#torturing him in that time loop washing machine. spin spin spin

[quatregats]

you can probably guess that the one of your WIPs that I want to hear most about is hornblower time loop! I will never stop thinking about hornblower time loop

Hornblower time loop needs lots of reworking in terms of the plot (and I am now contemplating another fic which might address a lot of the same themes so now I need to think about what it's actually about), but here is a very long snippet which I did actually like (he's having a GREAT time out here):

He could not be aware of anything else. His stomach wrenched, and he got up and crossed the deck to stand over Sweet’s body. There was the bitter iron smell of blood, the beginning of the stench of death about him. Hornblower turned him over, struggling with the weight of the body; it flopped back on the deck like a puppet without strings, and Sweet’s unseeing eyes were staring into his own. Those eyes had been bright and feisty not more than a week ago, when Sweet had delivered the mutineers’ ultimatum. Now they seemed the eyes of some blind man out of a Greek drama--a man who had seen enough to make him go mad, and enough to warn others of their fate, even if they refused to listen. With a strangled cry, Hornblower stepped back, and suddenly came into himself again, realizing with embarrassment that the whole ship had seen him shy away in fear at the dead leader of the mutineers. He tried to collect himself and turn to the carpenter’s inquiries, but Sweet’s face swum in his memory, and he only gave poor half-answers before retiring to his cabin at eight bells.

He could not think straight. The barriers of the world felt as though they were dissolving around him. He had been on edge all day, and now he was certain that everything was falling to pieces. He had done his job, finished off the mutiny, gotten his ship under control again, and yet nothing was right. The men were inches away from mutiny themselves, and Sweet had looked back at him with those eyes--those eyes!--that seemed to read into the darkest parts of his soul. What crime was it for a man to rebel against injustice? they had asked, and he had not been able to answer.

The anger and frustration he had felt that morning melted away into dread, and he had the feeling that he had just done something awful. He always felt a terrible remorse after fighting battles, and had long considered it his worst weakness; other, greater men would not let such trivialities touch them so. But now, seeing the face of a man who he felt was truly not his enemy, stained in blood, after having tried to kill him for three days straight, the feeling welled up within him uncontrollably. Sweet had to die, he had repeated to himself over and over, but what good was his death? What would it matter, if the price to pay was the loss of Hornblower’s sanity and the loss of his crew?

Someone knocked on the door of the cabin; it was one of the ship’s boys, come with a message that Chadwick was being brought across and would he like to speak with him. The words cut through the haze in Hornblower’s mind like a knife, sharp and dangerous. 

“Yes, bring him here,” he replied quickly. 

“Aye aye, sir,” the boy said, looking at him wide-eyed and fearful before retreating and nearly tripping over the doorframe on his way out.

Within a few minutes, Chadwick was brought in; Hornblower had gotten up and begun to pace, but stopped when he heard the knock at the door. Chadwick took the chair graciously offered; Hornblower continued to pace at the back of the room.

Chadwick had not changed overmuch since they had been together on the old Indy--he had gone grey, as had Hornblower, and he looked worn, but the wear, rather than giving him an air of experience or dignity, had simply made him look even more dour and unpleasant, as though years of erosion were revealing his true core. There was a distinctly sour feeling in the air. He had not forgotten who Hornblower was, and he was not going to forgive him for seeing him like this, at the bottom of the barrel of his disgrace and a mere lieutenant, while Hornblower stood before him as a commodore with ribbon and star.

Hornblower’s mind, however, was far from any consideration of ribbons or stars; before him was the man who, he knew, had caused the mutiny. A soup of thoughts swirled around in his head, dense and impassable, but through them cut the bright, dangerous knowledge that this man and no other had been the true cause of the mutiny. Four days ago, he had convinced himself that naval discipline depended on Chadwick’s safe passage, that it depended on a bullet to the back of Sweet’s head. Now, though, the seed of that dangerous thought he had had when Jervis had first given him the mission began to push up, breaking free of the dirt in which he had sought to suffocate it.

“What do you have to say for yourself?” he burst out, before he could reign himself in.

Chadwick sat sulkily for a moment; sulkily enough to say in silence what discipline would not allow him to say in words. “I’m sorry I ever let them get out of control, sir.”

“Is that all?”

Chadwick looked at him with what might have been disdain, if a man so dishonoured could be allowed to exhibit such emotions. “I have learned my lesson, sir. And I hope that the Admiralty will understand.”

“Yes, of course. The Admiralty will understand perfectly when a man who has failed to do a job that hundreds of other men do every day nearly costs them the war of our age. Do you understand, Mr. Chadwick? Do you truly understand the gravity of your error?” He paused a moment his pacing. “Do you think yourself unique in your woes, or do you realize that you are only alone in your disgrace?”

“I am as displeased as you, sir, that matters were allowed to escalate so far. I can promise you it won’t happen again.”

“I am not talking about your displeasure, nor of the men’s escalation!” Hornblower exclamed with a vehemence that shocked even himself. “Some things have no remedy, Mr. Chadwick. And for some things, the problem lies far deeper than we believe it to.”

“Aye aye, sir,” Chadwick replied, face wooden.

“Goddammit, man, will you listen to me!”

“I understand, sir, and I will see to it that it does not happen again.”

“That is not what I mean. I mean I would have it be you who had fallen today, and sent Sweet home free.”

The words hung in the air for a moment, as the gravity of what he had admitted sunk in. Chadwick’s eyebrows raised, then fell again, and his hands met in his lap as he looked Hornblower over once more. Hornblower, for his part, had stopped pacing. There was a heavy silence, which was only broken as Brown knocked at the door.

[aggravatetheaxe]

Headcanon that Bo likes to do it anywhere, the laundry room? On the washing machine, the kitchen? On the counters -Ghoul

I tried to rein in the length of this one but it sure as hell isn't 5 sentences. Anyway...

Bo is down for whatever, whenever. On his terms, of course.

NSFW below the cut, minors please don't interact, contains Bo acting like a dickhead and some light punishment play. Gender neutral reader!

Masterlist

***

You take a deep breath as you fold the last everloving towel and set it on the pile atop the dryer. How two men can make so much laundry, you have no idea, but you’re not even half done and you’re already drenched in sweat and grumpy.

You figure most of what you’re washing now has been lying around for a while, just waiting for someone to throw it in the washer. But of course, Vincent is always too busy hyperfocusing on his projects, and Bo is just an asshole. So the task falls to you.

You take a deep breath to center yourself before bending and transferring the wash to the dryer, then pause, fiddling with the lint trap. Stupid fucking thing. The washer and dryer are probably older than you, and they shake the whole house apart when they get going.

As you slam the dryer closed and move to load the washer, you stop dead. The man himself is standing in the doorway, leaned across it with his arms crossed and that typical smug smirk on his face.

You look away quickly, returning your attention to the laundry. You don’t like the way his gaze makes you feel right now—butterflies in your stomach, shivers. You’re trying to be angry at him. “How long have you been standing there, Bo?”

“A minute. Why, am I seein’ something I shouldn’t?”

Oh for the love of god. Your nose wrinkles as you shove clothes into the washer and begin to measure out the detergent. “I mean, you’re seeing me do your laundry. Does that get you off?”

When he doesn’t answer, you straighten up and glance at him, shutting the washer door and starting the machine. He’s staring at you again. His smirk has subsided just slightly, and there’s an intensity in his eyes that borders on dangerous. You realize that was perhaps more attitude than you can safely get away with.

He uncrosses his arms, taking a couple steps toward you. “You’re soundin’ awful uppity, sweetheart. You got a problem with doin’ your part around the house?”

“No, I don’t—”

“Too good to do some dirty hick’s laundry, that it?”

“No! It’s not that…” With a sigh, you push some hair out of your face and school your tone, hoping to cool him off. “It would just be nice to get some recognition now and again … for what I do.”

Bo snorts. “What d’you want, a ticker tape parade?”

“A thank-you would be a good start.”

You shrink back when that narrow, intense look creeps back into his pretty blue eyes. This time, though, something joins the threat behind the gaze … a little sparkle, something volatile like the lit fuse of a bomb.

“A thank-you, huh? Well ... sure, darlin’.”

Before you know it, he’s on you, gripping your hips like a vise. In one swift movement, he spins you around and pushes you up against the washing machine.

The corner of it digs between your legs, the whole thing shaking violently under you. The vibrations instantly make your knees feel like jelly, and you have to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from crying out.

The next moment, his heat is fully against you, his back on yours, hips flush with your ass, one thigh pressing against the back of yours. Your skull feels like it’s full of cotton as he pulls your head back by the hair at the nape of your neck. His nose brushes between your ear and cheekbone, breath hot against your face.

“Let me show ya how grateful I am.”

All you can do is whimper as he uses his body to press you harder into the washer. You can barely feel your bottom half anymore, all the blood and sensation clustered in your pulsing core. It’s getting to him, too—it’d be difficult not to notice how hard his cock is getting at the small of your back.

“You come down here,” he grunts in your ear, “you beg on your fuckin’ knees for me not to kill you…” He looses an incredulous laugh. Not a good sign. The only time he laughs like that is when he’s really pissed. “But you get all prissy about havin’ ta pull your weight? Suddenly you’re a li’l princess?”

As he was talking, he eased up a bit on you, but now he slams you into the corner of the machine again, pulling a scream from the back of your throat.

“Well, Your Highness, I think you need to remember”—he pauses thoughtfully—“how … let’s, uh, say delicate your situation is.” You can hear the malicious grin in his voice, feel him nod slowly. “I think you need to remember your place.”

A jolt of boiling desire shoots through your stomach, an unwanted feeling given the circumstances. He’s threatening you, for Christ’s sake, and yet…

“What d’you say to that, sugar?” He takes his other hand off your hip and cups you from behind unceremoniously, rubbing as he lifts you onto your tiptoes, forcing the shuddering washing machine against your most sensitive spot. “Maybe I need to take you down to the garage, strap you back in the chair … yeah. I think that'd get me off more than you doin' the laundry. That what you want?”

“No— Bo—”

His grip on your hair tightens. “Then I don’t wanna hear you bitch again.”

Suddenly, his weight and heat are gone, and you slump against the washing machine. For a second, you think you’re free—that this was just some of his sick torture and he’ll leave you alone now. Then, you feel his fingers in your belt loops, and your shorts are tugged roughly to your knees.

“Bo!”

“Shh.” He presses close again, fingers finding you from behind, and laughs cruelly in your ear. “Fuck, you’re ready. Were you actually gettin’ off on the washer? Slut ... you'll rub one off on anything, wontcha? I know you will." His voice becomes a whisper. "Miss playin' with you..."

You’re not sure if he actually wants you to respond, so you stay quiet for now. You’re not certain anything you said would be coherent anyway. You’re molten under his fingertips as they stroke you, rough skin meeting your tender spots with a surprising softness. You know him well enough now to know that it’s not for your benefit—he wants you leaking all over his fingers.

He can be brutal, and he probably will be.

Sure enough, the sound of a zipper is barely audible over the thumping of the washing machine. His fingers leave the apex of your thighs and press you against the corner again, making you writhe. You know what’s coming next. The swollen head of his cock is already throbbing against your entrance...

A breathy laugh in your ear, a maddeningly casual tone: “Talk about doin’ a load.”

Dumbass.

[farfromsugafanfic]

Not So Silent Night

Genre: Quarantine Romance, slight Enemies To Lovers, Neighbors AU, Fluff, slight Angst

Pairing: Namjoon/ Reader

Warnings: none

Synopsis: Namjoon hadn’t intended to spend much time in his tiny apartment. And then a pandemic broke out. Now he’s stuck dealing with his noisy neighbor, you.

✦✧✦✧

Namjoon thought he was in the clear that Wednesday night. He'd heard the opening and closing of your front door, the clink of your keys in the lock, and the rustle of the groceries in your arms. He knew it was your Friday, which meant you'd usually turn on music while you cleaned your tiny apartment, or a play a movie on full blast while you devoured an entire pizza yourself.

It was nearly 9 pm and he hadn't heard a peep from you, not even the true crime podcast you sometimes put on. Namjoon, unlike you, had worked from home for months now. Even though most of his time at work was spent in his private studio, he had nearly an identical set up in his apartment.

He was still working, albeit, not on the songs he produced for other artists, but on his own. He'd just started editing the melody when heard the familiar bass chords of "What Makes You Beautiful". It was your favorite song to torture him with. Namjoon had nothing against the British boyband you seemed to love so much, that was until you started them playing them loudly at odd hours.

Namjoon sighed, pausing his work and rubbing his temples. He really needed to save up for a good pair of noise canceling headphones, although he wouldn't find it surprising if you somehow managed to invade his eardrums right away.

He tried to continue working, turning his headphones all the way up. Yet, all he could focus on was the way he heard the familiar bass line restart when the song ended.

Namjoon groaned and threw his headphones onto his desk. He'd only moved into this tiny apartment because the rent was cheap and he hadn't intended to spend much time in it. Then, a pandemic hit and suddenly, Namjoon was confined to four menacing white walls with the only company being his noisy neighbor, you.

He waited a half hour before he walked down the stairs to your apartment. Even though the city was under quarantine, the apartment building was snug and it was nearly impossible not to come into contact with each other. Securing his mask over his ear, he knocked on your door.

"Yes?" you asked, answering the door as if you'd been expecting him. You, too, had just finished looping the mask around your ear. It was a bright polka dot pattern that distracted Namjoon long enough that he managed to speak before noticing that your oversized T-shirt made it look like you weren't wearing shorts.

"Can you please keep it down, Y/N? It's the middle of the week for me and I have a Zoom call at 8 am tomorrow."

"That sounds like your problem," you said, leaving your door open as you tied the top of the trash bag you'd been getting ready to take out when Namjoon knocked.

A glint of annoyance passed over Namjoon's eyes and even from under your mask he could make out your familiar smirk from the way your eyebrows rose.

"Do you even own headphones?" he asked, crossing his arms. He didn't notice the way your eyes swept over his biceps and chest with his movement.

"They hurt my ears," you said, shrugging. Grabbing the trash bag by the tied top and heading back for your front door. "Now, be a doll and take this out for me? My legs hurt from work."

Namjoon looked at you with his eyes wide and mouth slightly agape. He didn't say anything as you shoved the bag into his hands.

"What? Why are looking at me like that?" you paused, dialing down your attitude for a moment. "Listen, if you do this, I'll turn it off so you can get your beauty sleep."

He watched as you reached up and pat his shoulder. Your nail polish was chipping and the gleam from your gold promise ring dulled. His eyes traced as your hand left the fabric of his T-shirt and came to the doorknob of your front door.

"Goodnight Namjoon," you said, shutting the door.

Namjoon stood in the hallway, his lips parted and a small breath. He scoffed as the familiar bassline blasted from your apartment.

✦✧✦✧

You'd had a long day. Work was keeping you at least an hour over every day and you felt your feet ache as slipped off your shoes. Even though you just wanted to fall into bed, you changed and washed your hands first, doing your best to feel clean before your skin hit the sheets. As a Pharmacy Technician, you were essential, and even if most of your job was counting pills and performing customer service, right now it was harder than ever.

With only ten hours until you had to be at work, you ordered food and eyed the laundry that was beginning to spill over the edge of the hamper like waves over a jetty. You sighed, taking out your phone and putting on music. You gathered up your clothes and laundry soap. Pocketing your keys and a handful of quarters dug out of the bottom of your purse, you made your way to the basement laundry room.

You let the music play. While you weren't particularly trying to get your tall neighbor's attention, or get on his nerves, like you usually were, you secretly hoped you'd get to catch a glimpse of his signature white T-shirt against his bronzed skin.

Loading your clothes into the shared washer, your phone began to ring and your boyfriend's face flashed across the screen. He was smiling widely in the picture, his hair swept back by the coastal breeze. At one point, it had been your favorite photo of him. Now, it just felt like a sweet apple that turned out to be poison.

You ignored the call and poured the detergent into the machine. Inserting the quarters, you heard footsteps coming down the stairs. You'd heard his feet on the stairs enough, that you recognized the soft one, two pattern as he made his way downstairs.

"I think the whole complex knows you're a fan of One Direction now," Namjoon said, coming into view. His hands were empty, having obviously come down purely because of your disruption.

"So be it," you said, starting the machine and glancing down as the music stopped and your phone rang again. You frowned as you rejected the call.

Namjoon noticed, his brow furrowing as his eyes glanced down at the phone in your hand. "You should've answered. At least you'd be less of a bother."

The two calls and the exhaustion weighed you down and felt yourself drifting below the surface. "I'm really not in the mood right now, Namjoon. Maybe tomorrow."

His sarcastic smile faltered. "If you don't want me to bother you, then don't play your music so loud." He crossed his arms over his chest, his muscles becoming more prominent as the fabric of his T-shirt stretched to accommodate the new position. You had no idea how he stayed so toned with the apartment gym shut down and such a small apartment.

"Maybe you should invest in earplugs."

"Maybe you should invest in headphones."

You scoffed and headed back upstairs, not feeling the banter. Your neck and shoulders were tense and you just wanted to finish your laundry and pass out for the night.

✦✧✦✧

Namjoon didn't think much of your sour mood. It was obvious that it extended beyond him since you rejected the phone call. He stood in the laundry room for a few moments and watched your laundry spin around in the washer.

He remembered back to the week before when you forced him to take out your garbage. A thought crossed his mind and he wondered if a good prank would lift your spirits.

With most coin operated washers, the doors locked right after the money is inserted and the washer starts. The ones at your apartment complex, however, had a loophole. Hitting the coin return button a few times, the quarters you'd entered fell into the coin return and the machine slowed to a stop.

Waiting a few moments to make sure you weren't coming back, he opened the door and took your wet clothes out of the dryer. He pocketed the coins, reminding himself to use them for your clothes later. Setting them on top of the washer, he rushed up to his apartment and grabbed his own laundry, starting it.

✦✧✦✧

The timer went off a half hour later. You were halfway through eating dinner but paused to go switch loads. You knew between your boyfriend' incessant calls and the hour long drying cycle, you were not going to get to sleep any time soon.

Shuffling down to the laundry room, you didn't even bother to throw on music this time. The heaviness in your eyes wouldn't be cured with Harry's sweet voice as usual.

Opening the door to the washer, your clothes were not there. A stroke of panic ran down your spine as your eyes darted across the row of washers, wondering if you had gone to the wrong one. All the other doors were open. You felt a stirring in your stomach as your mind raced with what to do.

"Lose something?"

You turned to see Namjoon coming down the stairs, carrying a laundry basket full of your wet clothes. Your heart beat out of your chest, your vision went black as your mind processed the sight.

"What the fuck, Namjoon?" you asked, yanking the basket from him. Tears came to your eyes as you looked down at the sopping wet clothes.

Namjoon's eyes widened at his words, having expected a snarky quip from you, he released his grip on the basket easily. Fishing for the quarters in his pocket, he held them out to you.

"God, I'm gonna get absolutely no sleep tonight," you said, shoving your half washed clothes back into the washer.

"Y/N?" he asked, his voice soft. "What's wrong?"

Once you'd restarted the washer, placing your body physically in front of it to block Namjoon from tampering with it once again, you eyed him.

"I'm only gonna get a few hours of sleep," you said, your voice surprisingly level. "My work clothes are in there." You leaned back against the washer, sighing as you looked down at the time on your phone.

"I-I'm--"

"Save it, Namjoon," you said. "Listen, I know we have this sort of relationship where we mess with each other. But, I'm really not in the mood for it tonight."

Namjoon tried to move towards you, but stopped himself, unsure of exactly what he was going to do or how he could help. He'd never seen you like this before. Dark circles around your eyes, your hair stringy and tousled from running your hands through it, and your posture so tense. Even though the lower half of your face was covered with a bright green mask, he could still make out your frown behind the fabric.

"Just le--" You were cut off by your phone's vibration.

Despite Namjoon having caused your distress, whoever kept calling you made your brow furrow and eyes water in a way that left Namjoon wanting to answer the phone and find out what they had done to you.

"Is everything okay?" he asked. "Who keeps calling you?"

Glancing down at the washer it had now moved onto the second cycle, you ignored. Meeting Namjoon's eyes, it hurt your chest to see the concern in them. After seeing you like this, after getting annoyed with him, he still worried about you.

"Just leave me alone, Namjoon."

✦✧✦✧

It was midnight on Wednesday night when the sound of yelling overtook the melody in his headphones. At first, he didn't think much of it. Many couples lived in the complex, and an occasional fight wasn't uncommon. Then, he heard your voice.

✦✧✦✧

"Jae-ho, what are you doing here? I told you you couldn't come."

"I just want to see you, baby." There was a softness in his voice, but it didn't reach his eyes. You'd been dodging his calls and texts for the past few days, hoping he would get the hint.

"Not until your test comes back negative," you said. "Plus, we really shouldn't be seeing each other that much. Especially since I'm still working."

Your boyfriend let out a long sigh and moved to walk inside. You blocked him, shutting the door slightly and wedging yourself in the gap. This only made him more frustrated, his hands reaching out to touch you.

You let him, allowing his hand to brush your own. You knew it was unlikely your boyfriend would get a positive result, his exposure limited and brief. But you couldn't risk it.

"Are you not scared of spreading it to me? To anyone?"

"I don't have it, babe. I've told you."

"You were still required to get tested. And since I see so many vulnerable people at work, I can't risk it." This wasn't the first time this was an issue. You'd been tested twice already. You job required you to come into contact with people all day, and more than a few confirmed cases had come through your pharmacy.

Jae-ho had had an issue those times too. Coming over when you'd told him not to, calling you until he got sick of dialing your number. You weren't sure how much longer you could take this.

"Are you cheating on me?"

The question lingered in the air as your mouth fell open in shock. Did he think that was the only reason you could not want to see him?

"No, of course not! I'm trying to protect you, Jae-ho!"

"I know you like that neighbor of yours. You still see him, don't you? Why do you see him and not me?"

"We're neighbors! This complex is so tiny, we can't help it!"

Your voice and his gradually rose with your emotions. You barely remember what either of you said after that, you only remembering sliding the promise ring off your finger and flinging it down the stairs.

✦✧✦✧

Namjoon walked down the stairs when he heard your door slam. He came upon your boyfriend, scoffing at your door. When he met the other man's eyes, Namjoon's immediately narrowed.

"Of course," Jae-ho said. He shook his head and walked down the stairs, pausing at the next landing. He bent down to retrieve something and Namjoon stopped focusing on the other man, reaching up to knock on your door.

Namjoon's knuckles didn't even make contact with your door before he heard footsteps coming up the stairs. Jae-ho stood a few steps down and held out the gold promise ring you always wore.

"Give this back to Y/N," he said. "I don't want it either."

He handed Namjoon the ring before turning around and leaving for good.

✦✧✦✧

"Y/N?" Namjoon's voice cut through the dark silence of your apartment. You'd everything outside, but not realized that it was Namjoon Jae-ho was talking to. "Are you okay?

You opened the door. You tried to wipe your tears before Namjoon could take in your figure, but it was fruitless. When your eyes met his, you saw his heartbreaking at the sight of you.

"I'm okay."

"No, you're not," Namjoon said, waiting for you to give the okay for him to enter your apartment. You knew that there was no hiding from Namjoon. The two of you literally lived on top of one another and saw each other almost daily when you did the laundry or took the trash out. There was nearly no way to avoid Kim Namjoon for long.

You moved aside and closed the door behind him. Flopping down on your bed, you looked up at him. "Sorry if we woke you up."

Namjoon shook his head. "You didn't."

"Sorry to interrupt your work then," you said, feeling like you owed the man an apology for more than just this one night. "I didn't mean for it to escalate like that."

Namjoon didn't say anything. He glanced around your apartment, sensing the way that his eyes on you made you uncomfortable.

"You don't need to apologize," he said. "For anything."

You stayed silent, hugging a pillow to your chest.

The silence wasn't tense, but it wasn't calm either. There was something lingering between you. Something keeping Namjoon in your apartment after making sure you were okay. And something that allowed you to let him in at all.

"You know, whenever I was upset or I had trouble sleeping. My mom would always make me milk and cookies. It seems counterintuitive that something sugary helped me sleep. But it never failed."

Namjoon left for his apartment for a moment, coming back with a package of chocolate chip cookies and two glasses of milk. He handed you one of the glasses and sat the package of cookies down beside you.

"Is it okay if I stick around? Just in case your boyfriend tries to come back," Namjoon said. He knew his explanation was flimsy. It was obvious when the man left that he did not intend on coming back.

"Yes," you said, reaching to pull out a cookie and dip it in the milk. "I'd like that."

The two of you ate in silence. Silence rarely occurred when you saw Namjoon, no matter how much he may want it to, but now, you could tell by the tension in his shoulders that it worried him.

"You know, I kinda look forward to hearing you every night," he said. "Lets me take a break from my work. Means I get to come see you."

You chuckled, smiling for the first time that night. "Why do you think I was always loud?" The crunch of a cookie filled your pause. "I knew you would always come complain."

✦✧✦✧

"I have a present for you, Y/N," Namjoon said.

It was the holidays now. Your family was far away and none of you wanted to get on a plane. It saddened you that you wouldn't be able to see your family, but Namjoon had become your solace. He'd usually hear when you got home and about ten minutes later, he'd appear at your door, asking what you were having for dinner that night. Most of the time, you ate together.

It was just like all those other nights, except you didn't have to work the next morning. Namjoon had met you by your door, takeout in hand, and a backpack slung over his shoulder.

Namjoon reached into his backpack and pulled out a wrapped package. The paper was a bit wrinkled, indicating he'd wrapped it himself. It made you smile.

"Oh, wait," you said, getting up and walking to the closet where you pulled out a similarly wrapped package. You handed it to him and looked down at his gift for you.

Tearing off the paper, you laughed when you noticed it was headphones. They were expensive too, which made your stomach turn thinking that he spent so much money on you.

"Open the box," he said, a smug smile on his face.

You ripped open the box, finding crumpled up paper. You felt around until you felt a thin object. Pulling it out. you found a CD.

"It's a mixtape. For you." Namjoon's eyes wandered around the room. "I--uh--hope you'll play it like you do One Direction."

You flung your arms around him, but he stopped you. "There's something else."

You looked down at the box quizzically before you began pulling out the paper. Reaching inside, you felt what you immediately recognized as a ring. Thoughts ran through your mind as you pulled it out.

It was your promise ring from Jae-ho, shinier than when you had last seen it. "He wanted me to give it back to you. But, I knew it might be painful. I had it cleaned and engraved for you."

You turned the ring to see the engraving on the inside: Be Loud - KNJ

[writingsbychlo]

runaways | mafia!void

word count; 12,365

summary; mob-boss Stiles Stilinski owns the neighbourhood, and the city, and he knows it. but, someone new moves in across the street to his building, and flips his world upside down, with her own secrets to hide.

notes; oddly romantic for void, but still definitely a lot darker than normal stiles would be. 

warnings; violence, death, injury, gore, drug dealing, torture, murder, reference to abuse, reference to animal abuse.

With a frantic breath, nails digging into his chest as he jumped awake, Stiles tried to focus on where he was. There was clammy sweat covering his palms, fists clenched tightly with marks from his nails on the skin, and his forehead was shining and wet too. He felt uneasy, crawling in his own skin as he adjusted in the uncomfortable chair, blinking himself back to consciousness.

He didn’t feel at all well-rested, or relaxed, but he only seemed more on edge. The flashes of your injury were playing like a loop in his mind, the sounds of your screams, the horrid images of your blood staining the wool in handprints and the pool of it you’d been lying in when he found you. It all felt like slow-motion, reliving the events in his mind.

In his nightmare, though, he’d been slower. Feeling like he was moving through tar as he’d tried to get to you, every second dragging out in a painfully long time that made every second feel like hours, like he’d never reach you in time to save you. As he settled down, his heart rate calmed, no longer threatening to beat so hard that it would burst right from his chest, and he lifted the hand closest to him in both of his own.

Smoothing his thumbs over the back of your skin, he let out a ragged cry. Shuffling the chair loser to your bedside, he gave a weak attempt at comforting himself, pressing your palm over his cheek in a way you had done so many times to him before. Your hand was limp this time, though, and cooler, and he hated that tears were lining his eyes.

This wasn’t him. This wasn’t how he acted or behaved, and he hated himself for it. Part of him hated that he’d ever let you in at all. Falling for the woman who had run away, seeking shade in his shadow that would hide you from the world, all the trouble it had caused him, but he didn’t regret even a second of it.

If there was one thing that Stiles was absolutely positive, it was that he loved you with everything he had. You’d stepped into his life, angering him at first as you moved into the building across the street, buying up property he wished to own. Quickly, though, you’d won him over. Every hello as you passed on the street, every sweet with a smile that had made something within him clench, every flirty comment and skim of your hand when you touched him that made him feel like he was on fire.

When he needed you most, you’d walked into his life and changed everything. You’d accepted him for who he was, a lifestyle you were no stranger to, but your innocence remained. Every blush and shy stutter he drew from you made him feel empowered, every time you’d squeal a little when he swept you off of your feet, and every shocked look you’d give him when he’d let his hand fall low rough to your ass in public.

Somehow, at a time he couldn't place, he’d let go of his ‘never sleep over’ rule. The morning when he’d wake up beside you, whoever’s side of the street it was that you stayed on, were the best mornings of all. The sleepy smiles you’d give him, the way you were just a little more clingy before your morning coffee. Your hands would smooth down his front, always waking up later than he did and finding him in the kitchen or working. Your arms wrapping around him from behind, a kiss placed between his bare shoulder blades, tracing his moles with soft lips until he let out the kind of breathy laugh he’d never let anyone else hear from him.

This was all wrong. Your hair didn’t flutter around you on the pillow like it did when you were at home. There was almost a frown on your face, wrinkles formed around it instead of the tranquil look you held when it was just the two of you. Your skin was colder, your hands never reached out lazily to find him when he sat close to you, and there were no giggles that told him you were awake when he leaned over to kiss your cheek.

The constant and droning beep of the heart machine was steady beside the bed. Stiles had one hand squeezing your own, the other lifting up to his mouth, and he chewed on the nail of his thumb as he looked over you. Letting out a ragged sigh, he stood from the chair again, unable to even keep still. Brushing stray hair out of your face and tucking it behind your ear carefully, he let out a low sigh, hand trembling as he ran the backs of his fingers along your cheek.

The blip of the machine didn’t falter in the slightest, and he pulled the chair back up behind himself, collapsing down into the seat. He wasn’t sure how he got here, how he got in this state, but he was still covered in your dried blood, his clothes ruined and hair messy from having a hand constantly running through it.

“Baby, I know I said some things, but I need you to wake up and yell at me for them now, okay?” His voice trembled as he spoke, the sound of his own angry voice in his head making him wince. He could barely even remember now why he’d been so angry, because, in retrospect, it wasn’t all that big of a surprise. He’d done a background check on you, and nothing about the lifestyle you led had been normal. Long before he’d fallen in love with you, Stiles had realised that you were no stranger to a gang lifestyle. “Please, darling. I don’t care if you hate me, if you scream and yell, I don’t even care if you never want to see me again. I just need to see those pretty eyes again, and know that you’re gonna’ be alright.”

He blamed himself. Every second of it was like torment in his mind, like scars on his body that would never properly heal. The surprise of finding out just who you’d been on the run from, all that time ago when you’d originally sought freedom within his territory, and it had sent him into a full-blown rage. Red vision blacked out of his feelings, he’d said things he didn’t mean, and the idea of never getting to apologise to you now was eating him alive.

“I’ll make it up to you, baby, I promise.” He didn’t know how he was going to keep that promise, but he was determined to. He’d do whatever it took, he would protect you, or avenge you, or set you free somewhere that he knew you’d be safer than by his side, but no matter what, he knew that he would never let you get hurt like this again.

He was so caught up in his thoughts that he didn’t hear the door open, nor the sound of it clicking shut, and he jumped when a hand landed on his shoulder.

He gripped it at the wrist, spinning around with a scowl and bracing himself as he prepared for a fight, and Scott stood before him, wide eyes and a panicked look on his face. Lowering down the fist he had on the offensive, he released Scott, and his tanned best friend took a step closer, reaching out to place a comforting hand on his shoulder once again.

“I’m sorry, Stiles.”

“S’ not your fault.” He whispered, voice hoarse from his screaming and shouting the night before, demanding the best doctors and medical care for you as he watched you be rushed away into surgery, hands still smeared with blood.

“It is. It was my ID that was used to get in, if I had jus-”

“Dude, how were you supposed to know? I’m the one that let a fucking traitor into the building, into our lives. If it’s on anyone, it’s on me.” His friend fixed him with a pitiful look, the pair falling into silence, and he made his way across the room, pouring himself a cup of freshly filtered water, a smirk of vague satisfaction flicked at his lips as he looked around the private room that you had been set up in. Clearly, his idle threats and aggressive shouting in the waiting room had achieved something.

He wandered back across the room, collapsing into his seat and sipping the water, his foot tapping agitatedly against the floor, twice as fast as the rhythmic beating of the heart monitor beside your bed. He took up a glare at the machine once again, the same glare he’d had all night. It wasn’t long before the cup was empty, and he shook his head, fingers tightening around the plastic cup as it crumpled and cracked in his hand.

He did the best he could to fend off a yawn, but it wasn’t working, the exhaustion of having been up all night watching over you was finally catching up to him, and he shook himself down, blinking rapidly as he did his best to stay awake.

“You should go home.”

“And leave her here alone?” Stiles scoffed at his best friend, rolling his eyes at the suggestion and the tanned boy chose to ignore the snappy attitude of his best friend. “Yeah, because that went so well the last time.” He laughed emptily, but tears were lining his eyes, the tapping of his foot only getting faster, and he reached for your hand again. Your fingertips were a little cold, the lack of movement meaning your circulation had reduced, and he folded your fingers under to be able to press a timid kiss to your knuckles.

“She won’t be alone, I’ll stay. You should go home and shower, you look like you committed a murder.” The two shared a small chuckle at the irony, and sat up to pull the shirt away from himself, the pale blue material ruined with deep stains of your blood. He’d washed them since, but there was still blood up on his forearms, and in all honesty, he was utterly exhausted. “If she wakes up, I’ll call you. Go and get some rest, and I’ll stay and watch over. Nothing will happen to her.”

“Everything already did happen, Scott.”

“Nothing else will happen to her.” Scott fixed him with a stern glare, and Stiles caved, getting up from the seat and rubbing a hand over his face. Picking up Scott’s discarded jacket, he pulled it over his shoulders, zipping it up securely around his own body.

“I’m taking this.”

His friend merely waved him off, and he made his way down to the front desk after a lingering look at you over his shoulder, making sure that everything had been taken care of. He signed his name at the bottom of the statements, getting a copy of all of his receipts, before fishing for his keys in his back pocket. It was with a deep sigh that he realised he hadn't driven here, he’d gotten in the ambulance with you when the paramedics had arrived. He was about three seconds away from breaking down, when he caught sight of a familiar head of curly hair and a ridiculous scarf, despite the heat.

“Need a ride?”

Stiles shook his head fondly, wandering over to his friend and watching as he shifted from leaning on the car to the driver’s seat, and Stiles fastened himself into the passenger seat, his head lolling onto the comfortable leather. The drive felt shorter than it had been last night, but perhaps that was because every second that Stiles had watched on helplessly, it had felt like an hour, and so he didn’t have any real grasp on how long the trip had been.

He didn’t normally estimate the trip to the hospital. When he hurt someone, they were always dead before paramedics even arrived, just how he wanted it. This time, though, he’d been grateful that hadn't been the case.

When the car finally came to a stop, Stiles peered up at the tall building he owned, swallowing thickly and purposefully avoiding looking at your own across the street, but dragging himself from the car on tired limbs instead. Making their way inside, Isaac pressed the button for both his floor and Stiles’. The numbers clicked up, Stiles’ hand gripping the edge of the elevator to steady himself, and wishing his friend well as he stepped out on his floor. He yawned again, the stress of keeping his eyes open and his body upright was beginning to show, but his mind was still wired.

He needed coffee.

He needed food.

He needed a hot shower.

He needed you.

It was a painful reminder when he stepped into his apartment of just what had happened. His laptop was still open, blinking with the low-power warning and he trudged over to it, toeing off the pair of old trainers he’d pulled on in the race to find you after watching the shot go off. He could still see the flash in his mind, still hear your cries of pain each time he pressed down on the wound, could still feel the weak press of your hand over his as you tried to hold onto your consciousness.

Closing the laptop lid and plugging it in to charge, his phone following as it had long since run out of battery. It had died somewhere around 3am, when he’d been instructing Kira and Allison onto a manhunt for Malia and Theo, to track them down, Derek going with them as Lydia stayed behind.

The redhead had spent the entire night instructing a team to clean up your apartment. She’d sent him pictures to confirm once the blood was scrubbed from the floors, the sheets on the bed swapped out, and the broken door taken down from its hinges. Placing an espresso mug under the spout of the sleek coffee machine he had never before been so grateful for, the familiar clicking of heels on the hardwood floors of the penthouse suite he called home echoed out.

“Lydia?”

“The one and only.” She sighed, appearing around the wall with a dazzling grin, looking far better after an entire night of being awake than he did, and he cocked a brow at her. Pushing the green ‘go’ button on the machine as he set it off, the dull churning sound of beans and the drip of string coffee started up. “Her place is clean, the door is totalled, a real joiner or carpenter will have to fix that.”

“Not to be ungrateful, because I can’t thank you enough for what you’ve done tonight, but why are you here?”

He couldn't hide the slightly snippy tone to his voice, and the woman before him cocked a brow, but smirked knowingly at him anyway as she sauntered on past to take her coat from the hook she had put them on. He felt almost stupid for not noticing it when he’d stumbled through the door. “I was unpacking, of course.”

“Unpacking what, exactly?”

She looked at him like he was some kind of idiot, pulling her perfect curls loose from under the collar as she pulled on her coat, tying the belt around her waist a second later. “Some of your girl’s belongings. I assumed you’d want her within your sights when she was discharged, I wasn’t thinking you’d want her going home to a place with no front door and the fresh memories of almost being murdered in her sleep?”

He winced at how bluntly she spoke of the accident, but nodded his head. He hadn't even thought about that, he was so preoccupied with just making sure you were alive that he hadn't even processed what would happen after you got out. She teetered over to him on very tall heels, leaning up enough to press a friendly kiss to his cheek, and he wrapped an arm around her shoulders loosely, pressing a kiss to her temple in return as he hugged her. “You’re an angel, Lydia. Thank you.”

“Hey, what can I say? Just make sure I get a decent payout on our next job.” She winked at him cheekily, and he rolled his eyes, knowing she was already up in the highest figures he gave out. She was soon leaving, pulling her phone from her pocket and immediately texting, never looking up as she stepped into the elevator and disappeared. The beep from the little device beside him broke his reverie from staring at the closed silver doors, and he picked up the little porcelain mug. Sipping the bitter liquid within and cringing at the heat, he choked it all down in a single mouthful, nonetheless.

A sound of satisfaction left him, and he trudged through to his bedroom, his lips flicking up at the sight of two pairs of pyjamas sitting out on his bed, rather than only his own. Little things that didn't belong to him but matched surprisingly well with his decor were scattered around.

A hairbrush on his dresser, makeup brushes and a makeup bag, a suitcase tucked away in the corner of the room from where Lydia had brought over your belongings, and he stripped himself down, dumping his clothes in the laundry hamper and wandering through to the bathroom.

The hot water had never felt so relieving, and he let out a deep sigh, tipping his head down and bracing himself with an arm against the wall, watching as bloodied water ran away into the drain. He reached around blindly for the soap and sponge, scrubbing at his skin until it was red, raw and stinging, but clean.

Blood had never bothered him before, especially not in his lifestyle, but this felt different. It was your blood staining his skin. It didn’t bother him when it was someone else’s life in his hands, when he got to make the decision on whether they lived or died, but he didn’t get to choose with you. With you, he had been powerless. Every title, every kill, every notch on his belt and dollar in his bank hadn't mattered, because when you’d been dying in his arms, even with all of his power, he’d not been able to do a single thing to help you. To save you.

His fist swung back, an angry cry leaving him as he powered his hand at the tile before him, his knuckles letting out a sick crack and his skin tearing as he punched at the wall. Despite the pain, he did it again and again, until blood was dripping along his wrist and the only thing he could picture would be your face as you looked at him, telling him to stop before offering to patch him up.

His hands were already battered and bruised, this time yesterday he’d been spattering his crisp white shirt with the blood of a dealer who hadn't yet paid up, a life he had control over, and had ended without remorse. He’d been in a bad mood, having lost a lot of money as well as a reputable dealer when. His hands had been stinging, head pounding from where the boy had tried to make a run for it after hitting him across the back of the head, and he blamed himself for everything that had happened afterwards.

The cuts on his hand made him hiss from pain when hot water and the suds of shampoo washed through them, but he deserved that, it was his fault for letting his temper get out of control. He closed his eyes, head tipping up toward where the spray of water was coming from, letting the water wash over his body and soothing the tension he held.

It melted away, skin flaring at the heat and turning bright red, the steam getting thicker and thicker in the room until it was hard to even breathe, and he finally stepped out from the water. He was swaying, the warm water having cleared his mind, and now that his thoughts were no longer rattling his brain, tiredness was beginning to crash in. Ruffling his hair with a fluffy towel, he merely let it fall away to the floor, tugging a pair of boxers onto his legs and collapsing face-first into his pillow as soon as his knees met the edge of his bed.

Your pyjamas were sitting out on the pillow beside him, his fingers reaching out, pads running over the soft and silky material of the pale purple night set you wore. His eyes were closing, and instead of letting the guilt sweep away at him once more, he chose instead to let his mind drift, to imagine you were laying by his side instead. He hugged the pillow with your sleepwear on closer to his chest, nose dipping to bury in the silk top, and the smell of you comforted him more than anything else had yet.

Stiles awoke with a jerky startle, his back aching from the hospital seat he was sitting in, and he rubbed his eyes with a groan. It was nothing new. That first night of good sleep he had gained sleeping beside the smell of you had quickly passed. Now, that fading smell of flowers and spices had become haunting, reminding him every night through painful nights of fitful and paralysing nightmares of his failures. 

The week you’d been in the hospital had been much the same. Sleeping by your bedside in the hospital when he’d visit, only ever getting the chance to relax when he could rest his head beside your hand on the itchy blankets of the hospital bed.

On the second night alone is when his nightmares started. That night, Stiles saw your first date. He could taste the ice cream on his tongue, the flavour you’d chosen for him when you’d let him come with you to see one of the small businesses you used as a cover, he could still feel the chill of the brain freeze he’d gotten that day. It started out as it truly had, his hand wrapped in yours, slightly pink cheeks when you introduced him to the older woman behind the counter as ‘the man trying to win your heart’, and the feel of wrinkled leather on the booth you both sat in. Except, in this version of his dream, it didn’t end with kisses that tasted of cherry sorbet and vanilla ice cream. This time, it ended with your eyes lifeless as he tried to save your life, windows shattered and glass in your sternum from a robbery gone wrong that had never happened. 

He woke up clutching his shoulder that time, feeling along his skin for the ghosts of wounds that were never real. 

The third night he was alone, he saw a twisted ending to the first time you’d stayed at his place, and on the fourth night, he was shaking when he forced himself out of his dreams, a conjuring of your death once again in his mind, another date gone wrong, another treasured memory ruined. Some dreams came to repeat themselves as the days plodded on, and some days just brought the torture of reliving the nightmares that made him wake up in tears. 

Last night, he dreamt of your first meeting. It was comforting at first, and he eased himself through a morning shower to wash away his tears and sweat by thinking of the real events. In his nightmare, it had ended by his own hand, your sweet face flashing behind his eyes, his mind screaming at himself as he watched a vision of himself take your life. He woke up in a shock of screaming cries, reaching out to your side of the bed only to remember that he was alone. Tears on his face, voice hoarse, and the chilling aftershock of what his mind had conjured up with his guilt left him trembling and unsteady. 

He’d been too scared by that vision to even try going back to sleep. Rather, he’d showered down, ice-cold water stinging as it beat down against his skin, waking him up enough to shake off the pain of it. He’d pulled on some clothes, his car keys and his phone being all he needed, working on autopilot as he had driven to the hospital. Stars were still in the sky, visiting hours were far from opening for the morning as the sun hadn't even risen, but he knew there was a nurse that was taking pity on him behind the desk. 

Or perhaps, it was fear? 

No matter what made her do it, she always opened up your room for him, guiding him through the halls on a path he knew well, until he could slump down by your side. His breakfast continued whatever he could fish out of the vending machines, spare change from his pockets or the card from his wallet. He was certain that at this point, they were refilling the machines just for him. 

The last decent meal he’d had was the night before your argument. Happy, full of life, a recipe you’d learned when you were young as you shared it with him. Now, it was just whatever he could fish out of his freezer to point in the microwave, when Scott, Isaac or even Derek had forced him to go home and rest, as if that was even an option. The only decent sleep he got was in naps, when he got home after driving the city for hours or busying himself with business, only to get a few hours of solace in his unconsciousness with a dead sleep that contained no dreams. 

It was during one of these times that he got the call from his best friend, your tenth day in hospital recovery that you woke back up. He’d been showering at the time, having just missed the call as he’d stepped under the water. Emerging from the spray thirty minutes later and finding a series of missed calls from the hospital, Stiles felt like his heart may actually have stopped in his chest with fear. 

It had taken only two rings for Scott to pick up, and Stiles was already pulling shoes onto his feet as he fished around for his car keys, insisting he was on his way back, when his friend told him to stay home.

“Dude, relax, she’s totally fine.”

“She was shot, Scott.” He couldn't help the bitter tone in his voice, his friend laughing down the line, shuffling as his voice faded for a second. He was talking to someone on the other end, and Stiles could make out the many different voices of nurses, doctors and patients around him. There was the scratching of a pen on paper, and a gentle ‘thank you’ from his friend, and Stiles was waiting anxiously for the whole time. “Scott, what is going on? I’m freaking the fuck out over here. You know what, I’m coming to the hospital-”

“She woke up. About forty-five minutes ago.”

“She did? Holy shit.” He let out a breathless chuckle, wiping a hand over his face as his shoulders sagged, tension leaving his body like a sudden rush of bliss, just hearing that you were awake.

“Yeah. She’s good, she had some water, my mom’s checking her over, I just signed her discharge papers. I’m going to bring her home, alright? She’s a little bit groggy, and quite grumpy.” 

His friend was teasing you, and Stiles didn’t even have it in him to argue, instead, Stiles looked around, making a mental note of everything that he needed to tidy up and clean before you got here.

“We’ll be there in about half an hour, alright? Try to contain yourself between now and then.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Yeah, I can sense your shaking with anticipation through the phone, buddy. See you soon.” 

He scowled as his friend hung up on him, but his hands were shaking, he couldn't deny that. Rather than thinking too hard about it, he chose to toe-off his unlaced shoes, placing them neatly on the rack and rubbing sweaty palms on the sides of his sweats, glancing around at the room.

That half an hour passed him by quicker than he would’ve liked. He had put away all the crap that was filling the room, tucking away every wire, and on a few occasions he’d almost felt like he was baby-proofing his apartment, but he wasn’t willing to let anything else hurt you. He’d moved everything from the highest and lowest shelves up to a middle level, easily reachable, and pushed the furniture slightly further apart to make sure you had plenty of room to move around.

Your pyjamas were laid out neatly on the bed, waiting for you for when you arrived, ready to change out of the dingy hospital gown you had been in for the last ten days since your accident. He’d laid out a skin sensitive, wound friendly soap and shampoo set on the edge of the bath, ones that he’d had to dig out from the back of the cabinet, assuming you’d want to soak, or at least have a shower.

He felt almost nauseous with worry when the elevator opened up, silence filling the room as Scott pushed the rented wheelchair along, a pair of crutches balanced across your lap and held loosely by your hand. Before he could drop to his knees to see you, Scott was holding a hand out, a lopsided smirk on his face as he shook his head.

“She fell asleep on the ride over here, she’s out cold.”

He laughed weakly, kneeling beside you quietly and brushing your hair back behind your ears, delicate breaths leaving you as your head tipped to the side. “She fell asleep? She was unconscious for ten days! Somehow, that seems completely on brand, though..” It was spoken fondly, one of his palms brushing gently over your hair as he smoothed it across the back of your head. 

“She was in some pain when she woke up. My mom gave her some pretty heavy painkillers, she got a bit loopy, and then crashed.” Stiles stood to his full height, nodding as he took in the information, before taking the crutches and standing them in the corner beside the coat hooks. A large paper bag of instructions and different medicines was handed over to him, and he glanced inside quickly at the various medications. “Different ones, for any discomfort she gets, some to fight off infections, all that. Mom wrote a list of instructions for you, so you can read those.”

“Thank you, Scott.” Scott shrugged, brushing off the gesture, but Stiles didn’t want that. “No, man, I mean it. Thank you. I would have gone insane without you there to boss me around.”

“Well, someone had to do it, since the normal owner of that position was out cold.” Scott teased, rubbing a hand over your shoulder as you slumped in the wheelchair, and Stiles glanced back to you fondly. “She should wake up in an hour or so, be ready, she may be moody still.” 

His best friend shot him a smile, the two sharing a quick hug, heavy pats on the backs and a quick squeeze before parting. The tanned male was soon disappearing into the elevator, leaving him alone with you once again.

Wheeling you through to the bedroom, he lifted you from the chair, the robe he’d left for you being a struggle to get off, and he undid the ties on the loose hospital gown, before trying to ease you into a soft set of pyjamas, fresh from the ones he’d spent the week sleeping beside. He left you above the covers, the heat of the mid-day hour undesirable to be tucked away, your hair fanned out around you as he let you lie down, adjusting you and propping a pillow up under your feet.

Pushing the wheelchair into the corner, he couldn’t help the relief that was filling him as he finally had you back, safe in his arms where he could properly protect you. Sitting beside you on the bed, he pushed up the edge of your shirt just enough to reveal the bandages on your torso, regret and guilt filling him as the pads of his fingers brushed over the wrapping.

“I’m so sorry I let this happen to you, baby.”

His words fell on deaf ears, but he’d been waiting too long to apologise, and he needed to speak the words to you, now that he had you home and within his grasp once again, the place where you should always be. His lips pressed to your forehead, a lingering kiss placed there before he swiped his thumb over the skin. He stayed a moment longer, before hauling himself to his feet and heading for the exit of the room. As he went, he flicked the lights out and drew the curtains, darkness filling the room as he left you to sleep, pulling the door shut but leaving it open enough to be able to hear you if you were to need him.

His first call was to sort through all your medicines. Unstacking each bottle methodically and reading over them, he checked them against the notes Melissa had left for him, reading up on each one before tucking them all into the first drawer on the island in the centre of the kitchen. Alongside them were the instructions, in case he forgot any, or you wanted to check yourself. He then took his laptop to the couch, collapsing across the plush leather seats and balancing the device half on his lap, half on his stomach, propped up with his head laying on the armrest.

He had been doing his best to keep your businesses in order for you, he’d kept up with any work he knew of that you did, and he’d made a conscious effort to visit each and every store during those ten days, to check that everything was going well with them. Despite it all, over these past few days, he had become progressively more impressed with your ability to contain them all. Never did a full thirty minutes go by without someone from somewhere needing something from you, emails and concerns regarding the businesses, and trying to keep track of all of the figures was dizzying. 

There was a reason he had Lydia running the books.

“Do you have eggs and bacon?” He’d been so caught up in sending a passive-aggressive email to the boss running your Brooklyn coffee shop, that when your voice came, it had shocked him so thoroughly that he almost fell from the couch.

“You’re not allowed!” His words had only confused you, and he jumped up from his seat, placing his laptop down on the kitchen counter as he made his way over to you. You shuffled further into the room as he watched, leaning against the wall for support as you went. His feet slipped and skidded on the floors to get to you, his hands hovering over your hips as you raised your brows at him.

“I’m not allowed eggs and bacon?”

“You’re not allowed to be out of bed!” He retorted, hands on your forearms as you grasped him in the same way, and he tried to make you walk back to the room, but you held your ground. Walking him backwards and into the open plan kitchen, he let out a sigh as he gave in to what you wanted. “Please go back to bed, I’ll make you any food you want, if you just go and rest.”

“I’ve been resting for a week and a half, I want something to eat.” You grouched, and he sighed reluctantly at your stubbornness, scooping you up underneath your legs and placing you into one of the tall seats at the kitchen island. 

He pulled eggs and bacon from the fridge, alongside everything else he needed to make you a breakfast fry-up, a small smile pulling on his lips, back turned to you. He glanced over his shoulder, watching as you tugged his laptop toward you, fingers swiftly typing in the password as the black screen lit up, and he didn’t even bother questioning or trying to stop you. Your eyes were moving quickly over the screen, fingers hovering over the keyboard as you contemplated his email draft. He waited for your response, heating oil in the pan and waiting for it to begin sizzling, while he prepared a tray of food for the oven in silence. 

“You’ve been managing my businesses while I was out?”

“Of course.” His back was still turned to you, and you closed down the draft, only humming in reply, but choosing to log into your account and checking through the notifications there. Your stomach rumbled loudly as the smell of food drifted into the air, plates clattering and eggs sizzling as he cracked them on the edge of the pan, tipping them into the hot oil. “I did most of the paperwork, too. You’ll probably want to check over it, but I did the best I could.”

“I’m sure you did fine. It’s all good.”

Silence fell between you both again, something that was tense and uncomfortable on his end because he had no idea how to interpret it. 

It felt like he was choking on the air, the sounds of your fingers on the keyboard, the occasional sizzle or pop from the food as he worked breaking the quiet. He turned, pushing a plate of steaming food toward you as soon as it was ready, and you gasped happily.  Taking it from him, Stiles pulled out the seat opposite to you, poking at his meal as you dug in quickly. 

You had finished half of your food before you broke the silence again, clearing your throat and forcing him to look up to you.

“Why are you pouting so much?”

“I’m not pouting. I don’t pout.” He scoffed, and you simply watched him, his body deflating under your stare. He scooped up a mouthful of food onto his fork, chewing it and letting his eyes leave yours for a second, swallowing audibly and looking back at you. “It’s my fault.”

“What’s your fault?”

Your voice was light and chirpy, and you happily sliced off another large chunk of bacon and hash-brown, his head shaking as he twirled his knife between two fingers, the tip of the cutlery pressed to the plate. “That you got shot.”

Your cutlery clattered against the plate, and he jumped at the sound, his eyes snapping to you. You were scowling at him, somehow still managing to look sympathetic and sweet as you watched him, but there was anger laced underneath. “That is such bullshit!”

“No, it’s not.” He ran a hand through his hair, and you shifted in your seat, rubbing your fingers over your stomach gently as you waited for him to try and find his words. “I care about you, so much. I was so angry that I left you there, and I’m the one who told Malia I wasn’t going back, when I saw her in the elevator, and now she’s gone. I told her you would be all alone, I left you after shouting at you. I shouldn’t have.. have-”

“Have what, Stiles?” You reached out across the table, and he choked back his feelings as you placed your hand over the top of his, tips of your fingers tracing each knuckle and veins on his hand. The simple touch was calming him more than he would care to admit, simply because it was you. “She would have just come back another day, when I was alone. This was a planned attack, and you can’t blame yourself. She would have just waited, they would have just waited. I don’t blame you, and I forgive you for what you said that night.”

“You do?”

“Yeah. How could I not?” You glanced down at yourself, a ghost of amusement beginning to manifest on your face, tempting him into the same. “You put me in my favourite pyjamas, and made me breakfast even though it’s mid-afternoon.” You gave a wry smile, and he shook his head, but the expression was soon dropping as he watched your face curl into a frown.

“What, what’s wrong? Are you in pain?” He was up from his seat in seconds, the half-eaten meal left abandoned as he rounded the marble countertop to get to your side, and you shook your head, anger stitched onto your features, instead.

“Nothing, it’s just that.. I’m pretty sure Theo stole my cat.”

“What?”

“Scott said Lydia told him that he was nowhere to be seen when she got there. I think he stole my cat.” You mumbled, finishing up your food, and running a hand through your hair, cringing when you pulled it away from your greasy tresses, all while he stared at you incredulously. “What are you staring at?”

“You know, he probably just ran away.”

“My cat isn’t the runaway type, okay? I’m absolutely sure he took him.” You were insisting, trying to hop down from the seat. Stiles leaned down, pressing a kiss to your forehead, before scooping you up into his arms delicately, ignoring your protest about his actions. You gave in, your arms wrapping around his neck, the plates abandoned on the island to be cleared away later, your head falling to rest on his shoulder. “I want a bath, or in the very least a shower. I feel gross.”

“You’re beautiful.”

“Shut up, I’m greasy.” You growled, but he laughed at your words, trying to keep you steady in his arms as he made his way toward the bathroom. Placing you down on the counter, he ran the taps for you, plugging the bottom of the tub, before turning back to you once the water was gathering. 

You lifted your shirt up and over your head, wincing as it fell free and stretched out your core just enough for you to feel the pinch at the hole on your side. You lifted your hips, getting to the floor and wiggling your shorts free from your body, before turning to the mirror. 

“You have spare bandages and wrapping, right?”

“I get shot at for a living, of course, I do.”

“Right, ‘course.” You muttered, peeling back the tape holding the patch over your stomach and dropping the slightly bloody pack into the bin, before examining your wound in the mirror. Red flesh was surrounding it, your veins standing out, and you twisted to get a better look at the injury. It was somewhat scabbed over, the patch dark red and purple, and you ran your fingers delicately around the area. “It’s not as bad as I thought it would be.”

He stood behind you, letting you lean back into him for support as he wrapped an arm around your hips, hand resting on your side as he avoided going near the spot. “It’s going to leave a badass scar. I think it’ll be pretty sexy.” He pressed a kiss to your neck, smirking when he heard you chuckle, before he was pulling away, swirling his hand in the water to test the temperature as the tub filled quickly with several inches of water. “We need to try and keep it dry, okay? So, I’ll tip water over you, and you can cover it with your hand, alright?”

You didn’t respond, simply turning around in his arms, and his hands moved to sit against your lower back instead. His eyes were wide on yours, a sweet gaze that made your heart flutter. Leaning in, you cupped his cheeks in your hands, pulling his face up until you could brush your nose with his. His lips puckered, barely brushing your own as he groaned needily under his breath when you snapped away suddenly.

“Why be such a tease, doll?”

“I wanted to kiss you.” You mumbled, breaking free from his hold to root through the cupboards, picking up your toothbrush from the sink, a huff leaving him as you soaked the end of your toothbrush.

“And yet, you didn’t.”

“I haven’t brushed my teeth in almost two weeks.” You muttered, sticking the brush into your mouth, relishing in the minty taste that covered your senses, and scrubbing at your teeth as he chuckled.

“I wouldn’t have cared.”

“I wou’ haf’.” Your words were distorted as you spoke, and you continued to clean until you finally felt satisfied. Spitting into the sink and rinsing your mouth out, you rinsed off your brush and placed it back in the stand beside his. When you turned again, he was standing behind you, towering over you once again as his hands cupped your face, brows raised.

“Now?”

“Now.”

His lips descended onto your own, a moan leaving his lips as your smooth lips worked against his chapped ones, dragging together in a sweet gesture that he had missed so much since the last time he’d had the chance to kiss you. He pressed further into you, pulling you closer softly, your front meeting his as he tried not to push against your wound. A gasp left you when his hands slipped down from your face to wrap around your waist, and he took the chance, his tongue dipping into your mouth to find your own.

The muscles tangled together, your hands bunching the material of his shirt under your palms as he took control of the kiss, and your body loosened under his touch. Your heads were tipping to the sides, breathy moans leaving the both of you, and he dominated the kiss, every part of him covering every part of you. It was different from other kisses, it was slow and passionate but there was something more. Something that tasted like love on your tongue as he worked your mouths together, your nails digging into his chest.

It was full of lust and need, but also want and care and everything within you melted. The scruffy stubble on his jaw that had gone unshaven was scratching at your skin in the most delicious way, his fingers spreading out over your back and tips digging into your body as he tried to pull you impossibly closer. The two of you were trying to wrap yourselves up in one another, for all you were worth, until the burn for oxygen was just too much for you to handle.

When you pulled back, he ran a finger over your lips, his forehead pressed to yours, eyes still closed as the two of you panted for breath. “I missed the taste of your mouth. God, I missed you so much. Ten days of pure fucking torture.”

You grinned, tipping your head enough to press a scattering of small kisses to his cheek and jaw, burying your face in his neck. “You’ve never kissed me like that before.” He pulled back, grinning at you, before sweeping you off of your feet as he lifted you up and over the edge of the tub. Your toes tingled as warm water lapped over your feet, up to the bottom of your calves.

The water only went up to just over your thighs when you sat down, and he tugged his shirt off over his head, kneeling on the floor beside you as you took a sponge and soap. Lathering yourself up and dipping it under the water, his larger hand closing over your own as he took it from you, cleaning your skin as you covered your bullet wound. 

He helped you wash your hair, and your face, pressing another short kiss to your lips every time he had the chance to do so, before he was lifting you out of the tub, standing you up and patting you dry with a fluffy towel.

Once you were redressed, he situated you on the couch. The small argument you both shared as he once again tried to convince you to go back to bed and rest was short-lived, your lips on his cutting him off and he quickly gave in. walking you slowly to the couch, making sure your legs were propped up on a cushion to reduce the swelling, and that you were wrapped up comfortably in a blanket.

Before he could settle beside you, though, his phone was ringing, and he searched around for it. It was located on the table nearby, and he swiped it up, answering it quickly while walking a few steps away from you. You watched as his jaw hardened, his eyes narrowing and body stiffening, flicking to you for a split second as he hummed. You watched on curiously, before moving your attention to finding the TV remotes when the line went silent as he listened to the half of the conversation that you couldn't hear. You found them at the other end of the coffee table, rolling yourself awkwardly toward them, shuffling down the couch until you could reach them, clasping them in your hands, and an arm under your waist was lifting you back up to a sitting position.

He rolled his eyes at you, his lips flicking up at the edges as you waved the devices at him, His free hand came to sit on your cheek, thumb brushing over your cheekbone as he stood back to his full height, and continued to take in the information he was getting. When he had finished, he pulled away, staring down at the device in his hands for a good minute after hanging up, before turning to you.

“They found Theo?”

“You’re awfully intuitive.” He mumbled, nodding, a deep sigh on his lips as he turned to face you. “I have to go now. I’m going to rip his fucking throat out. I want to make sure he feels every ounce of your pain and every bit of mine, but I don’t want to leave you alone.”

“I’ll be okay.”

“Yeah, because the last time I left you went so well.” He poked a finger to your ribs through the blankets, and you barely felt it, but you slapped his hand away anyway with a small scowl, turning on the television. He paced away from you, disappearing into his bedroom to gather himself.

You had found a film by the time he had returned, and you heard him clattering about in the kitchen, before he reappeared in front of you. A pint of ice cream with a label you recognised was in his hand, a spoon too, and he held them out to you. Taking them quickly, you peeled the lid back, pushing the spoon into the top to retrieve a mouthful, you gave out a small moan as the icy flavours hit your tongue. You took in his appearance, black skinny jeans clad on his legs, a pair of dirty trainers and a black henley, rolled up on his forearms messily; a look you definitely approved of.

“I picked that up a few days ago when I went to check on your store in Manhattan.” You beamed at him, taking another spoonful of it and offering it out to him. He leaned down, taking the bite of the cold treat you offered him, before he was moving past the spoon, and leaving a long kiss on your lips. Your hand smoothed down his back, brushing the gun that was tucked into the back of his pants, a grin on your lips as you slapped his ass lightly as he pulled away. “I’ll be back soon.”

Your lips pressed to his again, and he sounded something between a grunt and a moan, one of his knees resting on the edge of the couch beside your legs, mumbling indiscernible nonsense into your mouth.

“I really have to go. We can definitely do more of that when I get back, though.”

He parted from you, finally, storming his way across the room to the elevator, and you watched him go. A smirk rose on his lips as his eyes connected with yours before the doors closed, leaving you alone in a silent room.

Stiles’ foot tapped agitatedly against the floor of the elevator as he watched the numbers overhead count down to the bottom floor, his team already assembled as they waited for him. Isaac was chewing gum, standing protectively by Allison's side as she sharpened her favourite knives while lounging in a chair. Lydia was avidly setting up comms with them all, passing them around as Derek and Scott fussed over one another’s vests, checking the straps and harnesses, and Kira, was quietly mumbling small prayers to herself, and spinning the first set of car keys on her finger. Isaac held the other set, and Stiles didn’t bother to speak to any of them as he swiped his protective vest from the side, pulling it over his head as he went.

The car he found himself in was being driven by the same man who drove him home for the hospital, sitting beside him upfront as Kira climbed into the back, a large bag of guns on her side.

Scott, Derek and Allison took the other, Lydia’s voice crackling in his ears as she tested all of their comm systems, and he rolled his shoulders, settling into his seat as stretching his legs out before him as he relaxed into the leather. There was nothing about this assignment he had to be nervous about, nothing he was worrying over, because there were no debates in this scenario. There were no ‘maybes’ and possibilities.

He was going to kill Theo Raeken, the man’s fate already set in stone.

He cranked up the radio as soon as the car hit the freeway, tapping his fingers against his leg to the tune, and he heard the sharpening of Kira’s sword in the backseat pause, Isaac’s gaze flicking over to him. He tipped his head to the side to face his friend, a grin on his lips.

“We’re listening to music on the way to a job now?”

“Yes, we are. Because today is a good day.” He mumbled, kicking his feet up on the dashboard and leaning even further into his chair, making Kira huff as she shuffled to it in the middle seat instead. Isaac squirmed in his seat, thoroughly unsettled by how calm and casual he was about what they were about to do. “Do you know why today is a good day, Isaac?”

“Because we’re going for Theo?”

“Correct! We are going to kill him, and it’s going to feel fantastic.” Stiles sighed, the journey seeming to melt away around them. The classic jazz coming from the station helped the journey to pass by, urban city scenes passing by in blurs as they turned to green trees. The other cars were left behind, the smooth tarmac pathways becoming dirt and gravel, bumpy as the car rolled across them, and Stiles at up further.

The car came rolling to a stop outside of a collection of large, recently redesigned warehouses, on the outskirts of Westhampton. “Is this it?”

“This is it.” Lydia’s voice rang in his ears, and he hummed, peering up at it.

“Lydia, I want to buy it once we’re finished here. He’s already done the buildings up, all nice for me, how considerate.” Getting out of the car, he stretched himself out, the second vehicle rolling up beside them as multiple doors slammed. Lydia was talking in his ear about their best approach, the intel she’d gathered online and from the camera’s internally that she had hacked, in order to guide them through the building best. Stiles was antsy, and he was already on his way up to the door.

Rapping his knuckles against the thick wood, he leaned on the wall, hand tucked into the back of his pants casually as he waited, and he could hear the rest of the team panicking as they tried to work out what to do. When the door finally opened, he was met with a face he didn’t recognise, a scar across their cheek as they sneered at him, demanding to know what he wanted, and his head tipped to the side with a chilling grin.

Pulling the gun from its place hidden in the back of his jeans, he pressed it up to his forehead, pulling the safety before his opposition even had a chance to react, the bullet cracking through his skull and straight through the other side. Chunks of skull, muscle and greymatter splattering against the walls inside, his body crumpling, and Stiles stepped out of the way as he fell to the floor. 

Stepping over his body, he moved past the blood-stained walls and further inside, dull music echoing from the higher floors as he looked around. Lydia was grumbling into his ear as he ruined her inconspicuous plan, the others flocking around him.

“Spread out, kill everyone you see, I don’t give a shit. But Theo’s mine.” He heard everyone leave, and he wandered towards the bottom of a set of stairs, peering at the level above. Climbing the metal stairs slowly, the sounds of pained screams came from below the balcony and down the corridors he couldn't see, boots running against grated metal floors and gunshots going off.

He didn’t have to wait long to find out where Theo was, hearing the music of the top floor switching off, muffled shouting taking over and he headed in that direction, searching for the next set of stairs. 

Nothing but sick anticipation filled his system as he caught sight of the blonde rushing down the stairs towards him, unaware of his presence at the bottom. He swerved to the side, covered by the shadows, and as she took off in a run, he gripped her by the neck. Her feet leaving the floor as he tossed her backwards with ease, her back and head slamming into the ground. Kneeling by her side as she blinked her vision clear, hand coming up to grip at her head, Stiles’ hand tightened around her neck, knees shifting to press into her bicep on each side and keeping her pinned to the floor. A cry left her loudly, agonising pain as the muscles twisted under his leg.

“Hello again, Malia.”

Her eyes widened, and she flexed under his hold, his eyes and face going red as she struggled; thrashing legs, body jolting, but the movements were of no use.

“Struggling to breathe there, Mal? That’s a real shame.” He tutted, tightening his fingers around her throat as the raspy gasps for breath were cut off altogether, her face turning almost purple. “Do you know who else struggled to breathe, Malia? The answer is; the girl I love, as she choked on her own blood after you shot her. Do you remember that?”

She nodded as best she could, and he loosened his hold, letting her suck in frantic breaths, spluttering and coughing for air as she heaved. Tears were in her eyes, leaking out onto the floor as she writhed, desperately. Just before she could catch her breath, he was tightening his hand once again, glaring down at her, his jaw clenching. His knee pushed down on her arms even more harshly, and she screamed out in pain, the veins in her neck and forehead bulging from the pressure.

“How does it feel? I can bring you to the verge of death, and then let you go, only to bring you right back. Tell me, Malia, was it worth it? Was betraying me worth your life? Because that is what it’s going to cost you.” He reached for the nearest rope, wrapping it tightly around her ankles, securing it there as she tried to regain her breath, red marks on the skin around her neck, slipping in and out of focus. “Luckily for you, your life isn’t my call to make. There is one person whom you betrayed even more deeply than me, and so he can choose your fate. There’s only one person on my personal hit-list tonight.”

He dragged her across to the edge of the platform, tying the other end of the rope to the metal barricades, her eyes wide as she looked up at him and he waggled his fingers in a wave, smiling falsely before using his foot to kick her over the edge. The rope quickly diminished, the sickening pop of a joint coming out of place sounding out and he smiled in satisfaction, continuing his way on to the place he wanted to be.

“Everyone meets at the office on the top floor. And, Scott? There’s a little present for you hanging out on the second level. Do with it as you will.”

He could already see the man storming about on the other side of a glass door. Nudging the door open with his foot, Stiles leaned on the doorframe, waiting to be seen. 

Upon being noticed, Theo scoffed, lunging for the gun on his desk. Stiles sighed, firing off a single round, the bullet bouncing off of the desk and deterring his foe from reaching for the weapon once again.

“Hi there, Theo. Heard a lot about you.”

“Stilinski. Do you know what you’ve started by coming here?” His words were growled out, and Stiles only shook his head, standing to his full height as he clicked his tongue.

“I didn’t start anything, I’m simply finishing what you started.” He hooked his foot around the wheels of a desk chair, kicking it towards the man as he picked up the other gun, tucking it into his belt securely and spinning his own around his finger, before using it to point to the seat; “Why don’t you sit down, hm?”

“I don’t want to sit.” Stiles’ eyebrows rose, and his lips formed a silent ‘oh’, and he grinned, tightening his fist and smashing it forward into Theo’s face. The man's head flew back, a mixture of spit and blood flying from his mouth, and he brought a hand up to clutch at his face, eyes wide as the first physical blow between the two was thrown. “What the fuck do you want?”

Blood was running down his face, and Stiles shrugged, pacing slightly as he pulled the chair back to himself, sitting down in it and spreading his legs out before himself. “I want you to feel every bit of the pain you caused.”

“What? You’re angry because I shot the bitch who ran away?” Theo offered a smirk with bloody teeth, trying to stand his ground. “You should be thanking me. Don’t tell me you were attached to the sloppy seconds who came crawling to you?” Theo licked over his lower lip as he considered his words. “Oh, you were? Such a shame, she was rather good in bed. Did you get a chance to fuck her, before I killed her?”

“Oh, you think you killed her? How sweet.” He stood, eye to eye with the man before him, stepping into his space, so close he could smell the coppery scent of the blood trickling from his broken nose. He moved, the weapon between them, the barrel of the edge of his gun pressing to Theo’s stomach. “Would you like to know how it felt when you tried to take her life?”

Before Theo could react, Stiles had pulled the trigger, a bullet tearing through his skin and into his guts, and Theo screamed out as he fell to his hands and knees. One hand came up to clutch as his middle, and Stiles pressed a foot to his shoulder, kicking him over onto his back, before crouching beside the blond man. Scratching at his jaw, he stared off into the distance, contemplating his words.

“Does it hurt, Theo?” He only received a grunt in response, blood pouring and staining the pale t-shirt his nemesis had been wearing, and Stiles’ hand curled into a fist, one finger sticking up. “She tried to get to her gun, she hit the floor harder than you did, she was alone. That probably felt more like this.”

He pushed his finger into the hole, blood spurting out as Theo squirmed and screamed, choked sounds of pain leaving him as he jerked under Stiles’ touch. Pulling his finger back, he wiped it clean of blood on Theo’s shirt, standing enough to retract the flip-knife from his pocket. The blade popped out, and he ran the tip of his finger over the sharp edge.

“Now you know how she felt, but would you like to know how I felt?” Theo sputtered, coughing on his blood and mumbling aggressive curses under his breath, all of which went ignored by Stiles. He waved his hand, flipping the knife in his hand and forming a fist around it as he gripped it firmly. Placing it over the man's heart, he pressed it down just enough to break the skin over the left side of his chest, tipping Theo’s face to look at him, ensuring that Stiles’ face would be the last thing he saw. Pulling his hand back, he plunged the knife straight in, twisting it roughly as he tore apart his heart from the inside, leaving the blade wedged in his body. “It felt like that.”

The life faded from his eyes, and once he was satisfied with the dead man before himself, Stiles removed the knife, wiping it on his pants before putting the blade away and tucking it into his pocket again. He could hear multiple sets of footsteps falling on their journey toward his location. The loud sounds of anarchy in the building had fallen silent, and he smirked, before looking down when he felt something bump solidly against his leg, shoving at his ankles.

A furry little skull head-butted his leg, a tail wrapping around his calf as a small cat weaved between his legs, and he let out a disbelieving laugh at the sight. “Son of a bitch. He took the fucking cat.” Leaning down, Stiles scooped up the animal into his arms, flipping him over to hold him delicately. He was lighter than he had been, fur not as glossy and body skinnier, but it was definitely the same animal, his paws curling around Stiles’ hand as he held the cat tenderly, claws digging into his hand. “Don’t fucking claw me. I’m saving your life. I could leave you here.”

The cat only meow-ed at him, somehow managing to sound snarky, as though calling his bluff, and Stiles rolled his eyes. Fishing around the room, he wrapped the trembling creature in the soft material, his team gathering in the doorway. He didn’t bother to explain the cat to them, he didn’t bother to ask Scott about what he’d chosen to do with Malia, he didn’t care for any of it. All he cared about was getting home, to where he belonged, with you.

The credits of your movie were just beginning to roll on the screen, and you kicked the blanket away from your legs carefully, trying to push yourself up from the couch, using the armrest for support as not to strain yourself. Grabbing the empty carton of ice cream, you took the spoon too, moving through to the attached kitchen to clear up after yourself.

Pulling open the dishwasher, you used your foot to lower it to the ground, pulling out the racks and clearing away the plates from your earlier meal too, trying not to over-exert yourself as you felt the slight stinging in your abdomen beginning to start. Once it was set off with cleaning the dishes, you searched through the drawers and cupboards for medications, knowing a bag had been sent home with you, handed over to Scott before you’d passed out in the car on the way home.

You finally found them, shakily filling a glass of water and reading over the instructions, not wanting to take something that would make you sleepy, you wanted to be awake when Stiles came home. Popping the correct dosage of pills, you swallowed them down, followed by a few sips of water, letting out a sigh as you waited for the pain to ease.

Only a few minutes later, the achy throbbing had dulled back to numb bliss, and you let out a happy sigh, just as the shrill tone of the elevator opening sounded out. Cracking your eyes open, you watched as a slightly sweaty, dirty, and fairly tired Stiles walked in, a bundle of cloth clutched in his arms.

“Hey, baby.” His voice was hoarse and tired, and you smiled, padding across the floors towards him. “I have a surprise for you.”

You lifted a finger, tugging down the edge of the blanket to reveal what lay inside, and a gasp left you at the squirming ball of fur within. A loud meow sounded out, and Stiles moved the blanket, holding the cat for you so that you could pet him, knowing that you wouldn't be able to support the weight. Your eyes lining with tears as you were reunited with the pet you so deeply adored. Scratching behind its ears, he let out a soft purr, and you leaned down closer to his face. “You’re so thin! What did he do to you, little guy?”

You sounded broken-hearted, watching as Stiles’ jaw clenched. He’d never gotten along with your cat, the two seemed to have some kind of unspoken tension that had always made you giggle, but that didn’t mean Stiles didn’t love him. There had been days when you’d woken up, finding Stiles making breakfast in your kitchen and feeding tuna to the cat, or sitting with him on your couch and waiting for you to shower. Sometimes, Stiles would even show up with a bag of treats for the fur-ball. “I’ll take him to the vets tomorrow, he’ll be happy and healthy again in no time, I promise.”

He put the animal down, watching as it scampered away to begin sniffling about the home, exploring all of the rooms,  and disappearing from sight down the corridor as you watched it go. When you turned back to Stiles, he was already looking at you, watching you dutifully. You lifted your hands, cupping his face as you let out a watery laugh of sheer joy. “I love you so much.”

He didn’t have a chance to reply, you pulled his face down until you could press your lips to his, and he hummed happily against you. his arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you into his chest and holding you close as he returned the kiss eagerly. One of his hands trailed down up to your cheek, fingers weaving into your hair as yours came down to hold around his torso, hooked under his arms to hold him close. Parting your lips, the kiss became messier, the smacking of your wet lips sounding out, noses bumping as your heads tipped in opposite ways to get deeper into one another's mouths, and his tongue poked out to tangle with your own.

The wet articles had barely met before he was pulling back, panting slightly and licking over his swollen lips, before leaning in to press his forehead to yours, grinning madly.

“Did you just say you love me?”

“Yeah. Problem?” You were still breathless, equally panting against his mouth and leaning up, stealing another kiss from his lips, and he returned it happily.

“God, no. I love you too.” He dipped down, kissing along your jaw and up to your temple, before leaving a soft kiss on your forehead. “I love you so much.”

“How’s your pain?” Stiles mumbled, his arms smoothing round you a little further until he was tugging you into his chest. Clearly seeking comfort, as his nose buried in the hair at the top of your head, and he let out a sigh.

“Fine, I took some of my meds earlier.” 

“And how does the wound feel? Did you do much while I was out?” He hugged you closer, tightening the hug when your arms came up to wrap around him, and you realised you were seeking just as much comfort from him as he was searching for from you, right now.

“I watched my movie, and I put away the dishes from earlier. That’s it.”

His fingers tangled in your hair, brushing through the clean but tangled locks, his lips brushing your forehead. Your heart was thumping steadily, pressed up to him as he held you close, and you snuggled into his shoulder.

“You know, I’m going to have to go home at some point. There’s no litter tray here. I’m pretty sure you don’t want the cat to pee on your fancy suits.” You both felt and heard the groan he let out, his cheek still pressed to the top of your head but he eventually pulled back from the embrace.

“You are home. I’ll send someone to fetch the litter tray.” His words were spoken tiredly, suppressing a yawn, and you reached up to brush stray hair out of his eyes, a smirk forming on your lips.

“Are you asking me to move in with you?”

“I kind of already did move you in, I’d be pretty put out if you said no.” He joked, and you rolled your eyes at him, but the smile you wore only grew fonder. “Is that a yes?”

He didn’t get a chance to answer as your cat came running in, a loud meow being made as he charged at the couches. You watched him go, jumping up onto the plush leather, and moving around in circles before he settled down against a cushion. His claws flexed, kneading the sift filling and his eyes closed, a loud purr taking over. “I think that’s a yes from us both.”

The cat let out another small mew, and you giggled in response. Stiles’ hands dropped down to your own, lifting them up to his face so that he could press a kiss to each of your knuckles, eyes mixed on yours as he waited for your answer. “Okay, I’ll move in, but you have to change the litter trays half of the time.”

“Deal.”

[ansgar-martinsson]

The Best Intentions - Part 25

He’d tortured her enough, he’d decided. Enough but not enough. It was never enough. There was always room for more pleasure, more touch, more hedonism, more fucking. Always.

He stood near the foot of the bed, his eyes fixated on her, unmoving as he unbuttoned and shucked his linen shirt, as he whipped the belt from its loops with a loud schuss. His mouth twitched on a whuff of breath - one he let her hear - a wicked rictus of a grin as he watched her. He was the hungry cat crouched in the dark, tall weeds. He was the stealthy hunter, taking in each and every detail, every weakness of his prey.

His trousers fell to his ankles and he kicked them aside. Her head turned toward the sound, a quiet, muffled cry from her throat. He breathed again, letting the air course through his mouth and chest, audible and hollow. She faced him again, another whimper, and the sound of it made Ansgar’s cock flush with blood - even harder than it already was.

She writhed on his sheets. She kicked at the blankets. She moaned loudly and she mouthed the skin of her upper arm, her lips seeking out something, anything… any sensation she could find. She rubbed her thighs together, crossing her long legs one over the other, squeezing her sex tight against itself. He had her, he knew. Anything, she would do anything for him, anything for a touch of him, a sound from him, a taste of him. 

He was her world at that moment and she yearned for him.

And the perfect sight of her, the enticing smell of her enchanted him just as powerfully.

Yes. He’d tortured her enough. He’d tortured himself enough

“I’m here,” he whispered. She gasped at the sound of his voice. “I’m standing here, before you. I’ve removed my clothes, Joline. I’m as naked as you are, and Christ, but my cock is so hard. Painfully hard. Ready for you. Are you ready?”

She moaned, nodding rapidly.

“First things first, however.” 

She groaned in protest.

“Oh, Joline, do be patient,” he said, as if speaking to a petulant child. “You will enjoy this, I promise you.” And with that he set his knee on the bed, followed by his hand, the other knee, and the other hand. 

Her breath stabbed sharp, caught in her throat, and she canted her head back, spine arched, jaw dropped open as Ansgar wrapped his hands around the back of her thighs. “Come now, spread your legs for me,” he said. “There you go. Let me in.”

She brooked no argument, but opened herself widely to him, her legs splayed in a near side split. She cried out again, her breaths coming in anticipatory pants, her head lolled side to side with the waiting. “Mmmmm,” she hummed.

“You’re desperate to say my name, aren’t you?” He caressed her inner thigh with the tip of his nose. “Aren’t you?”

“Mmmm hmmm,” she nodded. She bent her knees to wrap around him, her muscles clenching, her toes pointed, heels pressing into his flank, urging him up up up toward her center. 

He shimmied forward and hooked her legs over his shoulders. A long inhale and the scent of her sex was so, so close to his nose. The fragrance of her want of him shot straight to his cock, his own desire manifesting in a pleasure-painful twitch and a long, deep, involuntary moan. “Joline,” he keened. “You… you are so… so beautiful. So responsive. So… so… so mine.”

“Mmmmmmm.”

He let his breath out through pursed lips, coasting cool dry air upon her heated wet flesh. She jerked. “Aah! Fffffff!” Her hips bucked toward his face, her knees curled tightly around his back, heels shot downward, beyond his arms to press hard into the mattress beneath.

“Say my name,” Ansgar growled. He turned his head and bit, sinking his teeth into the meat of her inner thigh, brushing the edge of his beard against the apex of her pleasure. “Say my name. Tell me you’re mine.”

“Ans - oh… oh… oh….”

“Say it. Say it and I’ll give you what you want. You can do it. Say my name.”

“Sssssssss…. sssssgaaaah!”

“Say my name.” He dug his fingers, claw-like into her hips, holding her steady, holding her fast. Readying her. “Now.”

“Ansgar!”

“Mine!” 

The word, the singular word flew forth on a long, almost demonic growl that grew from the hellish depths of Ansgar’s chest. The lion sprang out of the jungle reeds, then, pouncing, as he rose to his knees, his massive paws clutching her thighs tightly around his head.

He feasted upon her, shaking his head, roaring as his lips and tongue and teeth extolled her flesh. He lifted her hips high off the bed, holding fast to her, his mouth molded and shaped to her - no escape - his tongue scourging her, shoved deep inside of her, curling within, pumping, drawing forth her wailing moans and her desperate cries and her violent tremors and shudders. He latched himself to her, and that same tongue became a fluttering machine, flickering and swirling over the tiny core of her pleasure.

She bucked her hips again, that time with vicious force against his face, her pelvic arch butting against his nose. He growled in pain. She grunted, demanding more of him, More. 

More. More. More. 

He retaliated, biting down hard on the curve of her arse before he set his tongue back in motion, following his bite with a vicious slap on the side of her leg. 

“Ouch! Fuck! Ansgar!” she screeched.

“Hmmmm?” He hummed, the sound inquisitive, interrogative. He held his hand in the air again, just inches from her quivering flank. He wriggled his fingers, the tips of them brushing, tickling with temptation against her skin. “Mmmmm?” He knew she couldn’t see him, but he also knew his intent was clear.

“Yes!” she demanded. “Yes! Do it… hit me again!”

And he did. Harder that time. Much, much harder. Smack! 

“Fucking – Aaah!”

He accompanied the savage blow with a long, ferocious pull of his lips on her swollen, engorged bundle of nerves. He shoved himself into her again, a commanding, guttural grunt the only communication of his stern demand.

And his demand was – Come.

And she obeyed. And she came, her body seized in a shuddering paroxysm of pleasure. The same pleasure with which she painted Ansgar’s mouth, lips and beard in a warm, wet wash … and yes. Oh yes. Yes, she screamed.

Ansgar’s eyes flew open at the sound, at the flood of sensation, the keen observer now intent and fixated upon her mobile, impassioned, exuberant face, visible over the ridge of her hipbone, down the slope of her belly. And as her climax ebbed, as she panted, as her fingers clutched open and closed, as she heaved, desperate to catch air, he lowered her gently back down to the bed, his tongue now an instrument of soothing, a comforting balm for her throbbing sex.

“Mine.”

In the throes of passion, people said anything at all, swearing love, loyalty, all the mundane chores that needed to be done for a week, a month, a lifetime. Promises of fidelity and forever could be uttered and yet proven false with the next partner or possible orgasm, whichever happened first. Joline, in the depths of pleasure or climbing the next high peak, sighed, hummed, groaned, whimpered or agreed, and yes, even screamed. Sentences or words with more than two syllables simply became superfluous noise, distracting from the choir of sensation in her body.

However she understood Ansgar’s single word of ownership, the primary caveman statement clear for her mind clouded by sexual gratification. As confident as she was about the general populace, conversely Ansgar wasn’t the type to lie in the furor of fucking. Not in the bedroom. Passion was his truth serum. He could spin several yarns into quilts to get a woman into bed, but once there all form of pretense evaporated or fizzled when the heat of entwined bodies mounted. He’d told Joline vaguely of his made-up aliases and false monikers that he assumed while traveling in America. He’d also mentioned the other women he’d had.

But she couldn’t imagine the lion reduced to the hollow man, a mere shell from the loss of one woman, creating false declarations while he pleasured another.

Lies didn’t belong in the bedroom. The boardroom, yes, if it got the job or secured another account. The bedroom was different.

Since she was a young girl, Joline never did what was expected of her. She rebelled to define her individuality, to be her own person, to be independent. She chose to move to the states from Sweden at eighteen to spend time with her father and to study abroad. The advantage would be hers in her chosen field and set her apart from her peers. She chose theatre management to avoid the spotlight, she didn’t need the attention when everyone backstabbed each other to move ahead. She dyed her hair black to avoid looking like every other woman in Sweden. She rode a motorcycle, a hobby dominated by the male sensibility.

Ansgar’s shocking declaration of ownership didn’t… shock her. His possession, his claim, his control didn’t scare her… didn’t incite her knee-jerk reaction to deny it. Instead she gave herself over to it, surrendered to his dominance. She didn’t feel the pet or that he saw her as anything less than who she was. She was more, she was his lover, his pleasure. His. It wasn’t disrespect; it was the ultimate respect.

She wouldn’t be jumping into a choker for him, but she found her place in his personal life. His lover.

Ansgar replaced his tongue at her most intimate flesh with his fingers. Languidly, he soothed the pulsating from her body, landing her back down expertly. He dropped open mouth kisses along her thigh, her hipbone, her belly, her ribs, and finally her breast, gracing it with a stinging oral bruise. Her legs fell open in invitation to encourage him to take his pleasure as he climbed her body.

The pulsing pain from his slap and his bite only emphasized and increased the pleasure flowing through her. Ansgar reared back, lined his heavy, heavy flesh with her moist sex, and tucked himself between her folds. The hand that had been there painted swatches of the proof of his ownership of her on her upper lip and then her lower. He laid his fingers over her lips before she licked and settled himself on her, thigh to thigh, sex to sex, stomach to belly, chest to breast.

Ansgar gently ran his hand from her lips along her cheek until he scooped her ear between his thumb and palm, his fingers in the roots of her hair. As she wet her lips with her tongue, he led her into his mouth and a torrid kiss, sharing the taste of her and his influence on her. His claim on her.

Joline willingly arched into his delving tongue, hungrily succumbing to his need for her. Her wrists tested the bit of rope holding her captive to his bed. She didn’t really want the release, only wanted to touch him, comb her fingers through his curls, hold his massive body to her.

His lips mapped the familiar path from her lips to her neck, preparing to lay another mark of his territory. Instead she lifted her knees, resting her feet upon the mattress top, nestling his hips between her thighs. “Take… take what’s yours.”

In that moment, that precious split second, he regretted blindfolding her in the first place. As much as he enjoyed being her world and her entire present, he missed her defiance, her challenge, her streak of rebellion that made her that much more delicious when she acquiesced to him. He growled in frustration, in disappointment as he ripped away the strip of black silk from her head. She blinked, focusing on his eyes hovering above her, confusion blooming in her arousal.

“Say it again,” Ansgar demanded on a barely contained roar.

Joline deciphered beyond his words and recent action to the motivation behind it, what he needed, what he craved. She flicked her eyes between his, bricking up her savvy nature. She craned her neck, recalling her spite and her dare, her lips outlining his. “Take. What’s. Yours.” Her whisper spiked the whiskers of his beard, caressed along his flesh, and set his entire being into fuck mode, must-fuck-now.

On another animalistic roar, Ansgar’s hip retreated back to angle himself into her body and snapped forward, impaling her on his sex. She gasped at the brutal claim, but reveled in his wicked treatment of her. He fucked her hard and fast, seeking the last of his claim on her. He shoved his knees behind her buttocks, lifting her up, spreading her out, and hitting the deepest, hottest, wettest spot within her. Propped up on his palms beside her shoulders, he rammed as sharply and as quickly as he could. Her body fluttered, fitted and clutched around him, reeking every ounce of pleasure from him.

Joline concentrated on the pounding of her heart and the pounding of her blood and the pounding against the spot within her where Ansgar produced bursts of white sparks within her field of vision. With a flick of his wrist he released her arms from the wrap of rope just to feel her wrap around him, take him in so entirely within her. Despite the shaking strain within her abused arms, she tucked her hands behind his neck and brought him down to her, forehead to forehead, their bodies creating a circle of space between them.

Stealing breath for breath upon each hammering thrust, they raced each other to rapture. When it finally came, fireworks exploded.

[springpinwheel-blog]

I Need An Angel (Scoups x Reader)

 Angel!Seungcheol

 Pairing: Seungcheol x Reader

 Genre: Some angst, Romance, slight fluff, Angel AU, Supernatural AU

 Disclaimers: mentions of death, mentions of depression, dark thoughts

  Word Count: 4,008

  Wonwoo’s story 

  A/N: I’m not sure if this might end up as a series... But I’m planning on continuing this in some way! It might get a bit confusing...maybe! I hope you guys enjoy it though! The concept was a bit difficult to write even though the inspiration was easy to come up with D: Credits belong to their rightful owners! I don’t own any gifs or pictures!

Updated A/N: Wonwoo’s story is the second continued part to Seungcheol’s! Click the link above to read it! <3

 Short Summary:

 Getting a case to go down to earth to personally escort a human soul to heaven was a very special opportunity for angels. It happened to every one in a hundred angels and to receive a case like that was a huge achievement.

 However, there were some cases where the human soul doesn’t get guided to heaven;

The angel decides to give up his wings to be human again to pursue his own personal desire

The angel gets demoted

Or the angel becomes a fallen

 The human soul then gets stuck in an inescapable limbo, which can only be described as a place of broken memories and haunted pasts stuck on a never ending loop.

 Seungcheol was assigned to you because you were fated to die young. Unlike the other humans, you were born with a very short string - it was a surprise you still managed to live so long despite having such a short lifespan. But now, it was time and it was Seungcheol’s job to make sure your soul crossed over to heaven safely.

 Everything would’ve been fine if that were the case…

 Everything would’ve been fine if you were any ordinary human.

 Everything would’ve been fine if Seungcheol hadn’t fallen for you.

 Everything started to spin around you as soon as you set your laundry basket on top of the washing machine. You leaned against it for support, pressing your hand against your head in discomfort. It was like gravity was slowly pulling you closer to the ground and a heavy weight was suddenly dropped on your shoulders. Your head felt like it was going to burst and there was this tight pressure being screwed against your temples.

 Your legs became weak and your knees failed to keep straighten. It was like you were being dropped ten meters from the air but instead of hitting the ground, you kept falling. Vertigo hit you hard and you couldn’t react fast enough to grab onto something to stop you from collapsing.

 You expected to be lying on the floor, completely in pain and nausea, but instead a pair of arms were wrapped around your waist, keeping you balanced and steady against their chest. The spinning stopped, but your body still felt heavy and exhausted.

 “You should be more careful. Your body isn’t as strong as it was before.” A deep, soothing voice sighed softly from behind you. You just let out a quiet exhale and closed your eyes, leaning all your weight against that person’s body.

 “Have you been watching me again, Seungcheol?”

 “Be glad I was or else you’d be lying on the floor all day,” Seungcheol chuckled softly before slowly pulling away from your body. You opened your eyes and managed to find your balance by holding onto the edge of the washing machine. “-did you take your medicine?”

 “Why should I take those medicine when the doctors don’t even know what’s wrong with me?” You frowned and looked up at him with a crease in between your brows. “It’s no use, Seungcheol. My body is becoming weaker and weaker by the day… All of them said the same exact thing you know. With the condition I’m in, it’s amazing that I’m not dead already. Everything is shutting down inside of me and I can’t do anything to fix it.”

 “I know. But they’ll at least lessen the symptoms and help you live a little longer. We talked about this earlier, Y/N. If you had the chance to live a couple more days, isn’t it worth it?”

 “Seungcheol, you’re talking to a depressed, hopeless and dying girl,” you chuckled softly, shaking your head. “-living like this, the way I am right now, isn’t what I want. I can’t keep thinking when the next time I will collapse is. When I go to the market or even to go do the stupid laundry, I can’t stop thinking about when my body could just stop working. I’m not going to spend my last days chugging down pills, so don’t tell me to do it because I won’t.”

 “Okay… Will you at least let me help you do your laundry then? I would prefer it if you rest right now,” Seungcheol sighed and took your hand, leading you over to one of the waiting benches.

 “Why are you even doing this?” You asked him, slowly sitting down as he pulled his hand away to rummage in his jean pocket for coins. “You’re my neighbor. We haven’t even known each other for a whole year.”

 “It doesn’t have to take a whole year to figure out if you want to be a part of someone else’s life,” Seungcheol smiled softly, pulling out a couple nickels for the washing machine. “-I know you well enough to know that I want to help you and I want to be here to support you. Besides, you haven’t exactly turned me down, have you?”

 “That’s because you have a face no woman can resist,” you joked, smiling softly. Seungcheol just let out a laugh that gave you a little bit of strength to hold on to. If it weren’t for him being around, you would’ve probably gave up on even getting out of bed in the mornings and leaving your apartment to do simple chores like doing the laundry.

 Without Seungcheol, you honestly thought you were really going to give up on trying to live; you were going to let whatever sickness you had eat you away. He was one of those glimmers of hope that kept you going and kept you fighting for the next day.

 “I’m glad my face was the reason you didn’t shut me out,” Seungcheol rolled his eyes jokingly and started putting your laundry into the washing machine. “-are you sure nothing else was a factor? I don’t know, like how selfless I am… or how caring and nice I am…”

 “I think you’re going to have to give me a little more evidence to back that up, Choi Seungcheol.” You grinned as his jaw dropped in disbelief after putting in the coins and starting the washing machine.

 “I could dump bleach on your clothes you know.”

 “Now if you did that, it would defeat your claim of being caring and nice.”

 “How about I just show you then, Y/N?” Seungcheol smirked and approached you.  You let out a fit of giggles and laughter as he lifted you off the bench, princess-style, and spun you around. You wrapped your arms around his neck and he started carrying you around the laundry room before placing you on top of an unoccupied dryer.

 With your eyes still watery with tears of laughter, you placed your hands on Seungcheol’s shoulders as both of your faces were just inches away from one another. You found yourself staring into his eyes and he was doing the same with you. Your eyes wandered down to his rosy-smooth lips and heart rose to your cheeks as inappropriate thoughts started to pop up into your mind. You broke the gaze and just smiled shyly, averting your attention elsewhere that wasn’t him.

 “You know what I first thought of you when I saw you?” Seungcheol asked softly, his hands still placed on your waist gently. The tone in his voice and the way he was touching you completely gave you those butterflies in your stomach that wouldn’t stop making you go crazy.

 “W-What…?” Your voice was barely audible as you breathed out that one stuttered word.

 “You’re just as beautiful on the outside as you are on the inside. I never thought someone like you existed until I met you.”

 His eyes softened as he started to lean in closer to you. You completely froze and you got that weird, weak feeling - it wasn’t because of the sickness, but it was the kind of feeling that made you submissive and want to just cave in to the words and sounds coming out from his mouth.

 “You make me want to do things I’m not allowed to do.”

 You parted your lips to say something, but your words never came out. They were sealed in and you eventually forgot what they were as bliss blurred your senses. 

 Seungcheol knew that the moments he wanted to last didn’t last a whole day.

 He had an angel pinned to a tree in a nearby park when he was going out to meet a friend of his who never showed up to their meeting location. With a blade pressed against the angel’s throat, Seungcheol ripped off the black cap that was hiding his identity. His eyes widened when he came face to face with one of the angels that had also gone down to Earth with the same mission but had failed to guide their human.

 “...Kim Mingyu,” Seungcheol growled, his eyes darkening as the younger angel just smiled almost painfully.

 “It’s been a while, big bro.”

 “Do you know what you did…?” Tears of frustration and two years’ worth of pent up anger started to fill Seungcheol eyes. “Why did you do that, Mingyu…?! Why did you decide to be one of them?! How could you kill your own human?!”

 “You don’t understand, Seungcheol…” Mingyu lowered his gaze, accepting the anger coming from his mentor. “I had to do it…”

 “You were an angel! You didn’t have to do anything besides your mission! Why, Mingyu…? Why?!”

 “I was in love with her,” Mingyu’s own eyes welled up with sad tears. “-and they were going to torture her and hurt her… I didn’t know what to do… I couldn’t call anyone for help.”

 “So you thought the best way to save her was to turn into one of them,” Seungcheol tightened his grip on Mingyu’s collar, pressing him harder against the tree. “-don’t you remember anything I taught you…? Fallen angels don’t become fallen unless they want something in return. What did you want that you had to sell your own soul for!?”

 “...I wanted her… I just wanted her back.” Mingyu closed his eyes as tears streamed down his cheeks. “I killed her...and they told me I could get her back if I became one of them.”

 “How did that turn out for you?”

 “...They gave me her body… but her soul was gone… It was already too late to pull her out of limbo… I regret it every day since I lost her, Seungcheol. I regret not getting her to heaven safely.”

 “If you regret it, then why are you still here?” Seungcheol slowly loosened his grip on Mingyu’s collar as well as the blade pressed against his neck. “There is nothing here for you.”

 “You don’t know what is going on,” Mingyu shook his head. “-a war is coming soon… and the fallen angels want a pass back to heaven. They found a way and it’s bloody.”

 “What...are you talking about?” Seungcheol eyes widened.

 “There’s a special human whose soul can break limbo and release all the souls that are lost inside,” he explained seriously. “-the fallen angels want it. Once the lost souls are released then they’ll be able to go back to heaven since they technically finished their mission. They want chaos and hell and by returning home, they’ll be able to do that.”

 “Why are you telling me this?”

 “Because there’s no point in me living anymore without her,” Mingyu murmured softly. “-I don’t care if they kill me for telling you. I don’t care if you kill me for betraying our family. It’s all meaningless if I can’t be with her.”

 “...But you said that all the lost souls will be released, wouldn’t that mean she’ll be set free?”

 “Seungcheol…” Mingyu looked at him with a frown. “I’m not going to sacrifice a human for something I want again. Plus… you should be worried about it.”

 “What are you talking about?” Seungcheol pulled away from Mingyu who looked at the ground, watching the shadows of his wings grow on the ground.

 “Your human is the one who can break limbo.”

 Seungcheol eyes widened and he could feel the fear sinking in.

 “You better be careful on who you trust too. That angel you were going to meet tonight… He was going to try to betray you and kill you,” Mingyu warned him. “-I killed him before that happened. There are a lot of fallen down here who will try to trick you if you’re not careful.” 

 You couldn’t sleep well that night. Your whole body was aching and you were drenched in sweat. You kept having night terrors and every time you woke up to fall asleep again, you kept returning to the same nightmare; there were fields of fire and blood-stained feathers scattered all over the grounds. Your chest started to get hot and you literally felt as if your whole body was burning from the inside.

 Seungcheol was worried about you after his encounter with Mingyu, so he decided to stop by to check on how you were doing. He climbed onto your balcony because he knew that the lock on the balcony door was still broken. The angel entered your room, only to detect distress in the air.

 “Y/N!”

 He rushed over to your side and peeled off the blanket to see a very bright crimson mark on your left arm. His eyes widened when he recognized it to be one of the few symbols he thought he’d never see in his life as an angel.

 It was a curse placed by a fallen.

 Seungcheol didn’t know what to do; he was never taught on how to lift a curse before. He pulled you into his arms and immediately tried to heal you with some of his powers, but it didn’t work - if anything, it seemed to make it worse on you. You started to have trouble breathing and Seungcheol started to panic.

 He couldn’t guide your soul to heaven if you were killed by a fallen angel - your soul was already being marked to go straight to the world downstairs if he didn’t figure out a way to save you.

 “Y/N, just hold on, okay?!” Seungcheol held you against his body as he tried to think of anything he could do.

 “Damn it, I was too late!”

 His eyes widened when Mingyu flew into the bedroom, landing swiftly on his feet.

 “W-What are you doing here?!”

 “Preventing chaos and hell,” Mingyu rushed over to you and lifted you out of Seungcheol’s arms.

 “Mingy-”

 “Trust me, okay?” Mingyu stated seriously. “I may have not saved my human, but we can save yours. You know what we have to do, right? There’s only one way an angel can fully save a human’s life.”

 “...I know.”

 “I’m sorry it has to be this way…”

 “We have to do whatever it takes to protect Y/N.”

 Mingyu’s chest tightened in guilt and just nodded before taking off with Seungcheol behind him.

    Jisoo couldn’t believe his eyes when he opened the door of his father’s church to see a fallen angel with a holy angel and a dying human. But because he could hear the voices of angels, he already knew what was going on - this was a task that had never been successfully done before.

 “You understand that once I do this, there’s no way to bring you back, right?” Jisoo frowned, placing a hand on Seungcheol’s shoulder. He glanced at Mingyu who was still holding you in his arms - your face had gotten a lot paler than before and your breaths had become short.

 “I understand,” Seungcheol murmured softly, tightening his fists. “-just...make sure it works.”

 “I actually have no idea if this will work. No one has done this successfully before without killing both the angel and the human. Sacrificing your life for hers is risky and both of you could possibly be lost in limbo, and if that happens to her then the fallen angels get what they want.”

 “We’ve known you for years, Jisoo,” Mingyu stated confidently. “-you can do this. You’re the only healer we know that can save both angels and humans.”

 “I still can’t believe you’re doing this because of a human girl…” Jisoo shook his head before firmly pushing down on Seungcheol shoulder to get him down on his knees.

 “It’s not just that,” Seungcheol turned to look at you with sadness in his eyes. “-I love her.”

 “At least you didn’t end up like that idiot over there…”

 “We don’t have much time,” Mingyu ignored the insult and frowned.

 “I never knew you were so eager to kill me off,” Seungcheol muttered before taking a deep breath.

 “You know I didn’t mean it like that…”

 “Please...just promise me you’ll take care of her… Make sure she lives the life she wants.”

 “I have no other choice, now do I?” Mingyu forced a sad smile as Seungcheol returned one back. “I’ll tell her how much you love her.”

 “... I wished things were different.”

 “Me too…”

 You heard a voice calling your name out of nowhere.

 “Y/N, slow down,” Seungcheol chuckled as he jogged up beside you. You noticed that both of you were in a park on a running trail with other runners and joggers around you. “-I know you’re eager to get married, but man, could you at least jog with your future husband?”

 “It’s not my fault you have slow feet.”

 “Excuse me? Listen here, young lady-”

 “I’m sorry, what?” You turned to him with a warning look on your face. “This young lady is going to be the woman you’re getting married tomorrow or she might be the one who’s gonna leave you at the altar for Mingyu!”

 “WAIT I WAS JUST KIDDING,” Seungcheol’s eyes widened when you stomped away. “-Babe! I was just kidding! Y/N! Mingyu has got nothing on me! Why would you even want a freakishly tall, burnt-dark palm tree like him??”

 “I don’t knoooowwww, Seungcheol! I wonder why I want you too!”

 “UM. BECAUSE YOU LOVE ME???”

 “Do I? Do I really?”

 “Y/N, DON’T SAY THAT! I’m the only handsome, talented, charming, charismatic, handsome, caring and kind man you’ll ever need! Did I mention handsome too??” Seungcheol jogged up to you and pouted. “Please don’t leave me at the altar…”

 “I would never leave you at the altar,” you grinned playfully, holding his hand in yours. “-I’m committed to being Mrs. Y/N Choi.”

 “I really like the ring to that. Y/N Choi… I love you,” Seungcheol smiled happily and leaned down to kiss your cheek. “-I would kiss you on the lips, but… we should probably wait for the risky things on our honeymoon~”

 “Oh my gosh, shut up Seungcheol! Don’t say that out loud!”

 “You love me regardless,” he laughed.

 “I do. I really do love you,” you nodded and leaned against him.

 When you woke up, you found yourself in your bed.

 “That was a strange dream…” You muttered and yawned before getting out of bed to get freshened up. For some reason, you didn’t feel ask tired as before and your body was light. You turned the light on in your restroom and your heart stopped for a split second.

 “What the…”

 There was a strange, fainted mark on your left arm ; it was almost like the shape of a feather. You tried washing it off, hoping it was just marker or pen, but nothing, even soap, wouldn’t get it off. You decided to just ignore it and took a shower before getting on with your day.

 While pouring yourself a cup of coffee, you heard a loud thud from next door.

 “That’s weird…”

  You decided to go check out what the noise was and entered the hallway to see a bunch of boxes on the floor with different marker labels on them. The door to the apartment next to yours opened and a tall man walked out, wiping the sweat from his forehead after all the lifting.

 As soon as you made eye contact with him, you started to feel something weird - almost like you knew him.

 “Um...Are you moving in there?” You asked curiously.

 “Yeah, I’m your new neighbor,” he smiled and you thought his small sharp canines were kind of cute. “-I’m Mingyu.”

 “Ah, I didn’t know I was getting a new neighbor… I’m Y/N! Nice to meet you!”

 Mingyu chuckled and noticed the mark on your arm. “I like that. It looks pretty cool.”

 “O-Oh...thanks… I actually-”

 “Mingyu! Seriously! We have more boxes to move!!” You saw another man pushing his way through all the boxes in the hallway with a very irritated look on his face. “Stop flirting with Y/N already!”

 “Oh come on, Jisoo. I wasn’t doing any harm,” Mingyu sighed as his roommate approached them.

 “Y-You know me?” You blinked in confusion.

 “I’m Jisoo! I’m also your new neighbor and his roommate!

 “U-Um…”

 “Sorry! We have to go unpack now! See you later, Y/N!” Mingyu wrapped an arm around Jisoo’s shoulder and pulled him into the apartment before closing the door, leaving you very puzzled in the hallway.

 “Well...okay…I guess… That’s weird though… I swore...someone else was living next door though…”

 “It hasn’t even been a week since that idiot has been gone,” Mingyu sighed softly, sitting at the dining table with some healer books scattered on the surface. “-nothing in these books say how we can bring him back.”

 “You’re still on that?” Jisoo frowned, crossing his arms as he leaned against the bedroom door frame. “Angels can’t be revived, Mingyu. Besides… Seungcheol’s soul is probably somewhere in limbo… We can’t get him out without a special soul that we obviously made not special anymore now that she has a long lifespan.”

 “Angels can’t be revived, I know that,” Mingyu rolled his eyes. “-but humans can.”

 “...What nonsense are you spouting again? Revival isn’t a joke. There are a lot of consequences and precautions that come with it. We don’t even know if we’re bringing back the same Seungcheol we killed.”

 “Ah, it was you that killed him, not me,” the fallen angel frowned. “-and it’s possible! I remember reading it somewhere… Man, if only that scribe was here… He knows everything. Too bad we can’t bring him down to Earth.”

 “Well, that’s certainly something we can do,” Jisoo walked over to a second box labeled ‘books’ and started pulling different healer books out. “-I can bring down an angel without him having a mission.”

 “No, it’s not that easy. I know Wonwoo. He doesn’t want to leave heaven.”

 “Why? I thought all angels wanted a chance to come down here again,” Jisoo blinked in confusion.

 “He was in love with another angel and she clipped her wings to be with a human. You could say he’s not a fan of you guys,” Mingyu explained. “-it’s not going to be easy to bring him here.”

 “You obviously haven’t been paying attention to my works,” the healer frowned in disbelief. “-if we want to bring Seungcheol back, I’m bringing that brat down here even if he hates humans. So the plan is to get Wonwoo, figure out how to revive Seungcheol and turn him into a human so he can reunite with Y/N.”

 “Pretty much.”

 “Why are you going so far to do this?”

 “Because he’s done a lot for me in the past...and it’s time I repay him back,” Mingyu stood up from his seat and walked over to the fridge to get a bottle of water. “-we’re basically breaking all of the angel rules that’s been written.”

 “What do you really want out of this, Mingyu?” Jisoo pulled out the book he needed from the box and started flipping through it for a summoning spell.

 “Closure.”

 You didn’t understand what was going on. You noticed that you were having some gaps in your memories from the previous couple days. You couldn’t remember what you did, what you ate, who you talked to and where you went.

 But what bothered you the most was your neighbors - you were so sure that there was someone else was still living there and you didn’t remember him moving out.

 You rummaged through your things, hoping to maybe find some kind of journal entry, diary or note you wrote down. You managed to find some kind of odd notebook that you knew didn’t belong to you in the back of your closet and decided to open it up. At first, you thought they were all blank pages until something fell out of it.

 It was another piece of paper, but with writing on it.

 Your eyes widened when you read the single word that was written on it.

 This name was so familiar to you and for some reason, your heart really hurt when you kept staring and thinking about it. You started to feel alone and really lonely all of a sudden.

 “Who...is Seungcheol…? Why can’t I remember anything…?”

 Tears started to fall from your face even though you didn’t know why you were crying. You tried to wipe them away, but they kept falling. The next thing you knew, you were hugging onto the piece of paper and sobbing heartbrokenly.

[sensitivefern]

An Excellent Cosmetic.

Pimpernel Water is so sovereign a beautifier of the complexion, that it ought always to have a place on a Lady's toilet.

To remove Freckles.

Take Houseleek, and Celandine, of each an equal quantity; distil in a sand heat, and wash with the distilled Water.

A Water for Pimples in the Face.

Boil together a handful of the herbs Patience, and Pimpernel in Water; and wash yourself every day with the decoction.

[The Toilet of Flora]

===

The most dangerous man, to any government, is the man who is able to think things out for himself, without regard to the prevailing superstitions and taboos. Almost inevitably he comes to the conclusion that the government he lives under is dishonest, insane and intolerable, and so, if he is romantic, he tries to change it. And even if he is not romantic personally he is very apt to spread discontent among those who are. Ludwig van Beethoven was certainly no politician. Nor was he a patriot. Nor had he any democratic illusions in him: he held the Viennese in even more contempt than he held the Hapsburgs. Nevertheless, I am convinced that the sharp criticism of the Hapsburg government that he used to loose in the cafés of Vienna had its effects – that some of his ideas of 1818, after a century of germination, got themselves translated into acts in 1918. Beethoven, like all other first-rate men, greatly disliked the government he lived under. I add the names of Goethe, Heine, Wagner and Nietzsche, to keep among Germans. That of Bismarck might follow: he admired the Hohenzollern idea, as Carlyle did, not the German people or the German administration. In his "Errinerungen," whenever he discusses the government that he was a part of, he has difficulty keeping his contempt within the bounds of decorum.

[H. L. Mencken, Book of Prejudices, Third Series]

===

By spring 1917... [it] was obvious that the Democratic party at that time was composed of three widely divergent elements: First, an ultraconservative Southern group whose actions were often dominated by the black specter of the Reconstruction period...; second, a set of plundering political machines in many of the large cities; third, in the North generally the party embraced the whole lunatic fringe of greenback, ‘free silver’ agrarian fanatics and near-Socialists. These latter elements had grown into a large voice in the party through Bryanesque demagoguery. In order to maintain ‘white ascendancy’ and political office, the Southern Democrats were prepared to cater to these Northern groups.

[Herbert Hoover]

===

Mrs. Boss, the practical nurse... always calls me ‘dear’... I am getting myself to say ‘O.K.’ and ‘There we are!’

Second printing of Upstate. The New Yorker has sent back Bomarzo and Teenage Caveman. Other articles have kept for about a year. I think that I am petering out with them. [...] At the Boston hospital, too, they ended every statement with ‘O.K?’ This got on my nerves, and they wouldn’t know how to take it when I said, ‘No, it’s not O.K.’ or ‘I don’t know whether it’s O.K. or not’.

They wanted me to have a ‘pacemaker’ for my heart, gave me a regular concerted sales campaign on the subject invoking Justice Douglas, who is supposed to be climbing mountains on the strength of it; but I resolutely refused. I don’t want electrodes attached to my heart, and I suspect that this is simply the latest medical fad. As usual, I got out as quickly as I could.

[Edmund Wilson]

===

Despite the fact that humans have no need for the milk of a cow, and would be far healthier if we were to eliminate cow’s milk from our diets completely, huge quantities of resources are consumed to enable cows to produce the milk demanded by Americans.

The average dairy cow today must consume approximately eighty pounds of food a day to keep producing so much milk. This includes grass, sorghum, hay, grain, corn, and more. To grow the sheer tonnage to meet the needs of these cows requires huge expanses of agricultural land – land that could be growing truly healthful food for the world’s population.

All this food for cows soaks up water, to the tune of 45 gallons a day per cow... The estimated one million dairy cows in California alone, a state that often faces serious droughts, use up 45 million gallons of water every single day of the year. The California Farm Bureau Federation reported that when all dairy farming and milk processing water needs are taken into consideration, 48.3 gallons of water are used to produce one eight-ounce glass of milk.

[Whitewash]

===

monkshood, wolfsbane | Aconitum Deadly poisonous... native North American aconitums are not available at your local garden centre, or at almost no other garden centre... all aconitums arise from tubers – the most poisonous part of the plant... trailing wolfsbane (Aconitum reclinatum) ‘needs to be grown through other plants in the garden. it looks great in the spring as the basal leaves emerge, but it can get a little wild as it loops its way here and there. In late spring or early summer, elongated white to cream-colored flowers are formed’... to propagate, cold-stratify seeds in moist sand or perlite for 3 months; germinate at 70°; terminal cuttings in late spring; small tubers can be dug up and planted elsewhere...

[Armitage’s Native Plants]

===

Red mulberries have ‘never achieved wide popularity in the American diet, mainly because they are easily damaged during shipment (though they freeze well)’... the unripe fruit, bark, and raw shoots should never be eaten on account of their tendency to give people ‘hallucinations’ and ‘nervous agitation’... the leafless shoots, on the other hand, make a tasty morsel when boiled... various parts of the tree were used by Native Americans to loosen up their backed-up bowels and cure their ringworm...

[Book of Forest and Thicket]

===

❚Community Mourns Death Of Beloved Drunk Driver

Harry Shearer Retweeted Kim Masters I don't see why he doesn't choose to be alive. ...BREAKING: Joseph Nicolosi, the modern father of the torture known as ex-gay therapy, has died.

In a move that would be almost unfathomable today, SNL let avant-jazz legend Sun Ra and his Arkestra close out Season Three; dressed like space-traveling pharaohs, they delivered a free-form mind warp.

Funky 4 + 1: February 14th, 1981 In a truly historic moment, Saturday Night Live presented the first performance of rap music in the history of national network television.

Prince: February 21st, 1981 A 22-year-old Prince exploded onto SNL with a high-octane performance of "Partyup," bouncing, spinning, sliding, playing a wild guitar solo and then slamming down the mic and storming offstage. "I was blown away," said producer Jean Doumanian. "He was just the most original act I had seen in a long time." Unfortunately, Prince would be overshadowed by cast member Charles Rocket, who uttered his infamous on-air "fuck" during this very episode.

The Replacements: January 18th, 1986 The Minneapolis punk misfits manufactured a legendary feat of career suicide. After boozing it up backstage with host Harry Dean Stanton, they stumbled through "Bastards of Young," then switched clothes before coming out to attempt "Kiss Me on the Bus," during which frontman Paul Westerberg yelled "Come on, fucker" at guitarist Bob Stinson, who obliged by mooning the audience. The chaos led to the band receiving a lifetime ban from Lorne Michaels. "We were trying to do whatever possible to make sure that was a memorable evening," Westerberg said.

David Bowie: December 15th, 1979 Bowie was in his Berlin phase when he made this iconically weird SNL appearance, blending pop, punk, fashion and gender roles. He took the stage alongside unknown performance artists Joey Arias and Klaus Nomi, sang "TVC15" while wearing a dress and heels and walking a stuffed pink poodle, then put on a freaky headless marionette get-up for a rendition of "Boys Keep Swinging."

Sinead O'Connor: October 3rd, 1992 "I was stunned," said Lorne Michaels of the single most controversial moment in SNL history, "but not as much as the guy from the audience who was trying to charge her." In a performance that garnered more than 4,000 phone calls to NBC, O'Connor delivered a chilling a cappella rendition of Bob Marley's "War," changing the line "fight racial injustice" to "fight sexual abuse," and then tore up a picture of Pope John Paul II.

Robert Blake To Give Marriage Another Shot

Robert James Waller, Author of ‘The Bridges of Madison County,’ Dies at 77

Two people have been hospitalised in San Francisco after drinking tea from the same Chinatown herbalist. The city’s public health department said on Friday that the tea leaves bought at Sun Wing Wo Trading Company contained the plant-based toxin aconite.