#it moves slowly at first but never in a boring way and it’s fucking devastating

[pendraegon]

everyone stop what ur doing and watch the untamed i am BEGGING YOU

#i am in fucking TEARS #like..i truly DOUBTED the live action would be good and it’s. #holy shit dude it’s fucking FANTASTIC #the music the character arcs the relationships!!!!! #it moves slowly at first but never in a boring way and it’s fucking devastating #i am on a mission to get ppl to join me in this pit didjsjsk #im only on ep 12 and there’s 50 eps total and i KNOW whats gonna happen and yet oh my god.. #also...lan zhan and wei ying will make u lose ur shit.. soulmates.. #mdzs

[hyungieyoongi]

Sleep

Pairing: Namjoon x Reader

Word Count: 2,300+ 

Genre: fluffy + angst (because I am clearly stressed studying for my final exams, and I am projecting that into my writing) + HYBE employee from America falling for Joonie b/c who wouldn’t

Sleep wouldn’t come. She tossed and turned for a couple of hours before realizing it was futile with how fast her mind was turning over possible scenarios, worries, and anxieties one after the other. She sighed, pulling back her covers and bringing her laptop from the nightstand on top of her comforter. If she couldn’t sleep, she would at least get some work done for tomorrow.

Yawning, she opened her computer, logging in and sorting through the emails she had ignored since getting home from the HYBE offices. If something was really urgent, she would get a call. She looked over the text with glazed eyes, fighting the urge to go back to sleep, knowing she would feel wide awake as soon as her head hit the pillow again.

The truth is, she kept thinking of him. The thoughts kept streaming in, refusing to let her rest or even work. Today had hurt. It had felt like someone was laughing in her face at the sick cosmic joke the universe had played on her, forcing her to deal with her growing and overwhelming feelings for someone she could never have.

A new hire in the public relations department of the label falling for the leader of the biggest band in the world? It had disaster written all over it. Which is exactly what she told Namjoon. He had laughed, saying she was being paranoid, that they weren’t doing anything wrong by hanging out, getting closer, but she knew better. She wasn’t laughing. And by the end of their conversation today, he wasn’t either. Instead, he was looking at her like she had slapped him in the face, ruining any chance of a normal relationship between them.

“Ha, normal,” she thought with a slight, sardonic chuckle. Like anything involving this situation could be classified as normal. She knew how she felt–there was nothing normal about that considering their situation. Two people from different sides of the world, the employee-employer aspect of it all…not to mention the fact that he was a beloved Idol and completely untouchable. It could never work, she knew that. So why was he being so stubborn? He was fighting her every step of the way, telling her that the way they felt about each other warranted at least trying to be together. But it wasn’t that easy. If they didn’t work out, well, easy enough for him to move on and forget this ever happened. But, for her, it meant career devastation.

“But what if it did work out,” Y/N whispered to herself, letting the warm feeling of possibility wrap around her like a hug. She didn’t let the sensation linger, squashing it with a shake of her head as she began to furiously type to try and distract herself from the broken record that was her head versus her heart.

Her phone began to softly buzz on the nightstand next to her. She glanced at the time on her computer - 1:04 a.m. A little late for even an emergency client call. She reached for the phone, answering before checking the name on the screen.

“This is Y/N,” she said, putting on her best professional tone despite her current state of being tucked into bed in her pajamas.

“Y/N.” She knew right away she made a mistake answering the phone.

“Namjoon,” she whispered into the receiver. “What’s - what’s going on? Are you alright?” She shook her head with worry, assuming the only reason he could be calling at this hour after the way the day had transpired was for an emergency.

“Yes, no, well, technically yes,” Namjoon said. It sounded like he was on a busy street. Not hard considering her location in downtown Seoul, but he was clearly outside rather than calling from his home with the rest of BTS.

“Why are you calling me? It’s late, Namjoon,” Y/N said, not really knowing what to say. Alarm bells were ringing in her head, but she needed to know he was really okay before hanging up.

“I know, I - I’m outside,” Namjoon said. Y/N felt her breath catch, realizing the noisy street in the background was her street. She got up like a shot, keeping the phone to her ear as she rushed to the window, pushing the curtain to the side and peering out, seeing a bundled up Namjoon on the phone outside of her apartment building door. He was wearing a black hat, mask covering the lower half of his face, glasses perched on his nose–an attempt to look inconspicuous. He seemed to sense someone’s eyes on him, looking up at her window. She reeled back from the window, tripping over a nearby chair in her haste.

“Fuck,” Y/N swore under her breath, gaining her balance.

“Y/N, please,” Namjoon whispered. She knew he had seen her, but she needed another 30 seconds to gather herself before she could really, truly wrap her head around the situation. It was late. He was here. “Y/N?” Namjoon said her name like a question, wondering if he had lost her.

“I’m here. I - I’ll buzz you up,” Y/N said, grabbing a sweatshirt out of her top drawer to pull over her loose t-shirt and shorts to try and cover up at least some of herself. She counted backwards from ten, knowing exactly how long it would take him to get in the door and up the stairs until...

Two knocks on the door broke her out of her dreamlike state. She tiptoed to the door, opening it slowly, taking in the sight before her. She hadn’t seen him since their fight, and, honestly, she assumed she really would never see him like this again. Frazzled, hair messed up from anxiously running his fingers through it again and again.

He bore his eyes into her so intently she looked down at a worn spot on the floor to avoid them. She saw one of his feet step forward toward her, and she instinctively stepped back away from him. He stopped. She looked up. He looked - hurt. Hurt that she had stepped away from him. Hurt that she was so clearly uncomfortable with the situation. The easy way they used to talk to each other, laugh with each other in the hallways outside of his studio - it was gone. He wanted so desperately to get it back, see the glimmer in her eyes right before she hit him with a sarcastic comeback, watch her cheeks get red when he teased her. He craved it, that comfort, that familiarity.

She spoke first.

“Namjoon, what are you doing here?” She knew she needed to be direct - get to the point so he could leave and she could get back to pretending everything was fine–normal, even.

“I couldn’t leave things the way we left them today. I couldn’t stop thinking about you, about everything I wanted to say but didn't. I felt like, well, I felt like I lost you. And I couldn’t stomach that. I just couldn’t,” Namjoon said quietly. They were still standing in her doorway. Y/N felt tears well up in her eyes. She blamed exhaustion. She took a deep breath before turning away, walking toward the kitchen. He took it as an invitation to come inside, closing and locking the door behind him as he took off his coat. He heard the kettle start to hiss with the sound of boiling water and smiled - tea. Of course she was making tea. Her way to cope with stressful situations, with emotional coworkers, was always to make them tea.

Namjoon shuffled into the kitchen, hands in his pockets, mask and jacket now removed, as he watched her work, grabbing two mugs from the cabinet and popping tea bags into each of them. The kettle started to get louder, causing her to jump slightly at the interruption to the otherwise silence throughout her apartment. She poured the water slowly, knowing that, when it was done, she would have to look at him again. When she couldn’t avoid it anymore, she turned, handing him a mug.

“Here,” she said simply, passing him and heading to her couch, sitting on the corner of it and curling her feet under her. Namjoon followed her lead yet again, sitting on the opposite end of the couch. He felt like he was a mile from her instead of a few feet. He waited.

“I don’t like the way we left things either,” Y/N said. Namjoon turned his head to her, eyes wide with anticipation and hope. She didn’t return his gaze. “But,” his heart sank, “I can’t change my mind. This is the way things have to be.” She took a long sip of tea, shivering at the contact with hot liquid.

“You can’t, or you don’t want to?” Namjoon said, realizing what she had really said.

Y/N looked at him shocked, realizing she had slipped up in her argument - she might be trying to fight this rationally, but her heart clearly wasn’t all the way in it.

“I - I don’t know,” Y/N said, defeated.

“Yes, you do,” Namjoon encouraged, putting his mug down on the coffee table. He turned to her fully now, refusing to break eye contact with her. “You just don’t want to admit it to yourself because then it will all be real. All the late-night phone calls when we’re stressed, the meals in my studio together. All of it.”

Her eyes got wide and her mouth opened slightly before she quickly shut it and composed herself.

“If it’s real, we’ll both just end up getting hurt, and you know that. You can’t sit here and pretend it’s all going to be okay. Because it’s just - it’s just not,” Y/N suddenly felt more tired than she had all night, dropping her head into her hands and covering her face with her shaking fingers. She felt a tug on her right hand, Namjoon’s warm fingers circling hers as he pulled both hands away from her face. He got up from the couch, kneeling in front of her. She looked up slightly, meeting him eye-level in front of her. He put their joined hands in her lap, stroking the back of her hand subconsciously with her thumb, comforting her.

“How many times do I have to tell you that I’m not going anywhere before you believe it?” Namjoon asked. “It doesn’t matter if it gets complicated or difficult or messy. I will be here for you. I will fight for us.” The exasperation, love, and his own exhaustion were written in his eyes as he scanned hers for reassurance that she felt the same way - that she knew she couldn’t keep going on denying what felt right.

“How can you be so sure?” Y/N asked quietly. He let out a breath, gripping her hands tighter as he brought his face closer to hers.

“Because I’m in love with you. I love you, Y/N,” Namjoon whispered. He saw the emotion flicker across her face, tears fill her eyes. He didn’t have any other words - he grabbed her face with both hands and kissed her, more passionately than he had ever kissed her. He poured every ounce of love and emotion into that kiss, wanting her to know and to feel exactly how he felt. She hesitated at first before wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him closer, his own dropping down around her waist and bringing their bodies as close as possible given their position.

Y/N pulled back first, trying to catch her breath. He looked at her expectantly, hoping she would let him hear the words he so badly wanted - no, needed - to hear.

“Namjoon, I love you, too,” Y/N whispered into the small space between them. It felt like a weight had been lifted off of her chest, finally being able to say those three words to the man that had entered every part of her soul and refused to leave. The man in front of her who was smiling bigger than she had ever seen. He stood up, grabbing her right hand and bringing her to stand in front of him. Then, he grabbed her and spun her around, both of their laughter filling her apartment. After all of the tension, the stress of the day - it felt like the pieces were falling into place again.

He put her back on her feet, looking down at her with the most love and adoration. Her cheeks were tinged pink from laughter, her lips slightly swollen from their kissing. He had never seen her look so beautiful.

“What are we going to do?” Y/N asked, her joy from their mutual admissions of love being replaced with worry. Her forehead scrunched down slightly in worry. He kissed her on the forehead, then both cheeks, then the corner of her mouth, before placing a soft, gentle kiss on her lips. He pulled back, placing his forehead on hers.

“We’ll figure it out - together,” he said simply, confidently. He felt her nod slightly in affirmation against his head, his eyes closing as he just took in this moment between them. Hell, he had waited so long, he needed to just soak it in.

He felt her take his hand in hers, opening his eyes to look at the woman he loved. She led him to her bed, climbing in under the covers while he took off his shoes before climbing in next to her. He wrapped his arms around her, smiling as he felt her head nuzzle into his chest, body forming perfectly to his side. He kissed the top of her head and closed his eyes. Y/N felt Namjoon’s breathing slow down slightly.

“I love you,” he whispered into her hair.

“I love you, too,” she responded, snuggling closer to him, closing her mind to the stress that was to come, knowing that Namjoon would be by her side when it did. His arms tightened around her as they both fell asleep. It was the best night of sleep they both had gotten in a long time.

#bts fluff #bts angst #reader x namjoon #bts namjoon #namjoon imagine #bts imagine #bts imagines #bts #bts drabble #bts x reader #kim namjoon #bangtan #namjoon fic #bts fic

[amor-immortalem]

You’re Important to Me

Warnings: thoughts and ideations of the un-aliving variety

Genre: Angst but it gets a lil fluffy at the end

Pairing: Mammon x oc

Summary: The way the witches and his brothers treat him leaves Mammon feeling replaceable and unimportant. His human takes it upon herself to try and make him feel better after finding out something heartbreaking.

A/N: since I hit 150 followers either last night or the day before, I figured I would do something a little different for tonight’s post and give y’all a little 2 part fic instead of art. I haven’t written in a long time and this is not proofread so please excuse any typos. I’m a little rusty.

Part 2| Part 3| Part 4

———————————————————————-

Another day full of studying for upcoming exams at RAD completed and Arella couldn’t be more greatful to finally shut her texts books. Sure, she technically didn’t have to meet the same standards as her demon classmates this time around, but if only one thing could be said about Arella, it was that she was a perfectionist at heart. She’d put in the hard work to get the best possible score- seeing the look of surprise on Satan’s face as she scored better than him would be worth it too, as much as a pipe dream that that would be.

With a soft yawn, Arella pushed away from her desk before grabbing a nightshirt she had stolen borrowed from her boyfriend and stumbled to her bathroom for a quick shower. As she brushed her teeth, she could feel a presence enter her room- well more like she could hear him. Mammon was never all that quiet or stealthy to begin with as much as he’d like to claim otherwise.

Peeking out from the small ensuite, she saw the demon sprawled out on her bed, his face buried in her pillows. Something didn’t feel right. Deciding the shower could wait, Arella made her way across the room to where the bed was located.

“Hey,” She started, gently placing a hand on his back to let him know she was there, “I thought you said you’d be out late with the Witches. Did something happen?”

“Not really….” Mammon starts, his voice muffled by the pillows before he turned to face her. “They got all they could get out of me so they jus’ let me go and I wasn’t havin’ a good time anyway so I jus’ came home….”

Arella frowned at his tone. He sounded upset, depressed almost.

“An’ then the moment I walk in the door, Lucifer’s on my ass ‘bout some stupid fuckin’ bill that came in…. So I got to sit there ‘n listen to him go on an’ on about how I’m such a fuck up and what worthless scum I am, not to mention the rest of my brothers took the first chance they could to hop on the bandwagon and I’m….. I’m just so tired.” At this, Mammon flops over onto his back, throwing an arm over his face.

“Mammon…” Her voice is soft, full of concern as tries unsuccessfully to pull his arm away so she could look him in the eyes.

“Arella, Am I important….?” Mammon asks as he tries -but fails- to hide the way his voice cracks. “Would everyone just be happier if I was….. gone?”

Its that question that shatters her heart to tiny fragments.

“Wha- Of course you are, Love. Why would you say that? I know your brothers take things too far sometimes but they’d be devastated if something happened to you. I would be heartbroken if anything happened to you. We all love you so much, Honey….”

“It doesn’t feel like it,” Mammon barked out a laugh that sounded bitter. “Not with the way they rag on me like they do…. Actually, they’d probly be jumpin’ for joy if I were to off myself- don’t know why I ain’t done it already….”

“Mammon, don’t talk like that. You’re scaring me.”

“Its true though. If I take myself out, then they won’t ever have to deal with the consequences when I fuck up. Won’t have to worry ‘bout me stealin’ their shit to get my hands on some extra grimm.

“Stop it right now, please.”

“It’s not like they’d miss me much anyway. You probly would but let’s face it, ya could do so much better than me anyway... Ya know, I got this pills that I swiped the other day, plannin’ ta sell ‘em an’ all but I think-“

“Mammon, stop!” Arella pressed her hands over his mouth to keep him from finishing his sentence “Please. No more….. No…. More.”

She collapsed down to his chest as violent sobs erupted from her. She had lost someone to suicide before, she couldn’t and wouldn’t go through that again- especially not with the person who was most important to her.

“I’m here for you. I will always be here fir you.,” Arella tightened her hold on the demon beneath her, her body still shuddering with each breath she took in a miserable attempt to compose herself. “So please. Please just don’t do it.”

At her tears, the demon could only react with silence. He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting when letting his feelings out but it wasn’t a reaction like this.

Maybe part of him was hoping for her to agree with him and let her words feed into his terrible mood, or maybe part of him wanted Arella to scold him for daring to even think about taking his own life but there wasn’t any part of him that wanted her to react with sobs and wails, with her begging him not to go through with it.

Slowly, Mammon brought his arms to wrap around her, holding her tight against his chest. They were quiet for a long while as they just held each other.

“I’m….. I’m sorry….” Mammon was the first to speak, to break the silence that had suddenly become suffocating. “I don’t know what I was talking about….”

Arella didn’t reply right away, choosing instead to hold him just a little tighter a bit long.

“Do you feel better now that you’ve talked about what’s going through your mind?” She lifted her head from its place on his chest to look him in the eyes for the first time that night.

She smiled softly as he nodded, leaning down to press a kiss to his cheek. “You’re so important both to your brothers and to me. There’s no one like you in the all of the three realms. If you weren’t here our lives would be so much darker and so much more boring, do you know that?”

“Yeah, I doubt that.”

“No it’s true,” Arella hums, as she pushes his hair back and places a peck to his forehead. “You want to know something else?”

“What?” Mammon arches a brow, “if it’s something cheesy, I’m leaving.”

Arella laughs at that. “I love you more than anything in this life or the next, and, no, you’re staying in here where I can see you.”

“What? C’mon, babe, I won’t do anything stupid, so don’t worry ‘bout me. And the last thing I need is Lucifer gettin’ at me because I spent the night in here when I shoulda been in my room.”

“Then I won’t give you a choice.” She starts matter of factly, “I’m invoking our pact. You’re sleeping in my room tonight where I can keep you close and pamper you all night. Also you’re going to tell me where you’ve hidden those pills you were talking about earlier and if their in one of your safes, you’re going to tell me the combination to it.”

“Arella, I-“ he groaned starting to complain

“No. This is important, Baby. I’m doing this because I care. Not to mention if Lucifer were to somehow find you in possession of those pills….. his rage would be so great that not even I would be able to stand between you two.”

Another moment of silence happened between them as Arella’s orders went into effect. Mammon let out a soft, discontented growl before finally breaking the silence.

“Fiiiiine. They’re in the safe that’s hidden in my pool table. The combination it 0127. Happy?”

“Very.” She replies cheerily. “Now, you’d better get comfortable, sir, because I’m going to remind The Great Mammon just how amazing, how wonderful , how special, and how loved he is.”

“Whatever, you dork, jus’ get off a me so I can move to a better spot.” He huffed as he shifted around under her, trying to hide the faint blush was already threatening to make itself at home of his cheeks.

———————————————————————-

Masterlist 2

#tw: suicidal thoughts #tw: suicide ideation #obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me swd #obey me! shall we date? #obey me mammon #om! mammon #mammon #mammon angst #mammon fluff #obey me oc #om! oc #f!mc #obey me f!mc #om! f!mc #obey me angst

[please-buckme]

A Broken Heart.

Lee Bodecker x fem!reader

Chapter 2

Chapter warnings: 18+ mentions of death, mentions of sex, cursing, Lee being an ass, angst, meninist behaviors

Chapter summary: You move back home after three years to find your heart still in shambles.

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Chapter 1 // Chapter 3

3 Years Later

After moving a whole county away, Highland Ohio to be exact, you stayed for quite some time. Your aunt was amazing and the sweetest woman you’d ever known, and living with her was a breeze. She’d even gotten you a job at the auto shop her recently deceased husband left to her, which you loved. Life was good, for a while. You never had a reason to come home until your momma got sick.

For the past year you watched as your momma slowly faded away until the last week of April when she finally passed in her sleep. You were devastated, of course, but not only because of her death. She didn’t have much to her name besides a couple thousand in the bank and the house you’d left so long ago, which she left all to you.

The house was old. White paneling a faint tint of brown, grey shutters that were almost all off their hinges and rust anywhere you looked. It was a fixer upper and there’s no way you could sell it in its current condition. So, you decided to move back to Knockemstiff, just for the time being.

In all honesty, you’d grown to hate that town. Nothing but bad memories and any good memories you’d had were tarnished completely. So, once the house was decent enough to sell, you were out of there and back to the life you’d created in Highland.

Your aunt and you drove together in her pick up truck back to the house after your momma passed. She helped you unload your stuff and take things to the necessary rooms.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to stay? I can make my famous pancakes. I know you love’em.” She grinned.

“As tempting as that sounds, I’m fine. Please, I insist you go now before it gets dark.” You pull your aunt into a hug, a tight hug.

“I’m gonna miss havin’ you around, kiddo.” She sighed, her breath fanning over your neck.

“It’s only for a few months. I’ll be back to annoying you in no time, oldie.”

“Hey, I’m not old.” She laughed and pointed her finger at you sternly but still in a lighthearted way.

“And I’m not a kid.”

She laughed a little more then sighed, “Well, I guess I’ll head out. Call me if you need anything and don’t forget to go down to Billy’s tomorrow. He’s excited to bring you in.”

You smiled, “How could I forget? I need some sort of income to fix this craphole up.”

You walked your aunt to her car and waved her goodbye as she drove way. Your eyes welled up but you made sure not to cry in front of her or she’d never leave.

Once you went back in, you immediately got to work. Starting in the kitchen, you didn’t have much but a few coffee cups. The house was still occupied with your momma’s things and you were already dreading having to go through it all.

Things started to come together room by room as you worked most of the day away. You cleaned and rearranged things to your liking now that it was your house. It felt almost empowering to do what you want. You’d never lived alone so, in a way, this was an adventure as well.

You took your old room instead of the master, since that’s where your momma passed. It gave you goosebumps just thinking about and you knew you’d never get any sleep if you stayed in there. Your room wasn’t big but it was good enough for now and much better than sleeping in your momma’s death bed, hard pass.

You’d taken a seat on the couch with some tea you’d brewed up earlier that morning. This was the first time you sat down since arriving, and of course there’s a knock at the door.

“Whatever you’re selling, I promise you, I ain’t interested.” You shout, too exhausted to even attempt getting up.

The knocking continued, “Oh, for fucks sake.” You groaned under your breath and stood on your aching feet to tell them to fuck off in person. You opened the door, “did you not hear me the first time. I said-“

“Hi, Y/n” Lee greeted as he removed his hat.

You scoffed, “Can I help you with somethin’, Sheriff?”

Lee stood there, fiddling with the bill of his hat. His belly had gotten a little bigger and his cheeks had gotten a little chubbier, but you couldn’t help the hitch in your throat when his wedding ring caught your eye. Just a basic silver band, nothing special. But it still left a hollow pit in your stomach.

“I-“ he cleared his suddenly dry throat. “I heard you was back in town. Thought I’d come see for ma self if the rumors were true.”

“Welp, here I am. You can go now.”

“Y/n, I-“

“No, Lee, please. I’ve had a long day and I honestly don’t feel like talking to you right now. No, I take that back. I don’t feel like talking to you at all.”

“That’s a bit harsh, don’t you think, doll.” He grins.

“Goodbye, Sheriff.” You shut the door only to hear him holler at you from the other side.

“Still can’t say my name, huh, Doll? Boy, I really did a number on you, didn’t I?” Your heart sank at his words. It seemed your pain was a joke to him this whole time. You’d always pictured him crying alone like you were but clearly that was never the case. Y’all’s relationship didn’t seem one sided until you were the only one hurt by the fall out.

“Welcome home, Y/n.” He said before you heard his boots click against the porch as he left.

You took a deep breath as you backed away from the door. Tears rimmed your eyes and you scoffed aloud to yourself. After three years you still weren’t over him and you knew that. You didn’t know, however, that he’d still have such a hold on you. And by the way he reacted to how sensitive you were towards the situation still didn’t help the ever growing void that ran through your entire loveless body. The only man you ever loved looked at you as if you were a quick fuck and a punchline.

A tear burned against your cheek and you were quick to wipe it away. You swore to yourself that you’d never cry over that man again and you won’t, instead you decided it was time for a much needed bath.

The bath was scolding hot, just how you liked it, and you opened up a bottle of wine as a sort of reward for the work you’d done today. Once the water got cold and the wine ran out, you brushed your hand and teeth and went to bed.

//

The sun beamed down against your skin as you walked to the local auto shop where your aunt had set you up with another job. You were always good with numbers and they desperately needed someone on the books. Your job would be to look at their spending over the last few months and figure out some sort of budget. You did that for your aunt at her shop, so this didn’t worry you at all.

“Hi, you must be Billy.” You greet the owner, “I’m

y/n, Peggy’s niece.”

“Oh, yes. I’m glad you finally made it down.” He beamed, shaking your hand, “How long will you be here for?”

“I’m not sure, actually. Just until I get my house fixed up enough to sell.” You say, retracting your hand from his sweaty one.

“Ah, well as luck would have it, our secretary just quit on us last week, so there’s a position you’ll adjust to right fine.”

You scoffed, “Wait a minute. Did you say secretary?”

“Yeah. You need to get your hearing checked, Honey?” He grinned. What is it with the men in this town?!

“No, I heard you just fine. My problem is that I was supposed to be your Budget Holder, not a damn secretary.” Your face was turning a touch of pink as you became increasingly annoyed.

“That’s a man's job, sweetie. We don’t you blown a fuse tryin’ ta add up all them numbers, now do we?”

“You can’t be serious.” You say flatly.

“Look, it’s the only position we got. Take it or leave it.”

Everything in you wanted to March out of that shop and never go back again. A secretary's position is nothing to frown upon, but to only be offered it because you’re a woman was despicable. Sadly, you needed this job and it would only be for a few months. So, when you told him you’d take the job you swallowed every ounce of respect you had for yourself. Knockemstiff was truly the worst town in America.

“Sounds great. We’ll see you tomorrow for training. There’s no dress code but there are a few things you’ll need to know before starting. I’ll fill you in once we start your training tomorrow.” He shook your hand again, completely ignoring the furious grimace on your face.

“Great. See you tomorrow.” You mumbled, walking away so you didn’t ‘accidentally’ hit your new boss.

//

Before heading home you decided to stop and grab some things for the house. Being sick, your momma didn’t eat much besides soup, and there was an over abundance of vanilla flavored Ovaltine cans littering the kitchen counters, which you hated.

The second the doors opened, all eyes were on you. You even heard a faint gasp coming from the woman at the register. A smirk crept upon your face. These people's lives were so boring that they still aren’t over your breakup that happened so long ago. Rolling your eyes, you grabbed a cart and headed down the produce aisle.

Once you grabbed the vegetables you’d need for a stew, you headed towards the baking aisle. You need the ingredients for an upside down pineapple cake your momma used to make for you as a kid. Your aunt was coming into town on Saturday to lend a hand and celebrate her birthday. You told her to go have fun, but she insisted on spending her special day with you.

As you searched for the baking soda, you heard your name.

“Did you see Y/n’s back in town?” A lady with a high pitched voice whispered.

“I did. I just saw her. Poor thing. She’s probably still caught up on the sheriff. Prolly wish it was her that was on his arm instead of Laura-Jean.”

You rolled your eyes.

“I know it. Wouldn’t you, though? He’s so handsome.” The lady with the high patched voice giggled.

“Oh, hush! Don’t say things like that.” The other lady joined the high pitched one in whispered giggles. “Oh my goodness, here he comes.” She cleared her throat, “Afternoon, Sheriff.”

“Evenin’,Ladies. Y’all behavin’ yourselves?” You could hear the smirk in his voice.

They both giggled and in unison said, “Yes, Sheriff.”

“Oh give me a break.” You grimaced to yourself.

“Heard Y/n’s back in town.” The high pitched one spoke up. Your face burned. Why would they bring you up to him so bluntly like that? Everyone in this town was so unbelievably nosy.

“I- I heard. Actually just went to see her yesterday.” He said, clearing his throat.

“Uh-oh, the misses didn’t like that, I’m sure.” They giggled.

“Oh, no. She didn’t mind. I was just droppin’ by to give her my condolences about her momma dyin’. Then, she slammed the door in my face. I guess she’s still pretty upset with me.” He was pouting, trying to get some sort of sympathy. If you rolled your eyes any harder you thought they’d pop out of your head.

“Oh, you poor thing. Is there anything we can-“

Suddenly the baking soda slipped from your hand and scattered all other the floor in a puff of dust. “Shit, shit, shit.” You whispered to yourself.

“What was that?” One of the ladies asked.

“Excuse me, ladies.” Lee said. You could hear his boots clacking against the floor on there way over to you.

Shit.

You desperately wanted to run away but leaving this mess for someone to clean up wasn’t right, not even with the predicament you found yourself in. “Well, well, well,” Lee mocked as he rounded the corner. “Only here for less than a day and you’re already causin’ trouble.”

“Stay out of this, Bodecker.” You huff, trying to scoop the baking soda back into the card box it spilled from.

“Was you eavesdroppin’, girl?” He asked, kicking the soul of your shoe.

You scoffed, “Oh, please. I could give two shits what you say about me, Bodecker.”

He leaned in close, hovering over your left side. You heard him chuckle which startled you. He was so close. You could feel the familiar heat radiating from his body and smell that familiar cologne. His lips came down close to your ear. He licked them and then whispered, “If ya weren’t eavesdroppin’, how’d ya know I was talkin’ bout you, hm?”

Your eyes shuttered closed as he spoke, feeling his hot breath against your cheek. His deep southern drawl always made you weak. It took you back to those times in the back of the cruiser. He whispered such dirty praises in your ear when you would ride his cock. Those dirty words that could make you cum in seconds.

“You still with me, doll?” You felt him tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear.

You flitched and stood up, “I- don’t touch me and stop calling me doll, alright? I really don’t have time for your games today, sheriff, and I’m not even really sure what you’re playin’ at in the first place.”

He smirked, running a thumb across his lip, “Darlin, I think the only thing I ever played was you..”

“I-“ your breath hitched in the back of your throat, “I have to go.” You turned to walk away, leaving the mess you’d made and your cart behind. Your eyes welled up with tears again. You didn’t know the man that stood in front of you. Lee was nothing but good to you when you dated and now he’s the most hateful man you’d ever met. The man you loved had disappeared and there’s nothing you could do to bring him back, no matter how bad you wanted to. A tear stained your cheek as you sped through the aisle. You could hear Lee hollering for you to stop but you wouldn’t this time.

All the heartbreak and sorrow that you’d left behind was creeping its way back in. The sooner you sold the house and got the hell out of there, the better.

Dividers by: @firefly-in-darkness

Taglist: @haydens-moles , @c00lkidvibes , @tcc-gizmachine , @buckysm3talarm , @gogolucky13 , @cryptidcasanova , @heavenlyseb , @writersbuck , @teddy-bearbaby , @bbmommy0902 , @sweetllamaparadise , @thereblogcrusader , @aleemendoza2425-blog , @frostbytebaby , @jessyballet , @emotionallyandphysicallydone , @sarge-barnes-sir , @generalbagelcookieslime , @lady-loki-ren , @dime-piece-xo , @greeneyedblondie44

(Dm me to be added to taglist)

[nashibirne]

Where The Wild Roses Grow - An August Walker Story

Pairing: August Walker x OFC (Fern) Summary: Don't screw the crew? This doesn't work for August Walker Warnings: Smut, Sex, 18+, NSFW, unprotected sex, oral sex mentioned, kinda soft August This is kinda AU, because August survived the events of MI:Fallout Unbeta'ed! English is not my mother tongue, so consider yourself warned Disclaimer: I don't own August Walker (but he owns me...) Credits: Pics for the header from Pinterest

A big thank you to the wonderful @legendarywizarddetective Honey, thanks for your support, your advice and your opinion. You have no idea, how much I appreciate your help <3 xxx

tag list: @lunedelorient @inlovewithhisblueeyes @willkatfanfromasia @hell1129-blog @mis-lil-red @agniavateira @kebabgirl67 @omgkatinka @legendarywizarddetective @summersong69 @taebfada @xxxkatxo @madbaddic7ed @artandotherdelights

You can find the next parts and my other fics on my Masterlist

~~~~~

Chapter 1

Fern

I'm bent over my desk, still recovering from my orgasm, while August is railing me hard from behind to reach his own climax. It doesn't take him long. He comes with a suppressed growl that turns into a satisfied moan slowly. As usual he pulls out right after, gives me a playful slap on my naked butt and stuffs his dick back into his pants with a smug smile.

He never undresses to fuck me and he never asks me to get naked. He just hitches up my skirt or dress, pulls my panties out of the way and enters my pussy with his fingers, his tongue or his dick. My clothes have turned into some kind of code with time. If I wear trousers I know he won't touch me, so if I choose to wear a pair of jeans it's my way to say no. If I wear a skirt or a dress he knows he can have me if he wants to. It doesn't happen every day or on a regular basis, sometimes we fuck five days in a row and sometimes we don't for two weeks and that's part of its charm.

Whenever it happens, it is always quick and dirty and pretty good. Sure, there's no tenderness, no cuddling, hardly any kissing but it still is great sex. Satisfying and uncomplicated, no strings attached. I never thought I could enjoy physical love without being emotionally involved, but with August it works somehow. I don't even know how it happened, can hardly tell how this started. 

I used to work at the CIA as a team assistant, he was THE notorious agent, August "The Hammer" Walker, effective, discreet, intimidating, mysterious, larger-than-life. Yeah, I know, this alone sounds sexy as hell and you haven't even seen him. Tall, broad shouldered, dark hair, blue eyes, face like an angel but his signature mustache and the three-days-stubble giving it a dangerous touch. We got along quite well but it was all strictly professional back then. He always kept a distance, not only from me but from everyone and I knew he was well out of my league anyway, even if we hadn't worked together. 

After the disaster with Ethan Hunt I was shocked, devastated even, because I'd never expected him to be a traitor and I was sure I'd seen the last of him after the events in Kashmir. To my big surprise he contacted me a few weeks after. He had somehow survived the fight with Hunt and the explosion and bailed himself out of this mess. I still don't know how he made it, what or who he sold to the government but it must have been a huge deal because they cleared his record and he was free to do whatever he wanted under one condition, he had to leave the country. He chose to make a fresh start in London and to set up a cyber security business with a partner. This partner is Peter Brooks, who is an ex-hacker August knows from some CIA investigations, and they are the perfect team -August sells security, Peter programs it, August is responsible for the hardware, Pete for the software. And a good team needs a team assistant and that was the point where I got involved.

I don't know why he asked me of all people, maybe because he knew I was unattached and because we had already proven that we worked together well. I asked him several times for his reasons but he always shrugged it off. I was hesitant about taking his offer, of course I was, I didn't trust him anymore, he had been public enemy number one and to be honest I was scared. I was afraid of him, of what he could be up to, of the potential for violence he was radiating and his criminal energy in general, but he offered me lots of money, a wonderful apartment in Shoreditch and he promised me that he would never expose me to any kind of danger, that he'd changed and that I would never have to do something illegal for him. I believed him, mostly because I wanted to. I was desperate to add a little adventure to my boring existence and earning much more than an average assistant plus living in one of the greatest cities in the world seemed to be an attractive prospect. Up to now I haven't regretted my decision.

August has kept his word. There are no signs that the company is involved in any illegal deals and as far as I know he is not scheming or hiding something. Actually I'm quite sure of that because we all know that the federal authorities keep a close eye on him and his little business. Moreover we've got to know each other quite well and I imagine that I would know if he was hiding something from me. Maybe I would, maybe it's just wishful thinking but I tend to say that I can judge him quite well by now. That's not surprising actually, considering how much time we spend together, 12 to 16 hours a day, five to six days a week.

How did the sex thing begin you ask? I don't really know. Maybe it was the glances he started to give me, the attention I wasn't used to. I just started to feel good around him, sexy and wanted. Of course it's flattering that a handsome man like him shows interest in someone like me, even if it's just physical.

I'm pretty sure I'm not the only one. He travels a lot, is away for days or weeks sometimes and I know he doesn't end up lonely in his hotel room every night. But we have kind of a don't-ask-don't-tell-policy and I'm fine with it.

The first time we fucked was a good year ago and 9 months after I came to London to work for Walker & Brooks SecTec. I wore one of my summer dresses, dark blue with white dots, plain but cute, and August complimented me on my outfit several times that day. He had never done this before. When I was just about to leave he suddenly stood in the doorway of my office and looked at me with a feral grin that gave me goosebumps. "What?" I asked him with a frown. 

"Nothing. It's just...you better not wear that dress again at work." His grin turned into a smirk. 

"Why? You said you like it." I looked down at my body, feeling self-conscious all of the sudden. 

"Right. I like it a little too much, Fern." 

I gave him a sheepish smile. "What's that supposed to mean?" He came closer, standing right in front of me now. 

"It means you look so delicious in that dress, you're giving me a hard time trying to control myself around you." 

I was speechless in that moment and pretty sure that he was making fun of me. In my whole life there hadn't been a single man that had problems with his self control around me. I'm just not the kind of woman that drives a guy out of his mind.

"That's not funny."

"It's not supposed to be funny. I'm serious."

He looked me deep in the eyes, his face was just inches away from mine. Suddenly he grabbed me by my waist and spinned me around, pulling me close to him. "Your ass is so juicy in that dress, your waist so small, your breasts so beautiful, I just can't stop thinking about touching you." He whispered all this into my ear and then I felt his lips on my neck. They brushed the sensitive flesh just lightly. He did nothing more for a moment, and I knew he hesitated to give me a chance to turn him down, to say no to him. I didn't. I said yes that day. I let him kiss my neck. I let him squeeze my ass. I let him caress my tits. I turned around and kissed him and I moaned into his mouth under his touch. I felt how hard he was, how much he wanted me and it was the greatest turn-on. All the dirty things he told me, the magic his skilled hands worked on my body, the sexual energy and the dominance he was radiating from every pore - I was putty in his hands, willing to give him everything...everything I had craved since I'd moved here. I was touch starved, there hadn't been a single date or something because my whole life was like eat-work-sleep-repeat. He fucked me on my desk that day. Standing between my legs -my dress hitched up, my panties lying in the corner of the room- he thrust his big dick into my needy pussy with force and without mercy, giving me one of the most intense orgasms of my life.

***

August

Fern. I know she hates her name, but if you ask me, it's beautiful. Old fashioned in a good way, special, innocent and very pretty. Just like the woman who bears it. You wonder if that's the reason why I asked her to work for me? Because she's so pretty with her long honeyblond hair and the big brown eyes? You think I hired her because I wanted to fuck her right from the start? I'm sorry to disappoint you but you're wrong. I didn't see her that way in the beginning. 

When we worked together for the CIA she was in a relationship anyway. We never talked about it, it was all strictly professional back then, but she had this picture of a guy on her desk, a good looking man with a boyish smile and the aura of an intellectual snob. Eventually the picture vanished and wasn't replaced by a new one so I assumed she was unattached, which was one reason I considered her to be suitable. But the main reason was that she is simply very good at her job. Of all the assistants we had she was the best organized and structured one, she is smart and her quickness is extraordinary. She's friendly and sociable but most of all she is loyal and has integrity. In the old days you'd called her virtuous and that was exactly what I was looking for.

I knew to start a new life, a life as an upright citizen, I'd need help. Help from someone like her, not from someone like my partner Peter who struggles with keeping things legal too. To put it in a nutshell, I needed a moral compass and she was the right woman for the job and she still is. Keeping us on track, guiding us without even knowing it just by her natural sense of justice. Of course it was hard to convince her to trust me and to make her give up her life in the states and to begin anew in London and when she finally agreed it was a big relief.

Yeah, yeah, yackety-yack, you say? But why did you start to fuck her? 

Well, the not so flattering answer is, I did it because I wanted to know if I could. Peter said no. Never ever would a smart woman like Fern fuck her boss, he said when we talked about it one boozy evening. The two of us were celebrating a huge deal and I said something like I'd love to give Fern a special reward for her good work and he laughed out loud when he realized what I meant.

Well, I love a good challenge and there was something in her eyes, a gleam, a spark, that told me she was looking for an adventure, for anything to make her life a little more exciting and I was willing to give her what she was craving. And so it began.

It was supposed to be a one-off, just to prove to myself that I was able to seduce her but after the first time I wanted more. The way she let me fuck her and the way her body responded to mine was just too good to not do it again. She knows it's just sex, I didn't even have to explain it to her, it is obvious. As I said she's a quick thinker and she knows what it means that I don't even strip off my pants, that I just get out my dick to rail her.

Sometimes I eat her pussy before I fuck her, sometimes I make her ride my fingers, but I never undress myself or her. And she doesn't seem to care, she likes it and she never asks for more. She just wants a good orgasm and that's what she gets. She cums easily, she's clearly not one of the women who need a lot of time to have an orgasm, who need a long foreplay and cuddles afterwards and that's great because I'm not the right man for this kind of intimacy. I'm just a man who wants a good, satisfying fuck. I don't need love, I just need sex.

And today she's just given me that. After making her come with my mouth I fucked her hard on her desk and it was great. But now it's back to business, we have a job to do and Peter will be back from his lunch break in a few minutes. Of course he knows what's going on but we never fuck when he's around. I would because it's none of his business what happens behind closed doors but Fern is scared that he could walk in on us. "I could never look him in the eyes again, August. I swear I'd die from embarrassment." That's what she said when I wanted to have my ways with her in my office with Peter working next door one day. Virtuous, as I said. Luckily she's not such a prude when we're alone.

"Here's the Henderson file, I signed the contract. Send it back to them please." She nods and takes the papers from my hand. She's sitting behind her desk, the one I just fucked her on, and I love the thought that my cum is dripping into her panties right now. She never reeks of sex though, I guess she always has fresh panties in her handbag and she washes her pussy in the bathroom when we're done. Well organized and always prepared, that's Fern.

"I need to leave a little earlier today if that's okay. I have an appointment." She looks at me with a smile that I don't return. I hardly ever smile and she knows it. She doesn't take offence and keeps on giving me her sweet smiles that often brighten up my busy days and I appreciate it.

"Sure. What kind of appointment?"

She raises an eyebrow. "Curious much, huh?"

"It's job related...ex agent...you know how it is." I grin and turn to leave because I don't expect an answer.

"Piano lessons." Her voice makes me stop and turn around.

"So you finally decided to do it."

"Yeah. I thought a lot about what you told me. That you're never too old to learn stuff and to start with something new. So I decided to give it a try."

"That's good, Fern. I'm sure you're gonna nail it."

"Thanks, August. To be honest I'm pretty nervous. I still think I might be too old to learn it properly."

"You're only 32 and you don't have to become the next Rachmaninoff."

She laughs and it sounds as clear as a bell. "I'll keep that in mind." "Good girl." 

~~~~~~

#august walker #august walker smut #august walker x ofc #august walker fanfiction #henry cavill #henry cavill smut #henry cavill fanfiction #mission impossible fallout #august walker au #august walker fic

[innuendostudios]

Thoughts on: Criterion's Neo-Noir Collection

I have written up all 26 films* in the Criterion Channel's Neo-Noir Collection.

Legend: rw - rewatch; a movie I had seen before going through the collection dnrw - did not rewatch; if a movie met two criteria (a. I had seen it within the last 18 months, b. I actively dislike it) I wrote it up from memory.

* in September, Brick leaves the Criterion Channel and is replaced in the collection with Michael Mann's Thief. May add it to the list when that happens.

Note: These are very "what was on my mind after watching." No effort has been made to avoid spoilers, nor to make the plot clear for anyone who hasn't seen the movies in question. Decide for yourself if that's interesting to you.

Cotton Comes to Harlem I feel utterly unequipped to asses this movie. This and Sweet Sweetback's Baadasssss Song the following year are regularly cited as the progenitors of the blaxploitation genre. (This is arguably unfair, since both were made by Black men and dealt much more substantively with race than the white-directed films that followed them.) Its heroes are a couple of Black cops who are treated with suspicion both by their white colleagues and by the Black community they're meant to police. I'm not 100% clear on whether they're the good guys? I mean, I think they are. But the community's suspicion of them seems, I dunno... well-founded? They are working for The Man. And there's interesting discussion to the had there - is the the problem that the law is carried out by racists, or is the law itself racist? Can Black cops make anything better? But it feels like the film stacks the deck in Gravedigger and Coffin Ed's favor; the local Black church is run by a conman, the Back-to-Africa movement is, itself, a con, and the local Black Power movement is treated as an obstacle. Black cops really are the only force for justice here. Movie portrays Harlem itself as a warm, thriving, cultured community, but the people that make up that community are disloyal and easily fooled. Felt, to me, like the message was "just because they're cops doesn't mean they don't have Black soul," which, nowadays, we would call copaganda. But, then, do I know what I'm talking about? Do I know how much this played into or off of or against stereotypes from 1970? Was this a radical departure I don't have the context to appreciate? Is there substance I'm too white and too many decades removed to pick up on? Am I wildly overthinking this? I dunno. Seems like everyone involved was having a lot of fun, at least. That bit is contagious.

Across 110th Street And here's the other side of the "race film" equation. Another movie set in Harlem with a Black cop pulled between the police, the criminals, and the public, but this time the film is made by white people. I like it both more and less. Pro: this time the difficult position of Black cop who's treated with suspicion by both white cops and Black Harlemites is interrogated. Con: the Black cop has basically no personality other than "honest cop." Pro: the racism of the police force is explicit and systemic, as opposed to comically ineffectual. Con: the movie is shaped around a racist white cop who beats the shit out of Black people but slowly forms a bond with his Black partner. Pro: the Black criminal at the heart of the movie talks openly about how the white world has stacked the deck against him, and he's soulful and relateable. Con: so of course he dies in the end, because the only way privileged people know to sympathetize with minorities is to make them tragic (see also: The Boys in the Band, Philadelphia, and Brokeback Mountain for gay men). Additional con: this time Harlem is portrayed as a hellhole. Barely any of the community is even seen. At least the shot at the end, where the criminal realizes he's going to die and throws the bag of money off a roof and into a playground so the Black kids can pick it up before the cops reclaim it was powerful. But overall... yech. Cotton Comes to Harlem felt like it wasn't for me; this feels like it was 100% for me and I respect it less for that.

The Long Goodbye (rw) The shaggiest dog. Like much Altman, more compelling than good, but very compelling. Raymond Chandler's story is now set in the 1970's, but Philip Marlowe is the same Philip Marlowe of the 1930's. I get the sense there was always something inherently sad about Marlowe. Classic noir always portrayed its detectives as strong-willed men living on the border between the straightlaced world and its seedy underbelly, crossing back and forth freely but belonging to neither. But Chandler stresses the loneliness of it - or, at least, the people who've adapted Chandler do. Marlowe is a decent man in an indecent world, sorting things out, refusing to profit from misery, but unable to set anything truly right. Being a man out of step is here literalized by putting him forty years from the era where he belongs. His hardboiled internal monologue is now the incessant mutterings of the weird guy across the street who never stops smoking. Like I said: compelling! Kael's observation was spot on: everyone in the movie knows more about the mystery than he does, but he's the only one who cares. The mystery is pretty threadbare - Marlowe doesn't detect so much as end up in places and have people explain things to him. But I've seen it two or three times now, and it does linger.

Chinatown (rw) I confess I've always been impressed by Chinatown more than I've liked it. Its story structure is impeccable, its atmosphere is gorgeous, its noirish fatalism is raw and real, its deconstruction of the noir hero is well-observed, and it's full of clever detective tricks (the pocket watches, the tail light, the ruler). I've just never connected with it. Maybe it's a little too perfectly crafted. (I feel similar about Miller's Crossing.) And I've always been ambivalent about the ending. In Towne's original ending, Evelyn shoots Noah Cross dead and get arrested, and neither she nor Jake can tell the truth of why she did it, so she goes to jail for murder and her daughter is in the wind. Polansky proposed the ending that exists now, where Evelyn just dies, Cross wins, and Jake walks away devastated. It communicates the same thing: Jake's attempt to get smart and play all the sides off each other instead of just helping Evelyn escape blows up in his face at the expense of the woman he cares about and any sense of real justice. And it does this more dramatically and efficiently than Towne's original ending. But it also treats Evelyn as narratively disposable, and hands the daughter over to the man who raped Evelyn and murdered her husband. It makes the women suffer more to punch up the ending. But can I honestly say that Towne's ending is the better one? It is thematically equal, dramatically inferior, but would distract me less. Not sure what the calculus comes out to there. Maybe there should be a third option. Anyway! A perfect little contraption. Belongs under a glass dome.

Night Moves (rw) Ah yeah, the good shit. This is my quintessential 70's noir. This is three movies in a row about detectives. Thing is, the classic era wasn't as chockablock with hardboiled detectives as we think; most of those movies starred criminals, cops, and boring dudes seduced to the darkness by a pair of legs. Gumshoes just left the strongest impressions. (The genre is said to begin with Maltese Falcon and end with Touch of Evil, after all.) So when the post-Code 70's decided to pick the genre back up while picking it apart, it makes sense that they went for the 'tecs first. The Long Goodbye dragged the 30's detective into the 70's, and Chinatown went back to the 30's with a 70's sensibility. But Night Moves was about detecting in the Watergate era, and how that changed the archetype. Harry Moseby is the detective so obsessed with finding the truth that he might just ruin his life looking for it, like the straight story will somehow fix everything that's broken, like it'll bring back a murdered teenager and repair his marriage and give him a reason to forgive the woman who fucked him just to distract him from some smuggling. When he's got time to kill, he takes out a little, magnetic chess set and recreates a famous old game, where three knight moves (get it?) would have led to a beautiful checkmate had the player just seen it. He keeps going, self-destructing, because he can't stand the idea that the perfect move is there if he can just find it. And, no matter how much we see it destroy him, we, the audience, want him to keep going; we expect a satisfying resolution to the mystery. That's what we need from a detective picture; one character flat-out compares Harry to Sam Spade. But what if the truth is just... Watergate? Just some prick ruining things for selfish reasons? Nothing grand, nothing satisfying. Nothing could be more noir, or more neo-, than that.

Farewell, My Lovely Sometimes the only thing that makes a noir neo- is that it's in color and all the blood, tits, and racism from the books they're based on get put back in. This second stab at Chandler is competant but not much more than that. Mitchum works as Philip Marlowe, but Chandler's dialogue feels off here, like lines that worked on the page don't work aloud, even though they did when Bogie said them. I'll chalk it up to workmanlike but uninspired direction. (Dang this looks bland so soon after Chinatown.) Moose Malloy is a great character, and perfectly cast. (Wasn't sure at first, but it's true.) Some other interesting cats show up and vanish - the tough brothel madam based on Brenda Allen comes to mind, though she's treated with oddly more disdain than most of the other hoods and is dispatched quicker. In general, the more overt racism and misogyny doesn't seem to do anything except make the movie "edgier" than earlier attempts at the same material, and it reads kinda try-hard. But it mostly holds together. *shrug*

The Killing of a Chinese Bookie (dnrw) Didn't care for this at all. Can't tell if the script was treated as a jumping-off point or if the dialogue is 100% improvised, but it just drags on forever and is never that interesting. Keeps treating us to scenes from the strip club like they're the opera scenes in Amadeus, and, whatever, I don't expect burlesque to be Mozart, but Cosmo keeps saying they're an artful, classy joint, and I keep waiting for the show to be more than cheap, lazy camp. How do you make gratuitious nudity boring? Mind you, none of this is bad as a rule - I love digressions and can enjoy good sleaze, and it's clear the filmmakers care about what they're making. They just did not sell it in a way I wanted to buy. Can't remember what edit I watched; I hope it was the 135 minute one, because I cannot imagine there being a longer edit out there.

The American Friend (dnrw) It's weird that this is Patricia Highsmith, right? That Dennis Hopper is playing Tom Ripley? In a cowboy hat? I gather that Minghella's version wasn't true to the source, but I do love that movie, and this is a long, long way from that. This Mr. Ripley isn't even particularly talented! Anyway, this has one really great sequence, where a regular guy has been coerced by crooks into murdering someone on a train platform, and, when the moment comes to shoot, he doesn't. And what follows is a prolonged sequence of an amateur trying to surreptitiously tail a guy across a train station and onto another train, and all the while you're not sure... is he going to do it? is he going to chicken out? is he going to do it so badly he gets caught? It's hard not to put yourself in the protagonist's shoes, wondering how you would handle the situation, whether you could do it, whether you could act on impulse before your conscience could catch up with you. It drags on a long while and this time it's a good thing. Didn't much like the rest of the movie, it's shapeless and often kind of corny, and the central plot hook is contrived. (It's also very weird that this is the only Wim Wenders I've seen.) But, hey, I got one excellent sequence, not gonna complain.

The Big Sleep Unlike the 1946 film, I can follow the plot of this Big Sleep. But, also unlike the 1946 version, this one isn't any damn fun. Mitchum is back as Marlowe (this is three Marlowes in five years, btw), and this time it's set in the 70's and in England, for some reason. I don't find this offensive, but neither do I see what it accomplishes? Most of the cast is still American. (Hi Jimmy!) Still holds together, but even less well than Farewell, My Lovely. But I do find it interesting that the neo-noir era keeps returning to Chandler while it's pretty much left Hammet behind (inasmuch as someone whose genes are spread wide through the whole genre can be left behind). Spade and the Continental Op, straightshooting tough guys who come out on top in the end, seem antiquated in the (post-)modern era. But Marlowe's goodness being out of sync with the world around him only seems more poignant the further you take him from his own time. Nowadays you can really only do Hammett as pastiche, but I sense that you could still play Chandler straight.

Eyes of Laura Mars The most De Palma movie I've seen not made by De Palma, complete with POV shots, paranormal hoodoo, and fixation with sex, death, and whether images of such are art or exploitation (or both). Laura Mars takes photographs of naked women in violent tableux, and has gotten quite famous doing so, but is it damaging to women? The movie has more than a superficial engagement with this topic, but only slightly more than superficial. Kept imagining a movie that is about 30% less serial killer story and 30% more art conversations. (But, then, I have an art degree and have never murdered anyone, so.) Like, museums are full of Biblical paintings full of nude women and slaughter, sometimes both at once, and they're called masterpieces. Most all of them were painted by men on commission from other men. Now Laura Mars makes similar images in modern trappings, and has models made of flesh and blood rather than paint, and it's scandalous? Why is it only controversial once women are getting paid for it? On the other hand, is this just the master's tools? Is she subverting or challenging the male gaze, or just profiting off of it? Or is a woman profiting off of it, itself, a subversion? Is it subversive enough to account for how it commodifies female bodies? These questions are pretty clearly relevant to the movie itself, and the movies in general, especially after the fall of the Hays Code when people were really unrestrained with the blood and boobies. And, heck, the lead is played by the star of Bonnie and Clyde! All this is to say: I wish the movie were as interested in these questions as I am. What's there is a mildly diverting B-picture. There's one great bit where Laura's seeing through the killer's eyes (that's the hook, she gets visions from the murderer's POV; no, this is never explained) and he's RIGHT BEHIND HER, so there's a chase where she charges across an empty room only able to see her own fleeing self from ten feet behind. That was pretty great! And her first kiss with the detective (because you could see a mile away that the detective and the woman he's supposed to protect are gonna fall in love) is immediately followed by the two freaking out about how nonsensical it is for them to fall in love with each other, because she's literally mourning multiple deaths and he's being wildly unprofessional, and then they go back to making out. That bit was great, too. The rest... enh.

The Onion Field What starts off as a seemingly not-that-noirish cops-vs-crooks procedural turns into an agonizingly protracted look at the legal system, with the ultimate argument that the very idea of the law ever resulting in justice is a lie. Hoo! I have to say, I'm impressed. There's a scene where a lawyer - whom I'm not sure is even named, he's like the seventh of thirteen we've met - literally quits the law over how long this court case about two guys shooting a cop has taken. He says the cop who was murdered has been forgotten, his partner has never gotten to move on because the case has lasted eight years, nothing has been accomplished, and they should let the two criminals walk and jail all the judges and lawyers instead. It's awesome! The script is loaded with digressions and unnecessary details, just the way I like it. Can't say I'm impressed with the execution. Nothing is wrong, exactly, but the performances all seem a tad melodramatic or a tad uninspired. Camerawork is, again, purely functional. It's no masterpiece. But that second half worked for me. (And it's Ted Danson's first movie! He did great.)

Body Heat (rw) Let's say up front that this is a handsomely-made movie. Probably the best looking thing on the list since Night Moves. Nothing I've seen better captures the swelter of an East Coast heatwave, or the lusty feeling of being too hot to bang and going at it regardless. Kathleen Turner sells the hell out of a femme fatale. There are a lot of good lines and good performances (Ted Danson is back and having the time of his life). I want to get all that out of the way, because this is a movie heavily modeled after Double Indemnity, and I wanted to discuss its merits before I get into why inviting that comparison doesn't help the movie out. In a lot of ways, it's the same rules as the Robert Mitchum Marlowe movies - do Double Indemnity but amp up the sex and violence. And, to a degree it works. (At least, the sex does, dunno that Double Indemnity was crying out for explosions.) But the plot is amped as well, and gets downright silly. Yeah, Mrs. Dietrichson seduces Walter Neff so he'll off her husband, but Neff clocks that pretty early and goes along with it anyway. Everything beyond that is two people keeping too big a secret and slowly turning on each other. But here? For the twists to work Matty has to be, from frame one, playing four-dimensional chess on the order of Senator Palpatine, and its about as plausible. (Exactly how did she know, after she rebuffed Ned, he would figure out her local bar and go looking for her at the exact hour she was there?) It's already kind of weird to be using the spider woman trope in 1981, but to make her MORE sexually conniving and mercenary than she was in the 40's is... not great. As lurid trash, it's pretty fun for a while, but some noir stuff can't just be updated, it needs to be subverted or it doesn't justify its existence.

Blow Out Brian De Palma has two categories of movie: he's got his mainstream, director-for-hire fare, where his voice is either reigned in or indulged in isolated sequences that don't always jive with the rest fo the film, and then there's his Brian De Palma movies. My mistake, it seems, is having seen several for-hires from throughout his career - The Untouchables (fine enough), Carlito's Way (ditto, but less), Mission: Impossible (enh) - but had only seen De Palma-ass movies from his late period (Femme Fatale and The Black Dahlia, both of which I think are garbage). All this to say: Blow Out was my first classic-era De Palma, and holy fucking shit dudes. This was (with caveats) my absolute and entire jam. I said I could enjoy good sleaze, and this is good friggin' sleaze. (Though far short of De Palma at his sleaziest, mercifully.) The splitscreens, the diopter shots, the canted angles, how does he make so many shlocky things work?! John Travolta's sound tech goes out to get fresh wind fx for the movie he's working on, and we get this wonderful sequence of visuals following sounds as he turns his attention and his microphone to various noises - a couple on a walk, a frog, an owl, a buzzing street lamp. Later, as he listens back to the footage, the same sequence plays again, but this time from his POV; we're seeing his memory as guided by the same sequence of sounds, now recreated with different shots, as he moves his pencil in the air mimicking the microphone. When he mixes and edits sounds, we hear the literal soundtrack of the movie we are watching get mixed and edited by the person on screen. And as he tries to unravel a murder mystery, he uses what's at hand: magnetic tape, flatbed editors, an animation camera to turn still photos from the crime scene into a film and sync it with the audio he recorded; it's forensics using only the tools of the editing room. As someone who's spent some time in college editing rooms, this is a hoot and a half. Loses a bit of steam as it goes on and the film nerd stuff gives way to a more traditional thriller, but rallies for a sound-tech-centered final setpiece, which steadily builds to such madcap heights you can feel the air thinning, before oddly cutting its own tension and then trying to build it back up again. It doesn't work as well the second time. But then, that shot right after the climax? Damn. Conflicted on how the movie treats the female lead. I get why feminist film theorists are so divided on De Palma. His stuff is full of things feminists (rightly) criticize, full of women getting naked when they're not getting stabbed, but he also clearly finds women fascinating and has them do empowered and unexpected things, and there are many feminist reads of his movies. Call it a mixed bag. But even when he's doing tropey shit, he explores the tropes in unexpected ways. Definitely the best movie so far that I hadn't already seen.

Cutter's Way (rw) Alex Cutter is pitched to us as an obnoxious-but-sympathetic son of a bitch, and, you know, two out of three ain't bad. Watched this during my 2020 neo-noir kick and considered skipping it this time because I really didn't enjoy it. Found it a little more compelling this go around, while being reminded of why my feelings were room temp before. Thematically, I'm onboard: it's about a guy, Cutter, getting it in his head that he's found a murderer and needs to bring him to justice, and his friend, Bone, who intermittently helps him because he feels bad that Cutter lost his arm, leg, and eye in Nam and he also feels guilty for being in love with Cutter's wife. The question of whether the guy they're trying to bring down actually did it is intentionally undefined, and arguably unimportant; they've got personal reasons to see this through. Postmodern and noirish, fixated with the inability to ever fully know the truth of anything, but starring people so broken by society that they're desperate for certainty. (Pretty obvious parallels to Vietnam.) Cutter's a drunk and kind of an asshole, but understandably so. Bone's shiftlessness is the other response to a lack of meaning in the world, to the point where making a decision, any decision, feels like character growth, even if it's maybe killing a guy whose guilt is entirely theoretical. So, yeah, I'm down with all of this! A- in outline form. It's just that Cutter is so uninterestingly unpleasant and no one else on screen is compelling enough to make up for it. His drunken windups are tedious and his sanctimonious speeches about what the war was like are, well, true and accurate but also obviously manipulative. It's two hours with two miserable people, and I think Cutter's constant chatter is supposed to be the comic relief but it's a little too accurate to drunken rambling, which isn't funny if you're not also drunk. He's just tedious, irritating, and periodically racist. Pass.

Blood Simple (rw) I'm pretty cool on the Coens - there are things I've liked, even loved, in every Coen film I've seen, but I always come away dissatisfied. For a while, I kept going to their movies because I was sure eventually I'd love one without qualification. No Country for Old Men came close, the first two acts being master classes in sustained tension. But then the third act is all about denying closure: the protagonist is murdered offscreen, the villain's motives are never explained, and it ends with an existentialist speech about the unfathomable cruelty of the world. And it just doesn't land for me. The archness of the Coen's dialogue, the fussiness of their set design, the kinda-intimate, kinda-awkward, kinda-funny closeness of the camera's singles, it cannot sell me on a devastating meditation about meaninglessness. It's only ever sold me on the Coens' own cleverness. And that archness, that distancing, has typified every one of their movies I've come close to loving. Which is a long-ass preamble to saying, holy heck, I was not prepared for their very first movie to be the one I'd been looking for! I watched it last year and it remains true on rewatch: Blood Simple works like gangbusters. It's kind of Double Indemnity (again) but played as a comedy of errors, minus the comedy: two people romantically involved feeling their trust unravel after a murder. And I think the first thing that works for me is that utter lack of comedy. It's loaded with the Coens' trademark ironies - mostly dramatic in this case - but it's all played straight. Unlike the usual lead/femme fatale relationship, where distrust brews as the movie goes on, the audience knows the two main characters can trust each other. There are no secret duplicitous motives waiting to be revealed. The audience also know why they don't trust each other. (And it's all communicated wordlessly, btw: a character enters a scene and we know, based on the information that character has, how it looks to them and what suspicions it would arouse, even as we know the truth of it). The second thing that works is, weirdly, that the characters aren't very interesting?! Ray and Abby have almost no characterization. Outside of a general likability, they are blank slates. This is a weakness in most films, but, given the agonizingly long, wordless sequences where they dispose of bodies or hide from gunfire, you're left thinking not "what will Ray/Abby do in this scenario," because Ray and Abby are relatively elemental and undefined, but "what would I do in this scenario?" Which creates an exquisite tension but also, weirdly, creates more empathy than I feel for the Coens' usual cast of personalities. It's supposed to work the other way around! Truly enjoyable throughout but absolutely wonderful in the suspenseful-as-hell climax. Good shit right here.

Body Double The thing about erotic thrillers is everything that matters is in the name. Is it thrilling? Is it erotic? Good; all else is secondary. De Palma set out to make the most lurid, voyeuristic, horny, violent, shocking, steamy movie he could come up with, and its success was not strictly dependent on the lead's acting ability or the verisimilitude of the plot. But what are we, the modern audience, to make of it once 37 years have passed and, by today's standards, the eroticism is quite tame and the twists are no longer shocking? Then we're left with a nonsensical riff on Vertigo, a specularization of women that is very hard to justify, and lead actor made of pulped wood. De Palma's obsessions don't cohere into anything more this time; the bits stolen from Hitchcock aren't repurposed to new ends, it really is just Hitch with more tits and less brains. (I mean, I still haven't seen Vertigo, but I feel 100% confident in that statement.) The diopter shots and rear-projections this time look cheap (literally so, apparently; this had 1/3 the budget of Blow Out). There are some mildly interesting setpieces, but nothing compared to Travolta's auditory reconstructions or car chase where he tries to tail a subway train from street level even if it means driving through a frickin parade like an inverted French Connection, goddamn Blow Out was a good movie! Anyway. Melanie Griffith seems to be having fun, at least. I guess I had a little as well, but it was, at best, diverting, and a real letdown.

The Hit Surprised by how much I enjoyed this one. Terrance Stamp flips on the mob and spends ten years living a life of ease in Spain, waiting for the day they find and kill him. Movie kicks off when they do find him, and what follows is a ramshackle road movie as John Hurt and a young Tim Roth attempt to drive him to Paris so they can shoot him in front of his old boss. Stamp is magnetic. He's spent a decade reading philosophy and seems utterly prepared for death, so he spends the trip humming, philosophizing, and being friendly with his captors when he's not winding them up. It remains unclear to the end whether the discord he sews between Roth and Hurt is part of some larger plan of escape or just for shits and giggles. There's also a decent amount of plot for a movie that's not terribly plot-driven - just about every part of the kidnapping has tiny hitches the kidnappers aren't prepared for, and each has film-long repercussions, drawing the cops closer and somehow sticking Laura del Sol in their backseat. The ongoing questions are when Stamp will die, whether del Sol will die, and whether Roth will be able to pull the trigger. In the end, it's actually a meditation on ethics and mortality, but in a quiet and often funny way. It's not going to go down as one of my new favs, but it was a nice way to spend a couple hours.

Trouble in Mind (dnrw) I fucking hated this movie. It's been many months since I watched it, do I remember what I hated most? Was it the bit where a couple of country bumpkins who've come to the city walk into a diner and Mr. Bumpkin clocks that the one Black guy in the back as obviously a criminal despite never having seen him before? Was it the part where Kris Kristofferson won't stop hounding Mrs. Bumpkin no matter how many times she demands to be left alone, and it's played as romantic because obviously he knows what she needs better than she does? Or is it the part where Mr. Bumpkin reluctantly takes a job from the Obvious Criminal (who is, in fact, a criminal, and the only named Black character in the movie if I remember correctly, draw your own conclusions) and, within a week, has become a full-blown hood, which is exemplified by a lot, like, a lot of queer-coding? The answer to all three questions is yes. It's also fucking boring. Even out-of-drag Divine's performance as the villain can't save it.

Manhunter 'sfine? I've still never seen Silence of the Lambs, nor any of the Hopkins Lecter movies, nor, indeed, any full episode of the show. So the unheimlich others get seeing Brian Cox play Hannibal didn't come into play. Cox does a good job with him, but he's barely there. Shame, cuz he's the most interesting part of the movie. Honestly, there's a lot of interesting stuff that's barely there. Will Graham being a guy who gets into the heads of serial killers is explored well enough, and Mann knows how to direct a police procedural such that it's both contemplative and propulsive. But all the other themes it points at? Will's fear that he understands murderers a little too well? Hannibal trying to nudge him towards becoming one? Whatever dance Hannibal and Tooth Fairy are doing? What Tooth Fairy's deal is, anyway? (Why does he wear fake teeth and bite things? Why is he fixated on the red dragon? Does the bit where he says "Francis is gone forever" mean he has DID?) None of it goes anywhere or amounts to anything. I mean, it's certainly more interesting with this stuff than without, but it has that feel of a book that's been pared of its interesting bits to fit the runtime (or, alternately, pulp that's been sloppily elevated). I still haven't made my mind up on Mann's cold, precise camera work, but at least it gives me something to look at. It's fine! This is fine.

Mona Lisa (rw) Gave this one another shot. Bob Hoskins is wonderful as a hood out of his depth in classy places, quick to anger but just as quick to let anger go (the opening sequence where he's screaming on his ex-wife's doorstep, hurling trash cans at her house, and one minute later thrilled to see his old car, is pretty nice). And Cathy Tyson's working girl is a subtler kind of fascinating, exuding a mixture of coldness and kindness. It's just... this is ultimately a story about how heartbreaking it is when the girl you like is gay, right? It's Weezer's Pink Triangle: The Movie. It's not homophobic, exactly - Simone isn't demonized for being a lesbian - but it's still, like, "man, this straight white guy's pain is so much more interesting than the Black queer sex worker's." And when he's yelling "you woulda done it!" at the end, I can't tell if we're supposed to agree with him. Seems pretty clear that she wouldn'ta done it, at least not without there being some reveal about her character that doesn't happen, but I don't think the ending works if we don't agree with him, so... I'm like 70% sure the movie does Simone dirty there. For the first half, their growing relationship feels genuine and natural, and, honestly, the story being about a real bond that unfortunately means different things to each party could work if it didn't end with a gun and a sock in the jaw. Shape feels jagged as well; what feels like the end of the second act or so turns out to be the climax. And some of the symbolism is... well, ok, Simone gives George money to buy more appropriate clothes for hanging out in high end hotels, and he gets a tan leather jacket and a Hawaiian shirt, and their first proper bonding moment is when she takes him out for actual clothes. For the rest of the movie he is rocking double-breasted suits (not sure I agree with the striped tie, but it was the eighties, whaddya gonna do?). Then, in the second half, she sends him off looking for her old streetwalker friend, and now he looks completely out of place in the strip clubs and bordellos. So far so good. But then they have this run-in where her old pimp pulls a knife and cuts George's arm, so, with his nice shirt torn and it not safe going home (I guess?) he starts wearing the Hawaiian shirt again. So around the time he's starting to realize he doesn't really belong in Simone's world or the lowlife world he came from anymore, he's running around with the classy double-breasted suit jacket over the garish Hawaiian shirt, and, yeah, bit on the nose guys. Anyway, it has good bits, I just feel like a movie that asks me to feel for the guy punching a gay, Black woman in the face needs to work harder to earn it. Bit of wasted talent.

The Bedroom Window Starts well. Man starts an affair with his boss' wife, their first night together she witnesses an attempted murder from his window, she worries going to the police will reveal the affair to her husband, so the man reports her testimony to the cops claiming he's the one who saw it. Young Isabelle Huppert is the perfect woman for a guy to risk his career on a crush over, and Young Steve Guttenberg is the perfect balance of affability and amorality. And it flows great - picks just the right media to res. So then he's talking to the cops, telling them what she told him, and they ask questions he forgot to ask her - was the perp's jacket a blazer or a windbreaker? - and he has to guess. Then he gets called into the police lineup, and one guy matches her description really well, but is it just because he's wearing his red hair the way she described it? He can't be sure, doesn't finger any of them. He finds out the cops were pretty certain about one of the guys, so he follows the one he thinks it was around, looking for more evidence, and another girl is attacked right outside a bar he knows the redhead was at. Now he's certain! But he shows the boss' wife the guy and she's not certain, and she reminds him they don't even know if the guy he followed is the same guy the police suspected! And as he feeds more evidence to the cops, he has to lie more, because he can't exactly say he was tailing the guy around the city. So, I'm all in now. Maybe it's because I'd so recently rewatched Night Moves and Cutter's Way, but this seems like another story about uncertainty. He's really certain about the guy because it fits narratively, and we, the audience, feel the same. But he's not actually a witness, he doesn't have actual evidence, he's fitting bits and pieces together like a conspiracy theorist. He's fixating on what he wants to be true. Sign me up! But then it turns out he's 100% correct about who the killer is but his lies are found out and now the cops think he's the killer and I realize, oh, no, this movie isn't nearly as smart as I thought it was. Egg on my face! What transpires for the remaining half of the runtime is goofy as hell, and someone with shlockier sensibilities could have made a meal of it, but Hanson, despite being a Corman protege, takes this silliness seriously in the all wrong ways. Next!

Homicide (rw? I think I saw most of this on TV one time) Homicide centers around the conflicted loyalties of a Jewish cop. It opens with the Jewish cop and his white gentile partner taking over a case with a Black perp from some Black FBI agents. The media is making a big thing about the racial implications of the mostly white cops chasing down a Black man in a Black neighborhood. And inside of 15 minutes the FBI agent is calling the lead a k*ke and the gentile cop is calling the FBI agent a f****t and there's all kinds of invective for Black people. The film is announcing its intentions out the gate: this movie is about race. But the issue here is David Mamet doesn't care about race as anything other than a dramatic device. He's the Ubisoft of filmmakers, having no coherent perspective on social issues but expecting accolades for even bringing them up. Mamet is Jewish (though lead actor Joe Mantegna definitely is not) but what is his position on the Jewish diaspora? The whole deal is Mantegna gets stuck with a petty homicide case instead of the big one they just pinched from the Feds, where a Jewish candy shop owner gets shot in what looks like a stickup. Her family tries to appeal to his Jewishness to get him to take the case seriously, and, after giving them the brush-off for a long time, finally starts following through out of guilt, finding bits and pieces of what may or may not be a conspiracy, with Zionist gun runners and underground neo-Nazis. But, again: all of these are just dramatic devices. Mantegna's Jewishness (those words will never not sound ridiculous together) has always been a liability for him as a cop (we are told, not shown), and taking the case seriously is a reclamation of identity. The Jews he finds community with sold tommyguns to revolutionaries during the founding of Israel. These Jews end up blackmailing him to get a document from the evidence room. So: what is the film's position on placing stock in one's Jewish identity? What is its position on Israel? What is its opinion on Palestine? Because all three come up! And the answer is: Mamet doesn't care. You can read it a lot of different ways. Someone with more context and more patience than me could probably deduce what the de facto message is, the way Chris Franklin deduced the de facto message of Far Cry V despite the game's efforts not to have one, but I'm not going to. Mantegna's attempt to reconnect with his Jewishness gets his partner killed, gets the guy he was supposed to bring in alive shot dead, gets him possibly permanent injuries, gets him on camera blowing up a store that's a front for white nationalists, and all for nothing because the "clues" he found (pretty much exclusively by coincidence) were unconnected nothings. The problem is either his Jewishness, or his lifelong failure to connect with his Jewishness until late in life. Mamet doesn't give a shit. (Like, Mamet canonically doesn't give a shit: he is on record saying social context is meaningless, characters only exist to serve the plot, and there are no deeper meanings in fiction.) Mamet's ping-pong dialogue is fun, as always, and there are some neat ideas and characters, but it's all in service of a big nothing that needed to be a something to work.

Swoon So much I could talk about, let's keep it to the most interesting bits. Hommes Fatales: a thing about classic noir that it was fascinated by the marginal but had to keep it in the margins. Liberated women, queer-coded killers, Black jazz players, broke thieves; they were the main event, they were what audiences wanted to see, they were what made the movies fun. But the ending always had to reassert straightlaced straight, white, middle-class male society as unshakeable. White supremacist capitalist patriarchy demanded, both ideologically and via the Hays Code, that anyone outside these norms be punished, reformed, or dead by the movie's end. The only way to make them the heroes was to play their deaths for tragedy. It is unsurprising that neo-noir would take the queer-coded villains and make them the protagonists. Implicature: This is the story of Leopold and Loeb, murderers famous for being queer, and what's interesting is how the queerness in the first half exists entirely outside of language. Like, it's kind of amazing for a movie from 1992 to be this gay - we watch Nathan and Dickie kiss, undress, masturbate, fuck; hell, they wear wedding rings when they're alone together. But it's never verbalized. Sex is referred to as "your reward" or "what you wanted" or "best time." Dickie says he's going to have "the girls over," and it turns out "the girls" are a bunch of drag queens, but this is never acknowledged. Nathan at one point lists off a bunch of famous men - Oscar Wild, E.M. Forster, Frederick the Great - but, though the commonality between them is obvious (they were all gay), it's left the the audience to recognize it. When their queerness is finally verbalized in the second half, it's first in the language of pathology - a psychiatrist describing their "perversions" and "misuse" of their "organs" before the court, which has to be cleared of women because it's so inappropriate - and then with slurs from the man who murders Dickie in jail (a murder which is written off with no investigation because the victim is a gay prisoner instead of a L&L's victim, a child of a wealthy family). I don't know if I'd have noticed this if I hadn't read Chip Delany describing his experience as a gay man in the 50's existing almost entirely outside of language, the only language at the time being that of heteronormativity. Murder as Love Story: L&L exchange sex as payment for the other commiting crimes; it's foreplay. Their statements to the police where they disagree over who's to blame is a lover's quarrel. Their sentencing is a marriage. Nathan performs his own funeral rites over Dickie's body after he dies on the operating table. They are, in their way, together til death did they part. This is the relationship they can have. That it does all this without romanticizing the murder itself or valorizing L&L as humans is frankly incredible.

Suture (rw) The pitch: at the funeral for his father, wealthy Vincent Towers meets his long lost half brother Clay Arlington. It is implied Clay is a child from out of wedlock, possibly an affair; no one knows Vincent has a half-brother but him and Clay. Vincent invites Clay out to his fancy-ass home in Arizona. Thing is, Vincent is suspected (correctly) by the police of having murdered his father, and, due to a striking family resemblence, he's brought Clay to his home to fake his own death. He finagles Clay into wearing his clothes and driving his car, and then blows the car up and flees the state, leaving the cops to think him dead. Thing is, Clay survives, but with amnesia. The doctors tell him he's Vincent, and he has no reason to disagree. Any discrepancy in the way he looks is dismissed as the result of reconstructive surgery after the explosion. So Clay Arlington resumes Vincent Towers' life, without knowing Clay Arlington even exists. The twist: Clay and Vincent are both white, but Vincent is played by Michael Harris, a white actor, and Clay is played by Dennis Haysbert, a Black actor. "Ian, if there's just the two of them, how do you know it's not Harris playing a Black character?" Glad you asked! It is most explicitly obvious during a scene where Vincent/Clay's surgeon-cum-girlfriend essentially bringing up phrenology to explain how Vincent/Clay couldn't possibly have murdered his father, describing straight hair, thin lips, and a Greco-Roman nose Haysbert very clearly doesn't have. But, let's be honest: we knew well beforehand that the rich-as-fuck asshole living in a huge, modern house and living it up in Arizona high society was white. Though Clay is, canonically, white, he lives an poor and underprivileged life common to Black men in America. Though the film's title officially refers to the many stitches holding Vincent/Clay's face together after the accident, "suture" is a film theory term, referring to the way a film audience gets wrapped up - sutured - in the world of the movie, choosing to forget the outside world and pretend the story is real. The usage is ironic, because the audience cannot be sutured in; we cannot, and are not expected to, suspend our disbelief that Clay is white. We are deliberately distanced. Consequently this is a movie to be thought about, not to to be felt. It has the shape of a Hitchcockian thriller but it can't evoke the emotions of one. You can see the scaffolding - "ah, yes, this is the part of a thriller where one man hides while another stalks him with a gun, clever." I feel ill-suited to comment on what the filmmakers are saying about race. I could venture a guess about the ending, where the psychiatrist, the only one who knows the truth about Clay, says he can never truly be happy living the lie of being Vincent Towers, while we see photographs of Clay/Vincent seemingly living an extremely happy life: society says white men simply belong at the top more than Black men do, but, if the roles could be reversed, the latter would slot in seamlessly. Maybe??? Of all the movies in this collection, this is the one I'd most want to read an essay on (followed by Swoon).

The Last Seduction (dnrw) No, no, no, I am not rewataching this piece of shit movie.

Brick (rw) Here's my weird contention: Brick is in color and in widescreen, but, besides that? There's nothing neo- about this noir. There's no swearing except "hell." (I always thought Tug said "goddamn" at one point but, no, he's calling The Pin "gothed-up.") There's a lot of discussion of sex, but always through implication, and the only deleted scene is the one that removed ambiguity about what Brendan and Laura get up to after kissing. There's nothing postmodern or subversive - yes, the hook is it's set in high school, but the big twist is that it takes this very seriously. It mines it for jokes, yes, but the drama is authentic. In fact, making the gumshoe a high school student, his jadedness an obvious front, still too young to be as hard as he tries to be, just makes the drama hit harder. Sam Spade if Sam Spade were allowed to cry. I've always found it an interesting counterpoint to The Good German, a movie that fastidiously mimics the aesthetics of classic noir - down to even using period-appropriate sound recording - but is wholly neo- in construction. Brick could get approved by the Hays Code. Its vibe, its plot about a detective playing a bunch of criminals against each other, even its slang ("bulls," "yegg," "flopped") are all taken directly from Hammett. It's not even stealing from noir, it's stealing from what noir stole from! It's a perfect curtain call for the collection: the final film is both the most contemporary and the most classic. It's also - but for the strong case you could make for Night Moves - the best movie on the list. It's even more appropriate for me, personally: this was where it all started for me and noir. I saw this in theaters when it came out and loved it. It was probably my favorite movie for some time. It gave me a taste for pulpy crime movies which I only, years later, realized were neo-noir. This is why I looked into Kiss Kiss, Bang Bang and In Bruges. I've seen it more times than any film on this list, by a factor of at least 3. It's why I will always adore Rian Johnson and Joseph Gordon-Levitt. It's the best-looking half-million-dollar movie I've ever seen. (Indie filmmakers, take fucking notes.) I even did a script analysis of this, and, yes, it follows the formula, but so tightly and with so much style. Did you notice that he says several of the sequence tensions out loud? ("I just want to find her." "Show of hands.") I notice new things each time I see it - this time it was how "brushing Brendan's hair out of his face" is Em's move, making him look more like he does in the flashback, and how Laura does the same to him as she's seducing him, in the moment when he misses Em the hardest. It isn't perfect. It's recreated noir so faithfully that the Innocent Girl dies, the Femme Fatale uses intimacy as a weapon, and none of the women ever appear in a scene together. 1940's gender politics maybe don't need to be revisited. They say be critical of the media you love, and it applies here most of all: it is a real criticism of something I love immensely.

#film noir #neo-noir #criterion channel

[lovelyshawnn]

Sick Little Games

George Weasley x Reader, Draco Malfoy x Reader

Y/N and Draco were known as the ultimate slytherin duo. When she catches him in the act of infidelity, she makes it a goal to hurt him back as much as he hurt her. What starts as nothing but a sick little game, turns into something more with another red headed boy.

“what would malfoy think if he knew i was fucking his girl right now?” george grunted in my ear, hips thrusting into mine while my back was pressed against the prefect bathroom’s cold stone wall. my legs were wrapped around his waist, sultry moans tumbling out of my mouth as he fucked me senseless. his words only intensified the pleasure as i gripped on to his biceps for support. he could feel my wet pussy clenching around his throbbing cock, signfying that i was close to coming.

“what would your little boyfriend think if he knew how well you take my cum?” i let out a whimper as his thick cock hit my gspot, making my vision go completely white. “fuck y/n,” he grunted as his pace quickened. i let out a string of curse words, toes curling in pleasure as he rubbed my clit with his long slender fingers as we reached our orgasms together.

his movements slowed and eventually halted, cock still balls deep in me as he placed loving kisses all over my face. he slowly released me from his hold, planting my feet back on the ground before completely removing himself from me. with our chests still heaving, we transitioned from standing by the bathroom’s windows, to the warm bubbly bath. this was common thing for us, so naturally we were able to establish a routine. sneaking out of the dorms late at night to see each other, satisfying our thirsts for each other before taking a dip in the bath to relax and cleanse ourselves of our sins.

george’s hands worked its way down my neck and shoulders, rubbing out any knots while he gave me little pecks on my forehead. i smiled my first genuine smile of the day. i was constantly dragging myself throughout the day, in and out of my classes, plastering a fake smile until the clock struck a certain time at night where i would meet up with george. “so why are you still with that git anyways?”

i rolled my eyes at his choice of words. i considered not even replying at all, but one glance at his concentrated face with that accusational eyebrow raise, and i knew this was something he wasnt going to drop again.

“he loves me,” i sighed, shrugging my shoulders.

“he loves you? is that why you caught him fucking pansy parkinson in the forbidden section of the library?” georges hostile tone rang in my ears.

it was supposed to be our date night. draco knew how stressed i had been with all our recent exams, and how much i needed a break. my sweet, loving boyfriend of almost 2 years proposed we have a date night full of snuggles and snacks to relieve my stress. after getting dolled up and waiting in our slytherin common room for over an hour, i came to terms with the fact that he wasn’t going to show up.

the silly thing was, i really tried to make excuses for him. blaise had strolled past on his way up to his dorm and asked why i was sitting there all alone. “just waiting on draco,” id say passively, in which he’d give me a pitiful smile before heading up. i thought, maybe he just got caught up on some of his prefect duties. or maybe he took a nap and overslept. or maybe he even got detention for the day, but he would never forget about me, right? surely he couldn’t forget about his own plans that he made.

i’d grown tired of sitting there all alone, letting my thoughts eat me alive. so i grabbed my book bag and decided to head to the library to get a head start on some homework. walking deeper and deeper into the dark library, thats when i heard it. the faint gasps and moans coming from a high pitched female voice. “ugh,” i thought, “who wouldn’t even have the decency to go to a private spot?”

i rounded the corner, my eyes almost bulging out of my skull as i took in the sight in front of me. a bright platinum head of hair stuffed into the crook of pansy parkinsons neck, as he fucked her on one of the library desks with her skirt hitched all the way up. they had been so into it that they didnt even see me. what gave it away was some stupid lamp falling over as i rushed out of the library, tears in my eyes. athough they stopped at the sound indicating someone was there, they never knew it was me.

my vision was blurry, tears streaming faster down my cheeks as i ran away. i wasnt sure where i was going, but i knew i had to be as far away as possible from that complete and utter asshole. from the second i saw him til now, a million feelings coursed through my body. i was devastated, devastated that the man i loved for 2 whole years had been lying to my face. how long was he unloyal for? was this the first time? these unanswered questions made me transition from grief to rage. i was infuriated that he took me as some kind of fool who would never find out about his cheating ways. i had been so caught up in my emotions that i didnt notice where i was going, smacking face first into a very toned chest.

“Woah! Y/N? You alright there, love?” George’s voice was impossible not to recognize. “Oh, I-I’m sorry,” I gasped before turning around to leave. His warm hand clasped around my wrist softly, tugging me back as one of his hands lifted my chin up so that he could inspect my face, and most importantly my blood shot eyes.

“You’re crying,” his voice was a lot softer than i’ve ever heard it before. with him being a gryffindor and me being a slytherin, i was used to the rude remarks he’d yell at us in the hallways. him and his lovely twin have always made my life here at hogwarts a living hell. as of recently, he went from constant bullying to the exact opposite. he was always throwing complements my way as loud and obnoxious as possible. and i knew he did it just to get a rise out of his most hated slytherin of all, draco. draco was always a possesive boyfriend, not wanting any guys to look at me. but having a weasley complement me out of everyone else would’ve drove him absolutely mad.

however, what started out as an excuse to piss off draco, had turned into something else. george couldn’t help but notice how my eyes were a lot browner than he remembered, a certain twinkle in them whenever i got excited talking to my housemates about something. he quickly found himself feeling jealous as malfoy walked through the halls with his arm around my shoulder.

of course, i was oblivious to all of this, which would’ve explained his soft tone. “I’m fine,” I sniffled, wiping my tears off with the sleeve of my sweater and avoiding direct eye contact. “Come with me,” he wasted no time, dragging me down the corridor before i could mutter a response. he led me to the prefect bathroom, opening the doors for me as i took in the beautiful mosaics.

“how did you even get the password?” i asked suspiciously to the troublesome boy.

he shrugged, “turned percy’s hair blue and wouldnt change it back until he’d tell me,”

i let out a snort, which i was quick to cover with a cough. only he could make me genuinely laugh after figuring out the man i had loved so deeply, didnt love me back enough to keep his dick in his pants. i turned away from his gaze, but he saw it. he took pride in being able to cause that gorgeous smile, but he was nice enough to not tease me about it tonight. he’d definitely bring it up another day, though.

“so, whats wrong?” he asked, arms crossed as he leaned against one of the porcelain sinks. i let out a sigh, debating on whether i should tell him at all. he was supposed to be our rival, afterall.

“draco cheated,” i stated. georges face softened, all traces of humor dissipating into thin air. “i’m sorry y/n,” he started, “that bloke doesn’t know what he’s got.”

for the first time that night, i looked up at him and saw the look he had in his eyes. the lingering gaze around my figure, the softness in his facial features, the way his eyes bored into mine with a sense of longing.

that was when a lightbulb when off in my head. ill admit that im not proud of what my next thought was, and it was definitely one of the most slytherin things i have ever done, but it was worth it. i wanted to hurt draco. i wanted him to feel as bad as i did, and i wanted revenge.

i strode over to his leaning frame, making it a point to swing my hips in the process. my lips formed a pout as i spoke to him in a low voice. “if he doesn’t know what hes got,” i trailed my fingers from his shoulders down to his chest, “who will?”

my lips got incredibly closer to the shell of his ear. “you?” i asked, cupping his buldge with my hand. he let out a barely audible whimper, eyes staring back at me like a deer in headlights.

i left a gentle kiss on his neck, “tell me if you want me to stop.” george shut his eyes for a split second, contemplating his morals. he weighed his options and outcomes. on one hand, he’d be able to piss off that spoiled brat malfoy, which would give him enough satisfaction to last him the rest of his life. on the other hand, he’d finally get to know what the taste of his crush’s lips were like. it was a win win situation. fuck it, he thought before closing the gap between us, lips moving in sync as the kiss became increasingly passionate. his hands roamed all over my body as i ran my fingers through his hair.

it was an amazing night, full of multiple orgasms that left me struggling to walk properly. george was certainly thicker than malfoy. the day after was when the feelings of sadness, regret, and confusion came sinking in. as soon as i woke up and left my dorm, there he was. in his perfect green uniform that perfectly matched his perfect porcelain skin. dracos head was held high, not a care in the world as it was obvious he completely forgot about our date night and had no idea i caught him and pansy red handed.

i walked past him, not even batting an eye in his direction as i made my way to the great hall. “y/n!” he called out, quickly catching up to me, “whats wrong?”

i rolled my eyes, “you forgot our date.” his eyes immediately widened as he realized his mistake, cheeks blushing like a tomato as he recalled where he was instead of the date. “darling, please forgive me. i’m so sorry, i just got caught up in my studi-“

i halted my steps, not wanting to listen to his bullshit excuse, “i forgive you.” he looked at me with bewilderment, “y-you forgive me?”

“of course,” i gave him the most convincingly sweet smile, “its not a big deal at all!”

his shoulders relaxed in relief at my words. oh, what a stupid boy. what a stupid, stupid boy. the only reason i was “forgiving him” was because i was going to hurt him back, a lot worse. he held my hand in his as we continued our stroll to the great hall, him lifting my hand up to plant a kiss on my knuckles.

right when he had done that, i locked eyes with a familiar red head from across the corridor. he smirked as he watched me, noticing the way my steps were slightly different than normal. it was the same shit eating smile he wore last night as he made me reach my 3rd orgasm, face buried between my legs and licking up my juices as if his life depended on it. i bit my lip as the flashback played in my head, instantly making me feel lightheaded again.

draco and i took our usual spots at the slytherin table, everything seemingly normal until the owls arrived. a letter had been dropped into my lap.

unravelling the parchment, there was a faint message scribbled across in black ink. “same time and place tonight?”

there was no name or any indication of identity, but i knew exactly who it was. luckily from where i was sitting at the table, i had a clear view of george. as i looked up from the letter, i instantly made eye contact with him, him giving me a sly wink before regurning to eat his mashed potatoes. he didnt need an answer, he knew id come back after the night we had togegher.

“whos that letter from?” a voice snapped me out of my haze. i jumped slightly before tucking the letter safely into my robe, “oh, it was just mum.”

“whatd she say?” draco questioned, slightly suspicious as he recognized me hiding the letter.

“she asked how you were, shes having dinner with your parents this weekend,” i said while gulping down my goblet of juice. draco seemed convinced at that answer, dropping his suspicions rather quickly, “oh thats right, mother was telling me about that.”

it was ironic, really. we were seen as the picture perfect duo. the slytherin prince with none other than his slytherin princess. we had the world in our hands, both coming from wealthy pureblood families. even our parents were over the moon at the news of our relationship blossoming, instantly talking about our plans for marriage in the future. but were we willing to throw that all away for these sick little games?

hi guys i know i usually write shawn fics but ive been into hp recently and wanted to give it a try! if u guys rlly like this one, id love to make a part 2 n finish the series (: pls lmk and give feedback! 🤍

#george weasley #george wealsey imagine #draco malfoy #draco malfoy imagine #george weasley x reader #draco malfoy x reader #harry potter imagine

[happyandticklish]

Behave

Notes: For the anon request. The request was slightly vague, so I tried to improvise a little. I hope you like the result! ^^

Summary: Shizuo has a habit of picking Izaya up whenever he tries to stir up trouble, to mischievous results. 

Causing general mayhem and disaster was one of Izaya’s favorite activities, and Ikebukuro was one of his favorite cities to do so in. The chance of bumping into some kind of natural disaster was almost inevitable, and on the rare occasion of peace among the streets, Izaya was always willing to stir something up himself. Sometimes this something could be the beginnings of a gang war. And sometimes it was merely messing with small children.

Life was full of surprises that way.

“And just what do we have here?” Izaya inquired, folding his hands in front of himself as he stopped before a group of children gathered on the park asphalt. There were three of them, a young girl with a box of chalk clutched protectively to her chest, and two boys, who had previously been drawing out an outline for hop-scotch, who both looked to be about a year or so older than her.

The first boy glanced up at his comment, shooting him a suspicious glance. “Playing a game,” he answered stiffly, clearly waiting for the man to say anything in the negative about it.

“So I can see,” Izaya agreed, surveying the scene before them. “Hop-scotch… I remember playing that game as a kid. How do the rules work again?”

“Well—” the girl started hesitantly, but before she could say anything more, Izaya had begun hopping from one foot to the next over the squares provided. He wobbled a bit as he went, all with an assured smile. For his finale, he jumped forward with both feet, landing on the discarded pieces of chalk and cracking two of them easily.

“Hey!” the girl cried, eyes widening. “I just got those!”

“Oh!” Izaya clucked his tongue, placing his hands on his hips as he surveyed his work. “Well that will never do. I guess we’ll just have to break the other ones to match. Would you terribly mind handing over that box?”

The girl hid the box quickly behind her back, which wasn’t the smartest of defensive moves but it was all she had. The second boy appeared to be taking in the scene cautiously, clearly not wanting to get himself involved. The first one however, took an angry step forward, glaring up at him.

“Leave her alone!” he protested, portraying a level of bravado he didn’t feel. “Or I’ll—I’ll—”

“You’ll… what?” Izaya inquired, leaning down to face him with a devastating smirk. “No, continue, I’m truly curious—what exactly could you do?”

The boy stammered over his words, trying to think of any kind of witty reply but coming up blank.

“Leave the kid alone.”

Izaya sprang up, whirling around at the sound of the telltale voice. “Shizu-chan~! So nice of you to drop by. Decided to enjoy the spring day as well?”

One hand shoved carelessly in his pocket, Shizuo Heiwajima stood bathed in the gentle lamplight of the sun, surveying the scene casually. In place of his usual angry scowl, however, there was a bored, almost dismissive look on his face, as though dealing with Izaya’s shit simply wasn’t worth his time. Instead of answering, he stalked over to the other with quick, forceful steps, until they were inches away.

Izaya staggered back a little, taken by surprise by the direct approach. He opened his mouth to say something, but before he could Shizuo had leaned down, grabbing Izaya around the waist, and hauled him over his shoulder. Izaya squawked in an undignified manner, gripping onto the back of Shizuo’s shirt for support.

Shizuo kicked the broken pieces of chalk back over to the children with a grunted, “here”, before turning around and heading off in the opposite direction, Izaya in tow.

By this point a burning crimson had begun to overtake Izaya’s features, and he could see the faces of the children from his vantage point, all of whom seemed delighted to see him in the embarrassing position. “You know, you can’t simply pick me up whenever you feel like it,” he huffed, reaching back in an attempt to swat at the back of the other’s head.

“Oh?” Shizuo easily avoided him as Izaya struggled to maneuver his arm in the right position. “And what exactly are you going to do about it?” he asked, parroting Izaya’s earlier words.

Izaya narrowed his eyes. He kicked one of his legs out, aiming to get a direct hit at his stomach. Unfortunately, legs do not generally go in that direction and he primarily ending up flailing around a lot and sometimes hitting the other’s arm in the process. This was not troublesome all on its own (Shizuo had definitely endured far worse from the flea), but it did prompt an idea. The next time one of Izaya’s legs came too near his face, he grabbed it with his other hand, gripping his fingers into the denim protecting the backs of his thighs.

Izaya let out a strangled noise, managing to somehow disguise it as a cough at the last moment. Shizuo’s hand remained on his thigh, his fingers gently tapping where they curled around his leg. Izaya’s breath caught in his throat as he realized suddenly how very, very fucked he was.

“S-Shizuo,” he said, trying as desperately as he could to keep his growing panic out of his voice. “I really think you should let me down now.”

“What’s wrong?” Shizuo asked calmly, his fingers tapping out a rhythm of doom against his jeans, each and every one causing Izaya to twitch against his will. “You sound suddenly concerned. Is something bothering you?”

“Shizuo, not again,” Izaya gritted out. Memories were flooding back to him of a week ago, causing butterflies to excite uninvited in his stomach. “If you think you can simply pick me up like a common stray and t—” he broke off, pressing his lips together into a firm, irritated line.

“And what?” Shizuo questioned, tossing a teasing glance back at him. Amusement danced in his eyes, and never had Izaya wished to punch him more than in that moment. “What exactly is it that I can’t do?”

“I believe you know perfectly well what I mean,” Izaya replied with a sickeningly pleasant smile. “After all, seeing as it has for some reason become one of your favorite activities to do to me, I dearly hope you know what it is.”

“And I would hope you know what it is, considering you appear to love it so much,” Shizuo shot back, pinching the back of his thigh suddenly.

“I w—shit!” Izaya lurched forward, his body’s instinctual response to save himself from the sensation. His arms flailed wildly, searching for a handhold, and eventually clinging onto the back of Shizuo’s shirt. Shizuo stiffened, trying to ignore the strangely pleasant shudder that ran down his spine as Izaya’s fingers brushed his back. He shook it off, forcing himself to focus on the task at hand.

Shizuo outlined a path of small pinches down the back of Izaya’s thigh, making the man jerk and squirm with each one, though he managed to stifle any noises this time. Once he had gotten Izaya properly ramped up, he removed his hand entirely, giving the other a momentary reprieve.

Izaya exhaled slowly, glad for the break. After a moment of nothing happening however, he threw a confused glance back at the other. “Are you done t—ahAHAHAHA, ohohoho shIHIHIHIHihihit!”

Izaya burst into wild, uncontrolled laughter as Shizuo suddenly dug his fingers into his thigh, pressing into just the right pressure points to make the other go positively mad. His hand came back instinctively to try to rip Shizuo’s hand away from the spot, but his current position prevented him from doing so. The sudden, intensive tickling caused a hysteria that weakened Izaya instantly, his eyes crinkling up into a series of wild giggles and shrieks, a euphoria he didn’t often allow himself to feel lighting up in his chest. His legs kicked out with reckless abandon, but nothing he attempted saved himself from the relentless attack.

Just as suddenly as he had initiated it, Shizuo stopped, allowing his hand to merely rest on the other’s leg. Izaya wheezed helplessly, burying his face in the back of the other’s shirt. His skin tingled with phantoms of the earlier attack.

“I’m sorry, you were going to say something?” Shizuo asked innocently.

Izaya weakly lifted his head, shooting back a venomous glare. “You utter ahahAHAHASSHOLE, nohohoho, nOHOHOT AHAHAhagain!”

Izaya fell back into hysterics as Shizuo once again started up with his thighs. It was a testament to Shizuo’s skill that he was able to keep a firm hold on Izaya whilst torturing him, all the while continuing to stroll through the streets as though nothing was happening. By this point, people had started to stare, dumbfounded by the sight of a grown man thrashing and howling with laughter, hoisted like a misbehaving child over another man’s shoulder.

“S-Shihihihizuo!” Izaya squawked, pounding his fist against the other’s back. “StahAHAHAP IHIHIHIT!”

“Sure,” Shizuo agreed, smirking as his fingers found a particularly unfortunate spot that had Izaya screeching. “Just say, ‘Shizuo is superior to me in every way’. You can do that, can’t you?”

“F-FuhuhUHUHUCK YOHOhohou!”

Shizuo clucked his tongue in disappointment. “I’m afraid that’s not it. Want to try again?”

Izaya tried. He really did. He used every ounce of self-control he had to try to either bear the sensations wracking his body or to somehow escape from Shizuo’s hold. But the embarrassing position combined with the results of a death spot being targeted in such an effective manner eventually did him in and he cracked.

“OhOHOHOKAY! OHOHohohohokay!” Izaya cried, frantic giggles interspersing his words. “S-Shihihizuo ihihis—ahAHAHAha, nohohoho wahahait—Shihihizuo—gahAHAHA! Gihihive mehehehe ahahahaha seHEHEHEHehecond!”

Shizuo reluctantly complied, momentarily stilling his hand. Izaya panted heavily, attempting to get any amount of air back. Once he’d finally regained enough breath to speak any semblance of coherent words, he raised his head and grinned back at the other. “Shizuo is… a fool for thinking I’d ever say anything inherently false as that. Sorry, try again next time.”

Shizuo’s confident smirk quickly transformed into an irritated scowl. “You little—” Instantly there were hands at his thighs again, only this time he attacked the other one which had thus far received no attention from their little game. Izaya let out an honest-to-god squeak, unprepared for the switch. He pulled at Shizuo’s shirt, needing a handhold as he faced the unbearable sensations. As he did so, however, he noticed the way his tugging had ridden Shizuo’s shirt up slightly, revealing the bare skin of his lower back and hips.

Izaya was struck with a sudden idea.

Shizuo flinched as he felt two hands grab onto his hips, fingers curling into the skin in a manner that was unmistakably ticklish. His hand faltered on Izaya’s thigh as his lips tugged into a reluctant grin, a couple growled giggles escaping him.

“I-Izaya,” he threatened, still holding onto Izaya but doing little else besides that. “Whatever you’re thinking, don’t.”

“Why?” Izaya teased, scratching his hips once more and feeling the man shudder beneath him. “Feeling a bit nervous now that the situations have reversed?”

“I’ll drop you,” Shizuo threatened.

“I’m not worried,” Izaya dismissed, clearly having fun with the sudden power dynamic. “Haven’t you heard? Cats always land on their feet.”

“Mind if I test that theory?”

“Now, now, no need to be grumpy.” Izaya squeezed his hips again and Shizuo choked on a stifled giggle. “I get it. You can dish it out, but you can’t take it. It’s fine, really. I’ll just be using it to my advantage now, is all.”

“L-Like hell you are!” Shizuo stammered, attempting to pull Izaya off his shoulders. Izaya yelped, grabbing onto Shizuo’s hips for support, causing the man to stumble forwards, releasing him in one go. With a startled cry, Izaya tumbled off his shoulders, and Shizuo jerked around, just managing to catch him by the arm as he hit the ground. It wasn’t a complete save (and Izaya would be complaining about being sore for days after), but it did prevent him from slamming into the concrete.

Izaya stared up at Shizuo, panting a little, his gaze focused on the place where Shizuo still gripped his arm. With a cough, Shizuo quickly released him, straightening up. “Are you…” he started slowly, rubbing the back of his neck uncertainly. “Okay?”

Izaya blinked, at a momentary loss for what to say, before his usual smirk returned to him. “Of course I’m okay, dear Shizu-chan. More than okay, at that.” He clambered to his feet, dusting off his jeans and trying not to focus on how his tailbone ached from slamming into the ground. “Because now I know your weakness, locked away in my brain for all eternity. But don’t worry—I’ll only use it against you as often as you’ve used mine against me. Now if you don’t mind, I really have some important business to be attending to, and must take my leave. Farewell, my dear brute.”

He saluted the other mockingly, whirling on his heel and quickly walking away. Shizuo’s frown of confusion as he watched him go quickly transformed into one of irritation. “You bastard, get back here!” he exclaimed, taking chase after him. “Who said you get to have the last word, huh?”

Izaya laughed merrily as he sprinted ahead, the two quickly disappearing into the chaos of the city. No matter what happened, nothing ever really changed between the two. One info broker, one bodyguard, locked together in continuous battle.

And as Izaya rounded the next corner sharply, his smirk turning into something almost giddy from the chase, he found he didn’t really mind if it meant he could hold the beast’s attention for even a moment longer.

#tickle fic #fic request #shizaya #durarara #durarara!! #shizuo heiwajima #izaya orihara #tickling #fanfic #fanfiction #requests

[pterodactylterrace]

Guys Like You Chapter 9

Title: Guys Like You

Chapter: 9

Chapter Summary: What happens when a busy schedule leaves you lonely?

Rating: 18+

Chapters:  {Prologue} {Chapter 1} {Chapter 2} {Chapter 3} {Chapter 4} {Chapter 5} {Chapter 6} {Chapter 7} {Chapter 8}

It had been weeks since Faye had seen Henry outside of work. Henry's schedule was packed with choreography practice, training, filming and hush hush phone and zoom interviews he refused to tell Faye anything about. She was starting to get the feeling he had given up on her and was moving on. Why else would he refuse to tell her anything about this 'project' he was working on? Not a single clue was dropped. He continuously sited 'not wanting to jinx it' as his reasoning for not telling her. She was banned from his house for the last three weeks, finding herself right back where this had all started. Could it even be called a relationship? They had never agreed to be exclusive or anything, so it wasn't like she could lay some sort of claim on the man. It seemed he was drifting further and further away with every passing day.

Briar was taking it harder than her mother was. He was the first male presence outside of her grandfather and uncle she regularly had contact with. To say she had quickly become attached was an understatement. One particularly heartbreaking evening, she had convinced herself he would be coming over and bringing "Princess Kal" as she had dubbed the poor canine. She sat by the front window, clutching her stuffed bunny stubbornly until far after her bedtime, finally breaking down into hysterical sobs when she realized he really wasn't coming. Faye's texts to Henry about the child's expectations went unanswered.

A few days ago, Mrs. Anderson was unable to babysit, leaving Faye no choice but to either call in sick, or bring her daughter with her to work. Last time hadn't caused much of a problem, so hopefully she would be able to get away with it again. Just as long as it didn't become a habit, it wouldn't be a problem, right? It really wasn't, either. For the first hour or so, the child sat in the corner of the makeup trailer, mesmerized by the movie playing on her tablet. Faye had breezed through the battle wounds on some dwarves and applied the prosthetic ears on the elves in that time, her daughter calmly tucked away the entire time.

Then came time for Henry to get into the makeup chair. The second he stepped foot into the trailer, Briar had latched herself onto his legs, sobbing and clutching his pant leg like her little life depended on it. To say Henry panicked would be an understatement.

"I told you she missed you." Faye shrugged. In fact, she had mentioned several times how Briar kept asking about him. It was a bit of a wakeup call as far as her dating life was destined to go. If Henry was only around for a few months and Briar had attached herself so firmly to him, what would happen if Faye actually dated someone and spent even more time with him? Briar would be devastated if it didn't work out.

"I'm so sorry, princess." Henry soothed, detaching the toddler from his leg and scooping her up, letting her continue to cry into his neck. "I've been busy, I wasn't trying to make you sad." He assured, sitting in the makeup chair with the little girl still clinging to his shirt.

Faye may have failed to mention the multiple meltdowns she'd had to endure due to his sudden absence, but why should she bother the man with it? It's not like it was his job to pacify her daughter. She just wished the little girl hadn't grown so attached to him in the short time she had known him.

Briar completely refused to be apart from Henry for the rest of the day, perching herself in his chair while he filmed, staring intently at him as she clutched her bunny to her chest, whimpering unsurely the first few takes of a particularly rough fight sequence. Thankfully, she had calmed quickly, Faye explaining to the little girl that he was just playing pretend and wasn't going to get hurt.

She had reattached herself to him the second he drew too close, practically climbing him like a monkey to cling to his neck again. Faye was past the point of trying to stop her by then. She had been the one dealing with it ever since he had decided to vacate the little girl's life. At least now he could see first hand why Faye had been so irritable with him lately.

He vowed to Facetime later that night to say goodnight to the little girl when he had strapped her into her car seat that evening, the child unwilling to let her mother take her to the car by herself. His promise didn't stop her from sobbing the whole way home. The poor girl cried herself out by the time Faye had pulled into the driveway, half asleep all the way through dinner, ultimately passing out at the table, a forkful of pasta clutched in her chubby fist.

To his credit, Henry had called later that night, well after Briar's bedtime. Again, he apologized profusely for his insane schedule in the voicemail he had left. Faye wasn't in the mood to talk anymore, too drained from her daughter's most recent meltdown.

Now, here he stood at her doorstep five days later, his shoulders slumped in defeat and a pleading look on his face as Faye blocked his entry into her home with her tiny body.

"Can I help you?" Faye asked calmly, crossing her arms and leaning against her door frame.

"Faye, please, can we talk?"

"What's there to talk about?" Faye brushed him off, fixing him with a cold look.

"You're avoiding me."

"Excuse the fuck out of you?" Faye hissed, stalking toward him and shutting the door harshly behind herself. "I'm avoiding you? Are you seriously going to pretend the last three weeks never happened? One second, you're around all the time, the next I only see you at work. You dodge my calls, refuse to see me and break my three year old daughter down into hysteria thinking she did something wrong. Please, go on, tell me how I'm the one avoiding jack shit here!"

"I deserve that." Henry sighed, roughly shoving a hand through his untamed curls.

"Goddamn right you do." Faye hissed, fury burning intensely in her usually wide, innocent brown eyes.

"Please, Faye. Can you hear me out?"

"What's there to talk about? You got bored and you left me behind. I don't want your fucking excuses."

"I promise, I wasn't trying to avoid you, and I didn't get bored of you!" Henry growled, anger taking over his once apologetic face at her accusations.

"Then what the hell is it? Please, tell me why I should be okay with only being in your life when it's convenient to you."

"I've been busy, Faye! My life doesn't revolve around you!" Faye's entire body tensed at his outburst, returning his fiery gaze with a cold stare.  

"And mine doesn't revolve around you either, Mr. Cavill. If you don't have time for us, that's fine. I understand we aren't a priority for you. You've made that much clear. That doesn't mean I have to be at your beck and call whenever you can fit me in. I have my own life. I have a daughter to take care of, and I don't need you breaking her heart every time you can't spare a goddamn second for her."

"I wasn't trying to hurt her. I wasn't trying to push you away." Henry seethed. "You think I enjoyed being away for this long? You think I liked not spending time with you?"

"You make time for the things that matter, Mr. Cavill. Clearly, that's not us." Faye replied, her calm tone slashing through Henry's heart worse than any previous rage or hostility could. These were not words created by anger and meant to hurt him in the heat of the moment. This was coming from a detached, practical place in her mind. This was something she had thought about, long and hard.

"Faye." Henry sighed, his tense shoulders falling in defeat. "I'm sorry. I never wanted to hurt you. I never wanted to hurt Briar. The time I've spent with you two these last few months have been the happiest I've been in years. I understand if you don't want to see me, but I really wish you would. I... damnit, I fucking need you two." He admitted shakily, his eyes falling to Faye's feet, taking notice of the black ink covering the top of her right foot for the first time. Had he really paid so little attention that he hadn't even noticed that? Was he really that detached from something that brought him so much unconditional joy?

"And what am I supposed to do when you vanish again? It's the life you live, Mr. Cavill-"

"Henry. Please, call me Henry." He pleaded softly, each utterance of the removed name feeling like a knife to his heart.

"You aren't tied down to one place. You travel all the time. Why should I let you continue hurting us? What promise can you possibly give us that you won't just leave again?"

"I never left, I've been right here." Henry whispered, unsure hands coming to rest on her hips, slowly lowering his forehead to rest against hers. He had no idea when they had gotten so close during their argument, but he had to admit, it felt good to hold her again. "Please. I promise, I won't vanish again. If I can't be here in person, I'll call, I'll Facetime, I'll send video messages, I'll text. I will do anything and everything I can to be here for you."

"Then what happens when you find someone else?" Faye countered, remaining stiff in his hold, her arms still crossed tightly over her chest, subconsciously trying to block him out and build a wall between them.

"I'm not looking for anyone else." Henry assured, pressing a soft kiss to the crown of her head.

"Doesn't mean you won't find her."

"Then this mystery woman can sod off. I'm not interested." Henry hummed, pulling Faye closer to wrap his arms around her, resting his cheek atop her head, her tension slowly fading away with his embrace. "Can you forgive me for being an ass?" He asked hopefully, peppering the top of her head with kisses.

"This time. There won't be a next time. I don't have time to invest in someone that won't make any time for me."

"I promise, I will make time for you two." Henry vowed, reluctantly taking a step back to look into her face. "Would it be too much to ask to come inside? I sure could use one of Briar's special cups of tea."

"Mmm, you might be out of luck then. She's decided she wants to be a knight instead now." Faye informed him, slipping away from his desperately clutching hands to push the door open, Briar freezing in the middle of charging through the house on her hobby horse, sword in hand when she saw the man standing outside.

"You're back?!" She gasped, dropping her toys and bolting past her mother, Henry catching her as she rushed him, hoisting her into his arms and letting the little girl sling her arms around his thick neck. "I sorry... I be good." She sniffled, her chubby hands gripping his collar tightly.

"Oh, sweetie. Don't apologize. You didn't do anything wrong." Henry soothed, rubbing her back softly. "I was the one that was naughty, can you forgive me for being mean to you and your mommy?"

"Don't go." Briar whimpered, burrowing further into his neck, her sobs only increasing at his apology.

"I won't, I won't." Henry promised, smoothing down her wild, uncombed hair, looking fearfully up at the child's mother. Was this what she had been dealing with since he had been away?

"She got it in her head you were mad at her, and that's why you weren't coming around anymore." Faye explained, nodding him inside.

"I'm so sorry." Henry repeated, holding the toddler a little tighter as he slid past her mother, perching himself on the arm of the couch as she sobbed into his neck.

"You understand why I'm not too keen on second chances?" Faye sighed, locking the door behind herself. "I'm not going to keep putting her though this. I don't expect you to change your lifestyle, so when we fall to the backburner again, please, do me a favor and stay gone. It's not fair to her."

"I didn't mean to hurt anyone. I truly have been busy."

"I know. That's your life." Faye shrugged, leaning against the archway to the living room.

"What can I do to make it up?"

"You can't. You just have to understand that this is the last time I will allow this to happen. If you get too busy for us again, I won't open the door the next time you come knocking." Faye's declaration hung in the air, the sureness of her voice leaving no room for argument or further exchange of words. A desperate sort of silence befell the two adults, the only noise in the house being made by the small girl in Henry's arms.

Briar's sobs slowly gave way to small sniffles and hiccups, her tiny hands refusing to release his shirt, unashamedly wiping her nose on the fabric. Henry was the one to finally break the suffocating silence that had taken over the room.

"Could I ask for your help with something?"

"What might that be, Mr. Cavill?"

"Please, Faye. Henry. Call me Henry, or anything else really. I didn't mean to hurt you or set us back months. Call me any number of mean names, just... not that." Henry pleaded, resting his head against Briar's.

"What do you want me to do?"

"I need to shave my head." Henry sighed after a long moment, turning sad eyes up to her.

"You want me to shave your head?"

"You're the only one I trust to do it right now."

"You literally have a hairstylist on set."

"This is different." Henry insisted.

"How is this different?"

"Believe it or not, I like my hair. Shaving it off isn't exactly a fun time for me."

"Is the tape getting to painful to remove?" Faye asked, raising an inquisitive brow.

"I mean, it will be a plus not having to deal with that for a while, but no. I... I have a screen test in a few days. Over zoom, but a screen test none the less."

"Oh, congrats."

"But the role calls for a military style cut." Henry continued. "Which means it all has to go."

"What role is it for?" Faye asked, crossing the room to run her fingers through his unruly curls.

"Mass Effect." Henry divulged, leaning into her touch.

"So you showed up for a haircut?" Faye asked, detangling his hair with her fingers.

"I showed up because I missed you, but it made me realize you're the only one I'm comfortable with doing it. I've been dreading it for over a week now."

"I only have scissors here. The best I can do is a hack job." Faye informed, continuing to play with his hair absently. It was so soft when he didn't try to tame it. The products that kept it in check, looking so neat and orderly, always made it stiff and crunchy. His natural hair was a thing of beauty.

"I have clippers back at my house. You're both more than welcome to stay the night."

"You know Briar won't stay in the guest room." Faye sighed, rolling her eyes.

"I'm fairly certain I'm not in good enough standing with you for us to be doing anything that young eyes shouldn't see." Henry chuckled, looking hopefully up at the woman gently running her nails over his scalp.

"You are not." Faye confirmed around a giggle of her own, playfully tugging at his hair.

"Easy, love, the baby is right here." Henry lightheartedly scolded, raising his brow at her.

"You should have mentioned you enjoyed that sooner. No time to take advantage of it before I chop it all off now." Faye sighed, reluctantly letting her hand fall away, Henry reaching out to pull her closer, looking up at her hopefully.

"What are the odds I can talk you out of a kiss?" He asked, staring longingly at her mouth. Faye smirked and rolled her eyes in mock annoyance, leaning down to allow him to press a slow, affectionate kiss to her lips, reluctantly pulling back when Briar began to stir from her crying fueled power nap against his neck. "There you are, sleepy head." Henry chuckled, easing the child down to his lap instead.

"You here?" Briar asked, rubbing her still red eyes, staring up at him with a wobbly lower lip.

"I'm here. Would it be ok if you and Mommy stay at my house tonight?" Henry asked, wiping away the dried tears from her face.

"I bring Bunny?" She asked, her face finally splitting into a grin when Henry agreed to her request.  

"You go get Bunny, I'll pack you a few things." Faye instructed, Henry reluctantly setting the girl down so she could do as her mother asked.

"Thank you, so much." Henry sighed, pulling the tiny woman against his large frame, dropping his head to rest against the top of her chest.

"For letting you use my tits as a pillow?" Faye teased, running her fingers through his hair again, wanting to memorize the feel of his curls before she had to chop them all off.

"Secuititty." Henry chuckled, pulling her in to straddle his hips, needing to be even closer to her. "Thank you for giving me another chance."

"Try not to blow it."

"I'll do my absolute best."  

@Xxxkatxo @Weallhaveadestiny

#henry cavill #henry cavill x ofc #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill fanfiction #guys like you #witcher #guys like you fic

[writesowhatnext]

annoying? yes. boring? never. // james potter

Summary: James’ best friend has always been a muggle and, despite what everyone thought, they were just that; friends. Right?

Request: Hello there! If you write for James Potter, would you mind writing for him with the cliche prompts 'there’s people chasing us and I pulled you into the alley with me and wow you’re close', 'blurting out a confession of love' and 'I’ve been in love with you for years' Thank you very much!!!

A/N: I fucking love this oml thanks for this request it’s literally made my week

Reader: female

Warnings: swearing, a mean boy, fist-fight?

At ten years old, James Potter had been pampered for a whole decade. His parents, who loved him a great deal, gave him everything he could ever wish for and more. So, when he came home one day after school with a friend, they did their best to accommodate, despite the fact that said friend was a muggle. Even at ten years old, you knew something was wrong with the Potter household. Some things moved if you looked at them for too long and you swore the eyes in the paintings followed you. Being a particularly bold and shameless child, you decided to ask James just why his house felt like it held its breath every time you came over. Being a particularly bold and shameless child himself, he told you that his family were wizards. From there began a very lovely friendship.

You spent every day at the Potters after that and whilst his parents made a habit to not parade magic around in front of you, James would often tell you magical stories about elves and wands and sweets and broomsticks. Most of all, he told you about Hogwarts.

“I’ve never been,” he said, lying on his stomach facing you as you lay on your back on the carpet of his massive bedroom. “But I’ve heard it’s amazing. It’s a massive castle and you’re put into four houses-“

“Houses?” you asked, sitting up and wiping dirt off your arm; you’d been playing in his garden all afternoon.

“Yes! Everyone is put into a house that’s most like them-“

“Like when we picked what Jungle Book characters we would be?”

“Exactly!” he smiled; glad he’d made a friend that understood him so well.

The week before he left for Hogwarts was one of the most bittersweet weeks of your life. You were excited for James and, thanks to a good word from the Potters to your parents, you could spend the whole week with him, but you were devastated that your best friend would be leaving you for a magical place you could never go to, to make friends you could never dream of.

“James,” you started, turning to face him. You were both lying on his floor, feet up against the wall with the Beatles playing in the background from his record player. “You won’t forget me at Hogwarts, will you?”

“Crikey, Y/N,” he turned to you, nudging your shoulder. “If it was that easy to get rid of you, I would’ve done it ages ago.”

He laughed at your gasp of mock offence, his guffaws only growing louder as you pushed him over and began to wrestle.

The first year without James was hard for you. At a new school, having to make all new friends with the knowledge that whilst you were doing maths and biology, he was learning about magical creatures and ridiculous spells, you struggled. It did help, though, that you received a letter from James almost daily. You weren’t sure how they got to you but once or twice you saw a strange looking bird fly away when you found them. His letters were full of his adventures and excited for you to meet his friends, he’d described them in detail which, although lame, you found very endearing. You were glad he hadn’t forgotten about you.

You were surprised that his parents hadn’t either. You got a call from Euphemia Potter on your family home phone around June time. She’d asked whether you were at school the next Thursday; you were, but she didn’t need to know that. And so, on that Thursday, you went with the Potters to Kings Cross station and waited for James to appear at platform number nine and three quarters. The whole journey there, they told you how much you’d grown since they last saw you and you didn’t understand what they meant until you saw James. He’d stayed at Hogwarts for Christmas and so you hadn’t seen him for nine months when he appeared with a trolley of bags, dressed in strange robes. He looked so different. He was taller now and his hair was much scruffier. You thought it suited him.

You’d never been so excited to see someone and you were pleasantly surprised that the feeling was mutual as you raced to hug each other. You spent most of the summer together, making up for lost time. He told you all about his lessons and teachers and how he and his friends would play pranks constantly.

“I’m shocked that you have friends.” You remarked, helping him put posters of Bob Dylan and Buddy Holly on his walls. You were very glad that he was being cultured on the taste of the time despite the whole wizarding boarding school thing.

“Now that’s just cold.”

You laughed at his wounded expression.

“Go on, tell me about Serious and Remy.”

“It’s Sirius and Remus, you know that. And Peter, too.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you said, smiling so he knew you were only messing with him. “Strange names your lot have.”

Despite how much he wanted to tell you about his adventures, he always asked about how you were doing and what life was like at home. It was sweet, you thought, that he wanted to hear about your life. You told him about new friends you’d made and about how boring the lessons could be, fully aware that listening to someone talk about them would be just as dreadfully tedious as actually going. It didn’t matter, though, because for a whole summer you had your best friend back and life had never better. You tried not to think about how in September, he would just disappear again and you’d be left with another nine months without your favourite person.

The next months went by extortionately slowly and whilst you tried to be happy around your friends, nothing felt right without James. When you got a letter from him in the middle of English class, an owl, of all things, tapping at the window, you were beyond excited to hear that he would be coming back home the next week for summer. He said he was bringing his friend Sirius because his parents weren’t the nicest and whilst you were excited, you couldn’t help but feel nervous about meeting his friend – what would happen if he didn’t like you? You had to wait till the weekend to see him; your mum had found out about your ditching school last time and forced you to go in until the school finished for summer. On that Saturday morning, you all but ran to James’ house, hammering on the door in excitement.

When James opened the door, an ear-splitting grin on his face, you were surprised to see how much he’d grown in four months. He was taller, again, and he looked nice, a thought that repulsed you in a way. Heat rushed to your cheeks at your thoughts – this was James, your best friend, you didn’t see him like that. He didn’t even say hello before he pulled you inside and hugged you like there was no tomorrow. The hug didn’t help how flustered you were, his warm arms surrounding you tightly, but it was long overdue.

“So, this is the infamous Y/N.”

When you pulled away to find the source of the noise, you saw a tall boy with long dark hair and mischievous eyes.

“Does he talk about me?” you asked, elbowing James in the side before offering your hand to Sirius. The idea that James talked about you made you strangely happy.

“Does he ever shut up about you?”

James spent the next few days partially regretting combining the two greatest forces in his life. You and Sirius teamed up constantly to tease James, often sharing stories about how ridiculously headstrong he could be. Though he should’ve been mad, he enjoyed his best friends getting along immensely and something about seeing you and Sirius at the same time made something within him feel right.

“Has he told you about Lily?” Sirius asked, lying across James’ bed whilst you and James sat on the floor, staring at a chessboard. He said he needed the practice for something or other.

“Who’s Lily?”

You looked up at James to see him blushing and a strange discomfort came over you. You tried to convince yourself you weren’t jealous.

“She’s this Gryffindor girl-“

“Your house?” you asked, knocking over one of James’ bishops with a less gleeful grin than you had before. “Lions and stuff.”

“A perfect description.” James teased, earning him a flick in the forehead. He frowned at you, pushing his glasses up.

“Exactly.” Sirius smirked, resting his chin on his hand. “I think James here might be in love with her.”

“Oh really?” you asked, trying to fill your voice with as much curiosity as you could; you didn’t have the stomach for it, though. “Checkmate.”

You didn’t notice the sly smirk Sirius sent your way at your response, too busy looking at James, whose reaction to losing was, as always, piss poor.

They spent the rest of the holiday trying to teach you Quidditch which, as imagined, was hard with only a football and some sticks. You enjoyed yourself, though, and spending time with James and Sirius was so much fun. You began to understand the general idea of the game eventually, and James loved to see you pretend to fly on a stick as you threw the football at Sirius.

“You’d make a great beater.” He said over dinner, cutting into his food.

“Of course, I would.” You replied, earning a snort from Sirius.

“You’d probably make a better chaser than James, too.”

“Oi!” James flicked a pea over the table, earning a half-hearted scolding from his Father and a kick under the table from Sirius’ rather heavy boots.

“You should come around for dinner tomorrow, love, too.” Euphemia said as you stood at the door, ready to leave. James didn’t miss your apologetic expression.

“Sorry, Mrs Potter, my Mum wants me doing schoolwork tomorrow.”

“We’re going back to Hogwarts the next day, I won’t see you.” James said, pouting. You would’ve teased him but you felt the same; saying goodbye to James was always your least favourite part.

“You’ll just have to write to me every day.” You hugged him, oblivious to the eyes watching both of you.

“Of course, I will.”

He didn’t. It was the first time since you met him that you’d gone more than two days without hearing from James. It had been six already and you were worried. Part of you, undeniably, was jealous; his last letter had been about asking Lily to go on a date with him. You knew you probably would’ve liked Lily. From the way Sirius described her, she was tough and smart and you suspected you would’ve been good friends if she didn’t have James wrapped around her little finger. With your life getting busier with exams and school, and friends, you paid less attention to the fact that you hadn’t heard from James in months. It hurt, to say the least, to have your letters unanswered. You gave up sending them after a while, bored of only being hurt. You wanted to tell him that you’d been on your first date, if only to make him jealous for a moment before you told him about how awful it had been. You wanted to tell him that you’d gotten first prize at a competition at school. You didn’t though, he didn’t want to hear it.

Just before Christmas, you sent Sirius a letter. You felt desperate but you just needed to check that James was alright. A sick part of you hoped he wasn’t so you would feel less bad about him forgetting about you. To your surprise, Sirius replied in just four hours. How his owl flew that far, you had no idea, but you were grateful for any form of reply. The letter was short and blunt but quite kind, which you were grateful for. He said that James was busy with trying to get Lily to fancy him, an actually important issue with Remus and trying not to get kicked out of school. Though it hurt, you were pleased to know anything happening in his life. Sirius also said he was surprised James hadn’t replied to you, because he still talked about you non-stop. You figured that was Sirius lying for the sake of your feelings. You sent him a shorter letter back, thanking him, and then decided you got out of the habit of writing letters.

It was boxing day when someone knocked at your door like a man deranged. When you saw James standing there, on the verge of tears, the coldness in your heart that he’d caused thawed instantly and you beckoned him up to your room, despite your parents’ protests.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N. I didn’t mean to ignore you, I swear, I just-“

You wrapped an arm around him as he cried. He took his glasses, off, rubbing tears from his eyes with his hand.

“I couldn’t tell you about Remus and that’s all I’ve thought about and there was nothing else to say- I couldn’t write, I couldn’t bring myself-”

“It’s okay, James, it’s okay. Go on, you can tell me, what’s wrong with Remus?” you asked, pushing his head under your chin to hold him closer. 

That night, he told you everything. Between sobs, he told you how worried he was for Remus when he turned (you were mentally trying to cope with the idea that werewolves exist), how his friends had turned into animals to protect him. Most of it went over your head, but you tried to listen for his sake. When he went back to Hogwarts that January, he wrote to you every single day without fail, sometimes twice if he had the time. Somehow, along the way, you felt like you had your James back – the same James but with very different feelings.

By the time summer rolled around, you were doing everything you could to take your mind off of him. You even started flirting with a boy to try to convince yourself you didn’t like James, a fact that seemed more improbable when you considered you might actually love him. You didn’t know when his term ended, he hadn’t said, and so you made yourself busy until he arrived, unsure of how you would react to him given your newly discovered but ever-present feelings.

You stood next to the corner shop, not having that much fun when he appeared. You were standing next to the boy you’d been flirting with and a couple of his friends. They’d been making jokes about something or other – you weren’t listening at all, even less so, when a familiar voice called your name.

“Oi! Y/N!”

You turned around to see James Potter, impossibly taller and more handsome and more James-like than you’d ever seen him.

“You alright, Potter?” you shouted, grinning as he came closer. You went to greet him but the boy next to you, jealous as anything, stepped in front of you.

“Who the fuck are you?” he said, trying to square up despite being dramatically shorter. At first, James didn’t reply. He just looked over the boy’s shoulder at you. You shrugged, frowning.

“My name’s James. I’d like to talk to Y/N, please.”

“My name’s James.” They mimicked in high pitched voices. You rolled your eyes.

“Alright, I’m leaving.” You went to leave when the boy opposite James grabbed your arm.

“Let me go.”

He didn’t.  So, with a sharp exhale, you drew your other arm back and punched him square in the jaw. A bark of laughter escaped James’ lips before you realised that three rather angry looking boys were staring at you both, one with a bruised jawline. James grabbed your hand and you ran.

You barely saw the alley but you guessed that was the idea as James pulled you in after him. Your back hit the wall and suddenly he was very, very close and you were both breathing heavily from the running. He hadn’t realised how wide the alley was until you were centimetres from him. That was, to say, not that wide. You barely noticed the boys run past, completely missing your hiding space.

“Why were you hanging around those muppets?” he asked, noticing how pretty your eyes were up close.

“My muppet left to go to a magical school for tweens – needed a replacement, didn’t I?”

“You’re so mean-“

“Am I so mean?”

“Yeah, you’re always rude to me-“

“Well maybe if you weren’t so-“

“I’m pretty sure I’m completely in love with you.”

You swallowed your words in surprise at his confession.

“I’ve been in love with you for years and I never realised.” He continued as if saying it out loud gave truth to something he’d known all along. “And I think you punching that guy in the face was the coolest thing I’ve ever seen. And I’ve seen some pretty magical shit.”

You nodded, a small smile making its way onto your face. The blooming feeling in your chest wouldn’t go away; it only worsened when he smiled. It was a familiar smile, a smile that reminded you of home more than anything else could.

“See?” you said softly, biting your top lip. “I might be a muddle but I’m not too boring.”

“Muggle.”

“What did you just call me?”

As if that were the most perfect thing you could’ve said he tipped his head to the side and looked at you. His hand lifted to tuck your hair behind your ear.

“You have never ever been boring.”

And with that, he leant forward and kissed you. You tipped your head against the brick wall, grateful that you had a best friend as stupid as him.

#james potter #James Potter imagine #James Potter x reader #Harry Potter imagine #harry potter #imagine #writing

[xtrasauce]

Soo who wants to feel PAIN? lol Inspired by frreska’s TikTok that you can watch here, take what I’d imagine the exchange would be like between them.

A calm night. The cool autumn breeze lazily sauntered through the window, prompting her to pull her cardigan closer to her body. With news breaking out of feared hellscape villain Dabi actually being the long thought dead son of Endeavor, Rei Todoroki found it hard to sleep. Her attention turned to the warm mug of tea at the end of her bed - a small kindness from the night shift staff. A million questions that needed answers. A million thoughts that poked and prodded in the corners of her mind. But first… The sound of fabric cut the quiet in her room. A sound that normally would have sent her heart into endless unease, and yet now more than ever Rei found herself holding her head upright. Her hand settled over her mug, “I won’t alert the hospital staff if you promise not to hurt me.” Heavy boots thudded onto the floor, only two or three steps sounding before the pause. Rei closed her eyes, a short breath escaping her, “Why have you come here?” “Why wouldn’t I?” the man rasped behind her and immediately she knew who it was, “It’s been so long, hasn’t it?” At that moment, the mother of four wanted to scream. For what reason she couldn’t place: the anguish of losing her son, the relieved heartache, or a distorted mix of joy...and utter sadness. She twisted toward the voice, her slate eyes peering directly into turquoise. But that wasn’t all that she took notice of. His hair was as she remembered, but what was once smooth, pale skin was now cut and scarred - patches of charred purples and blues crudely stapled to what was left of his original skin. His neck, arms, cheeks and even under his eyes were marred grotesquely; a sight she was sure that made most people wince. Dabi stood under scrutiny in silence. His expression remained stoic, and he made no intentions of moving clear. He would let her make all the moves necessary. Without thinking, Rei reached out her hands. Her body moved on its own, her only goal in tow as she slowly crept towards him. Her delicate fingers finally connected with his cheeks in a gentle caress, the damaged skin was rough under her touch. All the emotions she initially felt died within her. There were so many things she wanted to say. A million questions that needed answers. But all she muster was, “Look at what he did to you…” He smelled of ash and cinders, and it immediately brought her back to that day. The sound of sirens, the flames the size of skyscrapers, and...him. The anguish of loss haunted her at every corner, and the responsibility of Touya Todoroki’s death was a constant weight on her shoulders. Years of having a permanent hole in her heart that she would never mend. Her thumbs brushed against the staples of his cheeks with a barely-there tenderness as she finally letting it sink in that he was there: truly there and not some fever dream or unbelievably cruel nightmare. Eyes glazing with tears, she exhaled shakily, “I should have known...I’m so sorry…” Dabi swallowed thickly, an unfamiliar and ugly feeling settling into his chest. Rei repeated herself, voice now barely above a broken whisper, “I should have done something, Touya, I should have known…” His fingers found her wrists, gingerly casing around them in some sort of acknowledgement. Dabi found the pierce in his normal glare soften significantly,  “How could you have, Mother...we were all pawns in his fucked up game.” He understands more than anyone. Understands what he couldn’t back then. What monstrous things his father was doing to her in his relentless plan to surpass the greatest hero. She bore scars just as painful and just as deep as he did...only hers were internal. There was no one who knew better. Sobbing now, Rei shook her head, “I don’t care about any of that…” tears streamed freely down her face, “You’re here...you’re in front of me and I can touch you, I can hold you… I prayed everyday that somehow, some way you’d come back home, I..” her fingers trembled as she cried, “I-I can’t believe you’re alive, my Touya, you’re alive!” Years of loneliness and neglect left Dabi unfeeling; a stone wall. But for a moment, through all the pain and the anger and the quite literal way his life had gone up in flames - he faltered. Lip trembling, his hands never left his mothers arms. Her tears flowed in excess, droplets forming small stains against the fabric of her sweater. The droplets on her hands however told a different story. Dabi, who normally felt nothing, whose once childlike eyes had long since lost their innocence, felt the sting of bloodied tears fall from his stitches. Someone missed him. Someone cried and prayed and felt devastation...over him. It was Dabi’s turn to move without thought, carefully wrapping his arms around his mother’s shoulders, feeling warmth from something other than the flames he possessed. Her smaller arms clutched the back of his jacket as tightly as she could muster, pulling him in closer as she held him. Despite his years without her, she still held the same comforts as a mother would, and it made him nearly shake with sadness. Her head found the bulk of his shoulder, a hand gently touching the back of his head, “My Touya…I’ve missed you…” His eyes closed, letting her words sink in; this would likely be the last time he heard them. A short sniff, “...I’m sorry, Mother…” Rei pulled from their embrace and her eyes held a new sadness, “Come home, Touya.” But those words were heavy. Far heavier than he was sure she didn’t mean for them to be. Impossibly heavy, even. And he could not carry them. With a lengthy sigh, Dabi removed himself entirely from her arms. The backs of his thumbs brushed aside any remnants of tears that remained...and the pieces of his impassive mask slid back into place. There was no going back for him. He was too far gone. Too angry. In too much pain, and yet always completely numb. Even Rei had to know that, and he liked to believe she did. He was a wanted man, after all. A Todoroki by blood, sure, but nonetheless a villain with a death toll. No amount of mercy, politics, or pardoning would undo the damage he’s done...or even worse, the damage done unto him. Wordlessly he turned from her, stepping up towards the windowsill. “Touya, wait,” Rei interjected. She had to choose her words carefully. It had to come to this, she knew. But still, she had to try, “...If you could change...would you?” His boots teetered on the edge of the window, fingers clutching the framework as he stilled. Barely looking over his shoulder, he gave his mother one last look - a final glance that he would do his best to commit to memory before turning his head forward and looking onto the horizon of the city,  “I have no room for regrets, Mother…” his teeth clenched suddenly as a pinch of anger hit him - blue flame sparking at his fingertips, “Touya Todoroki died in those flames a long time ago.” And with that, the eldest son was gone. Only Dabi remained, and he slipped into the darkness of the night.

#bnha #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #mha #touya todoroki #todoroki touya #dabi is a todoroki #dabi #rei todoroki #todoroki rei #todoroki family #angst #angstfic #hurt #comfort #mha fanfiction #bnha fanfiction #i cried writing this #imagine how rei fucking felt knowing her first baby was alive #villain aside - her firstborn; the baby she had to lay to rest in the most horrendous way possible #was alive #i am just beside myself at the thought

[nightshade-minho]

-Nightmare- (10)

Warnings: Um, like always, get tissues ready, I guess.

He hated this.

Being in the same room as five other people, three of which he hated, wasn’t how he wanted his evening to go. He wanted to be home with you, watching movies and cuddling under about ten blankets. He regretted ever going to that party and meeting the insufferable redhead. God, he couldn’t believe he’d fucked up this bad.

Even now, as he ate dinner, he tuned out the conversation around him. From time to time, he would glance up at Rina, jaw clenched, hate coursing through him.

It was her fault. Right? It had to be. 

Whatever. He just had to get through this dinner, and then he’d be able to go home with you. And...maybe, maybe he would confess to you. It was scary to think about...he could feel his heart thumping, and his palms were sweaty. But he knew it was what he had to do. You probably didn’t like him back...but he couldn’t keep it in. He’d kept his feelings locked in for so many years, and now that they were finally out, he couldn’t reel them back in. He felt like an emotional wreck.

He didn’t care if you didn’t feel the same. Seeing you with the necklace around your neck had only solidified what he already knew- you were meant to be his, and he would do anything to make sure that would happen.

When Rina had accused you of changing him, that was the last straw.

Fuck Rina. He probably shouldn’t have snapped at her like that, but he couldn’t help it. He made his way to the bathroom, not wanting to be in the same room as her anymore.

Splashing water on his face, he wiped it clean and sighed, running his hands through his hair. He couldn’t wait to get out of here, couldn’t wait for this to be over.

As soon as he stepped out of the door though, he was met with her face, uncomfortably close to his as she caged him against the doorway, expression furious.

“I don’t know what your problem is, but I’m really not having it.” 

“My problem is you. Why the fuck can’t you just leave me alone?” He snapped.

“I know you’re not dating her. I know it. I tried giving you the benefit of the doubt but...it’s so hard. I almost believed it at first...but now, it’s just so laughable. You two, trying to fool everyone into thinking that you’re dating. It’s pathetic.” She spat.

He remained silent.

“What I wanna know is why you left. Is there something wrong with me? Am I unfuckable or something?” Her voice quivered a little, a sprinkle of vulnerability before it regained its usual confidence. “There were millions of guys falling over themselves to want me, to fuck me that night.. Have you ever paused to consider how it would have affected my reputation? You running out of the room just minutes after we entered together?”

“Look, Rina...you’re being unreasonable-”

His brain almost short-circuited when he felt her lips on his. He was consumed with the need to push her away...the acute awareness that you were in the other room.

But for some reason...he couldn’t. He was tired of the game they were playing. Maybe if he just gave her what she wanted, she’d finally stop. She’d stop bothering you two, and he could live his life with you in peace.

So he kissed her back. She pulled away after a few seconds, panting and looking at him with shining eyes. “Let’s go to the bedroom.”

He shook his head, eyes widening. “My girlfriend’s literally in the other room-”

She scoffed. “Seriously, Minho, drop the act. I know you two are in a fake relationship. You make it blindingly obvious.” She stares curiously up at him. “Do you...actually like her?”

Minho didn’t say anything, averting his eyes and trying to breathe normally.

She let out an incredulous snort. “Jesus...you’re such a cretin. That bitch doesn’t like you back, you do know that, right?”

“I...”

She pulled away completely, grabbing his wrist and pulling him forward a little bit, peeking around the wall. Minho felt the dread rising in him as she did so, his throat going dry. His eyes took in Juyeon and you on the couch, him leaning closer to you, his hand on your inner thigh. He couldn’t see your expression as your back was facing him, but he’d seen enough. He felt anger pulsing in him as he looked away, scowling. 

He hated the way his legs and fingers felt shaky. There it was again, that weakness you caused. He’d been prepared to submit, prepared to accept the weakness as a part of him...but you clearly didn’t feel the same way. So what was the point? 

He grabbed Rina, dragging her to the side and whispering in her ear. He’d had enough. 

“Where’s that asshole’s bedroom? I wanna fuck you on his bed.”

She grinned, pulling him in for another kiss as she led him to the bedroom, pushing him onto the bed and straddling his lap. 

Somehow, Minho didn’t feel anything, not even arousal, as she moved her hips against him, unbuttoning his shirt rapidly. He felt blank, vapid...his body moving as if it were a robot.

Even as he kissed her furiously, he could feel his actions fueled by his frustration and anger. How he wished you were the one on his lap right now...but you’d made it increasingly clear that you didn’t want him in that way. He could make peace with that. 

“Fuck you.”

As soon your shaky voice hit his ears, he pulled away like lightning, his eyes landing on your face. The shocked, devastated expression on your face breaking his heart.

Before he could even say anything, you ripped off the necklace, throwing it at him and running away. 

He felt tears prick his eyes. That expression on your face...it was now etched in his brain, the memory of it making him nauseous. Why did you look so horrified, so heartbroken? You didn’t like him, so why were you so angry, so sad? The implications of it scared him. What if...

He pushed Rina aside, bending down to pick up the chain, his eyes filling with tears. It wasn’t broken, thankfully. He tucked it into his pocket, turning to the girl on the bed, who was glaring up at him.

“Are you really walking out, again? You do realize-”

“Shut up. I’m done with you. Do whatever you want, I don’t fucking care, okay? I’ve hurt the person who means the most to me multiple times, and you’re to be blamed for some of it. I know I’m the one at fault...and I also know I would have never recognized my love for her if you hadn’t thrown your little tantrum, and forced us into this fake relationship. But if there’s one thing I’ve learnt from all this, it’s that my feelings for her definitely aren’t fake.” He rambled, breathing hard. For some reason, her dumbstruck expression gave him a weird sense of satisfaction.

He ran out of the room, walking to the door as fast as he could and trying his best to avoid Juyeon’s eyes.

***

Minho found you walking down the street. Your back was to him, but he could almost sense the hurt in the way you walked. His heart ached, especially because he knew he was the reason you looked so defeated. He opened his mouth to call out...but he couldn’t.

You deserved so much better.

He inhaled again, working up his courage.

“Y/n!”

You stopped in your tracks, slowly turning around at the sound of his voice. He walked closer, sighing and running a hand through his drenched hair. “Y/n...please...”

“What?” You snapped, crossing your arms. “What could you possibly have to say to me?”

“I...um, I’m s-”

“No.” You scoffed, holding your palm up. “Don’t you dare apologize. You’ve done enough of that.”

He tilted his head to the side, his sadness slowly transforming into anger.

Actually, why was he apologizing? What right did you have to pretend like you were the victim here? You had no idea about his feelings. You didn’t know what he was going through. You were the one who’d started it, flirting with Juyeon.

“Why the fuck should I be the one to apologize?!”

Your eyes widened. “Wha...Minho, you were literally making out with the girl who wants to send you to jail just a few minutes ago! It was just...irresponsible.” In all honesty, you could care less about the immaturity of the action. You couldn’t tell him the real reason after all, could you? That you were jealous.

“Do you ever not think with your dick?” You asked, feeling your emotions burn. “You know...they were right. You are just a  fuckboy without any substance.”

The words hit him like a knife. He opened his mouth, closing it as he felt his heart burn at the words, partly because somewhere deep down...he was scared they might be true.

He felt his anger boil over as he took the necklace out from his pocket. “You know what, Y/n? It’s true, what you said in the letter. This friendship was a mistake, after all. I wish I’d never fucking met you, never wasted all these years on someone as boring and mundane as you!” He threw the necklace on the ground, swallowing. The slightest streak of hesitation ran through him, his inner voice telling him to stop and think...before he shook his head, snapping out of it and crushing it under his shoe. 

You let out a small gasp, swallowing your tears as you stared at his feet.

“I knew we’d be breaking up tonight. I just never thought it’d happen this way.” He whispered. He was glad for the rain right then, thankful that they were masking the tears running down his face. He hated the lies he’d just spewed. 

You paused, hiccuping as you felt fresh tears run down your cheeks. You were sure you looked like a raccoon, mascara dripping down your face.

“Minho...you were right. I’m the one who should apologize. I’m sorry.” You took a deep breath. “Sorry I ever fell in love with you.” You choked out, lips quivering as you watched his face slowly twisting with shock. You turned around, not wanting to see it anymore, walking away from him as fast as you could, your heart pounding and legs shaking.

Your dress was sticking to your body and your hair was plastered to your head. The cold rain was making you shake, wishing you’d brought a jacket. Your heart felt colder, though.

They say confessions in the rain are supposed to be romantic. This felt anything but.

***

You cried into your pillow once you reached home, feeling empty. You were a muddle of emotions, your entire body still wet from the rain. 

He didn’t even run after you. Didn’t even care.

Then again, what reason did you have to be angry? He wasn’t really your boyfriend. But...you also had to accept that he wasn’t your best friend anymore. It had come straight out of his mouth. 

Your best friend had disappeared a few years ago. The guy you lived with now wasn’t that Minho, wasn’t the Minho who gave you the necklace, the one who cared about you. He was different. Maybe he did belong with Rina.

At least, did this mean that Rina wasn’t pissed at him anymore? You were glad that he wouldn’t have to go to jail, at least. You didn’t hate him that much...no, quite the opposite. You still fucking loved him. And you hated yourself for that.

By the time you felt the drowsiness settle in, the sun rays were already poking through the curtains.

***

Minho felt like he’d just been struck with a hammer. The sound of thunder was all he could hear apart from your words repeating themselves over and over in his head.

You fell in love with him.

When? How? Why?

He couldn’t comprehend it. He’d watched dumbly as you left, even after you became a dot in the distance. It had felt like he was rooted to the spot, his legs having lost the ability to walk and his brain, the ability to think.

He ran his fingers through his wet hair as it slowly dawned on him. The realization that he hadn’t been alone in pining for his best friend, that you’d also been going through the same thing as him. You were in love with him…

He let out a shaky sob as he realized just how badly he’d fucked up.

***

The sound of the doorbell ringing woke you up. It was still pretty early in the morning, and you groaned as you dragged yourself out of bed, having had only 3 hours of sleep.

You hated your heart for hoping it was Minho, coming to apologize…even though you knew an apology wouldn’t be enough for you to forgive him. It was hard…but you had to stay away from him. You needed space, time to think. Seeing his face so soon would be too raw to handle. You’d forgive him immediately, even if he said nothing. And he didn’t deserve to be forgiven.

It still disappointed you when you opened the door to see Juyeon standing there with his hands in his pockets.

“What are you doing here?”

He pressed his lips into a thin line. “I just…wanted to say I’m sorry. And after what happened, I wanted to comfort you.”

You nodded expressionlessly, trying not to show how broken you were. You wanted to be strong.

He tilted his head, and the look of sympathy on his face made you want to cry even more.

“Can I…come in?”

When you remained silent, he quickly cleared his throat. “I mean…I just want to explain.”

You thought for a moment and shrugged, stepping aside as you went back in, sitting on the couch. He came inside, hesitantly sitting next to you.

“Look…I have a few things to admit. First off…I like you.”

Your eyes widened. Yeah, he flirted with you…but you didn’t know he actually had feelings.

“Rina-“

He shook his head, interrupting you.

“Rina and I aren’t together. We’re literally cousins. Everyone on campus knows that.”

You wrinkled your nose. They were? “Um, ew. Then why did-“

”She doesn’t talk to me much. Just a week ago, she approached me telling me about the whole situation, about Minho running away and humiliating her. I’d already kind of heard about it, but the way she was talking about it painted him in a much more vindictive light, you know? And then she told me about how she thought that maybe you two were faking your relationship. Which I found pretty absurd at first, but I quickly realized it could be the truth.”

He took a deep breath, glancing at you to make sure you were still listening before looking back at his hands, folded in his lap.

“She knew I had a tiny crush on you. So, she made me help her carry out her plan to get you two to break up, saying that she’d be able to get you to like me.”

He looked up at you, his eyes sad. “It was wrong of me to help her. She’s just deranged and obsessed with her ‘reputation’. I understand if you never want anything to do with me ever again. I just have one question.”

He looked at you, asking for permission. You nodded, signaling him to go ahead.

“Do you actually like him? Like, as more than a best friend?”

You paused, trying not to let the tears spill as you nodded. He sucked in a sharp breath, nodding with his lips tightly pressed together.

“Oh.”

You rubbed at your eyes, turning to face him completely. “Look, Juyeon…what you two did was pretty messed up. I never thought one person could be so petty to the extent of wanting to send someone to jail just because they refused to have sex with them, but here we are. A series of mistakes and misunderstandings are what got us here…but, whatever.” You scoffed.

“I’m sick and tired of all this. I don’t like Minho anymore.” Lie. “It isn’t just this situation that changed my mind…Minho changed way before Rina stepped into the scene. And..I think this was just a wake up call, letting me know that he’s no longer the person I thought he was.”

Juyeon took your hand, holding it gently. “You…you deserve better.”

You shrugged again, avoiding eye contact. There was silence for a few minutes.

 “Y/n…?”

“Hm?”

“Give me just one chance, please? A chance to show you I can make you happy?” He asked, biting his lip as he looked at you hopefully.

You paused as you observed his face. Juyeon was…actually quite good looking. And besides assisting Rina in her shenanigans, he seemed to be a genuinely nice guy. He’d always been kind to you. Your mind was screaming at you, telling you this was a bad idea…that you didn’t have feelings for him, that you were still not over Minho...but the word already came out of your mouth before you could stop it.

“Okay.” You squeezed his hand.

***

Minho woke up with a yawn. The first thing he noticed was how the bed he was in definitely wasn’t his. He was used to this kind of situation, but usually there’d be a naked girl sleeping next to him. This time, though, the bed was empty.

He got out of bed, heading for the door and seeing Chan sat at the breakfast table.

“Oh, good. You’re up. Breakfast?”

He shook his head, groaning as last night’s memories came flooding back. Your disturbed expression when you caught him with Rina, your tears as you confessed, the broken necklace.

He’d picked it up after you left. It was ruined, the little diamonds chipped and the clef cracked. He’d put it in his pocket, going to his car and driving straight to Chan’s. After what you’d said, he’d thought it would be better to give you some space.

“How long will you be staying here?”

“A while. I just don’t think I can face her again after yesterday.” He mumbled.

Chan nodded understandingly. The first thing Minho had done when he reached Chan’s place was cry, telling him the whole story from beginning to end. He’d felt slightly better after letting it all out.

“You know, you should get your clothes. I don’t have enough spare ones.” He chuckled, turning to look back at his plate.

“Oh fuck..I don’t think I wanna see her again so soon…”

“Just for a few minutes. You need your stuff after all.”

“I can’t just talk to her so soon! How can I act nonchalant and aloof when she confessed to me the other night? When we both hurt each other?”

Chan shrugged. “Hmm, you’re right. Fine, then. I’ll go get your stuff, and also inform her that you’re going to be staying with me for a while. Okay?”

“Okay.”

***

Chan made his way out of his car and to your apartment. He knocked on the door, waiting as he whistled a tune under his breath.

The door opened.

“Oh, hey, Chan. What are you doing here?”

Chan frowned as he stared at Juyeon, looking him up and down.

“Um..I could ask you the same thing.” He thought about how Minho had told him about what he’d seen on the couch.

Juyeon shrugged. “Long story. Y/n?” The man turned around, calling out for you. A few minutes later, you appeared beside him, and he put his arm around your waist. 

“Oh, hi, Chan!”

“Hi, Y/n.” Chan spoke slowly. “Um…Minho was wondering if he could get some of his stuff.”

“Why? Is he going to be staying at yours?”

“Mhmm. For a while.”

You shrugged. “Yeah, okay. Wait here.”

As you left, Chan turned to Juyeon with a glare. “What the fuck is going on between you two?”

“What do you think? We’re together now…sort of.”

Chan’s eyes widened. “B-but…”

“But what? I’ve always liked her.”

“Minho likes her too, you know.”

Juyeon stopped, raising an eyebrow. “He does?”

“Uh huh.”

“Well, it sure doesn’t look like it. I don’t care if he has feelings for her. All I know is that I could treat her better than he ever could.”

You came back, handing Chan the bags with a smile on your face. Chan returned your smile. “Thank you, Y/n. Have a nice day.” He glanced beside you. “Juyeon.”

“Wait, Chan…tell Minho I said Hi.” You said slowly, playing with your fingers as you felt your tension grow.

Chan paused, nodding with a fake smile as he went back to his car, his mind swimming with thoughts.

How would Minho react when he tells him this? He had a hunch that it would not be pretty.

#minho angst #lee know angst #lee minho angst #skz #stray kids angst #skz angst #stray kids #kpop #kpop angst #kpop smut #minho smut #lee know smut #skz smut #minho fluff #lee know fluff #chan #bang chan #juyeon

[goldenraeofsun]

There is Only Try, Part II

Read Part I here!

A love spell - that’s right. Cas is under a fucking love spell.

And like an exquisitely-built house of cards, it all tumbles down. Soundless and devastating.

Dean’s heart skips a beat, and not in the fun way like when he found out that widow housewife was down for an open relationship. He stares at Cas, the blood draining from his face.

“Dean?”

“The love spell,” Dean says hoarsely.

“What about it?”

“You only think you love me because of a love spell.”

Cas throws him a bemused look. “Sometimes I don’t understand you at all. You were right there when Rowena said it wouldn’t affect me in the same way if I already harbored feelings for you. For a moment I was worried you’d -”

“No,” Dean interrupts, “but magic doesn’t affect you the same. None of this is real.”

“What.” From Cas’s tone, it isn’t a question.

“Rowena’s attack dog spell!” Dean explains wildly. “It killed that girl Rowena was trying to recruit for her coven, but when she hit you with it, you didn’t die.”

“Obviously,” Cas says, eyes narrowing as he tries to follow along with Dean’s logic.

“It only dug deeper into you.” Dean exhales, a complicated mixture of embarrassment, rage, and dread settling heavily in the pit of his stomach.

Cas purses his lips. “You’re being deliberately obtuse.”

Dean jerks back, stung. “You’re being… obtuse.”

Cas levels him a flat glare. “I started feeling this way years before we killed that last witch.”

“But what if it’s the spell making you think that? What if this is all because of the magic,” Dean starts, horror crashing down, “and I’m so fucking screwed when you’re back to yourself?”

“This is me,” Cas says, insulted.

“You don’t know that!”

“I actually do,” Cas protests, the faintest stirrings of anger creeping into his words. “This isn’t the spell, Dean.”

But Dean pushes away from the table, shaking his head. “No, no, no,” he repeats, hands balling into fists at his side. “Of course it’s the goddamn spell.” He shakes his head, feeling like the shittiest, lowest person on the planet. No fucking wonder it was too easy.

How messed-up in the head must Cas be to think he’s fallen for a human? For Dean?

Oh yeah, here’s everything Dean wanted right on a silver platter. It’s just, the last time he got a deal like that the little catch was his soul.

Dean’s too old to fall for this crap again.

He can’t look Cas in the face. “I’m gonna go check on Rowena,” he says gruffly.

Cas stands up. “I’ll come with you.”

Dean’s jaw clenches. He holds out a hand. “Don’t.”

Cas’s mouth sets in a hard line. “Despite my feelings for you, I am not yours to command. I will be going with you.”

Dean grunts acknowledgement, spinning on his heel for the door. It’s not like Dean has ever had any real say on Cas’s comings and goings - mostly goings nowadays.

Cas follows, his footsteps nearly silent on the Bunker’s floor.

Dean stomps down all the way down to the vault where they keep their most skeevy ingredients. He finds Sam and Rowena bent over a brass bowl. Their clothing is intact, thank god, but Rowena's hair has like three red curls out of place and her lipstick is smudged, so she’s the most mussed Dean’s ever seen her.

“You got the antidote to Cas’s little problem?” Dean asks brusquely, clomping down the stairs. He already feels claustrophobic surrounded by the windowless walls piled high with pickling jars and boxes spelled shut, never mind Cas boring holes into the back of his head.

Rowena looks up, blinking guilelessly at them. “Of course! It’s one of the most basic spells a witch can learn. I had it whipped up in a jiffy.”

“Then why didn’t you come get us?” Dean demands.

“I thought, while we had a little time, I might as well show Samuel some protection charms.” Rowena casts a sly look up at Sam. “He didn’t know any, the poor lamb. Totally unprepared. After all, you never know when the, ahem, mood will strike.”

Sam goes red in the face.

“Oh, gross.” Dean shudders.

Behind him Cas makes a wordless considering noise, which - Dean can’t think about right now.

Rowena’s gaze slips past Dean to Cas over his shoulder. “Are you ready?”

Cas steps forward, and Dean can practically feel the weight of Cas’s gaze on him. Dean doesn’t turn around; he can’t. He can’t look at Cas and know it’s the last time he’ll be seeing that half-exasperated, half-smitten expression on his face.

Rowena reaches behind the bowl and pinches a stoppered vial between her thumb and forefinger. She shakes it enticingly in Cas’s direction. “Bottoms up, dove.”

Gingerly, Cas steps forward to take it from her. He doesn’t make a move to drink it.

Dean huffs an irritated breath, his heart beating erratically in his chest at the look in Cas’s eye. “Go on,” he says through gritted teeth. “Take it.”

Cas purses his lips, fingers slipping on the cork.

“Christ,” Dean mutters, snatching it from Cas’s lax grip.

“Dean-” Sam starts reproachfully, but Dean ignores him as he opens the cure and thrusts it back in Cas’s direction.

Cas stares at the depths of the murky brownish substance, and Dean’s about to force it down Cas’s throat himself to get this torture over with when Cas finally swallows the potion.

They all watch him, Dean barely blinking not to miss anything.

“Well?” he asks as Cas just stands there, still as a statue.

Rowena waves her hand. “Revelio,” she barks, eyes flaring violet.

Nothing happens.

“The spell has been nullified,” Rowena announces smugly. “No need to pay me. Samuel has already seen to my… reimbursement.”

Dean scowls. “Again, gross.”

“Rowena -” Sam starts, casting an almost guilty look in Dean’s direction. “Stop.”

“Fine,” Rowena says airily, to Dean’s complete surprise. Maybe she’s not such a heinous bitch after all. “I’ve had my fun. It’s like taunting a small child - at some point it becomes all rather repetitive.”

Nope, still a bitch.

But before Dean can respond, Cas grasps him around the upper arm. “Don’t,” he murmurs.

“But she-”

“We need to talk,” Cas growls, almost herding him back up the stairs. “Sam can deal with Rowena.”

“Don’t worry, that part’s already happened, darlin’!” Rowena calls delightedly up to them.

“Hey,” Sam protests, but the next part gets cut off as Cas practically drags Dean back to his room.

In his room, Dean crosses his arms over his chest as Cas closes the door behind them. “What?” Dean says defensively. “If you’re looking for an apology - I’m sorry, okay? I know I fucked up.”

Cas huffs an impatient breath, shaking his head. “I understand our relationship is complicated, but I had hoped -” he breaks off. He leans against the door, keeping as much space as possible between him and Dean.

Unspoken message received, Dean falls heavily onto the edge of his bed, half-facing away from Cas. A riot of feelings he’d rather drink away are duking it out underneath his ribcage, but, in a burst of trademark Winchester forethought, he already finished off his bedroom emergency stash. “We don’t gotta talk about it, man,” he says to his hands.

“We clearly do,” Cas counters, eyeing him like Dean’s an easily spooked zoo animal, “if you don’t trust me enough to take me at my word.”

Dean raises his head. “What?”

Cas sighs. “I told you my feelings ran deeper than a simple love spell. I told you, I’ve admired you, cared about you, loved you since before we ever ran into that witch.”

Dean gapes up at him.

Cas meets his gaze squarely. “I love you, Dean. No spell is making me say it; it’s just me.” He inhales a swift breath. “But if you’ve changed your mind, if I’m not -” he pauses infinitesimally before soldiering on, “not what you want, you should tell me now. Before any more mistakes are made.”

Dean gets to his feet on shaky legs, very conscious of Cas’s apprehensive gaze watching him the whole time it takes him to cross his bedroom. He gets right up in Cas’s personal space, and clearly Cas has learned something because his eyes widen at Dean’s proximity.

Dean clears his throat. “I’m not good with words, Cas.”

Cas nods jerkily. “I know, and that’s fine.” He tries to take a step back, but there’s nowhere to go since he’s already backed himself up against the door.

“I don’t remember the last time I told someone I loved them to their face,” Dean says hesitantly, and it’s excruciating to say these things out loud. “Not Lisa. Not Bobby, or even Sam.” And before Cas can stumble right back out the door, Dean reaches for his hand. Dean’s palms feel gross and clammy, but Cas doesn’t seem to care, judging from the wonderful world of Disney look coming over his face. “So if you need that sort of thing, you’re angling to get with the wrong dude.”

Cas licks his lips, his fingers tightening around Dean’s. Slowly, he shakes his head. “A verbal confirmation, while nice, is not necessary.” He glances down at their clasped hands. “But hopefully, you’ll feel comfortable telling me someday.”

Dean shrugs. He won’t write it off completely, but he can’t start this… thing with Cas with any secrets.

“Until then,” Cas says, “I can see your soul. I just didn’t know how to read what you were feeling until now.”

Old Dean would’ve made some stupid quip about personal boundaries.

New and improved, loved Dean, is simply grateful Cas gets to use a cheat code for all the hard parts.

Cas makes the first move.

Breath hot and heavy against Dean’s lips, Cas grips the edges of Dean’s flannel, anchoring him to Cas’s front. His mouth is hungry as he kisses Dean, and Dean can’t help the way his hands reach up to tangle in Cas’s hair, dark and soft, and everything Dean’s ever dreamed of.

Cas makes a little wounded noise as Dean deepens the kiss, nipping at Cas’s bottom lip lightly. Cas’s hands slip under his shirt to grip his bare waist firmly, and Cas must run hotter than the average human because his touch is like fire against Dean’s skin.

Dean breaks away from Cas’s mouth to kiss at the hinge of his jaw, tonguing Cas’s pulse point as Cas gasps for air. He works the skin between his teeth, not enough to bruise or hurt, just enough to show Cas he means business.

Cas scrabbles for purchase against the door, grunting as he almost loses his footing.

“Why don’t we take this to the bed?” Dean murmurs.

“Are you sure?”

“If you are.” Dean licks his kiss-swollen lips. “You’ve done this before, right?”

Cas slowly shakes his head. “Not with a man.” Dean nods, already resigning himself to dealing with his thickening cock on his own, as Cas adds, “But I want to. With you.”

Dean narrows his eyes. “Your only time was with that reaper, right?”

Cas huffs. “In practice, yes. But I spent millennia watching humans copulate. There’s hardly a sex act or position that would surprise me by now.”

Dean grins. “That sounds like a challenge.”

Cas rolls his eyes. “You’re welcome to try,” he grumbles as Dean leads him towards his bed. “But for now, I’d like to bring you to orgasm with my mouth.”

Dean chokes. “You what?”

“I’ve given it a fair amount of thought,” Cas says as he methodically strips Dean of his flannel and shirt. “What I would do to your body if I had the chance. How I would use my knowledge of human anatomy and physiology to give you pleasure.”

“Fuck,” Dean rasps, transfixed by the sight of Cas’s sure hands working open his belt buckle. “Who knew you were such a kinky son of a bitch under that trench coat?”

“You would have known,” Cas points out, “if you’d ever bothered to ask.”

Dean chuckles breathlessly. “But that one time with the hooker - I could’ve spooked you with a strong breeze.”

Cas frowns in the middle of pulling Dean’s jeans and underwear down. “I didn’t want her. I want you.”

Fuck a holy oil molotov cocktail; Dean is going to combust just from that look on Cas’s face.

Dean steps out of his pants, frowning as he takes in Cas, still bundled up to the neck in suit and coat. “Looks like you’re overdressed, angel.”

Cas looks down at himself.

“Let me help,” Dean drawls, pushing Cas’s coat off first. He lets it fall to the floor in a puddle of tan fabric, quickly followed by Cas’s suit jacket. He captures Cas’s mouth in another kiss, blindly undoing the buttons of Cas’s shirt. He lets it flutter to the floor and yanks Cas’s undershirt over his head, laughing softly as Cas has a little trouble with the neck hole.

Cas surfaces, looking almost smite-y around the eyes. He crowds Dean up against the bed until the backs of his knees hit the mattress. “Lay down,” he orders quietly.

Dean complies, blushing furiously. He stares up at Cas, shirtless, belt buckle undone, pants unzipped. He can make out the slight bulge of Cas’s hard cock underneath the dark fabric.

Cas crawls over him, kissing him deeply, and Dean’s never been this turned on in his life. He yanks Cas’s pants the rest of the way off, grumbling as one leg gets caught around Cas’s ankle. Impatient, Cas shakes off the last of his clothing, and he’s gloriously bare, bent over Dean.

Cas slots his leg between Dean’s, his thigh lightly brushing against Dean’s hard cock, and Dean has to actively concentrate not to rut against Cas and shoot his load in thirty seconds flat. He groans as Cas applies a bit of pressure.

“Are you ready?” Cas rumbles.

“To die of blue balls?” Dean gripes.

Cas shoots him an unimpressed look before he shimmies down Dean’s body so his face is more in line with Dean’s crotch. Thank god Dean doesn’t need to memorize this for spank bank material; any recollection would hardly do it justice - the feel of Cas’s hot breath over his cock, the way Dean’s heartbeat is thundering with anticipation, the expression on Cas’s face like Dean is the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

Cas actually licks his lips.

Goddamn, Cas hasn’t even really touched him yet, and Dean’s so fucking done.

Dean groans as Cas wraps his hand around him, his grip gentle but sure. He gives Dean a few experimental pumps, and Dean’s in serious danger of letting this all end too quickly.

“Slower,” he says through gritted teeth, “or I’m gonna come.”

Cas blinks. “Already?”

“Yes,” Dean says testily. “You’re hot, and I’ve jacked off to this exact scenario a bunch of times - so, yes, ‘already.’”

Far from looking disappointed, Cas’s expression turns distinctly smug as he sits back slightly on his haunches, slowing the pace of his hand to a crawl.

Breathing harshly through his nose, Dean grunts, “Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Cas says at once. “I’ve witnessed plenty of premature ejaculations.”

“So reassuring.”

“Dean,” Cas says, leaning forward so they’re practically nose-to-nose, “If you’re really concerned about coming too soon, I can get you hard again.”

“Dude, I get that you have high expectations, but I’m not a teenager anymore,” Dean says. “I can get it up like max three times in a whole day, and, even then, that’s only with good pacing and a lot of time on my hands.”

“You misunderstand me,” Cas says, pressing a swift kiss to Dean’s mouth. “I wouldn’t leave your erections up to chance.”

As Dean stares up at him, uncomprehending, Cas’s eyes flare electric blue.

Oh shit.

“You can do that? Give me a,” Dean struggles for the right word, “grace boner?”

Cas winkles his nose in distaste, and that’s it; Dean will always call it a grace boner from now on. “It would be no different than manipulating your body’s physiology to speed up healing or render you unconscious.”

“Dude, we have to work on your dirty talk,” Dean says, grinning.

Cas rolls his eyes but ducks back down to get his hands back on Dean’s cock. Dean hisses at the contact, but Cas ignores him. Cas tightens his grip, one corner of his mouth quirking up as Dean’s hips jerk and twist in response.

Dean inhales sharply, his fingers twisting in the sheets, as Cas bends down lower to lick the head. The wet, slick touch is gone too soon, and Dean moans at the loss, “C’mon, Cas.”

Cas laves his tongue over Dean’s dick a few more times, slowly, savoring the taste like a fucking gourmand. Which - flattering, but also totally not what Dean needs right now. He squirms on the bed, trying to get more of Cas’s mouth on him.

Cas doesn’t give an inch. “Patience, love,” he murmurs, one hand splaying possessively over his abdomen.

“Christ,” Dean gasps as Cas licks a long stripe up his cock, root to tip. He gets one flash of brilliant blue eyes before Cas ducks his head, swallows Dean down, and sucks like his life depends on it.

“Fuck!” Dean’s hips buck violently, seeking more of that delicious heat, but Cas keeps him still with a hand that might as well have been made of iron. And, Jesus, if that not pinging all of Dean’s buttons. Dean groans as Cas gives a particularly hard pull.

Cas pulls off of him, licking his lips in a lewd display that sends every last blood cell Dean has left rushing south. “Are you alright?”

“Am I-?” Dean gasps incredulously. He laughs, breathy and not at all sounding like himself. “I’m good, buddy. I’m fucking awesome.”

Cas smiles. “I’m glad.”

Dean's response gets cut off with a low moan as Cas gets back to worshipping Dean's cock. Cas swirls his tongue around the head as his other hand reaches around to pump the shaft in time with the movements of his tongue.

Soon, far too fucking soon, Dean feels the telltale tingles of an oncoming orgasm.

A strangled “Cas-” is all the warning he can get out before he comes with a shout. It feels like Cas’s throat wrings every last drop from him, leaving him in a hazy euphoria.

Cas straightens, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, and Dean has never seen anything hotter. “Was that satisfactory?” he asks, his voice raspy from the workout.

Dean gapes up at him. “Yeah.” He reaches for Cas’s hand, tugging him back down to the bed. “C’mere.”

Cas goes, a bemused expression on his face. “Like this,” Dean murmurs, positioning Cas on his back as Dean rolls to his side. He reaches down between them, wrapping his fingers around Cas’s cock. It’s been a while since he’s done it to someone else, but handjobs aren’t exactly rocket science.

Dean’s so used to studying Cas’s normally stoic face for signs of what he’s really thinking, it’s easy as pie to key into Cas’s tells now. He grins as Cas lets out a little surprised gasp, adding more pressure as Cas breathing speeds up. As Cas shakes apart, Dean kisses him through it.

Dean flops back, turning his head to watch Cas bask in his own post-orgasm afterglow.

“That was… very nice,” Cas says eventually.

“You bet your fucking ass it was nice,” Dean retorts. He bites his lip. “You really wanna do this? With me?”

“I love you,” Cas says simply. “Why wouldn’t I at least want to try?”

And when Cas puts it like that, Dean can’t find a single reason not to.

#destiel fanfic #profoundnet #destiel #love spell #canon divergence #season 12 #fanfic #minor samwitch #there is only try #rae writes fic

[biggest-stupidhead]

Path Walker (Levi x OC)

Summary: Emory and Erwin butt heads

AN: In future chapters there WILL be mentions of sexual assault I will put a warning on that specific chapter and other future chapters that mention mature content. 

Word Count: 2.4K 

A grunt escaped my lips as I fell to the ground, Annie loomed over me her icy blue eyes burning into my own. I risked a glance at Shadis who lurked on the edge of the clearing with that brooding expression, those hazel eyes locked on Annie and I. Annie followed my gaze and smirked,

"Nervous Black?" Annie purred, leaning forward to hoist me up.

"Never." I snarled, swinging my fist in a wide arc, effectively clipping her chin. She stumbled backwards, surprised by my dirty attack. Shadis raised an eyebrow at this move, not necessarily an impressive technique but definitely unexpected. I gave chase, closing the space between us, forcing Annie to take a defensive stance. When I first started sparring with Annie she almost appeared bored, now she was wide eyed and very alert. I kept my elbows close to my chest as I scanned her small frame for an opening. Annie was about the same size as me, making us a relatively equal match. She danced back a few more steps, seemingly desperate to get away from my lightning quick punches. This time I allowed her to retreat, my cobalt eyes taking in the way her chest heaved and her hair was displaced and slipping from her low bun. The usually composed Annie Leonhardt was only slightly undone but all of your comrades took note. I allowed my eyes to scan the crowd that had gathered. Shadis had also snuck up on Annie and I, his features hard and unforgiving.

"Draw?" I asked, my voice coming out airy as I spoke. Annie nodded, her chest still heaving as she recovered from our tussle. The crowd let out some 'aws' and 'boos' due to our little show ending so abruptly. I dusted off my pants as the rest of the cadets dispersed as Annie and I recovered. Annie held her hand out and I took it, shaking it wordlessly before departing to find a new opponent. I halted abruptly when Shadis called out to me in that hoarse voice of his.

"Black! Your presence is requested in my office." he stood a distance behind me as I raised an inquisitive brow. Odd, sparring practice still had at least another hour. Surely he wouldn't leave the cadets unattended to hold a private audience with me? The thought made my stomach clench with dread, I learned early not to trust men. I paused before saluting him and giving a curt nod. I walked briskly over the training grounds, kicking up dust as I crossed the vast clearing. Finally I found myself in front of the small building that the superiors used to hold formal meetings and also were the few offices on the property were located. I paused, a carriage catching my eyes, a solider stood by the horses, holding the reins. I squinted trying to see the symbol on his military jacket. But he was too far away, and I wasn't very keen on getting caught staring at a stranger. So I walked into the building, heading straight for Shadis' office. I knocked on the door, not expecting a response since Shadis was supervising the sparring practice.

"Come in." I jumped at the sound of the deep masculine voice on the other side. My hand hovered over the knob, had Shadis set me up? Was I about to get thrown in jail? No I hadn't done anything illegal, at least not recently. Was Shadis conspiring with those notorious human traffickers? Was I being sold? No I need to chill the fuck out. I gripped the door knob and pushed the door open. My heart skipped a beat at the sight of Erwin Smith seated comfortably in Shadis' chair, although he rose as soon as I entered. I saluted him quickly, leaving my hand over my heart even though he had dismissed me.

"You gave me a heart attack, thought I was going to be sold into slavery." I sighed as I crossed the room and sank into the uncomfortable wooden chair across the desk. Erwin furrowed his eyebrows and fought a smile off of his lips at my words.

"Why on earth would you think that? Have you been so terrible that Shadis has resolved to slavery as a threat to make you behave?" Erwin asked raising a bushy brow. I scoffed and leaned forward in my seat.

"No, I've been quite good actually." I said proudly, a smile curving on my lips. Erwin smiled fully before turning his attention to a folder that sat on the desktop.

"I've come here today to remind you of the deal that you agreed to three years ago." straight to business, gotta love the guy.

"Yes I recall." I said leaning back in my seat. God has it really been three years?

"Your graduation is in exactly two weeks, and I am very pleased with your rankings." Erwin said as he flipped through the file, his blue eyes suddenly flickered to my face.

"Oh, well I wish I could've made top ten but..." I trailed off, a blush dusting my cheeks.

"Ranked 11th in your class, still an impressive feat, this is a very competitive group of cadets." Erwin said giving me a pointed look. I could only nod at his words, still confused as to why he had come all this way to visit me.

"Anyway, I just wanted to ensure that you would be joining the Survey Corps as arranged, I'm sure as you know our numbers have decreased significantly." he said, slowly standing up, his tall build did make him a bit intimidating. I lifted my head a bit higher in an attempt to meet the mountain of a man without standing. He placed a large hand on the back of my chair, I allowed my eyes to flit over his calloused hand for a moment before turning to meet his cerulean gaze.

"I am aware." I spoke curtly, growing tired of his condescending tone.

"We are in need of promising recruits like yourself and to see you slip into another regimen would truly be devastating. Besides..." his hand slid off the back of my chair and onto my shoulder. My blood ran cold as he leaned down to my level and tightened his grip on my shoulder.

"There's a certain someone who is expecting you." his words sent goosebumps up my spine. It had been three whole years since I had seen Levi. Now of course Erwin was using him as an incentive to stay true to my word. I tensed under his grip, but still managed to nod.

"Does he ask about me?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

"No... But I know he thinks about you." Erwin said, I nodded grimly, not really knowing what else I expected, he was kind to even add the last part. I laughed bitterly, "Why do I even bother." I cupped my face in my hands and slowly drug them down my cheeks. Erwin still held my shoulder firmly.

"Just uphold your end of the deal." he whispered, with a final squeeze he released my shoulder and returned to Shadis' seat, sinking into the back rest.

"Don't worry I will." I said, my own sapphire eyes narrowing as I spoke lowly. He waved his hand, dismissing me. I turned and quickly left without saluting him, a small act of rebellion. Gods, fuck that, did he really doubt my integrity so much to make a journey out here to ensure that I remembered the deal? Outrageous, I didn't even want this I never wanted to be a solider. I was only a child when this deal was made. By none other than Isabel, which is the only reason why I have decided to uphold my end.

When Levi, Farlan, and Isabel had been arrested Isabel begged Erwin to go back to the flat and bring me with them, at first he refused. But then when he learned that I was twelve years old he changed his mind. Why you might ask? Simply because he realized that he could make me a solider, a pawn in the fight for freedom. So exactly one year after my family's arrest he returned and gave me false documents, freeing me from the underground city. I stumbled, leaning against the railing of the dining hall, so engrossed in my memories that I failed to see a large rock in my path.

I blinked, the images of the dank city still dancing across my mind. I looked up at the sky to see the sun sinking lower, dinner would begin soon. But my stomach was churning with nerves as I thought about the place I had grown up and the people who had ensured my survival. Isabel, Farlan, Levi, they had saved me gotten me out of that hellhole. Now only two of us remained and he couldn't even fucking write me. I straightened up, pushing off the railing I stormed back towards the barracks, a new found rage instilled in my chest. Or maybe it wasn't new at all, maybe it had always been there, a nagging in the back of my head. Levi was never keen with me, but surely he cared enough to at least ensure that Erwin fulfilled Isabel's wish. But then again maybe he only enforced the deal to honor Isabel?

I frowned, Isabel was one of the few people who showed me kindness during my short life, she was like a big sister to me. I finally found myself struggling to open the door to the barracks, my hands shaking with emotion. With a final shove I pushed into the room, the bunk beds all made with care. I flopped onto my bunk and buried my face in the stiff pillow. I allowed a few small tears fall into the fabric before I finally pulled away from the pillow and breathed a heavy sigh. I looked down where my pillow once rested to see the carefully folded paper that I kept stored underneath the pillow. I gingerly unfolded the worn parchment with shaky hands. My shoulders sagged when I finished, the image that stared back at me made my heart ache. A drawing that Farlan had done only a few weeks before everything changed, a family portrait of sorts, you and Isabel between Levi and Farlan, Levi was drawn with a slight curl of his lip, his own way of smiling.

Isabel looked vibrant and full of life, Farlan looked cool as a cat, and I looked like a snotty brat with missing teeth and ratty hair. At the sight of my messy hair I recalled I memory of Isabel attempting to comb it to no avail, Farlan tried and also ultimately failed. But Levi pinned me to the ground and viciously raked the brush through my hair, and succeeded in detangling the mess. You didn't talk to him for a week after that. A shaky breath left my lungs as I focused on Isabel's wide eyes and the way Farlan's had an arm carelessly thrown over my shoulders. What I wouldn't do to feel his warmth by me again, admittedly I'd had an innocent crush on Farlan. It was only natural seeing as he was the one to take me in so graciously. I yelped when the door banged open, quickly stuffing my precious keepsake back under the pillow. Ymir padded in first, her arms folded behind her head, Krista followed closely after her. Mikasa wandered in after the odd pair along with Sasha and Annie brought up the rear. The lot of us occupied this small section of the barracks, Annie was the only one to spare me a second glance before tossing her jacket onto the bed above mine.

"What did Shadis do with you?" she asked indifferently, such an odd tone that made me think she didn't really care, but still bothered to ask the question.

"He did nothing, it was an old acquaintance of mine that requested my presence." I said throwing my legs over the edge of the bed. Annie raised a brow but didn't question any further, she set to work on unbuckling her harness, and shortly after, stripping her white jeans off. When she tossed the clothing onto the ground a strange scent washed over me. It smelled simply raw a foreign scent that I had never caught a whiff of before. Just as quickly as it had drifted under my nose it was gone, leaving an odd feeling in my stomach. Hm how odd, I thought as I watched Annie pull on a pair of loose pants. Just as I opened my mouth to ask her if she had found a new perfume or something Sasha plopped down on my bed.

"Sorry you couldn't come to dinner, I saved you a little something though!" she beamed as she pulled a half eaten loaf of bread out of her jacket pocket. I couldn't help but smile, in an odd distant way, she reminded me of my dear Isabel, kind and hard headed.

"Thanks Sasha, I appreciate that." I gingerly accepted the gift, and took a bite out of the loaf. Sasha looked pleased with herself, she got up and left me alone on my bunk, Annie crawled up onto the top as I dusted crumbs off my bed. Come to think of it, that scent from earlier was familiar, maybe she used the same soap as someone? No it wasn't a manmade scent, it was strange but somehow I knew that it was uniquely her. Like pheromones or some shit, my nose wrinkled and suddenly I felt over powered by the scent. I looked up to see Ymir passing, her shoulders pulled back proudly. What the fuck, man they reeked how had I never smelled it before? They smelled like sweat mixed with an earthy musk, my eyes watered as the smell continued to overpower my senses. I fell into a sneezing fit shortly after Ymir had walked back to her bunk, drawing some curious glances my way as I continued to sneeze my brains out.

"You alright down there?" Annie asked, her head dangling upside down to look at me underneath her.

"Fine, just.... Allergies." I sniffled, rubbing my arm discreetly over my nose partially to wipe snot away and also to protect it from her scent. Annie brushed her bangs off her face to get a better look at me, her brows pinched together and her mouth opened slightly as if she was about to say something.

"Lights out cadets!" Shadis banged on the barracks door loudly, shutting up every girl in the room. Mikasa got up and extinguished the torch, plunging the room into darkness. I heard Annie settle back into her bed, and I followed suit, my nose still burning from the stench.

#levi aot #levi x oc #levi x reader #levi heichou #levi #levi ackerman #erwin smith #hange zoe #eren mikasa armin #mikasa ackerman #eren jeager #armin arlert #jean kirstein #sasha braus #connie springer #petra ral #AoT #snk levi #snk x reader #spoilers

[yuta-nakamots]

119 - n.jm

Pairing - Jaemin x Reader

Genre - Horror/Thriller, Angst

Warnings - Cheating, familial problems, character death, mentions of sex (though no descriptions of it), blood, violence, public humiliation (not in a nsfw way), yandere tendencies

Summary - Misfortune is all around you though you were never the true victim of it until now with Jaemin by your side. Will you make it through these troubles or die trying? Will you be killed or become the killer?

Word Count - 4.1k

Written for the #NeoHalloween writing festival hosted by @nct-writers​. Check out the masterlist here.

To say that your life was rough would be just about an understatement. As a third-year student in university, you had already moved out on your own and had begun supporting yourself. Though your family was wealthy, it didn’t mean that everything in your life was handed to you on a silver platter because not everything that glitters is gold.

Your mother, who used to be a strong businesswoman who started up her own brand, was left heartbroken and devastated when she found out your father and seemingly loving husband had been having an affair for the past two years. She turned to alcohol and drugs in order to forget her sorrows and give her relief if only for a short while. You didn’t know what happened to your father after he moved out, only that he was happy with the woman he had been cheating with.

It soon became an addiction and you tried your best to save her. You scheduled and brought her into therapy appointments and followed her doctor’s orders to keep a close eye on her, but there’s only so much a college student can do. Your younger brother wasn’t helping at all either.

Chenle, only a year younger than you, has had his eyes set on taking over your mother’s business ever since he realized that special treatment he got at school from others when they heard his last name. He fed into your mother’s addictions and would reverse all the progress you made with her. “Don’t you want her money? She’s not in any state to get back in the business world so let’s just take what she has and run.” Chenle told you one night after you had finally succeeded at putting your mother to bed.

You looked at Chenle, appalled that he would even dare to say such a thing, even more at the fact that he had been thinking about this for so long. “We’re her children,” you reminded him, “she will share it with us as she wishes and she can make a comeback if you just stopped making things worse.”

“Me? Making things worse?” Chenle scoffed, mocking his disbelief. “I’m only helping things along. The faster she stops breathing, the faster we’ll get her money and I’ll get her business.” You could only shake your head at him as you pulled him out of your mother’s bedroom that now seemed much too large for her frail self. “Think about it, we can take over and split it fifty-fifty and the media would love us for it. ‘Zhong children take over their mother’s business after her passing in honor of her legacy’. Come on, can’t you see it?”

You felt nauseous at the images Chenle was painting in your mind and you knew there was only so much more of this that you could handle before you reached your own breaking point.

That’s why you brought your mother into a care home when you and Chenle were supposed to be at school. He wouldn’t know where you took her and you chose to pay for it using the money in your own bank account, though admittedly most of it was your mother’s money. Your parents had already bought you your own apartment when you first entered college, in case you wanted more independence though your mother’s condition is what stopped you from leaving. But the same day you left her at the care home was the same day you finally moved in.

As long as your mother was away from Chenle and you went in to check on her daily, everything would be fine, so you thought. You had even met your neighbor and he helped you move in. He was your age, even attended the same school, and went by the name of Jaemin.  

Ever since your first year in college, your life had already been filled with issues from your own family on top of the already heavy workload from classes, leaving you little to no room for a social life. You weren’t an outcast, but you definitely weren’t popular. People usually didn’t spare you a second glance unless they knew the lineage you came from which is why you suddenly felt small under the eyes that were staring into you.

Looking up as you took your seat in economics, you saw the familiar face of your neighbor, Jaemin, as he smiled down at you. As you settled into your seat, he slipped into the one next to you before leaning over and whispering a ‘good morning’ in your ear. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t find him attractive.

Within just a week of having known Jaemin, he had already become one of your closest friends, which came as a surprise since he was also one of the most popular boys on campus. But that didn’t stop him from walking home with you after both of you were done for the day. “A princess should never be left to walk on her own.” Jaemin insisted. “Who knows what dangers could be out there, waiting to attack her?” He pondered animatedly as he linked his arm with yours as you started your journey back to your apartment complex.

It was also within a week that it took Chenle to confront you. There he stood, in front of your apartment unit as you and Jaemin stepped out of the elevator. “What did you do with her?” Chenle demanded.

“What do you mean?” You questioned, faking cluelessness as came to stand in front of him, leaving Jaemin at his own unit.

Chenle rolled his eyes. “You know damn well what I mean. Where’s mom and what did you do with her?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You remarked dismissively as you unlocked your door.

“She’s living with you isn’t she?” Chenle sneered, barging into your apartment the second your door was unlocked.

“Go ahead, search all you want. You won’t find her here.” You took off your shoes inside the doorway before depositing your belongings in your room while listening to Chenle romp around in the background. Once you had finished unpacking your bag, you stepped out of your room, closing the door behind you, your brother still going on his little rampage. “Can you tone down the temper tantrum? I’m going to get a noise complaint from the-”

Your sentence was cut off as he pinned you against the wall, his hands holding you by your shoulders as your back slammed into the hard surface. “From who? Who will you get a noise complaint from?” His eyes bore into yours as his grip only tightened. “You know damn well that we own this apartment complex so a single noise complaint doesn’t mean jack shit.”

You raised your hand to slap him, his attitude was simply annoying, but he was faster. Chenle quickly had both of your wrists in one hand as he brought his face closer to yours. “Stop being such a bitch and tell me where she is.”

“You know I won’t do that.” Chenle let out a groan of frustration, his free hand running through his hair before it came straight for your throat. You yelped in shock as he started to apply pressure, slowly limiting your oxygen intake.

“If you’re not going to help me, then maybe I should just kill you. Right here, right now.”

“You would never.” You choked out.

“Oh yeah? What makes you say that?” He sneered, enjoying the pitiful state he had you in.

“I’m your fucking sister, Chenle.”

“That doesn’t mean anything to me. If I let you live, you’ll only take more of what is rightfully mine. If you die, I can take over everything on my own and never have to deal with your annoying ass-”

Just as quickly as you started seeing spots in your vision, they were gone, the pressure on your throat was relieved and you keeled over, finally able to take gulps of air. You weren’t given much time to recover, the yells from your brother down the hallway pulling you out of your haze as he fought with another person on top of him. “Who the fuck are you?” Chenle exclaimed.

“Her boyfriend,” the person said, the deep voice easily recognizable, “don’t you dare hurt her ever again, or else it will be you getting killed instead.”

“You talk as if you have the power to do so.” Chenle retorted, only angering his attacker further.

They landed a square punch on his jaw before pulling a book off the shelf next to them and slamming it into his head, effectively knocking Chenle out. “Jaemin, what are you doing?” You yell, running in to stop him from doing any further damage.

“I heard him hurting you, princess. I can’t just let him get away with it.” He explained, pouting at you as if your brother was not lying unconscious under him. “I saved your life didn’t I?”

“God,-fuck, Jaemin, just get off of him.” You yanked him to his feet before attempting to pull Chenle up onto your back.

“Oh? What is my pretty girl doing now?” Jaemin asked, a sadistic smile appearing on his face.

“Getting him to a hospital because I can’t have my brother dying in my own apartment you sick fuck.”

Jaemin chuckled before responding while taking Chenle from your arms and carrying him on his own. “He won't die, he’ll just be knocked out for a bit.”

“And how would you know that?” You ask as you guide Jaemin out the front door, trying your best not to panic as you map out the way to your car and to the hospital.

“Experience.”

Jaemin’s answer should have troubled you but it was the least of your worries once you were nearly speeding on your way to the hospital, wanting to make sure Chenle was okay. You brought him into the ER drive-in and you and Jaemin watched as the staff wheeled him away on a stretcher. You stayed to answer a few questions, claiming that it was a case of self-defense out on the streets and you had come across it on your way home with your, self-proclaimed, boyfriend, before heading out once all the information was sorted.

“So, Chenle Zhong...he’s your brother?” Jaemin started as both of you were getting back into your car. You nodded as you started the engine and put on your seatbelt. “Which means...Sarah Zhong, The Sarah Zhong is your mother?” Again, you nodded as you shifted the car into gear and pulled out from the ER drop-off zone. “So he was in your apartment, about to kill you because he didn’t know where his own mother went?”

“There’s a lot more to it than that, but let’s just get home first and I’ll explain everything to you then, okay?” Jaemin let out a grunt to acknowledge you as he placed a hand on your thigh and went to check his phone. “But first, actually, what’s up with you suddenly becoming my boyfriend? First with Chenle and now at the hospital?”

“Isn’t that what I am?” Jaemin asked, his voice sickly sweet.

“You are a boy and you are my friend, but that does not make you my boyfriend, Jaemin.”

He sighed next to you. “What if I asked you right now? What if I asked, right now, ‘y/n Zhong, will you be my girlfriend’? What would your answer be?” You drove in silence, your mind going blank. “I know you find me attractive.” He interjected before letting it go silent once again. “Look, it’s not like you have any other choice or else-”

“‘Or else’ what?” You interrupted. “Tell me, why do I not have a choice here? Why are you forcing me to be your girlfriend?”

Jaemin gently squeezed your thigh upon noticing your hands were shaking on the wheel. “You pretty brother will probably press charges against me and if you don’t want your family to get exposed, the best way to do so would be following the alibi we set out for ourselves.”

Coming to a stop at a red light, you leaned forward and rested your forehead against the top of the steering wheel. “Fuck.” Jaemin was absolutely right. “Fuck” you yelled, this time startling the boy next to you.

Jaemin remained quiet as you sat hunched over before quietly mumbling “green” to let you know the light had changed colors. You drove through the intersection, feeling something in your life shift, and so began your relationship with Jaemin.

You had explained everything to Jaemin that day once you arrived back at your apartment complex, from your father’s affair up until now with Chenle having confronted you earlier in the evening. You had also broken down in tears and asked Jaemin to stay the night with you, which he gladly agreed to do, not that it would have been much trouble for him anyways since he lives next door.

A fake sense of calm consumed you in the following month. You and Jaemin entered a sort of honeymoon phase in your semi-fake relationship while your mother’s health continued to improve and Chenle made his recovery. You don’t know how he did it, but Jaemin had managed to doctor up some footage, making it look as if Chenle had been mugged just outside of the complex, and two figures, assumed to be you and Jaemin, came into view and helped him into a car nearby before driving off.

The investigators didn’t stay around much longer after that, closing the case as if it were as easy as a hit and run. You knew Chenle would be furious with you and you lived every day in fear of him turning up unannounced, ready to take your life again. Being with Jaemin made you feel safe, oddly enough, even with all the red flags he had thrown your way. From knocking Chenle out to the fixed footage and even the way he had the proper cleaning supplies to wipe any evidence of Chenle having been in your apartment.

Jaemin showed you love more intensely than any of your past relationships that sometimes you had to remind yourself why you were doing this. The way he kissed you was absolutely enrapturing, the way he caressed every part of you so gently sent butterflies through your body. He had even made love to you a few times, all while confessing his adoration for you. He held your hand and let you wear his clothing, acting as a model boyfriend that any girl would wish to have.

Being with Jaemin wasn’t all that great though. He teased you, sometimes even publicly embarrassed you, though he chalked it up to being his way of showing his affection. Today was the worst of all. You had stayed up trying to finish a paper for econ, but you just couldn’t get the words to flow and ended up bullshitting nearly all of it. Jaemin had known all of this, yet he volunteered your essay to share during class when your professor had asked for any names. “Ah yes, Ms. Zhong, it would be a pleasure to hear your writing.” He said as he stepped down from the podium.

“Jaemin, I fucking swear to god-” You whispered through a fake smile.

“It’s okay princess, you got this. You’re smart, I know you are.” He encouraged through a genuine smile though the intentions behind it were less so.

As you stood up on the podium, you cleared your throat while holding your sad excuse for a research paper. “I wrote my essay on the stock market and investments, and how we shouldn’t buy into such things as all these numbers are digital and cannot be withdrawn into physical money.”

“With all due respect, Ms. Zhong, your paper sounds absolutely wonderful but the topic of this research paper was on how politics affect economies worldwide.” Your professor informed you.

You paused, feeling hot chills pass over you. “Uh, yes, that’s what my essay is on. I just meant that I had chosen to write about it from a more fundamental scale.”

“Oh, yes, of course!” Your professor exclaimed, clasping his hands together. “Please, do continue in that case, I’m terribly sorry for interrupting.”

“So, like I was saying,” you began again, glancing over at Jaemin, only for him to shoot you a smile, “we should not buy into the stock market since it is all digital and wealth is not promised.” Your presentation went on like this for the next few minutes, occasionally looking at Jaemin whenever you wanted to finish and step off the podium, but his gaze changed immediately whenever you took a step towards the edge and it forced you to stay up there, talking around in circles, confusing yourself. “This is why prices are so inflated with what our past presidents have done in the economy-”

“Thank you, Ms. Zhong. I do believe it is time we moved on to the next paper.” Your professor advised, much to your relief as he gave you a look of pity and condolence while allowing you to step down before he resumed his position at the front of the class.

You were on the edge of tears as you sat back down next to Jaemin and you swatted his hand away from you when he tried to wrap an arm around you as if to comfort you. You felt your phone vibrating in your bag as Jaemin texted you but you didn’t even bother checking it, choosing to zone out while staring at the white walls of the lecture hall instead.

After your professor excused the class for the day, you made a beeline for the apartments, not even caring that you still had one more class. Jaemin called out for you and ran after you but you thanked whatever divine being above that blessed you by letting Jeno, his best friend, pull him off to their shared biology class.

Had you been a little more attentive, maybe you would’ve noticed the near carbon copy of your car parked at the end of the garage as you pulled out. But you didn’t, only seeking your mother’s comfort as you drove off to the care home since it had indeed been a week since you had last visited and you promised that you would come at least once a week.

When you arrived at the care home and passed through the main lobby, greeting the staff working as you were a familiar face among them, one of them stopped you. “Ms. Zhong! Sorry to stop you, but a person by the name of Chenle Zhong came by to pick up your mother. We didn’t know if this was something you had arranged or not but he had all the credentials and your mother seemed to recognize him enough so we let her go.”

You froze in absolute shock and panic. “What do you mean you let her go? You left her with some stranger that you don’t even know?”

“We’re truly sorry, but he did have all the paperwork to prove his relation to you and your mother so there was nothing we could do.” The worker said, speaking quickly in hopes of ceasing your anger.

You took a couple of deep breaths before looking around, noticing all the eyes on you. “How much did he pay?” Silence. “I said, how much did he pay?” You yelled.

“$150,000.” The woman behind the front desk spoke up. You knew it, you fucking knew it would happen but now there was nothing left to do except wait for Chenle to show up.

You don’t know what came over you but something compelled you to enter Jaemin’s apartment instead of yours once you returned to the apartments so you went along with it, dropping your bag at the foot of his bed before lying down and falling asleep as you waited for him to finish at school.

Your sleep was a black dreamless sleep and you woke with a jolt, your heart pounding, not knowing what time it was nor why you woke up in this state. You looked out of the window, noting that it was now dark out, meaning that you had probably slept for at least an hour or two, which answered your first immediate question. The answer to the second came when you finally registered the yelling coming from next door. Next door...your apartment.

Scrambling out of Jaemin’s bed, you didn’t even bother putting on your shoes, bursting in through your front door and running down the main hallway towards the living room, the source of all the noise, to find a bloodied Jaemin on top of an equally, if not more, bloodied Chenle, the weapon in question lying a few feet away from them, the warm red liquid slowly dripping from the blade of the kitchen knife onto your beige carpet. “Jaemin, what the fuck are you doing?!” Both boys paused at the sound of your voice.

“Oh, my sweet girl, I had come home to wait for you after you had run away but instead he came to me. I knew all about how he had bought you mother so I figured, why not give him injuries that will cost another $150,000?” His face smiling at you with the bloodied fingerprints plastered on his pale skin was a sight you knew you’d never forget.

You slowly stepped towards them, your brain working at speeds beyond your comprehension. “Jaemin, how did you know about my mother? I had only just come from there so unless Chenle told you...” you paused to look over at your brother, who shook his head before coughing up some blood, spitting some in a glob at Jaemin.

Jaemin cooed at Chenle as he wiped the blood off his face before running that same hand through Chenle’s hair, locking his fingers into it and yanking Chenle’s head back at a painful angle. Chenle yelled out in pain, his cries muffled when Jaemin pulled a blanket off your couch and stuffed it into Chenle’s mouth. “You see, princess, I had their security circuit pulled even before you told me about your family’s misfortune.”

“Wha- but how...why?...” You struggled to grasp at all the information being connected in your head.

“Your cheating father had an affair with not only your mother and mine as well.” He looked between you and Chenle, enjoying the shock that was mirrored in both of your expressions. “That’s right, my mother is the mistress who stole away your father. However, he is the man who broke apart my family too when she ran away with him, leaving me with my abusive asshole of a dad.”

You continued moving closer and kneeled down once you were in front of Jaemin, bringing yourself to eye level with him, even if the smell of blood was making you feel like passing out. “I figured that by killing one of you, I could force you stupid Zhongs to get back together and bring my mother back to me. But I couldn’t bring myself to pull the trigger, not when I’ve fallen so madly in love with you...which leaves me with him.”

Jaemin lunged for the knife next to you only to find that you picked it up much faster than he did. You stood up and backed away from them with the knife as Chenle attempted to shove Jaemin off of him, but Jaemin was stronger though not by much. “Princess, please do both of us a favor. He tried to kill you and he’s shown how little you mean to him. Do you really think he’d share everything equally with you?” Your eyes darted between both of theirs. “Don’t you wish for my happiness? After all the love I’ve given to you?”

Your gaze locked with Chenle’s who was shaking due to the overexertion of his body. “Does the pretty boy have something to say?” Jaemin cooed as he pulled the blanket out of Chenle’s mouth.

“It’s me or him, y/n. Me or him.”

“Alright, that’s enough.” Jaemin said before pouncing back on Chenle, both his hands wrapping around Chenle’s pale neck.

You threw the knife, hoping for it to reach its target. It did, and you watched as his body stilled and went limp right in front of your eyes, the blade pierced through his heart. It was honestly a lucky throw but regardless, the blood on the knife was because of you.

You are the killer now.

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