comes back and is met with (much) less success, or popularity, or love — it’ll be okay.

It seems like this is a lesson he’s taken with him from going solo: that natural breaks in your career shouldn’t be spent worrying about what comes next, that the goal of each phase of your career isn’t to “top” the last, because what that leads to is working from a place of fear. (Which he’s said he doesn’t want to do anymore.)

And so, I think, by saying a proper goodbye to this chapter, he’s releasing himself of the pressure to “top” it. He’s honoring this moment, this peak, for what it is, and by doing that, he’s also allowing himself and his art not to be defined entirely by these eras and this level of success. Releasing himself of that pressure, allowing himself to acknowledge that a long career means highs and lows and ebbs and flows, allowing himself to be “less than” who he is now in the future, is what’s going to make making music for his next era fun and personal, and maybe, in turn, end up making him a bigger and better artist than what he’s leaving behind. Or not.

The point is, either way, he’ll be okay, and happy, and healthy. And most importantly, peak of his career or not, everything that comes after will still be entirely Harry. 🩵

[slytherinsrule89]

Hmmm what about a dark riddle brothers x reader non con ? Something like the reader is their enemy . Maybe you can put reader as Harry's gf or sister and they both get enraged by you so they "form a plan" to show you your place and also weaken Harry 🤭🤭

Okay I went a little off closer to the end I think but hopefully it’s still good :)

This does contain smut and other sensitive things so please be aware and don’t read if it makes you uncomfortable

Riddle brothers x reader

Word count: 1639

You had been an enemy of the Riddles for as long as you could remember. They were cruel and disgusting and you despised every inch of the two brothers. The feeling was mutual as well, they hated you just as much as you hated them.

Being a Potter was pretty much the main reason they detested you. Along with you pissing them off about anything and everything because you knew that they hated you and could use it to your advantage.

You had been on your way to class, almost running there because you were late. Going to be even later when you accidently ran into two people, causing you to fall straight down a groan leaving your lips.

“Merlin’s sake wha-oh of course it’s you two.” You rolled your eyes in disgust, grabbing your books and picking yourself up as the Riddles practically towered over you. “God Potter, can you be any more pathetic?” Mattheo scoffed, shoving you aside.

Tom hadn’t said anything yet but with the look he was giving you, you’d be surprised that you aren't dead yet.

“Right like you two could say anything, you’re the most pathetic of them all.” Mattheo only laughed. The insults went back and forth between you and Mattheo before Tom stepped in which startled you a bit.

Tom didn’t often get into these little bickering’s and most of the time watched with distaste, so when he did it was better to make a run for it.

But being the ever so proud Gryffindor you took a step closer, now standing right in front of Tom. A gutsy move proven by the way Tom had raised a brow at you, almost daring you to make another move.

You could sense the latent hostility between all three of you. It was a matter of who would strike first. Of course that person was Mattheo, considering he could never keep his mouth shut in situations like this with a lot of tension.

“Oh please Potter, you’re absolutely worthless. The only reason people actually talk to you is because your brother’s popular. Get it through your head that you are nothing.”

His words were ruthless and meant to hurt you deeply. Instead of getting upset though you looked him dead in the eyes and spoke.

“I’ve been called far worse by much better men. So I’d think again about who really is the worthless one here Riddle.” You walked off right after that sentence. Not really because you were scared but because the professor was going to kill you for being this late.

It hadn’t occurred to you how much that sentence would infuriate the Riddle brothers though and you continued on your day like nothing had even happened that morning.

The problem was that the brothers were anything but calm. They were hatching a plan at that very moment to get back at you. And if it was punishment from them that you’d be expecting, don’t think mercy will be given.

You had gone to bed early that night after such a long day. First being late, then being later from the encounter with the Riddles, your Professor hounding you about it as well because it wasn’t the first time you’ve been late.

So really you were exhausted and fell asleep quite quickly.

After what felt like the longest sleep of your life, you move to get out of bed. Only to realize…you weren’t even in a bed. Your eyes shot open after what felt like a small caress on your cheek. And there meeting your eyes, Tom Riddle.

He was crouched down looking at you with interest while you stared back in horror. What the hell had happened last night? How did you end up here?

All these questions had swarmed your mind, riddling your body with anxiety and trepidation. Tom had noticed this and only smirked at you an eerie feeling sinking in your stomach.

“Hello little dove” His voice was smooth and calm. A voice so solely his that you could never mistake it for another’s.

You had begun to look around much later than you should have but something in Tom’s eyes made it so alluring not to look away. The things you noticed were blood curdling.

You saw chains wrapped around your ankles and wrists. Curtains were open but only darkness could be seen, making you wonder what was really out there. And from how cold it was you could make a guess that you were in the dungeons of Hogwarts.

But it certainly didn’t seem like the slytherin dorms were anywhere near here which only unsettled you more. Just then the door made a creaking noise and in entered Mattheo with that cocky smile of his.

“Poor little Potter doesn’t look like she has much to say now does she?” He was right unfortunately but you don’t think you’ll ever admit to that.

It was suddenly that Tom had gripped your jaw in his hand and turned you back to him making that fear come back in a sudden pulse.

“Listen here little dove. The words that came out of your little mouth this morning is something you are going to regret for a long long time. And we are going to make sure of it.”

I was sure I was going to pass out right then. Their menacing eyes hadn’t looked away from mine at all and I only wished I’d known when to shut up and move on instead of running my mouth like I did. Especially with these two.

Tom's grip got tighter making me want to cry. Apparently Mattheo was good at reading expressions because he picked up on that quickly and crouched down beside his brother.

“You gonna cry pretty?” His tone was teasing. He knew exactly what he was doing. It was working too.

Though when I was least expecting it I felt Tom’s other hand glide against my leg before gripping my thigh roughly. He’d definitely have me pinned down if it wasn’t for the chains already there.

“Here’s the deal.” Tom began. “We are going to punish you how we see fit and you…little dove are going to take whatever we give you. If you try to deny us, it will only get worse.”

Like any human being you started freaking out and trying to refuse barely registering that you were ignoring what he just said about things getting worse. Boy was that stupid.

The second the words went to leave your mouth Tom had moved the hand gripping your jaw and shoved two fingers into your mouth making you gag hard around his fingers.

“Absolutely pathetic. Can’t even listen to a word I say.” Tom kept his fingers in your mouth and removed the one from your thigh only for Mattheo to swoop in. He took his brother's spot while Tom moved to your side.

Mattheo quickly removed the chains and relief rushed through you. That was until you felt his rough hands begin to grope at your thighs being sure that there will be bruises by tomorrow.

Without hesitation Mattheo had ripped off your sleep shorts without a care as you gasped in shock. Though that only encouraged Tom’s fingers to go deeper in your throat as you tried desperately not to gag.

You felt more and more of Mattheos' hands as they grew more daring. Playing with the soft lace outline of your panties almost teasing you as if to say “guess my next move.”

If you didn’t know what feeling nervous felt like before you definitely knew it now. Not knowing their next move was probably the worst of it.

And that was about the only thing your mind was saying when Mattheo pushed a finger into your hole, panties pushed to the side, and a shocked expression on your face. Both of the boys were smirking at you as he continued to swiftly move his finger in and out quickly before adding a second.

You bit down on your lip ruthlessly when Tom had pulled his fingers out of your mouth so that you could conceal your moans and not give them the satisfaction of it.

As Mattheos fingers continued their assault to your pussy Tom had untied the chains on your wrists as well with you hardly knowing it. He sat behind you now pulling up your shirt and tossing it to the side. Almost groaning at the sight of your braless tits.

His hands were quick to play with your nipples, relishing in how soft and warm they were. Your mind was a buzz to say the least. Mattheo’s fingers pumping in and out of you, Tom’s fingers against your bare chest, as well as his mouth creating dark spots around your neck.

The rest was a blur and just like that you sandwiched between the two with both of them fucking you relentlessly. Mattheo had been lying on his on his back fucking up into your pussy as he had you straddling his waist.

While Tom on the other hand had been above you, his cock hitting from behind, moving their bodies in sink, making you just want to melt into them.

“G-Gonna..mhphhh.” You sputtered out. The pleasure to overwhelming for your mind to come up with a proper sentence. However Tom had helped you out. “Gonna cum for us little dove, gonna cum because of the people you hate?”

You nodded quickly as your moans increased. Your orgasm hit you like a truck as you practically screamed out against Mattheo’s shoulder. He was the next to cum, spilling it all in your sweet cunt. Tom following suit.

Just as you were finally beginning to relax they had both pulled out of you and flipped you on your back.

“Not so fast. We aren’t even close to finishing your punishment.”

Hope you enjoy 😊

[tightjeansjavi]

Slow Hands | Chapter 11

“a wolf in sheep’s clothing”

A/N: another emotionally charged chapter that has left me in a puddle of my own tears 😔 there’s only 2 chapters left (crazy, I know) writing this story has truly been a journey for me, and it’s bittersweet knowing that it’s ending soon. As always, thank you for reading, and thank for betaing @angelofsmalldeath-codeine

~word count: 6.2k~

Summary: Angie goes missing, another letter, and two brothers letting the past go.

Pairing | Joel Miller x f!reader

Warnings: ‼️DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT‼️graphic depictions of violence, kidnapping of a minor character, minor character death, talk of suicide, anxiety/PTSD episode, angst, grief, guilt, emotionally charged conversations, protective!joel, Tommy is a girl dad in this universe (not canon but I hope it becomes canon) no age gap, reader has no physical descriptions, +18 minors dni!

A wolf in sheep’s clothing: someone who hides malicious intent under the guise of kindliness

-

They moved like cloaked shadows in the night. Swift, sure-footed, silent. Cody couldn’t let him down. And with Joel’s blood still crusted underneath his fingernails, and spattered on his shirt, he led the way to Angie’s quiet home.

She put up a valiant fight, nails acting as claws swiping through the air. She didn’t want to die, not yet, not now. Please, just one more day.

Her nails made contact with his cheek, slicing through the skin, drawing blood to the surface. Her screams died in her throat when his ready fist made contact with her fragile face. Out cold. Still.

Cody is messy, always has been. It’s a detrimental price to pay, but he can’t let him down.

Her door is left ajar. Sticking out like a sore thumb come morning.

When she awakes, her head throbs, it pulses. Her eyes blink, stinging with pain as she becomes conscious of her new surroundings.

The woods.

Two men are arguing as she struggles to move, only to find that her wrists and ankles have been bound together with rope that has been tied so tightly, it bites into her skin.

“You’re a fuckin’ fool, Cody!” The man yells, striking Cody across the face.

He’s an abuser. He’s been one since the end of the world. Maybe even longer, but he can’t seem to remember the moment he chose the path to abuse. To harm. To kill. It doesn’t matter, he has no means to atone himself.

“A goddamn, trigger-happy, fool!” He hits him again, shoving Cody against a nearby tree. “Do you have any fuckin’ idea the risks you’ve just put out on the line?! Huh! Do you?! I asked you to do one fuckin’ thing! One goddamn fuckin’ thing! You’ve always been messy, Cody. Fuckin’ never cleanin’ up after yourself!” He yells in his face, and Angie’s blood runs cold.

She knows that voice.

She knows.

“I thought—I thought you would be proud of me!” Cody shoves back, body switching to defense mode in an instant. “I TOOK DOWN THE FUCKIN’ MOOSE!”

The other man sneered, shaking his head, and laughed. It's a bone chilling laugh. Cruel. Unkind. Sadistic.

“You fuckin’ moron. You didn’t kill him.” He scoffs.

“That old fuck is dead. I killed him!” He insists.

“Killed him? No. Wounded him? Sure. It takes a hell of a lot more to take down a moose than just kicking him in the fuckin’ head!” The other man places his hands on his hips, his tone is nothing short of condescending. “What do you think is going to happen when he wakes up, Cody? He’s gonna come straight for you.” He jabbed at his chest.

“He’s dead. I killed him. I killed Joel Miller.” Cody’s voice wavers the more he thinks back to the moment his boot connected with Joel’s face. Was he dead? He appeared to be. He must be. He has to be.

“Ah. Are your actions catching up to you? Are you beginnin’ to realize that you have managed to jeopardize everythin?’” The other man scoffs before his attention is drawn to Angie.

“You were supposed to bring her to me. You were supposed to bring her home, where she belongs. I asked you to do one fuckin’ thing, Cody. And you failed. You failed me.” He tsks, tongue in cheek. He crouches down in front of Angie’s trembling frame. She tries to escape, but there’s nowhere for her to run. She’s ensnared, and running out of time. The backside of his hand strokes against her cheekbone with a horrid softness that is anything but soft.

“Instead, you bring me this pathetic excuse of a life. Angie, isn’t it? What a doll. I really enjoyed your cookin’, sweetheart. I think I’ll miss that the most.” He chuckles, leaning in as his nose brushes through tendrils of her hair. “I could..keep you alive.” He whispers as tears begin to roll down her cheeks. “I could..but then that wouldn’t teach Cody a lesson, now would it?”

“Please—please. I—I—don’t want to die. You don’t..have to kill me.” She pleads, eyes squeezing shut.

“I don’t.” He agrees. “I don’t have to kill you, Angie. I could keep you as my own. You could replace her, and the constant hole I feel in my pathetic heart after she left me. “I was so good to her, Angie. So good..and she left.” He sighed almost as if he was feeling a moment of empathy for what he was about to do.

“I—I could replace her. I could. Please. I would never leave you. You don’t have to kill me. I’ll stay with you. I’ll—I’ll love you the way that she couldn’t.” Angie begs, and this is his favorite part. The moment where his victim begins to believe that he’ll spare them, that he’s not really a monster. That they’ll live to see another day.

“Oh, Angie, you haven’t really been payin’ attention at all, have you?” He sneers. “You’ll never replace her. You stupid fuckin’ bitch.” He spits, and a glob of saliva lands on her trembling cheek.

He looks over his shoulder at Cody just as a flash of lightning strikes above and illuminates his face in bright light. He faces her once more, fingers brushing across her face. He’s gone in for the kill, like a snake attacking in the grass.

She pleads for her life one more time. Hoping, begging..until it’s over.

He snaps her neck swiftly, in a blink of an eye as her body falls to the ground with a sickening thud. A single tear rolls down her cheek, landing in the dirt below. Her eyes are unmoving, body twitching, and then going still. A little fall of rain can hardly hurt her now.

She’s disregarded like trash on the street, nothing more than a sack of flesh in his eyes.

Raindrops begin to steadily fall as he stands above her body looking down at it with disgust. “Get the fuck back to Jackson, and bring her to me.” It’s a threat, and Cody knows what his fate will be if he returns without you.

When 20 minutes turned into an hour, that’s when the fear began to trickle in and fester like an open untreated wound. Ellie hadn’t returned, and there was no sign of Joel. You were alone and beginning to imagine the worst possible scenarios in your head. Ellie told you to stay inside, keep the doors locked, but that prodding voice inside of your head was growing louder, and louder. You could only tune its harshness out for so long before you would inevitably snap.

Ellie isn’t coming back.

She’s out there all alone, and you’re gonna continue to be a sitting duck?

Joel’s dead, I bet. He’s dead, and it’s probably all your fault. How’s that make you feel inside, Beanie? You killed them. You killed them both.

You had picked the skin around your cuticles to the point where they were raw and bleeding. Joel and Ellie were okay. Nothing bad happened to them. That voice inside of your head wasn’t true. None of it was true. It couldn’t be.

Ellie said she’d be back. She’s okay. Nothing happened to her. She found Joel and they’re on their way back now.

I didn’t kill them.

They’re alive.

Are you sure? Let’s face it, something happened to them both. The two people that you love the most in this world are dead and it’s all your fault.

Your fault.

Your fault.

Your—

“I DIDN’T KILL THEM!” You yelled suddenly as your emotions bubbled over.

It felt like every wall in Joel’s home was beginning to close in on you as if you were an unsuspecting bug that was about to be crushed under the weight of a shoe.

It felt like all the air in your lungs had been snatched, and you were suffocating, clawing for air.

That’s how you found yourself stumbling out back onto the porch, hunched over, heaving with tears streaming down your cheeks. The voice inside of your head only seemed to grow louder and louder as images of Joel and Ellie laying in a pool of their own blood flashed cruelly in your mind. You blinked, and blinked, and blinked, but the picture was as clear as day, and it wasn’t going away.

You don’t remember how you ended up in Joel’s shed surrounded by the comforting aroma of sawdust, pine, and Joel. He cloaked your senses like a warm hug, or a hot cup of tea with honey soothing your throat. You collapsed into his chair, hugging yourself for dear life, and then, the voice was silent and you were still, frozen on the spot, numbed.

-

What the fuck am I supposed to tell Beanie?

Hey, so I don’t want you to freak out or anything, but Joel got his ass handed to him, and he’s beat up pretty bad.

When I found him..I thought he was dead.

But don’t worry, he’s not gonna die! He’s fine. Joel is fine.

Ellie’s footsteps were trailing a good foot behind Jesse’s and Liam’s. The weight of her own gun felt heavy in her palm. Rain had steadily begun to fall and soaked the dry earth beneath her worn down converse. Tears began to blur her vision when images of Joel lying in a pool of his own blood attacked her mind.

“El?” It was Jesse. “Y’okay?” He had slowed his footsteps so she could catch up. And when she was close enough, he reached his hand out and gently squeezed her shoulder.

“I’m fine.” She sniffled and wiped her nose on the sleeve of her hoodie. “I’m fine, Jesse.” She went to brush his hand off her shoulder but refrained because she knew he was just trying to comfort her.

“Are you sure? Tommy didn’t really tell Liam and I what happened but—”

“What did he tell you?”

Jesse paused and let out a sigh. His eyes met hers in a brief stare. “Somethin’ along the lines of Joel getting the shit beat out of him in public. He didn’t say by whom.”

I know who the fuck did it.

“Yeah. Some fucking cowards probably jumped him.” Yeah, some cowards alright.

“He’ll be alright though, right?”

“Joel is as stubborn as a mule, Jesse. He’s going to be fine.”

Jesse nodded and took a step back to give her some space. “Yeah, you’re right about that.”

When they reached the front steps to Joel’s home, Ellie was nudged out of the way when she reached for the door handle. Liam muttered under his breath about it being some standard protocol to which she scoffed under her breath, withdrew her gun and shoulder checked him for good measure.

Ellie’s blood ran cold when she did not immediately find you on the couch in the same spot that she left you.

“Fuck.” She muttered under her breath, finger hovering over the trigger.

“Ellie? What’s wrong?” Jesse came up beside her, his own gun drawn at his side.

“I left Beanie right here, Jesse. Right here on the fucking couch!”

If anything happens to her, Joel will never forgive me. Never.

“You’re sure you left her on the couch, Ellie?” Liam interjected, pushing past both of them.

“You think I’d fuckin’ lie about that? I left her on the couch.” She snapped back. “I told her to stay here and keep the doors locked.”

“I’ll check upstairs. Liam, you and Ellie check the kitchen and do not go outside without me.” Jesse said firmly. He was looking right at Liam with a stern glare.

Liam was half tempted to flip him off but refrained from doing so. It wouldn’t have been worth it in the end.

He and Ellie did a full sweep of the kitchen and lower level while Jesse went upstairs and checked every room.

The trio met back at the foot of the staircase.

“The only place we haven’t checked yet is Joel’s shed outback.” Ellie said with a huff to mask her nerves. “She wouldn’t just..up and leave for no fucking reason. Unless someone was here, or she was suspecting someone.”

“Joel’s shed? Why the hell would she go there?” Liam scoffed under his breath. “Ellie, we sweeped the whole fuckin’ house. She’s not here.”

“Fuck you, man. Don’t pick up an attitude with me. Do you have any idea what that woman means to Joel? Huh? Course you don’t. If something happened to her—”

“El, breathe.” Jesse said calmly. “We’ll do a sweep out back, okay? I’m sure she’s there. I’m sure she’s fine.” He reassured her.

Ellie inhaled a shaky breath of air and nodded her head in Jesse’s direction. Once she was regrouped enough, she took the lead and headed towards the back door with Liam and Jesse in tow.

The rain was coming down with a blinding force now and obstructed Ellie’s vision momentarily as she cautiously approached Joel’s shed. A bright flash of lightning illuminated her face before it was casted back into darkness.

Please. Please, be in there. Please be safe, Beanie.

Jesse and Liam had their guns aimed at the ready when Ellie grasped the shed door handle and pushed it open.

You were caught like a deer in headlights when Ellie, Jesse, and Liam came into view. Your hands trembled around the loose grip you had on Joel’s letter to Bill and Frank.

Ellie immediately lowered her gun to her side with a visible sigh of relief and tucked it into her hoodie pocket. “Beanie? Fuck. What are you doing out here? I thought I told you to stay inside. I—I thought something had happened to you!”

The look on your face is all Ellie needs to understand that you don’t remember.

“You don’t remember anything..do you, Beanie?” Her tone is soft compared to the way that her heart is beating out of her chest.

You shake your head and bite down harshly on your lower lip as you look between Ellie, and the two men beside her. You’ve seen Jesse around before, but Liam is unfamiliar.

“Can you guys..give us some privacy?” Ellie speaks quietly to Jesse and Liam.

“Holler if you need us. Okay, El? We’ll be outside.”

“It’s fuckin’ raining. We’re gonna get—” Liam’s bitching is cut off by Jesse forcefully grabbing his bicep and pulling him back outside into the pouring rain. He pulls the door shut behind him leaving you and Ellie in total privacy.

“Ellie..where’s Joel? What happened?” You questioned immediately and Ellie let out a deflated sigh. Her shoulders slumped in a defeated motion.

“He’s..hurt, Beanie. But Tommy’s with him. He’ll be alright. He always comes back home. Even when he’s hurt, nothing stands in his way.” Ellie’s doing her best to reassure both herself and you. She walks further into the shed and finds herself sitting along the edge of Joel’s workbench next to you.

“What happened to him, Ellie?” You look over at her, eyes glassy with tears that are threatening to spill. “How do you know for sure that he’ll..come home?”

“I don’t know exactly what happened to him. I found Tommy first, and he discovered Joel laying in the dirt outside of your home. He was covered in blood. I—I thought he was dead, but Tommy reassured me that he wasn’t.”

She rests her hands along the dust covered table and looks down at her lap. She smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes as she looks over at you. “Because..before Joel took me to the Fireflies base, there was a time where I thought he was gonna die on me. I remember bein’ so afraid of losin’ him. I didn’t know what the fuck I was gonna do without him.”

She swallows hard and blinks back her own tears. “He tried to push me away. Told me to go back to Tommy’s and leave him to die. I refused. So, I did everything I could to help him get better. His wound was infected and I knew he needed medicine fast. I risked my life for him not knowin’ if he would make it.”

You reach for her hand and entwine your fingers just as her tears begin to fall. “Somethin’ terrible..happened to me after I got Joel the medicine he needed. And I wasn’t sure if I’d ever see him again, truthfully.” She sniffled and squeezed your hand gently.

“I remember stumbling outside in the snow covered in blood, and he was there. I thought he was a ghost, Beanie. But he was there, and he was holding me.”

“Ellie..” you trailed off.

Your teary eyed gazes met as the rain pelted down along the roof of the shed.

“Do you need a hug, kiddo?” You asked softly. Ellie was like the daughter you never had, and like Joel, you’d put your life out on the line to keep her safe. It’s what empaths do. They put others feelings above their own. And right now, Ellie needs you.

“Yes.” She murmured. “I need that more than ever right now.”

You set the letter down off to the side and stand up just as Ellie slips down from where she’s sitting on the edge of the table. You gather her up into your arms and hold her tight. You didn’t need the full story to understand what happened to her before Joel brought her to the Fireflies. “It’s okay. I understand. I’m here for you, El.”

She wrapped her arms around you with her tears soaking into your shirt while you rubbed soothing circles into her back with your freehand cupping the back of her head, cradling it gently.

You held each other like this as the storm outside roared on. Ellie was the one to ultimately pull away from the hug and quickly wiped at her eyes.

“Thank you.” She whispered, “I really needed that.”

“Of course, El. I’m always here for you.”

“What’s this?” She gestured to the letter resting along the table and reached for it.

“It’s another one of Joel’s letters.”

“Joel’s been..writing letters? To whom?” She picked it up gently.

“To those he loves most.” You said softly.

“Can we..read it together?”

You nod and pull the chair up closer while Ellie begins to read the letter out loud.

Bill and Frank,

By now I’m sure you realized that I found your letter. I know that you and I didn’t always see eye to eye, but I did consider you a friend. Someone who I respected, trusted, and in a way, admired. I never got the chance to tell you just how much I respected you, Bill. I think back to the first time we met, where yours and mine clicked instantly. I don’t think I ever saw Tess smile as much as she did that day. You and I were both pretty pissed off about it, huh? But hey, whatever makes those we love happy, right?

You were one hell of a man, and I’m honored that I had the pleasure of knowing you, even if the time was cut short.

So, I’m gonna tell you something because I know that you’ll understand.

I found two people in this shit-hole world that mean somethin’ to me. I lost a daughter, but I gained another. She was just cargo to transport to the Fireflies, but as much as I saved her, she saved me. Her name is Ellie, and I think you woulda loved this kid. I pushed away feeling anything for so fuckin’ long, and then she came into my life and showed me that I still have a heart. Her and I? We’ve been through hell, but there’s nothing I wouldn’t do to keep my kid safe.

And then, I fell in love with this woman who has a heart of gold and a kindness that I never thought I’d feel again. She reminds me of Frank. Artistic, soft-spoken, and this breath of fresh air that can melt even coldest of hearts. Her name is Beanie, like coffee beans. She and I actually briefly knew one another in Austin. She owned this coffee shop, Cuppa Smiles and every-time I’d come in with Sarah, she’d put a stupid little smiley face on my morning latte. Well, we met again…and I fuckin’ love her silly little latte art. She’s my person, Bill. And even though I feel I am undeserving to love someone as beautiful as her, I’m so fucking grateful. This is all to say you’re right. You and I do have a purpose in this world, and that is to protect the ones we love. To keep them safe. And god help any motherfuckers who stand in our way, right?

Godspeed.

-Joel

By the end of the letter you and Ellie are both feeling new waves of emotions. Joel Miller loves you, and you’ve known it for a while now, but to see it on paper? Well, there’s really no feeling to describe it. To love and to be loved, is one of life’s greatest treasures.

“Did you ever get to meet Bill and Frank?”

“No, but I do know for a fact that Bill was a fuckin’ badass. He had a whole wall of guns in his house!” She couldn’t help but giggle at the memory of Joel grumpily telling her no when she implied on taking one of the guns for herself. Dude. There’s a wall of them.

You could picture Joel’s face now, and it too made you giggle because oftentimes he was rather grumpy over just about anything.

“Oh my god, you shoulda see how much of a mean motherfucker Joel was when I first met him!” She’s truly reminiscing now and there’s that childlike wonder to her again. All giggles, cheeks stained with tears, but she’s smiling a big toothy grin.

“Why don’t you tell me all about the first time you met Joel?”

And so she does, starting with the first interaction where Joel basically threw her into a wall in front of Marlene and Tess.

Well, I guess that’s what I got for spookin’ him. Shit really fuckin’ hurt, but I’m glad he and Tess showed up when they did. Who knows, maybe you and I wouldn’t be having this conversation right now if they hadn’t.

I’m really glad Joel and Tess showed up when they did too.

“Hey, Beanie?” Ellie suddenly asks as the rain is beginning to lighten up for a moment.

“Yeah?”

“Did you grow up listening to Linda Rondstadt?”

“I did.”

“What was your favorite song? If you had to pick one?”

“Oh, that’s an easy one, El. Long Long Time.”

She just smiles.

“Tommy..” Joel croaks, voice hoarse and barely audible.

Joel’s eyes are barely open and his face is visibly swollen and puffy. But he’s alive, he’s breathing, and that’s all Tommy can really focus on.

“Joel? Hey, how we feelin?’”

Joel cracks a smile, a painful one that has him wincing from the minimal movement. “Like I jus’ got hit by a fuckin’ bus.” He attempts to joke, but it falls flat when he realizes that Tommy is holding the letter.

“Yeah, well, y’look like dogshit, Joel. Doc said—”

“Don’t give a fuck what Doc said, Tommy.” He doesn’t mean to be short, not really, he’s just in a lot of pain.

Tommy falls silent. His eyes cast downwards and focus on the words written in the letter. The fluorescent light catches Tommy’s face at just the right angle for Joel to see the dried tears along his cheekbones.

“Tommy..I—I saw Sarah.” Joel’s voice cracks as the two brothers briefly make eye contact.

“Whad’ya mean you saw her, Joel?”

“She came to me in my dreams. She had daisies in her hair..She looked so beautiful. My baby girl.”

Tommy rests the letter along his lap and reaches for Joel’s hand. He gives it a firm, yet reassuring squeeze. His freehand immediately rises and he quickly wipes away fresh tears that have begun to fall. “She was so beautiful, Joel.”

There’s a moment's silence sans Joel’s labored breaths, and Tommy’s sniffles that fill the stagnant, all-too clean air.

“I thought..you were dead, Joel. All I saw was you layin’ in the dirt. Not movin.’ Covered in blood, and all I could think—And then I saw the gun, and for a minute I thought that maybe—” he takes a shaky inhale, squeezing his eyes shut. “But then I couldn’t find the entry wound, and I felt so relieved. So fuckin’ relieved.”

“Tommy, after all these years? After proving to you that I’d do anything to keep us alive? Why would your first thought be that I finished myself? Ellie needs me. I’d never do that to her or to you. Why would I cross the country to find you to only then shoot myself?” Joel doesn’t mean to be so harsh with his words, but despite all the years that have gone by, that guilt lives freely on his conscience. It’s plaguing, and reminds him of a scab that never quite properly heals because he’s picked it over so many times. It’s hammered into his skull with a rusted nail.

“Killin’ yourself ain’t gonna bring Sarah back, Joel. Its fuckin’ selfish that you—”

Selfish.

Selfish.

Selfish.

A man loses his only daughter in a brutal way, and he’s got nothing to live for. No path guiding him. No light at the end of the tunnel. No hope. Nothing. It was ripped from him the same way the rain of bullets ripped through her body.

“I have everythin’ to live for now, Tommy.”

It hits Tommy like a freight train at maximum speed. It thrashes like a fish breached on land, depleted of oxygen, slowly dying, baking in the sun. His feelings bubble over, and he doesn’t try to hold them at bay.

“Because the day you tried to kill yourself still haunts me. I couldn’t think rationally in the moment because I was brought right back to Texas. Right back to your home. Right back to the second I heard the gunshot and your body hittin’ the fuckin’ floor.” Tommy whispers the last part as tears blur his vision.

Joel reaches for his hand, knuckles bruised and crusted in blood and dirt. His body aches all over, but he pushes through the pain and grabs Tommy’s hand, squeezing it reassuringly. “I ain’t fuckin’ goin’ anywhere, Tommy.” His words are firm and hold true.

Tommy can only nod as he glances down at the letter once more. More tears have begun to flood the paper and blur Joel’s penmanship, but even though ink isn’t permanent, the words read like a script in his brain.

“When..did you write this letter?” Tommy finally asks.

“Shortly after I wrote the letter to Tess and after what happened at the Tipsy Bison.”

“And you meant every word in this?..”

“Absolutely.”

“You’re right. I did grow resentful. I couldn’t understand why you thought that..killin’ yourself was the only option. As if somehow that would bring Sarah back. I did think you were being selfish, and that was wrong of me. I know that hurt you more than you’re willin’ to admit. And I’m sorry, Joel. For all of it.”

“Y’gotta understand that I did think that it was the only option I had. I fuckin’ lost my daughter. She died in my arms. I was a shell of a man, and you—“ he took a deep breath as his tears began to freely fall. “Y’made me feel so guilty after. So fuckin’ guilty. The guilt consumed me. I knew that you weren’t sleepin’ much after that. Always thinkin’ that I’d attempt it again. Always on edge because of me.”

“It felt like we were walkin’ on eggshells around each other for years. There were so many times that I wanted to bring it up and apologize, but fuck, as if we had any time for that, right? Tess and I..we talked about it once, in private. She told me I should jus’ rip the bandaid off, but I never did.” Tommy admitted.

“Yeah, and then you left me for the fuckin’ Fireflies after everythin’ I did to keep you safe. To keep you alive, you left. Always wanted to be the fuckin’ hero. Didn’t matter what I said, you weren’t gonna listen.” Joel snapped.

“I jus’ wanted to try and make a difference in the shitty world that we live in! To erase injustice and make up for all the shit we did. All the people we murdered. I didn’t want to live with—”

“Didn’t want to live with knowin’ that there’s blood on your hands, Tommy? Those things we did? We did them to survive. It was either them or us. I have my regrets too, y’know.”

“We killed innocent people, Joel.” Tommy said somberly.

“Why did you cut fuckin’ communication with me? Huh? What was the reason? I’m your fuckin’ family. Your flesh and blood. And while you were livin’ all cushy with your new wife, bacon, and a warm fuckin’ bed, I was scared shitless that my brother was dead.”

“if I tell you the truth, you’re going to hate me.”

“I’m your brother, Tommy. I could never hate you. Jus’ tell me the reason. I don’t want a bullshit excuse. I want the fuckin’ truth.”

“Maria had some influence on my decision. She reassured me that cutting communication off with you would maybe be for the best. It was selfish of me, Joel. I just never expected—”

“Me to come fuckin’ lookin’ for you? Nothin’ was gonna get in my way of findin’ you, Tommy.”

“I wasn’t thinkin’ at the time. The thought hadn’t crossed my mind. Look, it was gettin’ to the point that everytime we’d talk, the conversation was always just so fuckin’ negative. That shit started to really eat away at me. Maria started to notice how it was affectin’ me, and she suggested that maybe...I was holdin’ on too much. At the time it felt right to cut contact off with you.”

“Are you fuckin’ kiddin’ me? Tommy, the world fuckin’ ended. What the hell was I supposed to be positive about, huh? Christ! The only positive thing in my life outside of Tess was knowin’ that you were alive! And then you took that from me too. I swear, that woman had rose colored glasses on the second she fuckin’ met you.” He snapped.

Tommy could already feel himself recoiling from his brother's words, and that utter feeling of shame came trickling in and knocking at the door. “I know I took that from you, Joel. I swear it wasn’t done outta malice.”

“No. You just wanted to move on with your life and I was holdin’ you back. The second you met Maria, fell in love, and got everythin’ you ever wanted, you pushed me away. Your own goddamn brother.”

“And I feel fuckin’ shameful for my decisions! The second you fuckin’ showed up here outta the blue, I felt that shame. I’m sorry..for all of it. But I’m tired of feelin’ this way, ain’t you?”

“Of course I’m fuckin’ tired of feelin’ this way, Tommy. Half the time I don’t even feel like I belong in this community. That I’m always gonna be an outsider. And I think your wife is partially to blame. I respect Maria, I really do. But she ain’t have any rose colored glasses on when it comes to me. I think that’s the most frustratin’ bit. Is that your wife judges me for the things I did to keep us alive, yet she refuses to acknowledge all the fucked up shit, and all the people you killed, Tommy.”

“I know you and Maria ain’t ever seen eye to eye. I don’t agree with the way she’s treated you either. She and I have talked about it. I’ve brought up how she treats you differently. I jus’ haven’t gotten through to her yet, but I’m workin’ on it. I can’t make her change her mind about you, but what I can do is defend you, tooth and fuckin’ nail. Jus’ like how I shoulda after the altercation at the Tipsy Bison.”

“I jus’ want you to feel…proud to be my brother again, Tommy. I don’t wanna keep walkin’ on eggshells and feelin’ like I ain’t belong in my own family. I love you so much, and I jus’—I want us to be okay. I don’t wanna fight anymore, I don’t wanna feel this resentment and guilt all the fuckin’ time. That’s why I’ve been writin’ these letters.. They’re healin’ me. They’re helpin’ me forgive.”

“Fuck.” Tommy sniffles. “You think I ain’t proud to be your brother, Joel? You’re still my fuckin’ hero, and you’re my fuckin’ family. My flesh and blood. I love you so much, and I’m sorry for hurtin’ you. I’m sorry for pushin’ you away. I’m sorry for bein’ selfish. For holdin’ so much resentment against you and the things we’ve done. I want us to be okay. I want us to be brothers again.”

“And I forgive you, Tommy. I’m sorry too. ‘M sorry for puttin’ you through hell. Shoulda apologized a long time ago.”

“We both should have. I never thought I would have the opportunity. I never thought I’d see you again.”

“You and me both.”

“Is..that why you ain’t really open to bein’ in Willow’s life? I try’n not bring her up because I know you’re still mournin, but it hurts that my brother doesn’t want to be involved in my daughter’s life.”

“Jealousy is a bitch, Tommy.” Joel said with a sigh. “Y’get to be a father to a little girl, and I lost mine. It ain’t right to you, or your daughter, but the grief still stings.”

“But Joel, you are a father. You might not be Ellie’s blood, but you’re her dad. I understand that you’re still grieving. Hell, I am too, but I want you to be in Willow’s life. I want you to be my daughter’s godfather..”

“..you want me to be her godfather? Tommy, I’d-I’d be honored.”

“Of course I do. I want that more than anythin.’”

“I wanna hug you, but everythin’ fuckin’ hurts.” Joel forces a laugh past his cracked lips. It comes out hoarse, rough around the edges.

Tommy hugs him anyway. It’s a gentle yet grounding caress and when the two brothers part, Joel knows he has to tell Tommy what really happened.

“Tommy.” He starts. His jaw ticks, nostrils flare. “It was Cody.”

Tommy’s blood runs cold. His fists clench, and his brows furrow. “What’re you talkin’ about, Joel?”

“Cody. He was outside of Beanie’s house. I saw him and immediately grew suspicious. He wasn’t alone. There were two other patrol guys with him. Alex and Oliver. There’s a whole fuckin’ pack of them. Cody and I got into it..he knocked me out.”

“They were lookin’ for Beanie?”

“Yes. But we ain’t have no tellin’ on how many of them there really are.” Joel gruffly said.

“Well, there’s four that we know of, right?” There was no time for Tommy to mourn this realization. Men that he trusted were just a bunch of wolves in sheeps clothing. It left a bitter taste in his mouth. Pungent. Betrayal. Anger.

“Tommy, we can’t lose focus, alright? We gotta bring these fuckers to justice. You and me. You want your daughter growin’ up in a world where sick fucks get away with shit undetected? You wanna be a hero, right? You wanna make sure your baby girl grows up only knowin’ love and safety. Cody thought he could bring down a moose, but he’s in for a fuckin’ surprise. I say we pump ‘em full of lead.” For good fuckin’ measure.

“I’ll be damned if I let her grow up in a world livin’ in fear with men who would jump at the opportunity to hurt her. We need to alert Maria immediately. I wanna do more than just pump ‘em full of lead. I wanna make them fuckin’ suffer.”

Ah. There he is, there’s the Tommy that I know.

Joel was already getting ready to swing his legs over the side of the bed when a very exasperated Jesse appeared outside the door. His cheeks were flushed, and it looked like he was barely holding it together.

“Jesse? What’re you doin’ here? Did Ellie make it home safe?” Tommy asked as he stood up from Joel’s bedside in a haste.

“She’s fine. Liam and I walked her home and then we found Beanie.”

“Found Beanie? What the hell does that mean, Jesse? Y’better start talkin’ or so help me–” Joel was cut off swiftly.

“She’s okay, Joel. Ellie and Beanie are fine. But Tommy, Maria is lookin’ for you. Angie’s missing. She didn’t show up to her breakfast shift, and it looks like someone broke into her home. We suspect that foul play was involved, and Maria is calling for an emergency council meeting.”

Tommy and Joel slowly looked over at one another. Angie was missing. Jackson was no longer safe, and it was up to the two brothers to protect the community, and those they loved most. Tommy nodded in understanding, and it was as if he was reading Joel’s mind in real time.

“Looks like we got a meetin’ to get to.”

-

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[cripplecharacters]

Hello!

I have a character I am considering be OCD (or possibly OCPD) and she is the narrator/POV character for a large portion (1/3) of the book. My issue is, if I decide to give her any condition related to compulsions, intrusive thoughts, etc, how do I get across the severity of the condition while neither pounding the readers over the head to the point of boredom/frustration, nor minimizing/erasing her symptoms by just ignoring them until they are relevant to the story? (The plot's focus is not on her disability, but disability is an underlying current through the whole book.)

I think this would be much easier of a balance to strike if it were a short story, especially since i have written short stories before from the POV of characters with similar issues, but this is going to be a full-length novel, and she'll probably be the narrator for like 60,000 words, and that is a lot longer for a reader to keep interest in her.

To be clear, I'm not asking for a list of symptoms or anything like that. I have been doing research and continue to, for that. I'm just wondering how to strike the balance between those experiences and turning off the reader from repetitiveness.

Hi asker,

What I think is you don't always have to describe all the thoughts in detail. If there's common themes/recurring imagery or the like in her thoughts, you could focus on that to minimize repetitiveness.

For example, if one of her themes is that she worries she might accidentally hurt someone, you could describe it in the first times it happens in-story as something like...

"As I walked next to Michael, I worried i might hurt him without intending to. What if I tripped and fell onto him? We were near the road. I always worried. I focused on counting my steps to make sure nothing would go wrong."

As in, you don't have to specify how exactly she's worried it might happen, or that her brain is giving her thoughts that it could happen in way A and B and C. And then, at some other point, when the triggering situation happens again, you can do something like,

"Michael walked next to me. I counted my steps. He told me about...."

However, you can absolutely embrace that repetitiveness as a narrative style. The more repetitiveness you write in, the more anxiety you are conveying, because you're conveying the thought loop that OCD causes.

You can also focus on the emotions your character feels during thought loops and compulsions to varying degrees. Sometimes she might be more distressed than other times. Sometimes she might just be annoyed. Sometimes she believes the compulsions more, sometimes she tries harder to resist them.

I would actually suggest picking up books with protagonists with OCD, just to see how this repetition is played with in the stories.

Books I can recall off the top of my head that I have read that have a protagonist with OCD are Turtles All The Way Down, The Goldfish Boy, and OCDaniel, and I don't remember myself getting turned off by repetitiveness at any point. I recommend them as interesting reads, but I read them all a while ago and can't go into much detail. They are all also YA or Middle Grade just because I enjoy those types of books, haha.

Hope this helps,

mod sparrow