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jaceyneedsabetterusername · 4 years

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Do You Trust Me?

Pairing: Arvin Russel x Reader

Summary: When Lenora finds out she’s pregnant and another girl turns up pregnant and murdered, Arvin and Y/N take matters into their own hands.

Warnings: Violence, Murder, Sexual Assualt, Teen Pregnancy, Cursing, Mentions of Rape, Bullying, Dark Religious Themes, Talk of Abortion DO NOT READ IF THESE BOTHER YOU (Very similar things to the movie)

Word Count: 7000

A/N: So Lenora doesn’t die in this but that part is instead replaced by the Reaster girl being found dead (I named her Jeanette... I didn’t remember if they gave her a first name)

A/N 2: I know I’m writing characters that exist already but like I feel like I’m going to Hell for writing this. Any other Christians feel that way about liking the movie?

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Secrets were hard to keep in such a small town as Coal Creek. Everyone knew everyone and if one person saw something, the whole town knew about it by next morning. That’s why Lenora had kept her secrets with Reverend Teagarden from all except you. Other than Arvin, you were her only friend in the world. It felt nice to have another girl to talk to because as much as she loved her brother, it was nothing like having a sister. Though you weren’t related, just friends from school, it was the closest thing she had.

The two of you had bonded over the harassment from boys at school. Unlike Lenora, you had no problem dishing back threats and abuse. You were more like Arvin in that sense, not always terrified that the Lord was going to smite you for defending yourself. You and Arvin were close too because of it.

The day you two met, he’d gone to pick Lenora up from school one day to find the two of you cornered out back by Dinwoodie and his boys. They called Lenora ugly, as per their daily routine, and said they wouldn’t fuck her with a bag on a her head. Tommy Matheson had a paper bag held over her face, holding her down while she squirmed.

“There ain’t nothing alive that would willingly let you touch them, Dinwoodie!” You spat while Orville Buckman held you back, his arms wrapped around your body, keeping your arms . pinned to your side, “You’re a vile thing. Hell, I’m sure a dead pig wouldn’t let you fuck it.”

Dinwoodie spun around and blew a hard smack across your face, “Lenora here ain’t much different than that. But you on the other hand, I’d take you whether you wanted it or not. I like a girl with a dirty mouth. And lucky you, I won’t make you wear the bag.”

He fisted your hair and pulled your face close to him, trying to force a kiss from you but spat in his face, a massive drip of saliva landing in his eyes and smaller particles spewed across his lips. “You nasty bi-” Gene Dinwoodie reared back, ready to hit you again when suddenly Arvin came out of nowhere, sending a solid blow straight into Gene’s face, sending him flying to the ground with a crack.

Orville let you go to go after Arvin and Tommy did the same to Lenora. You ran over to her and pulled the bag from her head, seeing evidence of her silent tears all over her face. Once you saw she was okay though, you ran over to help Arvin, who had found himself dragged to the ground by the three boys. Lenora got up too, screaming for them to stop.

“Stop!” You yelled, pulling at Gene’s arms to try and get him to stop kicking Arvin. He shoved you back harshly by the chest but you caught yourself, returning with a sharp blow to his face with your locked fist.

The enraged boy smacked you even harder than before, sending your ass to the ground with thud that you knew would leave a bruise. Your hands and knees got skinned up as you skid slightly on the pavement. Lenora kept pulling on the boys too, begging them to stop but to no avail.

“Ha, sister fucker!” The three of them called out to Arvin before leaving the three of you alone.

“Are you okay?” You asked the boy that you hadn’t met before, who was curled up in a ball on the ground and holding his stomach. He groaned in response, trying to push himself up but requiring your assistance. “Thank you for what you did back there. I’m sorry this happened.”

He stretched, flinching at the slight movement. He sent a small nod towards you but then turned towards Lenora, “I’m sorry I wasn’t here sooner, Lenora.” Words couldn’t describe the guilt he felt for allowing this to happen.

“It-it’s okay, Arvin. It wasn’t that bad this time. Y/N here took the brunt of it, unfortunately.” Lenora turned to you, “‘M sorry about that, by the way. You didn’t need to step in for me.”

You had stood up about the same time Arvin did, brushing as much of the dirt off your bleeding and scraped up knees as you could without flinching, “Those guys are ass holes, Lenora. I did need to.”

Lenora piped up, “Oh, um, Y/N, this is my brother Arvin. Arvin, this is Y/N. She just moved here.”

“It’s nice to meet ya.” You greeted the boy with a pained smile, your face hurting from the blows you’d just taken.

Arvin nodded, “You too.” He paused for a moment, “Can I give you a ride home? I don’t need them boys catching up with you again on the ride home. Besides, your face is getting mighty red. I might have something back at my house to keep it from bruising up too bad.”

You looked over at Lenora, sending her a questioning look, like asking if you could trust this boy who had just come to your rescue, which may have seemed like an odd inquiry to have since he just tried to take on the guys harassing you, but your encounters with boys in this town hadn’t gone all too well thus far. The girl looked unfazed though with almost a hint of excitement that you could possibly be going to her home.

“Um, yeah, I’d like that. Thank you.” You tucked a messy strand of hair behind your ear before looking back up at Arvin to see that he was already staring at you.

That was months ago. You’d gotten settled into Coal Creek by now and the abuse from Dinwoodie had stopped entirely after Arvin had gone full vigilante to beat the shit out of them all. Speaking of Arvin, the day he saved you and Lenora, he asked you on a date and the pair of you had been going steady ever since. If there was ever a couple to not be fucked with, the town had learned it was you two.

This weekend, you’d gone over to the Russel’s home for supper at their Grandma’s invitation. It was delicious, as usual, as that woman had the God-given ability to produce miracles in that kitchen. As you all finished up, Uncle Earskell asked Arvin to help with something upstairs so he left without a second thought to help his kin.

Lenora had been looking at you funny all night, as if trying to catch your eye. After helping Grandma (which she insisted you call her as well) clean up supper, Lenora pulled you off to the side, “Y/N, let’s go on a walk. I need to tell you something.”

The weight in her eyes told you how serious this was so you just nodded, “Yeah, yeah, of course. Let’s go.”

She grabbed a lantern on her way out the door and towards the barn. It was already dark, despite only being seven in the evening. Lenora led you out there and then closed the door before sitting on the hay. “So what is it?” You asked nervously. Normally, you would have made a joke but something told you that this wasn’t a joking matter. Anxiety buzzed all around her.

“Y’know the new pastor? Preston Teagarden?” Lenora began, wringing her hands together and beginning to hide under her long red hair.

You nodded, the question having an obvious answer as everyone, including your God fearing Mama and Aunt, went to church every Sunday. “What about ‘im?”

“Well… um… y’see. We… we had sex.” She whispered the last word like it was the dirtiest thing she could fathom saying.

Your eyes blew wide and your mouth dropped open, “You what?” You whispered back in shock.

“Shh!” She held her finger up to her lips, “He said that to bear yourself as God made his first children was to truly turn yourself to Him.”

You were having a difficult time processing this new information. Arvin and you had both agreed that there was something off about that new preacher since the first day you met him but you wouldn’t have guessed it was anything like this. “Lenora, that makes no sense. God sees everything. He’s already seen you in your birthday suit. He doesn’t need the preacher to see it too.”

Part of you felt bad for the way you were reacting, especially when you saw the way your best friend shrunk back a little in embarrassment. Clearly, he’d manipulated her into getting what he wanted, using her faith as a weapon for her sexual exploitation, but of course she didn’t see it like that because his words were specifically tailored to get her to believe him. Now as you said these things, though, it was becoming clearer to Lenora that she had been manipulated.

“That’s not all…” She continued.

You held her arm gently, “What is it?”

Her eyes got wide with fear, “You can’t tell anyone okay? You gotta promise.” Her hand covered yours, gripping tightly to ensure that you grasped the severity of the situation.

You swallowed hard, honestly scared by her reactions to whatever was happening. This wasn’t like sweet, simple, calm Lenora. Nonetheless, you nodded, “I promise.”

“I think I’m pregnant.”

You actually choked, “What? Are you sure?” This was bad. This was so bad.

Her eyes began to well up with guilty tears, “Yeah, I am. I was pretty sick a few weeks back. Couldn’t eat nothin’ cause I kept throwin’ up. And I haven’t had that time of the month in two months.”

“Two months, Lenora? Shit…” You whispered, leaning back against the hay. Even before moving to Coal Creek, you came from a small town in Pennsylvania where this had happened to a few girls. In fact, it wasn’t uncommon in that particular town. Your daddy had been a doctor before he died so you’d seen more than a few cases of teenage pregnancy. For Lenora, though, this was practically unheard of. Good Christian girls don’t have babies before marriage. “Did you tell ‘im?”

Lenora’s breath shook, “Yeah ‘nd he said I was crazy and delusional. Just imaginin’ things. Said we never did nothin’ in the car. Then he said that I had to get rid of the baby or I’d be branded as the town whore with a bastard son. Even said it’d kill Grandma from the shame of it all if anyone found out.”

“That is not true, Lenora. None of it. You’re not a whore and it would be best for everyone if that baby inside you was a bastard. That disgusting man isn’t fit to walk the Earth we live on, let alone be a father.” It felt like the blood was rushing through your veins with full force, internally panicking about the situation. This was a big deal and, unfortunately, you weren’t sure if Lenora was emotionally capable enough to handle it alone. She’d always been quiet and lonely and an easy target for cruel people. “Are you keepin’ it?”

Her breathing shuddered as if she’d started crying, “I can’t kill the baby inside me and go on livin’ with that. But I don’t know what to do. I’m so scared,Y/N.” Lenora threw her arms around you and you held her as her body rattled against yours.

“Shh, you got me, alright? Me and Arvin. And I’m sure Grandma wouldn’t be ashamed if she knew what Teagarden did to you.” You insisted but she shook her head.

“You must think I’m stupid for believin’ that man.” She sat up wiping her eyes with her sleeve.

“No! I do not think you’re stupid at all. That monster took advantage of you, told you things to make you believe that his dirty, lustful thoughts were vindicated by the Lord. And he’s going to fucking pay.” You were furious now as you began to stand up, unsure of exactly what you’d do but you knew you were gonna do it.

Lenora grabbed your arm and pulled you back down, “No! Wait! Please-”

“What’s going on here?” Arvin opened the door with a concerned face.

Both you and Lenora jumped at his sudden intrusion but were even more nervous about what he’d heard.

“How much did you hear?” Lenora asked her brother, rubbing her hands on her thighs.

He walked in and slammed the door shut behind him, kneeling down in front of you and his sister, “That someone took advantage of you and Y/N was gonna make ‘im pay. Now what happened? What’s going on?”

This was one of the things that you’d always loved about Arvin. He had this protective nature over what he loved, ready to do anything to keep his loved ones safe, whether that was his sister, his girlfriend, or his grandmother. His brown eyes held so much sincerity and understanding for his younger sister but also fear for what had been done to her.

When she didn’t respond right away, Arvin looked over to you with questioning desperate eyes but you chewed your lip, knowing that it wasn’t your secret to tell. Instead, you looked back over to Lenora sadly and nudged her slightly.

“C-can you say? Please? I don’t wanna say it again.” Lenora begged you quietly, avoiding eye contact with Arvin. Though you could never truly know she felt, you tried to understand all the emotions that must have been running through her.

Arvin met your eyes, begging you to tell him what had happened. “She’s pregnant. It’s that Reverend Teagarden’s baby. Said that he told her that the only way to get close to God was to show him her in the form of Adam and Eve. But now he’s saying that she’s delusional and that it’s not his.”

Arvin’s temper flamed inside his chest. That explained the Reverend’s intense sermon about delusion this last Sunday. Nobody did this to his sister and got away with it. “I’ll kill him. I’ll fucking ki-”

“Arvin please-” Lenora tried to calm him but it was a weak attempt, still trying to stay quiet so Grandma wouldn’t notice.

“No, I’ll end his life for what he did to you.”

You watched your boyfriend reel around, hands holding onto his hat. He was livid, understandably so.

Lenora wasn’t quite sure why she wanted to protect Preston Teagarden after what he’d done to her but she thinks it’s that she was more concerned for her brother. Besides, no matter what Teagarden had done, did he really deserve to die for it?

“We don’t have to hurt him,” You spoke to your boyfriend, “If she wants, she can just have the baby and we’ll help raise it.”

“But he said it’s not his and that I’ll just be considered some no-good whore. He said it’ll kill Grandma. I don’t want to kill Grandma.” She was almost crying again at the thought of their grandmother ending up six feet under because of the shame of having her as a granddaughter.

“He said that?!” Arvin nearly yelled.

“But what if he’s right?” Lenora thought out loud, “I couldn’t live with myself if I got rid of the baby but I can’t risk killing Grandma. Maybe it would be better if I were dead-”

“No!” You and Arvin both said firmly in unison. You held her hand tight and Arvin knelt down again.

He swiped his thumb comfortingly across the back of her hands, “Don’t you ever say that. We have both already lost too damn much to lose each other too, ya hear me?”

Lenora nodded, tears falling down her cheeks when she closed her eyes.

“Why can’t we just ruin him? You can have the baby and let everyone know what he did. Everyone will know that he’s the father and it’ll destroy his life.” Arvin suggested, all of the miserable ways this could end for the man twisting his heart in sadistic pleasure.

You shook your head though, “No, they won’t. It’s different for girls in small towns like this. Doesn’t matter what happened, you’re still the dirty no good whore, even if you were raped. The man is treated like a victim for even having the inkling of an accusation brought up.” After a few minutes, you suggested, “Why don’t we run off. We’ll all go to a new town, somewhere where nobody knows none of us. We’ll tell ‘em that your husband died in the war, leaving you with the baby. I’ll go with. I’ll help you raise it.”

She shook her head, “But what about Grandma and Uncle Earskell?” She did have a point. They were both getting on in age and would need more help than they already did.

You all sat in silence for a few moments, brainstorming ideas of what to do. Eventually, Arvin looked at his sister, “Don’t worry. We’ll figure something out.”

The three of you went back to the house for the rest of the night, knowing that everyone would be getting suspicious if you were out any longer.

The three of you kept the secret quiet, barely even speaking about it to each other. You’d been doing as much research on babies in the libraries at school, which earned you quite a few disapproving looks from people who assumed that you and Arvin were expecting. You were serious when you said that you had every intention of helping Lenora and so was Arvin.

Weeks had gone by with relatively no news. Well, that’s what the town thought at least. After finding out about what the Reverend had done to Lenora, Arvin had told you about his plan to watch him.

The pair of you had spent several afternoons staked out near the church, watching as he went to the place of worship and then left at night. But then you started noticing a frequent visitor. Jeanette Reaster. The pair would drive off to a little secluded field and, sure enough, Teagarden would have his way with her. Though you couldn’t hear what was said, it was clear that they’d been praying beforehand before she submitted to him fully. Now, you knew Jeanette Reaster and, much like Lenora, she was the last person you’d imagine having premarital sex for the fear of being struck down by God. Whatever this man had said to them must have been real convincing.

“Piece of shit…” Arvin leaned forward against the steering wheel of his car while you sat beside him. You both watched on as the Reverend laid the girl down and began his assault of falsely “holy” acts.

For respect of Jeanette, you both looked away during the actual act but when you saw her ride off, Teagarden got out of his car, a bunch of fabric in his hands and sniffed them as he watched her. “That fucking perv. How does nobody know about this?” You asked, disgusted. Reaster was a good girl. She didn’t deserve this abuse.

“We know about it.” Arvin said, putting the car in reverse, “And that’s enough.” Less than a week later, word got out that Jeanette Reaster had run off. Grandma had told Arvin and Lenora that her mother had said to her privately that Jeanette left a note saying that she was pregnant but the father refused to believe that he was the father. To spare her family the shame, she ran away and begged them to just say that they had no idea what had happened to her. That’s what her parents intended to do for their daughter’s sake but had entrusted Grandma with the secret just so they had somebody to talk to about it.

The day after she disappeared, they found her body on the side of the road just a few towns over. Nobody had any idea of what had happened except for you and Arvin. Both of you were convinced that Teagarden had murdered her to keep his secret from getting out.

The anger that was held between you and Arvin both was unparalleled. In part, you both felt partially responsible for her death. If only you’d said something, maybe you could have saved her. But neither of you even knew she was pregnant. That monster did to her exactly what he had probably planned to do to Lenora.

“We have to set things right.” Arvin said, sitting in his car one night with you in the woods, “That girl is dead and I can’t help but feel like it’s on me.” His head hung sadly, the weight of another death weighing on his heart.

You shifted sideways in the seat, your jeans rubbing against the vinyl car seats. You placed a hand gingerly on his cheek, “This is not your fault. This is the evil of a wicked man.”

“A girl is dead, Y/N. He got her pregnant and murdered her. He got Lenora pregnant and tried to convince her she was crazy. He’s taking advantage of innocent girls out here and then tying up the loose ends.” Arvin sat there, so much hurt behind his brown eyes. Then an idea dawned on him, “Do you trust me?”

The question took you off guard and it showed but you answered honestly, “Yes.”

Perhaps being quieter in church was for the best for this particular scenario. You’d never been as religious as the rest of your family or the rest of the town, for that matter. But this morning, you found yourself on your knees by your bedside. “Lord, please forgive the things that I am about to do. Please understand that I do this with the best intentions of protecting every other girl to cross paths with Preston Teagarden and to avenge the death of Jeanette Reaster. I pray that you please forgive Arvin as well as I know he is a man with nothing but good and love in his heart. In Jesus’ holy name, amen.”

Almost on cue, your mom knocked on the door to see you on your knees, “Arvin is out front waiting for you.” She announced with a warm smile, noticing your outfit, “You look nice, sweetie! Since when do you clean up all cute for that boy?” She teased, a loving smile on her face as you smoothed out your yellow dress that hung just below your knees. The sleeves were tight and went about halfway down your biceps. It was far from revealing with a neckline that stopped just below your collarbones but it still was tight enough to accentuate the shape of your concealed breasts. A brown belt was tied around your waist, showing off your figure.

“Yeah, well I figured that for once I might as well dress up and do something nice.” The lie slipped out smoothly despite the racing of your heart in your chest.

She pulled you in for a hug, “Well you tell Arvin that I want you back by nine tonight! I’ll be going over to Mrs. Hadderson’s for quilting today, just so you know, in case I’m not home when you get back.”

You picked up your bag and pulled her into a side hug, “Alright, Mama. Love you!” You hollered, running out the door. Arvin was dressed normally, just his blue jeans and t-shirt, but he still looked great as always.

When you slid into the passenger seat of his car, he perked up and looked over at you, “Not used to seeing you like this on any day but Sunday.” He attempted to joke but found it difficult considering what the two of you were planning on doing.

After driving a ways down the road, he asked, “Are you sure you want to be a part of this? Because I can drop you off with Lenora and I’ll take care of this myself.”

Looking over at him to see his eyes scanning your face for signs of hesitation, you placed your hand on his leg, “I’m not letting you do this alone.”

Not too deep down, Arvin felt terrible for allowing you to partake in this. Death had always seemed to follow him wherever he went; he didn’t want you to be stuck with the same curse. The two of you developed a plan but Arvin had created a backup just in case you decided you didn’t want to partake, not that he would blame you. He was terrified beyond belief himself but he’d decided that for the sake of every other girl in this town and any other one’s Teagarden had harmed in the past, he had to do this.

The only thing making him feel remotely at peace with your involvement was the fact that you weren’t actually doing the killing. You were the diversion, he was the trigger man. Arvin sighed, relenting to the fact that you were in on this, “Did you bring the rope?” He asked, eyes flicking over to you and your bag between glances at the road that moved beneath the wheels of his car.

You dug around in your little bag and pulled out a small length of rope, a weapon chosen for the lack of clean up. “Got it. You got the gun?”

Arvin pulled his denim jacket back just enough to show the handle of the Luger that once belonged to his father. This weapon was chosen for its reliability. Once you guys started, you had to finish otherwise he’d tell everyone.

Before you knew it, the tires were coming to a crunching halt on the rocky sideturn just around the corner from the church. A sudden wave of nausea came over you and you had to breathe deeply to settle it down. “You okay?” Arvin asked, reaching out for you.

You swallowed hard, “Yeah.” Sweat began to bead up on your brow as a million different images of what could happen in the next few minutes ran through your head.

Arvin watched as you zoned out on the dashboard and he knew exactly what was going on in your mind. It was the same inner conflict he’d had this morning before picking you up, when he first pocketed the gun. “Whatever happens today, I need you to know that I love you Y/N.”

You sucked a quick breath in. Neither of you had ever used the L-word before. Arvin was scared to because he’d lost so many people and the fewer people he loved, that fewer people he could lose. You had just never loved anyone romantically before and were too terrified that maybe you’d say it too early or think you felt it when you really didn’t. With Arvin, though, you knew it. “I love you too, Arvin.” You leaned forward and kissed him on the lips deeply, wanting nothing more than to stay against his skin for the rest of your lives. But, unfortunately, there was something you had to do first.

“Remember, just get him to bring you to the field. I will be there waiting. I won’t let anything happen to you, you hear?” Your faces were close together, so close your foreheads almost touched, as he went over the plan one last time, trying to make sure that you knew that you were safe as long as he was around.

“I know.” You gave him a small, reassuring smile, though it was far from a grin of actual happiness.

Arvin watched as you got out of the car, leaving the small bundle of rope behind, and walked down the dirt driveway to the church. You looked just like someone that pervert would fall head over heels for. There was an innocent sway to your hips and the way you held your bag close to your body screamed insecurity, but the kind of a young girl who doesn’t know how beautiful she is. The funny thing was that this wasn’t something totally out of character for you. Sure, you had a mouth and fist that could dish as much as it could take, and yeah, you and Arvin had been together for almost half a year, but there was still a youthful innocence to you. There was still a brightness in your eyes and a pep in your step, one that hadn’t been beat down by the tragedies of life yet. It was one of the things that Arvin found most attractive about you but it was also one of the things that Preston Teagard would as well.

The doors of the church were cracked open just slightly when you approached and you could see the Reverend sitting in the pews, reading his Bible, through the gap. Taking one less final deep breath, you pressed the door open and stepped in, the heels of your little white chucks padding against the hardwood. Teagard turned around at the sound, “Why, hello, there.” He greeted warmly. It disgusted you how this man could act no different after knowing what he’d just done but the worst monsters were human.

“Uh, hi there, Reverend. I’m sorry to bother but I just needed to talk to you about something.” You began, accentuated your Appalachian drawl while trying to make your voice sound as young and innocent as you could.

He patted the pew beside him, “Well, my child, you’ve come to the right place. That’s what I’m here for. Now, why don’t you tell me what’s on your mind?”

Skin crawling as you walked, you forced your feet to move towards the man and sit beside him. Right away, his arm stretched behind your shoulders as he sat uncomfortably close. At first, you avoided eye contact, “Well, um, you see, I’ve been… straying from the light and I really want to get right with God.”

This had to be the first truth you’d told anyone other than Arvin today. You felt too terrible lying in the presence of God so you’d found a way to genuinely get your feelings off your chest while still luring Teagarden into your trap.

He rubbed his chin and hummed, “The fact that you acknowledge this means you haven’t strayed too far. God always comes back to his flock, even to those little sheepies who’ve gone astray. Why don’t you tell me more.” He urged.

Your hands squeezed the strap of your bag tightly, “I… I have lustful thoughts sometimes.”

Preston was lucky he’d had a lot of practice concealing his emotions because he’d be lying if he said that those words didn’t stir something in him, “Now are these just thoughts or have you acted on them?”

“Oh, just thoughts, Reverend. I’ve never acted on any of them.” You reassured, finally meeting his eyes. They seemed to look at you with such understanding that you could see why Lenora and Jeanette had fallen for him.

He nodded in approval, “And who are these thoughts about?”

This was where you’d have to do a bit more lying, “I don’t really want to say.” You blushed bright red. You knew that Preston must have taken this as a sign that it was about him but it wasn’t. Your dirty thoughts never strayed from Arvin.

Preston looked away and then back down at you, “You’re going with that Russel boy, right?”

Silently, you nodded, not wanting to incriminate your boyfriend too much in this process of confession.

“Has he ever touched you?” Preston pressed, his body getting closer to yours inch by inch until your legs were nearly touching.

The red in your cheeks wasn’t part of the act anymore but genuine. You shook your head, “No, never.” You felt almost panicked at the question.

“Have you ever touched yourself to these thoughts?” His voice became slower, more cautious as his inquiries got riskier and riskier.

You found yourself unable to maintain eye contact with him anymore and looked back down at your shoes instead, just shaking your head, “No, I feel too weird. Like it’s a violation or somethin’.”

Preston looked away, as if considering something, before turning back to you, “Can I show you some place? I find it helps me feel closer to God when I feel like I’m goin’ astray. Perhaps I could help.”

Hook and sink. He’d fallen right into the trap. With a shy nod, you agreed sweetly, “Yeah, yeah, I’d like that. Is it far?”

Teagard shook his head, “Oh no, not too far at all. But I’ll drive so we don’t have to walk.”

Getting him to drive you to the spot was just as easy as you imagined it would be. With a quick glance in the rear view mirror, you noticed a car in the far distance behind you that you immediately recognized as Arvin following. Preston’s car came to a stop in the same field you’d seen him take Jeanette Reaster to a few weeks ago, facing the woods ahead.

It really was quite peaceful and would have been a pretty sight if you weren’t with a sexual predator. Again, his arm slid around your shoulders and you breathed in deeply, the intense sexual tension making you uncomfortable even though you had every intention of finishing him off before he even got a hand up your skirt.

“You said that Russel boy has never touched you. Have you ever shown him yourself?” The fact that this man had the nerve to ask you such questions disgusted you beyond belief but you kept up the facade.

“Like naked?” You clarified, seeing him nod, “No, not naked. We went to the lake one time so he saw me in my bathing suit then but that’s not exactly the same thing.”

Preston chuckled at your naivety, “No, no, not the same thing at all. You know how you’re supposed to save yourself for marriage to be right with the Lord. But there is nothing that brings you closer back to our heavenly father than to be as Adam and Eve were in the Garden of Eden, the garden of pure paradise.”

“How is that so?” You cranked up the childlike inquisitive nature as you looked up at him with big doe eyes.

Preston had to fight the urge to take you here and now, looking at you like this, but he remained strong for the sake of the process. “They were made in his image. We all were but they were his original children. The pure, unaltered image of God himself, before the sin of man tainted it all. By showing yourself in your pure, unaltered image, you bring yourself closer to the light.”

Your brows furrowed, “But didn’t you just say that premarital sex is a sin?” This may have been jeopardizing your mission but you felt inclined to point out the hypocrisy before you offed the man.

He nodded, chest falling and rising with a heavy sigh, “It depends on who you’re with. I’m a man of God myself and I like to model myself after Jesus. I’d like to think that makes me an extension of His love and power and therefore an outlet for you to feel safe to do whatever you need to do in order to be right with Him.”

With a shaky breath, you bit your lip, “Alright. H-how do I-?”

Preston watched as you fiddled with the hem of your skirt and let his mind wander to what else those fingers might be good at. “First, let us pray.” He reached over and held your hand, “Lord, Y/N is showing herself to you. See her Lord, as you made her. She presents herself to you. Give her strength. Amen.”

“Amen.” You muttered after him, your fingers slowly going to unbutton your dress. This wasn’t how you’d imagined the first time a boy seeing you in your knickers going. In your mind, it had always been on a nice romantic evening with Arvin and a selfish part of you wanted it to stay that way but then you remembered why you were doing what you were doing and sucked down the reservations. At least you weren’t actually losing your virginity to the monster.

Nervous fingers fuddled with the button for just a moment too long and Teagarden twisted sideways, hands coming to cover yours, “May I?” He offered his assistance.

Your heart thumped so loud you could hear it but you nodded silently, letting your fingers fall onto your thighs. With deftly skilled fingers, he had your blouse unbuttoned before long and had pushed it off your shoulders. Your breath caught in your throat at this much exposure, your breasts just barely concealed under only the fabric of your bra. Lord, you prayed silently, please let this be over with quickly.

Your eyes slid closed, trying to imagine that it was Arvin touching you instead of Preston Teagarden but then the mere thought of comparing the two made you sick to your stomach. They were nothing alike.

A set of chapped lips kissed your forehead gently, then your cheek, and then, finally, your lips. At first, you drew back, but still kept your eyes closed, trying to mask the disgust with untouched hesitance. You forced your body to relax again and Preston took that as a cue to continue with what he was doing, his lips returning to yours.

Wasting no time, he’d crawled over you until your back was flush against the seat. You placed your hands awkwardly and haphazardly on Preston’s shoulder’s, trying to feign inexperienced confusion. You and Arvin may not have ever gone all the way, but you’d at least gone this far.

Preston’s lips moved down your neck and your breath got caught in your throat. As much as you hated it, he knew what he was doing. This man knew all the right buttons to push to make a nervous girl submit to his every desire and, though you were well aware of the game he was playing and had zero attraction to him, the physical reactions were almost impossible to stop. Your body shuddered when his stubble, something Arvin lacked, scratched the sensitive skin of your neck, sending a shiver down your spine. Your eyes were open wide now, just waiting for your boyfriend to finally show up and save you from this situation.

Arvin approached the car and slowly and quietly as he could. The windows were up so it wasn’t too big an issue as long as he wasn’t clanging metal but he figured he didn’t want to take any chances. When approached the driver’s window, his heart wrenched and he immediately regretted putting you in this position.

Preston was on top of you, his hands roaming all around your semi-exposed chest. He knew that you’d never been exposed like that to anyone before and he suddenly felt sick with himself for allowing the first time to be with anyone beside him, let alone Preston fucking Teagard.

He expected to have to psych himself up for the actual kill, to have to convince himself to do it but when you locked eyes with him, a silent plea to get the man off of you, it came unnervingly natural. With the rope already wrapped around both of his fists, Arvin reached for the handle and threw the door open, looping the rope around Preston’s neck and dragging him back out of the car. Preston’s eyes were wide with shock and fear, “What the fuck?!” He hollered in fear, the words turning to gagging and choking. His hands grasped at the rope but Arvin had it pulled too tightly.

Preston’s body was kicking against the grass but his neck and head were pressed against Arvin’s chest, who was kneeling in the field.

“You really thought you could get away with what you did to my Lenora? To that poor Reaster girl you murdered? And then I bet you were willing to do the same to her over there too, huh?” He seethed, notioning over to you with a flick of his chin.

The reverend tried to say something, anything to defend himself or get himself out of this situation but Arvin never let up so the words came out as disgustingly graphic chokes. You crawled out of the car, not knowing what you could do to help or secure the situation but feeling useless now.

In a few minutes time, his lips had turned blue and the thrashing of his body had stopped. Arvin finally let up and the body slump into the grass. He crawled back and away from the man who had only moments ago been all over you, touching you.

That was when he remembered that you were there still. He’d gotten so blinded by rage that he almost blacked out, caught up in the task at hand. But when he looked up, his heart began to beat again and he stood up, rushing to you, “Are you okay? Did he hurt you?”

Your face was pale and blank, almost as if you were in shock. Your top was still totally unbuttoned, white modest bra still exposed to the world but you didn’t look like you cared at all. If Arvin was being honest, this wasn’t how he’d pictured seeing you topless for the first time going. He always hoped it would be romantic and with more than enough time to compliment every inch of your perfect body. Instead, you looked scared and shocked and almost like you could be sick.

“Y/N?” He urged, coming stand between you and Preston’s body, attempting to break your view of it. He reached down and began to re-button your blouse for you.

“I’m fine,” You said flatly, only moving to look up at him, “Are you okay?”

With a glance down at his knuckles, the rope burn was clear to see, but Arvin had been through much worse, “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. I’m so sorry that I let him do that. This whole idea was stupid and now-”

“No,” You interrupted, finally snapping out of your shocked state and bringing your hands up to rest on his, which were on your chest now, “He can’t hurt anyone anymore.”

Arvin didn’t actually feel remorse for killing the man. The only thing he wanted was to take you back home, or rather far away, where there weren’t any reminders of today’s events. He wanted to show you how special you were, how much he loved you, and how brave he thought you were for being willing to be Teagarden’s last victim for the better good of the world.

#the devil all the time #tdalt #tdalt fics #arvin russell #arvin russel x reader #arvin russel imagines #do you trust me?#dark fics #tom holland #tom holland imagine #tom holland one shot #tom holland x reader

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shoichee · 4 years

Note

congrats on 100 followers bubs 💖💖💖

could i please have 34 with Murasakibara,,, i just lub him sm 🥺

-YOUR anon

HELLO **MY** anon <33 im back from the dead to give you murasakibara mush pls accept my offerings

Murasakibara x Reader

34. “You come to my room and wake me up at 4am, to cuddle?”

Word Count: 1497

prompt list here

»»—————　☼　—————««

You shouldn’t have crammed all of your summer homework in one day.

A horrible decision on your part, really.

Because here you are now, your stiff back threatening to snap at any movement you make on the chair. No matter how much you rub your eyes in an attempt to “refresh” your eyesight, only your half-finished papers and a jarring 2:13 a.m. reflect back to your vision. Even still, you refuse to put down the pencil and even more so refuse to stop writing, even if whatever you wrote for the past hour was completely elaborate ox dung. Still, you had no one to blame except yourself for procrastinating… except maybe for a certain giant who constantly clung onto you for attention at every moment this past break.

No, no, you lethargically shook your head. It was still your choice to spend time with him… it wasn’t like he forced you to neglect your assignments.

Your eyelids keep playing a dangerous game of flitting open and shut on you while your body has been swaying gently back and forth to the tick-tocks of the room’s clock. Your hand still perseveres in continuing to be the MVP for the past 24 hours, even despite feeling the burning aches of a cramp since the early evening. Gradually, you feel the room starting to teeter-totter, not being able to distinguish a clear line between the brighter, lit-up spot of your room versus the unlit parts elsewhere.

“Oh fuck…” You blink owlishly at the clock. “It’s… 3:12 already?...” You stare down at your work for a few moments too long before you realize that you’re almost finished with everything, even if the quality of said work was questionable at best. You resignedly sigh before setting down your pencil for the first time for a “break,” but as soon as you did, it was as if the only anchor to your wakefulness floated away to the giant seas of your mind. Suddenly, your cold desk becomes the softest pillow, and you begin to gently snooze away.

———

Tap, tap, tap.

“... Mm…”

Tap, tap, tap, tap.

“Mm?...”

Groggily pushing yourself off the desk, you rub your cheek and neck from the soreness of the unnatural position your body slept in for… how long did you sleep for?

Shit, it was only gonna be a 15 minute break—shit, fuck, what time is it?

4:07 a.m.

You missed out on almost an hour of potential progress, an hour of precious time to finish this on time. You immediately slapped your forehead to chase the last remnants of sleep away and to reprimand yourself. But besides that… didn’t you hear something that woke you up in the first place? You don’t remember setting up any alarm… you didn’t even let go of your pencil once until earlier.

Tap, tap, tap, tap.

You whirl around your chair to try to discern the source of the sound, not sure if you’re still hallucinating from lack of sleep or if there truly was something there in the dark. The sounds sounded a bit different than when they woke you up though. You really think you’re being delusional, but they almost sounded… impatient and annoyed.

There it is, again. The incessant tapping.

After stumbling through your room and groping the air to gauge your relative location to your other things, you first opened the door to find absolutely no one there.

Tap, tap. “.... -chin.”

You tripped and scrambled out of your wits, your drowsiness definitely gone now. As you whipped your head behind you to face the window and the source of the taps and now muffled voice, you were convinced that it was an unconventional robber. Grabbing the sharpest ballpoint you had on your desk, you clumsily sneak under the window sill, and from there, you jumped up to announce your presence with an exaggerated yell before opening the locks of your window and thrusting the pen to your potential assailant. You could not identify the person because it was unusually dark in the wake of a new moon, but all you saw was a looming figure whose face remained anonymous because their head was cut off at the top of your window. The person easily catches your hand holding the pen mid-thrust, and their abnormally large hand is oddly familiar to you.

“... What are you doing, Chibi-chin?” a very familiar drawl hummed. Murasakibara sighs exasperatedly before he uses his clutch on your hand as leverage to lower his head into your opened window. In his other hand, a few plastic bags rustle as he tries to carefully set them down on the nearest table inside. “Seriously, you could’ve hurt yourself.”

“Atsushi?!” you yell in a hushed manner. “What are you even doing here climbing up the tree and perching on my window? I seriously thought you were a robber!” His hold on your hand remains firm as he clumsily lets himself in despite the small size of the window compared to his body.

“You told Muro-chin to not let me see you for the whole day, Chibi-chin,” he frowns as if it was the most obvious reason. “He said it’s so you could focus on your work without any distractions, but who in their right mind would go about their day without eating any snacks?” At his words, your gaze moves to the bundle on the table.

“So you came here just for that?”

“Hmph,” he pouts. “I was going to come in tonight when I was sure you were sleeping, so you couldn’t yell at me for trying to… see you.”

“Uh huh…” you slightly narrow your eyes at him. “Is that so?”

“... Tch, snacks don’t taste as good without you here, Chibi-chin.”

“... Uh huh,” you raise a huge brow at the food on the table. “These look like full-on appetizers and meals meant for lunch and dinner, not for snacking.”

“...” He slowly grows pink at your verbal suspicion, and he averts his eyes and huffs in annoyance. “Tch, don’t look into it so much, I was just in the mood for Korean cuisine.”

“At this ungodly hour?”

“Like I said, food tastes better with you. Stop being annoying.”

You inwardly smirk at his antics, gazing fondly at your contrarian giant. “Alright then, hurry up and finish your food and go while I go back to finishing my work, okay?” And you took his silence as a “yes” from his end, shuffling your feet back to your chair before you picked up your pencil to resume scribbling more incoherent sentences. For a few minutes, the only sounds you could hear in the room was the sound of graphite gliding across your paper and Murasakibara’s soft chewing of rice cakes from a few feet away. You knew he was watching you, but you silently commended him in your head for not interrupting your work for once.

Well, you spoke too soon.

When you stretch up your arms in an attempt to loosen your tense back and yawn, your life flashes before your eyes when something is popped into your mouth. In a panic, you try to spit it out, but Murasakibara holds a finger to your lips. Since when was he right behind you?

“It’s just a rice cake, Chibi-chin,” he mumbles reassuringly. “Eat it.”

“It’s good, but…” you protest. “Shouldn’t you be eating this?”

“... It turns out I bought too much, that’s all.”

“That’s a fat lie, Atsushi, and both of us know that.”

“...” He frowns at your “know-it-all” face before he gives in. “... You probably didn’t eat at all today… knowing you.”

“Anything else you wanna confess?” you hum teasingly, knowing how he can never be honest unless you nudged him so.

“... and I wanted to cuddle.”

You stare at your boyfriend incredulously.

“You come to my room and wake me up at 4am… to cuddle?”

“Do you… have a problem with that?” His words lack any usual poutiness and annoyance because in those rare moments of honesty, he is completely vulnerable… and mortifyingly shy. And he hates how he knows how much pleasure you get from seeing this side of him.

“No, stupid~” you gently tease him. “If it weren’t for you actually, I probably wouldn’t have woken up until morning and would be completely doomed. So thank you, Atsushi.” At your sincere words, he slinks off further into the dark corner, sulking away as he aggressively stabs the spicy rice cakes with wooden chopsticks in embarrassment while not looking at you one bit.

“Fiiiiiine,” you sighed. “You can cuddle me from behind and feed me while I work…” Murasakibara does a complete 180 and slides over straight to you using the swivel chair, happiness dancing behind his eyes on an otherwise impassive face.

Even when he glomps over you from behind and occasionally nudges your lips to eat with his chopsticks, you feel as if your lethargy completely melted away in his comforting presence…

He’s your very own soft pillow.

#anon #MY anon #kuroko no basket #knb #knb fics #knb scenarios #murasakibara atsushi #murasakibara #murasakibara x reader #murasakibara atsushi x reader #knb fluff #100 followers #100 follower milestone

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capri-ramblings · 4 years

Note

Hi may I please ask for headcanons or scenarios for yandere dorm leaders (separate) reactions seeing hacking their darling hacking into their phone, only to find out she accidentally sent (Grim: she butt dialed) them a voice message herself singing about her feelings for them and wishing they return her feelings one day.

I am so sorry this came up so late 😔 if you realized the pattern I've been trying to push up the earliest of my asks but god, my brain isn't cooperating but I really am giving my all to finish all my requests! I just got my first two anons too 😭💖 I really don't deserve any of your support but I am grateful! 😤💖 I'm also sorry that this ask in particular doesn't seem to have a balanced amount of paragraphs, I wrote it half asleep and after I cried cause one of our kittens passed today but it's okay I slept over Black Butler's Lacrimosa 👍🏻

Riddle Rosehearts

- Riddle's in a daze. The screen of his phone reflecting the soft hue of grey muddling in his eyes as he stared at the messages you sent him along with the voice note.

- ["I'm sorry, Riddle! It was an accident!"]

- You were referring to the voice note attached earlier, the one with you singing a song written especially for him to express your feelings. For him.

- An accident? Riddle doesn't see it that way. Not at all. In fact, he knows you did it on purpose. You wanted to send it to him and you only made it seem like it was an accident.

- It's adorable really. He doesn't know what to do or say. His eyes are transfixed onto the name on his screen. Your name. His budding flower.

- You love him. That's what you said. How can that be an accident? This was fate.

- You were meant to be his just as he was meant to be yours.

- Your little stunt placed a delusional spell on the young dorm head and maybe you should've taken more caution in your actions.

- Because now you've placed his heart on a platter.

- And dear, if you stab and wound it, there's a heavy price on your head.

Vil Schoenheit

- Stunning. You sounded so, exquisitely stunning.

- Even after he stopped replaying the voice note you'd sent him, Vil could still hear your voice humming in his head as if you placed a spell on his very senses.

- He's always known you kept your feelings for him to yourself and who could blame you? He was The Vil Schoenheit, the Poisonous Beauty of Night Raven. Anyone with eyes would understand your falling, oh but, he didn't care about anyone else did he?

- Vil's been pining over you ever since you two met. He didn't know what exactly appealed to him, but the way you stirred such vehement emotions in him with just a single smile, had him addicted to you.

- The rush of having someone as equally intoxicating as him by his side... There were times he'd admit he wanted to snatch you away from everyone else.

- That light you carried with you, Vil wanted it for himself.

- And now, he does. Doesn't he? You've just confessed your feelings for him and through a song nonetheless!

- How could he deny you now?

- Even if you claim it was an accident and that you never meant to send it to him in the first place, Vil won't let this chance go to waste.

- He'll have you, with or without your approval.

Kalim Al-Asim

- He bursts out laughing after the nervous sound of your voice through the voice note ended.

- Kalim laid sprawled onto his bed, one hand placed over his eyes as his chest heaved into a cacophony of amusement.

- "I love you"

- That's what you said,right? He wasn't just imagining the whole thing?

- When Jamil came into the room, questioning him on why he was laughing like a maniac, Kalim immediately leapt away from his bed and pressed play on the voice note.

- "Jamil, Jamil! You hear it too,don't you? This song?"

- Jamil recognized the voice as yours off the bat, but instead of commenting on it, he nodded his head and Kalim tackled him to the ground with a hug that seemed able to break him in half.

- "K-Kalim...!"

- "Hahahaha! It's real! It's real! The song is real!"

- Kalim is elated. Filled to the brim with a sickly, twisted euphoria, and it's all because of you.

- "She loves me,Jamil! She loves me!"

- He's not bothered by the fact that Jamil is narrowing his gaze and scrutinizing him with a glare, all he can think of is how to respond to this confession. How to tell you that he's also deeply in love with you. Infatuated really. Gods, Kalim would burn a thousand kingdoms in your name. Didn't you know that? How can he possibly make you understand? He doesn't know,his mind is racing with thoughts of you. But he'll find a way. He will,he has to.

- "I'll make her my wife!" Kalim exclaimed, "That's the only right way,right Jamil?"

- He doesn't give his friend a chance to reply, rushing towards the door as his thoughts carry him into another kind of world.

- Kalim can't even hear Jamil trailing after him,the dark haired male's expression beyond worried.

Idia Shroud

- Idia thinks it's all just a dream,really.

- He thinks it's a dream hearing you say his name repeatedly along with the words "I love you" in front of it.

- He's looking at his phone like he's never seen the thing at all, but something darker lurks behind his gaze

- Before he even realizes it,Idia's lips are stretched into this twisted grin, the reins of his obsession running loose.

- It isn't a dream. Is it? This is all real.

- He knows now because you're typing, frantically trying to tell him it was an accident that you sent a voice note with you singing your confession to him.

- Why would anyone scramble with their own words like that if it wasn't real?

- Idia's heart is racing but so are his thoughts and so is the spurring desire within him.

- Did you even know how much he held back for your sake? All the times he could've had you to himself.

- But now look at you. Scurrying your way into the deepest corner of his heart, and you think he's going to let you go?

- Oh, sweetheart. You're his eternal Spring why would he let you go now?

Azul Ashengrotto

- Azul is speechless. The screen of his phone the only light illuminating his reality.

- He keeps flickering his gaze back to your name then to the voice note he didn't dare to replay. The amount of pressure it gave him then made it feel that he'd revert back to his Mer-form.

- He's been longing to hear those words leave your lips for so long after all. Seeing how you were always so stubborn around him.

- This was truly a gift and who knew the one to grant him that was none other than you?

- Azul never believed in fate. But maybe...just maybe it does exist and maybe the world is giving him the chance to fulfill it

- He's over the moon until another message pops in and now you're telling him it was an accident.

- How could something like this be accidental? No. You're just being your stubborn self again.

- The way your voice sang those words to him...No one could ever pull something as genuine as that except for you.

- So,no,Azul doesn't believe it was an accident but he tells you he does anyway because he understands how overwhelming this was for you.

- He's so generous after all,right? He'll plan out something perfect in the end and then you'll finally be his.

Malleus Draconia

- Malleus thinks you're adorable.

- Even when you're babbling on your words,trying to tell him the voice note you sent him was all an accident.

- He's not really listening. Malleus is just dazed and flattered that someone would write a song for him, and that someone being you just hits the mark really.

- You're throwing your hands in the air, gesturing wildly as your cheeks flush red and Malleus is barely convinced.

- He knows you meant to send it in,sure maybe not today in particular,but it was saved and promised for later.

- But why such the long wait? Why didn't you gave it to him sooner? He doesn't know but it doesn't matter.

- He has you in front of him now.

- You're wondering why his eyes seem so dull and glazed over, hoping your little accident didn't make anything weird between you two.

- Oh,if only you knew the beast you just awakened.

Leona Kingscholar

- Leona isn't delusional,so when he sees the message you sent him after the voice note telling him it was an accident,he believes it.

- But that doesn't mean he's not going to use it as an advantage though.

- You just sang your heart out for him, calling him your king.

- What kind of idiot would let this moment go to waste?

-Leona has always been possessive of you and now that he knows you felt strongly about him,he's not going to let you go.

- His primal instincts are practically kicked alive and even if he has to hunt you down, you will be his.

- He doesn't even read you other messages. He needs a lot of rest for the plan he has in mind.

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mischiefthedreamerx · 3 years

Text

The Lies We Tell Ourselves

Synopsis: After being taken back to the TVA from Lamantis 1, Loki and Mobius have a little chat about trust, lies, their unsteady partnership and jealousy. Is this how it ends?

Word Count: 1.6k

A/N: This is just some alternative dialogue I came up with after Loki explains the truth about the TVA before being sent back to the time loop. Just some angst.

- - - - -

Mobius tapped his pencil against his notepad before beginning to write down Loki’s sudden outburst of false accusations against the TVA.

"So let me summarise the lie you and Sylvie have conquered up this time; the TVA is actually the ones lying to us, right?" He looked up from his notepad, satisfaction gleaming off his face. “Not a very good lie though.”

Loki shook his head in denial before he spoke up defending himself. "It's the truth, I swear it! Take me to Sylvie! She'll explain everything you need to know about this place.”

Mobious scoffed, his amused smile remained in perfect place which only aggravated Loki even more. "No chance, Loki. I'm not falling for your lies anymore."

Loki refused to back down and as he leaned forwards over the table. "Believe me. Just this once." This time he decided to lower his voice, the intensity in his tone sounded almost pleading. "You can trust me."

"Still think you can play these sorts of games with me? Lying won't get you nowhere this time. You’re out of luck." Mobious whispered harshly.

Loki pulled himself away with his back against the chair, arms folded across his chest, his chin lifted ever so slightly. "You really think you know everything about me don't you?" Loki questioned, his face hiding any sort of emotion.

"As a matter of fact, I do. I know more about you then you know yourself." Mobius boasted proudly. "And frankly, I no longer have much need for you considering you've chosen to work with the adorable little Sylvie." Mobius picked up his tempad and began to open it up.

"Have I broken your heart?" Loki teased, a small smirk creeping upon his lips. "Because if that's the case then I'm dreadfully sorry."

Mobius closed the tempad with an unnecessary snap. “No. You broke my trust, Loki."

Loki's victorious smirk dropped within seconds, eyes widening.

"Yeah, believe it or not I actually trusted you to do the right thing for once." The once playful atmosphere between them changed into something unpleasant, something almost suffocating. "I thought I'd give you the chance to be someone else, someone of your choosing instead of becoming a villain like everyone expects you to be." Mobius straightened his shoulders to compose himself. The disappointment was so easy to notice, on display with non attempt at even hiding itself.

For once, Loki was wordless from Mobius’s confession, breathing out a low sigh. He opened his mouth to speak but nothing was able to come out, no sarcastic remarks this time. Loki narrowed his gaze downwards to avoid the clear pained look on Mobius's face, his hands gripped his shirt forming fists from his folded position. Loki had broken many people’s trust before but this time it felt different somehow.

"Do you truly care for me?" Loki questioned curiously, he lifted his head back up to meet Mobius's eyes, analysing him.

"Considering I've been defending you time and time again ever since you got here, I'd say the answer is plain and simple." He explained, his hurtful expression changed into something more neutral.

"Even after I betrayed you?"

"Even after you betrayed me." Mobious confirmed.

Loki was set back, and even possibly surprised that Mobius had much trust in him despite knowing everything about his past and future. Was he feeling guilty for betraying him? Guilt had never been a feeling he felt before. It was a pointless feeling, what was done had been done. Guilt changed nothing but only made you pointlessly suffer for longer than necessary.

Loki gave it some thought, he kept his cold guard up despite it all.

"Then you're a fool."

A sad smile crossed Mobius's lips. "Yeah, maybe I am."

They fell silent in the large empty room, both trying to form something else to say. Loki knew this conversation would not work in his favour, not if Mobius's continued to disbelief him, could Loki possibly blame him for not believing him? The concept of trust was just as foreign to Loki as companionship was. He'd spent so long only trusting himself and relying on himself, wandering alone and pushing away the few remaining people that still cared for him. You could only push someone away so far till they no longer wish to keep trying to save you. And Loki has done exactly that. But why?

Guilt. Loki felt guilty for never appreciating those who did care for him. Still, it didn't change a thing. It was too late now.

Loki stood up, no longer being able to handle the drowning yet awkward silence.

"So what now?" Loki questioned, spreading out his arms out in annoyance.

Mobius smiled to himself at some inner thought he was having. "I don't know, Loki. You tell me." He said casually with ease. "Ready to tell the truth yet?"

Loki grumbled out an exasperated sigh. "I've told you the truth!”

"Okay, Loki, let's try something else; what caused the sudden nexus event on Lamantis-1?"

"How am I suppose to know? I was too busy trying to not get myself killed out there!" He began to pace slightly.

"You mean too busy flirting with yourself."

"No!" Loki protested. Mobius sat back comfortably and let out a laugh.

"And what's so funny?" Loki asked, his back turned away.

"You know, out of all the Lokis i've met, you're my favourite one so far." Mobious said.

Loki stopped his tracks, still facing away. "And I bet that you've said the same thing to all of them." He scoffed in amusement, hands on his hips.

"Feeling jealous?"

Loki rolled his eyes. "Would that surprise you? Considering you know so much about me." He turned around to face Mobius who still had that same smile on his face. "To answer your stupid question; no, I'm not jealous. I couldn't care less how many Lokis you've met."

"Wanna know why you're my favourite one?" He asked. Deep down, Loki was rather curious to know why, or craved to know why simply due to his pride of course or perhaps it was something more?

"No not really." Came his reply. Though Mobius knew that was a lie.

"Because you're so easy to rile up, I mean, look at you, all that pent up anger ready to pounce."

Loki turned away again, unimpressed by the answer but Mobius continued;

"Because unlike the rest, there's..how should I put it? A lot of depth to who you are. You're complex and unpredictable. But underneath all that mischief and chaos, there's a lot of pain too. Maybe we are more alike than we think."

Loki's shoulders slumped, still refusing to face Mobius like some child who did not wish to see the truth in front of him.

"You and I are nothing alike." Loki gritted his teeth, forcing his breathing to calm itself.

"Unlike you and Sylvie, I suppose?” Mobius said. This time, Loki turned around and went to sit back down.

"What's it to you? After all these years I've finally found someone who understands what it's like to to be me." He said defensively.

Understood what it was like to be alone. Though Loki refused to say that part out loud.

"Yeah, yourself." Mobius commented.

Loki chuckled as he stretched out his legs onto the table.

"Correct me if I'm wrong but do I sense a hint of jealousy from you?" Loki mused.

Mobius only laughed in response to Loki's idiotic analysis, he had no reason to respond to such an allegation. "Loki, feet off the table.” He said.

Loki stretched his legs out even more, resting his back down low into the chair. "Now look who's all riled up."

Their eyes clashed in some form of silent challenge. Mobius accepted the challenge as they both continued to stare into each other eyes, waiting for one of them to back down and accept defeat.

"Loki." Mobius warned, hand reaching for the tempad without breaking away. Loki placed his legs back down. So this was how it was going to end between them. "Alright, fine."

"Now, are you finally ready to tell me the truth?" Mobius asked for the finally time.

Loki blinked his eyes a few times. "You're in denial. You can't possibly tell me you've never doubted the TVA? Not even once?"

There was a brief pause. "No, not even once. There's never been a reason to doubt them."

"Not until now. Stop lying to yourself, Mobius. I'm trying to save you." But Mobius still held up his facade of smiles. Maybe now Loki could understand how alike they where, they had become delusional in their beliefs despite knowing something wasn't quite right. Loki believing he was a god destined to rule for all those years. He had to learn the hard way that it was only a bunch of lies he used to comfort himself from the painful reality.

"Alright, I think I've had enough. As you said earlier, our interests are no longer aligned." Mobius took the tempad and typed into it. A door shaped portal appeared.

The minute men entered the room to take hold of Loki, he did not fight back, there was no point. "You know, out of all the liars in this place and there are a great many, you're the biggest." Loki stood up, letting guards walk him towards the time loop.

"Why? 'Cause I lied about your girlfriend?"

"Oh, no. That I can respect. I mean, the lies you tell yourself."

Mobius narrowed his lips, not giving Loki the satisfaction of responding to him.

"Mobius, I thought we were friends." Loki tried at one last attempt.

"So did I, Loki, so did I." Mobius stood up from his seat taking his belongings with him and made his way towards the exit. Loki was escorted back into the portal.

Mobius paused, briefly turning his head to the side peering behind him at the empty space where the portal had now vanished.

He was alone once again.

- - -

A/N: Obviously the 3 parts of the dialogue are towards the end are from the show

#mcu loki #loki #mobius #mcu #marvel #avengers #loki tv show #loki fanfic #loki fandom #loki oneshot

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kkulmoon · 4 years

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SUNSET HEARTBEAT | KTH

pairing: Taehyung x Reader (f)

genre: fantasy au, hybrid au, sci-fi (?), fluff, angst

word count: 5.1k

rating: pg

a/n: ngl i feel like the beginning portion is a bit rusty, by rusty I mean it may feel a bit slow but pls give it a chance 🥺, I struggled to write that 😭. I am also tagging two very lovely people who were excited about this, hopefully you like it uwu @blossomkoo @inkedxclouds. This fic is part of Bangtan Scenery’s collab ‘April Showers Bring May Flowers’, make sure to check out everyone else’s entries!

warnings: implied sex, other than that none, except for heartbreak and slight purple patches here and there cause I was in the mood hehe

beta read by: lovely angie @scvkjin and amazing emi @bangtiddies 💕

synopsis: The time had come for the seventh sun to rise. For the seventh and last color in line to have its cycle. As one indigo supernova signified the coming of a purple nebula, you and Taehyung spent the remaining of your last day together creating something of your own. If it comes into fruition can only be known years in the future. A decade after you found someone unlike anyone. Truly one of a kind. Someone with a destiny they couldn’t outrun. It has been 10 years since the birth of a purple sun.

☁︎ masterlist ☁︎

It was in your final year of university, twelve years ago, that you met Taehyung. That same year you decided it was time to give up on the idea of becoming an astronomer. Quite frankly, you were just too dumb. However, it did not mean that you couldn't enjoy it all while living a life where pretending that you truly understood everything was your best bet, your only bet. They all say that interest and dedication trumps natural talent, right? For that same reason you decided to still attend as many astronomy lectures as possible even though you were studying to become an English teacher. You were always quiet and attentive so either the professors didn't notice you or let you be. Either way, what mattered was that you got to be there.

The first time the two of you interacted was a random weekday in April, near finals’ season. You were sitting at the back of the room as usual. The professor had handed out some papers to be passed back. A gold tinted hand with slender fingers, on which well groomed and shiny fingernails were present, reached out to you. You could all but wave away at the paper, trying your best to dismiss it. A pouty and confused expression was what you got as he continued to jab the paper onto your palm. You kept trying to mouth 'it's okay' but he was persistent. Not much of a purple characteristic but surely a sun one, now that you think about it. Finally you settled for a verbal response.

“I don't actually take this class, so really, i'm fine.”

He retreated his hand for a second, “Huh, don't we all wish that was true,” he said as he placed the paper on the small desk in front of you instead. “You've got this! We're almost done, hold in there.” You got a thumbs up before he turned back to focus on the class.

And every week from there on, whenever he got a short moment in class while the professor was writing on the board Taehyung would pester you with motivational notes filled with sayings. One particular somber April morning where you looked more tired than usual he even went as far as offering to help you with the class and your homework. You did your best to decline and yet that same night you got an email in your inbox that told you he obviously hadn't understood.

| Kim Taehyung Chapter 15: Helpful Resources, (hang on there, you got this!) |

While you didn't take the class and had no official obligations to learn anything, you were still interested in astronomy so you decided to have a look. The links did clear up some questions you had during the lecture. However, you didn't want him to be wasting time helping a lost cause. As much as you loved reading about astronomy and learning about it, you were slow and having him help you was more than unnecessary. The definition of futile work. You decided to send him a screenshot of the official classes you were attending from the university's student portal. You made sure to censor your grades. He truly didn't need to think that you were any dumber, all he needed was proof that you weren't taking the class.

But once again, Taehyung's sun qualities shone through. Where it would have been expected for the person to drop the subject and for the two of you to go back to your habitual behaviour, he thought otherwise. He responded, but this time instead of answers he had questions, none of which you felt like answering so you left him on read. Well, the email version of read. You opened the email, read it, thought about answering it but ultimately left the email thread to die on the read pile.

A week went by. No Taehyung and you felt relieved. At least that's how you think you felt, the sleep deprivation might have been playing tricks on you. As yet another day came, where the indigo sun let its rays shine, Taehyung thought it better for him to act as the sun. You hadn't seen him in class, but it just turned out he changed his usual spot. He tried to catch you before you left the room but your daydreaming self was quick on her feet. He had a quick talk with the professor before he hurried to you.

“Hey!” The sound of sandals echoed against the cement floor. “Hey! You there!"

You kept on walking, as far as you knew your name wasn’t you there'. Someone grumbled behind you only to exclaim after a short while.

“Y/N! Y/N! Hold up, I need to talk to you.” So in that case you were 'you there' and someone was Taehyung.

You stopped walking and turned around. You couldn’t help but cock your head at him. You had only seen Taehyung from the torso up while in class. His attire surprised you for some reason. Maybe because he was a STEM student and you had expected him to look more uptight. He looked like one of the people from the pot dorm down your hallway. Everything he wore was oversized except for the big knitted headband he had on now that he was outside. He looked devoid of colour with his muted clothes, but his cross body bag stood out with its patterned rainbow material.

"Yeah, what is it?" The quicker you could get it over with the better. However, Taehyung didn’t seem to agree with you on that aspect. He took his sweet time to fix the misplaced headband as you were left to witness the action. As much as you would have liked to categorise the scene as boring, it would have been a lie. His grey hair strands somehow managed to sparkle in the sun. They didn’t shine the normal way hair shines when light reflects on it. His hair literally sparkled as if it had recognised something familiar within the sun rays. But at the time you just thought you were being delusional or being tricked by the elements of his beauty.

"You didn't answer my email," he asked with curious eyes and an innocent tone. Right, that happened.

"Oh, that... uhm... I just haven't gotten the time to go through my email, things have been a bit hectic," you shot him a sympathetic smile.

Taehyung seemed like a pretty understanding person but he sure wasn’t dumb. You saw the way his tongue shifted to lick his lips as his teeth found their way onto his bottom lip. He trailed his hands on the strap of his bags as a pensive lip bite made adorned his features. Taehyung could have either been nervous or so irked by the bullshit you just spat at him that his body was reacting. Either way you felt bad for your white lie, but maybe not bad enough.

"It has been two weeks though," Taehyung stretches his back to stand straighter, "Also I take a chem class with Hoseok and you're always chatting in the gmail chat so..."

What do you say to that? You lied and the worst part of it all was that you were caught right in the same moment. Your mouth opened and closed continuously as a hot flush made itself present on your ears and neck. You made note of the fact that Taehyung seems sweet but he actually packed a punch and was definitely ready to confront you on your bullshit. Classic STEM student approach, just face things head on. Thinking back at it, that was yet another instance in which his sun characteristics took the wheel. The sun's rays don't budge for anything or anyone and they certainly don't cave in to make others feel comfortable.

"Uhmm... right. But I am here now, so ask away!" Maybe your fake enthusiasm could make up for your little lie. Taehyung gave you a wondering look as he calculated the pros and cons of continuing this conversation, You hoped the cons would win.

“Uhmm, alright, fair enough,” He shrugged and the pros must have won because he kept talking. “Why do you go to astronomy lessons if you don’t take the class?”

Why did he want to get into your personal business? You could have very well told him that it was none of his business, turned around and left. But that seemed a tad bit too rude for you and for some weird reason you didn't want him to think of you as any more rude that you had been.

Would you paint yourself as an overly ambitious student that just had a general love of learning or would you tell him the truth? If you were to lie again you were sure he wouldn't manage to uncover this lie.

"I just like astronomy and find the class interesting, on top of that I've got time so like why not?" You felt good about your response, so good you were happy that you had made the choice not to lie to him, again.

"Oh okay, then how come you didn't apply for the program?" Wow, this dude was really trying to uncover all of your flaws during the first real conversation you've had. He should have become a detective instead, his focused and analysing eyes made it very hard for you to lie and not feel any residual guilt. He would, without a doubt, catch you if you were to slip up again.

"Uhm... I just felt like education was the right place for me you know." You shook your head with squinted eyes in hopes that he would just get you. Which he obviously didn’t if you had to go off of the way his jaw jutted out to the side.

"Well, to put it simply, I am not the brightest of students and while actually taking the class would have been a nightmare, just being there and listening and learning at my own slow pace just makes me feel better about my shortcomings."

Taehyung's lips parted slightly. Okay, maybe you didn't have to give such a confession but he had been pushing and you wanted it to just end.

"Ohh, I see." Not the response you expected but how else do you respond to someone who said that they were too dumb to follow their dream. "But still my offer stands, if you need help trying to understand anything, feel free to tap my shoulder in class."

"But you changed seats to sit in the front."

"Nah not really, I was just bitter that you hadn't answered and didn't want to hurt you. From now on you'll see me at my usual spot in front of you."

The squeamish movement that accompanied the words ‘hurt you’ gave rise to a wondering look on your face. Hurt you? Why would he hurt you? Taehyung looked pretty harmless so you decided to not take his weird comment at face value. He most likely meant hurting you in a verbal sense.

The rest of the semester progressed in that same weird manner that characterised your relationship with Taehyung. A constant push and pull that kept being encouraged by your closest friends– Hoseok being the top player in the game. Inevitably, the more time you spent with him the more you warmed up to him. A month down the road the two of you decided to put a label on it. Or it was more so you who needed a verbal confirmation that you had somehow managed to catch someone's interest.

It took you awhile to reset the way you thought. Your wandering mind wasn’t only filled with personal affairs anymore, another individual had found their place in your day to day thoughts. All of a sudden being affectionate wasn't something you had to actively be, it was simply default mode whenever Taehyung crossed your field of vision.

For that reason alone, finals season was filled with movie nights, whispered love confessions, enough takeaways from different cuisines that you felt you were now ready to become a food critic. But the most precious instances of that time was the afternoons where Taehyung did his best to teach you astronomy and you being too lazy to listen despite your interest. You can't help but ask yourself if you would have been more attentive had you known what astronomy actually meant to him.

You had now been with Taehyung for one entire year. One year filled with diametrically opposite feelings. The good, the bad and the ugly. But ultimately all of it was left at the door the moment the two of you decided to reconcile despite the drawbacks. You were happy. The kind of happy that you don't recognise until it's gone. That can only be acknowledged in the midst of incoming fury. You had never in your life wished for the ability to predict the future. To see what happens after sunrise before it is manifested.

One particular day eleven years ago, you wished that astronomy was fake, that the sun wasn't real and that it never needed to rise or set, to be born or die. You wished the sun didn't exist, knowing very well that that would mean the most important person in your life wouldn't exist. But you could have dealt with that.

Longing for something you know you could have hurts far more than craving for the unknown. In the latter situation there's at least hope, that if you search hard and long enough you could find that thing you so deeply want. In the former, you know where that thing is, it's in fact right under your nose, or more accurately right over your head, where you can feel it at least a little bit every single day. Except this time you can't have it, no matter how hard you wish for it or how long you choose to wait. The whole scenario was like a twisted marshmallow test. Made to incite cravings with no intention of ever quenching them.

This all started a year following the start of your relationship with Taehyung. At that time you took notice to how hot he would get at the most unexpected of times. A behaviour that was usually reserved for when he was irritated or angry. It wasn’t only him that was hot but he radiated the kind of heat reserved for an extremely sunny summer’s day.

You overlooked those instances and decided not to pay them too much mind. It could just be you having the extreme hots from him. However on a particular night, you just couldn’t bring yourself to stay in bed with Taehyung. The sheets were drenched and the windows had fogged up. You had to leave and find refuge in your living room sleeping right by a fan.

The coming morning you woke up to breakfast on the table and right beside it there was a thick pocket sized book. The Book Of Suns. That was the white title that was engraved onto the black cover. Taehyung was nowhere to be found but his belongings were still in your room so you assumed he had gone for his morning walk.

You had to make a choice between the two. Would you read the book first or you would eat breakfast first? You knew that whatever you were about to find out would most likely curb your appetite. Your hand glided against the rough cover of the book.

Wouldn't it be better to read it now, just in case something made you extremely sad? That way you could cry before he got back home. Whatever it was that you were about to find out was very important to him, important enough that he wanted you to form your own opinion of it in peace. He wanted in no way for his presence to taint your reaction towards the truth that he had been hiding. Or as he thought protecting you from.

You sat down by the table, knees to your chest as you brought the book onto your hands. 'The Book Of Suns' was, as you realised after reading it, just that, a book about suns, in particular Taehyung’s sun lineage. It was a story about your world’s suns, the rainbow sun family. A fact unknown to you before that very moment. You were surprised by your behaviour, you weren’t exactly known for having calm reactions. It must have been Taehyung’s scent on the sweater you wore. It tickled your nose and calmed your senses. The book served as a track record for the next person in line to become the sun. It had seven chapters. Beside each chapter title in the contents page there were small vertical lines. The first six suns had five lines while the last had four. Taehyung must be purple sun. You read silently or more so you attempted to read silently, the deep breaths you were taking in effort to digest everything couldn't be contained.

After a continuous hour of reading you got to what was perhaps the most interesting chapter. Where do the dead suns go? And most importantly what do the suns that have yet to be born stay? You were cautious about continuing your reading. What if you found out that Taehyung was in fact just the ghost of someone that didn't actually exist? Or worse what if Taehyung would cease to exist?

Fear curbed your initiative to let your eyes continue their dance on the page. But fear also did its job in fixating your attention on the slightly faded black letters present on the off-white pages. Fear of the unknown is always worse than that of the known.

Deep in the forest, there was the garden of suns. Every time a sun died and resurrected as a human, their statue appeared in the garden, where their sun soul was kept, only to vanish on the day of their sun birth. In the middle of the pages there was a picture, at the back of it you could read Taehyung’s harsh handwriting ‘The garden of suns -15/07/39’. He had been there four days ago.

The statues of the first five suns were covered with vibrant collared moss equivalent of their sun pigment. The sixth and seventh sun’s statues were only slightly visible in the photograph. They seemed to be in an intermediary phase. Not quite gone, yet not quite there. It was hard to figure out whether they were emerging or vanishing. That’s until you remembered the previous week’s news report. A supernova was on its way and scientists believed it would most likely occur near the end of next year.

The indigo sun is near its death, and a purple sun is nearing its ascent.

Taehyung’s statue was the one vanishing. His sun soul was ready to find its owner and ascend to its rightful place amongst the other stars. Just as you were about to continue reading, ready to delve into how this whole sun birth situation went about, the sound of metal clashing against metal resounded in the dead silence. Clinging keys and heavy steps entered the apartment.

No 'hello' or 'glad to see you're finally awake'. But could you blame him? It would have been weird to act as if it was like any other of your usual mornings. You wished you had mustered up the strength to get off the chair and go greet him at the entrance. In your mind you did that but in reality you stayed rooted right where you were, back squeezed into the corner between the table and chair.

Taehyung walked in to lean against the door frame that lead into the kitchen. He looked exhausted. Dark under eye bags decorated weary eyes. You thought you could hear a tentative squeak come out of his mouth. Maybe you should've said something, because he looked like he was hurting and trying to find the appropriate words to start a conversation he knew would only end with heartache and tears. You thought that talking about the small steps he made outside was a good way to segue into talking about the biggest step he would take in his life. One that he could unfortunately not walk back on.

"How was your walk?" You managed to ask before Taehyung walked past the kitchen and into the bedroom. He stopped midway, standing in the living room, where sun rays illuminated his surroundings. You couldn't help but think that it was very fitting for him to become a sun. The rays may have been bright and hot but he was the only one able to make you feel as hot as the sun and make your smile shine brighter than the biggest star. He was already a sun. Your sun. Why did he need to leave and become everyone's sun as well?

"Pretty good, helped me wake up," he said and sat down on the bean bag present beside him. You put the book down on the dining table just to look back at him from your seat. You were just there, in the moment, sitting down and doing your best to have an internal conversation. Both of you knew that words would hurt too much. And they surely couldn't bear the complete weight of what your current predicament meant neither could they have illustrated the joint pain that was shared between two beating hearts.

Your conversation might have been dead but the emotion was very much alive. You stood up from your seat, Taehyung's knitted sweater fell back down to caress your thighs. The walk to the beanbag felt like an eternity, not because it was but because you made it so. You had felt his sour and vigilant mood and you knew that being playful at that moment was your best bet. You tiptoed back and forth all the way to the beanbag as the sweater shifted here and there to reveal skin that was highlighted blue by the sun.

He was upset but he couldn't manage to keep his mouth set. His lips would stretch and unstretch as small playful wiggles played at the tip of his mouth. Finally you had found your way to the bean bag. You stood tall as your body cast a shadow over his. You placed a foot on the bean bag as the material sunk under your weight and you found your place on his lap.

Right there, that's the kind of pat in the back that Taehyung gave you as his arms enveloped your slouching form. You snuggled your head deep into the crook of his neck and inhaled all the way in. If he was really gonna be leaving you, you needed to make sure you could imprint the scent and feel of his flesh right onto yours.

You sat there, quiet, with synchronised breaths yet fighting thoughts. How in the heck were you supposed to manage this? Him just being gone? Sure, you had a year left before it was officially time, but a year is far from a lifetime, what he had promised you.

"You are sure you don't want to talk about it?" Long hand strokes continue to comfort your back. You move your buried head side to side, groaning in response. Alright is all he said. Things were far from alright.

While on that morning you decided not to talk further on the topic, the coming months were filled with explorative trips to the Garden of Suns, where you would spend hours listening to Taehyung tell you about the stories of him and his sun brothers. He talked about being particularly close to the blue sun.

"It's just because he literally has no filter," he said gazing longingly at the statue covered with flashy blue moss.

"Is that like, dangerous?"

"Well yeah for you, but I am a sun remember." He turned around on the grass to face your way.

"And that's probably why I orbit around you." The huge grin that found its ways to your face was uncontrollable and contagious as Taehyung couldn’t help but snicker at your corny joke.

Just like that, your months together flew by until it was finally d-day. You hoped that waking up wouldn't be a necessity but Taehyung refused to let you sleep through it. He refused to let you think that it was all a dream. Getting yourself off the bed and into the shower felt like an endless task. One that he was patient enough to help you with. In hindsight you feel bad about having put him through that on such a significant day. He was, most likely, having a harder time dealing with his destiny than you were. That day was one to remember, the most vivid of them all, the most cherished of them all yet the most sad of them all.

All of that happened in the past and you were currently in an unsure present. The indigo sun had faced its fate, to be extinguished in an equally coloured supernova that would give rise to the last one in line, a purple sun. One day they would all be back to the complete cycle. A day where you wouldn't be present.

It has been ten years since Taehyung became a sun. You could talk to him, well, not really but you could see him and most importantly feel him. It had been a decade since you asked him to leave you something to remember him by, a part of him, a living one. On the night of Taehyung’s sun birth he decided to take you up on the offer. Cuddled up, in each other’s arms that’s how the day progressed. While usually persistent yet gentle, that night Taehyung felt it was appropriate and maybe in fact vital for him let his sun like ferocity be expressed. How else could you have understood the intensity of his feelings, a muddy mix of grief and love. The remains of that one last heated night were left for you to admire and cherish.

You thought you would manage to stay up the entire night to witness the purple sun birth but Taehyung’s warmth, forehead kisses and soft singing lulled you to sleep before you could realise it.

Nothing was felt. No heat, no cold. Nothing was seen. No light, no spark. Taehyung was gone into the void in the same effortless way he entered your life. You’ve now been waiting over a decade to know if the fruits of that night would come into fruition. Conception can only happen when eclipses take place. Eclipses happen every 126 months. It has been 10 years. Half a year is left.

That half year could not have passed at a slower pace. It was a Thursday, yet another tiring day at school. You loved kids but you were drained of energy. You couldn't wait for time to pass by so that you could leave. It was Thursday, which meant you could watch the sunset to its complete end without being bothered. It was also Thursday, the day after you got your first ultrasound. Taehyung may have not been there but that didn't mean you couldn't share the remaining of your waking hours with him, whenever you thought it was possible. You looked out of the window from your classroom to see purple hues in the sky as the sun said goodbye to leave place to another night.

The clouds thought otherwise, for some reason they always felt the need to be there to cloud his presence. What right did they have to cover up his tint? If it weren’t for them you would have been able to bask in his purple light, let it colour you bare as your feelings went from blank to purple butterflies that made you lose sight as tears formed in your eyes.

So you did what any sensible person still in love would have done. As soon as the clock struck 4 pm you ran to catch the train that would take you from skyscraper views to wide flower fields. It took the train two hours. You did your best to enjoy the way he set along the ride. Once you arrived you were left with two entire hours to enjoy the last of him and say goodbye to Taehyung and hello to the darkness.

During that time you reached into Taehyung's patterned cross body bag. You truly hated it but it was his so you kept it. You pulled out the ultrasound picture and raised it to the little part of sun that was still left. You didn't actually think that he would, through some weird magical way, actually be able to see it. It was more so something to calm your conscience. But most importantly, it presented you with the opportunity to capture an unusual family picture. It was you, the ultrasound, your baby bump and the purple sunset all in one picture. One that had found its rightful place on your bedside table.

Years unmasked themselves to reveal the growth of your child. One that grew to inherit the intensity of her father. Every now and then you made sure to let her know about him. As young as she was she couldn't truly understand it all, but as a child your love story was something that was within imaginable grounds. So you took advantage of that and taught her all you could about him. Maybe if you started early she could manage to develop past your less refined genes with regards to learning.

You took your time to tell her all that she wished to know and all that you wished to share. Sugarcoating to the maximum, cause that’s what Taehyung would do, but still making sure to keep a coherent timeline. One specific day you are unable to answer her question.

"Wh–why did dad break the promish?"

You had to fight long and hard with your tear ducts. Never had you cried in front her and you didn't intend to do it anytime soon.

In fact in one way or the other, Taehyung hadn't lied about keeping his promise. He had omitted some important specifics but he hadn't completely been untruthful. He said a lifetime and he would give you a lifetime. It just happened to be one where he wasn't always there, present by your side.

However he would always get up to see you rise, and always say goodbye as he sets down to give place for lonely nights. And on all of those goodbyes unlike the one where he left you for the first and last time, you could swear that in bed with your child pressed to your chest, you could feel and hear his sunset heartbeat as clear and strong as the rays of a certain purple sun, your only one. Sun rays filled with his most cherished truth:

‘I will turn purple when i miss you and to say i love you’.

Posted: May 28, 2020

124 notes · View notes

artificialqueens · 4 years

Text

Baby Let's Keep It Secret (Jan x Jackie) - Ortega

a/n: i speed-wrote this after being struck with inspiration and a new-found obsession with jankie, so enjoy!! i legit hate it more with every re-read though so i’m submitting before i honestly del-yeet it off the face of the internet. it’s a little piece within the strictly au-verse from one of the background couples’ points of view, and i’m planning to do more of these so keep a lil eye out! i hope u all enjoy anyway, and that u for all the love on chapter 4! it makes me dead happy xxxxxxxx

plot summary: “But now she’s here, on a wet, cold Monday morning, with no texts and no sign of Jackie and a heartbeat that belongs to a hummingbird. Jackie probably regrets everything and Jan has to spend the rest of the competition with her and it’s going to be unbearably awkward.”

***

Jan is the first to arrive at the church hall on Monday morning. It’s freezing, and she pulls her off-shoulder gym sweater over her wrists and fidgets with the sleeves. She both feels the cold and doesn’t. The racing that her pulse is currently doing serves as a heater, and she can’t stop pacing either. She thanks God that the film crew aren’t there this morning, because she doesn’t have very many coherent thoughts, never mind words.

They had won the first episode. Well. “Won” isn’t the right word, but they came top of the leaderboard, and the praise from the judges still rings in Jan’s ears if she thinks about it hard enough:

“The technical elements were all there, and Jan, that choreography was to die for, well done.”

“This partnership is gonna be one to watch, for sure, the chemistry between you two is just incredible!”

“This was a strong first week, keep this up, I can’t wait to see what comes next from you.”

“It was so full of fun and joy, such a cheeky routine and you both created so much tension, good job!”

Although instead of the joy they’d all sparked on Saturday night, instead they now all serve as a reminder as to what happened after that, and Jan feels her face flush hot as the embarrassment hits her all over again, fuck. Why does she have to be such an eager lovesick puppy all the goddamn time? It never ends well. Jan knows that, but she keeps repeating the same behaviour every time she gets a new crush and expects different results.

But Jackie is different. She’s a woman, at least, and that’s new for Jan. Jan’s used to either men- rough, heavy hands, too fast and too slow all at once- or girls- all her high-school experiences that she’s repressed and shoved in the back of a filing cabinet in her mind for future Jan to deal with.

Except they’ve all come bursting out at once like that scene in Bruce Almighty that used to make her laugh so much as a teenager. It was induction day, really, that had caused it all. Jan remembers standing on the opposite side of the room to Jackie Cox and trying not to make it obvious that her gaze was getting drawn to her every five seconds like she was a magnet, the black running leggings and cutout strappy sports bra she had been wearing still sending shivers up Jan’s spine if she thinks about them again. The way her heart had risen to the sky with anticipation and excitement was almost cringeworthy; she had truly felt like a schoolgirl with a crush on a teacher. Okay, Jackie isn’t that much older than her, but Jan knew her, of course she knew her. She is Jackie Cox. You can’t switch on the news without seeing her face, you can’t go on Twitter without seeing people retweet her latest biting bit of government-critical commentary that’s likely going to get her fired one day. Watching her chat with the other girls on that induction day was mesmerising- she was fun and goofy and had a big smile on her face the whole time but she simultaneously exuded a calm and self-assured sense of power that Jan had felt inexplicably intoxicated by.

They’d been paired together and Jan had been so nervous and anxious to impress her and get on well with her but Jackie had just been so relaxed and easy-going and had taken to everything Jan had taught her like a duck to water. When they’d been officially paired on launch night Jan had been so overjoyed that she’d screamed the place down.

And now they’re partners. For the past fortnight they’ve spent every waking moment together, and it’s been both a blessing and a curse. In rehearsals, Jackie is no-nonsense- she wants to learn the dance, and she wants to be taught- but every time they stop for a break Jackie’s goofing around and winding Jan up and pestering her to post this, that and the next thing to Instagram. The woman is limpet-levels of touchy, not that Jan’s complaining. She’s always resting a hand on Jan’s knee when they stop for a break, grabbing her arm as she laughs at something Jan’s said, gently butting her head against Jan’s shoulder when it’s late and they’re both tired but they just have to finish up this last little bit of the routine.

Of course, if Jan notices it with every hour they spend together, then it’s not long until it gets picked up on by others. They’ve gone live on Instagram one day and Jackie’s got her arm around Jan’s shoulders and Jan’s leaning into her. Jan can feel Jackie’s heartbeat and it’s going like a bullet train and Jan wonders if it’s her that’s making Jackie’s heart race as much as it is before dismissing that thought as the delusional ramblings of someone with a too-big crush. They’re answering questions that their fans have sent in and Jan taps on one a little deliberately.

“Jackie, what’s your favourite thing about rehearsing with Jan?” Jan reads, smiling with her tongue trapped between her teeth. She doesn’t dare turn to face Jackie because she can see on screen how close her face is to hers and she doesn’t need that proximity adding to the list of reasons Jackie’s able to mess with her head. Jackie’s looking at her though, and her smirk is so cheeky that it turns Jan’s insides to jelly.

“Uh, nothing, she’s dreadful,” Jackie says, causing Jan to yelp an affronted cry and Jackie to stick her tongue out at her. It’s near the end of their first week of rehearsals and it’s nice that they’re already at the stage that they can joke about in the way that they’re doing.

(Some might call it flirting, but Jan’s loath to get her hopes up so high.)

“No, I think in all seriousness it’s…her smile,” Jackie concludes, and the answer feels like the best kind of gut punch. Jan has to actively control her facial expressions and mold them into something that isn’t just two ginormous heart eyes and a dopey lovesick smile. The smile that Jackie likes the best. Jackie continues, her eyes now cast into her lap as she picks at a bit of fluff on her leggings. “She’s always smiling, she’s always positive. Even if I mess up the routine, she’s still smiling at me and patient with me. And it’s just nice. So…yeah.”

Jan can’t help herself. She turns to face Jackie, deliberately shoots her a dazzling smile. “That’s sweet. Thank you.”

Jackie gives her a little wink that translates to you’re welcome. Jan wants to interpret it as something more, but she can’t hope that much.

That’s when it starts. The first comment scrolls across the screen, then another, then another.

janetmanitoneeeee: omg u guys are too much

strictlyjan2003: something’s going onnnnnnnnn

janstan04: WE ALL SHIP IT

janstan04: JANKIE

Jan tries to ignore them all but they’re relentless and swarming across her screen like locusts, and Jackie points them out before she can do a thing about them.

“What the hell is Jankie? What ship?” she laughs, confused. Jan waves her hand dismissively, gives a snort.

“Oh, God, it’s like…they think we would be good together. Like. As a couple.”

“Oh,” Jackie raises her eyebrows. Jan is blushing slightly as she keeps her eyes trained on the screen. Jackie’s face is surprised, but not unpleasantly so. “So they want to see us bon-”

“Family show, Jaqueline!” Jan laughs, cutting her off before she can reach the end of her sentence. Jackie snorts and the conversation is dropped as they move on to something else.

But Jan wonders how the sentence would’ve ended. Scratch that, she knows how the sentence would’ve ended, and from that day on there’s a change in the atmosphere. Jackie doesn’t look at her the same but that’s not necessarily for the worse. Their routine ramps up a gear- it’s somehow just better. Well, not somehow, there’s a reason. It’s the same reason Jan can feel Jackie’s eyes on her whenever she stretches in rehearsal, whenever she peels a layer of clothing off in a break. It’s the same reason they’ve started openly flirting with each other, and Jackie’s little suppressed smile and raised eyebrows is what Jan imagines cocaine might feel like- she’s not done it, she wouldn’t know. Making Jackie laugh becomes an addiction, spending time with Jackie is an addiction. When Jan gets the tube back from Hounslow and arrives back at her flat all shrouded in darkness she feels as if there’s part of her missing. Which is ridiculous. They’ve only been paired together for a week. Admittedly in that short time there’s been a few tabloid articles about them, the speculation already beginning. Jan would be lying if she said she didn’t like it.

Through it all, they rehearse. They practise and practise until Jan’s muscles ache, because more time rehearsing means more time with Jackie and the more they rehearse means the better they get. It’s a win-win situation. So when they smash their routine on Saturday, really knock it out the park, and get (“Eight!” “Eight!” “Eight!” “Eight!”) 32/40, Jan’s head is spinning. On the floor they were electric and sexy and the sparks were practically flying off them, Jan didn’t imagine it. Jackie doesn’t take her hands off her once it’s done- a protective arm around her waist as they receive their critiques, her hand in Jan’s as they tear up the stairs and give their post-routine interview, both arms around her in a crushing hug after their scores are revealed. An arm around Jan’s shoulders as they weave their way backstage to yet another interview, a hand lazily pressed against her hip. The constant close proximity is making Jan almost lightheaded, and so when they’re finally alone Jan isn’t really thinking straight. That’s why she takes Jackie’s hand and tugs her towards her dressing room, laughing gently at the confusion painting her face.

“Jan, we’ve got to go back to makeup!”

“Just…c’mere!” she giggles, tugging on Jackie’s hand again. Jackie gives her a roll of her eyes and a long-suffering smile, and takes two steps forward to follow Jan into her dressing room. As soon as the door swings shut, Jan can’t control herself any longer and she immediately pulls Jackie in, one hand still tangled in Jackie’s and the other curled around her waist, and Jan is so close she swears she can pinpoint the moment Jackie’s pupils dilate.

“Oh,” Jackie murmurs. It’s nothing, a literal letter of the alphabet, but Jan swears it’s the hottest thing she’s ever heard. Jackie wets her bottom lip with her tongue. “So this is why we’re in your dressing room.”

“Uh-huh,” Jan nods quickly. Her heart gives a concerningly heavy thud as Jackie brings her free hand up to ghost over her neck and tangle in her hair, tousled and wavy for the routine, and Jan thanks Mary, Joseph and baby Jesus that it’s not in some intricate bun. There’s a pause where nothing seems to be happening except the two of them smiling at each other and waiting to kiss. Jan loves it, though, this kind of purgatory they’ve created, so she presses her body against Jackie’s as she drops her voice lower. “You were so good out there, fuck, you were amazing.”

Jackie tries and fails to conceal a smile. She drops her hand out of Jan’s grip and brings it up to rest at her waist. “Did you just bring me in here to compliment me, or are we going to kiss?”

“Fuck, please,” Jan breathes. It only takes that much for Jackie to instantly lean down and close the gap between them. It’s not enough and too much all at once, the tension that’s been building between them finally coming to a head and Jan feels like she’s melting, ice to Jackie’s fire. Her lips are soft and slick with the gloss that makeup applied before they went on stage and Jan is gripped with a sense of longing and wanting that’s so visceral it almost scares her. She pulls her body flush against Jackie’s own and she feels Jackie gasp against her lips. The noise only adds to how embarrassingly needy Jan’s becoming- she’s way too turned on already, shockwaves pulsing through her whole body. It’s a kiss, it’s nothing more than that, and yet it’s better than any sex Jan’s had with a man in her life.

Jackie pulls away. Jan whines, and it elicits a smug smile from the other woman. Jan doesn’t want to know how much of a mess she looks. If it’s half as much as how she feels, it’s going to be too telling. She takes Jackie by the wrist again, pouts as she tries to pull her in. Jackie doesn’t budge.

“Makeup,” she teases. Jan lets out a groan. She cannot go back and interact with other people right now. Her whole world is Jackie.

“Please, just two more minutes,” she begs. For a moment Jan thinks she sees a flash of lust in Jackie’s eyes. She takes the sign of weakness and runs with it, pushing her bottom lip out. “Please?”

“Fuck, Jan,” Jackie laughs, rubs the back of her neck and rolls her head to the ceiling. “You’re so gorgeous and it physically pains me to have to say it but someone’s gonna come bang on this door if we don’t get back soon.”

Jan sighs, doesn’t wipe the pout off her face. Jackie quirks a warning eyebrow at her in return.

“Stop being a brat, c’mon,” she warns her, and Jan would be lying if she said Jackie didn’t just make the whole situation worse.

Or better. Probably better.

They go to makeup and they get their smudges cleaned up and the foundation they’ve sweated off re-applied, and they head back to the studio to watch the final dance of the night, Crystal and Gigi’s. Jan cheers for her friend despite the fact the pair of them are so good at their frighteningly fast Samba that they threaten to topple her and Jackie off the top of the leaderboard. They don’t, but they come close (thirty-one), and as Jan claps she makes a mental note to step up her and Jackie’s choreography tomorrow. The pair of them don’t get another moment alone until they’ve cleaned all their makeup off and got changed back into their comfies ready to head home. Jackie swings by Jan’s dressing room as she’s packing up and Jan involuntarily blushes, remembering the last time they’d both been in this room a mere thirty minutes ago.

“Hey. Crushed it tonight,” Jackie smiles proudly, the praise lighting up both Jan’s face and heart.

“Yeah, we really did that, huh?” she returns her grin, looks to the floor with slight embarrassment. Jackie pauses before she speaks next.

“Well, guess I’ll see you Monday?”

Jan tries not to look disappointed, but really, the single logical brain cell she possesses scolds her, what the hell did she think was going to happen? Her smile becomes fake despite it not physically changing. “Yeah, sure!”

Jackie gives a small laugh. “Sure, Jan!”

Jan has to let out a small snort at that, and she risks meeting her partner’s eyes again. Jackie is hovering at the door.

“I’ll text you,” she smiles decisively, Jan’s hopes instantly being raised as she nods enthusiastically and waves goodnight.

But now she’s here, on a wet, cold Monday morning, with no texts and no sign of Jackie and a heartbeat that belongs to a hummingbird. Jackie probably regrets everything and Jan has to spend the rest of the competition with her and it’s going to be unbearably awkward. All Jan did on Sunday was choreograph their dance, the sexiest tango she could possibly manage, while replaying their kiss in her head and checking her phone obsessively. She feels like an idiot, even more so when Jackie bounces through the door and waves at her with a big grin on her face as if nothing has happened.

“Morning!” she sing-songs as she shrugs her jacket off and chucks her bag down underneath a pile of stacked chairs. Jan blinks at her, taken-aback. “How are you? Good day off?”

“Well, I mean. I was doing choreo, wasn’t exactly a day off,” Jan shrugs. She can’t help but be cold- Jackie is acting as if she’s got short-term memory loss, and it’s killing Jan along with the sweatpants that are slung low on Jackie’s hips and the baggy sweater that’s hiding her thin frame. The shift in tone seems to work and Jackie is looking at her through narrowed eyes, then laughing slightly.

“Shit, yeah, sorry I didn’t text. I honestly was wiped out yesterday, I did a stint on News 24 and then I had like an eight-hour nap in the middle of the day.”

Jan can’t help but quirk a smile at her. “Eight hours? That’s not a nap, that’s a full sleep.”

Jackie shrugs, and her dark eyes soften. Jan is reminded of looking into them on Saturday, her pupils wide and blown, and the memory almost gives her whiplash. “I am sorry, Jan, I can tell you’re mad at me.”

Jan gives a scoff of a laugh, tries to pretend she’s offended. “Mad? I’m not mad at you, God, I’m not…no, I’m chill. It’s fine.”

Jackie raises her eyebrows at her disapprovingly and it makes Jan’s stomach flip over and heat pool low in her stomach. “Yeah, you sound it. Okay, what’re we doing this week?”

Jan swallows before she speaks. “Uh, tango! I thought, y’know, the judges loved our chemistry so much last week so if we play on that it might get us good scores again.”

Jackie’s smile grows on her face and it makes Jan’s heart flutter in anticipation as she takes two steps closer to her. “Mm, good plan. Definitely not seeing an ulterior motive behind that at all.”

Jan is warming up to her but she wants to make Jackie suffer just a little so she flips her golden ponytail over her shoulder and turns away from her, fiddling with her phone and scrolling to the song she’s chosen. To her satisfaction, Jackie follows her over to the speaker near the raised little stage at the other end of the hall, jumps up so that she’s sitting on it and swings her legs. “What’s it to?”

Jan bites back a smile. “React.”

“As in Pussycat Dolls, React?” Jackie grins at her. Jan is fighting to hold back her smirk as Jackie inspects her nails. “That’s kind of ironic.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Jan shrugs lightly, making to walk into the centre of the room when Jackie shoots a hand out and takes her by the wrist.

“Hey,” Jackie murmurs, pulling her close. Jan is standing right in front of her and Jackie’s knees are digging into her stomach a little, but she doesn’t mind. “I was thinking about you yesterday. I promise I didn’t forget about Saturday night.”

Jan raises her eyebrows in slight disbelief. She’s about to make some comment about not missing her enough to text her, but Jackie spreads her legs and guides her in between them so that they’re close. The action makes Jan’s eyes flutter shut in a heavy blink as she attempts to gather her thoughts. Jackie squeezes the hand she’s taken.

“You’re really cute,” Jackie says bluntly, and Jan feels the blush hit her face like she’s been slapped.

“You’re really cute,” Jan parrots back at her, her knees almost turning to jelly when Jackie reaches out and tucks a small strand of loose hair behind her ear. There’s a moment where they’re both just gazing into each others’ eyes, and Jan feels as if it’s straight out of a movie scene. Her heart almost hurts with how much she likes Jackie.

Jackie drops her voice low to a whisper, pulls Jan closer. “Can we kiss in a church?”

Jan feels like she’s just been shocked by a defibrillator. “Well. Jesus might be watching.”

“I’m sure he’ll allow it,” Jackie shrugs before tilting her head, sliding her hands onto Jan’s waist, and meeting her lips with her own. Jan melts into her slowly, refrigerated chocolate on a hot day. This kiss is different to the one they shared on Saturday night- they know it’s just them, and they know they have all the time in the world so they kiss as if time doesn’t exist. It’s so early that Jan can taste Jackie’s mint toothpaste, and the realisation makes her heart give a twinge of affection. Jackie does like her, and Saturday wasn’t a mistake, and the blood in her veins races in anticipation because something is happening between them and it’s more exciting than any glitterball trophy.

Jan breaks the kiss this time, the petty side of her still wanting the upper hand, but she doesn’t move her arms from their position looped around Jackie’s neck and resting on her shoulders. She doesn’t even try to conceal the smile that appears on her face as she watches Jackie’s eyes flutter open lazily, the moment so unexpectedly tender that it knocks her for six.

“Is this a thing now?” she finds herself saying before she can stop the words rushing out of her mouth, and she instantly wants to cringe. Too keen, too eager, too enthusiastic. Although the panic rising in her throat dissipates when Jackie tries to stifle a grin and fails.

“Fuck, we’re the worst kind of cliché. Strictly curse got us by week three,” she groans, tilting her head to the cracks in the ceiling. She brings her gaze back to look Jan in the eye, suddenly turning serious. “We’re going to have to keep this quiet, though. Not that I’m ashamed or anything, sorry, that came out wrong. I just don’t want anyone thinking this is some cheap stunt we’re using to get votes because it’s…more than that. To me, anyway.”

The affirmation Jackie’s just given her sends Jan’s hopes rocketing skywards and this time she doesn’t even try to lower them. The smile on her face turns scheming. “I can sneak around if you want, although I don’t know how easy it’s going to be for you to keep your hands off me, Miss Cox…”

Jan laughs as Jackie groans and shoves her away playfully. As much as Jan wants to pin her to the stage and smother her with kisses and maybe a little more (the thought of fucking in a church is too much to entertain at this particular moment), she straightens her posture decisively and grabs her phone.

“Right, we need to rehearse. Because the better we do in this competition, the longer you get to spend every single day with your hands all over me. And that’s just during rehearsals.”

Jan shoots Jackie a wink and Jackie laughs as she saunters across to the middle of the room to warm up.

If Jan’s got anything to do with it, they’re not going to be leaving the competition any time soon.

#rpdr fanfiction #jankie #jan sport #jackie cox #strictly au #lesbian au #baby let's keep it secret #ortega #s12

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captain-emmajones · 4 years

Text

Love, Emma (2/7)

(Art by the wonderful @carpedzem <33)

Loosely based on Love, Rosie (2014). Killian and Emma are best friends and neighbors. They've always been -- until he leaves for the Navy when his brother dies. When he comes back, nine months later, summer has begun and childhood is ending. Emma can tell something is changed in him, but she doesn't know what. Until she does. He's fallen in love with someone else.

And then, suddenly, they're kissing on her nineteenth birthday. When she asks him to forget their night out, and never talk about it again, Killian thinks she means to tell him she regrets the kiss they exchanged. Except she has no memory of it.

Killian and Emma will dance around each other, until their heads spin and their legs hurt, and everything becomes blurry and it has to stop – for both of their sake.

Title is from Taylor Swift’s August – which clearly inspired the mood of this chapter. Had it on loop while writing, so if you feel like it, do try to listen to it while reading!

Once again, a huge thank you to @profdanglaisstuffwho beta’d this and gave me very useful advice to tie the plot together!

Friends to Lovers - Mutual Pining - Angst - Fluff - 6000 words - ao3

Part 1 - Mirrorball, Part 3 - Hoax , Part 4 - Peace, Part 5 - This is me trying, Part 6 - Cardigan , Part 7 - Invisible String

PART 2 - AUGUST.

Present Day – 21st of June.

“—I’m really sorry Killian, it won’t happen again,” Emma’s words linger in Killian’s bedroom, long after she’s gone.

He is still lying on his bed, staring at his door, the one Emma escaped from. He stretches his bare feet over the lime green cover and frowns.

Well, once again, he got it all wrong. He really thought she meant their kiss. She really seemed to want him back.

His skin feels tacky under his fingers. He really needs to take a shower.

He finds a small blue plastic ball on his nightstand, and absently plays with it, swaying it in the air above his head.

“Bloody hell,” he whispers to himself.

An odd, nasty hand is gripping his heart. He’s not angry. He’s not even disappointed. He stopped hoping for something to happen between him and Emma a long time ago.

Except he’s lying to himself. Of course he is disappointed.

He called things off with Milah to give Emma and himself a chance, after these past months spent holding back from her. He was so surprised to find her this eager to be with him, once he got back.

He thought she would forget him over the year. He knows he desperately tried to. Milah appeared to be the perfect distraction.

Milah comes with a bigger cost that he is willing to pay, but that he only learnt a few weeks ago, over the phone. She finally confessed. It was a relief to find out he wasn’t being crazy or delusional. She has been seeing her husband again – the very same man she’s trying to get a divorce from.

He rolls his eyes, almost misses the ball. Milah is driving him crazy and he isn’t entirely sure she is worth it. At least, not when Emma’s green eyes look at him in the way he’s always wanted them to.

But that was a mistake, as well. Emma will never see him as anything but her friend. He made peace with that, when he left a year ago. It was too painful to hope, and with Liam gone, he couldn’t rely on Emma to be happy.

So he left, before she could leave him. It’s the most selfish thing he’s ever done, but he couldn’t, cannot bear to lose her.

Better to rip off the bandage straight away. Even if it leaves a wound over his heart, a wound that itches and burns.

His phone buzzes on his nightstand. He gives up the ball and stretches his arm to grab it. Twenty missed-calls. Milah must be freaking out.

And then, as hangovers usually go, his mind goes back to Emma. He cannot go on like this. He must know if she truly doesn’t want him back.

His fingers quickly find her name in his phone. Her contact photo is a picture of them both, from freshman year. They are sitting on Storybrooke’s carousel, near the beach. It’s fall. The wind is gently blowing their hair, as he hugs her from behind. She looks completely and utterly blissful, her head thrown back as a laugh crinkles her entire face. He is gazing at her, of course, he always has.

(He remembers Liam took the picture. The memory twists his stomach.)

It was so easy, back then, easy to love her and not want anything more. But the summer crush soon evolved into something more demanding – infatuation.

Killian presses her name. If Emma answers he’ll ask her.

He waits. For a long time. It is painful. But she doesn’t answer. And perhaps she does not want to. And then he gets a double call, and he knows before glancing at his phone who it is. M.

He reluctantly answers. “I hope you’ve got a whole script of excuses written down, Milah.”

He promises himself he won’t fall for her tricks.

He lies, again. Surely, Emma was wrong. Liam would not be proud of him.

(His eyes suddenly lend on the small, blue box on his desk. Bloody hell. He forgot to give Emma her present.)

A year ago, the 29th of June.

“Are you sure everything will be okay, little brother?”

Liam’s paternal tone sends angry shivers up Killian’s spine as he ties balloons around their front door. What an ass. Liam is very well aware that this nickname is, to Killian’s ears, the worst combination of two words.

“Aye. Don’t worry. You can go see Elsa in peace, brother.”

Killian shifts his gaze from the yellow balloon that’s also being a pain – just stick to the door! – to face Liam, standing in front of him with his hands on his hips.

Liam’s eyebrows are raised and it is difficult to know whether Killian is looking at his father or his brother. He winces. He’s going to get the talk, now, isn’t he?

“Alright. I expect to find this house standing when I come back.”

Killian swallows a very sharp answer. Liam’s entire life purpose solely relies on Killian needing him. Except he doesn’t anymore. He turned eighteen in February and he wants to see wider horizons than this bloody town. (The only thing – person – holding him back is Emma.)

“Don’t worry. It will stand just fine—”

“Great because…”

“— we don’t really need all of the walls, do we?”

Liam scoffs, visibly unimpressed by his sarcasm, and disappears once again into their home.

A home that is already filled by a smell of chocolate. After his last exam, earlier this afternoon, Killian made a cake – Emma’s favorite – to properly celebrate her birthday.

He hasn’t seen her in a week now, and for a very good reason: they all sat a horrendous amount of exams. Liam made sure Killian spent his week with his head buried in his books. Which is understandable, but also bloody unfair. (His life is tremendously boring without Emma Swan.)

Killian’s attention gets caught by Liam, coming his way again with a big, leather bag. He passes through the door and one hand finds Killian’s shoulder, presses it, as blue eyes delve into his.

“Be careful, Killian.” For once, Liam’s words seem really directed at him.

Killian simply smiles. “Always am.”

Liam grins as he nods and takes a step outside. “Do wish happy birthday to our roommate for me. She’s a good one.”

Killian rolls his eyes – what a nice way to remind him he probably shouldn’t invite Emma over all the time. Very Liam of him.

“I will. Safe car ride, brother.” With those last words, he goes back to blowing up the balloons.

It really takes a lot more effort than one might think. Emma will owe him a new pair of lungs by tonight. As he gathers all of his strength to blow up a pink balloon, he feels someone staring at him.

He looks up.

It’s Liam, in the car. He is waving at him, car window down. Behind him, the sky is distinctively blue.

Killian frowns but waves all the same. Weirdo.

“Alright. Everything’s ready,” mumbles Killian to himself, examining his living room.

He glances at the big clock on the wall. 8:15 pm. He is early, as per usual.

He shrugs his shoulders and dives onto his sofa for some relaxing me-time, getting out his phone. Emma has left him a text: “Leaving in 10, is that okay?” The thought of seeing her face warms his heart, and he quickly answers back: “Come whenever you want, I’m ready!”

As expected, the doorbell rings almost instantly. That makes him chuckle, imagining his Swan lass waiting in front of his porch – not wanting to bother him.

Emma didn’t have the happy childhood he did, with his brother and his father – although that did not last long. When they met, something was already irrevocably broken inside of her.

Chasing his memories away with a shake of head, he jumps to his feet and reaches the front door in a few long strides.

He opens with his heart drumming in his chest.

“Killian!” Her excited cry meets him as he discovers her outside.

She’s wearing a little black dress and white sneakers and her legs are already slightly tan, and she looks very, very pretty in front of this summer night sky and he must be blushing already.

Eyes open wide, it takes him a lot of willpower to exhale correctly. “Happy belated birthday, Swan!” He wishes he didn’t sound like he’s just run a marathon, but there is just so much a man can hope for.

Emma offers him a blinding smile. She’s the prettiest girl he’s ever seen.

“Thanks, Killian!” And then she shakes her wrist right in front of his eyes, and Killian’s horrified expression transforms into a soft smile. “And thank you for that, too.” The silver bracelet glints against her skin, “It’s beautiful, really.”

(He couldn’t bring himself to wait a week to give Emma her present. Thus, he dropped it on her porch on the twenty-first of June, with a small note: “Happy birthday, Swan. Love, Killian.”)

Killian is glad she does not ask further questions – because he would have had to justify the fact that this bracelet nearly cost him a hand. (Well, it did cost him two months of housework under Liam’s smug smirk, but it was definitely worth it.)

“Wanted you to have a proper gift for your eighteenth birthday,” he begins explaining but then she’s grabbing his neck and quite literally throwing herself into his arms.

He is quite out breath at first – Swan’s always been a little brutal in her displays of affection – but then he feels her fingers tangle in his hair and her breath gets deeper in the crook of his neck, and that is definitely very nice.

Come on, Killian, hug her back. His limbs seem to have turned to stone as he gathers all of his mental power to gently hold her waist. He allows himself to close his eyes, for an instant, as he inhales her perfume – a fresh fragrance of ginger and herself.

“—And thank you for organizing this party for me!” she beams as she backs away, and she sounds ecstatic, which is surprising considering how she reacted the first time he offered to organize it.

(It was a lot of screaming and great sighs and “but no one will want to come!” and, finally, Killian’s hands on her shoulders, “I promise, they will want to, Swan.” He was the one who came up with the idea of simultaneously celebrating the end of the school year and her birthday – so as to divert the attention from her – and it was all it took to, finally, convince Emma Swan to celebrate her birthday.)

“My pleasure, Swan. However, I am going to need you to stop thanking me. I already know how perfect I am.”

Oh, the look she darts at him. She’s all fire, Swan, with her fiery green eyes. He cannot say he does not love every second of it.

“Can I come in now or are we going to stay here a little longer to admire your door?” And then she’s glancing down at his hands still holding tightly her waist, and he blushes furiously, taking them back in a heartbeat. “Nice balloons by the way.”

Her amused words are a cold shower over his shoulders. He shudders, clearing his throat.

“Jeez, do come in, Emma. Sorry. Got lost in my thoughts,” he mumbles very quickly, grabbing her hand to guide her in.

Staring at the white walls of his living room allows him to cool down a bit. Damnit. He cannot be bloody flustered anytime she talks to him. Emma talks to him a lot. She’s his best friend, for heaven’s sake.

“No worries, your door frame is really pretty, when you take enough time to notice.”

He glares at her, but it’s with a lot of tenderness. “Shut up, Swan. You know what I’m like when I have to organize things.”

When he shifts to face her, she’s staring at the decorations he’s taken so much time to prepare. Everything is calculated, from the distance between the HAPPY BIRTHDAY sign and the crisp bowls on the coffee table and the color of the napkins – yellow of course, Emma’s always been yellow.

“I know, Killian. But it’s just a party. You can relax.” And with her last words, her arms have wrapped around his neck.

She cannot tell, but it’s doing terrible things to his heart rate.

“Thanks, Emma,” he rolls his eyes dramatically and gasps. “Doctors hate her, she found the secret cure to anxiety.”

Oh, how satisfying it is to see her blush suddenly. Why should he be the only one suffering from the heat?

She frowns, her fist gently bumping against his chest. “You know what I mean, Killian.” He hears the tiny bit of fear in her voice.

And smiles at her. “Aye, Swan. I’m teasing you.”

And then he stares at her with a big, idiotic grin and she’s raising her eyebrows and – unfortunately for their little duel – the doorbell rings. They both jump, establishing a respectable distance between them. He doesn’t want the others to talk more than they already are.

“Ah, got to leave you, Swan. I have to be a perfect host.”

She snorts next to him and dives an expert hand into an open crisp bag on the kitchen counter. “Do go ahead. Do your worst, Killian.”

He rolls his eyes. He hates her.

It’s nearly midnight, and everything is going very smoothly in the Jones house. It is nice to see it come to life once again, with all of his friends having fun there.

It distracts him from the void that reigns between these walls, if only for a brief moment in time.

Killian presses a bottle of coke against his lips as David explains to him his last soccer game and Killian is barely paying attention to him.

Oh, David is a very nice guy – in spite of the orange t-shirt he is sporting with confidence that night. Probably one of the best friends he’s made in high school. But it’s really hard not to want to divert his gaze somewhere else when David wears this kind of t-shirt, especially since Emma seems very invested in a girly talk back in the kitchen.

She’s trying really hard to fit in, he can tell, from the way she holds herself – arms crossed over her chest to protect herself, but feet towards the girls, eyes alert, grin impeccable on her face.

He really wants Emma to have other friends – beside him. One cannot rely entirely on someone else. It just will not work out, for her. She needs to distill her affection. Even if it means settling for somebody who wears Yoda on his chest at a birthday party.

“Excuse me, mate. Need some water,” he mumbles and David doesn’t look very concerned.

“No problem, dude. See you later,” and with those words he swiftly joins another conversation animated by Robin – a guy from Killian’s mathematics class.

Killian rolls his eyes at his social ease. It’s unfair. David can just jump from one conversation to another and always feels welcome.

Killian heads for the bathroom, glares at one couple – Zelena, brought by Regina from Physics, and some guy – smooching on the stairs.

And then he really doesn’t mean to pry on the girls in the kitchen – but his ears catch his name.

“And what about you and Killian, Emma?” asks Mary Margaret – David’s girlfriend of two years now – in an impish tone, and he hates her for it.

Something blocks Killian just behind the wall of his kitchen – a crippling, human desire to know. From where he stands, he is able to hear but cannot see or be seen.

There is something very heavy and green, down in his stomach. Fear.

He hears Emma’s chuckle. He’d recognize it anywhere.

“Killian? Nothing! We’re just friends.”

Her words should not burn like this. It shouldn’t feel like someone just ripped his heart out in front of him. She’s merely stating the truth.

“Oh, come on Emma. Everyone can see how close you guys are at school,” Mary Margaret will not let it go and Killian is almost tempted to jump in like a devil to put this conversation to an end.

There’s a silence then. It’s deafening.

The universe conspires to play a slow song at this very moment. Killian can feel his heart beat in his temples.

“No really,” Emma’s voice echoes once again. “To be honest, I’ve been crushing on someone else.”

Ouch. Lava seems to have been spilled in the vicinity of Killian’s heart. It burns. Killian’s hand is shaking as it finds the wall in front of him. He doesn’t know where to look. Nowhere seems fine. Everything is terrible and this place is too loud.

“Nooo! And who would that be?!” Their voices are too loud.

Killian knows the answer before she utters the name, and he is cursing every god above. Not him, not him, not him, please, not him…

“Neal.”

Killian’s heart shatters on the ground. The din is unbearable. He needs to get out.

Why is he so mad? They’re only friends. Surely he knew that all along.

A summer breeze welcomes him outside as he sits down on his porch, and its softness is in sharp contrast with the way his hands shake as he clenches his jaw to hold back something much scarier.

He takes his head between his hands. It feels like he will never be able to go back inside his house. Except he will, of course. Not only does he simply have to on a practical level – it’s his house after all – but also nothing is really as unbearable as one thinks at first.

Later that night, when everyone is dancing and Emma is searching for his eyes in the crowd, Killian receives an unexpected call.

He is sitting on the couch, surrounded by David and Robin, when Liam’s name flashes on his screen. Something stirs inside of him. Killian presses their shoulders, “I’ll be back, mates” and abandons their card game for the tranquil solitude of the kitchen.

It gives him a good view of the party without being a part of it. Emma, Ruby and Mary Margaret are still dancing in the living room.

“Mr. Jones?” A voice answers him on the phone. It is not Liam’s voice. And it is very distant, as if from another reality.

His initial instinct is to think it must be a mistake. Liam must have lost his phone.

“Aye, Killian Jones. Where is Liam?”

He isn’t even concerned at first, because Emma’s staring at him suddenly and wrath circles his heart. He is so mad at her for not liking him, not like he likes her. And at the same time, his heart cannot help but whimper as she smiles at him, her green eyes creasing. He notices she has smeared her black dress. Clown.

“Your brother had an accident, Mr. Jones. His car crashed into a heavy goods vehicle, and he was hurt in the process—”

A chuckle escapes his throat. What are they saying? Liam is immortal, of course he will heal.

“Did he break an arm or a leg?” Killian snorts. His weary gaze notices the chips spilled over the counter. He will have to clean that up.

“Actually, Mr. Jones, your brother did not make it—”

Another nervous chuckle escapes Killian’s mouth.

He doesn’t know his body has started to react before him. He does not feel the tears that rush to the corners of his eyes, does not control the movements of his face as something very evil swoops down on him. The only thing he knows is that at some point Emma enters the kitchen and she’s frowning furiously at him.

“Killian, what’s wrong?”

His phone is still pressed to his cheek. The paramedic hung up five minutes ago. But he didn’t make sense, and Killian is trying to call him back.

“Nothing, love. Liam is trying to trick me.”

He always used to do that, when he was a little boy. Nine-year-old Liam would hide until Killian wept and asked Liam to find him instead.

He doesn’t know why Emma stares at him in a weird way afterwards, doesn’t know why her brows furrow and her chin starts quivering, and she stammers. “Is he alright?”

She doesn’t make sense then. Why does she sound so panicked? It will be fine. Liam is playing a trick on him, hasn’t she been listening?

“He’s fine, Emma, really, it will be fine—"

Next to the chocolate cake and the chips on the kitchen counter, Killian notices the pink vase holding the yellow irises Emma left on his porch earlier this week as a thank you for her gift. (There was no note with it, but a red ribbon was delicately tied to the flowers.)

Killian doesn’t know then that Emma’s face starts to reflect the expression on his features. Doesn’t know she’s staring at him as he breaks down, doesn’t see himself suddenly kneel to the ground in a desperate attempt to feel something cold under his skin, to feel anything – anything but this earthquake inside of him.

When she kneels next to him, a shiver of horror shakes his shoulder. “Don’t look this upset, Emma. It’s your birthday party,” he quickly utters. He doesn’t want to ruin her party.

And then, it clicks. Just like that. One second of understanding, and his life as he knows it is over.

Emma’s hand is suddenly very firm over his knuckles still tensed around his phone, and she forces him to let go. He doesn’t fight back. Death has already taken her reward.

In his memories, she’s the one who breaks down into his arms. It’s not what happened. The truth is he collapsed between her arms, and she held him so tightly, and with such strength, it felt like she had been ready for this her entire life.

He’s unable to look away from the yellow irises behind Emma’s back as she clutches into him. They’ve started to wither. It makes him sad.

Present Day.

Killian waits for midnight to strike before risking a glance at her window.

No light in Emma’s room. It’s now or never.

Grabbing his keys, Killian quite literally runs to her house. He reaches her door like a lightning bolt, and just like that, drops her present next to Ingrid’s doormat.

(He leaves no note. Didn’t know what to write.)

Killian avoids Emma all through July and August, and he does so quite well – just enough for it to be bearable and not so much as to make her worry.

One afternoon, he heads for ice-cream at Ingrid’s but his blood freezes before he can get in. He expected Emma to be working, but surely not Neal Cassidy to be leaning against the counter.

Killian fists his hands. Why are you angry? You’re dating someone else, for fuck’s sake.

He doesn’t like Neal. Neal isn’t a good guy. Neal is a terrible idea, one he’s tried to shake from Emma’s mind for a long time now.

Killian steps to the side so as to not be seen, and examines the scene carefully. Emma is wearing the blue uniform. For all he knows, she has been helping Ingrid out in the shop since they graduated from high school.

Emma never did like school very much. It only made sense when she decided she didn’t want to go to college and chose to stay in Storybrooke until she figured out what she wanted.

Killian cannot see her face from his hiding spot, but Neal is all teeth out. His smile sparks fire in Killian’s belly. The air of this summer afternoon is uncomfortably dry and warm and grains of sand seem stuck down Killian’s throat.

Neal suddenly bends towards her, hands her a piece of paper – his number, Killian gathers – and as Emma takes it, Killian’s gift glints around her wrist. (She added the charm he offered her. That alone nearly makes him suffocate.)

You’re dating someone else, his inner voice stammers.

When Neal reaches to brush a strand of hair from Emma’s face, it is simply too much for Killian. He turns back, his stomach twisting.

With one, heartbreaking thought in his mind – You’ve done this to yourself.

Late August.

Saying goodbye is incredibly bittersweet, this time. (So was last time but Liam had just died and it made sense.)

It feels a lot like they are both performing their friendship as they stand a foot apart, by the departure door.

There is so much bitterness in his mouth, on the tip of his tongue, in the rigidity of his muscles clenched around his heavy bag. Emma is tense too, won’t look at him, stares instead angrily at the departure board.

“Well,” his voice finally breaks the silence. It doesn’t sound like a voice, it croaks in the hall. “Time to say goodbye, Swan.”

From the corner of his eye, he sees her nod, blonde hair floating around her face. As he risks a glance at her, he begins to understand she is shaking.

She’s holding back tears. And his anger dissolves into the wind, becomes shame and guilt and tenderness.

He doesn’t want her to be sad.

He lets go of his bag, and grabs her hands, her bracelet ringing playfully as a hello. “Hey, Emma,” he whispers, murmurs her name cautiously to make her look up. She does eventually, and her eyes are bloodshot.

His hands cup her face. “It’s going to be alright, ‘kay?” She nods again, but her chin quivers. It’s killing him. He knows she thinks they wasted their summer. He thinks so too. He only fears they’ve wasted more than that. “We’ll text, and call, and I’ll even write you letters like in those goddamn movies of yours.”

The last part makes her chuckle, but that quickly turns into a frown. She’s determined to not let any tears slip out, but her eyes are working against her.

He traces her features with his fingers, her small nose and her freckles, barely brushes her lips, and he looks up to see a peculiar glint in her eyes.

The weight of unsaid words crushes their young shoulders.

He licks his lips, tries not to stare at her mouth too long. Instead, he leans his forehead against hers, and finds a bittersweet comfort when she wraps her arms around him.

“Come back,” she eventually mutters, her breath tracing the shape of his lips.

He swallows, holding himself back. And holds her tighter, buries his face in her neck, breathes her in. “I will. Always, Swan.”

Then, they don’t say it. They don’t say it but it echoes like a din between them. It’s heart wrenching, and childhood is definitely over.

Summer has never tasted this bitter.

His jaw is tensed as he lets her go to grab his bag. He does not expect her to hold him back, her fingers gripping his hand with strength.

When he turns to face her, she’s staring at him with eyes wide open and lips pressed together.

“I’ll come back, I promise,” he simply states, but she frowns harder and he can tell it is not enough.

Nothing will ever be.

He doesn’t say it then – let me go, Emma – but she hears it anyway and her palm opens abruptly, freeing him from her grip.

And he takes a step ahead. And another one. Until his legs aren’t so stiff, and oxygen finally reaches his lungs.

He doesn’t need to look back to know she’s staring at him the whole time.

Four years later – July.

Don’t get him wrong, Killian Jones has had his lot of fucking shitty days, but this one is clearly competing for the highest place on his podium of heartbreaks.

He presses a glass of rum against his lips, drinks it up in a few mouthfuls. David and Mary Margaret are sitting next to him and he is aware that they look genuinely concerned. But he is too mad to look at them. He’s furious, furious that their speeches about hope and “finding the right person” finally got to him.

He believed them – even if it was only for the five short minutes during which he ran like a fool towards Storybrooke’s town hall – he believed them.

Around him, everyone is disgustingly happy. He still feels sweaty in his white shirt and he cannot shake an infuriating strand of hair from his forehead.

Running was pointless, of course. He was too late. Has been for years now.

From the corner of his eyes, he catches a glimpse of Emma in her white dress. She stands up, and for a moment his attention is caught by the bracelet around her wrist. There are four charms on it, four charms echoing the last years of their friendship. She is still wearing it, in spite of everything. It makes him sad.

But Emma isn’t aware of it, instead rings a spoon against her glass of champagne to catch everyone’s attention.

She is still the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen.

“Hello everyone. Thank you all for coming to our wedding.” The man at Emma's side, her husband snorts Killian’s inner voice, smiles and watches her with adoration.

And Killian is watching his life fall apart, as he does too often.

(It fell apart a long time ago, mumbles his inner voice, but he is too sober to be thinking about this.)

“I really, really couldn’t be happier to have you all here.” And then her eyes are on him and Killian wants to disappear.

How can she still look at him this way after all this bloody time?

He forces a smile on his face, nodding at her and mouthing “go ahead, Swan, you’ve got this.”

It gives her all the confidence she needs to give her speech, and she does it well.

The teenage girl he knew is long gone. A beautiful, confident woman stands in the middle of the room.

A woman he wasn’t bold enough to love properly.

Killian lowers his gaze as she goes on about how happy she is, how perfect everything is, and he wants to vomit and pass out and forget all of this.

But then he feels her stare at him once again, and he looks up to catch her eye.

Can she tell he’s been in love with her all along? He hopes so, because he will never utter the words now.

He definitely expects her to find him, as he sits outside on the balcony of the big mansion by the sea she rented for the ceremony.

The moon plays with the gentle salty waves. It’s one of his favorite views of the world. She knows it.

She takes longer than he thought, judging by the amount of rum he manages to gulp down, but she does find him.

“Hey, what’s up, sailor?” Her voice echoes, breaking the comfortable silence he found himself in.

He doesn’t turn back. He doesn’t want her to see him like this. He makes such a terrible friend, he should be happy for her. Happy that after a bloody bumpy road, Emma and Neal finally found each other.

He hates them for it.

“Not much. How’s the bride feeling?”

Summer crickets playfully sing behind them.

He hopes he doesn’t sound as bitter as the taste on the tip of his tongue. His fingers absently play with his flask of rum.

“Pretty good,” she answers back, and it’s not really the answer one would expect after such a wonderful wedding. “How…how is your hand?”

Oh right, this. The worst part about missing a limb is that everyone can see it, there’s no pretending it didn’t hurt, and they all stare at him with pity. It’s part of the reasons why he didn’t want to come to Emma’s wedding. (Emma didn’t stare, of course. Emma tried to mend him, but there was too much to heal.)

“Well, still missing, but generally good.” His words come out harsher than intended and he blames the rum.

“I tried to call you, to thank you for my birthday present. But you never answered,” she risks once again, and this time the little tremor in her voice makes him shift.

He is urged by a need to look at her, stare at her big, green eyes glinting in the dimness. After all this time, his heart still stops. How is that she still looks the same, only more beautiful, and he’s a wreck?

He paints another smile on his face, fingers clutching hard on his flask.

“I’m glad you liked my present, Swan. And I am, really, happy for you” he finally affirms. He says it because the whole universe expects him to and it is easier to divert her attention.

He really wishes he were good enough to sincerely think the words he utters. But he cannot.

He sees her shoulders fall just the slightest bit forward, as if she is relieved, and he can’t believe he genuinely fooled her. Perhaps she is just unwilling to fight. He cannot blame her.

“Good,” she exhales, smiles, turns a burning knife into his chest, “Because you matter to me. You know that, right, Killian?”

That hurts. It nearly knocks him out, and he has to hold on to the rail of the balcony. The cold metal beneath his fingers grounds him.

An unknown, mystical force – rum – suddenly pushes him to move towards her, against all of his inner principles. “I hope you know, Swan,” he begins, and he has gotten dangerously close to her. Closer than he’s allowed himself in weeks now. He stares at her lips, shakes his head. She’s staring back just as intensely. “I hope you know how much I love you – ”

The words are out before he’s aware of them, and her eyes widen. Fuck. He thinks he sees panic in her eyes.

He’s quick to utter the end of his sentence. “—as my friend, my oldest friend, and I’m so glad you finally found your happy ending.”

He sees her glance go back and forth between his eyes, and he can tell she’s not breathing any more than he is. Fuck. He’s ruined everything again, hasn’t he?

Finally, a smile cracks her face open and he knows she does it for both of their sake. “Right. Of course. You’re my best friend, Killian.”

And she reaches for him, for his good hand – touching his missing limb would have just been too much for both of them – and wraps her arms against his chest. He hopes he doesn’t stink. He very solemnly hugs her back, thanks the darkness around them for hiding the one tear that goes down his cheek. This is nothing like the embraces they used to exchange with a very desperate, very innocent affection years ago.

She’s touching him but she still feels a thousand miles away as he gently rubs her back, lost in her scent, and somehow it feels like if he tried, he could bring them back. But he cannot.

And when she backs away, his grip gets a little bit tighter around her knuckles, panic rising in his chest, and her bracelet rings one last time. He cannot lose her.

But she isn’t his to lose.

And then she smiles at him, and in that smile she reminds him there is no war to be fought anymore.

It kills him. “Go back inside, Swan. I’ll join you quickly,” he finally whispers and presses a kiss over her knuckles.

He would burn in hell to kiss her again. She won’t let him. That’s only fair.

Questions echo in her eyes as she gazes at him one last time, and he swears a gentle, pink hue colors her cheeks. The time for asking questions and pondering over answers is over, too. That was a long time ago. They never found any answers.

“Sure thing,” Emma eventually replies, and the few steps she takes to disappear into the night leave him boneless.

She did not look back. Of course not. She never looks back, now. (He left her hanging with her eyes twitching too long for her to ever look back again.)

And he is stuck looking at the door behind which she disappeared, wondering if he could have held her back.

If he could have held them back.

#captain swan #cs ff #cs fanfics #love emma #friends to lovers #love rosie au #here is the next chapter #thank you to everyone who liked reblogged commented #you guys make my day #hope you guys will like this #don't hesitate to leave me your thoughts <3 #my stuff #this chapter is angsty i apologize #but there are cute moments!!

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maruzzewrites · 4 years

Note

I loved reading your yandere Polnareff! Would you be okay writing for Jotaro with #36?

diego actually writing? this is magic! also i think jotaro is a very self-aware yandere y’know

36. “You’re all I ever think about.”

Content warnings: yandere content, obsessive behavior, implied stalking, it’s pretty mild tbh.

You didn’t know Jotaro all that well, only awareof his existence because you both studied at the same university. You wereaware he was studying marine biology, he often walked around with his lab coat,but very little was disclosed to you besides his field of work. You would seehim from time to time, always silent, always surrounded by the chaos oflove-struck women or adoring admirers who respected him for his cool, silentpersona.

You never really understood the appeal. At best,he seemed aloof, but you couldn’t imagine someone that quiet being anything butboring to you. You wouldn’t define yourself like the most talkative person inexistence, but you liked to think you could carry on a conversation when youneeded to do so or when you had common interests with someone. And you justassumed you had nothing to share with a man like Jotaro Kujo, ever standoffishcampus’ sweetheart, so you mostly ignored his presence unless the cooing ofother people caught your attention.

However, somehow life found a way to force thetwo of you in the same space and introduce each other. You had to interact withhim the first time when he entered your next class, choosing a seat near yours.In the confusion of his presence, you didn’t notice how the room was almostempty and how odd it was for him to be so close to you, too busy wondering thereason he was attending a lecture so different from his major. Maybe he waslost, maybe they changed his classroom and he wandered until the thought hefound the right one. So you leaned in, informing him that he was waiting forthe wrong lecture, citing the denomination of the class.

“No, I’m in the right place,” the low timbre ofhis voice matched the severe look and the matter-of-factly secure words that heoffered you. You tilted your head at him, raising an eyebrow, before inquiringwhy he was so there if his studies concerned biology and marine life. Afteryour question, you noticed how his eyes twitched a little as if he wassurprised by your declaration, but you almost felt like you imagine it by howstern, serious his face was. Then he answered, brief and cold, “I wanted to trythis class.”

He didn’t elaborate further, as if he deemed ituseless to explain his motivation to spend his time in a class that wouldn’tbuild up his curriculum in the direction he probably needed. But you decided toleave the whole situation alone, not too interested in digging into his mind tounderstand his goals. You forgot the whole conversation as soon as the professorcame in and started to explain the material. Your time was filled with takingnotes, positively ignoring the lack of movement from your side, Jotaroapparently motionless as the teacher went on and on about a topic that would beprobably essential to pass the class, as it was the introduction to the wholesubject.

You didn’t really think it was your business, notuntil he approached you after class to ask you for your help. You looked up athim, in all his unnecessary size and height, and raised an eyebrow at hisever-stoic look. He simply pointed at your desk, where you still had yournotebook wide open, filled with notes and words, and then asked with histypical harsh tone, “Could you lend me those?”

You blinked once, and just then your brain registeredhis disinterest the entire duration of class. In your focused state, you didn’tpay attention to it and now you were facing a man who didn’t even bring a bagwith him, not a pen or a piece of paper. You scowled at him, tilted your head,but decided it was pointless worrying about his academic career too much; hejust looked like a diligent student, always studying and reading until he wasbothered by someone. Maybe he just wasn’t used to this type of lesson, andmaybe he could use some help. You picked up all your notes and handed them tohim, simply asking for him to return them in time for the next class you hadtogether.

You gave him your number in case the two of youdidn’t see each other spontaneously on campus, but he looked way too surprisedabout your offer to say anything before excusing himself with your notebook inhand. Not knowing how to react to his sudden departure and with your notesfollowing him out of the door, you settled to study in the library until yournext class and complete the last bit of reading you needed to do before the endof the day. You didn’t have any of your friends with you today, all busy withtheir own jobs or lessons, all alone at your table with a book right in frontof you.

Suddenly, your phone vibrates, making you jumpand gaining some glares from people around you as the asked you to be silent orto turn off the device. You stalked outside quickly, phone in hand, just tocheck who it was. When you didn’t recognize the number, you frowned andrejected the call, but soon enough it started to ring again and the same numberappeared on its display. You didn’t know how to operate the phone properly, asit was a gift from your parents when you moved out for college; you decided toreject the call again and collect your stuff before it could start to vibrateand cause a scene again.

As soon as you got away and the sound of yourphone’s ringing annoyed you enough, you picked it up from your pocket andchecked once again to see if the same number was calling you. At theconfirmation of this, you exhaled from your nose, irritated and unsure aboutwhat to do. Opting to answer the call, considering it could be important withall the insistence, you brought the device to your ear as soon as you pressedthe key. You didn’t utter a single word at first, and the other person let thesilence stretch out for long moments.

“Hello?” You asked, in the end, oddly concernedabout the lack of a response after the persistence in calling you. Yet, theperson on the other side of the line kept quiet, despite you being able to heartheir breath through the speaker. It was getting heavier, a mixture of euphoriaand distress in the sounds coming from the phone. You were getting freaked out,your mind blanking as soon as panic settled in your body. But before you couldhang up the call and ask for help to avoid another call, you heard a voice fromthe other side, “I need help.”

“Jotaro? Is that you?” You were truly starting toworry, his words enough to set you on edge. Maybe he was in danger and hethought about using your phone number to ask for assistance, but something inthe pit of your stomach made you reconsider that idea. You saw him not even anhour ago, fine and safe, a tall man who could easily throw someone without evenbreaking a sweat. You decided to keep listening, and just then Jotaro chose tocontinue, “You’re all I ever think about.”

You were left in stunned silence, processing hiswords with extreme slowness. It was like your mind couldn’t wrap itself aroundthe concept, not knowing the man enough to understand how he could confesssomething like that to a total stranger. Someone he really spoke to just thatsame day, for so little and for something so trivial as a class and some notes.You were looking for the words to express your sentiment, but your brain wasfailing at this task.

“I don’t know what’s happening,” his tone was stillcold, still keeping his note of icy indifference, but there were words strainedwith concern along the way. He didn’t allow you to talk, just wanting to getthose feelings out, “But you’re stunk in my mind. You don’t bother me, you don’tgush over me like others do. You leave me alone,” his speech wasn’t delirious,delusional or frantic, his voice even and flat with random rises in emotion,but you could tell it was too level-headed to be a simple ramble, “I don’t knowwhat’s happening to me. But it’s about you.”

You stayed still for a moment more, unsure about answeringhim or asking him why he was saying all of that to you. You even thought abouthanging up, without a word, but as soon as you were about to distance the devicefrom your ear, you heard his voice again, “You don’t have to respond. Or toworry. We can work on this.”

Before you could ask him to explain what he meantwith that, you heard movement from the other side and then the tell-tale soundof an ended call. You were left there, confused and shaken, with the phone inyour hands and a weird sensation in your guts. Trying to shrug off the feelingof impeding doom, you started to walk towards your next class.

#jjba #jojo's bizarre adventure #jotaro kujo #jotaro x reader #yandere #yandere x reader #here we go again fellas #Anonymous

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lovelahela · 4 years

Text

❛ 'til death do us part ❜ ─ bloodbound.

⇢ pairing: jax matsuo x dark!mc (maia)

⇢ genre: angst, death

⇢ song: everybody wants to rule the world

⇢ description: they could never understand the power she could culminate. the changes she could make to the world. so be it. no matter. she can always make a better version of them.

⇢ word count: 1743

⇢ notes: should i make a mini-series of dark mc? also i wrote this in one go and didn't review it so i apologise if it sucks and u wasted ur time ajdjsjcjs

Succumbing to the inviting arms of malevolence that seemed so warm but were so, so cold was one of the most tempting challenges you could face. Even the strongest of wills could take so much before crumbling uselessly, pathetically at the hands of a good-enough lie — in her case, a lie that promised her safety and normalcy even at the hands of a god-like power.

She stood in front of the kneeling woman — the broken woman, whose face told a thousand tales of love, loss, and absolute pain. She was gazing up at her, eyes shining with a heavy coat of tears, but rather than conveying the emotion of devastation, they showed just how hopeless she truly was. "Do it, then," she had whispered, the tone of her voice hollow. "Kill me."

Maia could feel the weight of her decision crashing down on her. Eyes were locked on her, questioning and worried, as she stared down the woman who destroyed everything — Rheya Apostolous. She had lost so many at her hands... Lily. She had lost Lily.

When the scene of her best friend dissolving into ash flashed through her mind, the flicker of unimaginable power and fury grew inside of her. Slowly, her otherwise warm brown eyes began to glow an eerie yellow that reminded them of the sun's light itself. Her facial expression contorted into an appalled sneer. "Good riddance."

An indescribable sensation coursed through her flaming veins, spreading a comforting warmth throughout her body. It was incredible, how it gave her an extreme sense of utter euphoria unlike any other thing. It didn't matter how much delicious food she ate, how much she indulged in adventurous activities abroad, or how many times she spent passionate nights with Jax — nothing in the universe could compare to this power.

Maia held out her hand towards Rheya, as if reaching out to her, and the latter immediately began straining against the torture inflicted on her decaying body. All those millennia in which she "graced" the Earth with her presence began to rewind as her hair began to grey from its roots and her smooth skin wrinkled unnaturally while its colour turned to ash. Her blood shot out of her body and floated in the air before two strands winded like a DNA helix.

And she absorbed them. She took in Rheya's blood, disregarding the sound of her limp body falling to the floor, and paying her full attention to the key to Godhood. It was as though her body crackles with electricity raging at thousands — no, millions of volts, except it made her stronger rather than rot her lifeforce. Her eyes shone bright because she could see the world in a whole new light, like a canvas she could reshape to her will.

"It's... It's amazing!" laughed Maia, completely astonished with the state she achieved. "I can create life!" She held out her palm in front of her and watched with all but crazed eyes as a flower materialized out of thin air.

"My God..." whispered Kamilah behind her, overtook with shock and — this was a very rare occurrence — at a loss for words.

Maia spun around to face her friends and a grin stretched across her lips almost maniacally. It only faltered for a second when she saw the looks of sheer horror and gradually growing distrust they were giving her. "I can bring back Lily!"

Just as Maia uttered those words, plagued with delusional and false hope, the delicate flower withered in her hand. She frowned distastefully. "I just need..." She turned her gaze to the thousands of people seated in the opera, dazed and slowly waking up from the psychic hold their minds were strained by. "More power."

"Maia, this is unnatural." Kamilah's voice was still uncharacteristically quiet and she spoke as if she were tip-toeing on eggshells — except those eggshells would annihilate the world if cracked.

"No, this is brilliant! I know now! I know what she felt!" Another crazed laugh echoed through the opera, sending shivers down the trio's body.

"This is wrong, Maia. Deep down, you know it." She was taken aback at the tone of Jax's voice. Who was he, a weak little spec on what was now her world, to patronize her? She was a force of power. A blessing to the Earth. A Goddess.

"You don't understand, Jax, I can bring back Takeshi!" Maia spoke with slightly less enthusiasm, words laced with an underlying threat. "I can bring him and Lily back!"

Once again, she faced the audience, ready to put an end to their miserable little lives, when she saw them start to recover. A few began to point, scream, cover their mouths with terror. Her hands clenched, and her vision burned. Who were these people to look at her like that, to judge her? Tiny, insignificant things. Droplets in a torrent. What were their lives, compared to her pain? What were their screams, compared to her power? They had no idea what she could do. What she could become.

"I could be a Goddess!" Her voice boomed, bouncing off the walls of the opera, vibrating with raw rage and madness.

"Maia, no..."

She whirled around to glare at Kamilah, face contorted with burning fury. "You don't understand! You can't understand!"

Her anger was no longer targeted at the world, at its injustice and the ego of the petty mortals who inhabited it. It was directed at Adrian, at Kamilah, at Jax. They were gazing at her with such fear, such distrust... like she was still a reckless human rather than a Goddess made flesh. "Just watch," she had growled. "Just wait and see. I can make this right."

"You sound just like her!" exclaimed Adrian incredulously, facial muscles slack with shock but body tense and ready to fight or flee.

"NO!" They flinched at the loudness of her yell. "Rheya was consumed by anger and vengeance. She was foolish and irresponsible, unworthy of this power. I will use it for good."

Maia looked at them, one by one. "Don't you get it? I can give you everything you've ever wanted! Jax, I can rid the world of injustice! I can topple all systems of oppression, protect the vulnerable and the voiceless! Kamilah, I can bring your brother back!"

She winced. "Don't... don't go there."

"Adrian... all you've ever wanted was a better world! A peaceful world! I can give you that! I can give you the world you've always dreamed of." Maia spread her arms wide, beaming, as if to welcome them into her embrace.

"Not like this. Not with more pain and death." He frowned at her, showing all signs of heartbreak, instilling a sense of offense inside her.

Her grin faltered yet again. "Death is temporary. Pain is temporary. And if you don't understand that... I can show you."

She reached out a hand to the crowd again and began to draw their blood, their life, drowning out their screams, when a hand reached out and a touched her shoulder. She looked behind her to see Jax, looking at her with softened eyes and a concerned frown. "Maia, listen to me. This isn't you, okay? You can still come back from this."

Maia scoffed. "God... I thought you'd understand. You of all people! But you're just like the others. You can't see what I'm capable of!"

His eyes met hers, and he looked achingly vulnerable and sincere, scared and loving all at once. "You're right, okay? I don't know. I don't know what feeling you're going through right now. I don't know what this power has done to you. But... I do know you're hurting. I've been there. Believe me, I've been there."

He took a deep, shaky breath. "And I do know how easy it is to give in to that hurt. To let it define you. To become a monster. And I know... I know you're better than that. I know you're amazing."

Jax extended a hand toward her, cautious yet welcoming. "I love you, Maia... please come back to me."

She met his eyes yet again, cold and soulless. And with an empty, monotone voice, she said a single word that stroke unimaginable fear in their hearts: "No."

And with that, shrieks of agony and horror rang in her ears, but no matter. They're only insignificant humans, and they're contributing to a good cause. A great cause. They're giving their lives to being back Lily, to exterminate the evil in the world.

"NO!"

"STOP!"

Stubborn little things. They'll learn to come around eventually. How could they not? After all, she is their new Goddess. They will bow down to her, or die opposing her.

Maia cackled, euphoric, as power beyond measure overwhelmed her every sense. The humans were drained of their life, of their blood, as their bodies withered and decayed. Flowers bloomed all over the stage. It was amazing, intoxicating. Then, something else began to form mid-air — blood, muscles, gone. And Lily was reborn from the ashes.

"YES!" Her entire body tingled like never before at the sensation of such potential swimming in the blood that ran through her veins. But then, Lily withered just like the humans in the seats. And suddenly a stake was protruding from her chest.

Maia looked sideways to see a crestfallen Adrian, shaking his head continuously in denial. "I'm so sorry, Maia... I had to... I had to... I'm so sorry..."

The stake melted away into nothingness. She sighed disappointedly. Did he really think that would work? On her? With a simple wave of her hand, Adrian disintegrated and was left fluttering in the wind as specs of grey. No matter, she'll make a new Adrian. A better one. One that will obey and serve.

She ignored the cries of despair that burst out of her friends' quivering lips and let herself float in the air towards the rooftop. The crisp wind of the night encased her, caressing her practically glowing skin. Maia stared down upon the thousands of humans walking along the streets, laughing, eating, crying, faces illuminated by the faint glow of the towering buildings — each of them a small step forward to reviving Lily and reshaping Earth to her will. All important to achieving Godhood.

And as she reached out her hand and began to feed, the world was lost to blood and death.

#my fingers hurt from typing this #so m sorry if it got shitty towards the end #anyway i miss bb #jax matsuo #pixelberry #choices fanfiction #playchoices #bb choices #bloodbound #adrian raines #kamilah sayeed #lily spencer #jax x mc #jax matsuo x mc

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sometimesrosy · 4 years

Note

(1) Thank you for the gif(t)s of Misters Elba & Morley. I could always use a little more of them in my life ;) Sorry for the last rant but I’m perplexed by those regarding Bellarke as a six season platonic friendship possibly to turn romantic in the last stretch or not at all. And “turn” is generous since some prefer to use “forced” instead. I suppose it can technically be true but only in the strictest, most surface-level sense. It’s been a long time since I’ve thought of Bellarke as NOT part

(2) of a romantic narrative. I look back and see Bellarke as a three-sided dynamic- partnership, friendship, and romance, with each side of the triangle pushing and influencing the others and each season deepening the dynamic. Even season 1 had elements of all three. I’d say progression is the most accurate term to describe their story. Strangers of different hierarchical classes to political rivals to co-leaders to friends to lovers separated by trauma, politics, death, time, other partners to

(3) future couple. Not a single step exists in a vacuum. Their relationship and individual character development are pieces fit to form a complete puzzle over time. Or as I’ve come to see, a seamless 100-episode tale with interconnected threads from start to finish. The only right way to decipher meaning is to look beyond a collection of scenes to the full picture of what we have so far. All stories are chronicles of progression from one point to the next and romance plots are no exception. JR

(4) didn’t invent some newfangled revolutionary storytelling protocol. His story just requires us to look beneath the surface and connect the dots across a seven season sequence. By 6x10, there are no layers needed to be looked under. The romance is smack dab in the middle of the room for all to witness, figuratively and literally. Even the nonshippers can see it, it’s not exclusive to the trained eye of the romance lover. I thought I signed up for a great story years ago. But I never would’ve

(5) known HOW great it was without the thought-provoking, deep-dive analyses by you, jeanie205 and the 3rd in the triumvirate of fandom heroes, travllingbunny, the kind of insights that bring an accompanying joy to the show itself and leave one stupefied in awe. Thank you all, truly. I don’t have sure plans to watch the prequel yet but if the 3 of you will, it may just tip the scales for me into the affirmative. It’d be fun to geek out with you guys on a new-ish adventure from the start.

+++

I got chills when you said,

Not a single step exists in a vacuum. Their relationship and individual character development are pieces fit to form a complete puzzle over time. Or as I’ve come to see, a seamless 100-episode tale with interconnected threads from start to finish.

That was the most unexpected thing about this show. That it wasn’t just another fun show with hot people in the apocalypse with shocking twists dealing with complex questions-- which would be good enough, you know? Lots of fun. No, it was more. I did NOT figure out that it was a novelistic show until we got to season 3 and even then I didn’t understand how LONG TERM a novel was being told here. Not a novel, more like a series. A novel would be season long, but the narratives here have lasted for 7 seasons.

It is seamless. Subplots weaving in and out of the 7 seasons. Character arcs taking the whole series to complete. That actually really confused me in season 3, because I expected both Clarke and Bellamy to finish their hero’s journeys in that season, and instead, there I was, feeling like it was unfinished because they HADN’T returned from their journeys wiser and stronger, ready to change their worlds. Nope. They were still struggling and learning.

Just because I SAW the hero’s journeys in season 3 (a little late, mind you, since they started in s1 in the ‘hot people in the apocalypse’ phase,) doesn’t mean THAT was the entirety of the hero’s journey. It actually stands to reason that if they’re on a hero’s journey, that it’s a whole series long journey. Oooh. But then this hiatus, someone was like... are you sure Clarke isn’t on a HEROINE’S journey? And I, not really being an expert on the heroine’s journey and only seeing the hero’s part of it (which is like the first half of the heroine’s journey?) had to go research it and LO AND BEHOLD, her journey was the HEROINE’S journey, which TOTALLY fits with the dual protagonist, yin/yang, dark/light, head/heart, binary stars, feminist, mythic, epic love story of it all. NOW it all makes sense, why I couldn’t understand that her hero’s journey hadn’t finished yet (because it shifted into the more unexpected heroine’s journey.)

It always frustrates me when people say I can’t admit I’m wrong and am delusional about bellarke, because I have continually adjusted my theories as the story has gone on, changing them when something is off and doesn’t match canon and THAT’S why my theories are still holding up, which they are. Because I keep checking them back against canon. And when canon confirms the theories I have, I keep using them. When canon josses my theories and headcanons, I adjust. I ask myself, okay where did I go wrong? what is he really saying here? I’ve been struggling, particularly with Raven and Murphy’s roles in the show, and talked to various people about them, because I couldn’t grab ahold of them. With shipping, particularly, things can get confused. I’m wondering if Raven’s love story is not for another person at all, what if it’s self love? Because her most consistent relationships have actually been with familial relationships. Clarke as sister. Bellamy as big brother. Abby as mom. Sinclair as dad. While the romances have failed her. (whether they intended to start out this way or not idk, since all the actors who played her love interests asked to leave or were fired.) And I’m wondering if Murphy’s main love story is actually a spiritual love story. His romance with Emori is a good one, but here he is now wondering about immortality and morality, and he’s always been concerned with that just not secure enough to have answers. Maybe spirituality is his route to finding peace within his soul and coping with his mental illness and trauma? IDK. ANYWAY

I don’t think this show is flawless, and maybe they’ve had to franken-stitch some of their plotlines together to fit when things didn’t work out, and maybe some of their subplots ended in a way that didn’t satisfy us because we wanted something BETTER for those characters even though the tragic ending was part of the larger narrative, but I agree that it is seamless, one leading to the other to the next. When I look back at the storylines I didn’t understand or didn’t like as much, I can see how they fit with the larger narrative. How they lead to the ending the whole show is heading towards.

It’s actually very exciting. It’s not a new way to tell stories, it’s an old one, but it’s not one we see on tv very often, with its ratings and early cancellations and dependence on seasonal !POW! endings to keep people watching, and it’s impatience with slow story telling. They COMMITTED to a long term story despite the risk, and that must have been really hard with the pressures from hollywood and the money people and fandom and reviewers and even the cast. it’s remarkable and I can’t wait to see how it’s wrapped up. No matter what the endings are for our fave characters, I think it will be fascinating to see. And being able to watch the whole show, knowing how it ends, and that it was all crafted to be that way, is going to be really cool. It’s impressive, actually. I think the future will actually be much kinder to this show than the present is. Watching it week to week, you can’t see the development so much, but when we get the whole thing, everyone will be able to see it. I think this series is going to count as a future classic.

It’s like the reverse of GOT. We expected GOT to be novelistic, based on the epic ASOIAF novels as it was, we expected it to have a grand structure that pulled everything together and gave it a bigger meaning, and in the end, it was trash shlock with no meaning past boobies, action, trauma porn, and dragons. HOWEVER, The 100 was thought to be some trash teen scifi soap with no meaning but hooking up, action, trauma porn and apocalypses, and it’s ending up being an epic novelistic series with a grand structure that pulls everything together and gives it meaning. Basically, if JR had been hired by HBO to do GOT, he would have done it right. But D&D were hollywood hacks and flim flam men who only know how to do surface and don’t understand story. (and are also racist and misogynistic bullies.)

ANYWAY, nonny. Do you have a blog? You should be writing this stuff down under your own name. If you send it to me on anon because you don’t have your own blog, you should think about it. I’m pretty sure that @jeanie205 and @travllingbunny would agree with me. I have limited what meta I reblog due to past experiences, but I think other people would like to follow you.

#the 100 #epic story #novelistic #narrative arc #series finale

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thekrazykeke · 6 years

Photo

I promised myself no angst. ...Why did I lie to myself? LOL! By now y’all know that’s kind of my brand. Happiness mixed wit grief or foolishness mixed wit silliness. Drama meets sexy. Okay, I’ma stop, I’ma stop~

Previous.

@elaindeereads @autumn242 @punkrockwxnnabe @palmsofgranate @strawberrysoftkitten @wikiwakanda @lovemekaycee @managingmischiefdaily @gothambrat @marvel-snatched-my-wigs @youreadthatright @lovelylittlekittn @muse-of-mbaku @keya168 @misspooh

Although you hated this bougie neighborhood with a passion of a thousand suns, Erik promised that y’all would be moving out in a few weeks, a month tops and could choose together on an apartment or house to move into. With that in mind, you decided to find a hobby to occupy your time whenever you weren’t at work, and thus is how jogging became a thing, or actually, briskly walking along the trail that you had found close to the house.

Much to ya boo’s initial irritation, in the mornings you got up around five or six A.M and got dressed before heading out to start the regime, managing maybe two laps before returning to the house for a quick shower and breakfast, Erik always cooked, especially when he realized you had a routine and didn’t plan to stop, whether it’s a small bowl of grits and sausage or eggs and toast, he always made somethin’ because he didn’t consider a bowl of cereal as real breakfast. Then he kissed you on the cheek and locked up before y’all each went to work.

Sometimes you saw Demi’s thirsty mcgurty lookin’ ass when you got home, as you normally got there first, and she’d always wave to you, sometimes, if you was feelin’ charitable, you’d wave back, most of the time, you pretended not to notice and just went inside.

Dinner/date night is occasionally a hit and miss.

If you weren’t too worn out, you’d cook a large enough meal to last several days, but Erik let you know via text whether he’d be working late with T’Challa or nah and to save him a plate, though sometimes he brought restaurant food home and y’all would sit up, watching trashy reality TV or something on Netflix.

Weeks just shy of a year together, of course something had to go left field.

You had gotten home later than normal and Erik still hadn’t arrived yet. Since you didn’t feel like cooking tonight, you order some food from that Greek place you’d both tried and liked last week. Rubbing the space between your eyebrows and nose, you glance at your cellphone which vibrates on the island counter. Frowning minutely, you snag the device and enter the code to unlock the screen.

A bad feeling forming in the pit of your stomach, you did as your older cousin bid, logging onto your rarely used Instagram account and finding Erik’s. The bad feeling only got worse as you realized what she was trying to hint at without actually fully dipping into anything.

On his account, there were of course fans.

Then there were people who claimed to have known him as kids growing up in Oakland. And then there were the schemers, one of them being a persistent female that seemed to fall into all three categories and was being super extra. Eyebrows raising and drawing together, then raising again, you read the several times she tried to call him out as her baby daddy and even put up an ultrasound picture. You went onto her page and your eyebrows raised to your hairline again, as she seemed pretty ‘normal’, minus her obsession with celebrities. Breanna hadn’t checked this girl out before giving you the scoop, obviously, or she’d have picked up on how delusional this girl truly was and her weird behavior.

“Baby, you wouldn’t believe the crazy thing that happened today.”

Distractedly, you tilt your chin and like clockwork, Erik kissed your cheek. “What happened?” Putting the cellphone down, you looked in his direction, to see that he’s opening the fridge and pulled out a gallon of apple juice.

“You know how T’Challa likes to give those grand speeches an’ shit?” You hum to let him know that you’d heard him. “We was at this convention on 5th and Raeburn, that street by Lockland and Donahue Ave, with that community center still being constructed?”

“I remember.” You nod.

“There was this pack of...” he poured some apple juice into a glass. “Old ladies that just came out in like, they Sunday finest or somethin’ and they was flirting mad heavy wit T’Challa. It was funny as fuck because because his eyes were screaming ‘help me!’ but his body language was relaxed. I think he nearly jumped out his skin when one of’em pinched him on the butt.” As he took a swig of his drink, he nearly choked on it, far too amused by the memory.

“I warned him not to wear that suit.”

You’re about to inquire further into what the hell he’s talking about but then he’s pulling out his cellphone, entering the code to unlock the device and showing you a picture. There T’Challa was and he’s dressed in a nice suit, in an offhand way, you can admit that he’s handsome but...

“He look like he goin’ to deliver a speech at church.”

Erik laughed, pocketing his phone. “Right?? I told him not to trust his stylist on this one. But ay, what do I know about deflecting attention and girls?”

And there is your opening, dropped neatly in your lap. You scratch your cheek. “It’s funny that you would say that. I mean, I guess you know all ‘bout swerving bitches, especially this one, right?” Before Erik could open his mouth and utter a word of rebuttal or defense, you shoved him the evidence. His teeth clicked shut and he pointed at the cellphone held loftily in your hold, scratching at his beard.

“I was gon tell you about her.”

You raised both eyebrows. “Really, when? Because she’s been in contact witchu since...three weeks ago. I gotta admit that got me feelin’ some type of way.”

“Oh, you feelin’ some type of way?” He widened his eyes. “Baby, this is a blatant invasion of privacy. I ain’t given you any type of reason to think I’m doin’ nothin’ wrong because I haven’t been. An’, an’ you snooping through my social media accounts like I’m some sort of grimy ass nigga that fuck ‘round on you any chance I get? The fuck, girl?”

“Don’t try to switch it around.” You cross your arms over your chest. “I ain’t implied you was guilty of doin’ nothin’ wit nobody. I just want to know why you didn’t just let me know about this chick?” He cut you an incredulous look and you pursed your lips, giving him an annoyed look back.

“...N’Jadaka, you love me. I love you. You say that you want me to be yo wife, you wanna marry me? Then secrets like this should not exist in our relationship, so that others outside our relationship can poke their noses in our business. We coulda handled this together, like a team.”

He reared back. “Okay, back up. ‘Others outside our relationship’.” Scratching his neck, he looked away, counted to twenty, then looked back at you. “Someone else been snooping on my social media accounts, reporting back to you?” There’s another long moment of silence. “Someone in your family?” Erik questioned, though it might as well have been a statement.

You realized you’d accidentally let the truth slip. “Well, it’s getting late...” You yawned, obnoxious and loud as you raise up from your seat.

Stretching a hand out, he stops you from running away. “Y/N.”

“I’m not gon name any names, but yes. Okay? Yes. I didn’t tell this person to do that, but they felt it was pertinent information for me to know, just in case. My family,” You let out a large sigh. “My family’s always in errbody business. It’s partially why I stay away from them in the first place.” You glance at him, looking him straight in the eye. “...You still should have told me.”

Erik reached out, snagging your wrists and bringing you closer to him. “I know. I had plans to but...I just figured I should squash all the craziness before telling you about it.”

You can feel his heartbeat, a steady rhythm beneath your ear. “I’d feel better if I knew the truth.” You look up at him, he looked down at you.

“...Is that yo baby, Erik?”

Almost as if he expected that, he reached into his back pocket and pulled out a crumpled up letter, offering it to you. Looking at him in askance, but not receiving an answer, you instead opened the letter, reading silently, sounding the words out. Then looking at him once again and he raised an eyebrow, a bit of dimple showing as he cocked his head to the side.

“That’s not yo baby.”

He took the paper back. “No it ain’t.” Erik assured. “I wasn’t even gon pay that girl none of my attention or feed into that bullshit, but T’Challa was persistent I get the DNA test done. Like my pull out game that weak.”

A startled laugh escaped. “Nigga...”

The doorbell rang and you looked in the direction of the front door. “There’s dinner.” Before you could take a step towards it, he tugged you back. “...What?”

“Witcho history of answering doors, let’s not chance it.” You roll your eyes and he maneuvered you so that you’re walking back to the dining room. “I got it.”

So, crisis averted. It’s clear that you and Erik still had some issues to work out individually and together, but there was an intent to actually do so, not to let the problem fester into something bigger. Talks of therapy were brought into discussion that night and while he initially balked at the idea, by morning he agreed to at the very least try.

Another week passed.

Nakida’s fifteenth birthday was coming up fast and Darius needed a little help getting everything together for her party. His little girl was maturing into a little lady and there were things that she didn’t like anymore that she did last year and a lot of the new things that she liked or wanted were way, way out of his price range.

Being that Darius is a quiet, prideful individual and man, you had to come at him in a certain way so that he didn’t feel like you were looking down on him, and with Erik’s go head -- (“Baby, you really gotta stop asking me if you can bring ya family over. This is our house. Ours, not just mines.”) -- had offered to have the party right here in y’all home.

The backyard was big enough for the entire immediate family to come if they wanted to. And being that Nakida was sort of raised by everybody, not just Darius, of course they wanted to. People were bringing plates, drinks (alcohol and not), extra food, and decorations, and Darius, after much hemm’ing and haww’ing, eventually just surrendered.

Finally, the day arrived, and things were going off (miraculously) without a hitch! Perhaps because it was just universally acknowledged and accepted not to start any BS on Nakida’s birthday.

Whatever the reasoning, you were thankful for it.

Things certainly got a little more interesting when Erik got home, the party still in full swing, with T’Challa in tow.

“Happy birthday.” The king smiled, holding out his gift. Nakida thanked him, fidgeting as she looked from T’Challa to Erik and back again. “...Is everything okay?”

Nakida hesitated for a long moment, clearly wanting to say something before nodding. “Food’s for everyone, help yaself, bye!”

T’Challa looked at Erik, wordlessly asking what was going on, but Erik shrugged, “Teenagers.” That’s all he had to say on the subject. “Look, I’m hungry as shit. I’m bout to make me a plate.”

“Wait, I’m hungry too!”

“You say that like it’s my problem.”

Breanna softly shook your arm. “Oh my gah, he’s here again.” The older woman hissed. You cut her a look and she released you. “Sorry! It’s just, why you ain’t tell me? I woulda dressed up more.”

“Girl, this a birthday party. Good thing neither of us knew T’Challa was comi--mmph?!”

“Don’t mention the ‘c’ word and his name in the same sentence. I can feel myself having ideas, like does he smile when he has the big ‘O’?”

Davion tossed a cup of water on her as he passed by. “You. just. nasty.”

“Oooh, boy!”

Rolling your eyes heavenward, you shook your head as Breanna chased Davion around, trying to beat him up. What was a celebration of any kind in this family without a bit of drama?

“Who is that?” T’Challa inquired, watching as the woman went running by, a slightly younger male laughing.

Erik is more interested in eating his plate. “Whatchu talmbout now?”

“Stand still so I can beat ya ass!” “Hell nah, bruh! You can’t get mad because I told the truth!”

It’d be rude to point. So T’Challa juts his chin at the woman, trying to be as subtle as he can. Erik glances around to see who he’s talking about, only to nearly choke on some macaroni as he realized who his cousin had pointed out.

“You met her before. Go talk to her.”

T’Challa’s shaking his head before he even finished saying his suggestion. “No, I can’t.” Erik rose from his seat and the other man slightly panicked. “Where are you going?”

Erik waved him off. Unlike T’Challa secretly feared, Erik didn’t go and rat him out, instead going into the house for some reason. Releasing the breath that he didn’t know that he’d been holding in, he turned around, deciding to enjoy his own plate of food before it got too cold.

“Oooh, ayyy, zaddy.”

T'Challa suddenly found himself with a lapful of a beautiful, smiling woman. He thinks her name is… Wracking his brain desperately, after a few seconds, he smiled, clearing his throat, “…Breanna?”

Apparently his guess is right because she nuzzled her face into his neck and he bites the inside of his cheek. “Yes, my extra fione chocolate man?”

“I do not, ah…I do not think…”

“Don’t worry, baby daddy, leave the thinking to me.”

Isiah is wandering by to refill his cup. But paused in his tracks when he overheard that last little tidbit. “Pregnant? You pregnant? Didn’t you say you was getting yo tubes tied, Fertile Myrtle?!”

“Damn, cuz. You move fast. I said talk to her, not knock her up.” N'Jadaka threw his two cents in.

“That baby ain’t goin’ to Wakanda, bruh.” Darius said bluntly.

“There is not…she is not…”

“It’s a girl and I'ma name her Te'Jai.” Breanna proclaimed.

Eventually, the truth is soused out and poor T’Challa is told that he’s being teased, to get him to lighten up. He does relax greatly afterwards, coming out of his suit and listening to jokes, sometimes trading some of his own and stories.

Most people went home by 2 A.M. but the ones who didn’t stayed in the guest rooms. Color you surprised when T’Challa came sneaking out Breanna’s room a quarter to five. He looked at you with the classic deer in headlights expression, you looked at him before shrugging and opening the door, gesturing for him to go first.

They was grown.

Whatever they did or did not do wasn’t none of ya business.

#erik killmonger #mcu #erik killmonger imagine #mcu imagine #erik killmonger x reader #black reader #erik killmonger x black reader #black panther #marvel #black panther imagine #marvel imagine #thekrazykeke

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journeysintowebcomics · 6 years

Text

Worm Liveblog #63

UPDATE 63: Just Like Them

Last time Jack Slash had encountered the person he wanted to recruit. It went badly for the potential recruit – Oni Lee. Theo will pursue Jack Slash and try to kill him with a time limit of two years. Meanwhile, Labyrinth was visited by Burnscar, who didn’t try to recruit. It didn’t go well either. Who is next in the Slaughterhouse Nine’s potential recruits? Let’s find out!

It takes me a moment to realize the significance of this candidate. It’s Colin, or as he used to be known when he was a hero: Armsmaster. Well this has the potential to be quite the interesting situation! Because despite everything, I don’t think Armsmaster would join the Slaughterhouse Nine unless he’s really upset about the consequences of his actions during the Leviathan attack. It doesn’t seem to me like he’s delusional, thinking it wasn’t his fault or anything like that. In my opinion, he’s of sound mind and has relatively stable moral opinions. He should be okay.

What worries me is which one of the Slaughterhouse Nine will visit him, though, because it’s very likely they’ll cause havoc no matter who it is. The question is how destructive they’ll be.

So! Armsmaster is at his house because where else would he be during his house arrest, when he hears a noise like tinkling glass. Shatterbird, perhaps? Better step away from anything made of any kind of glass, just in case. Armsmaster does precisely the opposite to that, contacting Dragon, who is currently busy examining a boring code. Hah! An AI is getting bored of code! This is great. Through the microphones, Dragon tries to listen and find out where the tinkling noise is coming from. This is good, I think. If anything happens to Armsmaster, Dragon will know immediately what it was.

There’s nothing to be seen outside through the window, which of course doesn’t mean he’s safe. The noise is coming from the vent, and I think it’s clear for anyone that anything that has to come from the ventilation can’t be benign. To defend himself, Armsmaster takes a small knife that seems to have disintegration based on nanotechnology, and considers going for his helmet.

The vent exploded from the wall with enough force to fly across the room and embed in the opposite wall. It was hard to make out in the cloud of plaster dust, but Colin saw a hand, all white, each joint segmented, fingers splayed, palm facing the room.

The hand tipped forward, and then dropped to the floor alongside the attached forearm, a length of chain stretching from the vent to the ‘elbow’.

…I remember in the crime scenes the Wards had fought the Travelers at one of the bodies looked like this – joints attached with chains and stuff separated. This has to be the person who made it. I can’t avoid wondering how exactly this parahuman can survive with such mutilation, from the description I’m reading here it should be an impossibility. This person must be a tremendously skillful tinker, because I suppose it relies on technology to work.

Do you know how creepy the idea of seeing exposed organs at work is? How do surgeons endure such thing? Golly!

He knew this one from the briefings. Mannequin.

Well the name is very fitting. From the physical description alone I’d say this one is the most memorable of all the Slaughterhouse Nine so far. There’s something extremely unsettling about him that goes beyond the fact he’s a shambling mess of a person walking and moving. Has someone drawn Mannequin? I’m certain there is. If you know some pretty good Mannequin art please show it to me! Call it morbid curiosity, because I’m sure I’ll kind of regret it once I see it, haha

Armsmaster reacts immediately, lunging forward with his weapon ready to hit while Mannequin is still lying on the floor unmoving, but of course it doesn’t work. What kind of Slaughterhouse Nine member would get killed like a chump? A large blade emerges from the hand, and Armsmaster dodges because he got lucky. Will Mannequin approve this? I think he will, it’s not like he expected a warm welcome, right?

The head is the last thing that gets to the body, and it truly is like a mannequin’s head. It doesn’t even have facial features, so I suppose that means Mannequin’s brain is the only thing inside? I’m imagining that’s what’s going on with him. Goodness, my imagination is flying about how biologically possible it could be. Mannequin seriously is such a weird character.

Dragon noticed what’s going on and help is already on its way. Will she use her speedy suit to come all the way from wherever she is, like she did with the Undersiders’ attack to the Protectorate? Maybe not because this isn’t a somewhat average villain from the city, this is a member of a worldwide threat. Launching yourself carelessly against Mannequin can’t end well...for Armsmaster because he’s the one who is vulnerable here.

Mannequin does what can only be intimidation tactics such as showing Armsmaster his spinning fingers and trying to ward him away with them, as if threatening to slice his face off with them. Instead, the blades touch the leg, and it bounces around in what may or may not have been a calculated move because of this:

All at once, it ricocheted, shearing through the computer, bouncing violently off of Mannequin’s head, then his leg again, the desk, then his arm.

It hit the computer. Maybe Mannequin heard Dragon talking, even if she was careful not to be too loud. I don’t think they’d be so careless as to make the computer what allows Dragon to listen, but Mannequin may not know that, to them any voice he heard may just be someone Armsmaster was talking with.

The blades stopped, Mannequin still isn’t saying anything. Just like I suppose, the destruction of the computer doesn’t stop the connection with Dragon, she’s able to give some useful information about Mannequin. It’s of interest to me too!

“Mannequin. Original name Alan Gramme. Tinker, originally went by the name Sphere. Specialty is in biomes, terraforming and ecosystems… or it was.”

Well this is the most information I know of any Slaughterhouse Nine member yet. Of course he’s a tinker, no surprise there, although now I can’t avoid wondering how exactly he turned himself into his current state. It doesn’t say he was a former hero, maybe he was like Canary, a rogue? His specialty is biomes and ecosystems. His, uh, his being right now may be related to that, if he can make a self-sustaining environment for what little remains of him. Who knows what kind of stuff is inside that mannequin. All in all, useful information.

“He became newsworthy when he took on a project to build self sustaining biospheres on the moon. He had ideas on solving world hunger, and building aquatic cities near cities plagued by overcrowding. And he was putting it all into effect. Until-”

“The Simurgh,” Colin finished.

So he was a genius, a veritable world-saving genius. Self-sustaining biospheres and aquatic cities are concepts that seem so science fiction it’s amazing to hear he was putting it all into effect, but the Simurgh...something happened with the Simurgh. That sounds familiar. Wasn’t the Simurgh one of the Endbringers? Behemoth, Leviathan and the Simurgh, if I recall correctly. The city he was in must have been obliterated, and he changed then.

“His wife and children were killed in the attack, years of work ruined. Everything fell apart. He went mad. He cut himself off from the rest of the world. Literally sealed himself away.”

Literally sealed himself away, no doubt. It’s a real pity such a promising mind went insane and is now one of the Slaughterhouse Nine. I can understand why he joined, though, or at the very least I can imagine why he’d be willing to take part of this group.

In what must be the world’s least surprising fact ever, Dragon says Mannequin has a body count. What’s important is what kind of person he prefers killing, though.

Like other serial killers, Mannequin favored certain types of people as victims. His prey of choice included rogues, those individuals seeking to make a profit from their abilities, especially those looking to better the world… and tinkers.

Pretty meaningful targets, if you ask me. I can’t say I know what’s going through Mannequin’s head, but I suspect he’s killing them out of rancor or envy, like they deserve getting killed for being altruistic or because he envies they’re actually being able to help the world without things going badly for them. Maybe this is also why Mannequin is here to try to recruit Armsmaster. He was trying to do what he thought was the right thing to do for the sake of the world – and his own reputation, but that’s beside the point – yet got punished for it, dishonored and thrown aside. His fall from glory was nowhere as dramatic or painful as Mannequin’s, but it’s close enough.

Being killed isn’t something Armsmaster is afraid of, he even welcomes it because he has nothing left in his life. That’s when Dragon reveals to him what the Slaughterhouse Nine may be doing in Brockton Bay. He didn’t see it coming, he’s not happy to hear he’s under consideration to join one of the global menaces. Yes! Just like I hoped he’s not interested. I hope my judgment of him isn’t wrong!

Mannequin doesn’t seem capable of talking. I suppose vocal functions are one of those functions that aren’t important, or at leIast I doubt he left his vocal chords intact. Instead of talking, he takes some of the keys from the keyboard to try to communicate. Somehow this isn’t the kind of communication I expected with a known murderer...communicating through keyboard keys. Somehow that doesn’t really increase the scare factor.

Mannequin swiveled his upper body to face the other direction and reached for the shattered monitor. He picked out a piece of glass and a piece of glossy black plastic. Pressing them together, he raised it to the right side of his face, looking down at Colin. Slowly, Mannequin changed the angle of the shard of glass with the black backing.

It took two long seconds before the villain’s intent became clear. Colin tensed, and Mannequin froze, fixing the angle of the shard.

With the black backing, the glass reflected an image. With the angle Mannequin had carefully found, the image reflected was half of Colin’s own face, overlapping with Mannequin’s head.

It took me a while to realize what Mannequin was trying to communicate. What can I say, I’m not very good with charades. After a moment I realize he’s trying to indicate he thinks Armsmaster and he are similar. Looks like I was correct! This is why he went to find Armsmaster and invite him to join! And unlike me, Armsmaster isn’t pleased. He refuses to think they’re anything alike.

“I didn’t date, I didn’t have kids, because I wanted to be out there, helping! I knew that any attachments could be used against me, so I went without! I was fucking smart enough to do that!”

Given how their deaths is part of what pushed Sphere over the edge, mentioning this seems like a ticket straight to getting your head bashed in. Mannequin doesn’t even do that, he’s silent even when Armsmaster demands a reply. He’s so upset Mannequin insinuated they were similar he’s throwing all caution to the wind, even with Dragon begging him to shut up. It’s because he’s certain he’s going to die, so may as well die telling the madman what’s what.

“You want to compare us, freak? Maybe we both had bad days. Days where nothing went right, days where we were too slow, too stupid, too weak, unprepared or tired. Days we’ll look back on for the rest of our fucking miserable lives, wondering what we would have done different, what we could have done better, how things could have played out. The difference between us is that I actually did something with my life, and I’m still trying to do more while I serve my sentence!” He stopped and took a breath. “You started your big projects, got every fucking person in the world to get their hopes up, and then you failed to finish anything because you couldn’t hack it when your fucking family got killed! You insult their fucking memories every motherfucking second you exist like this!”

I won’t lie, I’m kinda impressed. It can’t have been easy to say all that to a serial killer’s face, knowingly pressing all the buttons and aiming to enrage him as much as possible. I’m also pleased to know he’s trying to do something productive even while he’s trapped in his own home. Maybe there’s hope for this man. I’m not going to expect much because he did something rather extreme that cost a few villains’ lives and that’s not forgiven easily, but I’m glad he’s not sinking into hate for heroes or anything like that. He’s the first hero Taylor had contact with, and as such I’m sure Mr. Wildbow has plans about how to use Armsmaster’s character. Will he die here in this intermission? I doubt it, given how much potential he has.

As expected, Mannequin isn’t happy at all. He slams Armsmaster against the wall and stabs him three times, and slashes him across the face. Not only now he has lost one arm during Worm, he also is minus one eye now. Nothing that can’t be fixed with tinker technology, I’d say.

None of it hurt as much as it felt like it should have. More serious wounds didn’t tend to, odd as it was.

It’s the adrenaline, I suppose. He’s not letting the attacks stop him, he’s going to stab Mannequin with the knife. Praying it works so nobody else is killed by this monster, Armsmaster tries to stab and...well, he fails. Figures. He’s not giving up, though, he tries to drive the knife into Mannequin’s chest cavity – since it’s nanotechnology like the one his halberd had that means it should be able to cut through the materials of Mannequin’s body, right? Even if he doesn’t apply lots of force.

How many blades does Mannequin’s weird body have, geez!

Still resisting, Armsmaster makes the knife inch closer, Mannequin positions his face less than an inch from the edge of the blade. It’s so close the material of the casing is being affected, but...it’d be quite anticlimactic for the most interesting Slaughterhouse Nine member so far to get killed because he was sticking his face near a dangerous weapon as if he was a kid with a fork wondering what an electrical socket is for.

He was toying with me.

That he was. I’m glad Armsmaster did such an effort to try to win, even if he didn’t really have a chance.

Armsmaster is too weak to continue moving, he has to let the knife fall and collapses onto the floor, chance Mannequin takes to use the knife to cut the wall apart to make a daring escape. All Armsmaster can hear before falling unconscious is Dragon begging him to stay away. She even says ‘I need you!’. Huh!

She’s there to greet him – well, there’s a laptop. That’s good enough. Better this than waking up and finding a large armor right beside your bed.

Looking around, he saw a laptop propped up beside him, and a get well card from Miss Militia. She must have put the laptop there when she left the card.

For some reason I’m very amused by Miss Militia leaving a get well card, as if Armsmaster is just resting after an appendix surgery or something. Is there a ‘Get better soon!’ balloon tied to the bed, and a vase of flowers on the nightstand? Heh, but yeah, at least she was here. Nice.

“Your heart stopped nine times on the operating table,” Dragon said, “A lesser man wouldn’t have made it.”

Okay, that’s a feat of endurance. Most of the reason why he survived is because of the artificial parts Dragon invented that are now holding Armsmaster’s face and body together. I can’t avoid making a connection to Mannequin and the fact he also has artificial parts to keep him alive.

There’s still many surgeries Armsmaster has to go into, but he’s fine with it. With Dragon’s help he knows he can survive, and he’s not so far gone into his regrets he’s just going to stop caring about what’s being done to him now that he’s not staring at death to its plastic weird face. Props to Dragon for inventing stuff to save Armsmaster, too.

“You’re a fucking idiot, Colin. That was the stupidest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.”

List this sentence under stuff I never thought I’d read Dragon say. She always seemed so proper and composed, this is not composed at all. Must be because Armsmaster was the one to get hurt, all because he wanted to hurt Mannequin where it hurts.

“Wanted to provoke him. See if I couldn’t find an opening.”

“I repeat: Stupidest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.”

“Was going to kill me anyways.”

“Was he? He could have killed you there. He didn’t.”

“He tried.”

...I hadn’t realized it before, but Dragon is bringing up a good point, now that I think about it. Mannequin Is a serial killer. He’s not going to fail just like that. He must have known what he was doing. Dragon’s suspicious is that Mannequin deduced Armsmaster was talking to her. He also left a photo that says ‘BRB’. Is he going to visit Armsmaster while he still is in the hospital? For everyone’s sake I hope not.

Trying to make the situation a bit less tense, Armsmaster brings up what Dragon had said right before he passed out, that she needed him. It doesn’t go well, there’s such a long silence even Armsmaster knew he had said something he shouldn’t have.

The silence stretched on for so long that he knew he’d made some faux pas. He just wasn’t sure what. Stupid. This was the kind of thing that had cost him his position, started the dominoes falling in such a way that they’d led him to being prisoner in that room, led to him being an easy target for Mannequin, to him being here, in this bed. Never knowing what to say, or how to say it, or who to say it to.

He really is starting to change, the first step to achieve that is acknowledging your flaws, and here he’s doing it. I almost can’t believe I’m actually seeing it happen! For once I have a purely positive opinion of this man.

There we go! Anyway!

He was about to apologize when Dragon said, “Those prosthetics I gave you? They were part of a bigger project. Something I’d intended to use for myself.”

Ah...perhaps she’s planning to make a body for herself? One that isn’t a battle armor. Interesting plans, hm...well, giving Armsmaster some of these prosthetics doesn’t mean she has to delay her plans, surely she has schematics and specifications, she can make more for herself. It should be matter of time before she finally has a body. Armsmaster thinks this is because she’s a cripple, he doesn’t suspect anything. The logic for these thoughts makes sense, it’s just that they’re incorrect, that’s it.

The intermission ends with a line that makes me wish this chapter had kept going:

“No, it’s not that,” she paused. “There’s something you need to know about me.”

Looks like she’s going to tell him the real nature of her existence. I really wish the chapter had continued, I’d have liked to see how she worded it, what his reactions were, what their thoughts were. I hope it goes well, I like Dragon and it’d be awful if this went badly for her. Mr. Wildbow will mention how it went later, I suppose. This is too interesting of a plotline to just toss aside.

That marks the end of the fourth interlude, I’ll check the next one right now.

The fifth interlude is...heh, call me impatience, but I’m immediately going to search for a name.

Hookwolf walked between the groups of his sparring recruits.

...I can’t decide if he would join or not. Back to the start of the interlude! One paragraph above. There seems to be a fight going on right now – it’s sparring, to be more precise. Looks like Hookwolf is currently supervising the training of his recruits, for his racist organization. Needless to mention, highly trained soldiers can hold their own against parahumans and special forces if they have the right moves and weapons. Bullets and knives are quite good equalizers in many cases, as seen before. What Hookwolf is doing, all this training, is a certifiable threat. This man is serious. Although...it makes me wonder what Purity’s group is doing? She’s not trying to use brute force, that much I know, but I’m not sure what she and the others in her faction have been doing.

Hookwolf isn’t the only one looking closely at the recruits’ movements, Menja, Cricket and Stormtiger are here too, watching and waiting to see which recruits are the best ones. They all have specific people already selected. After giving some positive encouragement to the troops, a person named Bradley is called forward to fight Menja. She’s not going to crush him into pieces in a one-sided fight as she’d do if she was using her full power. Bradley is already in disadvantage, being a common human who is tired from sparring, while Menja is fresh and using her powers a little. How well is Bradley going to do? That’s what everyone is waiting to see.

At first Menja easily gets the advantage, by virtue of having powers and all, but Bradley adapts quickly to the situation and manages to get a grip. True, he’s still at disadvantage for a variety of reasons, but Hookwolf judges he has seen enough once Bradley shows to not give up and endures Menja’s kicks.

“Enough,” Hookwolf said.

It wouldn’t do to let the man defeat Menja, and it was looking increasingly possible that he might. It would hurt her pride and weaken the position of his powered lieutenants in comparison to the unpowered ones.

Yeah, he might, if you give him like two hours. He wasn’t exactly kicking ass and taking names a second ago. Hookwolf judges him capable enough, though, and congratulates him. Welcome to the elites, Bradley! Who is next? Some gal named Leah. It’s her turn, and Menja wants her to give a try to fighting Cricket. It’s all about speed, you see.

Cricket stood from her seat in the corner and limped forward. She’d refused the same help that Othala had granted Stormtiger, both for the injury to her leg and the damage she’d taken to her vocal chords when she’d had her throat slashed, in a time before he’d met her. It would have taken a few days at most to restore her to peak condition, but she valued her battle scars too highly.

It’s kind of hard to think of Cricket as a hardened warrior when everything she has done onscreen is get hurt. I know she fought the Undersiders, but it didn’t end that well for her. The other big injury she had from what I remember didn’t even show her fighting. This is her chance to show she be in a fight without getting injured!

Of course. Of course she didn’t get the chance. Why would she have the chance. Not that I’m complaining, I’m not particularly fond of Cricket and these developments are of extreme importance:

The windows shattered with an explosive force, knocking the majority of the people in the room to the ground. Hookwolf was one of the few to remain standing, though he bent over as shards of glass tore through the layer of skin that covered his metal body.

Yeah, this is what Shatterbird does! Making glass explode! I remember someone once told me the Slaughterhouse Nine announce their presence by making all glass in a city explode like this. Does this mean they’re announcing their presence, in middle of their recruiting? True, it’s not like the heroes didn’t already know – judging by what Dragon knew – and there’s no way they’d tell the general public because there’d be widespread panic. This’d be the way to make all the civilians know.

A few of the recruits and one of the graduates are dead because glass exploded in their face. Many others are injured because they had cellphones in their pockets while sparring – who the heck does that? – and I honestly can’t feel too bad for any of them, given that, well, you know what they were hoping to do by being part of this organization. Also I bet Cricket is slumped against the wall, injured for the fifth time today. The Leah woman who was going to fight Cricket is currently bleeding out from a nicked artery. This whole thing pretty much delayed Hookwolf’s plans of having new useful recruits, it’s going to take a long while for everyone injured to recover, leaving aside the few who died.

He knows all glass exploding means the Slaughterhouse Nine are attacking, so he prepares himself for further attack through some invulnerability. I’ll take that as a sign the villain groups don’t know about the Slaughterhouse Nine trying to recruit. He also takes the time to think about his odds of winning against specific members of the Slaughterhouse Nine. Good! This should be enlightening.

He was virtually invincible in this form. That left few that could actively hurt him. Burnscar. The Siberian. Crawler. There was Hatchet Face, the bogeyman of capes. With the exception of Hatchet Face, the group wouldn’t be able to do much harm to him unless he was forced to stay still.

Of course Burnscar could hurt him, thanks to her fire powers. The Siberian is a fearsome opponent who outclasses a lot of parahumans. Crawler...I don’t remember what Crawler does. Hatchet Face sounds of special interest. The boogeyman of capes, eh? Quite the lofty description, given it’s of capes instead of a specific subset, so it’s like he’s a problem for all capes in existence. I already have high expectations for this Hatchet Face, I hope they live up to them.

More troubling were the Nine he couldn’t put down. The Siberian was untouchable, an immovable object, invincible in a way that even Alexandria wasn’t. Even if he were capable of hurting Crawler, he wouldn’t want to. Mannequin, he wasn’t sure about. He knew the crazed tinker had encased himself in a nearly indestructible shell.

For some reason he doesn’t want to hurt Crawler, but he doesn’t say why. A personal connection, perhaps? I remember Crawler is a monstrous thing who isn’t seen very clearly in the one photo there’s of him. Mannequin does seem rather tough, but from what I saw in Armsmaster’s interlude, it’s not impossible to damage its carapace, but you’d need some specialized weapons to do that, which I doubt Hookwolf can get access to.

Who else? He wracked his brain. Jack Slash was the brains and leader of the operation. Not a threat unto himself. Shatterbird couldn’t harm him, he was almost certain.

I wouldn’t underestimate Jack Slash, after seeing him. True, his power doesn’t sound like an intimidating concept, but who knows how cleverly he’d use them. Better be careful, anyway. Shatterbird...well I guess as long as Hookwolf doesn’t have anything with glass inside him he’ll be okay. That’s been seven killers, there’s one still yet to be mentioned.

Bonesaw. She was the wild card, the most unpredictable element in terms of what she could bring to the table. So often the case with tinkers.

Ah, so Bonesaw is a tinker. I like her name. It’s rather ominous, I can only imagine what kind of stuff a tinker named Bonesaw does. A tinker really is like a wildcard, who knows what this Bonesaw may have with her at the time of an attack. Hm.

Outside, all the windows and stuff is broken. Inside,

Surprisingly, Cricket is intact. Good for her! The reason why she felt something was off was because the glass was ‘singing’ to which I think it means it was vibrating. Hookwolf decides to go outside, so he leaves the care of all the injured in Menja and Stormtiger’s hands while he jumps through the window and lands in the pavement.

Cricket and Hookwolf hurry, running over the many, many shards of glass on the ground. Shatterbird is making barriers in front of them with the glass, barriers Hookwolf runs through without any problems. Dozens, hundred of barriers were one strike isn’t enough to clear the way.

Through the mess of dozens of dirty and wet panes of glass, he saw her. Shatterbird. A sand nigger, going by memory and the color of her exposed skin.

Wow. What classy narration, Hookwolf. Not slimy at all, nope, not at all, the slurs are just added charm, why’d that be bad. Then again, it’s not like it’s surprising, given who is talking right now.

To get through the barriers quicker, Hookwolf makes very big spears with his hands and punches through the barriers, shattering a couple dozen every time. He’s not moving as fast as he’d like, but he’s moving forward. Behind him I guess Cricket is following the pace. Shatterbird changes tactics once it’s clear he won’t be deterred, instead using the glass to form a big spike she makes hover in the air, and drops it down on him with strength.

Even if Hookwolf is very sturdy, a big spike of glass hitting you at full speed isn’t something you just shrug off. It hits him and he goes sprawling down while Cricket gets hit by glass shards and scraps of metal.

“Stand,” Shatterbird said. Her voice held traces of a British accent, and her body language and the crisp enunciation made her sound imperious, upper class. “I know you survived.”

‘Unlike the woman you brought with you. What an unfortunate demise’

Not wanting to overexert himself, Hookwolf absorbs the metal and tries to save energy, instead facing Shatterbird without any fear and preparing himself for what the Slaughterhouse Nine may plan. He doesn’t like hearing she’s here alone because it’s arrogant.

She shook her head, her helmet sparkling in the light cast by the setting sun. “I’m the Nine’s primary recruiter. I have an eye for people who can thrive among us, and I have brought more than five individuals on board. I thought long and hard before settling on you. I am not about to let you turn me down.”

...ah. The odds of Hookwolf being the one to join them just skyrocketed, by virtue of Shatterbird being the most successful recruiter. She not only has done a good job at that, judging by all the crazy killers currently in the group, she also is ready to force Hookwolf to join. I don’t know what exactly she’ll do to force Hookwolf to join...perhaps she’ll destroy his organization? I don’t think that’d be beyond her. If Hookwolf’s plans are completely obliterated, he’d have nothing to do other than join – or so some people would say, but I don’t think he would, he seems like the kind of guy that’d put his pride above everything else.

So that was why she hadn’t hit the entire city with the blast, shattering the glass and maiming or killing hundreds. She hadn’t wanted to kill any prospective members, wanted to reserve her power for when it would be most dramatic.

Ah, so it wasn’t to the entire city, it must have been only to the place Hookwolf was at. It was dramatic, yeah, and maybe it’ll make Hookwolf realize she’s completely serious when she says she’s not going to take a no for an answer, even if there’s no reason to doubt it in the first place.

Given Shatterbird’s pushiness, I suppose that means it’s settled: Hookwolf will be the new member of the Slaughterhouse Nine. Maybe she was the one who brought Burnscar into the group, since she doesn’t seem to be there completely willingly.

“You ally with the Aryan groups. Run one, but your motivations seem to be different. I have guesses as to why, but I’d rather you tell me.”

Eeeeh…well I suppose it’s within the realm of possibility Hookwolf’s ideologies aren’t the only reason why Hookwolf is running his group, but I don’t doubt he really is a racist asshat. I mean, the narration established it quite well, it’d be deceitful if it turned out Hookwolf’s thoughts and all that were a lie.

When Hookwolf keeps defying her, Shatterbird seems to try to use her power, but it doesn’t work as she intended. It’s Cricket, she’s using subsonics to cancel Shatterbird’s power. Right, of course she’d be capable of that, she noticed stuff like the glass ‘singing’, she could counter that. Kind of foolish to reveal it to Shatterbird like that, though. It’s not that I think this killer didn’t know already what Cricket is capable of, but…yeah, confirming it is a bit imprudent. What was it again, Hookwolf? Pride goeth before the fall?

“And here I was thinking you’d won the lottery with powers. Incredible range, fine control, devastating force, versatility… and all it takes is the right noise and it all falls apart?”

“Guess the men who bought my power should ask for a refund.”

O-kay! Cauldron stuff! They’re shaping up to be very relevant to the current state of affairs in the Worm world, more than I thought they would be! I’m having a hard time deciding what I’d like to see more of first, if focus on the Slaughterhouse Nine, or focus on Cauldron.

Not wanting to waste any time dealing with this whole thing, Hookwolf decides to just end this as soon as possible, and Shatterbird doesn’t seem to be in much of a hurry. She just takes out a gun and aims. While she did intend to take Cricket out so she’d be able to use her powers properly, she didn’t hit her with bullets, she did it with pieces of glass. Looks like she still could use them to some extent.

Okay, I was joking all this time that all Cricket does is be intimidating and then get injured, but I didn’t expect it to happen. Oh, geez. Yeah, she’s out of commission for real now. Of course Hookwolf doesn’t accept these developments, he intends to kill Shatterbird, and he’s sure he can do it by himself. He did indicate in his thoughts earlier Shatterbird wouldn’t be able to hurt him, after all. Maybe he really could do it, Shatterbird doesn’t outright deny it.

She can make herself levitate by moving the glass of her costume up! Well that’s a clever way to do that.

While she attacks, she tells Hookwolf what she thinks of him. The first thing she says isn’t unexpected, she says he’s a born warrior, and despite all of Hookwolf’s bad traits, he really is, and he knows it. What Shatterbird doesn’t know nor can understand yet is what Hookwolf is trying to do with his group. Hm. Want to enlighten me on this one, Shatterbird? Because I can’t think what he may be doing with them if he’s not completely sincere about his rhetoric.

Stormtiger turns out to be useful when he makes Shatterbird lost control of her flight and she crashes onto the ground. She even falls badly, she’s injured, and therefore an easy target for Hookwolf. I must say, this isn’t being as one-sided as I expected. I had thought Hookwolf was being too cocky when he thought he could defeat one of the Slaughterhouse Nine, but it seems he wasn’t. There he is, crushing her with a foot and burying some blades into her.

“A sword age, an axe age. A wind age, a wolf age. A world where none have mercy. I can believe this is your goal, your ultimate objective. Do you crave to reduce this city to darkness, blood and ash, so that only the strong will survive? Do you tell your followers that it is only the pure will rise to the top in the new world order?”

...well I hadn’t considered that. Hookwolf does seem like the kind of person to want that, theoretically, but I don’t know, for some reason I can’t believe that’s what he’s aiming to do. I fully believe he subscribes to the might makes right philosophy, but not to that extent. Guess I’ll know for sure once things continue here.

The second time Shatterbird offers him to join the group he again declines, planning to kill her, and she keeps twisting the knife by aiming to hit what Hookwolf cares about.

“Then kill me.” A thin smile crossed her face, though her expression was drawn with pain. When she spoke, it was in more short sentences. “But know that your dream is over. Unless you come with us. Once nominated you’ll be tested. By others, whether willing or not. I have left notes. Urging them to kill your soldiers. To raze any place you might call home. To bestow fates worse than death.”

As if they weren’t going to do that anyway. It’s effective enough, though, because Hookwolf raises his claws off her and actually considers the situation. Joining the group will make Shatterbird rescind the orders to kill and destroy everything Hookwolf had done so far, but he doesn’t plan to be there for long, just long enough to kill them, to destroy the Slaughterhouse Nine before they leave Brockton Bay. Okay, now he is being very cocky. No way he’d be capable of killing all eight members.

He wasn’t going to accept this. They’d insulted him, hurt his people. They wanted to subvert his mission and twist it to their own ends? No.

See? I think it’s likely Shatterbird is right, but maybe not to the extent she believes she is. There’s some loyalty here in Hookwolf’s behavior. There’s something deeper here than it seems at first sight, I’m sure of that.

Heck, he’s so against joining the Slaughterhouse Nine, against turning his back towards his group, he’s realizing he can’t deal with the situation alone. He’s going to need help. Is he going to ask Purity’s organization for help, perhaps? I think they’re the most likely people he’d ask for help. Maybe Purity would agree to aid him, since one of the Slaughterhouse Nine members tried to kill her daughter and Theo. How successful they’d be in fighting this worldwide threat...well that remains to be seen. I’m not going to get any high hopes; I don’t think they can do much.

That’s the end of the intermission! Who is next? I’ll see next time!

Next update: in two updates

#worm #worm liveblog #serial novel #liveblog #book liveblog

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btsinspirationtakesme · 7 years

Text

Firsts (Part 1)

AN: Y/N is a public prosecutor, fresh out of college and determined to make it big with one of the most high profile cases given to her. What Y/N didn’t expect was to be assigned Min Yoongi as her partner. Min Yoongi, the first guy she gave everything to. Min Yoongi, also the guy who thinks she used a rape drug to make him have sex with her. Ah, Min Yoongi who desperately wants to hate the girl but can’t seem to, no matter how much he tries.

Yoongi x Y/N.

Angst, fluff (later smut in series).

3k.

“Y/N. I have the perfect assignment for you. It’s going to make your career, little girl.’ Bong Soon, your supervisor had a glint in her eyes as she waited for you to take on the case file that held the promise to your long awaited goal of being the best prosecutor in Seoul.

“Really? Is it a corruption case? Murder charge of a big shot?” You asked, hopeful it was because that would truly truly make you happy. You were passionate about justice, and this could be your chance to really really expose bad people.

“Not quite. It’s a potential corruption case and also adultery. Read through the file, don’t talk about it with anyone unless I say so. These walls have ears, so read it carefully because I’m not going to say much. If you like it, tell me and I’ll assign a partner. “ Bong Soon said smiling. You eagerly took the file from her, trying to play it cool and said you’d think about it (when really you’d take the case on even if it was about some boring adultery conspiracy that ended in too much emotion and not enough blood).

“Get back to me ASAP. I’ll be waiting.” She winked.

You said your goodbye and rushed back to your cubicle, opening up the documents to read.

God, you couldn’t believe you were being given a high profile case. It finally meant your boss Bong Soon thought you had potential. You were still pretty fresh faced, having graduated only a year and a half ago and gotten straight into work. Being a prosecutor was all you wanted to do since being a little girl though, so you had no questions in your mind about your future.

Excited, you started to read through the documents, a highlighter in hand for any conspicuous terms.

CASE NAME: Operation Sting-bee.

Facts: Strongbow Mafia have recently released the names of their next victims according to intelligence data provided for by the government. These victims are going to be the next on Stongbow’s hit list. Their names are attached on page 2. The victims are currently under witness protection, but Strongbow are like their name- strong. They won’t stop until they get their victims. Most of them are victims because of debt, escaping from trafficking and allegiance to another clan.

Other facts: Strongbow are known to use mentally distressing techniques to torture their victims before even capturing them.

Your assignment: Get to the victims before Strongbow and protect them without Strongbow realising that you are behind them. This will involve a highly analytical aptitude, resilience and determination. The goal is to lead Strongbow to us, where we can finally catch them.

End of document 1.

You then briefly went through the other documents, which seemed to confirm your initial understandings. Wow. STRONGBOW MAFIA! They were legendary thugs, the stuff of nightmares. You were surprised that Bong Soon thought you would be the right person for the job. You didn’t want to be sexist on yourself even, but you looked like the most unlikely person to be put on a job like this. You were good at combat, you were a fed after all- but you weren’t the best. You knew how people called you dainty behind your back, and how some of the older feds sneered that you should be at home cooking for a man and not here playing with guns.

Taking on the case wasn’t a question, you wanted to prove yourself. You wanted to prove that you were capable of doing a good, game changing job. Your assignments before had been to catch local thugs and stop traffic crime. Now, this assignment was something. It was the type you’d give to the feds three years above you. But no, Bong Soon chose you.

You knocked on her door, when Bong Soon yelled ‘come in’ you strutted in, a smile on your face and said ‘you have a prosecutor for Operation Sting-bee.’

‘Excellent.’ Bong Soon said. ‘Min Yoongi from National Security will be your partner for this, I’ve booked you guys a table at a place not too far from here to get to know each other before getting started on this case. It’s an important and dangerous one, so learn to trust each other.’

Your mouth nearly dropped.

Min Yoongi.

You quickly thanked Bong Soon, although you were debating if you should just say you don’t want the case. But this case would make your career if it goes well. It wasn’t an opportunity most people as young as you got the offer too. You couldn’t risk it all because Min Yoongi was going to be your partner in it.

As soon as you shut the door to her office and sat down in your cubicle, you bunched your face in your hands.

Min Yoongi.

Flashback:

“You don’t play it like that, moron.” Yoongi said, playfully moving your hands over his master piece piano and took over. His shirt was rolled up his sleeve, long arms stretching effortlessly to both sides of the keyboard and your eyes were fixated on the veins on the back of his hand as he played a key for you.

You rested your head into the crook of his neck.

“It’s like that then?” You asked, using the opportunity to kiss the side of his neck and down as played a melody to your ears. He was unfazed.

You peeked up from your ministrations when you got to the middle of his collarbone just below his throat.

“Is that a smile Min Yoongi?” You asked, stopping to gaze up at the rarity that was his smile. You’d been dating for a week or so, after months of attraction so seeing a smile so casually was a sign he was opening up to you.

It made your heart flutter.

He said nothing, simply taking your hand and placing his over his, in an attempt to get you to focus on the keys you were so badly messing up.

You should have listened to him, but you were 17 and childish. He was older, not just in physique but also in mind.

“Aren’t you listening to me?” He asked, but you were bambi caught in headlights after he caught you red handed gawning at your lip as you sat there admiring him.

“Please.” You breathed.

He knew what you were referring to, it was your unashamed request for him to finally give what you had fantasised about for a year.

“We’ve talked about this.” He said, trying to reason with you. “You’re really testing my patience here, I told you there are some rules I wanna keep.” He was adamant on getting you to 18 before he even touched you remotely.

“That’s over a month away. I’m ready. Do you think I’m still a kid?” You asked, because Yoongi had some sort of issue going on in his head about dating you at 17 even though it was irrational. He was 20. It wasn’t the most traumatic age gap, but for some reason- he didn’t want to break this one weird, outdated rule.

“You know it’s not like that.” He tried to reason with you, but you were still a hormonal teenager underneath it all. When you wanted something, you wanted it now.

“Fine. Suit yourself.” You said, moving away from him and standing up to pack your bag and leave for hockey practice.

He didn’t say anything as you left, which made you realise if he really wanted you. But you were 17, and whilst discussing the situation like the idiot kid you were with your friends- they gave you an idea which you regretted till this very day. Though you didn’t take the offer, you regretted opening your mouth in the locker room.

“It works. He’ll forget about his weird rule and go crazy for you. It’s not that much of a big deal anyway, he’s probably just doing it to make himself look good. Obviously he wants it.” Stef, who had over heard your conversation with your best friend in the locker room about Yoongi had butted in to talk to you about some low impact additive that she suggested adding to a drink to make Yoongi delusional and want you.

“That’s a rape drug, babe. I’m okay.” You said, turning back around to roll your eyes. You wouldn’t even think about some weird form of coercion. Sure you were mad, but you weren’t bat shit crazy.

Later that week, Yoongi and you had somewhat patched up. Things were tense, more so sexually than anything. Even the looks you gave each other were smouldering, and it was painful to not do anything apart from look at each other and innocently kiss. You were filled with curiosity about what would happen if you and Yoongi really did make love, because you were untouched and he wasn’t. It made you anxious, but excited because if there was anyone you were ready to give it up to- it was Yoongi.

He held you hand guiding you through the party, deciding to lighten the mood up by dancing.

He twirled you around, before bringing you back to his chest.

He smiled.

“Beautiful.” Your heart melted, and Yoongi’s smile was making you delirious despite seeing it more often now.

“Stop dazzling me, moron.” You said, playfully pulling away from him only for him to grab your wrist and pull you back into his chest.

Yoongi gave you a light kiss on the forehead before pulling you in for another one of his exhilarating yet innocent kisses. It left you yearning for more, parts of you were just waiting to open up to him.

“I’m thirsty.” You said after a while, to which Yoongi and you decided to go and get some drinks by the open bar. On your way there though, you were both stopped by the host of the party who was a friend of Yoongi’s. Not so great though, was how the host didn’t shut up when he talked to Yoongi about some plan he had after graduating.

Yoongi seemed disinterested, but he was being polite to the host. You on the other hand, felt like your throat was the back of the sahara dessert.

‘I’ll be back with drinks, babe.” You said, managing to escape out of Yoongi’s grasp on your hand because he didn’t want to be left along with the host. You smiled slyly as you managed to wiggle out of his hands and to the open bar.

“Here, Y/N. I could tell you were coming to get some drinks. This is your favourite right?” Stef, who you had no idea to see was here.

“Um, yeah. Thanks Stef.” You said, slightly weirded out that she had been following what you and Yoongi were saying since you got here if she got the drinks ready before you even got to the bar.

“No problem, enjoy the party.” She said.

You were going to switch Yoongi’s drink for something he might like more, but the que was horrendous and you knew Yoongi wouldn’t mind considering he was getting annoyed by the minute seeing the host still blabber away.

“Here you go.” You said, joining Yoongi and the host in a conversation. You sipped your drink, grateful something cold was quenching your thirst. By the time you finished though, you noticed Yoongi have a rapid change in behaviour.

“I’ll see you around.” He said to the host, finally finishing his conversation.

“Gosh, that guy wasn’t going to let me do anything to you.” Yoongi said, beaming down at you. You nearly choked.

Do anything?

‘What do you mean, do anything?” You asked, not noticing Yoongi was dragging you upstairs.

“What else baby? We’re going to fuck.” He said as-a-matter-of-fact.

You were confused, he’d only had one drink. It wasn’t enough to make him so brazen.

“I’m sick of trying to avoid the fact I can’t go to sleep without thinking about the many ways I want to have you. I can’t go on acting like I’m not hard everytime you say you want me and I have to say no and you bite your lip. I’m sick, take care of me baby.” He breathed against your lip, opening the door to a bedroom that he then locked.

Yoongi guided you despite the confused haze you were in as to why his behaviour changed. He was gentle, breathing in your ear in support of how you were doing so well and that the pain would only last for a moment.

All you remembered the next morning was pain, followed by a burning desire to meet Yoongi’s thrusts and your first orgasm during your second, more accustomed to sex round.

You didn’t expect Yoongi to be violently throwing up the next morning. He returned from the bathroom with a solemn expression.

“What did you give me?” He said in a low voice.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You said, putting on his over sized shirt.

“I’m not dumb Y/N. “ He chuckled tauntingly. “You think we don’t know about additives in college?”

Additives?

“Delusional compulsion to have sex, followed by violent throwing up in the morning. It’s so common in college people don’t even use it.” He said.

“I guess I should have known better than to think about even dating a kid. I’m sick to my core.” He said, eyes blazing as he looked at you with a look of…pure hatred?

It dawned on you that you hadn’t put anything in, it was Stef.

“Yoongi, it was-”

“Save it. Delete my number. Don’t ever try and contact me again.”

__________________________________________________________________

End of Flashback

You sighed. Min Yoongi was your first, albeit also you first most heartbreaking break up. It was true, how he blocked you on all social media, blocked your number and didn’t even come home until you left for college, just to avoid you.

You tried to get other people to explain for you, but it didn’t sound convincing at all. You had nearly gotten arrested trying to kill Stef for butting into your business, but later found out it was all part of some weird plan of hers to have a night with Yoongi.

It worked for her, because you heard Yoongi went on a thrashing fuck fest after you to get you out of his system.

Now, here you were- out of college and in your dream job, to be paired with the boy who thought you were a manipulative teenager.

You debated how much you needed this case, and nothing could over ride how important it was for you. You had to prove yourself.

You wanted to reach out and call your best friend, but you resisted. Stuff like this got you in a whole load of trouble when you were Yoongi. You needed to shut your mouth.

It also dawned to you that you needed to look good in front of your ex. You remember feeling angry a year after your break up with Yoongi, because you finally realised that he was also stupid for not even wanting to listen to your side of the story. It wasn’t your fault in anyway, you hadn’t spiked a drink, Stef did.

Your guilt was that you had opened your mouth and someone had over-heard you talking about your relationship.

No, you needed to look good to prove just how stupid he was for leaving you like that.

Bong Soon sent an email about the booking she had made you and Yoongi, and you decided that you’d go there looking fierce and strong. You weren’t the little girl Yoongi always made you out to be, and it was time he realised that so he could know how stupid he was for even letting you go.

You went home and changed quickly before going to the restaurant Bong Soon had booked you in for. On the way there, you were sent a profile on Min Yoongi. You were amused and awed at his achievements since leaving college, and hope’d be’d be at least impressed by yours if he read your profile too. Did he even know that you were his partner? Usually briefings were sent to people lower down the ranks like you- but Yoongi clearly seemed to be in a good place.

Deputy Head Prosecutor, National Security.

Name: Min Yoongi

Age: 24

Achievements: Youngest deputy head prosecutor in 20 years, sat on three high profile cases resulting in averting successive planned terror attacks and has captured QueQuest Mafia agents off duty.

You were awed at how impressive his profile was, and also envious because there was no way you could do what Yoongi had done.

You straightened your black dress getting out and checked your hair was okay, taking a deep breath as you reminded yourself that you were now adults. Well, you were now an adult. You had no reason to fear Min Yoongi.

You were taken over to your seat early, and nearly cast aback when you saw Min Yoongi coming towards you. His expression hadn’t changed since the day he left you with a look of scornful hatred on his face, but it was slightly softer. He was dressed really well, growing into adulthood had suited him. Out of habit, you started biting your lip. It was like a subconscious Yoongi effect.

“Some things never change do they?” Yoongi said sitting down in front of you, looking disinterested as he picked up at you biting your lip.

It actually dawned on you that he was here. After all these years…

His hands gave you instant flashbacks to your piano sessions, or the way he cradled your face whilst making l-

You made yourself snap out of it. You had a case to deal with.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Nice to meet you, I’ve heard a lot about you.” You said, trying to avoid the fact you knew him. Oh, you so knew him well.

“Cut the formalities Y/N. Let’s just work okay. I’m being nice and taking you on for a case, I could have walked out the moment I saw you.” Yoongi cut through to any scheme you were trying to play to not know him.

“Then why didn’t you?” You asked.

Yoongi lowly chuckled. “I don’t let my mistakes block a good opportunity. This case, I’m sure you know is legendary.” He said, opening up the menu and avoiding your eyes.

Right, you were a mistake.

“You can just get someone else to be your partner.” You retorted back.

“I could, but I have no feelings to you and I would have no feelings to another partner. It’s just a waste of admin effort.” He said, before tracing his eyes down the menu.

“See bass looks good don’t you think?”

You cursed yourself for even thinking he would have any feelings towards you.

Here he was, clearly unaffected by you. Why should you be? You thought. To him you were a mistake that he’d tell his friend about. To never date a 17 year old pyscho, they spike your drinks.

“What can I get for you two?” The waiter interrupted your moment of silence as you decided on what to eat.

“Sea bass with new potatoes for me and..” Yoongi looked at you expectingly.

You chose the first thing that popped up on the menu, eating with him wasn’t something you were looking forward to.

“Smoked salmon raviolli please.” You said. The waiter smiled at you and took away your menus, leaving no other way of occupying yourself so you had to look at him.

He was already looking at you, but you could tell he was fighting something inside.

“The case. What do you know?” He asked.

You explained your understanding, trying hard to avoid looking into his eyes because after all these years they still managed to do something to you.

“How do you think we’ll catch them?” He asked.

“Well, I’ve been researching some theories. Have you heard of the idea of female bait?” You asked.

Yoongi rolled his eyes. “You think I’m crazy enough to dangle you in front of one of the worlds dangerous mafias?” He looked at you incredulously.

“A lot of the seniors do it, why am I different?” You asked. It was a really good method.

“We’ll find another option.”He said, trying to shut you up.

“No, I want to go through the female bait route. It’s proven to work, it’s low cost, effective, quick-” He cut you off listing.

“And can also result in a 50/50 death scenario situation.”

“Our prosecutors have a 90% success rate. You know they never let people do this job without having combat skills.” You protested back.

“Combat skills? You think you’re little training course is going to be enough to stop them? They’ll shred you to pieces.” He spat.

“What is it to you if I’m shred to pieces in capturing them? You know cases like this are dangerous.” You tried to get him to see sense, but he looked like he was seeing fire.

“Eat your food Y/N. We’ll talk about methods tomorrow.’ The waiter placed your meals down, asking if everything was okay because the tension radiating off you two could be felt from miles away. You politely said yes and then looked back to Yoongi, who was probably trying to figure out to himself what it meant to him if you got shredded to pieces.

“Don’t boss me around like that. I’m not 17 anymore.” You said in a low voice.

“Then don’t act like you are, it could end in disaster for both of us this time.” He said, cutting into his sea bass.

You were in no mood to eat, because less than an hour in meeting Yoongi for the first time in years as your partner for a high profile case- were you already at a fundamental conflict point.

“You’ll be working in my office from now in, so be prepared to come with everything you’ll need. We’ll be going to crime scenes tomorrow.” He said.

You nodded.

“This meeting was supposed to be getting to know each other according to my boss Boon Song.” You said, in the hope that maybe you could have a civil conversation after a while in silence eating.

“This is just work for me. I already know enough about you.” He said, finishing off the last of his sea bass before washing it down with the wine he ordered.

He signalled over for a check.

He paid, despite your protestations and said he’d see you early tomorrow, leaving you to finish off your food.

Jerk, you thought.

How could you even have dated that asshole? The next few weeks were going to be eventful, but you decided you would try to keep as much distance as possible working with him. You wanted to get the most out of this case, and sometimes that would mean just being quiet and listening to his experience. You knew that the female bait method worked, and you didn’t even want to entertain the idea Yoongi was against it because some deep part of him down actually cared about you.

Preview part 2:

“You don’t hold a gun like that, moron. Didn’t they teach you anything at the academy?” He said, taking the gun away from you violently whilst you were trying to practice on the dart board in front of you.

“It’s a perfect way of holding a gun!” You screamed, because all Yoongi did was criticise every self defence mechanism you had passed with flying colours at the academy.

“Not if you want to get shot.” He retorted back. “Don’t scream at me too, i’m your superior.” He added.

“You realise we’re taught not to get killed, getting shot is apart of the job. I’m not expecting to finish this case without getting shot.” You simply replied. It came with the territory. Everyone knew a high profile case like this would get some bullet wounds.

“Not if I can help it.” Yoongi muttered, but it wasn’t low enough for you to miss it.

Your cold heart thumped.

No, why did he have to send weird signals like that? He hated you, remember?

“Hold it like this.” Yoongi stood behind you, to anyone else it looked like a passionate embrace from the behind. He took your hands in his, and it was all too familiar to you of the time when he would cover your hands in an attempt to get you to play the right keys on the piano.

“Y/N.” Yoongi said, trying to get your attention which was now somewhere in the past.

“Y/N.” He repeated again.

You got out of it. “Sorry.” You said back, preparing yourself for his tips.

“Legs spread out, like this.” He spread his legs and you followed, his voice was tickling your ear.

“Steadier. That’s it.” He said, focused on the target.

“Shoot.” You did, bang right in the middle.

You gazed up at Yoongi after a while registering your perfect shot, who was caught red handed admiring you. Admiring. Wow.

“Fast learner, kid.”

You sighed. Kid. Again. It shouldn’t effect you because you weren’t but Yoongi still saw you as a kid. A kid that was stupid enough to spike his drink. You sighed and broke out of his arms.

“I’m going to crime scene number 2.” You said, picking up the pace and leaving him to follow.

AN: I’m so so so excited to write this series. It’s going to be angsty/fluff/later smut and a whole lot of adventure! I HAVE EXAMS THOUGH AND I SHOULD NOT BE WRITING AT ALL, so my next update (PLEASE SOMEONE KILL ME IF I UPDATE BEFORE EXAMS ARE OVER- should be in a while because I can’t afford to keep writing when I have uni exams).

#bts reactions #yoongi #min yoongi fic #yoongi fic #jungkook #jungkook fic #bts #bangtan fic #bts scenarios

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