#Eleven Truths and a Lie Series | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

alphabetboyluvr · 8 months

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THROTTLE - JJK | NINE

one/ two / three / four / five / six / seven / eight / nine / ten / eleven

warnings - plans are being set in motion!!! back to busan we go! references to drugs, shitty driving, the usual. no smut! a rarity! plot!! one of my fave metaphors / set of lines in the entire fic is in this one!!

word count - 11.4k

minors dni // series masterlist

"I've been thinking," you tell Hoseok a little after dusk. The sun sets later these days, mid-year sun never wanting to settle. A monsoon has been looming for a few days now, but the grey clouds sit defiant in the air. "You were right."

He looks at you, contemplation sinking into the creases of his frown, the crisp white shirt he's wearing unbuttoned to his mid chest. A pair of thin-framed glasses adorn his eyes as he skims over the notes of a casefile from work.

"What about?"

His voice is soft as he asks.

With your hair like this - top layer in a half-undone bun, the rest wisping around your shoulders - he's reminded of how you used to be.

There's a lot to be said for your relationship, or lack thereof, but once upon a time, you'd cared for another. Would dance in his parents' kitchen when they were out of town, you in one of his shirts, bare feet padding against the ondol heated floor.

You look younger with your hair like this. Like yourself, he thinks. Someone he used to know.

It's part of the reason, you think, that you're so awful to another. You grew up together. He's a part of your formation, and you a part of his. There's a reminder of the innocence that once was.

He knows how much you wanted to get out of the fold. Knows you wouldn't have come back without an ulterior motive. He isn't naive to this. Isn't naive to anything you do. Is well aware you've been doing things that no woman with a diamond on her ring finger should be doing.

But he's no saint, either. The ring was given to you with a purpose. Just like his dress shirts are dry cleaned with a purpose. Saves you from having to wash his secretary's lipstick out of them.

"I need something to fill my days," you say. "I think I'm going crazy cooped up here."

It's not a lie.

It's also not the full truth; not what's prompting this conversation, but that's neither here nor there.

Hoseok nods. Put his case file on the coffee table and turns his full attention to you. There's a softness to him now, one that he didn't have the last time you spoke.

He's not all bad, not by any stretch of the imagination. Is just caught up in a God-awful world. He's like you, in that regard.

Whatever freedoms once belonged to you have been traded for protection - not just from the men who lurk around dingy boxing clubs, but from your own family, too.

Hoseok's position within the police force gives you an added layer of armour. He's chainmail. He knows this. Knows you need him.

But he needs you, too. He's got a greasy pole to climb. Helps him out if you're throwing him towels from the Mayor's office. Will get him to the top a little quicker.

It's unsurprising that he had been the one to suggest picking your relationship back up where it had been left a few years prior.

He had painted the idea as a beautiful utopia; Daegu's darling children, reunited. A powerhouse. Unstoppable.

You didn't have a plan back then, not yet - but power seemed like a good place to start.

"You've been away for a while," he muses, well aware that it's not been an easy adjustment for you. "I... Look, you and I both know this isn't ideal. I know you wouldn't be here if you thought there was another option for you."

When you nod, he thinks you might cry.

The person you are isn't the person he once knew. You're so strong in some regards, far more powerful than he ever thought you would be and yet at times you can seem so docile. So timid. Weak. He doesn't understand it. Not really. Doesn't understand you.

Because if he did, he'd know there's nothing docile about you.

"I don't actually want to ruin your life," he says with a small smile that seems sincere. Might not be. You choose to believe it is.

"It's fine," you offer back an equally minuscule smile. "I do a good enough job of that all on my own."

He presses his lips together, and contemplative dimples etch themselves into his cheeks. "What are you thinking? Let's work together. Find a solution."

Men. So easy to wrap around your finger.

"I'm thinking of proposing a library initiative to get the city kids reading. You know how much my Father likes a good press release," you say. "I'm not too sure yet. I could volunteer at the library, start promoting for the education sector. Something like that. It will give me something to do, and gets me in a public role that is pretty much as safe for publicity as can be. If I'm working as a volunteer, there's no need for additional expenses."

As you recite your lines, you think of Jimin - and how good he is at putting words together to make them sound convincing. He and Jin are definitely the brains of Kang's boys. Namjoon and Jungkook the brawn.

Like clockwork, you're thinking about him again. Thinking about the way he didn't take his eyes off you for the entire meeting. Thinking about the way he didn't crack a single smile. Thinking about how he'd followed you out afterwards, just to ask if you were okay - and about how forlorn he'd looked when you told him that you're none of his concern, and that the only thing between the pair of you anymore is business.

And then he had smirked. Told you that business was the only thing that had ever been between the pair of you. Told you not to get it twisted. Told you not to flatter yourself, and reminded you that he was the one who had orchestrated your entire relationship.

"Whatever's between us -" He had almost snarled. "- Is what I made it to be."

You'd laughed. Stepped a little closer. Toyed with the key still around his neck, and said, "we both know that's not entirely true, don't we?"

He was silent. Could barely breathe, let alone think straight. Wasn't till you were a mile across the city that he seemed to remember how to function like a human being again. He knows one thing for certain: he absolutely cannot be around you. Not if he wants any shot at sanity.

And so when you walk into the boxing club the next day, Jungkook pauses.

He watches how you scan the room, but drops his gaze before your eyes are able to reach his. He doesn't care for making conversation with you. Knows that it will be a fruitless endeavour.

It feels like oceans bloat the distance between you, and he's never much been one for swimming. Loves the freefall of the dive; hates the dictation of the currents.

"Is Jin about?" You ask, an air of indifference to your tone.

Following the conversation with Hoseok, you'd been granted approval from the Mayoral office to start planning the campaign. You'll be working with the PR team, but it's your domain. They'll be there to hold your hand if you need it, but you'll be the guide.

You're just here to report back to Seokjin. Aren't here for small talk. Would rather swallow a razor blade, you think. Much more pleasant.

Still in his workout gear, Jungkook doesn't look at you. Just shakes his head, slams his locker door shut, and kicks the heavy metal side door of the club open.

"You shouldn't be here," he says as he exits. "Ain't safe for you."

And he's right. It's a terrible place for you to be. Not for the risk of Kang showing up, or you being spotted fraternising with the enemy, but because of the way Jungkook makes you feel like your heart might stop beating entirely.

Part of you thinks it would be preferable if it did.

The door slams behind him, and echoes into the lofty room. The chime is haunting. Almost sounds like the same one that used to be in your stomach.

You're looking at your feet, gearing yourself up to leave, when the door swings back open.

Jungkook is agitated. Chewing on his cheeks, thunder in his eyes; he's the monsoon that's been looming all week.

You wish he would just crash. Pour down. Bless you with the glory of what it feels like to be covered in his torrential rains.

But there's a ring on your finger, and a hole in his chest. His mouth is constantly dry in your presence, and he's all cried out. He's got nothing left to give.

You look so familiar. So much like home - but Jungkook lost the keys a long time ago, and the one around his neck won't work on any of the fucking locks. He's shut out. An intruder every time he tries to peep inside the windows. It's invasive, the way he looks at you.

Has you drawing the curtains shut.

"I wasn't kidding," he says, his rounded white teeth clamping on his bottom lip before he can speak his favourite letter out loud. Doesn't wanna call you the name he used to trace on your back in the dark of the night. "You don't what it's been like since... You don't know. It's not safe."

"It's never been safe," you sneer. "Why the fuck are you acting like you care now?"

You watch as his tongue presses against the inside of his cheek. He shakes his head. Looks to his feet.

There's something calming about it. You've seen his head hung low like this many times over.

It's never been due to your faults, but his, instead - his own disappointment, his own shame.

When his eyes fall back on you, dark and heavy, you're reminded of exactly who he is: danger.

So yeah, you're right. It's never been safe. Not with him around. Not safe for your life, not safe for your heart.

Never safe.

But he's always cared.

He wants to curse you out. Wants to say that you've no fucking idea how hard this has all been for him. Wants you to know that the only reason you're both still in this mess is because he cared. If he had never cared, then he never would have fucked it all up in the first place.

The words on the tip of his tongue are knocked back down his throat when a familiar rattle sounds in the parking lot. Thick and heavy, the gargle belongs to an exhaust pipe, and Jungkook has been around these parts for long enough to know exactly who it belongs to.

"Shit," he hisses. Doesn't answer your question. Holds the door open, instead. "Out."

When you stay put, he snarls.

"C, get the fuck out. It's Kang. You wanna fuck things up all over again? Wanna prolong the time we have to spend together?"

You start walking as soon as he finishes his final question.

"S'what I thought," he mutters when you walk past, and closes the door behind you both. "Go slowly. Don't turn the corner into the parking lot. Wait for me."

He clicks the lock shut; scrambles the code on the padlock. Keeps his eyes on you while you wait by the corner of the building. Appreciates that you listened to him for once in your life.

Old Man Kang only comes to the boxing club these days to check up on Jungkook - to make sure he's fighting fit. He's got a boxing match coming up. A big one. Puts him up against some boys from Busan. He knows they don't take well to 'traitors', which is what he's deemed as, now that he's fighting for a Daegu club.

Kang's banking on a heavy return should Jungkook win - but there's no 'should' about it. He has to win. If he doesn't, his debt to Kang - for the money lost on you - will only increase.

"You drive here?" Jungkook whispers as he comes to stand behind you, peeking over your shoulder to get a view of the parking lot. You choose not to inhale through your nose. Know that you might just die if he still smells the same.

He scans the cars, but can't spot the Merc you've been driving.

Of course he can't. Hoseok needed it for work. An out of town job.

"Got the bus," you say back, just as quietly.

"M'kay," Jungkook says gently. Goes to put a hand on your waist. Stops himself. Remembers things aren't how they used to be. "Take my key, get in the passengers side. Keep your head down. I'm gonna go back in for a minute, and make it look like I'm just leaving. They'll ask questions if they hear me drive off without seeing my face."

"I don't-"

"It's not up for debate. If they see you here, it fucks everything up. Just get in the damn car."

It's silent, save for the faint hum of traffic on the main road a few blocks away. Just you, and Jungkook, and the sound of the city. Neither of you really understand the way you feel. It's not quite sorrow. It's solemn. Sad - yet there's serenity, too. A saving grace for those who have fallen from it.

Jungkook decides that you're too stubborn, but also knows the one thing that always got you on side was a little desperation.

He gets closer. Puts his hand on the back of your neck. Wonders if you can feel the pulse in his thumb, and how it's beating a mile a minute. Squeezes ever so gently. Whispers, "Please, C."

The bus stop is two minutes up the road. You know that you could make it there - and be on the next bus going anywhere - by the time Jungkook has finished distracting Kang. You don't need him to save you. You don't need his protection. His kindness.

Yet you hold out your hand. Take his keys, and say, "Please be quick."

All he can do is nod, because truthfully, he'll do whatever he can to get himself beside you again.

"I'll be as quick as I can be. Promise."

It's funny. He's broken every single promise he's ever made you. Strange of him to think it holds any merit, now.

Doesn't stop you from holding out your pinky, mind you. Also doesn't stop him from linking his with yours. Pretty little promise, wrapped up with a pink bow. All perfect and pristine, satin against skin.

At least it's not red, you think. Not this time.

You hear Jungkook greet Kang - "Hi! Didn't see you there. Was just about to leave! What can I do for you?" - and decide that the coast is clear. Glancing around, you make a beeline for Jungkook's obnoxiously bright tin can of a car.

You hate it. Hate it in the same way that teenagers hate their hometowns. No matter how much you want to run from it, you know it will always be the place you go back to.

But of course you will.

It's home.

Some say it's where the heart is.

And considering you've been without one ever since Jungkook left your apartment all those months ago, perhaps it's not a bad place to start looking for it.

As you approach the bright, siren-red car in the parking lot, Jungkook's keys sit snug in the palm of your hand.

The satin lanyard strap is a little worn through - a freebie from a car show he'd attended a few years ago - but is just as soft as it always has been.

There's comfort to be found in it, like a blanket from childhood, or the warmth of a heavy duvet after a long day. It's a comfort you haven't felt in Hoseok's bedding, nor in the childhood bedroom you're able to visit again now that you're back on cordial terms with your family.

Jungkook had never smothered you. Not once. Not like a blanket nor a duvet could - and that's exactly why you kind of used to wish he would. You had craved the weight of his body; wanted your airwaves cut off by the very essence of everything he was. Deprivation had made you desperate.

Foolishly, it seems like not much has changed. Not much and everything all at once.

When you hook your fingers beneath the door handle, you can still feel the burn of his touch. In fact, your pinky finger almost feels numb. You hold it out a little, away from your other fingers. You want to preserve the feeling; lodge the sensation in your memories, embed it into your skin. Never wanna lose it, as if you have any choice in the matter.

Sinking into the passenger seat (alternatively known as the closest thing you've ever had to a second home) it's the scent of his leather that hits you first. A little oaky. Well-aged. Cared for. Restored by a pair of rough hands that hand touched you with just as much gentle cautiousness, once upon a time.

It's details like these; his discipline when it comes to making sure his car is looked after - preserved - that let you know just how meticulous Jungkook is. Nothing he ever does is purely up to chance. Luck isn't something that comes naturally to him. It's something he crafts.

Like Rumplestiltskin, he'd spun gold from straw in the form of your relationship. None of it was real. Not really.

A few tears brim on your lashline and threaten to fall - but you've never taken well to threats. You wipe them away. Won't let him know that being back in a place that once felt so much like safety is scaring you half to death, now.

It's a vow you've made to yourself: Jungkook will never know how he affects you. He won't see you cry. Will never know your skin is forever changed by his touch, numb to everything else but the tips of his fingers and the taste of his tongue against your own.

He'd lost the luxury of 'you' the very second he decided you were expendable.

Shifting in your seat, you're acutely aware of the little changes that have been made in your absence. There's a new air freshener, but it smells just the same. Some sort of pine. Gas station staple.

There's no hairband around his gear stick, like you know there used to be. No receipts from GS25 in the cupholders, no dirt from your shoes in the footwells, no bottles of soju left to roll around in the back.

His car is void of all essence of you.

The centre console - the old store for your snacks after late night shifts - is empty, save for a pair of silver-rimmed glasses.

They're large - clear lenses - and slightly more rounded than you'd expect of his taste, but the thick dark frame on top of them seems apt. You can't imagine him wearing them. Think it might be fatal. Decide you'd never like to find out.

When you flick down the sun visor to check yourself in the mirror, you almost miss it; the one relic of you.

Tucked in a small slip where his tax documents should be, is a photo strip. Taken in a beachside photobooth after a few too many drinks, you remember it well.

It's rough at the edges. Torn in half. Jungkook is gone, and yet you remain.

The removal of himself from his own memories is stark. Confusing. Distressing. Forces you to focus on yourself; the smile that you know was caused by him tickling at your ribs, and the tattooed hand on the side of your face in the second picture, that you know for a fact was pulling you in for a kiss, even if you can't see it.

In the photographs, your eyes are bright, despite the black-and-white filter (his pick). There's a stupid pastel purple frame around each one of the pictures, with miniature Kuromi's perched on the edges (your pick).

You wonder where the other half is. Decide you're better off not knowing, but don't have time to give it much thought though, for Jungkook's yanking at the drivers-side door, and asking for the keys before you even have a chance to flip the visor back up.

He looks at you - eyes jagged, jawline sharp - and lets his gaze fall to your hand, where the pictures sit pretty.

"That's still in here?" he sneers, as if it's a surprise; as if he doesn't look at it every time he stops by the river to breathe for a moment. Just like he didn't sit on the beach in Busan last month and set fire to the other half; watching himself disintegrate. "Keep it. I've got no use for it."

He holds his hand out for his keys, so you make sure to drop them just beyond his grasp and into his footwell. You know you're pressed for time, and that you really shouldn't be fucking about, but he's too much of an asshole, you decide.

"Real fuckin' mature," he grumbles, pulling on the lever beneath his chair to push it back so he can reach down for them. There's silence as his posture restores and he sinks his key into the ignition. A spark lights in his engine, the exhaust roaring into action. He knocks the gear stick into reverse, and holds onto the headrest of your seat as he looks over his shoulder. Swings the car around. "Head down."

You do as you're told.

It's mainly because you don't want to give him any more reason to snarl, but also because the quicker you do, the quicker you can just get the fuck out of his car.

It's claustrophobic now that he's sharing the space with you. You don't wanna breathe; don't wanna smell his aftershave. Don't wanna listen; don't wanna hear the way he mumbles to himself. Don't wanna look; don't wanna see his tattooed hand knock the gear stick into first, then straight up to third.

In fact, you'd quite like to stop existing altogether.

Jungkook used to say how much he enjoyed it. Enjoyed existing with you.

You hope it makes him feel fucking sick, now.

"Just drop me at the end of the road," you say. "I'll make my way from there."

"End of the-" he scoffs, not even finishing his repetition of the question. He coasts around the corner, foot on the clutch. You wonder if he's exercising a complete lack of control on purpose. Wonder if he's baiting you. "That private school education of yours really didn't give you any street smarts did it, huh?"

He definitely is baiting you. There's no doubt about it. He's petty motherfucker when he wants to be - and you can be just as bad. You just can't decide on how you want to respond.

Firing back would be the easy option. It's what he would expect. What he knows of you.

Staying silent looks meek, you think.

The final thing you consider is crying. Do you want to? Not really. You're more frustrated than you are sad. Thing is, he wouldn't expect it. Wouldn't know what to do. Would definitely make him freak out a little. Might even get him trying to make things better.

But you just can't bring yourself to do it.

Instead, you laugh. Look straight ahead. "Baby, these streets are mine. We both know I'm untouchable."

His hard stare on the road intensifies. You're approaching the bridge. Neither of you want to speak, both too aware of the impact that first night had on your lives; how it planted a seed that turned out to be nothing more than a venus fucking fly trap.

And yet Jungkook just can't help himself. He doesn't want to let you win.

It's pathetic, and he knows it. Knows that he's the one who fucked you over; that he's the one who did all of this. Knows that you've every right to be hurting, and every right to want him hurting, too.

But you're engaged, he fumes internally. Due to be married. Have committed your life to someone else, as if the time you had spent with Jungkook meant nothing. It's only been about four months since it all went to shit. He can barely look at the watermark he still hasn't cleaned off of his bathroom mirror.

Lies were fed to you between his kisses, but every single one of those was real. He meant it every time he pressed his lips against yours; every time he told you he needed you in his sheets eternally.

He makes assumptions like you used to do. Thinks about your fiance. Assumes it's love. Has to be.

It's clear to him now that the feelings you pretended to have for him were always a lie.

He doesn't understand why.

Sure, he knows why he lied to you. Knows that he filled your head with half-truths, and tiptoed around the facts of the situation, but he was always honest with how he felt. Never told you bullshit about wanting to keep you close. Meant every single word of it.

But you didn't. It's obvious to him that your lies went beyond your family tree. Nobody likes a liar - not even the boy who cried wolf, himself.

"Untouchable?" he smirks. It's cruel. Juvenile. "We both know that isn't true, don't we?"

"Haven't you heard, baby?" You simper, voice sweet a honey laced with rat poison. You hold up your hand, and wiggle your fingers. Light catches in the cut of your diamond. "I've got a ring. I'm untouchable in every sense of the word."

It stings. Almost like your diamond's encrusted on a dagger, and you've impaled it into his chest.

He doesn't look at you as he drives. Not like he used to. Doesn't throw you a single glance across the centre console, doesn't hold your knee nor your hand beneath his on the gear stick. Instead, his jaw remains taut, eyes ahead on an endless horizon that he hopes he never reaches. If he keeps driving forever, none of this has to end.

For a little while longer, he can pretend.

Pretend that things are as always as they were; that perhaps you've just had a small argument - over what to have for dinner or the way he'd rolled his eyes at a suggestion you had made - and that you'll crack a smile soon. He'll say something dumb, play your favourite song. Tell you he's sorry. Pull over, and refuse to drive until you hold his hand.

But your hand has a ring on it now. He'd feel it lodged beneath his fingers. Would be indented with the mark of commitment from another man.

And that's what makes him crack.

"Engaged," he laughs quietly, not an ounce of humour in his voice as he shakes his head. His eyes stay on the road. He can't look at you. Knows he wouldn't be able to look away.

You're silent for a moment. Consider not responding - but his tone bothers you.

"Uh-huh. We've established that - but you've no right to pass judgement."

Jungkook doesn't want to pass judgement. He wants to be vulgar.

Wants to remind you of the way you were taking his cock a matter of months ago. Wants to ask if your fiance hits the spot like he knows he used to. Wants to know if your body is still stained by the colour of his claim; rosy handprints on your ass, plum bruises on your chest left by his lips. Wants to know if it's his name that reverberates in your head when you bite onto pillows. Wants to know if your fiance even fucks you well enough to make you do that. He doubts it.

He doesn't want to know the answers to any of those, though.

"I'm not passing judgement, C," he says in perhaps the most judgemental tone you've veer heard, flicking his indicator to merge into the next lane. "What's the dress like? Can't be white, can it?"

Bastard.

"We're going traditional," you lie. It hasn't even been discussed yet. You also don't plan on sticking around long enough to see it through to the big day, but that's none of Jungkook's business. "Hanboks only. No modern dress."

Funny, Jungkook thinks. Had never pictured you as the traditional type. Then again, never pictured you walking down the aisle with anyone but him.

Truth be told, it's not like he's ready for any of that. He's not good with the future. Not anymore. Moves from one bad decision to the next. No point in planning ahead.

He disregards the flashing amber light over the pedestrian crossing, narrowly missing it as it changes to red. His foot is on the gas, and he doesn't seem to be easing. You adjust in your seat. Cross your legs. Hold onto the door handle.

"Slow down."

The way he ignores you is childish, and the way he speeds up is even more so.

"Jungkook-"

"Don't tell me how to drive my own damn car," he snaps.

"Then don't drive it like a fucking idiot!"

The tyres screech to a halt. You're almost certain you can smell burnt rubber.

Around you, the road is empty. You're just a few blocks over from the bridge, not far enough for the coast to be clear, and you both know it. There's silence. No static from his radio, no chatter of former lovers; just his engine, purring softly, echoing into the night.

Neon lights from the amalgamation of churches and noraebangs rain down on you through his windows, painting your skin in a red haze. The beam of his headlights on the road ahead is intrusive, decrepit buildings shown in all their miserable glory; paint peeling from the walls, rust forming beneath nails like tears on cheeks, railings covering windows to keep outdated electronics protected. You hate this area. Always have done. Can't believe you used to consider it home.

"Fine then," he snaps. "Get out. Walk yourself home. See what I care. Don't get hit."

He expects resistance. Expects you to defy him. It's what he wants. Wants you choosing to stay - but like fuck are you gonna let him speak to you like that.

It's so hard knowing what's false with Jungkook.

Some days, you think it was all ingenuine; that you've never seen the real him.

On others, you tell yourself that the version of Jungkook you'd first met on the bridge was a facade; that you'd worn him down. Seen within.

Most days, though, you believe the version of Jungkook you'd met on that very first night is exactly who he is.

Everything that followed? A carefully crafted performance for an audience of one.

And now it seems like he wants a standing ovation - and who are you to deny such a skilled actor his applause?

Yanking just hard enough to piss him off, you pop open your door and stand beside the car. Applause comes in form of his door slamming shut, and the click of your heels piercing the emptiness in the air as you walk up the sidewalk.

"Where are you going?" He shouts after you from his window - but you just hold your middle finger up in his direction and continue onwards. "C?"

You wouldn't tell him even if you knew. All you know is that you selfishly kind of hope he'll call after you again. He does. You smile to yourself, and ignore him.

Cursing to himself in the driver's seat of his car, he revs the engine back up.

There's a sinking feeling in your chest, but you're the one who put it there.

Only have yourself to blame.

You choose not to watch as his car hurtles past you. The sound is soul-destroying enough as it is.

Jungkook takes a moment to consider his choices. The obvious is to let you go - but he's done that once before, and has hated it ever since. He knows chasing after you will only end in him chasing his own tail, but he's been doing that ever since you left, as it is. What difference will it make? At least this way he can say he tried.

He pulls into a side road.

Derelict and dilapidated, it's no place for a car like his - but then again nowhere in this city is. He sticks out like a sore thumb. None of the other Pony's are polished quite so well, no have been lowered like his. None of them rag about in the dark of night, only for him to fix his faux pas in the light of day the following morning. He'll never let it rust. Never let it falter. Never let it down; and in turn, it won't let him down either.

It will always take him exactly where he needs to be - and right now, he thinks it's beside you.

Slamming his door shut far gentler than you had, Jungkook pushes the key into its lock and twists it shut. He doesn't want to use the electric locks today. Feels like the only way to do things right is to go analogue. Old school.

Wishes there was a way he could go back in time with you, too.

His feet splash in the shallow puddles as he trundles back down the alley on foot, pulling the hood of his jacket over his head. He's still in his workout gear - a pair of joggers and some beat-up trainers - but doesn't care for keeping up appearances.

He waits as you approach. You notice him immediately, but make no acknowledgement of his presence. Just keep on walking. Even when he begins to walk alongside you, not a single word is spoken. Cars pass by, passengers gazing out of their windows at the strange pair walking side by side yet miles apart.

You wonder if they make assumptions about you like you know would.

If you were to see yourself, you'd guess that you were angry. A couple in the midst of a fight but too far from home to go your separate ways, maybe. The way your arms are crossed definitely suggests ice to the relationship, but of what the relationship is, you don't think you'd be able to tell. Lovers? Friends? Enemies? All of the above?

You wonder if they'll make up a life for you both. Wonder if they'll resolve the argument they must think you're having. Consider that maybe in their mind, you get a happy ending.

Maybe your observers will be just as naive as you once were. A fool with a fragile heart who gave it to a man who didn't know his strength.

Or perhaps he did. Perhaps he just never cared if he were to break it.

Jeon Jungkook; a rebel with a cause, just without care.

Asshole, you think. Wind whips loose stands hair against your face, cold despite the heat of summer that has now arrived. A storm is coming this evening, but you don't plan on being around to see it.

It's a shame. You've been looking forward to it. Hoseok's away. Work retreat to Yeosu. Some sort of training programme. You had anticipated a night alone watching the raindrops sinking down his apartment window.

The idea of going 'home' right now doesn't appeal to you.

Though when you come to think about it, home is standing next to you as you wait at a zebra crossing, waiting on a green light.

When green lights up the sky, you continue forward. Take a left a left when you reach the hospital. Walk seemingly without direction and yet there's only one place this road leads to. Jungkook knows it well. Isn't really sure what you're doing. Thinks you're playing some kind of joke.

And yet he doesn't speak up. Just follows.

The sign of the KTX station lights up the walkway, the rattle of overground trains polluting the silence between you. There are only a few more services for the night, but it means that freight trains are gearing into action, and they're so much louder than the passenger trains.

As much as he might not know what you're doing, you don't know either. Haven't really thought any of this through.

All you know is you just don't want to stop walking with him.

You hate yourself for it. Hate how weak he makes you feel. Hate that he gets to be okay and just live his life after ruining yours. Maybe you're misplacing your blame. Know full well that you've made some bad decisions as of late. Would take them back if you could.

Jungkook is one of those bad decisions you wish you could undo. If only life came with a rewind button. Ctrl+Z. Reboot. Restore to factory settings.

And yet the idea of not knowing him - the sound of his laugh in the early hours of a Sunday morning, the feel of his cheeks a few days post-shave, the pressure of his lips on the crown of your head - fills you with dread. You may hate the memories, but you don't want to lose them, either.

You know Daegu's KTX station well. Hanger left as you enter, straight towards the self-service kiosks. Pick one that accepts card, then rest your palms on the pale blue plastic casing of the machine. There's a touchscreen full of choices - endless opportunities - but Daegu's KTX autofill route is the only one that you care for. The only one that feels right.

Busan.

You tap through to the next menu, ignoring Jungkook's presence beside you. You don't care what he does. Are only thinking about yourself.

Funny, really. He's only thinking about you.

Jungkook knocks your hand to the side to stop you from pressing through to the transaction screen. He reaches over a little further. Presses the small plus sign next to 'passengers'. Says nothing as it jumps from '1' to '2'.

You just watch as he clicks on through to the following screen, and slides his card into the slot that's flashing green at you. There's no conversation. No acknowledgement of what he's done; just acceptance.

The machine spits out the tickets into a metal tray, so you take yours and turn on your heel, leaving him to collect his own. He can follow you if he likes. You won't wait for him.

Realistically, it's not like you'll be apart for long. The assigned seats are side by side.

Of course, you could just leave. Buy a ticket elsewhere. Go home. Head down towards the subway and lose him in a sea of people.

The possibilities are endless.

Yet you find yourself checking the departure screen for train 071, instead.

The menu flickers through the upcoming departures, before finally falling back to the screen 071 is on. Platform two, departing in four minutes.

It's enough time to get to your track, but not enough time to run to your favourite coffee stand. You just sigh. Today is just disappointment after disappointment.

Jungkook walks straight past you. Makes no acknowledgement of you.

Just heads towards the exit for the tracks. Another sigh leaves your lips.

But you find yourself following him.

You're the one orbiting him, now.

And like the planets you're convinced rule your life, it doesn't feel like you can stop any time soon.

Your train is already on the platform by the time you make it down the stairs, quietly purring in its bay. Doing one final check of the platform, the conductor blows his whistle just as you're hopping on.

Heading down the aisle, you're displeased to see the train is only half full, knowing it means your assigned seats will be beside one another - and once you reach carriage four, you can see the top of his head poking out from the row you've been allocated.

It's interesting how he's taken the aisle seat, when his ticket is for the window. Still, questioning it means engaging in conversation, and you're still pretending like he doesn't exist - to the point where you don't ask him to move. You just step over him, and cringe at the way you know your ass brushes the top of his knees from the awkward positioning.

If he were in a better mood, he'd smile, aware of your annoyance and the fact you're probably cursing out your own ass in your head.

But Jungkook is in a foul fucking mood, and all he wants to do is hold your goddamn hand.

He knows can't.

So he won't.

He'll just sit, and stew, and lament the fact he's on a train to fucking Busan with you.

The jokes he knows he would have cracked six months ago are lost, now. There'll be no nonsensical conversations over who would die first in a zombie apocalypse, no dumb declarations from Jungkook about how he'd protect you no matter what.

Would have been a lie, anyway.

In the row ahead of you, a teenage couple share a pair of headphones.

Between the crack in the seats, you can see their heads leaning together, hairs melting into one another. The girl is peroxide blonde, but has dark roots growing through. It's a bit like Jungkook's hair used to be. Her (presumed) boyfriend has a streak of blonde peaking through his dark hair. She no doubt did it for him (again, you presume). The sight of it makes you feel sick.

Jungkook notices it too. Watches as the girl flicks through the boys playlist. Searches up a song he doesn't know, and presses play. When she locks the phone and puts it down on her boyfriends lap, she shuffles closer against him. Jungkook feels a little unwell, too.

The silence continues.

It's only 45 minutes to Busan. Not a long haul by any stretch of the imagination - and yet it feels endless this evening. When the train eventually rolls into his hometown, Jungkook thinks he's going crazy. Hates being alone with his brain. Hates that you hate being alone with him, too.

The hushed nature of your pairing prevails as you make your way onto the subway. Rammed full of late-night punters, you're forced to stand by the entryway. He stands behind you, and holds the bar that's over your head. Doesn't say sorry when the movements of the carriage cause him to lean against you slightly. He pulls away from you as quickly as he can, but you're surprised to find that you miss the weight of his body.

But of course you do. You've been missing it for months, now.

The subway trundles through underground tunnels, metal screeching every so often, more and more passengers departing - until it's just you and him. You take a seat, and so does he. You're opposite one another, eyes unashamed as you stare one another out. There's no trust. You're like cats, stalking their prey.

Or should that be you're like a cat. Jungkook is a lion. Could rip you to shreds if he wants. Has done it before. Your scars are barely healed. Can still feel him all over your skin. It's insidious. Makes you want to take a fucking potato peeler to your body, just to rid yourself of your memories.

The way he looks at you, all dark and brooding, like he's some kind of 90's heartthrob that never stood the test of time, makes your fingerprint-shaped scars burn.

You ride the subway until the very final stop; not because you wanted to, just because you were following his lead.

Stupid, really. He was following yours. Of course he was.

The static voice of the automated alert lets you know you've reached Dadaepo.

Jungkook knows it well. Was his favourite place to explore as a kid. A hidden rocky alcove just beyond the cliff walk was the site of many discoveries as a kid; sea glass, bugs he can't remember the names of, and - in his later years - the scent of marijuana.

The fact you're still giving one another the silent treatment is comically unbelievable. It's been upwards of two hours since his car door slammed shut back in Daegu. Even longer, actually. Closer to three hours.

There's something so childish about how petty you both are - but at least this way, you can't miscommunicate.

You just don't communicate at all, and you think you prefer it that way.

The waves roll in as you sit, staring at nothing. Side by side. Miles apart. It all becomes a bit much for Jungkook. He knows he shouldn't make a sound, but he thinks he likes it better when you fight. At least that way he gets to hear your voice, no matter how scathing it can be.

"The last train back is in half an hour," Jungkook says quietly, unsure of how much time has passed. Dadaepo is fifty minutes away from the station. You'll have missed it, and are fully aware of it.

So you just shrug.

"Not have a fiancé to get home to?" He questions, and almost manages not to sound bitter. Almost.

Again, you shrug.

Hoseok is away for the week - an all-expenses training retreat over in Yeosu.

When your Father had still been in the police force, before moving into local politics, he'd gone on the same training programme. It's a yearly excursion. Just an excuse to get shitfaced with his crew and a chance to slip his wedding ring into his wallet, knowing your mother would never find out.

She'd always know. She was the one who did his laundry, after all.

Unlike your mother, however, you won't spend the week in a foul mood because of it.

That's not to say you won't spend the week in a foul mood - it's just that the reason for your awful mood is currently sitting next to you looking over the East China Sea.

"You should stop concerning yourself with my life," you tell him, voice quiet - but he hears you crystal clear, regardless. He's listening out for only you. Fuck the waves, fuck the dog walkers, fuck the traffic and the coffee shop soundtrack blaring just a few feet behind the woodland. You're the only one he hears.

He considers saying nothing, but just can't help himself - so he scoffs, and says, "shall I stop breathing, too, while I'm at it?"

It's a stupid comparison to make. His life doesn't depend on you. You tell him so.

"You need to breathe to stay alive. You never needed me to stay alive."

Never needed me at all.

"I don't know, C. Kang was pretty pissed when we let you get away," he says as he purses his lips. It's a miracle his nose still looks the same as it always did - unless it just got broken so many times that it somehow snapped back into place.

Thing is, Jungkook's not really thinking about that. The pain subdued. After a few weeks, it was like it never happened.

But the ache in his chest remained. His one source of chronic pain, and you're the one who held the knife. Sure, he's the one who guided your hands. Pulled them into his chest. Inflicted it upon himself.

"Your coworker," Jungkook finally sighs. He's not even sure why he's asking. He doesn't want the answer. "Is it... The ring. Is it him?"

And while you want to hurt Jungkook as much as you possibly can without laying a single finger on him, you know you've done Yoongi enough damage. Makes you sick thinking about his tender face; the way it'd light up around you. You think of Jieun, and the time spent together in the shop and it's so consuming that you can't even think of an appropriate response to Jungkook.

"Yoongi," you correct, but Jungkook already knew his name. Just didn't wanna acknowledge him as more than a meagre colleague. "No. It's not Yoongi."

But just for a night? It had been Yoongi. Or was it two nights? Your head taunts you. You fucked Yoongi. Fucked his life up. Fucked it all. Whatever becomes of you is what you deserve.

Jungkook is unaware of this as he clamps his lips together to stop the smile that's begging to break through his hard exterior.

"You ever..." You begin to mumble, but then realise who you're talking to. You don't want to converse with him. "Nevermind."

He knows this. Doesn't care. "Have I ever what?"

There's a moment of silence; waves lapping against the shoreline in place of your words.

"You ever do something that just destroys you?"

Your words linger like the brief seconds waves will take to kiss the shoreline; white bubbles sinking into sand, murky water retracing its steps and dissolving into the currents.

"Destroys you?" he asks, not because he needs clarification, but because he can't possibly imagine what you've done.

You simply nod.

And so he takes a moment to think. Decides it's about time he gave you some honesty.

"Yeah," he says gently. Can see there's something you're grappling with. Doesn't want to intrude, though. "I've done things that have destroyed me, C. You know I have."

The silence resumes once more. It's louder now.

If you listen closely enough, you can hear that chime in your stomach again. It's faint. You ignore it.

Jungkook can hear it too. It rings and rings like tinnitus. He can't ignore it. He can pretend that he detests it, though.

Moonlight ripples on the surface of the water. It rolls into shore, then pulls away again. Gets just close enough to touch, but not far enough to soak your feet.

It runs away from you as soon as it gets close, and the irony isn't lost on Jungkook. He'd always thought you'd behaved like the moon and her tides, after all. Cyclic. Endless. Eternal.

It sort of feels apt that you'd end up back here.

Yeah, he thinks as he refuses to look in your direction. Too consumed with the way the vast expanse almost looks like a black hole. Just like the tides.

But waves can roll up on any beach, and the moon caresses every inch of the earth during her slumber. There's nothing unique about the pair of you. Nothing special.

Insignificance has always been a fear of his. A life that could be chalked up to birth, then death; records in a library system forgotten about for years upon years. His impact? Null.

He'd seen it with his mother - her vibrancy, her love for life, for others - and how she'd all but been forgotten. Sometimes, he feels like he's the only one who remembers her.

Even his father seems to forget why he's in such a sorry state. His brother has a new family, now. And what does Jungkook have?

No family. That disintegrated. Yeah, they're still around, but they're not present. Not there for him when he needs them.

No career. Sure, he can get work wherever electricity is, but he's under Kang's thumb, now. He trains, and he fights. Time for honest work is non-existent.

No love. He's never been the type to need a relationship, but he'd gotten a little foolish. Gotten used to the comfort of another human. Now that he knows what it feels like - how nice it can be - he feels half alive without it.

The Jungkook beside you is just the same as the Jungkook you first met.

He's a little stronger, a little broader. Is missing a few of his piercings, and wears his hair dark now instead of the blonde you had always adored.

He's exactly the same, and yet forever changed.

He digs his fingers into the sand beside his thighs. The grains slip through the hollow gaps between his knuckles. Even the things within his grasp always seems to get away from him.

He hates the silence. Hates that he never knows what to say anymore.

And thankfully for him, you hate it just as much.

"Fighting a lot, these days, aren't you?" You ask, not that you need any clarification. You saw a note in one of Hoseok's files earlier on in the week. Just a small scrawl about Kang's, and the illegal gambling ring he's running. JJK had been written down, with a set of odds next to his name. Pretty good odds. Baby is a champion. You'd be proud, if the circumstances weren't so harrowing.

"Not any more so than usual," he lies, shutting down the conversation as soon as you start it. He just can't help himself. It's like he's hard-wired to fight.

You turn to look in his direction and are momentarily caught by how ethereal he looks when basking in silver moonlight. The tip of his nose looks cold, and yet his eyes are warm. Watery. Welcoming you to dive right in.

Sink, or swim?

He's got a bruise on the top of his cheekbone, and a small graze just in front of his ear. It's clear to see that he's been through the wringer recently. There's really no point in lying to you.

"No?" You ask, just to let him know you're aware he's full of shit.

"What does it matter if I am?"

"It doesn't."

And so silence settles again. Neither of you know how to interact with one another anymore. It's awkward and uncomfortable, and you both hate it - and yet there's nowhere either of you would rather be. No one else you'd rather be in discomfort with.

Time gets away from you. It chases through the night, just like his car used to do down the backroads of Daegu, with you in the passenger seat and your hand beneath his on the gear stick.

You wonder if he ever thinks of it; if he ever thinks of you in the same way you think of him.

You don't ask him, because no matter what the answer will be, you'll convince yourself it's a lie.

Midnight creeps in, and so does the chill of night air. It may be summer, but the sea breeze can be biting at times.

Jungkook's fine - his workout gear is keeping the heat in well, but you're underdressed. Huddled up and clearly not enjoying yourself but refusing to voice discomfort, Jungkook is the one who forces you up. Says it's stupid to still be out by the water. Tells you that there will be loads of bugs about, soon.

You both know that the bugs have been out since dusk. Leaving now makes no difference.

Ignoring the hand he holds out as you get to your feet, you rid your legs of sand, and head towards the pathway through the small wooded area.

Neither of you have any idea what to do. The keys in Jungkook's pockets are rendered useless, his car still down in a back alley of Daegu, and the buses have stopped running. Subway, too.

You've no bag with you, just your phone (that's dangerously low on charge) and a card tucked into the back of the case.

Jungkook's phone is new. Holds it's charge well. He's not worried about it.

He's got his wallet, too, so at least he's a little bit more foreign-city-ready than you'd been upon your decision to run off to Busan. He's glad he came with you, now.

He figures he'll just stay at his Dad's place - but it means getting a taxi, and he really can't be fucked with an hour's drive this late at night.

He's unaware that the card in the back of your phone isn't yours. It's under Hoseok's name. He gets a notification every time it's used. It's why you're so selective about how you spend your money.

You've no ID with you, either. Left it in your purse back in Hoseok's apartment. Hadn't really expected to end up in Busan, in all honestly.

Especially not with Jungkook.

If you wanna check in to a hotel - which is the only option, really - you're gonna need your ID. Standard policy around these parts. No ID, no room.

You tell Jungkook this.

He sighs. Grates his jaw a little.

"And you didn't think that maybe it would be smart to take your ID out with you? What if you'd gotten in an accident, huh? No one would have known who to call, 'cause they wouldn't know who you are."

"I was hardly gonna get in an acci-"

"How do you know?" He cuts you off. "You can't plan these kinds of things, CC. Accidents just happen."

"Is that what this is, then?" You scoff, folding your arms over your chest as you walk a little further away from him up the sandy sidewalk. "Another calamity of yours? Just ended up here accidentally?"

Sometimes, he considers kissing you just to stop your from spouting off at him over nonsensical issues.

Jungkook thinks it's obvious he ended up in Busan for one reason, and one reason alone:

He'll follow you to the end of the earth, if it means he gets to be with you.

He's hardly gonna tell you that, though, is he?

"Ended up here cause I missed the beach-" And I missed you, too. "- but it's late," Jungkook says as you meander back up the sidewalk without much aim, and nods across the road to a beachfront hotel. "Let's just crash here and figure out how to get home in the morning?"

For reasons you can't understand, you find yourself agreeing. When you explain that you can't use your card, he shrugs. Says he'll cover it. Says he doesn't care.

It's a different story when you're in the hotel.

The presence of the concierge makes you feel unsure of yourself. Reminds you of how embarrassed you are by what Jungkook did to you; how foolish you had felt. You feel the need to defend yourself.

"Do you have any suites available?" You ask the concierge with a smile so sweet it could rot his inside. He thinks you're sweet. Thinks Jungkook should smile more. Knows he'd be smiling if he had you alone in a hotel room.

"All booked out, I'm afraid," the concierge says as he checks the screen in front of him. The glare reflects in his glasses, and you wonder how many times he's been caught out looking at things he shouldn't. Not just at work, but in general. He seems like a sweet kid - but a kid nonetheless.

"What's the most expensive room you have available, then?" You query instead.

Jungkook shakes his head. Looks at his feet. Tenses his jaw. Thinks you're fucking unbelievable.

You know he's got money problems. Know he's fending off sharks from his poor Father's back. Know that the only reason he fucked you over was to finally have a decent payday.

And yet you choose to do this? Knowing he won't kick up a fuss in public?

Spineless bitch. Spiteful.

But, oh, how you love to hit him where it hurts.

The concierge is none the wiser of Jungkook's discomfort. Tells you both that there's a deluxe sea-view room left.

"It's gone midnight, so I can give you a discounted rate," he says, and still quotes a price that would make even a black card owner raise an eyebrow.

Jungkook looks at you. Holds your gaze. Passes over his card. Waits till the concierge is retrieving your keys to hiss, "you're the most expensive mistake I've ever made."

You just smile. "Shouldn't live life with regrets. They give you wrinkles."

"And stress gives you grey hair," he counters, insinuating that you've got some growing through. The concierge returns to his position behind the desk, so Jungkook plays his role up. "You been stressed lately, baby?"

The concierge coughs. Holds out your key. "Seventh floor. Follow the corridor from the elevator right to the end, and you'll find room number one." Jungkook takes the key with a polite nod. "If you need anything else, the front desk is open twenty-four hours. I do hope you enjoy your stay."

The tension between you and Jungkook is palpable. The little routine you've cooked up in which neither of you speak unless it's to bait each other out continues. Doesn't end until you're in the room - and what a fucking room it is.

Crisp white sheets on a bed that is far too big; a bathtub in the corner of the room instead of the bathroom. Huge windows that let the midnight view of the ocean pour in, and chiffon curtains that will keep you hidden from the outside world. You won't close the blinds. Will want the morning sunlight to bathe you in its glory; make you feel like you belong to the days instead of the nights.

So much of your relationship with Jungkook was hidden in the shadows of Daegu nights, but it had been different in Busan. It's hard to pretend as if you don't miss it.

Hard, but not impossible.

You toss him a pillow and the stiff cotton throw from the end of the bed. "Here. The bathtub looks cosy. Sweet dreams."

"I'm not sleeping in the fucking bath," he laughs, but it's full of scorn. He finds no humour in this situation. "If I pay for a hotel room, I'm sleeping in the bed. Bath is all yours."

And yet you stay put.

When Jungkook turns off the main light? You stay put.

When he grasps the back of his sweater and pulls it over his head? You stay put.

When he says, 'No? Not fancy the bath?' as he tosses the pillow you had thrown at him back onto the empty side of the bed? You stay put.

When he walks around to that side? When he pushes the duvet back? When his weight dents the mattress? The scent of his aftershave intrudes on your senses? The sound of his bare skin nestling into the sheets is all you can hear? When he turns his back to you? Turns off the bedside lamp?

You stay fucking put.

And you know you shouldn't, and know that this is all kinds of wrong, but my god, it's all you've wanted for months: the past. All that's missing is your arm looped over his waist.

When he turns to face you? Looks at you, eyes all glassy, lips pursed? Tries to get a read on you?

You don't move a muscle. Just look at him right back. Wonder how he can still look so beautiful in such darkness. Wonder if his hair always spilt onto the pillow as it does now, and you'd just never realised when he was blonde.

And then you wonder if maybe someone else had been in this position with him during your absence.

It would be okay if they have. Wouldn't be their fault. Wouldn't be his, either. You're the one who left. Have a ring around your finger, now, no matter how loosely. Would be incredibly unfair to expect Jungkook to spend the last few months alone.

But the more you think about it, the more you get caught up in your own head, and how he'd kissed you beneath his shower, skin coated in red dye. Has you thinking about the way he'd always kiss you as he came, and the 'forever's he'd whispered in the dark of night.

So fucking cruel of him. He always knew that forever wasn't an option. There was no reason he had to pretend there was.

And maybe you're just tired, or maybe you've just been keeping it all bottled up for so long that the pressure had finally reached full capacity, but you just can't help yourself as you say, "why couldn't you just leave me alone?"

Your brows furrow. Lips pout. You know what's coming and you can't even be bothered to stop the tears. Maybe he should know how badly he affected you. Maybe it's the only way he'll understand. Maybe then he'll care.

For now, you can't bring yourself to think too hard. You just let the tears fall.

"C'mon, C," Jungkook whispers as his thumb strokes over your cheek. His hands are a little rough. He's been working on his car a lot lately, and hasn't taken time to look after himself, instead. It's self-sabotage. Thinks he doesn't deserve to feel good. Physically, mentally, whatever. "This isn't you."

Oh, it's laughable. Hilarious, you think, that he seems to think he knows who the fuck you are. You wanna scream. Wanna tell him that he knows fuck all. Tell him that you never let him see even an ounce of what makes you 'you'.

Denial is a strange thing. Has you lying to yourself like it's a bible oath. Jeon Jungkook knows exactly who you are. You just wish that he didn't.

"You've no idea who I am," you whisper back through partially gritted teeth, that are stopping your sobs from leaking through.

Jungkook purses his lips together. Shakes his head. Strokes away another tear. Is almost silent when manages to croak out, "I wish that were true."

And you might be wrong, but it sounds like he's holding back a tear or two, as well.

You reach over to toy with the key around his neck. It's warm in your fingers, the heat of his skin keeping it cosy. It's amazing how warm he always is, you think. Never met anyone like it. When your eyes flick up to his, ever so briefly, you notice that they seem warm, too. Just a byproduct of his body temperature, you decide.

"Why coke?" You whisper as you bring the key to your lips. Press it against them, just to feel the pressure of something that belongs to him.

He'd kiss you now, if you asked him to.

But you won't, so he doesn't.

He just shrugs instead.

"Why do we do anything of the things we do, C?" He pauses, but doesn't anticipate a response from you. Just continues, instead. "To feel alive? To feel closer to death? I don't know."

Lost one drug, he thinks to himself. It's just a replacement.

And it's funny, because aside from the lines he'd snorted on the first night you'd returned just to fucking cope with it all, he's not touched it. Thinks if he could just touch you, he'd never go near coke again.

You hold the key to his lips, now. Wait for him to press his lips against it. He does so, keeping his eyes locked on yours. Funny. Seems the key works on something, after all.

When you pull the key away, you let the chain hang slack, before dropping it to his chest. The ridges of the metal are sharp against his skin, but he's numb to it. Can only feel the print of your fingertips and the scars that are embedded into his skin from them.

"You should stop," you whisper, stroking down the bridge of his nose with the side of your index finger. His eyes close. Jaw tenses. He inhales. "It'll ruin this pretty nose of yours."

And then he smiles; eyes still closed, lip ring flipping in the corner of his mouth.

But the tepid movement of your finger doesn't stop. It reaches the tip of his nose. Trails down his septum. Encroaches on his cupid bow - and then it comes to rest on his lips.

Just like the key, he presses against it. Kisses the side of your finger. Keeps his eyes closed. Lets it linger.

He hears the change in your breathing. How you inhale a little sharper than before. How it sounds painful.

Doesn't wanna open his eyes. Doesn't want to look at you, knowing that you'll probably look so tragically hurt that it would be captivating, in a way. He'd wanna kiss it all better, but knows better than to attempt such a thing.

"I don't think I can, C," he eventually says. Opens his eyes. Is devastated by your beauty. "Don't think I'll ever be able to stop."

You both know he isn't talking about coke.

"Then it'll ruin you," you whisper, pretending as if you still are.

He just nods. "So let it."

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pxrxcxa · 2 years

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Hi, I'm P. x, I write for myself & if people enjoy it then that's a bonus :)

22 | Australian | She/Her | This is a safe space, sweat pea. 🌿

You may think your voice doesn’t matter, but i’m here to tell you that’s not true–I love hearing from you, and your note of encouragement is often all that keeps me writing. Even if your form of interaction is simply reblogging content and screaming in the tags–I love that shit, and I read every word. Thank you.

Requests for Eddie are currently closed. Welcome to my brain, Eddie holds the power here. Enjoy sweet peas 🌿 P. x

All my work is proof read.

Series } 🌻 (fan favourite) 🌿 (my favourite)

Opposite Ends } - Enemies to lovers 18+

➢ Chapter One - Welcome To Hawkins High

➢ Chapter Two - Newest Members Of Hellfire Club

➢ Chapter Three - A Shock And A Low Roll

➢ Chapter Four - The Freak At My Door Step 🌿

➢ Chapter Five - Brown Eyes And Too Much Weed 🌻

➢ Chapter Six - A Deal, Harsh Words & A Mistake 🌻

➢ Chapter Seven - What's Worse Than Death? 🌻

➢ Chapter Eight - A Brief Moment of Happiness 🌻 🌿

➢ Chapter Nine - My Mixtape 🌿

➢ Chapter Ten - Doomed love

➢ Chapter Eleven - I'll stay if you stay

➢ Chapter Twelve - My girl

➢ Chapter Thirteen Pt 1 - Together 🌿

➢ Chapter Thirteen Pt 2 - Together

➢ Chapter Fourteen - I’m done running

➢ Chapter Fifteen -

➢ Epilogue

✷ Ongoing

Mean } Rude Eddie x fem!reader 18 +. 🌻🌿

➢ You're being mean |

➢ Why are you so mean Pt 2 |

➢ I know why you're mean Pt 3 |

➢ Mean to the bone Pt 4 |

➢ Mean to everyone but me Pt 5 |

Brothers Best Friend } Eddie x fem!reader 18+ 🌻🌿

➢ Untouchable Pt 1 |

➢ Off limits Pt 2 |

➢ No date Pt 3 |

One Shots }

➢ Bated Breath | Eddie x virgin!fem!reader 18+.

➢ Bated Breath Pt 2 | Eddie x teaching fem!reader 18 +. 🌿

➢ What are friends for | Eddie x fem!friendship x experimenting. 18+. 🌻 🌿

➢ Two truths & a lie | Eddie x fem!friend drunk hookup 18 +.

➢ Faster | Eddie x fem!reader race car driver!angry 18 +

➢ Boy Next Door | Eddie x fem!reader neighbour caught out 18+

➢ My side, your side | Eddie x fem!reader slight enemies, soft Eddie 18 + 🌿 🌻

➢ Show me what you’ve got and I’ll make you a deal | Eddie x Stripper fem!friend 18+

➢ Born Bitch | Dom Eddie x Sub mean y/n 18 +

Requests }

➢ Here to stay | Soft Eddie x fem!reader comfort

➢ Dirty Little Secret | Virgin Eddie x Stripper fem friend 18 +

➢ Eyes for only you | Rockstar Eddie x returns from tour 18+

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bullet-prooflove · 7 months

Text

Past Mistakes Part Seventeen: Seven - Mike Duarte x Reader (feat: Joe Velasco)

Tagging: @crazy4chickennuggets @kmc1989 @oureternalbond @nessamc @jayblackpanther @mysoulisasunflower @resonmalvo @ @littleone65 @thesandbeneathmytoes @katluke25 @mydarkestsecretlol @evee87 @wooshwastaken @hearthockey @justreblogginfics @im-just-a-mississippi-girl @rosaliedepp @storiesofsvu @whateversomethingbruh @burningpeachpuppy @smellsliketeensspiryt @legit9thlunaticwarrior @xoxabs88xox @kiwiithecrazybird @spooky-pomegranate @chavez-ashley @telepathay @weiwei0210 @spaghettificationandpretzels @plaidbooks @irishavengersassemble

Past Mistakes Series:

Part One: Try - Mike turns back up in your life after three years apart.

Part Two: Hope (NSFW) - Mike and you get reaquainted.

Part Three: California - Mike and you discuss the past.

Part Four: Favours - Mike asks Liv for a favour.

Part Five: Choices - Mike comes face to face with someone from his past.

Part Six: Truth Hurts - Mike begs you to tell him the truth about what happened three years ago.

Part Seven: Sharing - Mike and Joe have a conversation.

Part Eight: Buried - Mike discovers that McGrath’s misdeeds go far futher than he thought.

Part Nine: Complicated - Mike discusses moving forward.

Part 10: Feral - Mike returns to the apartment to find you’ve disappeared.

Part Eleven: Torture - You wake up in the basement.

Part Twelve: Fire - You and Joe discuss moving forward.

Part Thirteen: Lost Time - You and Mike get real on his porch.

Part Fourteen: Plan B - Mike always has a plan B.

Part Fifteen: Proud - Mike tells you how proud he is of what you’re doing.

Part Sixteen: Mattituck (NSFW) - You show Mike how much you love him.

It’s late when Joe enters McGrath’s office. The Chief sits at his desk, the lamp on and a glass of Scotch in his hand as he uses a pen that costs more than one of Joe’s suits to sign his name at the bottom of a form.

“Velasco.” He greets the other man without looking up before pointing at the chair across from him. “Sit.”

Joe complies, waiting for McGrath to close the file he has in front of him. The weight of the other man’s gaze comes to rest on him.

“You’ve heard the rumours.” McGrath states.

Joe doesn’t bother to lie. By now everyone knows about McGrath’s tantrum in Declan Murphy’s office, the glass panels had practically vibrated out of their frames. To his credit Murphy hadn’t flinched, instead he had calmly sat there and waited for the Chief to finish before showing him the door.

Joe shrugs his shoulders.

“It depends which one we’re talking about.” He tells the chief.

Joe’s playing a dangerous game, he knows he is, but years of undercover work have trained him for situations like this. He trusts his instincts and he trusts yours. He thinks you were onto something when you’d told him McGrath had done this before. He’s been with SVU a couple of years at this point, he knows how a predator escalates.

“That depends on what you’ve heard.” McGrath says, his gaze meeting Joe’s.

“Duarte’s girl.” Joe informs him. “You assaulted her.”

Joe doesn’t expect him to laugh but that’s what he does. It’s a chilling sound, one that grates across every single one of his nerves as he sits there across from the man who tried to rape you. He thinks of the damage McGrath caused, how you were used, broken down, buried.

“It wasn’t an assault.” McGrath tells him, raising to his feet and selecting another glass. He pours one for Joe before pushing it towards the young Detective. “It was buyer’s remorse. She was seeing Duarte at the time, the two of us were at an event, had a couple of drinks, one thing leads to another…” McGrath shrugs his shoulders. “She felt guilty about it afterwards so she took on an undercover posting so she wouldn’t have to face him. Now she’s back and she’s trying to ruin my career and Duarte’s helping her.”

“There’s no accounting for taste.” Joe says, a smile playing across his lips as he takes a sip from his glass. It’s expensive, definitely a top shelf brand.

“I know right?” McGrath says, his elbows coming to rest upon his desk. “You know how many women I’ve had on their knees for me, begging me? She should have fucking grateful.”

“How many?” Joe asks, his thumb chasing along the etchings on the glass.

McGrath sags back in his chair, his eyes closing as he does the arithmetic. Joe waits with bated breath because this is why he’s here tonight, it’s the reason he has his phone on record in his pocket.

“Seven.” McGrath says finally. “And not one of them complained. Not a single one.”

Love Mike Duarte? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Want more Mike? Check out his Masterlist here!

Interested in supporting me? Join my Patreon for Bonus Content!

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

#mike duarte #mike duarte x reader #mike duarte x you #captain mike duarte #joe velasco #jose velasco

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effloradox · 1 year

Text

LOVER; the series.

a series of soulmate!au drabbles based on the album Lover by Taylor Swift

status: in progress (4/18 written)

TRACKLIST.

ONE. i forgot that you existed (dracula) 3.4k

↳ You share dreams of past lives with your soulmate

: ̗̀➛ i forgot that you existed, and i thought that it would kill me

TWO. cruel summer (aemond targaryen)

↳ You can see the world through your soulmate’s eyes occasionally

: ̗̀➛ i’m always waiting for you to be waiting below, devils roll the dice, angels roll their eyes

THREE. lover (tony stonem) 5.0k

↳ The red string of fate leads you to your soulmate

: ̗̀➛ have i known you twenty seconds, or twenty years?

FOUR. the man (steve harrington)

↳ You have an animal that shares the same personality / disposition as your soulmate

: ̗̀➛ every conquest i had made would make me more of a boss to you, i’d be a fearless leader, i’d be an alpha type

FIVE. the archer (dream of the endless)

↳ You can see your soulmate in reflections

: ̗̀➛ i cut off my nose just to spite my face, then i hate my reflection for years and years

SIX. i think he knows (eddie munson)

↳ You can share and hear your soulmate’s thoughts

: ̗̀➛ i want you, bless my soul, and i ain’t gotta tell him, i think he knows

SEVEN. miss americana and the heartbreak prince (jason ‘jd’ dean)

↳ You have a compass that leads to your soulmate

: ̗̀➛ i counted days, i counted miles, to see you there, it’s been a long time coming

EIGHT. paper rings

↳ You have a timer that counts down to your first meeting with your soulmate

: ̗̀➛ kiss me once ‘cause you know i had a long night, kiss me twice ‘cause it’s gonna be alright, three times ‘cause i waited my whole life

NINE. cornelia street (robert renfield) 3.2k

↳ Your soulmate’s first words are tattooed on your wrist

: ̗̀➛ sacred new beginnings that became my religion

TEN. death by a thousand cuts

↳ You have a matching tattoo / mark with your soulmate

: ̗̀➛ our songs, our films, united we stand

ELEVEN. london boy

↳ You think with your soulmate’s voice until you meet them

: ̗̀➛ but somethin’ happened, i heard him laughin’

TWELVE. soon you’ll get better

↳ You develop the same injuries as your soulmate

: ̗̀➛ what am i supposed to do, if there’s no you?

THIRTEEN. false god

↳ You know they’re your soulmate when you first touch them

: ̗̀➛ i know heaven’s a thing, i go there when you touch me honey

FOURTEEN. you need to calm down (billy loomis) 2.6k

↳ Your soulmate cannot physically harm you

: ̗̀➛ stressin’ and obsessin’ ’bout somebody else is no fun, and snakes and stones never broke my bones

FIFTEEN. afterglow (wednesday addams)

↳ You can feel your soulmate’s emotions

: ̗̀➛ it’s so excruciating to see you low, just wanna lift you up and not let you go

SIXTEEN. me! (peter parker) 2.4k

↳ The world is in black and white until you meet your soulmate

: ̗̀➛ but one of these things is not like the others, like a rainbow with all of the colors

SEVENTEEN. it’s nice to have a friend

↳ When you first see your soulmate, you just know it’s them

: ̗̀➛ something gave you the nerve to touch my hand, it’s nice to have a friend

EIGHTEEN. daylight (robin buckley)

↳ You can’t lie to your soulmate

: ̗̀➛ i’ll tell you the truth, but never goodbye

#having a blast with this one ngl #will be posting them somewhat infrequently but a bunch are already done and are ready to go :)#masterlist #lover #my writing #renfield x reader

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multifandomwriter56 · 10 months

Text

His Little Spy: The Painful Truth

A/N: Here is Part Two

Series Summary: Anita Edwards is a spy who works for Tommy Shelby. She is an orphan and longs for a family. Will Tommy ever realize she is his daughter, despite them not being blood? Or will he lose her forever?

Chapter 2 Summary: Anita recovers at Polly's and thinks back to how she became Thomas Shelby's spy.

Characters: Tommy Shelby, OC, a few minor OC's, Polly Gray, mentioned other main characters from the series

Warnings: language, mentions child abuse, short scene with child abuse

Word Count: 2,483

"Polly, are you sure? I can stay at the Institution like Mr Shelby wanted me to."

Polly guides the eleven year old up the stairs, rolling her eyes. "Don't worry, Anita, Tommy is not cross with you for staying with me." She opens the door to one of her many spare bedrooms. "And if you ask me one more time if I'm sure about you staying with me, I'll give you a clip over the ear."

Anita smiles softly at the threat, knowing the older woman would do it in a heartbeat.

“Now, lie down. You need to rest. I’ll leave you some breakfast in the morning.”

“Why won’t you be here?”

“Tommy and I have a meeting with Mother Superior early in the morning.” Polly says darkly; not even trying to hide her hatred for the woman.

Anita swallows her apology for causing them problems. She has a feeling Polly doesn't want to hear it. “I can make me own breakfast. You don’t have to worry about it.”

“I’m sure you can; but your only concern tomorrow is to rest. You will stay in this house until I feel you are healed enough to wander. Understood?”

“Yes, Polly.”

“Good.” Polly smiles at the young girl. She doesn’t know when this young girl climbed into her heart; but she’s family now. If only she knew that. “Get some sleep.”

“What the bloody hell happened to you?”

Anita does as she was told; closing her eyes as Polly closes the door. Instead of dreaming though, her mind thinks back to when she started working for the Shelby business.

Anita ignores the boy, as she tries to hide her black eye with her hair.

“Your uncle?”

“Fuck off, George. I’m fine.”

The boy is surprised to hear Anita talk that way. She’s usually quiet and timid. The girl always says it’s better to observe than talk. He’s not sure he agrees, but she helps him with his numbers and lets him talk as much as he wants; so he keeps walking her to and from school.

“Anita Edwards, where the fuck do you think you’re going?”

George watches as his friend’s whole body tenses. He whispers for them to run; but she ignores him.

“I’m going to school!” Anita shouts back as she turns around to face her abuser.

“I don’t remember saying you could go today.” He growls as he steps closer to the two nine year olds.

“I have to go to school. I was gone all last week; they’ll get suspicious. Just trying to save your arse.” She spits out the last word just as her uncle stands in front of her. The slap is expected, so Anita is able to stop herself from falling to the ground.

“Don’t hit her, you bastard!” George charges at the man, swinging his fists.

“George, no!” Anita steps forward to stop her friend, but she’s too late. Her uncle doesn’t even hesitate to punch the boy, knocking him out cold. “George!” She glares up at her living nightmare. “You prick! Why would you-” She’s cut off from him shoving her into the wall, knocking the breath out of her.

“Oi! What the fuck is going on here?”

Anita tries to blink away the black dots blinding her vision. That voice is so familiar; but she’s not sure where she’s heard it from.

“Get the fuck off of her.”

She hears some rustling as the man manhandles her uncle away from her. When the man calls her name, she tries to focus on him but the black dots are still there. Wait, how does this man know her name?

“Anita, love; come on, look at me. Stay with me.”

Finally the black dots are gone and her eyes focus on the concerned, blue ones.

“There you go. Good girl, good girl. That’s it.”

“Mr Shelby?” There’s no way that’s the Thomas Shelby. Why would he concern himself with her? They barely even know each other.

Anita used to play with John’s kids when they still lived in Birmingham; but since John’s death and Esme took off with their kids, Anita doesn’t see the Shelby’s regularly; only when she sees them pass by on the streets of Small Heath.

“Yeah, that’s right. It’s Tommy.” Tommy never understood why; but this kid he’s only been around a handful of times always calls him Mr Shelby. Which seems normal to anyone; but she is on a first name bases with the rest of his family. “Can you stand?”

Anita ignores his question as she tries to look over the gangster’s shoulder. “Where’s George? Is he okay? I need to see him.”

Tommy gently but firmly places his hands on her shoulders. “He’s still out cold. I will help him once I know you can walk and you have no broken bones.”

The young girl thought about fighting him; but she knew from observing the family that she would definitely lose that fight. The only thing she would accomplish is taking time away from George. So she nods her head before slowly pushing herself up.

Tommy relaxes slightly when she complies. His hands move from her shoulders to her elbows. He keeps them there even when she’s standing straight. He doesn’t remove them until she takes about six steps. As soon as he releases her, she heads straight to the young boy. He follows.

When he sees Arthur and Finn round the corner; he motions with his hand for them to come over.

“What the hell, Tom?” Arthur questions, his eyes roaming over the man knocked out on the ground.

“Take Mr. Edwards to Moss and tell him to lock him up. Let him know I’ll explain everything when I have a chance.”

His brothers grab the man; but Arthur stops when he sees the two children. “Did he do that?” At Tommy’s nod; he drops the man, head first. “Whoops, hands are a little slippery.”

Tommy watches them until they turn the corner from where they arrived. He focuses back on the children, sighing in relief when he sees the young boy awake. “Can you walk, son?”

“I think so, Mr Shelby.”

He watches as Anita helps the boy, George he thinks, stand to his feet. He gently tilts the boy’s head upwards so he can look at his pupils. The kid definitely has a concussion. “Can you walk yourself home, George?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Tell your father what happened and if he has any questions, he can come to me.” Tommy orders as he pulls out his lighter and cigarette case.

“I want to go with him. Someone needs to make sure he makes it home.” Anita states.

Tommy stays quiet as he lights his cigarette. Once the lighter and case is back in his pocket, he speaks. “You, Miss Edwards, are coming with me. We need to have a little talk.” He knows he looks and sounds intimidating. He also knows he doesn’t really need to. One thing he remembered about Anita was that she’s always been a good kid. She was a good influence on John’s kids.

She just seems to get caught up in bad situations.

Anita thought about arguing but she decided against it. Mr Shelby had saved her life; she has no doubt her uncle would have killed her this time.

“I’m fine, Anita. I can walk meself home.” He wraps his arms around her in a quick hug before letting go. “Thank you, Mr Shelby.” At Tommy’s nod, George heads home.

Anita watches her friend, much like Tommy did with his brothers before forcing herself to look at the businessman.

Tommy takes a drag before nodding in the general direction where #6 Watery Lane is. “Come on.”

Tommy opens the door to his past home, stepping to the side to allow her to go in first. She does, stopping at a table. She waits for him to speak first.

The nine year old follows closely behind the man; keeping her eyes on his long black coat. She rather not see everyone staring at them as they pass by. She knows they’re wondering what Thomas Shelby wants with a child.

She's wondering that as well.

“Your parents died when you were younger, correct?” Tommy asks as he flicks the cigarette butt into the fire.

Anita nods her head. “Dad died in the war. Mom died from consumption.”

“Do you have any other family besides your uncle?” When she shakes her head; Tommy decides he needs another cigarette. “When was the last time you had a meal?”

She’d rather not answer the question, so she just shrugs her shoulders.

The small action tells Tommy everything. “After you eat, I will take you to the Grace Shelby Institution. You’ll be safe there.”

“Can I stay at the St. Hilda's?” When Tommy frowns, Anita quickly assures him. “I mean no disrespect, Mr Shelby. I stayed there for a couple of months when my mother passed before my uncle took me in. Most of my friends live there. I really am grateful for your help.” She adds the last bit, hoping she didn’t offend the man.

Tommy’s not sure he likes the idea of Anita going somewhere he doesn’t control; but he wants the kid to be happy. She deserves that much. Even though his gut is telling him to say no, his mouth says yes. Some of his concern dies when the girl smiles for the first time since he found her.

“I’ll see if Pol can-”

“If you’ll just show me where the food is, I can make myself something. I’d rather not be more of a bother than I already am.” Anita ignores the disapproving frown directed at her. She has a feeling he didn’t like her interrupting him. “Is there any way I can repay you, Mr Shelby?”

Tommy exhales, letting the smoke free from his mouth. “There’s no need for that. Just stay out of trouble and stay in school.”

Anita nods but silently disagrees with him. She could be helpful if the man let her. “I’m good with numbers; and I can read faster than anyone my age.”

“Anita.” Tommy warns, his voice deepening. “I said no.”

She turns her back towards him as she opens one of the cabinets, looking for food. “Yes, sir.” She mumbles.

Tommy may not know the nine year old all that well; but he can tell by her tone that she’s going to completely ignore him.

Once he listened to everything she had learnt; Tommy agreed to let her be his spy. He didn’t admit it out loud; but Anita knew he was impressed.

Anita wakes up, the memory still playing in her head. She sure as hell ignored him. When she wasn’t in school and she could sneak away from the sisters, she would spy on Tommy’s rivals, his own men, and anyone who posed a threat to the Shelby’s. She would even help Lizzie with the baby and watch Charlie for her.

During one of the times she was at Arrow House helping Lizzie, Tommy surprised them by coming home early. He immediately started interrogating her and she admitted to everything. Tommy hadn’t been happy at first, but Lizzie helped convince him that Anita was not only helping her, but him as well.

* * *

Anita had done as she was told. She ate the food Polly saved for her and took the medication she had laid next to the plate. She found a book and laid on the couch reading. It was two hours past noon when she couldn’t handle the boredom anymore. She may be mature for her age; but she is, in fact, an eleven year old girl.

She slips on her shoes, tying the lace before heading for the door. She opens it, jumping when she’s met not with a view of the streets but of one Tommy Shelby.

“Anita, are you sneaking out?” He asks her, the lit cigarette wobbling up and down in between his lips.

Knowing she was caught red-handed, she shrugs her shoulders. “Maybe.” She mumbles as she steps backwards so the gangster can step inside.

Tommy grins, stepping inside his aunt’s home. “And what is out there that is worth risking a scolding from Pol, eh?”

Sensing the man isn’t upset with her, she answers bluntly. “Fun. People.” Her eyes widened, pleading with the man. “I’m bored, Mr Shelby. I can’t sleep anymore. I’ve finished two books. There’s nothing else to do.”

“I understand, love; but you’re here to rest. Once you’re healed enough that you don’t wince with each movement, you’ll go to one of my institutions where you can act your age all you want.”

“Oh.” Is the only thing Anita can say. She thought she was staying with Polly until she became of age. Polly made it sound like she wasn’t leaving any time soon. How could she be so stupid? Why would anyone want her, let alone the Shelby family? “Right. I know. I’m sorry for complaining. I really am grateful for what you did.”

Tommy frowns. What just happened? What happened to her playful attitude? “Anita, what’s wr-”

“Nothing.” She answers why too quickly, silently scolding herself for saying anything at all. “What are you doing here anyways? Don’t you have a meeting in London in-.” She looks at the clock behind her. “An hour?”

The smirk is back. “I see someone has been reading my diary again.” He shakes his head fondly when the girl blushes and looks down at her feet. Instead of scolding her for it, he pulls out a small bag from his coat pocket. “I brought you some food. You need to eat.”

The young girl’s cheeks turn a darker red. “I made some food around noon.” She admits, hoping Polly didn’t tell Tommy she was supposed to wait for someone to bring food to her.

Tommy chuckles this time, shaking his head. “I’ll make a deal with you. I won’t tell Polly you cooked your own lunch if you don’t tell her I was two hours late. Deal?”

Anita grins. “Deal.”

Tommy stays with her for about an hour. He told her his meeting in London was rescheduled for tomorrow.

The two of them mostly sat in silence; him reading over some papers he was picking up for said meeting and Anita looking over the books (the legal ones) that Tommy had in his briefcase. She wants the practice and Tommy sees no harm in letting her learn.

She talked the older man into splitting the food Polly made so she can say with confidence that she ate the food.

Tommy leaves, growling a lighthearted but still serious “Behave” over his shoulder before shutting the door; leaving Anita alone once again.

Now alone with her thoughts, Anita thinks about his words. Maybe she should leave Birmingham. In truth, it would be easier for everyone if she was out of their lives for good. Right?

Forevers: @desiredposion @theseakrakence @simonsbluee @elenavampire21

Peaky Blinders: @psychkunox @theshelbyclan @lilymurphy03 @findinghisredrighthand

His Little Spy Series: @smcc212 @peakascum @auggie2000 @ajwantstohavefun @bloomskater @play-morezeppelin @venomsvl @the-horror-and-the-wild-simp @lovemissyhoneybee @theshelbyslimited @bethabear12 @raincoffeeandfandoms

#his little spy series #tommy shelby #anita edwards #peaky blinders series #peaky blinders

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sammyboyimagines · 2 years

Note

may I request a Steve Harrington x Reader smutfic :) The Reader has powers like el’s but Steve doesn’t know this so when it comes time they do the ✨devils tango✨ their powers end up going off. :))

omg anon this is an amazing request and I may have got a little carried away. thank you for this request!

Pairing: Steve Harrington x afab!reader

Summary: Reader has powers but hides them from Steve. After a series of weird light flickers and random dropping objects, Steve finally understands his girlfriend's secret. 3.8k words

Warnings: 18+ NO MINORS (i will call ur mom, go play outside or something). Steve is very corny, very sappy. Both reader and Steve are lovesick. This a very VERY FLUFFY SMUT FIC. Swearing, unprotected sex (wrap it folks), light hair-pulling kink, pet names (baby, sweetheart), insecure reader, self-doubt. sweet sweet fluff and smut. Established relationship.

the warnings are messy, I realize that but I don't want to change it so I'm very sorry. Also, anon I hope you don't mind that I made the reader a bit insecure about their powers?

"Hey, beautiful"

You read Steve's note that he had passed to you during your class. He was lucky Mrs. Johnson wasn't looking or he'd be knee-deep in extra work to get out of detention. While the small smiley face at the end of the signed note made you warm inside, you gave Steve a look that said, "you're such an idiot."

You enjoyed Steve's antics as much as anyone else did, but it still bothered you when he would purposefully get himself into trouble to amuse you.

Even if it was adorable...

To everyone else, your relationship with Steve was a classic case of girl-next-door meets boy-next-door. But the truth was you were hiding a dark secret. One that you had trained yourself to keep deep inside your mind.

You had special abilities. If you dared to tell anyone, they'd consider them gifts. But you couldn't feel more alienated. After all, you were attending Hawkins High and dating Steve Harrington.

'King Steve'

But in Steve's opinion, you couldn't be more perfect; hell he'd say you were the hottest girl in school. You were never seen without Steve either holding your hand or following behind you like a lost puppy. It made your heart melt every time someone mentioned the heart eyes Steve gave you when you weren't looking. However, it also made you incredibly nervous.

Having powers wasn't fun when you could accidentally use them in public settings. Even worse; in front of your perfect boyfriend and his 'perfect' friend group inside your 'perfect' school. You knew of Steve's experiences with the Hawkins Lab. It gave you chills just thinking about your life before you escaped. He had told you about Eleven, and you tried your best to pretend like you didn't have a clue of what horrors lay behind the closed doors in that lab. It was one of the best days of your life when it finally closed down. You chose to stay ignorant about the Eleven business; you'd convinced yourself it was better this way.

Steve hadn't noticed a thing, and you wouldn't have it any other way. He never noticed how the lights would flicker a little when you got excited or scared. You'd play it off with something along the lines of "stupid electricity," and he'd brush it off just as you did.

Just like you wanted

You weren't trying to lie to him, but you thought it was okay if you didn't tell the full truth. What he doesn't know can't hurt him.

"Psst!" Steve shoved another folded lined paper note onto your desk. You smiled and checked if the coast was clear. Mrs. Johnson was asleep, her head laid on her desk as her warm coffee grew cold.

"Meet me at our spot? :)" Steve was staring at you from his desk next to you, his head resting on his elbow. You crumbled the note up and rolled your eyes. As much as some time away from class sounded amazing, you already had a D in Mrs. Johnson's class, and you'd be dead if you failed a class. Steve wasn't paying attention to the schoolwork piled on his desk. He was too hypnotized by the way your outfit hugged your body in a way that made him practically drool over you. Then again, you could be wearing anything and he'd react the same way.

Steve tapped your foot with his own. His big brown eyes were your weakness and you hardly got your way when he would beg you with puppy eyes. "Fine." you mouthed before you shot your hand up to ask for the bathroom. Steve was watching the clock, timing the perfect moment so nobody would suspect you were meeting each other.

Just as promised, you walked to your 'spot' which was an empty janitor's closet Steve had found while you two hid from your responsibilities and classes. You fumbled for the lights and eventually switched them on, just in time for Steve to walk in.

"Been waiting for this all day", Steve's hands were immediately on your waist before you had a chance to say anything. He mumbled sweet compliments as he pressed soft kisses against your neck. "We've only been at school for 3 hours.." your laughs made him beyond happy, but he was too worked up to focus.

"Exactly, all day." he gently held your face in his hands. "You're so gorgeous." Steve was always very honest with you, it was something he wanted in his relationships after Nancy. It made you sick to your stomach each time you remembered that you were hiding your abilities from him, but you hoped he would understand.

Steve's hands ran up and down your body, practically worshiping your body over your clothes. "What did I do to deserve you?" with that he slid his hands up your top as he made out with you. You pushed his hair out of his face as he peppered small kisses along your jawline. "Just making out for now, okay?" you mumbled, feeling him nod against your warm body.

"Of course, babe, whatever you want is fine with me." Steve had no issue with whatever you wanted to do, he just loved spending time with you. His large hands held your waist as he pulled away from your lips for air. "Maybe we could just spend the rest of school in here, hangin' out. You were distracted, to say the least, you hadn't said anything for the last few minutes.

"Babe? Are you okay?" he held your hands in his own, his small smile bringing you out of the depths of your mind. Steve never wanted you to feel pressured to do anything, and he knew when you weren't telling him something.

Your eyes couldn't meet his as he tried to reach out to you. You felt guilty, but you couldn't bring yourself to tell him. Steve knew something was up, he never wanted to make you feel like you couldn't have secrets. When he met you, he immediately felt safe around you, like he could tell you anything. He always wanted to have someone trust him enough to tell him everything. And he got it, he got you.

Steve looked at your puzzled face and felt himself frown. He cared for you, he was in love with you. He hadn't told you yet, but he made up for it by showering you with affection, gifts, and compliments. He wanted to tell you, more than anything. He just never found the proper moment.

"Steve, can I tell you something?" he felt his stomach drop. Were you breaking up with him?

"Yeah, of course, anything." he clasped his hands in yours tightly, holding onto you as if he was going to lose you any second. You smiled at his nervousness. "I'm not going to break up with you, don't worry." You watched him physically untense against your body.

"Are you pregnant? his eyes were darting over your face, looking for any kind of hint from your body language. "No! I'm not pregnant. Just let me talk!" your laugh gave him some sense of comfort. It always had been a comfort for him, even if you didn't like your laugh. His day would always get better the moment he was able to make you laugh. It was his favorite part of each day. He listened attentively, his intense glare making you slightly nervous.

Your hands were clammy and gripping Steve's impossibly tighter. "Let's say that I have a secret, and I don't want to tell you because it could make you think differently of me." Steve normally refrained from interrupting you, he hated when people would talk over you and he always noticed how upset it made you. But he couldn't stop himself.

"Y/n, baby. You don't have to tell me. I trust you." Steve's comforting brown eyes looked into yours, letting you know he was genuine. "I trust you completely." you would have melted to the floor if you weren't so incredibly nervous. You nodded in response, eternally grateful to have found such a considerate person to spend your time with.

"I have something to tell you too, if it's okay with you?" he sits on the floor with you, wanting to have your full attention before he confessed.

"You're not breaking up with me, are you?" you laughed, making him smile. Steve watched you, he couldn't think of a better way to spend his time with you, making you laugh.

"No, actually the opposite." he ignored your confused face and took a deep breath as he wiped his hands on his jeans nervously. "I've been thinking about this for a while and I think I should tell you. You don't have to say it back or anything." he stood up, his legs feeling restless.

Steve had been working up to this moment for an entire week. He even practiced in front of his mirror. "I'm just gonna start by saying that you look so beautiful today. Not that you don't look beautiful every day!" he stutters out, making you smile. It was heartwarming how flustered he was when talking about his feelings.

"I've spent so long looking for someone like you, and I want you to know how much I appreciate you. You're gorgeous but what I really like about you is how...great you are." he chuckles nervously. He was at a loss for words all of the sudden. You could tell he was stuck in his thoughts. "Steve baby just tell me, you can tell me anything."

He chuckles. "That's what I like about you." he sighs and sits back down, building up for a dramatic finish to his nervous monologue. "I'm in love with you, Y/n. I have been more months, you're my everything and I just want to be with you every second of every day." he brushes the hair out of his face and waits patiently for a response.

You were expecting something upsetting, but it was a pleasant surprise. "I love you too, Steve." despite it being a small step in your relationship with Steve, it felt like everything had changed. As if you both fell more in love with each other.

"I have a surprise for you later, we should probably get back to class." Steve helped you up and pulled you in for a long kiss. After a good amount of time, he pulled back for air. "I am so in love with you, Y/n." the lights flickered. You let it slip and the lights flickered from the pure excitement and love flowing through your veins. Steve jumped out of habit. "Stupid lights probably need to be replaced." you were frantically thinking of something to say to get back on topic.

"It's okay, we'll find a better closet." he chuckles. Steve left first so nobody would see both of you coming out of the small room at once.

After school, you hurried to Steve's car while he was jamming out to the radio. "Ready to go?" you slip into the passenger seat and admire his strange dancing. "Earth to Steve.." you wave a hand in front of his face, making him turn down the radio and turn his body to face you. "Before we go, I just want to say you look fucking amazing today. I love you." Steve was obviously laying it on thick, but you enjoyed it if you were honest with yourself.

"Mm, let's go to your house then. You can show me how much you love me." Steve took that as his cue to take off. "Yes, ma'am."

When you got to Steve's place, you hardly closed the door before his lips were attached to your neck, giving you several love bites from your jaw to your collarbone. You let out small moans, from the satisfaction of finally being alone with him and the passionate affection from Steve. He loved hearing your noises, they only fueled the butterflies in his stomach when he remembered hearing "I love you too" leave your lips.

Steve had you pressed against the wall, his hard-on pressed against your thigh as he cupped your face. "See how much you affect me? It's like I can't get you out of my head," he mumbled against your lips, only millimeters from yours, building the tension between your bodies.

"I love you, Steve. I can't get you off my mind either." you knew exactly how to work him up. And it was definitely working.

"Jesus, you can't say those things.." he chuckles at how pathetically whipped he was for you. "We haven't even kissed yet, Steve." you thought it was hot that he was so worked up he forgot to kiss your lips.

He mentally scolded himself for not realizing it. "Let's change that." He took your face in his hands as he kissed you with a new passion, a more intense feeling of love, not lust. Pure love.

Wrapped up in the hot kiss, you were surprised when he picked you up with his large hands holding your ass. "I could hold you like this all day." he chuckles and kneads the soft skin of your ass and thighs before he gently set you down on his large bed. A perk of going to his house was that his parents were seldom home. He had the entire house to himself. Which meant sex anywhere, anytime.

"Fuck, gotta get all these clothes off of you.." he helped you take your clothes off before he took off his own. "Have I ever told you that you're beautiful?" he smiled when you raised an eyebrow.

"Every day, but maybe you should tell me again." you laid beneath Steve, your hands tangled in his hair as he made out with you. Normally you would have begged him to get to the point but tonight was a different mood. You desired him, not just his body. To feel his arms around you, his warm breath against your neck whispering sweet nothings as he ran his hands up and down your delicate skin, feeling every scar and mark you had.

Steve wanted the same thing. He wanted you to understand that he was yours completely. He had been searching for somebody to be with for life. Someone to share every moment and milestone in his life. He wanted to be there for you, to be the one to make you happy, pleasure you, comfort you. He needed you, possibly more than you needed him.

"You are my everything, Y/n. You're all I need. All I want." Steve knew he was being super sappy right now, but he didn't care. Like clockwork, you knew just what to say to make him melt.

"I'm yours, Steve. I want this." that was the breaking point. He wasn't going to hold back now that he knew you felt the exact same. His hands groped your breasts, sinking down to suck on them as his right hand slid down to your pussy, cupping it gently.

Your moans only turned him on more. He smirked against the soft skin of your tits, his fingers lightly brushing against your clit. Your hips jerked up to meet his hand. "I barely touched you, sweetheart.." he looked at your flushed face. He revels in the blissed look across your face. Even though he teased, he adored you in every way.

His middle finger slid inside you, he watched the way your mouth gaped open and you let out a shaky moan. He added another, thrusting his two fingers inside you quickly, relishing in the way you moaned his name so sweetly. "Fuck Steve!" you gasped when he added yet another finger, three digits pumping into you with force.

"C'mon baby, I can feel you tightening around my fingers. You're making such a mess." the way he encouraged you and degraded you at the same time made you a mess in his grasp. You felt like you couldn't move like you were under his spell. His mouth moved to your neck, leaving more hickeys across your heated skin.

"Cum for me baby I know you're so close. Give it to me," he repeated that last sentence, groaning softly into your ear as he rubbed his hard-on into his mattress. Your hips were rolling to meet the fast pace of his fingers, and you could hear him panting quietly in anticipation. Steve was just as turned on as you. He could die happy just watching you.

Your legs were starting to shake already, and you grew closer to your release with each sweet kiss Steve placed on your tits and neck. "Oh god Steve keep going.." he nodded against your skin. Your orgasm ripped through your body. Your whole body felt like it was on fire like electricity was running through you. You let out a strangled loud moan as Steve rode you through your orgasm.

"So good for me," he pulled his fingers out, smiling when you whimpered from the empty feeling it gave you. He licked his fingers clean, noticing the way you squirmed as you watched him.

"Please. Need you so bad.." you begged for him, your limbs feeling shaky as excitement coursed through your veins. Steve felt on fire too. Steve pumped his cock a little bit, already hard and longing to feel your warm walls surrounding him as he pounded into you.

He caged his body over yours, his hands holding your wrists against the mattress. "Are you okay with this?" he gave you soft loving kisses, wanting to be as genuine as possible before he had his way with you. With your permission, of course.

"Yes, please Steve fuck me. Been waiting all day.." you let your head fall back onto the mattress as you whined out a pathetic beg. He smirked and kissed your head. "I won't keep you waiting then." he was very thankful you were on the pill, so he could feel the way you squeezed him before your release. He loved being so intimate with you.

Steve could barely keep his composure as he admired the way you laid underneath him, your chest rising and falling as you gasped out desperate tiny moans when he teased your entrance. "Stop teasing.." you whined out, your hips grinding against his cock to create some friction.

He inhaled sharply at the feeling. "Alright baby, behave." he pushed into you slowly, groaning your name softly. He felt you wiggle your hips again. "Eager aren't we?" he chuckles, out of breath a little bit. He was trying to hold back from thrusting into you with such force.

"Just fuck me already, I want you so bad." with that, he thrust into you as your nails dug into his shoulders. Steve could hardly think, the way your pussy felt against him made him weak in the knees. It was like you were made for him. It made him fall harder for you.

"Fuck you feel amazing, I wish we did this more often." he moaned as he listened to your pleas for him to go faster. He had a weak spot for your voice, it was music to his ears.

You two were often very busy. You both hardly had time or privacy to be intimate because of the six children following him around after school helping him with whatever he was doing and your life projects and nosy family members.

"Harder Steve, don't hold back, please. I really need this." Neither of you would admit this, but you both had so much life stress. Being so romantic and intimate also relieved some of that stress. You felt as if you were in your own little world with him. Just him, the closed curtains, and his king-sized bed, maybe a little jazz playing from time to time.

Steve captured your lips in his, his teeth gently biting your lip as you both held back loud moans. You reached your hands into his hair and pulled gently, making him shudder as he pounded into you. "Fuck do that again, please do it again." you blushed at the new-found kink that Steve possessed.

You would have been self-conscious about the wet noises and loud moans coming from you, but nobody was home except you and Steve. It was you and him against the world. The thought of being his and only his drove you crazy. You tugged at Steve's hair, hearing him moan your name. His thrusts became increasingly uneven. "Please tell me you're close baby. I don't know if I can keep going much longer." he was begging you to cum. The lights suddenly started to flicker harshly, you hadn't noticed at all.

Almost on command, you felt your orgasm hit you hard. "Fuck Steve!" you could only say those two words. Your brain was static as your limbs shook with the waves of pleasure washing over your tired body. Steve was hardly focused on his surroundings, but he was a tad bit worried about the lights. He didn't realize that all of the things sitting on his shelves were now scattered across the floor and a picture hanging on the wall had fallen off. Once Steve had fucked you through your orgasm, he filled you up with his cum.

Steve shakily held himself up as he pressed a kiss to your head. You could barely hear anything but the gasping from your mouths. "You are so pretty like this. Has anyone told you that you look like an angel?" he laughs when you hit his chest. You weren't smiling. You were panicking. The lights began flickering again.

You had been so utterly blissed out that you couldn't keep yourself from letting your powers go. "What's going on? I'm sorry this usually doesn't happen." He turned around and saw the objects on the floor and his face contorted in confusion. "What the hell?" He stood up.

You grabbed his hand. "Steve?" you were breathing heavily. You had to tell him. "This is what I wanted to tell you." Steve sat down next to you. He was extremely confused now. "What are you talking about?" he frowns.

"I did this. The lights, the stuff on the floor." Steve held your shaky hands in his. Everything started to make sense, he was worried he was cursed or something. "You have powers?" he now understood why you were so hesitant.

"Yes. I know I should have told you before but I didn't want to ruin what we have. I want to be with you so bad, Steve. I'm in love with you and I didn't want you to think I was some kind of freak." you felt Steve wrap his arms around your shaking body.

"You're not a freak, Y/n. You're my girlfriend. I could never think less of you, no matter what you do. I'm here for you for everything. I promised I would stay with you no matter what. Plus, it's kinda cool." he cleared his throat after his less serious sentence.

"I couldn't love you more. This is just a perk. My girl is a superhero." he pulled you in for a soft kiss. Steve smiled against your lips when he felt you hold onto him.

"Maybe we could try some new positions then? Like some cool positions with your powers-"

"Shut up."

//and that's it folks! I honestly think I'm getting better at writing smut, this is my second attempt at writing smut. Let me know if there's any weak spots!

#steve harrington smut #stranger things netflix #steve harrington imagine #steve stranger things #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fic #fluff #steve harrington one shot #reader insert

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impossiblesongs · 8 months

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the world’s forgotten boy (dhawan!master x reader)

Summary: You are here, you are there, you are everywhere and nowhere at all, and it’s everything. || this series partakes in and around this fic

✍️✍️✍️fic masterlist

Disclaimer: Not my characters. This is a disclaimer.

Title from “Search and Destroy" by Iggy and The Stooges

AN: this pair hasn’t left me and now it’s everyone’s problem dhawan!master timeline: post-part 6 of OG fic, specific to information relayed in DW series 12

Life lived in the footfalls of time and space with the Master brought with it a particular cocktail of divine chaos and reckoning, such obsolete and unavoidable devastation. But then there is the tender, hallowed glory. It happens and it happens, all too fast and all at once. You are here, you are there, you are everywhere and nowhere at all, and it’s everything.

You used to think you could never belong, not even on Earth, no matter how hard you tried. Your life, your career, your family. No matter how you well you dressed the part, no matter how you assimilated, the cracks would always out. At the edge of worlds, you learned the traits of adaptability comes faster than you’d ever anticipated. But it always did, if you’re being truthful, even as a child. You don’t think anyone has ever underestimated you quite like you used to.

Being raised on Earth can do a number on you, especially if you’re a woman. You’re too smart and too loud and too opinionated, you care too much or not enough, and if you dare, you shouldn’t. Every point you make can be right and they’ll still make you feel like little more than a piece of meat.

You’ve carried it all your life that the second you put it down, you change.

The change is palpable. You can feel it, and not just because you are no longer bound by something so trivial as age and sickness, but because you have the ability to choose. Really choose. So does he. You don’t always agree, but most often you leave right and wrong outside of his Tardis doors.

You’ve pondered at it too, when the Master tells you stories of how all of the Doctor’s companions leave them eventually, be it for humanity or for survival. This is how he confesses his greatest fear without saying it plainly. Just telling stories and hoping you gain the meaning behind the words. You tell him this is also how you differ. If humanity could be spared, you’d make the effort surely, but your loyalties tie elsewhere now.

He wants to believe you, and you don’t take it personally that he doesn’t know how. You see it clear on his face, he wants it to be true so much, but trust is foreign. It belonged to a boy long gone who once played with his friend under a burnt orange sky. He doesn’t know how to trust you, not anyone. You see him battle with himself, see him try to tiptoe the line, and he’s never taken it out on you, but he holds back. He keeps things to himself, he doesn’t lie, but he isn’t truthful.

It comes to a head one day. He comes home wretched, he’s devoid of anything but self-loathing and has fresh blood caked underneath his fingernails. He has the gall to lie to your face when you ask him about it and your resolve snaps.Your hand moves before you can register the action. He takes the slap like a man hungering for penance. You take his face in your hands and kiss him, and you tell him the next time he lies to your face, you’re gone.

Each day he comes, malevolent and bloodied. Falling to his knees before you and crying himself to silence until he’s looking up into your face, begging you to tell him what to do without uttering a single word. You’re not stupid. You brush back his dark hair and tell him he can stop. He can choose to stop.

It takes eleven days for him to destroy all of Gallifrey.

When it ends he presents himself to you and all that he found. His every reason for doing so. He becomes a mask devoid of anything but rage when he demands to know if you’ve had enough now.

It’s the Doctor’s companions trying to divide the cosmos between living a relatively human life that makes for the ultimate problem, you think. Both lives naturally clash against one another, all of time and space overruling the steady chronological passage of time. While the past, present, and future exist, once you get into a Tardis, there is never a moment after that you can go back. One chooses. Whether they can live with the choice, that’s another matter.

“You ache to be forgiven and yet you abhor the idea, it rattles defiantly in you. I won’t forgive you, but only because I don’t see why I would condemn you. There is no more limit here, do you understand? No more ‘reason’. Only yours, and mine. I know the man I married, whether you choose to believe it now or not.”

You tell him you made your choice a long time ago, and wasn’t he listening?

#the master x reader #dhawan!master x reader #wyrwtd

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val-made-a-mistake · 2 years

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❝the garrison rat❞ CHP 11

CHAPTER ELEVEN

previous / next

summary: torn apart by an unexpected loss, you find yourself unable to leave birmingham. you’re aware that people notice you drinking in the garrison every other night, you’re aware they call you nicknames, but you don’t care about any of it— at least, not until you start speaking to john shelby. he’s looking for a wife and you vowed to never love again, which makes things a bit complicated.

warnings: basically everything horrible you can think of. ANGST, vomiting, gore x1000, friendly reminder that this is the peaky blinders we’re talking about so even more guns and gunshot wounds, everything to do with pregnancy and infertility…this chapter is a lot honestly i think we all need to hug it out after this one

word count: 3.5k

tag list: @datewithgianni @1950schick @clementinesjourney @cbouvier23 @smailaway @cedricscoffin @buckysjuicyplums @belledawnidk @wandering-poetess @bobafett-tea

a/n: you know that scene in friends where ross is yelling PIVOT over and over while he tries to get a couch up a staircase? no spoilers, but that was basically me writing this chapter regarding the entire vibe of the series thus far lol. i stayed up most of the night to write this.

//////

To you, hospital food tasted like wet sand.

Esme had brought you a banana from the Shelby Parlour and you’d eaten almost a quarter of it several hours ago— but the nurses had to come and take the remains because even though your stomach was pulsating and needy, crying out in pain, you hadn’t been able to keep any food down after the surgery. Bowel movements were an absolute nightmare, the mere thought of it made you nauseous to the point where it was hard to stay in the world of reality.

Your stomach was covered in jagged, bright blue stitches from bullet removal, which ached and stung every time your chest rose to take a breath, and there were tiny white claw marks pressed into John’s hand from squeezing it as hard as you could when another wave of white-hot pain raced through your brain.

(He said it barely hurt, though, so your hand remained firmly clamped around his.)

At one o’clock in the morning, sixteen hours on, the intensity of your pain had decreased enough to keep you in the world of reality, so you were awake and conscious while awaiting the final test results from the doctor.

She got hit in a rather critical area, the nurse had told John, refusing to look at you the entire time. There could be unfortunate complications from this.

If only you knew what the fuck that meant.

“You okay?“ John whispered, finally giving you an excuse to stop thinking about the ever-continuing tinnitus ringing in your ears, and you looked at him.

“What time is it?” you mumbled back.

Pausing, he checked his watch, then said, “1:33.”

You looked at him blankly, and he grimaced sympathetically, reading your mind. “He should be here soon, love.”

“I want that fucker dead,” you mumbled, trying to roll over on your other side but immediately regretting it when your stitches burned and screamed in pain.

When you looked back at John, there was a revengeful type of passion burning in his eyes, and that same uncomfortable shudder from earlier crawled up your spine as he said, “You should be able to see him die. He fuckin’ shot you.”

You blinked rapidly as tears burned hot behind your eyelids, but you clenched your eyes shut for a moment, refusing to let them fall.

Sam wouldn’t have wanted you to lie to yourself, so the truth was this: you just hated feeling so broken. This was your second hospital visit in, what, two weeks? It wasn’t that being a Shelby warranted more trouble than you being a Lee, but that they were two equally shitty options in a shithole corner of the world, and now that you were bound by blood to another man, sworn to live out the rest of your life as a housewife, you weren’t sure if you could ever leave Birmingham and feel freedom ever again. Run away and leave everything behind.

And after this bullet in your stomach, you weren’t sure if you could ever function like you used to ever again.

Both you and John looked up at the same time when you heard the sound of footsteps growing closer to your room, and anxiety made your heart leap into your throat.

There was a small CREAK, then the doctor politely edged the door open and shuffled inside.

His face was somber, and your heart immediately plummeted into your stomach, expecting the worst.

“Mrs Shelby,” he started, his voice low with respect. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news.”

//////

When you woke up the following morning, even though you were still covered from the waist down in itchy linen sheets, lying in the same hospital bed with your stomach aching and pinching with recovery pains, confirming it hadn’t been a horrible, horrible dream, something was distracting you.

It was the bright sunlight filtering through the room, like a beacon of hope.

Actually, it reminded you of your first morning after with John: the tender smell of his skin, the feeling of your bodies gently pressed together, the warmth, the satisfaction, the residue of Polly’s perfume…

And then finally, the panic.

The bad news of last night came crashing back down onto you, and your stomach churned horribly in a way that had nothing to do with your stitches as you sat up in bed, blood thundering to your brain as a single word echoed in your mind.

Infertile.

John, the Englishman, would probably pronounce it differently than you, the American, would, but the meaning was still the same: you can’t have kids.

You.

Can’t.

Have.

Kids.

Esme would have scoffed at the sudden traditionalism, but you had the sinking feeling like you’d failed at life the longer you thought about it, and there was a horrible feeling gathering in the pit of your stomach, a feeling that you had no idea how to deal with, let alone contain, and it felt like your mind was speeding years into the future, unable to get all the unspoken promises expected of a husband and wife that had now been broken out of your head, and—

You stole a glimpse at John, who had dozed off in his seat, but instead of calming you, it only made the panic in your chest rise. Impossible to know what he was thinking while he was sleeping.

God, impossible to know if he still wanted you.

You closed your eyes and raised your hand to gnaw on the nail of your thumb, a habit you’d neglected for weeks on end.

Fuck fuck fuck.

A shitty situation all around, but eventually, you resolved to go back to sleep.

//////

In your dream, you fell into the Parlour a swollen-lipped mess, the heat clouding your ability to think straight as John’s lips flew onto yours again—

SMASH!

—you’d staggered straight into something glass and it shattered, but that didn’t matter, he was pushing you into the betting shop as you threw your arms around his neck.

He swiped at something on the table and you heard it get broken, not like you cared since he was already lying you down onto the wood, kissing you like a man starving, and you wrapped your legs around him, pulling him so close you nearly forgot how to breathe.

As he sucked a bruising kiss into your neck, your voice came out a grinning whisper.

“You don’t want any more kids, do you?”

John was already shoving his hand down the front of your skirt, and you couldn’t see his face, but when he spoke you knew he was playing into the game.

“Maybe I changed my mind. You never know, after all. It’d be cute to see you pregnant.”

You rolled your eyes, then bit your lip as his fingers met your clit and your gut twisted in the most pleasurable way.

“Fucker,” you mumbled, but you said it with love.

Instead of waking with a start, your eyes calmly opened as the dream faded into nothingness, and you laid motionless for a moment as bleak, unchanging reality settled in.

For the first time in God only knows how long, you were completely alone in your hospital room.

The room was dark, and still you closed your eyes, hating how this all felt like a sick joke.

In the thick silence, you wondered where Esme was, and if she was angry that you hadn’t been able to get her cocaine. You wondered where John was, if he was tracking down the shooter like he’d promised. Your mind wandered to the kids, and you wondered if they knew what was happening, if they were worried about you— according to Polly, the only thing they knew was that you’d had an accident and had ended up in the hospital.

Like you’d fallen and scraped your knee.

Your tears were hot and fast and they made you feel dirty, like the sadness was filth staining your cheeks, but knowing it would’ve been worse to hold them back, you let them fall, slapping a hand over your mouth so the nurses wouldn’t hear your choked, anguished cry.

Worst of all, you were somehow thinking of what you’d be doing at this very moment in time had Sam still been alive.

You wanted to say in Paris, tidying your new apartment, polishing your French skills and waiting dutifully for the arrival of the baby growing inside of you, but the more realistic answer would be still in Small Heath, only living in the huge Lee house in the country, and Esme would probably still be wanting cocaine, and you’d still brave the whorehouse for her, and you’d still get shot, only by a Shelby brother this time around…

Jesus, John could’ve been the one who shot you.

At that thought, tears ran down your jaw as a new wave of sadness overcame you, making you feel pathetic.

Yeah, you really didn’t like thinking about this.

//////

You were discharged from the hospital days later with the stitches still in your side, and John gingerly led you to the car.

“You’re gonna want to come out to the outskirts tonight,” he mumbled in your ear before you climbed into the seat. “Tommy thinks we got him.”

You glanced back at him and John grimaced at you.

“Fuckin’ monarchist. Thought he could mess with the Blinders and get away with it.”

You said nothing and refused the hand he held out for you, and even though your stitches burned and screamed and wailed like usual, you climbed into the car yourself.

//////

POW! POW! POW!

“NOT SO FUCKIN’ PROUD NOW, HUH?”

POW! POW! POW!

You’d honestly lost count of how many times John had punched him, but nonetheless, with the man who shot you pinned to the ground by Tommy and Arthur, he was hardly interested in stopping: when you briefly caught sight of your shooter’s face in the moonlight, one of his eyes was swollen shut and quickly turning purple because of the force of John’s punch; there was a nasty yellowish-green pus leaking from his ajar lower lip, and the longer this went on, the more it seemed clear John was about to literally beat him to death with his fists.

John was yelling as loudly as he could over the sound of his own cacophonous violence, yelling himself absolutely hoarse, his voice strained with fury and hurt and sadness and fucking intense emotion you didn’t even know a human could experience, fury so strong and reverberating, you had to reflexively shiver for the man who’d rendered you infertile.

“YOU SHOT MY FUCKIN’ WIFE!” John roared, yanking a handful of his hair and tugging him upward only to slam his face into the ground over and over, and the stitches on your stomach twinged uncomfortably.

The Shelbys had promised it would be satisfying watching the life bleed out of him, knowing that he wouldn’t be able to hurt anyone else ever again, but you weren’t sure how you felt knowing that John could inflict this much pain with his bare hands.

(And you’d specifically drove to this clearing so no one would see this man die.)

“Ah, lookit that, he’s fuckin’ cryin’ now,” Arthur called out, lifting him slightly to check his face. “I really can’t believe it. He’s fucking crying.”

Then the man screamed, horribly, anguished and regretful and clearly in unimaginable pain, and the force of it made your ears ring when you weren’t even particularly close to him.

It might’ve been traitorous to do it, but a part of you cringed for him. Sure, you might’ve had a lot of issues in your life, but you usually jumped to sadness, not anger.

And if it was anger…well, it certainly wasn’t of this magnitude.

“Finish him off, John boy,” Tommy shouted over the cries of pain, holding the man down as he writhed.

“Y/N, you want to see this pathetic fuckin’ rat before he dies?” Arthur yelled over to you, and with the colour rapidly disappearing from your face, you took a few steps forward on shaky legs, hoping that when it was over with, you’d just be able to forget about this quickly.

“Hold on a minute, lads,” John told his brothers, fiddling with something hanging on his waist, concealed by his coat. “I got an idea.”

An electrifying beat, then he looked at you, and it was like all the air had disappeared from your lungs.

His face was grim. “Y/N, have you ever shot a gun before?”

Hating what was about to happen, you silently shook your head as your heart started beating out of your chest.

No. No. No.

You can’t do this.

He’s not going to make you do this.

He can’t make you do this. He’s a good man.

And then the cold, numbing realization:

He’s gonna make you do this.

“It’s loaded,” John told you, stepping forward to wrap your shaking hand around the thick black handle of the gun, “All you have to do is point and pull the trigger, alright? It’s gonna kick, but don’t let it scare you.”

As you examined the gun in your hands, Tommy and Arthur finally stopped pressing your shooter into the ground and stood up, looking over your shoulder at the gun.

“Berettas are fuckin’ nice,” Arthur mumbled into your ear, but you had no idea what that meant.

“Aim square for the back of the head,” Tommy told you on your other side. “And step back so you don’t get his brains sprayed on ya.”

Heart in your throat, you went backward by about two steps and shakily pointed the gun downward at the crying, sniffling man who had all but accepted his fate, and suddenly it was like you were incapable of feeling anything at all.

What happened next came incredibly quick yet simultaneously in slow motion.

You squeezed the trigger and the force of the bullet coming out of the gun made your hand sting, but then an absolute geyser of blood burst from the man’s fucking head, and you opened your mouth to shriek but suddenly it was like your brain was underwater so you couldn’t even really hear it, you just stepped back reflexively as bits of an organ erupted from his head and effectively sprayed you.

You almost fainted when you realized the man’s brains were in your hair.

It was like one minute you were standing and the next you were on the ground, vomiting the remains of the vegetable casserole Polly had made earlier that afternoon, but your head was spinning, you weren’t processing anything correctly, you couldn’t hear or see anything, there were random words echoing in your head instead of actual thoughts, all you knew was that there was a man dead on the ground and you had brains in your hair and you killed him you killed him you killed him you killed him—

You felt a hand on your back and the first thing out of your mouth was a hissed, “Don’t touch me.”

Luckily, the hand immediately rescinded, and as you slowly became aware of your heart racing in your chest and the tinnitus rushing in your ears from the close-range gunshot, you leaned forward and brushed the detritus of a murder out of your hair.

You were dry-heaving now, weak on all fours, but it just didn’t feel enough.

Being infertile made you feel dirty already, but now you were a murderer, and it hit you like a truck.

JOHN FUCKING SHELBY HAD MADE YOU INTO A FUCKING MURDERER.

“Don’t fucking touch me!” you choked out as the same hand brushed your back again, and completely mindless, you leapt up, shoved John’s hand away from you, and started running.

//////

It took what felt like hours to get back to Watery Lane, and you were choking on your own tears by that time, completely out of breath from running and holding your skirt up out of the way because your feet were moving faster than your brain. Your hands were covered in dirt and blood and the hem of your skirt was dipped in vomit and stained with grass, you probably looked like you belonged in an insane asylum.

You ran past the Shelby Parlour entirely and ripped open the door to the Lee house, blindly running up that cramped staircase that you knew from experience led to Esme’s room.

You could hear a stampede of footsteps downstairs and yelling in Romani, evidently because a stranger had just randomly burst into Zilpha’s home, but you didn’t even care, you pushed the door open and collapsed inside, so drunk on adrenaline you couldn’t even feel your stitches anymore.

Of course, Esme turned around to see you dishevelled and bloody on the carpet and immediately became concerned.

She was in front of you in an instant.

“Y/N, what the fuck happened to you?”

“I killed the person who shot me,” you tried to say, but it must’ve come out completely incoherent because you had to suck in a massive breath, the first full breath you gave to your lungs. “I - I-“

Esme’s eyebrows furrowed and she knelt in front of you. “Slow down, I can’t understand a word you’re saying.”

“I - I killed a man,” you gasped, your eyes darting desperately across her face as the words formed on your tongue erratically, “The man who shot me. I shot him in the head in a clearing outside town.”

Esme’s eyes widened, and you hesitated, suddenly becoming aware of the chaos this would cause if you said it, but in the end you said it anyway.

You looked her in the eyes and it was like your head stopped spinning.

“John made me.”

You knew immediately that you’d rekindled the gang war between the Lees and the Shelbys when Esme’s face darkened.

“He made you?” she repeated. “Y/N Lee, your husband made you kill someone?”

You nodded hopelessly and buried your face into your hands. “I couldn’t say no.”

Esme immediately wrapped her arms around you and you leaned into her as your shoulders shook, trying not to outright sob in front of her.

“I - I - I don’t want to start something,” you blubbered into her shirt.

“Hold on, let me get this straight,” she said from above you, pulling away slightly. “You know damn well you could’ve gone to the Parlour and told Polly, right?”

You looked at her quizzically.

“And I suppose you could’ve gone to Ada’s apartment,” she continued. “But you went and told me, the dirty Lee girl who can’t get married off because she causes so much trouble.”

You could only blink.

“Because you know what I can tell the rest of ‘em. You know what the Lees can start,” she said, and the weight of what she was saying pressed on your lungs until it was hard to breathe again.

“Just give the word and the Lees will be behind you,” she finished, and there was a thick silence that hung in the air.

“John is my husband,” you whispered blankly, and Esme finally snapped.

“Jesus Christ, Y/N, how did you even get here?” she shouted, gesturing wildly to your muddy clothes. “For crying out loud, did you run all the way from the outskirts?”

At that moment, there was loud thumping up the staircase, and a split-second later the door was flung open by Zilpha Lee, red in the face and yelling something in Romani.

Evidently not for the first time, Esme immediately whipped around to scream back, and only half-understanding the Romani language, you tuned it out and let your brain go underwater again, Esme’s voice echoing in your mind the entire time.

Just give the word.

She wanted you to be at literal war with your in-laws, which was insanity considering you’d only been married for a week.

Insanity considering you knew you loved him.

Insanity considering that before this, you believed he loved you.

But at the same time, John had made you kill someone. He didn’t put you in harm’s way, but he’d made you witness a horrible thing, and made you perform something that would surely haunt you for the rest of your life right after that, and after how badly you’d reacted, you weren’t sure if you could forgive him for that.

And selfishly, you’d always wanted an excuse to leave Birmingham.

And you’d never wanted to be married in the first place.

Let alone be married into the Shelby family. The Peaky fucking Blinders.

Just give the word.

Your stomach was pulsating again, and dread filled you when you realized you were about to vomit, only there was nothing left in your stomach to come up.

The urge in you got to be too strong, akin to an avalanche: blood suddenly thundering to your brain, you shoved past Esme and Zilpha and utterly flew down the stairs, into the hallway, and out of the door, until you were running down the middle of the Lane like a maniac all over again.

It didn’t matter. You were shivering and crying and the rainwater was pelting down hard on your back, but the plan was coming together at once.

I need to get out of here.

#john shelby #john shelby x reader #peaky blinders #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders headcanon #joe cole #arthur shelby #tommy shelby #peaky blinders imagine #john shelby smut #john shelby x reader smut #john shelby imagine

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jupiterleaps · 3 months

Text

Complete Febuwhump Masterlist

Complete series list on AO3 here; individual fic links under the cut.

Day One: Helpless

our share of night cw: sexual assault, medical examination, kidnapping, attempted murder

Day Two: Solitary Confinement

the first of many cw: imprisonment, torture, ptsd, anxiety attacks

Day Three: "Bite down on this."

texture cw: food texture issues, ableism, bullying (sort of)

Day Four: Obedience

consolation, cw: kinky stuff, some d/s & roleplaying

Day Five: Rope Burns

here a mist, and there a mist, cw: aftermath of rape

Day Six: "You lied to me."

like a flipped switch, cw: child abuse

Day Seven: Suffering in Silence

many happy returns, cw: offscreen canonical minor character death

Day Eight: "Why won't it stop?"

the sound of drums

Day Nine: Immortality (alternate prompt) (Fic based on the 'Bees' prompt to come later, because I ran out of time)

once more, with feeling

Day Ten: Killing in Self-Defense

first, do no harm

Day Eleven: Time Loop

second verse same as the first, cw: child abuse

Day Twelve: Semi-Conscious

the bubble, cw: aftermath of rape, ptsd

Day Thirteen: "You weren't supposed to get hurt."

17 Scenes on a Pull-out Couch, cw: aftermath of rape, canonical minor character death, ptsd, anxiety, flashbacks, dissociation

Day Fourteen: Blood-stained Tiles

and dandy

Day Fifteen: "Who did this to you?"

an easy answer, cw: torture

Day Sixteen: Came Back Wrong

In Which Ianto Rescues a Helpless Victim

Day Seventeen: Hostage Situation

Unethical Hostage Maneuvers for Fun and Profit

Day Eighteen: Too Weak to Move

live and learn and lie in bed

Day Nineteen "Please don't."

knowing, cw: past canonical minor character death, pregnancy

Day Twenty: Truth Serum

In Vino Veritas

Day Twenty-One: Unresponsive

Third Wheeling, cw: aftermath of rape, ptsd, dissociation

Day Twenty-Two: "You weren't meant to be there."

A Very Torchwood Welcome

Day Twenty-Three: Human Weapon (alternate prompt)

trudging along, cw: aftermath of rape, ptsd, panic attack/anxiety

Day Twenty-Four: "I'm doing this because I care about you."

Interlude: I'm Doing This Because I Care About You, cw: aftermath of rape, trauma

Day Twenty-Five: CPR (alternate prompt)

unfinished business

Day Twenty-Six: "Help them."

priorities

Day Twenty-Seven: Left for Dead

Left for Dead, Right for an Unpleasant Stroll

Day Twenty-Eight: "No...not like this."

the fork in the road, cw: torture

Day Twenty-Nine: Not Allowed to Die

promises you can't keep still count, cw: pregnancy

#Febuwhump #Febuwhump2024 #Febuwhump 2024 #my other responsibilities may have suffered #but I spammed the hell out of the torchwood AO3 front page #I do feel bad about that #but it was a lot of fun #so

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eitaababe · 1 year

Text

EVEN IF IT'S A LIE !

chapter eleven. not lying.

[ warnings ; slightly suggestive at the end ! ]

series masterlist. | previous / next

written portion below. —

it's been a little over two weeks, and everything's just been more of the same. little dates into town, spontaneously showing up at each others rooms, or meeting up nearly everyday after practices.

it's been a little over two weeks, and you're still absolutely clueless to what ao'nung's been doing to you this whole time.

it's been a little over two weeks, and ao'nung's sure that he's royally fucked.

because somewhere along the line, the sound of your laugh became his favorite song, your face was like a perfect portrait, and he preferred your presence over anyone else's.

and he still couldn't bring himself to kiss you.

because he knows that if he were to, everything would be thrown right back in his face. the realization of if you ever found out, there wouldn't be a possible future with you in it. that if you found out, you or his sister may never forgive him.

so he tries distancing himself the past few days, hoping that you'll realize you could do better on your own. that maybe you don't need him for anything, and you can hurt him before he gets the chance to hurt you in a much, much, harsher way.

but you're relentless. after your texts and calls go unanswered you show up to his dorm room, and you can tell that the last thing he was expecting was to see you, in his doorway, at eleven at night.

"what's wrong?"

you're the first to speak up, and he only shrugs, refusing to meet your eye. he knows that if he does, he'd have no chance, and want to spill everything.

"ao'nung."

at your stern tone his gaze reaches your face, and his eyes are glossy. the guilt is eating him alive, and the one person he wants to tell everything, is the person he would hurt the most if he did.

"you deserve better." he's not necessarily lying, because ao'nung really is telling the truth when he says that. but it's more of a way to avoid the whole truth, keeping a key part away from you.

it's not lying, he has to convince himself.

and he chants it over and over again in his head when you invite yourself in, hands reaching up to cup his face. your touch is delicate, and tears are streaming down his face. but you're silent— you don't question his sudden change in demeanor from the past few weeks, and you're an absolute angel, comforting him when he's the last person who deserves it.

"how could you say that?" you whisper, thumbs wiping away his tears. "how can you say something like that when all you've been is good to me?"

because i haven't, he responds in his head. because everything about this relationship is a lie.

but he settles for a, "i don't know." sniffling, he pulls you close, trying to savor your warmth before it all inevitably falls apart.

you sit there, stroking his hair before pulling away, trying to catch a glimpse of his face. "hey," you call, grabbing his attention. "don't shut me out, okay?"

when he nods, your body seems to have a mind of its own and your lips meet his.

and so does his, when he kisses you back and pushes any other thought than you and him in this very moment away from his mind.

or when he deepens the kiss, and clumsily leads you to his room, and you spend the night together, underneath his sheets.

[🏷️ ; taglist. / open ] @loaksbitch @8resa @n7ytiri @yukichan67 @dearstell @netemoon @halibanana @aonungmyaddiction @teyums @lightskinloak @ipoopedmypants47 @aonungmybf @wenvierismycomfort @il0veheartz @syulangg @chittakii @jjkclub @universal-s1ut @netey6m @ilovejakesullysdick @calums-betch @izuoyarmin @yeosxxx @cl0esblogg @alwayswndr

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yurtletheturtlehenderson · 10 months

Text

COSMIC - S2:E7; Chapter Seven, The Lost Sister - [Pt. 2]

A Will Byers x Male!Reader Series

In their search for answers, psychic visions draw Eleven and Y/n to a band of violent outcasts and an angry girl with a shadowy past.

⚠️ WARNINGS: canon use of a derogatory term referring to someone who lives with psychosis spectrum syndrome, or schizophrenia (used exactly twice, back to back)

📝A.N: I thank you endlessly for your patience, my dears. There's been and will be more rewriting (not storywise, really, just some polishing) for the lost sister chapters. Also, while I'm here, stranger danger is real, kids. Practice safety everywhere you can. Please be safe 🙏

||𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑'𝐒 𝐏𝐎𝐕||

Hugging my jacket tighter around my chest does little to stop the chattering in my teeth thanks to the cold that has already sunk into my bones. Despite all that has happened, I count ourselves lucky the seats El and I picked ended up near the bus's heater. Though at least the lingering chill from outside is keeping me awake and alert.

Trying again to rub the very last of sleep from my eyes, I try even harder to make sense of the sudden change in my surroundings.

I remember drifting off on the futon at Becky's, the next thing I know El is shaking me awake and pulling me down the stairs. All I had time to grab was my jacket, counting myself very lucky I managed to slip on my shoes before we were out the door.

Another shiver hits me like a brick when a bit of cold sneaks down the neck of my jacket. I inwardly groan. I didn't even get to change out of my pajamas.

I tried asking El what was going on and where the hell we were going─not to mention so late at night─but nothing came of it. It was difficult not to ask again, but the look I caught in her eye as we fled the front porch silenced me, if only momentarily. I tried again, when we were halfway down the road.

That time she spoke. And with a breathless voice, a vice-like grip on my hand, and furiously banishing a single tear she thought I hadn't seen. "It's not safe."

So here we find ourselves... Squished into two little purple patterned seats on the first bus we could find. I'm just happy it's not another truck.

I feel a pair of eyes on me and I look cautiously to my side, already knowing what to expect. Several other passengers watch us discreetly─some not so much. A young couple across the isle and two rows back are whispering as they eye us, either heavily concerned or far too judgemental. I'm tired and can't bring myself to care enough to figure it out.

Sadly, however, my self anxieties are still in tact under these stares. I tug my jacket tighter around my torso, my arms staying folded across my stomach. I turn to look at El and I can make out her disheartened reflection watching droplets of rain trickle down the fogged window. I rest my head tiredly on the back of my seat and attempt to break the silence.

"El?" My voice comes out as strangled, but I don't know why.

Her head rolls across the seat to face me and I'm reminded she's just as upset about this sudden uprooting as I am. Likely, of course, even more so. Her brown eyes, normally sparkling, are dulled and sad. Her eyelids sag a little, but she's fighting it well. More than anything, I sense a great deal of it is emotional exhaustion.

A million questions run through my head but I only find myself asking one. "Are you okay?"

She sniffles but gives me no immediate answer. That's when I finally note the small trace of a copper red smear, barely visible at the base of her nose that she had otherwise hastily wiped clean. Blood.

One more look in her eyes and I know; El is debating on whether or not she should lie. Finally, she speaks, and somehow I know she has told me the truth. "No."

I wince at the sound of her broken voice, splintered and forced. I extend my hand, as she did this afternoon. I'm so happy when she takes it. I gave her palm a reassuring squeeze and I look carefully in her eyes.

"El, you know you can tell me anything, right?" I ask, not even completely certain she has something to tell. But I still need her to know this.

Her eyes fall to our hands, and although she tries to hide it, I notice the subtle flutter of her eyes working to blink back tears. Her free and restless hand─which had been fiddling with her clutched bag straps on and off all day─tightened considerably. She must be spending too much time with me, a part of me thought dismissively.

"She called us in." Her grip flinches tighter when she whispers this. "I'm sorry."

Called us in? I try to make sense of this for a moment. I wonder if I heard her correctly, she had spoken so softly.

"Wait, what do you mean?" I ask gently. "Why are you sorry?"

"I heard her," she choked back. Panic is crawling into her voice and her other hand leaves the straps of her bag in favor of holding onto my forearm. If I didn't know any better, I'd say she thought I would suddenly dissappear. "She called for the policeman. Told them about me. And... she gave them your name. I'm sorry Y/n."

"My name?" I gulped, but my throat felt suddenly dry. "So, the police are gonna--? They're gonna know that I'm...?"

She nodded, remorseful eyes brimming with tears. Her face twists up in a sour pout she quickly banishes. But it was clear. She was panicking, for both our sakes.

Instinctively, I gave her hand another reassuring squeeze and managed, at most, a half-assed smile. Maybe it's for her sake, or maybe it's for mine.

"It's okay, it's not entirely your fault El," I say instinctively. I gulp again despite my dry mouth, certain she notices, but there's little room to care. My mind is buzzing, sleep now a far off worry. "Yeah, okay. I'm not going to lie to you, that's... That's not good. But I also knew what I was risking when I went with you."

My words feel like they're coming in slower and slower as I process everything in real time. El's patience with me is genuine, at least, and I attempt to mirror that as I sort hastily through my thoughts.

"The truth is, things really haven't been going super well at home. Everyone's fighting─more than usual, I mean,"

El cracks a tiny somber smile at that, and I feel one spread across my face as well. But it hardly lasts for either of us.

"Like I said before, Mike hasn't been himself since you left. And now Will is acting up. In fact, he's... El, he's completely different. He's sick, he's really sick. And so angry.

"The party is falling apart, and I've felt more alone these past few weeks than I have in a really long time. And on top of it all," my voice lowers further. "I'm still finding stuff I didn't know I could do. I've been having trouble with... well, you know."

El looks to me in surprise, her eyebrows raised. Safe to say she understands what I'm getting at.

I nod. "The point is, you showing up has been just what I needed. And yes, it's scary, but thanks to you I found out how I got here─where I came from... That's really good. I have you to thank for that."

It takes her a moment to consider my words, but El eventually gives me a smile that doesn't quite meet her eyes. A mixture of remorse and fear is still etched into her tear-stained face as she needlessly pulls her bag further into her lap, her hand leaving my forearm again to do so. I almost think more of it before her face lights up in grateful remembrance.

El wiggles closer to me in her seat before dipping her head in. "I found her. The girl."

I perked up a bit, looking back at my friend with a daring crumb of hope.

"Really? That's great! So did you get anything useful? Maybe the girl's name or where we're going?"

The hope I saw in El's face disappeared just as soon, and she shakes her head. But her face scrunches up thoughtfully as if she was trying to remember something she might have missed.

"A city." She looks at me quizzically, repeating a word she must have heard only in passing. "Shuh-cago?"

My eyes widened. "Chicago?" El nodded. "We're going to Chicago?"

El shrugged her shoulders. This was the best she could give. "Shuh-cago."

Okay. Chicago. Deep breath in. I could do that. And out. Maybe. Maybe this was incredibly stupid. In. Then again, so was chasing down an interdimensional gate while on the run from top secret government thugs. And I had done that... Barely.

"Um, okay..." I sigh heavily, only now realizing I have been holding my breath. My eyes fall to my lap, noting my rapidly bouncing leg. "Well, are you sure? Is that what you heard, or maybe saw somewhere?"

El nodded. Another dry gulp.

"So you really think she'll help, huh?" I ask.

She gives me a weak, but reassuring smile and softly squeezes my hand. "Yes."

I look to her, grateful, but I'm unsure how genuine I appear. Yet another silence follows quickly after.

The familiar feeling bubbles up in my stomach again, though it is much more intense. Sure I had anxieties about leaving with El, but this overpowered that. At least I had the small chance of not getting caught─that I'd be back the next night and it could all be explained away by being at the Byers house. But this is quickly spiraling. This had already spiraled, and I am beginning to feel sick to my stomach with nerves. The moment the Chief got Becky Ives' message then it was only a matter of time before my mom was notified, and─oh no...

Unsurprisingly, she's going to the ends of the earth just to find Mews. I can't imagine the stress she'll inevitably be under when she finds out that some woman across town filed a report about me. And now I'm on a bus to Illinois.

Deep breaths. Deep breaths. The last thing I need is spirlaing my way into another accident. I have a feeling I could do a lot more damage on a crowded bus than I did boiling some cereal.

I glance at El for only a moment. Her attention is back outside, peering through the fog and the reflections on the glass. She's (presumably) oblivious to the noise in my head. A part of me─the logical part of me─is angry with myself for being so forgiving. For not communicating my disappointment well enough. Dustin always said I had a problem with that. And yet, even though I meant what I had said to El about finding out where I came from...

Maybe I did it cause I felt bad for El. She was sorry, and she was in trouble.

But I'm in trouble now, too, I remind myself.

Part of me is hoping Chicago is a dead end, and while I feel awful for feeling that way, I do. I find myself longing to be with Will again. The old Will. He always had a knack for knowing when I wasn't okay.

He always makes me feel validated when I'm upset. He listens, and he'd do anything to get me to smile. The way I want to do for him.

It hurts thinking about that now.

Whether I like it or not, I've found myself on a one way trip to the unknown, straying further and further from the safety of home.

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

I don't realize I have drifted off until I feel a tap on my shoulder. My head feels much heavier and I find myself squinting against the interior lights (which now seem much brighter than before) to find El gesturing towards the isle. Through bleary eyes I make out a small line of people already shuffling down the isle ahead of us. Quickly─but rather drowsily─I rise from my seat and join them, making sure El is close behind.

We had spilled out onto the busy streets among the rest but found ourselves stalled at the edge of the sidewalk. I'm unsure about El, but the sight before me succeeds in banishing my exhaustion instantly. Between the return of the frigid breeze, the towering architecture, and the swarm of strangers every which way, I'm questioning if I'll ever sleep again.

I'm captivated as I look around in an odd mix of awe and fear. Living in a small town like Hawkins for so long makes places like Chicago feel like another planet, so it would seem.

It doesn't feel as though we're standing in the heart of the city, more so the center of a giant hive─with bees buzzing in and out with no motivation other than work. No leisure, just urgency. The entire world is whirring around us─every which way─and I suddenly have this feeling if any one person were to drop at any moment this little world would keep on moving without a second thought. It's fascinating and completely terrifying.

One curious look at El told me I wasn't alone. Neither of us had fully comprehended what we were in for until this moment. But I suppose that in itself was even slightly reassuring─that neither of us were alone.

Standing here lost in a sea of strange people, that note hits a bit harder this time as the initial shock wears off. Nobody here seems to know anyone and they all seem angry.

She remains silent at my side but El's wisdom from earlier still bring comfort to me.

"Y/n, we can defend ourselves, remember?"

She did have a point, we do have certain advantages. But then again, came that convincing little voice in my head, if we were put in a situation where we were forced to use them, then all the closer we going were to being caught.

I look to El to try and gauge her reaction and I find she's still very much lost in the towering city skyline─a genuine smile on her face. For a moment I wish I can enjoy it, but there are simply too many reminders where we are, and why I can't.

Eagerly, she starts walking down the streets and I follow her. I'm thankful I was able to retrieve my shoes and jacket, but I still can't seem to drag my thoughts away from the fact that my teeth are back to chattering. The words I spoke earlier today pop into my mind only to mock me, "I guess I kept myself warm,". Just another reason to learn how to--

A strong force strikes my shoulder hard enough to put a stumble in my steps, and instantly my train of thought is gone. I whirl around to see a man throwing me a pointed sneer over his large, squared shoulders. "Watch yourself, would ya'?," Gawking back, I spy the man making steady strides down the sidewalk with no remorse.

Huffing, I burrow my fists deeper in my jacket pockets and lie to myself that it's simply to keep my hands warm. It's bullshit, considering I don't need help in that department, but it keeps us going forward I guess.

Well, me, anyway.

I don't get in two steps before finally noticing El was at a standstill. I stop again, this time confused, to see my friend rooted to the middle of the city sidewalk. Steam from nearby grates billowed all around her, ruffling her flannel collar. She fixes a hard glare on the man behind us.

"Mouth-breather," She says, her voice low. Just then, her gaze drops and my eyes begin to widen.

I spot the man in the crowd just in time to see him stumble forward onto the concrete. Angrily, he sits up, looking around frantically and glaring at anyone who dared to titter. I felt a chuckle coming on myself when I barely make out the string of curses directed at his shoelaces as he hotly retied them.

El looked to me, hardly suppressing a smile and a roguish look in her eye. Before anyone could see, she wiped her nose clean of blood.

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

If I thought I was cold before, I was dead wrong. We've been walking for about two hours, if I had to guess. The muscles in my feet are beginning to knot, and my sweatpants are clinging to my legs.

About half an hour ago, a truck drove through a puddle and I caught the tail end of the splash when we turned the corner. To pass the time, I've been trying to dry them subtly with my hands against my legs, but it didn't get me very far, even with El's advice. I finally gave it a rest after a while. I wasn't getting terribly far and I didn't want to risk draining myself if the walk was much longer.

By now I've grown used to the odd and wandering looks we've gathered. But the tension creeps back in when El leads us down an incredibly questionable alley. We are definitely in the riskier parts of the city though I try to hold my tongue and save questions until later. My instincts tell me I need to appear more confident than I am. El seems to hold up that exterior well enough, though even her confidence is waning slightly.

We find ourselves surrounded by many sluggish people, all of whom mill about around us. The alley and its inhabitants are lit mostly by fire pits in steel barrels. The stench is hard to ignore; everything wreaks of booze, cigarettes, and urine.

A frightening, cackling, man steps towards my face as we walk by and I flinch back. "They're dead. They're all dead!" He cries out.

His hyena-like laughter bounces off the cement walls and echoes in my ears. I can practically taste his awful breath and I duck my head down avoiding eye contact as I pull El along forward with me.

I can sense her eagerness to leave the alley in her vice-like grip that rivals my own. Neither of us dare let go. Without a word, we break into a matching jog and scurry on.

We don't stop until we reach what looks to be an abandoned underpass. The stench is mostly gone, but in its place something else unidentifiable. Beer cans litter the concrete and every wall is touched with graffiti.

Finally, we emerge from the darkened space to find an old and windowless warehouse. Like the underpass, there isn't a single wall or slab of concrete that isn't decorated with spray paint and neon color. This is where El stops us suddenly.

I glanced ahead of me at the building a second time, now taking in the little details. There is one tiny door ahead of us supplied with only one window─the glass dirtied and fogged, shows us nothing but flickering yellow light. And beckoning us over, curling whisps of steam pouring out of the shadows despite (what appeared to be) the windowless, pipeless, boring metal box of a building.

"Is... this it?" I ask.

"Yes." El answers. And for the first time since the alley, she releases my hand.

El sets off towards the building without another word. Almost like ripping of a band-aid; if she didn't do it now and all at once... Or maybe that's just my reasoning. I quickly follow behind, attempting to prepare myself for whatever we might find.

Upon first glance, it's not much different to the exterior; boxes, crates, barrels, and planks litter the interior and the spray paint almost smells fresh. The entrance we stand in is part of a small alcove, and it's clear the further you step inside the ceiling extends. But what catches my eye are the four people huddled around another makeshift firepit.

One girl, who sits perched on several cushions and lighting a cigarette begins to giggle teasingly. "You should do stand-up, Axe. There's a spot a few blocks away."

The group chuckles, and a tall lanky man with a large mohawk rolls his eyes with a smirk. Among them, a rather large and beefy man, who clearly seems to be the muscle, and another young woman in cuffed jeans, gloves and a dark green flannel jacket.

There is no time to worry what they might say or do when they realize we are here. El is already calling out to them. Logically, I knew we would be making ourselves known one way or another, yet my knees now feel as if they are threatening to lock at the sudden action.

"Hello?" El's voice echoed out.

The group stops and turns, their faces illuminated by the fire. The shadows now casted across their faces are eerie, like someone about to tell a ghost story.

A sickening smirk curls along the lanky one's face. My stomach drops two stories when he struts around the fire, now making his way towards us.

"Well, well... What do we have here?" He purrs, still with that no good smile.

The others follow in their friend's footsteps and rise to their feet, no doubt an act of intimidation. I look anxiously between El and the strangers, though I somehow manage to keep a still face.

These others are now inching towards us and I feel my heart rate pick up. The woman in the green jacket scoffs, looking us up and down. If I were to guess, she was trying to decide which of us looked stranger.

"What are those, overalls?" She asks finally, referring to El.

The other young woman─who had been stalking around us like we were something to play with─finally stops at me. I try to hide the tense in my shoulders but I suspect it's no use. Her gaze is somewhat bored as she looks me up and down, then jabs a bony finger in my shoulder. I roll it when she does, as if shaking off the feel of her touch.

"And get a load of this one," she squeaks, blowing smoke into my grimacing face. She lets out an awkward snort, clearly amused with my reactions and uneasy demeanor. "Y'could knock this one down with a feather,"

I cough, fanning away the miniature smog cloud lingering in my face. This gave the lanky one, Mohawk, a chuckle. The Smoker turns to me and fakes a pout.

"What's the matter, kiddies? Thought your little slumber party could use a fun little adventure in the big city, huh?"

More laughter from the others. Fighting the returning impulse to roll my eyes, I instead take another subtle deep breath.

The woman is already answering her own rhetorical question with another fake pout and flick of her cigarette ashes. "Well, you ain't gonna find it here, so go on back to the farm now."

"We're looking for my sister."

My eyes jump to El in surprise but they quickly return to the group, not particularly eager to give away the fact I had no idea what she was talking about. Sister? I do have to applaud El's quick thinking, though, I suppose.

"Aw..." Mohawk jeers. "Shirley Temple lost her sister. So sad."

"I saw her. Here." She reaches into her bag, likely for the photograph clipping from Becky's. But they all tense.

"Uh-uh," The Muscle said suddenly. "Hand out of your pocket. Slow."

El complies and Mohawk rips the news clipping from her hand. "Give me that shit."

For the first time in this encounter, this man looks apprehensive. Seeing the photo was enough to shock him into temporary silence. And apparently this in itself is enough to lure the flannel woman forward to investigate for herself. Now, like the man, she is snatching the photo up with shock.

"Is that Kali?"

"Kali?" El asks.

Mohawk steps forward, visibly on edge. Taking advantage of his height, he towers over El with an impressive glare. I say nothing, but I mirror his actions─taking a step further into El's side with a tiny glare of my own.

"How did you find us?" He questions. "Who else knows you're here?"

El backs up slightly and suddenly I was jumping to speak. "No one knows we're here." I say.

"And no one was speaking to you, either," My face sours and he returns to El. "Is this true, Shirley Temple? So, what then? Poof! You just show up like magic with that picture?"

"Stay calm." Flannel warns. "They're just kids, alright?"

He turns on her quickly. "Some kids that could get us all killed."

Like that, his anger is back on El and he pulls something from his pocket. My eyes fall to the object in his hand and my heart sinks into my stomach.

"If I have to ask again, Shirley, you'll start losing things." He carefully unfolds the pocket knife, making sure we catch the light bouncing off the blade before waving it in El's face. "Starting with those pretty little locks of yours. Yeah?"

He's in more danger than we are. He's in more danger than we are--

I still look desperately between the man and his companions─it'd be helpful to know where they stand with the threatening of children. Each of them seemed uncomfortable with his actions in varying degrees, but it was Flannel, again, who stepped forward.

"Come on, Axe. Put down the knife." She warns, her voice getting sharper.

The blade grows closer towards El's face and my heart rate breaks hummingbird records. The man is only getting angrier.

"How did you find us?"

"I saw her." El's voice is rushed and shaky, but not completely fearful. I know why, and it's the only reason I haven't (completely) fallen apart.

He advances further, still with that stupid knife and everyone's voices begin to drown in the deafening roar of blood pumping in my ears. He's beside me now as El keeps backing away and I can't bring myself to move out of his way. I'm not sure yet if it's out of bravery or fear.

"That's not an answer!" He roars.

"Axe!"

I throw aside my common sense and step fully in between them, planting myself directly in his path. "Hey-!"

He freezes, wide eyes flying to his hand. My eyes follow, fearful I've done something unintentionally. But there's nothing. Just a shaky hand with a tiny blade. Yet Mohawk staggers backward, his blade-wielding arm extended as far away from himself as possible.

"Je-Jesus!" He huffs in ragged, near incoherent sqeaks. "Jesus Christ!"

He chucks the knife on the concrete behind us, the blade nearly nicking my legs. He looks up and down his torso, his face draining of color before our eyes. He frantically swipes at himself, several fearful squeals jumping from him. El and I share a look over my shoulder, confused.

"Get off! Shit!"

He is running across the room now, hunched over and desperately swatting at his head, face, and arms. I have to step back to avoid his path as he maneuvers around me and his companions have to do the same.

"You're a terrible dancer, Axel."

Everyone, including myself, turns towards the source of the newest voice. On the stairs, leaning on the banister with a sly smirk is another young woman. Half of her head is shaved, the other half tinted a dark purple. Like the others, she was dressed in grunge, but oddly, they didn't seem shabby or cheap.

The guy named Axel relaxes, only for a moment, before it evolves into anger. He smacks his head angrily and gestured towards her as she comes down the steps.

"I told you, Kali, stay out of my head. " He spits.

"So we're threatening little kids now, are we?" She asks, striding towards us.

"They know about you." Axel defends.

The Smoker─the one who mocked me─steps forward with the photo El had procured.

"Farmgirl here had this."

The new girl, the one I can only assume to be the one we were searching for, grabs the photo. If I had to guess, she is attempting to hide her shock.

El steps away from behind me and cautiously approaches her. I'm not entirely thrilled, nor surprised, to see this girl, Kali, sizing El up and down. I don't miss the quick inspection she gives me, either.

"Where did you get this?" She asks El.

"Mama," El answers, taking the photograph back and placing it in her bag.

"Your mother gave this to you?"

"In her dream circle," El says.

I raise my brow, and as I suspect the others don't take to it, or her very easily.

"Dream circle," Axel scoffs, pacing the room. "I think she's a schizo or something."

I'm beginning to believe this man is determined to be the biggest jackass in the room.

"Says she's looking for her sister."

"Yeah. Like I said, schizo."

There's a bitter taste in my mouth and an itch crawling up my back. The idea of holding back all this anger is withering before my eyes─every word this asshole says is added coal to the fire.

My glare follows him across the room as he bends to retrieve his knife. But the blade is flying through the air and into El's waiting hand before he can touch it. This almost makes me smile.

Mumbles of surprise bounce around the group, but I simply watch with pride building in my chest as El confidently folds the knife closed and hands it to the girl.

"I saw you. In the rainbow room."

Something in the girl's eye changes drastically. She begins to stalk around El before she stops halfway to stand beside her.

"What is your name?"

"Jane."

I can't say I was expecting that, yet I wait. I concentrate my energy on keeping my jaw clenched. I've been fighting my chattering teeth ever since we stepped into this lions den and the muscles in my jaw have now grown weak and sore.

Kali grabs El's left wrist and pushes back her sleeve revealing her tattoo. In turn, El reaches for Kali's sleeve. It's pulled back to reveal a tiny cluster of ink to match El's. I almost don't notice─the sight of El allowing anyone to touch her tattoo had floored me.

That is, until I finally catch the three black digits etched into Kali's skin, and my stomach twists.

It's not actually...? My wringing hands find a new focus: the loud and blank skin of my left inner wrist.

I'm not sure why I'm surprised by this, not if we came here in search of someone like El. Someone who lived through the lab experiments with El. But the sight of the 008 tattoo hits me a little hard. Is it because it makes this all the more real? Or was it because of the longing in El's eyes as they cloud over in tears?

Her lips begun to tremble as their gazes met. "Sister."

Kali nods, breathless. "Sister,"

The two collapse into each other's arms and somehow I feel even more out of place here. It's inspiring to see; two sides of the same coin finally meeting. What each of them must have gone through─now free, now with one another. This is huge for El.

So why aren't I happy? And why does this feel like such a slippery slope?

There's no time to wonder, the two are breaking apart. Kali takes El's hands in her own, giving them a strong squeeze. The two smile at one another and my eyes fall to my feet, suddenly hyperaware of my myself and how I stand. The ends of my sweatpants are still soaked and the water in my shoes sponged up against my feet are frigid. Yet somehow, the stare of the others──the stare of Kali's──is what freezes me over.

"Jane, who is this?" She asks.

"Y/n. My friend."

Against instinct, against all comforting thought, I force myself to face her. Maybe I'm mistaken or just too damn hopeful, but the curiosity behind her eyes almost seems a bit more relaxed. Now with El's approval.

Hands still partially hidden in my jacket pocket, I send a tiny wave with my fingers and manage my best imitation of a smile.

"Hi," I mumble, trembling. Damn my chattering teeth.

The weight of Kali's stare is intimidating. I might not know the specifics of what makes her unique like us, but I can tell already her abilities aren't what make her powerful. She exudes that all on her own.

Kali looks me up and down and I almost convince myself my life depends on this one impression. And maybe it does.

Tearing me from my thoughts, Kali cocks her head and asks. "Why are you in pajamas?" She actually sounds, almost, amused? It's disarming.

"Short version?" I want to wince at the nervous chuckle that comes out involuntarily. But I'm too damn cold. And hungry. "We kinda had to make a quick get away."

Kali looks at me for a moment with an unreadable expression, though something tells me she understands. Another moment of uncertainty, seconds too long, and my mind runs in panicy circles. What did I say? What did I not say? Did I accidentally just insult her, her mother, and her entire existence without realizing? The part of my brain in charge of logic dismissed that theory almost immediately but unfortunately stress and fear were the perfect feul for doubt, as always.

Kali confirms this with a chuckle that brought time back out of slow motion. She then turns to another one of the groups members─the one who had taken caution with El and her photograph─the Muscle. He is a wide-set man with the long braid and a kindly aura.

"Funshine, take this one upstairs and help him find some warm clothes. I'd like to talk to Jane. Alone."

Her eyes fall on me, her amusement dimming away and back to speculation.

El doesn't appear to be as hesitant as I would have anticipated her to be. She's lost in the euphoria of reuniting with Kali. The idea of a sudden separation strikes fear in me─something far more powerful than the silly doubts flashing in my mind moments ago. This was a pit seeding in my stomach, ready to grow.

The larger man nods and steps forward. Surprised, my eyes flicker back to Kali and she smiles reassuringly.

"Don't worry, he's nothing but a big softie," she says with a simper, turning and leaving with El.

"El...?" Was she really just gonna leave? The two slow, and El pulls her attention away from Kali and over her shoulder to me.

"It's okay," she promises. "I'll be back," And then she was dissapearing up the stairs, Kali's arm slung over her shoulder.

...Somehow that made it worse.

The man I've been instructed to go with is smiling warmly when I turn to him. It's the first I'm put at even the slightest of ease since arriving.

"Don't you worry, we'll find something warm for you," he says, his voice deep and kind. He makes way for the stairs, pausing at the bottom with a hand on the metal rail. He throws me a brief nod over his shoulder. "We should get you by a fire, too, and quick. Dangerous for you to be walking out here like that─you'll catch your death,"

Against all odds, I feel a tiny tug at the corners of my mouth─a smile itching to spread. It doesn't quite, not with the dread sitting in my stomach like a chunk of stone or my friend walking off with a stranger.

But now, with little choice, I do the same.

My footsteps fall in sync with his almost instantly as we climb the stairs. Silence falls quick and heavy over the open space apart from our differentiating gait hiking the metal steps. I'm peering over my shoulder without much thought for consequence, my eyes meeting with the other three strangers─each of them watch me.

The way they eye me turns my stomach. The Mohawk──Axel, and the Smoker, in particular.

There was the Flannel woman─the only other person here who seemed to care El and I were children. She may be the other exception. For one, she doesn't seem interested enough, and for that I'm grateful. But mostly, I don't forget her attempts to cool down this Axel.

His glare on me sharpens, but to my surprise, I don't wither beneath it. I'm brave enough (or stupid enough) to glare back. He twirls his knife expertly in his hands as I turn away, eliciting a unpleasant cackle from Smoker. I don't need any further reassurance these are two I need to worry about.

But that's already being pushed to the back burner─Funshine and I reach the second floor and round a poorly lit corner and that's when I spot the two figures down the catwalk a ways. El and Kali. They're making their way for another, steeper pair of stairs. Smiling and laughing, already.

A sudden voice cuts through my storm of thoughts and suddenly I'm back on earth. "Right this way, friend,"

Funshine directs me to one of the makeshift bedrooms to our right and something in me weakens when we step inside. The concrete room is bathed in turquoise and peach shadows casted from the neon lights gathered inside. Where I expected all concrete walls to close me in, I see wide (albiet dirtied) windows overlooking the first floor. But the lure of it all is a split between the king size nest of pillows and blankets in the center and the fire pit in the corner.

The sight of it all is dangerously persuasive and so is the sudden wail of my aching bones and the shudder down my spine, louder than they ever were. I'm wavering already, but I'm alert enough to realize the longing in my eyes as they rake across the bed and fire is obvious.

Funshine gestures towards the fire in the corner and ushers me along. "Go ahead and warm up. I'll be right back with some proper clothes." He says before turning.

I nod absently, far too entranced and eagerly gravitating towards the warmth now before me.

He leaves from where we came and disappears around the corner. I stifle a smile when I feel the heat washing over my body. Muscles I didn't even realize I had are melting as they meet the warm glow of the flames.

I'm not sure how long I'm standing there, but it must be several minutes at the least. Enough time for Funshine to return with a bundle of clothes in his arms.

"Here you are," I trail behind him to the bed where he drops the small mountain on the edge of the sunken mattress. "I gathered a few things that I thought might fit you best. Theres plenty of stuff in here, so you'll have options. But I insist you consider dressing in layers. It'll only get worse out there," He sends me another nod and begins to head back for the door. "Alright then. You get warm, now,"

And that's all he says. He's already heading for the door. I have a sudden fear I won't get another chance to speak with him. Or let the swell of gratitude I felt be known. I couldn't hold my tongue any longer, nor did I want to.

"Hey," I call out, growing nervous. "Um..." I winced a bit at my trailing voice.

He slows at the door and turns around, giving me a curious look.

"Thank you," I mumble, mustering a smile as grateful as I felt. "For the clothes. And-- well, everything, I guess."

Another friendly smile stretches across his face and once again he nods.

"You're certainly welcome."

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