#I forgot the white parts on frosts face fuck

[yokeslastrestort]

Between a rock and a goblin place

[pinkrelish]

𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞.

bestfriend!eddie x fem!reader

✶Upon reflection, it was obvious. The tragedy lurking under the surface of your intentions when you came over that night. He could sense something was off, but he ignored it, just wanting to see you smile on your birthday. Years later, standing across from you in a parking lot, he sure as fuck wasn't smiling.✶

NSFW — angst, eventual smut, slow burn, drug/alcohol mention/use, disordered eating by proxy of parent

chapter: 2/15 [wc: 3.3k]

↳ part 01 / 02 / 03 / 04 / 05 / 06 / 07 / 08 / 09 / 10 / 11

AO3

Chapter 2: Eddie's Worst Memory

––1982––

Eddie pedaled his bike as hard as could, cutting a stark line in the grass where he wove between trailers, keeping a sharp eye on the one across from his. Thankfully, the curtains were drawn. He hopped off his bike, and instead of putting it away properly, he gathered the groceries from the wire basket into his arms, and kicked it under the makeshift porch, out of sight. He wouldn’t necessarily mind if the bike was stolen, but he’d be about as upset as the original person he borrowed it from.

Slamming his shoulder into the door, he hurried his hoard to the kitchen counter and spilled it there, catching the jar of frosting from rolling off the edge. “Okay.” He inhaled deep through his nose and nodded at his task. The box of cake mix was dented. The carton of eggs was.. leaking onto the candles. However, in the early afternoon sun, the bottle of waxy pastel sprinkles shined delightfully. “Time to get to work.”

Using his finger to follow the line of directions, a crease matured between his eyebrows. “The hell is an egg white?”

~~~

It was worth it. It was worth it. It was goddamn going to be worth it.

“Stupid.. fucking,” he said through gritted teeth, scraping the bottom of the round pan, adding the shredded pieces of crispy cake to the top of his lumpy attempt at baking.

Around him, his kitchen was in an impressive state of disarray. More than usual. Two eggs were splattered on the floor. Powdery cake mix dusted every surface. His face was flushed red from having to make an emergency run to the grocery store a second time for spray oil (which he forgot to use) and his uncle’s instant coffee–it was the least he could do after waking him up by knocking over a skillet left on the stovetop. All in all, it was worth it. Kinda.

He stuck his tongue out in concentration. Spreaded the best layer of white frosting he could and mixed two drops of red coloring into the rest and dumped it in a ziploc bag, snipping the corner. With it, he wrote a message in thin pink letters on top.

It was rare he experienced this pang of joy in his chest. This exciting surge of antsy giddiness. His cheeks hurt from grinning, and he didn’t care if his uncle gave him an odd look for it.

Tossing the bag in the trash and sucking on his sticky fingers, Eddie Munson stepped back to admire his work, and as swiftly as the pride puffed out his chest, it popped his ego.

He pinched the bridge of his nose and reasoned with the cake, “How the fuck did I miss the ‘h’ in birthday?”

Uncle Wayne paused on his way out the door. “She comin’ over later?”

Contemplating starting the entire process over again, Eddie dragged a hand down his face and peered out the kitchen window at the infuriating closed curtains opposite his. “Yeah. Eventually.”

Wiggling his mustache back and forth, Wayne set his gaze on something in the distance. “You two are close, aren’t ya?”

“Is this going somewhere?”

“I left you somethin’ on your nightstand just in case, yanno, be safe, or what-have-ya.” He brought the mug of coffee to his lips and sipped loudly.

“We’re just friends,” Eddie enunciated, giving him a pointed stare from beneath his dark curly hair.

His uncle’s shoulders shook in an all-too-aware laugh. “That’s what I always told my parents.. until your dad caught us and ratted me out.” Zipping his work coveralls the rest of the way, he waved and made his exit. “Well, see ya.”

Eddie gesticulated at the trailer around him, bewildered. “Sure, bye, I guess after dropping that one on me.”

Silence fell where he stood. There was really nothing else for him to do to prepare for you coming over, besides checking the window once more to make sure he wasn’t losing his mind and that your mom’s car was indeed parked out front. Deciding to waste some time, he picked up his guitar in his room and worked on riffs to bring to the table for his band the next day.

But not before putting away the condoms on his nightstand first.

~~~

When Eddie next woke, darkness greeted him. Swallowed him whole. Disoriented him in the bathroom where he quickly brushed his teeth. Robbed his sight when he stumbled into his living room, where his beacon called to him. Your kitchen curtains were pulled back and you were at the sink washing dishes.

Flicking on a few lights, he opened the door and leaned into the frame, waiting for you to notice him.

You must’ve been lost in the trenches of your thoughts. Quite the while passed until you snapped your head up; he didn’t mind though, having the spare moments to observe you do something ordinary like a chore; entranced by the domestic act, and equally humbled as if it were an uneven bar routine he could watch you perform for hours on end. At this distance, he could see your face liven upon meeting his eye, and you slowed your motions, staring at him through the glass, the night sky, and everything else keeping you apart. You spoke to someone he couldn’t see. Your body language was calculated. Drying the plate in your hand during the brief exchange and setting it down gently, agreeing to what they were saying. Then, you picked up something and left.

In a flash, he was lifting his arm for you to duck under, and narrowed his eyes at the bundle you had hugged to your chest. “What’s that?”

You released a drawn out, “Uh,” at his question, biding your time to keep from answering. Searching for an empty space on his couch to put the neatly folded stack of clothes and opting for the cleaner coffee table. You set them down with care, tucking a tag into the collar. “It’s everything you let me have over the years. Band tees, jackets, a hoodie. I wanted to give them back to you.”

Confused, he shrugged you off. “They don’t mean that much to me. You can have them. I don’t care.”

You stared at them. A long tick of the second hand on the clock in his kitchen. An erratic desperation in your moves. Rocking in sync with your breaths. Bloodshot eyes and large pupils obsessing over each rip, each stain, each graphic tee he got at a concert you missed when you had an out of town meet. Biting at your chapped lips. Hiding your torn cuticles by stuffing your hands in the pockets of the jacket you wore.. His black jacket with a patch of Anthrax's anarchy symbol on the bicep, and beneath his jacket was his old baby blue 1977 Black Sabbath tour shirt.

He smiled. “What about the ones you’re wearing?”

“You really want this one from when you were a kid? It’s tight even on me, bu–t,” you elongated the vowel, “I did hear crop tops were coming back into fashion if you need it that badly.”

“I think I’ll pass for now, but thank you for the consideration.” You smiled, and it put him further on edge. Nothing about it was genuine; simply a hollow favor to keep him from prying. And it may be the first time in Eddie’s life he couldn’t discern what was bothering you. “Are you okay?”

“I just want us to have a normal night tonight. The usual.”

“Sure.. We can do that. To the Lonely Mountain?”

“To the Lonely Mountain.”

He followed you into his room and began rummaging through his shelves for the worn paperback. Behind him, you sunk into the mattress, serving as a reminder of your patience as the springs squeaked and he dug further into the recesses of his bookcase. It should’ve been easy to locate, having read from it last week, but he’d had a few advancements in his business, one could say, and now it was buried under bags of bud and other paraphernalia.

“Have you considered cleaning up in here every once in a while?”

“And have you miss out on this great show?” He smacked his ass, jangling the chains on his jeans. “Not a chance.”

“I hate being here.”

“You love being here.”

Digging to the very back, he found his used copy of The Hobbit at the exact time he heard another squeak of his mattress and a little ‘aw,’ sounding like you were cooing over something adorable.

“Hm?” He turned around and zeroed in on what you were fawning over.

You flipped through the spiral bound notebook of lyrics he forgot to put away. “You wrote this poem? These lines are really sweet, Ed–”

It was ripped from your hands and hurled over his shoulder. The notebook smacked the opposite wall, falling to the floor in a spectacular fanning of the pages. “Nope.”

“No?”

“No.”

“Okay..” Blinking, you clasped your hands politely to occupy the notebook-shaped space they created when he so rudely interrupted your innocent curiosity. “Uh.. Should we get to reading, then?”

“Yeah, that’s probably for the best.”

With the intensity of his unwavering eye contact, he approached the bed, hardly waiting for you to make room for him before he was kneeling on the edge, climbing to lay in the middle. You shared his one pillow. Heads together. Bodies a mere suggestion of separation. Your hair mixed with his. He’d grown it past his ears and though you were laying on the ends, the weight of your body next to him was worth the pain. He’d endure it for the next eternity if it meant making you happy.

Reaching for his nightstand with his limited mobility, he jerked the lamp closer by its cord and found the metal tin he kept on the edge.

He offered you a joint poised between his fingers. You said, “Not tonight,” and he put it away, accepting your request to remain sober.

“Whatever the lady wants on her day.” Eddie found the dog-eared page you left off on and bent the cover in his palm until it curled backwards, and thus began reading chapter fifteen out loud to you. Including the voices.

~~~

Neither of you could imagine what hour it was.

Neither of you cared.

“They had forgotten Thorin! Part of the wall, moved by levers, fell outward with a crash into the pool. Out leapt the King under the Mountain, and his companions followed him,” Eddie treated the oncoming paragraphs with a softer tone, slowing his cadence to ease into the scene, “The Wargs were scattered and Thorin drove right against the bodyguard of Bolg. But he could not pierce their ranks. Already behind him among the goblin dead lay many men and many dwarves, and many a fair elf that should have lived yet long ages merrily in the wood. And as the valley widened his onset grew ever slower. His numbers were too few. His flanks were unguarded. Their friends could not help them.”

You’d been eerily calm. He’d think you had fallen asleep if it weren’t for your muscles coiled like a snake in wait. If it weren’t for his sleeve caught in your sweaty fist.

He turned the page. “On all this Bilbo looked with misery.”

Your body began to tremble; a gentle shiver along his, and then you sniffled.

“I always knew you were a Thorin fangirl,” he remarked. “When we read this a few years ago, you cried then, too.” Shaking harder, you buried your face against his arm and used your hands to shield him from witnessing the speed at which you went from silent tears wetting his shirt to out-right sobs.

Wide-eyed, he lowered the book to his chest. “..This isn’t about Thorin, is it?” The density of his question hung in the air. Guilt steeped in his thoughts the longer you didn’t answer. You’d been acting weird since you got here and the desperation of not knowing what to do ate at his nerves. Seeing you upset and not knowing why, or how to make it better.

Meek, he asked of you, “Tell me what’s wrong.”

“I can’t,” came a muffled high-pitched whimper from his best friend in the entire world.

He dug his nails into the book cover. For years, fear kept him vigilant in the sanctity of your relationship. Friends. Nothing more, nothing less. One of the few pure things in his life he couldn’t stand to ruin, despite the building pressure like embers to a roaring fire to do something drastic. To be something more and being terrified of the chance of less.

Suppressing his urges, he pressed his cheek to the crown of your head; the most he would allow himself to do, even in the midst of water stinging his eyes. He pleaded, mouth sticky with thick saliva, “Then tell me how to fix it.”

“Keep reading to me.. Please, Eddie.”

“Okay.” The little word was sighed into your hair.

Picking up The Hobbit again, he propped it further down his stomach to where you could read along, if you desired. And with blurry vision, he continued with the story, reciting Bilbo’s speech where he sees help in the distance, and the subsequent exchange on Thorin’s deathbed when it was too late. Reading to you until his voice tired and his eyelids fell. Supporting your head on the dip between his bicep and his chest, welcoming you to his spoken vibrations as he came to a close one chapter before the end.

“We’ll save it for next time,” he said. “I’m about to fall asleep.”

“Yeah, same.” You sat up and twisted both ways to pop your spine.

In the background, almost indistinguishable from the hum of the refrigerator, was The Doors’ Riders on a Storm Eddie put on earlier during a bathroom break. Nothing was quite as poignant as the repeating lyrics of ‘Girl, you gotta love your man,’ the moment your gazes met on his bed.

“I forgot I made you something,” he lied. How could he ever forget the disaster he created.

“Made me something?”

He told you to close your eyes and helped you off the bed, earning your giggle and allaying the remaining dread of the evening. Walking backwards, he held your wrists and led you to the kitchen. Able to memorize your face for as long as he wanted without having to look away when you inevitably noticed. Hearing your change in mood and knowing he was the one who caused it.

Labels be damned. Few things could make him more content in life than he was now, and he had to be okay with the thrill of letting go of you by dragging his fingertips over your calloused palms, and pausing for a beat, almost holding your hands.

“Okay, cover your eyes,” he said, setting everything up.

“But they’re already closed?”

“I don’t trust you not to peek.”

“That doesn’t make sense. I can just peek through my fingers.”

“Do it.” He patted down his pockets, finding a lighter. “Or else.”

“Whatever.” You complied.

Quickly, he counted sixteen candles from the box and lit them, finding vacant spaces on the cake to stake them, wrestling with the idea of covering his mistake. “You can look now!”

Dropping your hands, you immediately cupped them to your cheeks in surprise. “You actually made me a cake? Like, by yourself? That’s so sweet.” You pouted his name, “Eddie, you didn’t have to do that for me.”

His grin broadened. He bent over to fold his arms on the counter and swayed his hips to rid himself of excess energy, regarding you over the blazing candles. “Who said I made it? I could’ve bought it.”

You slid your gaze from the cake, to him. “It says Happy Birt’day.”

“Alright, alright,” he yielded. “Make a wish before the wax melts.”

Finding the ordeal corny, you blew them out without doing the whole stereotypical shutting-eyes-and-wishing thing. “Thank you. Really.”

He took out the candles. “Do you want a piece?” Regret tinted the room the second he asked. It put the onus on you to answer, to reject his efforts. And just like when you stared at the stack of clothes in the strange way which raised the hair on his arms, you looked at the cake as if nothing else in the room existed except for the hard work he put into making you smile.

“You don’t have to–” he started.

“I’ll take a piece.”

“You sure?”

You nodded, shifting your focus to him. “A big piece. You made it for me.”

Taking out a paper plate and butter knife, he changed the subject, “Wanna come to practice tomorrow? Jeff said he convinced the new kid, Gareth, to join us, so we’ll have a drummer again.” He handed you a triangle of “HAP.”

“Yeah, I’ll go with you.”

“Sweet, uh.” Eddie’s lopsided grin grew tantamount to the bundle of nerves in his stomach. Pushing himself off the counter, he punched his fist into his palm a few times, swinging side to side. “Uh, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Appealing to him in the most adorable way possible, you smiled with true mirth reflected in your eyes and held the slice of cake up.

“Tomorrow.”

~~~

Crouched outside in the shadow of his trailer, you stuffed cake and frosting in your mouth until it burned your throat, coating your lips in fat. Devouring it with vengeance and crumpling the paper plate. Across from you, your mother’s silhouette moved in the curtained bedroom window. An insurmountable sense of pride overwhelmed you. Unstoppable rebellion. Eating a food she banned, citing cheap sugars would slow you down on the vault. How stupid. You had never felt more alive scrubbing your mouth clean on your sleeve and entering your trailer stacked full of moving boxes.

––1985––

Admitting defeat, you pulled into the parking lot of Starcourt Mall. After wasting an appalling amount of gas driving all over town in a frustrating attempt to locate a single person, you were starving for the food court, hoping they added new restaurants since you left.

“Really, how hard can finding one person be?” you grumbled.

You drove to the back of the lot where people seldom parked for the few free spots on the busy Saturday night, and grabbed your purse from the passenger seat. And when you glanced for the source of the rowdy voices near you, you spotted four guys claiming the corner of the pavement as theirs. Three were standing, passing around a bag of gummy worms, laughing at the one flat on his back, shouting for his skateboard before it rolled into the empty street.

Seemed like a fun time.

You opened your door, locked it, and started to walk away.

But then one of them spoke. Blood rushed in your ears, rendering what he said unintelligible. Didn’t matter. You knew it better than your own.

Slowly, you turned around to confirm your fear.

There he was. Having fun with his friends. The one you wished to speak to, and yet as your lips parted, your throat closed.

Eddie took a long drag on his cigarette and adjusted how he leaned on the car, angled to Jeff who was explaining something he was passionate about, nearly spilling his soda on the other guy you couldn't recall the name of.

“I’m telling you, man, a bard is the way to go!”

“No way,” he said, blowing smoke from his nostrils as he continued, “If you start bringing a lute to our games, I’m gonna–”

“Eddie?”

They all stopped their conversation. Three faces of indifference, one of escalating animosity upon seeing you. Evoking a memory so intense it glinted a warning in his eyes boring into yours.

Taglist: @xxhospital-for-soulsxx @myfavoritesareproblematic @henhouse-horrors

[sprnklersplashes]

whumptober day 29 (ao3)

kanej+scented candle+troubled past resurfacing

content warning for mentions of the menagerie

Steam rises from the water, dancing across the glass and dulling the indigo hue painted by the outside sky. Inej watches it for a moment, then takes a breath and plunges beneath the water. All at once, the creaks and grants of the Slat cease, the constant murmur of chatter is thrown out, replaced by the ringing in her ears and the soft gurgling of the bathwater. She half-opens her eyes, unbothered by the way they sting, and finds nothing but a blur of grey and white, her limbs reduced to mere brown slivers. A girl made of blotches, no body to touch.

It’s not unappealing.

She stays beneath the water even when her chest burns, only coming back up when her lips begin to part. Cold air sting her face. Every nerve in her skin blisters.

When she’d drawn up this bath, she’d left the water on the fire for twice as long as she used to. Dregs raised concerned eyebrows as they floated in and out, and one even tried to remove it under the assumption she just forgot. One look from her stopped him, and as he left, she noticed Anika whisper something in his ear. She didn’t need to wonder.

So yes, the water is hot. Scalding even. It only took seconds for it to burn through to her muscles and make her forget she has a body at all. Exactly what she wanted. 

Her head falls backwards. She breathes in heavily, trying once again to banish the scent of vanilla that lingered. It’s always, always the fucking vanilla. On the windowsill, the candle Kaz had made for her burns softly, the scent of wild geraniums wafting softly through the air. She breathes in again and pulls her knees to her chest, pressing her chin between them so that the water laps at her lips. The sweet flower scent lingers and fills her breaths, but it isn’t enough. That sharp, sugary scent of vanilla lingers in her mind, and everything that comes with it barrels through her.

The infamous Captain Ghafa. Brought down by a lady’s vanilla perfume. What will the legends say if this gets out?

“Inej?” She startles, her heart stutters and stops like a train engine, soothed a second later by the rocksalt rasp of the voice. “Inej, may I come in?”

“Yes.” Her own voice sounds like sandpaper. The door handle turns and Kaz appears, dark hair falling loosely in front of his face. His jaw is tight, his eye dark, but not for the reasons people would think when a man walks in on his lover in the bath. He inhales slowly, steadily, the way he does before a fight.

“Door open or closed?”

“Closed,” she says. He blinks, but doesn’t question it. Instead, he clicks the door shut. Then his hand lingers on the lock and he turns to her, waiting for her approval.

She thinks about it, weighs up two options in her mind. Then, slowly, she nods, and he does as she asks.

She sinks into the water as he comes over, steps punctuated by the rap of his cane on the floor. Near-total darkness blankets the room, save for the small glow of the candle on the windowsill and the orange light spilling through the cracks in the door. The evening lights of Ketterdam push at the window, muted now by the frosted glass. As a result, she feels Kaz sit on the edge of the tub, rather than seeing him.

Minutes pass and they sit in silence. Thousands of things to say race forwards; words, explanations, self-pitying rants, but they fall away before they can reach her mouth.

“Are you all right?” he asks, a gravelly edge in his voice. With her arms wrapped around herself, Inej searches deep inside herself for the words. Yes , says instinct. No , says honesty. No and I never will be , says the broken little girl who was dragged to the Menagerie. I want to burn everything down and make them beg me for mercy and then cut out their throats, says the vengeful spy.

Please don’t leave me, says Inej.

Kaz hears all of it, and more. Slowly, he lowers his cane and lets it rest against the tub. The silver gleams against the candlelight, like the lighthouses posted on rocky cliffs.

For a long time, neither say anything. She feels Kaz’s dark eyes trained on her, searching for signs of an injury she won’t reveal, a tell that something didn’t go as planned. Through her hair, she watches him as well, watches the tension in his shoulders wind down as his search comes up empty. Any other time, she’d smile at him, perhaps nuzzle him and tell him she thinks its sweet. But now, just thinking of such actions makes her chest tight.

Smile. Nuzzle. Tell them they’re sweet. 

More minutes pass in silence, they listen to the water sloshing as Inej moves. A party goes on outside, because there’s always a party going on outside. Inej traces lazy circles in the water’s surface, watches as droplets fall from her arm and make ripples. Then, he finally asks.

“Inej what happened?” he asks softly. She looks up at him now and holds his gaze. The lack of light doesn’t hinder it. She’d find those eyes blindfolded and when she does, something loosens in her chest. 

“Vanilla,” she says. “Some lady passed me in the street and… and she was spraying some vanilla perfume around.” She closes her eyes, presses her face into her knees. Inej only got a quick look at her, but she couldn’t have been more than eighteen. Eighteen and being careless with a sample bottle, and the result was her sprinting to the Slat as if the hounds of hell were on her tail. 

Kaz inhales, a sharp whistle through his teeth. He knows. She told him one night, when she’d bolted out of Wylan’s workshop and thrown up on the street because he started burning sugar for something. Kaz had went after her, let her punch him and scream until the memories faded and carried her home. After, she told him everything. 

So he knows that vanilla is to her what a bare hand is to him. Uncontrollable and unrelenting, a metal hook dragging them back to their pasts. A cold, cruel reminder that what happened to her is never going away. She can put as many years between it and kill all the slavers she likes but this isn’t going away.

It’s burrowed beneath her skin and made a home there. If she could use her knives to cut herself and rip it out she would do it in a heartbeat.

Silently, Kaz dips his hand in the bath, slender fingers disappearing beneath the boiling water. If it hurts him, he doesn’t show it. He keeps his face neutral and lets her see it for what it is. An invitation.

At first, she hesitates, her hand unconsciously pulling towards her chest. Her body is hers, and some part of her feels that if no-one else touches it, it stays safe.

But.. this isn’t someone else. This is Kaz, who cradled her bleeding body all the way to the Ferolind, who wields knives and canes with wicked precision then goes home to tuck flowers behind her ears. There’s no part of her body that he’s touched that she doesn’t know about. There is never a touch too small, too insignificant, that he doesn’t stop and ask her first. 

Discreetly, delicately, she slides her hand into his. It’s just her, and Kaz, and their hands. He squeezes it, and the air turns soft, littered with the scent of flowers. Geraniums, not vanilla. Seconds tick by, then minutes, and at some point she finds that breathing doesn’t hurt. 

“I’ve got you,” Kaz tells her. His voice is low, like the flickering embers in a fireplace, cozy lamps in a living room. 

“I know,” she says. Her heart wishes to say don’t let go , but the words don’t pass her lips. They don’t need to; he can hear them and even if he couldn’t, he wouldn’t dare. If there’s one thing she can count on, it’s that. 

She can’t find the will to get up yet, and so they stay there, hands clasped beneath the water. Kaz looks at the windowsill and while he doens’t say anything, his lips curl, a faint pink creeps across his cheeks before he looks away. They stay there, together, breathing the scent of flowers and of Ketterdam’s smoke, holding each other’s hand. He stays there until the water turns cold and Inej can feel herself again in that moment. Not at the Menagerie, but at home, with him. When she tries off, she feels her body again and it is hers. Not a plaything for a man to grab and pull and discard when he sees fit.

Kaz offers to take her to her room, but she doesn’t take it. Leaving the bath is one thing, leaving the room is another. Instead, they sit in silence, fingers slipped between each other, and breathe in wild geraniums until the candle burns out.

“I’ll get you a new one,” Kaz whispers. Inej smiles. 

[mcbethins]

And now a scene from the as of yet untitled WIP that is Marionette 2:

(For @idonttakeshipsseriously and @bloody-arty-myths 😘)

((Fuck me I Forgot to thank the bestie @hey-michael-young-history for proof reading literally everything I write 🥰🥰🥰))

Kuai Liang didn't have a nest. 

There was a space for it, in their bedroom. But the area was bare except for a single round cushion. 

Sakura had seen plenty of abused omegas in her time. And not having a nest was always indicative of deep trauma. 

He didn't feel safe. Even in his own home with his alpha. 

Still, she asked Kuai Liang if he would prefer to sit there. She could see him trying to figure out the correct answer. 

"Here," Hanzo retrieved the lone, white pillow and gave it to Kuai who immediately hugged it to his chest. "Why don't you sit on the bed?" He suggested. 

Kuai carefully sat on the edge of their bed while Hanzo stood next to him in quiet support.

Sakura proceeded to take his vitals, wordlessly taking in the scarring along his back and the scar tissue where a mating gland was supposed to be.

This man had been through far too much. 

"Does this scar tissue hurt?" She asked. "I have ointments that could help alleviate the pain." 

"It's not that bad," Kuai said. 

"Ah, but it is some degree of bad. So I will be prescribing you medicine for it."

Kuai looked at her like she was some incredible puzzle to solve. "...Thank you."

"You are most welcome," she pat his hand. 

"Now," she sat across from him in a chair Hanzo had brought over. "I believe I know what is causing your symptoms." She glanced at Hanzo, "You have a seat too, dear." 

Hanzo's eyes widened and he hurriedly sat beside Kuai Liang, taking his hand. It would have been adorable, if Sakura wasn't quietly concerned about how Kuai would react. 

"Kuai Liang, you are pregnant." 

Kuai blinked at her. "That is impossible." 

"Why do you say that?" She asked gently. 

His brow furrowed. After a long moment he said, "The Elders told me I was infertile." His breath started coming quicker and his pheromones which had been shocked into silence were building in a maelstrom of anger and confusion. 

Hanzo put a hand on his back, but Kuai flinched, standing and stalking off to the other side of the room. 

Sakura raised a hand when Hanzo tried to follow. "Kuai Liang, did they tell you how they knew this? Did they examine you?"

"They…I don't remember. When I presented…" he hugged himself, skin shimmering with frost. 

"Did they give you anything?" She continued. "Food or medicine?"

At that, Kuai looked up at her. His eyes were piercing blue. "They always gave me this one herbal tea…" he looked away, far into the past. "Even if I was on food restriction. Someone made sure I had it."

"Do you remember what it tasted like?" She carefully took a step towards him. 

"It was bitter," he said with distaste. "It…made me nauseous." 

Sakura sucked in a slow breath. "It sounds like they infused the tea with a contraceptive herb. Depending on the herb, it can temporarily sterilize you for the duration you are taking it." 

Kuai's lips parted in shock. "I…" he swallowed, eyes glistening. He looked at Hanzo, "I'm sorry-" his voice thinned. "I swear I didn't lie to you. I didn't know." His lips quivered and he leaned against the wall, shuddering. 

Hanzo was at his side in an instant, holding his face. "I know," Hanzo said, voice painfully soft. "I'm not upset with you, Kuai Liang."

Kuai Liang closed his eyes, a sob wrenching out of him. Hanzo pulled him into an embrace, holding him close as he cried. 

Hanzo's pheromones were a warm honeyed layer of soothing reassurance and Sakura struggled to keep her eyes open as she watched them. 

Eventually Kuai quieted, an uneven purr in his chest. The tang of anger had mellowed out, leaving his scent drowning in rainfall. 

"Hanzo," he said, "Hanzo I'm-" he started crying again. Hanzo merely hummed, rubbing his back as he gently swayed them. 

Sakura smiled softly. Hanzo was someone who loved with all of his heart. He was the only kind of alpha for Kuai Liang. 

She waited patiently, letting Kuai Liang calm down once more. Eventually Hanzo guided him to lie down on their bed. 

Sakura came over and patted Kuai's arm. "I know this is overwhelming. If you like, I will let you rest now and we can discuss your options tomorrow." 

Kuai frowned. "Options?" Hanzo stiffened beside her, the briefest plume of distress escaping him.

"Yes," she let instinct take over and smoothed Kuai's hair back. He sighed, relief cooling his scent. 

Her heart ached. 

"You don't have to have this baby if you don't want to. You are only around two months. There is still time to terminate." 

Kuai Liang looked at her, calculating. And then he looked over at Hanzo. "I…You want another child." 

Hanzo sighed, "I will not lie to you and say I haven't dreamt of it." He reached over, cupping Kuai's face. "But the decision is yours Kuai Liang. If you do not want a child now, or ever, I will support you." 

Kuai sighed deeply, rubbing his eyes. "I don't know what to do," he confessed quietly. "I didn't even know this was possible."

"That's alright, dear," Sakura said. "Take some time to think about it." She reached into her bag and pulled out a couple of books. "And read these." She placed them on the nightstand. "And please ask me anything at all. You are not a bother," she smiled, patting his cheek. 

Kuai nodded. 

"Thank you, Sakura-chan," Hanzo said, eyes bright. She offered him an understanding smile.

"My pleasure, Grandmasters." 

[writemekpop]

Baby Fever | Dong Sicheng (Winwin)

Pairing: Dong Sicheng x Reader

Summary: You and Winwin are trying for a baby. There’s no time for talking... just sex.

Genre: Husband!Winwin, Office sex 

Word Count: 0.7k 

Warning: Sexual content

'Sorry I'm late, I-"

Before your husband Winwin can get his apology out, you crash your lips onto his.

He gasps into the kiss. As your fingers find the straps of his black work backpack and slide it off, you feel him moan against your lips.

When you pull back, he's panting. His wind-frosted cheeks are a bright red. 

"I was going to say-" he begins.

You press a finger against his lips. "No talking. Just fucking." 

It's been almost six months since you and Winwin began trying for a baby. 

Between your packed schedule as a data analyst and his as an architect, your three-times-a-day sex routine has been almost impossible to fit in. But you can't afford to waste even one moment of your fertile window. 

Your fingers find the buckle of his black leather belt – an anniversary gift from you to him.

Winwin blushes so strongly his ears ring red like a bell. "Before we, you know, do it... the windows, Y/n!" 

You giggle at his politeness and begrudgingly allow him to close the shutters of your glass-walled office. 

Five years of marriage, and he's still too embarrassed to say the word “sex”. Each evening, he would insist on calling it “ice cream”. Afterwards, he would hang by the doorframe in his ratty grey T-shirt and boxers, bat his eyelids and ask for “another scoop”.

As he smooths down his ironed white shirt and anxiously rolls down the blinds, you smirk lovingly. He's practically a dad already.

When Winwin approaches you, you pull him close and dig your hand in his trousers again.

You stroke him rhythmically, until... he does something extremely weird. Like, weird even by Winwin's standards - and that's saying something. 

Winwin pulls your hand out of his pants, and begins to plant gentle, wet kisses down your neck.  He pauses to suck the confident arc of your collarbone. 

"Babe, we don't have time for romance! If I don't make it to my meeting, I'm screwed!" You begin to unbutton your jeans with experienced fingers.

Winwin whines against your neck. Lifting your hands away from your jeans, he places your fingers on his chest. 

"No. Joke. Gonna. Be. Late," you say. Although, you're speaking in between little gasps, because Winwin's lips are dangerously close to your breast and sending sparks flickering to your core.

Finally, you get the strength to ease him away.

When you see his expression, you gasp. Winwin's face is deadly serious. His strong eyebrows have pulled together, almost like he's... about to cry. 

When Winwin speaks, he addresses your clasped fingers, not you. 

"Am..." he takes a deep breath. "Am I just some... sperm bank to you?"

Your lips part in a silent gasp.

Winwin scratches the back of his head as he speaks. "I know we do it a lot, but I feel like we haven’t… made love in a long time. We haven't cuddled, we haven't woken up together, we haven't even had a proper conversation in six months…" 

His voice breaks, and you watch him bite his lip. Hard.

Wrapping your hands around the back of his neck, you slowly bring your forehead till it's touching his. 

"I’m sorry, Winwin. I guess was so caught up on starting a family that… that I forgot I already have one," you whisper, your eyes glassy.

Winwin smiles. "When did you get so soppy?" 

You chuckle softly, "I know, I know... I was trying something. We can… take it slow."

And then you bring your lips to his. And you kiss him, slowly, carefully. 

And Winwin's right - you almost forgot the best parts. You almost forgot the familiar taste of his peach lip balm, the feeling of his large hands enveloping your waist, the way you have to stand up on your tip-toes to reach his lips.

"What about your meeting?" Winwin frowns, his face flooded with genuine concern. 

"Fuck meetings," you say, leaning in once more.

---

MASTERLIST

[theres-a-goldensky]

30 More The Untamed Fic Recs

Here we go again. Another Wangxian rec list. Are you bored of me yet?

Were these recs helpful to you? If so, you can check out my other Wangxian rec posts:

Part 1 - 40 recs

Part 2 - 23 recs

Part 3 - 23 recs

As ever, feel free to reblog.

You can also head over to my bookmarks on AO3.

(All recs are complete) (I’ve noted pairings, length, and rating, but not any warnings or additional tags.)

** denotes personal favorite

1. say it's here where our pieces fall in place by Lirelyn - ~69,000 words, explicit - Modern AU where Lan Zhan meets Wei Wuxian after he adopts a small A-Yuan, because Wei Wuxian also has a past with him. Lots of adorable family feelings and emotional hurt/comfort.

As often happened, Wei Ying’s voice preceded his entrance, calling to his co-worker through the open door, “Frankie, they forgot to order spoons again, can you hold down the fort a little longer while I —”

Lan Wangji was already looking to his entrance, head turning as if magnetized toward the voice, so he saw the moment when Wei Ying’s eyes landed on A-Yuan and the smile fell from his face. He looked stricken, and Lan Wangji immediately looked to his son in alarm. A-Yuan seemed fine. His small eyebrows were pulled together in a small frown as he looked back at Wei Ying, but that wasn’t surprising, given the expression on Wei Ying’s face. Lan Wangji had seen that face beaming, laughing, whining, wheedling, and occasionally angry, but never like this. He looked blank and hollow and it stirred something fierce in Lan Wangji: he wanted to rise up and obliterate whatever was making him look like that. Then his eyes lifted to Lan Wangji and there was a flash of something almost like betrayal, before he pressed his lips together and turned his back.

“I’m going to run out to the store and get spoons,” he said in a flat voice to his co-worker, and left without looking their way again.

2. the breaking of your soul (upon my lips) by sunsandships - ~41,000 words, mature - This is an AU of the novel where Wei Wuxian puts two and two together when Lan Zhan sneaks that kiss from him. It changes a lot of things.

Against his own will, Wei Wuxian found himself glancing at Lan Wangji’s hands. They were… certainly large enough that one of them could wrap around both of his wrists. And Lan Wangji was certainly strong enough, tall enough, broad-shouldered enough to bodily pin him against the trunk of a tree with no chance of him breaking free. Lan Wangji was the first person he’d come across in his slow comb through the vicinity of where he’d been so headily kissed.

Wei Wuxian drew a sharp breath. There was a connection to be made here. He didn’t think he was crazy enough to make it. Perhaps he truly was going slightly insane with demonic cultivation if he could believe Lan Wangji, the paragon of virtue and respectability, who lived unflinchingly under Gusu Lan’s three thousand edicts, who had at best only tolerated his presence as children, would sneak up to him while he was blindfolded, pin him against a tree, and steal a kiss from him in broad daylight.

3. and his wanting grows teeth by yukla - ~25,000 words, teen - This is a very interesting AU where Lan Zhan is a traveling cultivator and runs into Wei Wuxian and the Jiangs looking for shelter during a snowstorm. No spoilers, but this fic goes to a pretty dark place that genuinely shocked me, but I enjoyed. (Still ends well though.)

Without further ado, they are hustled past the entrance and into a smaller greeting area. Huang-bobo approaches the brazier in the center with his hands outstretched, warming his fingers in the heat, but Lan Wangji hangs back. As he carefully brushes the snow free from his shoulders, he feels the burn of a curious gaze trailing up and down his body, lingering at the guqin still strapped to his back; when the sensation pauses at his face and stays there, he lifts his head.

The boy with the ribbon lights up at the eye contact, flashes another dazzling smile, and gives a little wave.

“You must be new here,” he whispers, something like laughter threaded into his voice, eyes scrunching into winking half-moons. “All dressed up in white like that! You might lose yourself in the snowstorm!”

Something stirs to life in Lan Wangji’s chest. It’s—uncomfortable, he decides, and so he steps away. Teasing should not be encouraged with a response.

4. Ghosts Shouldn't by ShanaStoryteller - ~15,000 words, not rated - After Wei Ying's death, his spirit seems to linger. The story is told from Lan Xichen's point of view. I love an outsider point of view. I also love the way the author fleshes out his character as well.

Lan Xichen means to force his way inside, angry ghost of the Yiling Patriarch or no, but then his brother lets out slow breath, settling, the pain easing from his face as he falls back into a more peaceful sleep.

His hair is moving on its own, so subtly Lan Xichen might not have noticed it if he hadn’t been looking at Wangji so intently. It’s like someone’s running their hand through his hair.

The window frosts over suddenly, thick enough that he can’t see through it. Anxiety spikes through him so quickly he’s nauseous with it, but then the frost melts away and the opening notes of Healing start up again.

He can’t tell if it’s a warning or not. Maybe it’s just an acknowledgement. Wei Wuxian knows he’s there.

5. **leading tone by silencemostofall - ~32,000 words, general - This is a modern AU set in a world where people who love you leave a mark of color on you the first time you touch. Wei Wuxian has no color on him. So much emotional hurt/comfort. So much of Wei Wuxian's terrible self-esteem.

He can cover up his palms with his gloves, so that the blankness does not draw stares. But he has no marks on his fingertips, which he cannot easily hide, and none visible on his face or neck, the blankness of which is even more difficult to hide. People look at him and, with a single glance, understand the single most devastating truth that he knows about himself.

They assume that he does not have very many marks. He may be an eccentric, dramatic person, but the likelihood that an individual has all of their marks on, say, their feet or their torso or other places that are not immediately obvious-- that probability goes down as your number of marks increases. He can laugh as much as he wants about how he loves touching people for the first time with odd places, like the knee or the elbow, but it doesn't quite mask the feeling of other that he knows he exudes.

They assume that he does not have a lot of marks. This, while a heavy weight, is not unbearably so. It is okay that they think he is not much loved. It chafes a bit, and feels occasionally like something he has to furiously push down within himself, but it is not unbearable. What would be unbearable is if they knew the truth: that he does not just have very few marks, but none. That he is simply an individual who is not loved at all.

6. **pastel by antebunny - ~7,000 words, gen - This is a remix work of the above fic. It's from Lan Zhan's point of view and just different enough to be interesting. Still lots of emotional hurt/comfort. I love this concept a whole lot, and both of these fics are great.

It’s a simmering day in May, and Wei Ying is wearing long sleeves, long pants, and gloves.

His choice of dress isn’t unusual for many reasons. For one, there’s plenty of people who don’t like strangers seeing their soulmarks. There’s plenty of people who wish to keep them private by covering them up. For another, Wei Ying spends most of his day in various chilly computer science department rooms, He could just be wearing long sleeves for that.

7. one good thing by Yuu_chi - ~27,000 words, teen - Wei Wuxian has died (or did he??) and is haunting his old home. Lan Zhan moves in. This story has a happy ending! And so much yearning!

To the flowers struggling to grow on the other side of the glass, he says, “We’re getting a new roommate. Well, I’m getting a new roommate - you’re getting somebody who might actually be able to water you for a change.” The flowers outside sway a little in the breeze, and Wei Wuxian nods contemplatively. “He can’t be any worse than the last guy who lived here. Remember when I spooked him while he was cooking and he nearly burnt the house down? Of course you don’t. You’re fucking foliage, your memory is worse than mine. I remember though, so it’s cool.”

There’s the sound of shuffling behind him and Wei Wuxian looks up to see the stranger has entered the kitchen, setting the last of the boxes down on the table. Disgustingly neat handwriting declares the box kitchen - homeware. The stranger carefully brushes his hair back from his face and, without so much as a second of hesitation, cracks open the box and begins unpacking.

“Wow, you really don’t waste any time, do you?” Wei Wuxian marvels. “You literally just got here - who cares about unpacking? Sit down for a moment, breathe, have something to eat. It’s not going anywhere.”

8. with you, I am home by tellthemstories - ~47,000 words, mature - Modern AU where Wei Wuxian is being forced to return home to entertain marriage proposals. So naturally instead he "convinces" Lan Zhan to pretend to date him. I love a good fake dating fic, and this one hits all the right beats.

Lan Zhan does that almost-smile thing that Wei Wuxian takes to mean he’s happy, or at the very least not-mad. “You don’t have any money.”

“Not true. I have the money from our last job, when we settled the vengeful spirit for the flower shop girl.” (He doesn’t. They have Lan Zhan’s money. Wei Wuxian spent his on a pack of loquats and three bottles of Emperor’s Smile wine.)

“Fine,” Wei Wuxian says. “Do it for me.”

Thinking back on it two weeks later, standing alone in the middle of Jin Ling’s graduation banquet and watching Lan Zhan walk away from him, Wei Wuxian realises that this, this was the moment when he should have known. He should have realised in the way Lan Zhan doesn’t hesitate or negotiate and just says with that half-fond, half-exasperated tone he gets sometimes, “Fine.”

9. and in the spring i shed my skin by wvlfqveen - ~11,000 words, teen - Modern AU where Wei Ying can't find Lan Zhan, but hey, there happens to be a rabbit here instead. Features a very slow Wei Ying, emotional hurt/comfort and accidental love confessions.

Immediately, his heart settles and he grins down at his new friend. “Oh, hello there,” he coos, reaching out to pet the fluffy ears. The bunny is very, very still under his hand.

“Did Lan Zhan bring you today?,” he continues cooing. “I’m sorry I missed that, but your Dad didn’t tell me he was bringing you.”

Lan Zhan rarely brings his rabbits to work since they are as tolerant of crowds and unnecessary noise as he is. They were probably relevant to today’s lesson but…

Wei Ying frowns. “Why would he leave you alone? And where is your cage?”

10. how, or when, or from where by sarahyyy - ~10,000 words, gen - Wei Ying wakes up in the hospital with amnesia and can't remember the last few years of his life, including his best friend and the guy he's in love with.

Jiang Cheng rolls his eyes so hard Wei Wuxian is surprised his eyeballs don’t just fall out of his eye sockets. “That’s the worst part. He did. Whatever mating ritual you both have going on is so fucking weird, Wei Wuxian.” He snorts. “If you’d stayed asleep for any longer, I’d have lost my shit and thrown my myself out a window just so I wouldn’t have to talk to Lan Wangji again.”

Wei Wuxian blinks at him. “Is this a good time to ask who Lan Wangji is?”

Jiang Cheng glares at him. “Your Lan Zhan,” he says, annoyed. Wei Wuxian must look as confused as he feels, because Jiang Cheng’s annoyance bleeds out into concern. “Your Lan er-gege? Your soulmate, Lan Wangji?”

Wei Wuxian shakes his head. “No bells are ringing.”

11. ** a shared plate by yukla - ~26,000 words, teen - This is an absolutely gorgeous fic about Wei Wuxian traveling the world post-canon to rediscover himself and restore his faith in humanity and eventually find his way back to Lan Zhan. The whole thing is great, but the last two chapters are just *chef's kiss*

Lan Zhan,

Just as the mountains stand unchanging and the green rivers flow ceaselessly, we will meet again — and between then and now, you cannot hope to avoid my letters, either! Haha! Lan Zhan, I’ve seen so many things and met so many people, and it’s only been a month!

I miss you already

It’s so hot that I find myself missing the wind in Gusu’s mountains. Your poor Wei Ying is I’m melting away, Lan Zhan...

I’m realizing now, sixteen years is a long time to be away — the world is vast, and quite a bit different than I remembered. And in sixteen years, a child can also grow up into a man! It’s your job to catch me up on A-Yuan’s fun childhood stories! I do remember hearing something about a pile of rabbits...

12. with your arms outstretched to me by annemari - ~14,000 words, teen - Lan Zhan finally gets up the nerve to ask Wei Ying on a date, but things don't go as expected. Features emotional hurt/comfort (are we sensing a theme with these recs??) and just regular hurt/comfort.

"Oh, man, I was hoping you had some water with you," Wei Ying says. "I totally forgot to bring any for myself. Stupid of me."

"There is enough for both of us," Lan Wangji says. He has another bigger bottle in the car, as well.

Wei Ying hums but he only takes a few sips. He presses it back into Lan Wangji's hand. "I don't need any more."

Lan Wangji is considering arguing, but then Wei Ying shifts a bit, moving his ankle, and gasps very, very quietly.

13. ** A Lot of Edges Called Perhaps by hansbekhart - ~22,000 words, explicit - Wei Wuxian has finished traveling and returned to the Cloud Recesses and Lan Zhan. But their lives never do run smoothly.

“Lan Jingyi,” Wei Wuxian says, recognizing him after a moment. His heart slams against his rib cage. “Where is Lan Zhan? What’s happened?”

Lan Jingyi flaps a hand at him, gulping air. Wei Wuxian hands him the water, and leans back against Little Apple’s side as he waits impatiently for the boy to get his breath back.

“I’m so glad I found you,” Jingyi gasps, just as Wei Wuxian is about to throttle a proper answer out of him. “Hanguang Jun was in such a state when he woke up, we didn’t know if you’d come and gone already.”

“Where is he, Jingyi,” Wei Wuxian says, as evenly as he can. “What happened?”

14. So Why Not Crack Your Skull When the Mind Swells by greenteafiend - ~14,000 words, explicit - Wei Wuxian is cursed to feel extraordinary pain unless he's touching Lan Zhan. Yet more of Wei Wuxian's self-esteem issues and Lan Zhan's steadfast devotion.

“Are you hurt, Wei Ying?” Lan Wangji asks, pressing his hand to Wei Ying’s forehead to feel his temperature. There is no fever, but that doesn’t do much to mitigate Lan Wangji’s worries.

“No—I’m not hurt,” says Wei Ying, sagging forward to lean his weight into Lan Wangji’s hand like he can’t help himself.

It’s so strange—Lan Wangji can feel what Wei Ying is feeling. Although the relief is still very profound, wisps of other things are making themselves known; happiness; wistfulness; guilt. It’s all so fleeting that Lan Wangji can’t even begin to deduce what has provoked those feelings, but he wishes he knew their source.

15. puzzle pieces by Anonymous - ~6,000 words, teen - Modern AU where Wei Ying and Lan Zhan are roommates, and Wei Ying has started borrowing Lan Zhan's clothes.

“Hm? Oh.” With sleepy eyes that does— things to Lan Zhan’s heart, he blinks and tugs at the lower hem of the shirt, which is riding just above the curve of his thighs. Does Lan Zhan’s mouth water? Maybe. Yes. Absolutely. “Ah, yeah, sorry. Laundry day caught up to me before I could catch up with it. I saw this shirt left in the washer a few days ago, and—“ He blinks up at Lan Zhan through dark eyelashes that Lan Zhan wants to kiss, maybe, and gives him an uncharacteristically hesitant smile. “Do you mind?”

I mind the fact that we are not married, Lan Zhan thinks. But he can’t say that, and his tongue doesn’t know how to say anything else. So he stays silent.

“Oh,” Wei Ying says after a moment. “If you—oh, damn, I should’ve known, this is like real silk, must’ve been super expensive. Fuck. Okay, here, uh, I’ll take it off—“

16. ** Nothing But Trouble by brooklinegirl - ~60,000 words, explicit - Modern AU where Wei Ying is trying to be a good brother and get Jiang Cheng laid. Somehow this plan involves pretending to date Lan Zhan.

"I won't!" Wei Ying insists. "I'll ask out someone...high stakes. I'll find someone. I'll...okay, how's this? I swear that I'll ask someone out and keep at it for at least two dates."

"No."

"Three dates."

"Nope."

"Okay, okay, five. That's fair! That's more than fair! One person, five dates." He points at Jiang Cheng. "You have to do it, too. That's how a pact works."

Jiang Cheng stares at him. "Five dates," he says flatly. "Five. And yours can't be Nie Huaisang."

17. i'm the one for your fire by occultings (microcomets) - ~43,000 words, explicit - This is a Modern AU and a Cherry Magic AU! (Side note: GO WATCH CHERRY MAGIC IF YOU HAVEN'T.) But in short, Wei Ying turns 30 without losing his virginity and gets the power to hear people's thoughts when he touches them. He gets more than he bargained for with Lan Zhan. The author does a good job of translating the story to these characters. Wei Ying is not forced to be like Adachi, the main character of Cherry Magic. He's still himself, and the same goes for Lan Zhan.

Lan Zhan’s voice is so clear, so sudden that it’s as though it’s spoken, the slice of a sharp object through velvet.

He’s touching me.

Wei Ying startles for a moment, wonders if he’d somehow heard his own thoughts instead, but — no, that had definitely been Lan Zhan’s steady, factual baritone, loud and clear.

God, this is still so weird. It still doesn’t seem totally real. But how else can he account for hearing Lan Zhan’s voice in his head, as clearly as if he’d spoken to Wei Ying directly?

18. like blue flame over my fingertips by tangerinechar - ~37,000 words, teen - Modern AU where Lan Zhan and Wei Ying are roommates, and Lan Zhan just finds himself wanting to take care of Wei Ying.

Lan Wangji’s roommate. Is a problem.

He doesn’t get an answer to the roommate problem until the next morning, when Lan Xichen texts him telling him that the apartment he’d suggested (and helped pay rent for) to Lan Wangji said in the small text that it’d be two people per apartment, the second bedroom wasn’t actually a guest bedroom, sorry, Wangji, you can move in with me if you want, I have space —

No. Thank you for your kind offer, Brother, but I will be quite fine, Lan Wangji texts back.

19. ** some impulse of delight by handclaps - ~20,000 words, explicit - College AU where Wei Ying decides he needs to help Lan Zhan get used to touching people. Lan Zhan agrees. Wei Ying is dumb and in love. Lan Zhan is less dumb, but still as in love.

Lan Zhan shakes his head and fumbles, tries to push the cotton wool into Wei Wuxian’s hand.

“Sorry,” Wei Wuxian says, realising. “Touching people, I know.”

He feels dumb. He thought he’d worn Lan Zhan down more than this, that they were friends now and that his whole no touching thing was mostly overcome. He took Wei Wuxian’s hand easily, right? He looks down at his belly full of scratches, dabbing at them moodily.

“Sorry,” he says, again.

Lan Zhan makes some kind of noise, but he is busy packing the first aid kit back, placing everything exactly where it was before.

“Lan Zhan, you’re going to have to do something about this,” Wei Wuxian complains. “I know you don’t like touching people and usually it plays as a kind of gentlemanly thing, but what about emergencies?”

20. And I Will Call You Home by Spodumene - ~43,000 words, explicit - Wei Wuxian returns after a year of traveling and rejoins Lan Zhan in the Cloud Recesses. He's doing a good job of pining and ignoring the obvious. Look, at this point, it shouldn't be a surprise that I'm a sucker for stories where Wei Wuxian deals with his ~*~issues~*~ and Lan Zhan takes care of him, whether he asks for it or not. This story has lots of that. I also enjoyed the case fic aspect of it.

“I do, I think,” Wei Wuxian admits. “Would be nice to see his face again after so long. And at least this time, I’m going to show up draped in finery. What do you think, Lan Zhan? I can’t possibly disgrace him—or you—wearing a cloak like that.”

“You could never disgrace me,” Lan Wangji says gently, that soft, affectionate look back on his face.

Wei Wuxian grins, warmed to the tips of his toes.

“I’ll remind you of that later. The next time I’m three jars deep and feeling especially shameless, you’ll have to remember those words, Lan Er-gege.”

“Of course,” Lan Wangji says simply.

Wei Wuxian smiles some more, overwhelmed by fondness.

21. darling, am i a chore? by martyrsdaughter - ~7,000 words, explicit - Wei Wuxian really, really wants Lan Zhan to call him 'gege'. Lan Zhan knows a trump card when he sees one.

“You know what I want,” Wei Wuxian purrs, reaching up on his tiptoes to throw his arms over Lan Wangji’s shoulders. “Call me gege, won’t you? Call me and I’ll stop.”

Lan Wangji knows he will not stop, regardless of what he calls him. Still, he thinks about it. If there really is a way to make Wei Wuxian stop, should he not consider it? He doesn’t have any real interest in curbing his husband’s insatiable mischievousness, but he does like knowing things about him—everything there is to know.

If there’s something that persuasive in the world, that it can bring Wei Wuxian into submission when no one is under threat, could he stop himself from seeking it?

22. your name, safe in their mouth by astrolesbian - ~11,000 words, gen - Wei Wuxian & Lan Sizhui fic with the Wangxian in the background. Lan Sizhui wants another dad and Wei Wuxian wants a son, they just don't know how to explain that to each other.

“Hush,” Wei Wuxian says, in a low croon, like someone quieting a baby. Then he blinks, and looks away, awkward. “I mean—you shouldn’t speak. You’re tired. Rest if you need to.”

Lan Sizhui tucks his chin into his uncle’s shoulder, and lets his eyes fall closed.

“It doesn’t hurt too much, does it?” Wen Ning whispers to him kindly.

Lan Sizhui takes a deep breath, and takes stock of all his aches, his ringing ear, his hollow chest, the way he had selfishly wanted Wei Wuxian to keep speaking to him in that careful voice, like he was just a child to be soothed and there was no real danger. How dangerous, to pretend. “No,” he lies. “It doesn’t hurt that much at all.”

23. when you're doing all the leaving (then it's never your love lost) by tardigradeschool - ~26,000 words, teen - AU where Lan Zhan with Wei Wuxian to Jin Ling's one-month celebration. Things go down, and it leads to Lan Zhan discovering Wei Wuxian's missing golden core. This obviously will not do, and oh look, the best doctor in the world just happens to be right here.

“How—“ Lan Wangji chokes. “His core —?” He looks at Wen Ning, half accusatory in his shock. “Jin Zixun could not have—“

“No, no!” Wen Ning says, holding out his hands. “He hasn’t had one for years, don’t worry!”

This is not as reassuring as Wen Ning seems to think.

“Please explain,” Lan Wangji says, pained. He feels for Wei Wuxian’s pulse instead; in the absence of a golden core, it will have to do as reassurance that he’s still alive.

Wen Ning is so anxious that the story comes out in a ramble, out of order. Lan Wangji wants him to hurry up, but he’s also not confident in his own ability to speak, so he just keeps quiet and lets him talk. His heart feels as if it’s about to fall from his chest, beating nearly twice as fast as Wei Wuxian’s does under his fingers.

24. A Match in the Making by lareine - ~30,000 words, teen - A Modern AU where Wei Wuxian sees his single and bad ass friend Lan Zhan and his single and bad ass friend Mianmian and gets some very dumb ideas.

To return to the point: Lan Zhan was peak adulting. Mianmian was peak adulting. And if they were both at the peak, then they were on the same level. What level? That mysterious level thing that everyone mentioned when it came to dating.

Whatever level it was, Lan Zhan and Mianmian were on it together. Wei Ying nodded to himself. So, Lan Zhan and Mianmian were allowed to date each other. The next question was: were they compatible? Did they have chemistry or whatever the fuck people called it?

25. Crack me open, pour you out by Tenillypo - ~16,000 words, explicit - Lan Zhan gets cursed to say whatever he's thinking. So his worst nightmare. Mutual pining, first time, all good stuff.

Lan Wangji freezes with his chopsticks halfway to his mouth, lifting his eyes to stare at Wei Ying.

"I know! Just completely paralyzed." Wei Ying mimes being still as a board. "I don't know how long I lay there. It must have been two days at least. Good thing for Little Apple. He wandered back to the village when he got hungry, and eventually a few of them got brave enough to come look for me. When they rolled me over, the figure fell out of my hand and I could move again. Cunning little thing." He shakes his head. "I was weak as a kitten for a little while after they took me back to the village, and by the time I recovered, they'd burned the whole place to the ground. Such a waste."

Lan Wangji slowly lowers his chopsticks, heart racing unpleasantly. In his head, a picture of Wei Ying slowly wasting to death alone in the middle of the woods, with Lan Wangji a hundred miles away and none the wiser.

26. Crazy, Rich Cultivators by ShanaStoryteller - 13,000 words, no rating - Lan Zhan wants to bring his boyfriend home to meet his family. There are some things he definitely didn't realize about Wei Ying.

“He has a life here,” he says down the line. He doesn’t say that he has a life here too, one he likes a lot more than the one he had before. He misses home. He’d miss Wei Ying more. But he doesn’t say that, doesn’t say how vibrant he is and how beautiful and how little interest Lan Zhan has at seeing him among the high society he grew up with.

“Well, your life is here, Wangji,” his brother says. “You can’t stay away from home forever. You’re going to have to see how he does with the rest of us sooner or later. It might as well be sooner.”

It might as well be never, as far as he’s concerned. His family can meet Wei Ying at their wedding.

“I’ll ask,” he says.

Wei Ying has no interest in cultivation politics. They’re horrible, the five clans have an iron tight alliance that’s thirty seconds away from collapsing in on itself the moment someone from one sect steps on another sect’s toes. It’s the worst and he hates it. Surely even just the idea of it will be so horrifying to Wei Ying that Lan Zhan will be able to tell his brother no.

27. just our hands clasped so tight by electrum ~4,000 words, teen - Lan Zhan really, really, really just wants to give Wei Ying everything he wants.

“Despite your best efforts,” Wei Wuxian agrees. He shakes his head in mock-dismay. “How much longer do you think that will last if you keep buying everything I look at?” When this, too, fails to soften Lan Zhan’s resolve, he tries a different tactic. “We couldn’t even afford potatoes,” he says. “Back when I was with the Wens, at the Burial Mounds. Only radishes! If I survived that, I can certainly survive without another pretty comb.”

Lan Zhan’s expression is at once unmoved and yet somehow stricken. “I would have bought Wei Ying potatoes,” he says, like Wei Wuxian doesn’t know, by this point, that Lan Zhan would buy him anything. “If I had known…”

28. ** Rotten Work by ShanaStoryteller - ~64,000 words, no rating - Jin Ling & Wei Wuxian with Wangxian in the background. Jin Ling is the best boy! And as he tries to rehabilitate his sect and his family and keep himself alive at the same time, he realizes, horrifyingly, that he has to be the mature one.

29. ** an act too often neglected by Ariaste - Lan Xichen / Meng Yao, ~61,000 words, explicit - The Wangxian is in the background here, but the main story is about Lan Xichen meeting Meng Yao on a dating app and getting immediately dickmatized. Meanwhile. Meng Yao refuses to be won over by Lan Xichen's charm. It goes as well as you'd expect for him.

The caption below is equally sparse: “5’6. Demanding.”

Lan Xichen feels a low simmer of arousal kindle in the pit of his stomach, and he gazes at that word-- demanding --for nearly as long as he’d stared at the photograph. He swipes right.

A few minutes later, a notification pops up: < Hm, the size of your hands is promising.

This is familiar. This is the flirtation stage. Lan Xichen knows the steps to the dance.

30. My Land Beneath Me by longleggedgit - ~30,000 words, explicit - Modern AU where Wei Wuxian is cast out of his sect and out of China to America. And Lan Zhan just...follows.

Lan Zhan always waited for his tea to cool before drinking, which meant he had nothing to do but give Wei Wuxian a judgmental look. “No more McDonald’s.”

“You’re just bitter because you get indigestion from anything that actually tastes good,” Wei Wuxian grumbled.

Because Lan Zhan was insufferably mature and patient, he didn’t rise to the bait. “We have time to stop somewhere before class,” he said.

“Fine. But you’re paying this time.”

It was a bad joke, and predictably, fell flat; Lan Zhan was, after all, paying for everything, every time. Wei Wuxian frowned into his mug.

“You know,” he said, after another swallow, “you really don’t have to be here. I’m going to figure something out.”

*

Interested in 86 more The Untamed fic recs?

Part 1 - 40 recs Part 2 - 23 recs Part 3 - 23 recs

[kiefbowl]

My old OBGYN office had a really cool door with frosted glass with like pressed lavender separating the waiting room and the exam rooms! I too wish all offices had cool touches that make the drs office more exciting

that does sound cool :) it also reminds me of a funny story from my college years I totally forgot about. tmi maybe if you don't like feet I guess

when I was a freshman, very early in my first semester I started to get, uhhhh...warts. On my feet. it was crazy. I have no idea what happened. like it was a ton of tiny white warts but also a couple of very painful one. so I called the health center to make an appointment with someone.

Very explicitly, I explained I needed someone to check my feet. They asked why, I said warts. on my feet. they say okay, coming in for warts, and I was like yep for my feet. cool they scheduled me for later.

I came in and they told me to go to floor x room y and when I get there I notice it's sorta...gyno. there were posters of female anatomy, and everything was very very pink. Pink chairs, pink curtains, soft pink walls. Just very pink and soft and comforting. I was like....uh, weird. But maybe not weird. I am a woman.

Finally the nurse calls me into the room from the waiting room and starts asking me the standards...do you smoke, do you drink, do you do drugs, are you pregnant, when was your last period...etc. And she has this very soft and gentle demeaner about her. I felt like I was being treated like I was made of glass. The examination room...was also a soft pink, and the curtains were drawn giving the room a very dark but safe feeling. So I was starting to think "omg this woman thinks I'm here bc of an std...and I'm not."

So then she she finishes up her notes, turns to me with the most sympathetic look on her face, and says in the most calming and soothing ways, "tell me why you're here."

"Well I have warts..."

"And when did they show up"

"Well...okay like a couple weeks ago but -"

She lays a concerned hand softly upon my knee.

"Do you have an idea how they were transmitted?"

And I was like, "They're on my feet."

Immediately her face and voice changed. "This is the genecology wing." I felt like I was being told off. I mean, this was a waste of her time but like...I didn't come here for a joke. So I was like "yeah I got this sense but I told them it was for my feet."

Hard to remember, but I get the sense she was not nice and told me I should go and talk to the front desk and be very specific about why I'm here. Embarrassed and frustrated I left. Of course the front desk was like "okay whatever, come back at this time" which was much later. It hurt to walk which is why I called in the first place so it was frustrating because I was hoping they could be freezed off quickly.

Come back, get sent to literally the most opposite side of the building, and this wing is like a morgue. The fluorescents were BLARING, the walls were WHITE, the floor was GLEAMING, no posters no curtains, nothing. I'm immediately hustled into a room there is no fucking wait for me at the Foot & Wart wing of the building.

The room I'm in is huge like it's some sort of part time classroom. The doc comes in almost immediately and was like "So you've got some warts on your feet. let's see them." It was like night and day from my experience from earlier. Wham bam you're here for warts that are no where near your vulva, let me take a fucking LOOK. She grabs my foot with such confidence and intention. Pokes around and says "I can't do anything about this, I could freeze them off but you have too many you might not be able to walk. you should go to a podiatrist." Go on, get. Practically shooed out of there with a broom like a rat in a pantry. Class was probably starting in 8 minutes.

Anyway, I think I booked an appointment at home for thanksgiving but by the time it rolled around they literally...disappeared. gone. Never came back. weirdest experience, but the night and day difference between me being treated like a porcelain doll when I had the Unspeakables and me being treated when my illness became foot funny, it stuck with me lol. Although I guess I forgot about it but I'm glad I was reminded.

[lambden]

What better way to break in a new blog than by immediately posting fic? In honour of Nightmare of the Wolf, here’s some Vesemir and Filavandrel!

(read on AO3)

M, 2.9K words, no warnings, Vesemir recognizes Jaskier’s lute when he arrives at Kaer Morhen

Vesemir has been expecting this day for decades. It’s rare for witchers to meet a trusted companion out on the Path, and even rarer to find one who wishes to travel alongside them. But the reputation of witchers has changed in recent years, for better or worse. Their focus is no longer on maintaining the traditional practices of their schools, but on protection— of other witchers, and of helpless commoners. Perhaps the humans can sense that change.

More curiously, the folklore surrounding witchers has changed. Vesemir very badly wants to meet the man who has done so much to change the narrative, but years pass and all Geralt brings home every winter are stories. The younger witchers entertain (and tease) him but no one ever asks where the bard goes during the cold months that Geralt spends at Kaer Morhen. Perhaps even Geralt doesn’t know.

Finally, after hundreds of stories of Geralt-and-Dandelion, Vesemir receives a letter one autumn before he himself has even considered the journey home. His chest warms as he reads Geralt’s careful penmanship, noting how the ink blots at the start of each new sentence. The paper and wax are fine, suggesting that Jaskier used his academic connections to perhaps land Geralt a few contracts near Oxenfurt. Geralt’s lettering may be nearly flawless but his message is stilted, reminding Vesemir of when his pups were nervous children. Does Jaskier really make him act this awkward? Their relationship must be serious, then.

I am hoping you will welcome my guest with open arms, or I fear he may freeze over the coming months. Vesemir looks for a signature but there is none, save a very fancy G at the bottom. No returning address has been provided either, and while he could easily pen a missive to Oxenfurt, it’s probably best not to respond. Each day Nilfgaard only grows stronger, and crueler. Perhaps Jaskier has been caught up in their hunger for power. Vesemir folds the letter up and hides it in his saddlebag.

When the frost begins creeping in, the oldest Wolf begins his trek up the mountain. He’s almost always the first one to arrive; Coën had beaten him to it once and apologized for weeks, and Vesemir would do anything to avoid that again. And if he makes an effort to arrive early this year so that he can make the Keep look as important as it is, well… nobody needs to know.

It takes a week and a half before Geralt arrives, Jaskier in tow. Vesemir spends the time flushing out a bat infestation and dealing with the most perishable of his spoils from the past year. The White Wolf seems to bring the cold with him most years but Vesemir, cognizant of Jaskier’s inferior body, made sure to set out enough furs in advance. As soon as he hears Roach’s hooves approaching he starts a roaring fire, and when the inner doors of Kaer Morhen burst open, Vesemir is ready to make a great first impression.

Upon seeing him, Geralt smiles right away, crossing the room to greet him. Vesemir looks him over; no obvious new scars, no missing body parts. Must have been an uneventful year, but… Geralt is here, safe and alive, so Vesemir allows himself some private, selfish, unwitcherly joy. It’s the sort of thing Deglan would have lectured him for. He finds he doesn’t care.

“I got your letter,” he tells Geralt, who nods solemnly. “I thought it best not to reply. Is Nilfgaard on your trail?”

“Our trail,” Geralt sighs, stepping aside so that Vesemir can meet his companion. “Vesemir, this is Jaskier.”

The bard, dwarfed by a large fur coat, moves forward so that Vesemir can properly scrutinize him. He certainly doesn’t look his age, but Vesemir knows he’s travelled as far as any witcher has gone, and seen sights no human should really have witnessed. “Oh, I’ve heard plenty about you, Jaskier. I was wondering when Geralt was finally going to bring you along for the winter!” That makes Jaskier perk up, and Vesemir chuckles. “I promise that no harm will come to you here.”

“Thank you,” Jaskier says. “Geralt doesn’t like sharing much about the other witchers, but I’m sure you must have a wealth of stories for me to hear!” Sure enough, Geralt frowns. “And I don’t know how much help I’ll be with hunting or gathering, but I would be happy to regale you on the coldest nights—” 

And before Vesemir can read into that unfortunate phrasing, Jaskier shrugs off his fur coat to produce a lute. He must have been wearing it strapped around his front on the journey through the mountains, not wanting to condemn such a fine instrument to being jostled around in Roach’s saddlebags. Vesemir squints at the red-brown wood and the golden details under the strings. They almost look like a particular elven design.

Oh. Vesemir’s realization nearly bowls him over. Geralt and Jaskier stare at him, respectively concerned and curious, but Vesemir can’t take his eyes off the lute. “My apologies, I… I forgot something in my chamber. Make yourselves at home, and… I’ll leave you to it.” He leaves without any further explanation, hastening to his quarters and abandoning the pair of them to their own devices. He can still feel their gazes drilling into his back but he suddenly feels weaker than usual.

---

 “I heard there was a witcher skulking around this forest,” the spy says. Vesemir is almost relieved to hear them speak; he’s been glancing over his shoulder for nearly an hour now to try and reveal an invisible pursuer. He should’ve known he was right. Just because the spy doesn’t lumber like a human or reek of magic like a monster doesn’t mean he won’t be in trouble. 

He stops in the middle of the path, still facing forward. He’s got a sneaking suspicion that the second he turns, a very unfriendly knife is going to introduce itself to his ribcage. Or perhaps an arrow, although he hasn’t heard the sound of anything and he’s been listening very closely.

His pursuer approaches. Fuck, they’re light on their feet. If Vesemir was just an average bandit, he’d be done for. He braces himself for an attack, balling his hands up into fists at his sides. The stranger continues, tone still pleasant enough, “Why not stay in town? A warm bed must beat trudging through mud in the early hours of the morning trying to find ground. I’ll give you some advice, witcher; there’s no dry ground. You’re heading towards a swamp.”

“They wouldn’t let me stay in town,” Vesemir admits, already grumpy. He whirls around and sees the stranger; a lean man, just slightly shorter than him. The long hood of their cloak casts a dark shadow over their face, blocking them from view. “If you’re here to rob me, I hate to disappoint, but you’ve followed me all this way for nothing.”

He holds up his empty coinpurse; not to prove himself, just to complain. The stranger titters, a lovely, high-pitched sound like glass clinking against glass, like chimes. Like birdsong. Vesemir’s eyes narrow. “That’s a shame,” they say. “You do love coin.”

There’s something disturbingly familiar about the words. Vesemir decides to gamble with his own life, stalking forward until he’s face to face with the stranger. Up close, his scent is even stronger. Frowning, Vesemir is about to reveal the man’s identity when he does it himself, pushing his hood back. His hair is tied up in complex braids unlike any Vesemir has ever seen, only a few loose strands hanging down over his forehead. But it would take more than a lifetime for Vesemir to forget that face.

“Fil,” he declares, delighted, and doesn’t think twice before crashing into the elf. Filavandrel laughs again and though it makes Vesemir feel a little silly, the sound still fills his heart with joy. He embraces his friend tightly, clinging to him for so long that both their boots sink down into the flooded dark soil of the forest. “What are you doing here?”

“It’s like I told you.” The elf pats the back of Vesemir’s neck, unwittingly sending a shiver down his spine. Vesemir’s grip tightens. “My scouts said I might find a witcher lost in the woods.”

“I’m not lost,” Vesemir grunts, finally pulling away. “I just… don’t know where I’m going.”

“Come to my camp,” suggests Filavandrel. As if he even had to ask.

Unsurprisingly, elves make their camps much differently than witchers do. When they arrive Vesemir doesn’t immediately see any sort of bedroll, and then he feels embarrassed for looking. He never feels this way around anyone else; he can make bawdy jokes with Sven or blatantly hit on Luka, but in the company of Filavandrel aén Fidháil, shame bursts through him so easily.

Maybe he just has a thing for pretty blondes who he leaves behind.

Except Fil is here, smiling indulgently as Vesemir gapes like a fool. “It’s nice,” he finally manages to say. “Want me to set a fire?”

“A campfire, sure. Not a big one,” Filavandrel teases. Swallowing, Vesemir turns to a firepit that the elf must have fashioned himself. He takes a bundle of wood that’s already been cut and easily ignites it, all the while trying to figure out why his heart is pounding so damn loud. Thank fuck that Filavandrel isn’t a witcher.

“Have you eaten?”

“No. You?”

“I was going to have some bread, and go hunting in the morning.” There’s a small noise and when Vesemir turns to look, his friend is holding out a large chunk of bread. It doesn’t even look that stale. Vesemir sees that Filavandrel has taken a much smaller piece for himself and growls about it, but the elf snatches the smaller piece away before Vesemir can lunge for it. “I don’t want to hear any self-sacrificial bullshit about how witchers don’t need to eat. Take the damn bread, Ves.”

“... Fine,” Vesemir relents, cowed. He accepts the bread, fingertips accidentally brushing over Filavandrel’s when he takes it. It’s fucking delicious, melting in his mouth almost instantly. Seeds and herbs have been baked into it too, and Vesemir savours every bite, moaning. “You should quit being a professional elf and start a new life as a baker, fuck.”

“I can do both. It’s an old recipe, needs a stone oven. And what does being a professional elf even mean?” Filavandrel reaches up to shove him, except they aren’t very far away from each other so the push nearly knocks Vesemir off his balance. Before he can tip over onto the grass Filavandrel grabs him by the collar of his gambeson and tugs him back, and, well. Vesemir may be a witcher, but parts of him are still human. 

Neither of them has to say a word; he opens for Filavandrel like he’s been thinking of nothing but this since the second they laid eyes on each other. Honestly, he sort of has. Fil runs a hand over the shaved part of his head, pressing his palm against the back of his neck to pull him in closer. Vesemir moans, chasing the taste of something sweet and acidic and magic. It certainly isn’t the fucking bread.

Afterwards they lie together by the smoldering remains of the fire, both too spent to clean themselves or dress. Vesemir glances over at the cinders and thinks about making an exit soon. It isn’t that he doesn’t want to stay with Filavandrel. He’s comfortable here, especially right now, and his friend always makes his heart feel lighter. But the Path calls to him; lying here without his weapons or armour, Vesemir can nearly hear Deglan’s scolding. And that thought is enough to ruin anyone’s afterglow.

Before he can move, Filavandrel sits up, arching his back. Vesemir turns to watch him, nearly salivating at how he looks in the low firelight. His hair is radiant, and his skin isn’t nearly flushed enough. He’s beautiful. Ethereal. Selfishly, Vesemir wishes that he’d left more marks.

Fil climbs to his feet and crosses the campsite to retrieve something out of reach. Vesemir cranes his neck to try and peek, and Filavandrel laughs kindly at him. “I was just thinking that something’s missing.”

“I was thinking the same thing,” Vesemir says, lowering his head back down onto the ground. “I should have kissed you more.”

The elf pauses at that before finally demanding, “Kiss me later.” A note resounds through the air, clear and beautiful; then a chord, and another. Very soon their little clearing feels more like a fairy circle than a campground as Filavandrel plays music. 

He finally walks into view, still naked, still beautiful. Now holding a lute. Vesemir tries to sit up so that he can properly see the performance but Filavandrel is faster, moving over him and then sitting atop his stomach, resting his back against Vesemir’s thighs. He plays the entire time, fingers moving adeptly over the instrument.

It’s a beautiful lute, probably made of some holy dark red wood. The golden design etched into it is mesmerizing, and the strings could have been plucked from the mane of a unicorn. Vesemir hardly spares it any attention, too wrapped up in the sight of a naked Filavandrel straddling him and singing.

He’ll only realize decades later that the elf was probably trying to court him.

Someone knocks on the door to his chambers and Vesemir jumps to his feet, caught off-guard by the sound that plucked him from his memories. He finds Jaskier waiting outside his room, toying idly with the sleeves of his doublet. Vesemir shakes his head, holding the door open for Jaskier even as he apologizes. “I’m sorry for running out earlier. I meant to give you a tour of the Keep, hopefully Geralt will have stepped up in my absence, but I am sorry—”

“No— please,” Jaskier interrupts. Once more he pulls his lute from around himself, holding it out to Vesemir. “I just… Your countenance changed dramatically upon seeing this, so…”

Fuck. “Yes,” Vesemir sighs, staring at the lute. Jaskier has managed to keep it in good condition after all this time. “I… Filavandrel and I are old friends.”

The bard’s eyes bulge out of his head but he enters Vesemir’s chambers, heading straight to the desk to perch on the edge of the chair. Vesemir finds another chair for himself, moving its previous occupant— a stack of books— onto the floor. In his defence, he hadn’t expected the tour of Kaer Morhen to begin in his personal chambers.

“He didn’t mention knowing any other witchers,” Jaskier hums. “How did you meet him?”

“You’re sure you want to know? It’s sort of a long story.” The bard just nods, eager and polite. Instantly Vesemir can see why Geralt likes him. “Alright,” he obliges, reaching for the bottle of wine on the desk. They’re going to need it. “We met long before you would have been born…”

 ---

 South of Kaedwen, the seasons are more aligned than any other part of the Continent. The winters are crisp, the summers lazy. Filavandrel likes to spend his summers here, where the canopy of trees is thick enough to provide shade but thin enough to provide colour. Everything is verdant, the flowers calling to him as he passes each one. When he was a child he had longed to visit towns and experience human delights like festivals but now he knows better. The elves live off the land well enough anyway.

Some of the younger people in his company these days have that same yearning, and some of them even manage it. One elf who resembles Toruviel always runs off to see some different show, take in some new performance. If Filavandrel thought that she could get away with it, he would pay for her to attend Oxenfurt— she’s very good. And the upside of her risking her life just to listen to music is that she’s got a very good memory, and she always brings the songs back home.

Today she’s singing some new ode to a witcher; not that bigoted anthem of lies that the bastard warbler from Posada somehow spread through the Continent, thank the Gods. This one seems to revolve more around making the right choice, and how a real hero does good deeds not for coin or his own profit, but just to be good. Filavandrel thinks about the few witchers that he’s had the misfortune of contacting over the years, and under his breath he scoffs.

Cheesy chorus aside, the lyrics seem to have some merit. The first verse is all about some terrible monster that was taking young girls, transforming them into half-beasts. The hero witcher’s judgement fails him and he blames himself for years, even losing a lover in the process. Filavandrel scowls; despite his own experiences with witches, he doesn’t want to listen to a song written by yet another prejudiced bard.

Then the third verse lands. The witcher grows old and wise and has children of his own, and he regrets his inaction and he tries to reach out to contact his lover. But at that point his lover, who devoted his life to protecting those in danger, was too busy being King of the Silver Towers. Filavandrel stops dead in his tracks as he realizes which witcher this must have been inspired by.

The elven king huffs, starting to compose a route in his head. He thinks a trip up north is long overdue.

[ktheist]

2 | all yours to enjoy [m]

title inspired by blackpink’s sure thing cover.

⟶ read part one, play me like a toy, here.

muses. heiress!reader x ex-mafia!hoseok

genre. age gap factor. chaebol-mafia au. arranged marriage au. modern au.

warning. implied smut, mentions of gun use and all that mafia shizz

verse. knj. ksj. myg. kth. pjm. jjk. jhs.

synopsis.

“marry me or be killed.”

“is there a third option?”

“we fucked but you were too drunk to remember so that option’s invalid.”

x

the carved name above the handle points in wayward angles. as if made by a child.

well, 5 year-old-you lacked tact. and a sense of artistry but nobody dared insult the work of the only daughter of the han group.

the room hoseok stepped in feels familiar yet foreign at the same time. it’s been years, but the pink unicorn plushie still sits on your bed like it’s waiting for you to climb in and cuddle it every night.

the pastel peach walls have been repainted in a deep maroon shade. at your order, hoseok suspects. it’s as if you’ve renounced that childish innocence and took on a blood oath for the han family name.

much of that youthful wander in your eyes has disappeared.

‘it was my fault, i shouldn’t have left her all alone in this wretched place,’ hoseok surly thought to himself.

before he can even think about how inappropriate his actions are - to have stepped into a woman’s room without a reason - a surprised voice echoes from the door adjacent to where he’s standing.

“hoseok...” you’re standing there, in front of the ajar bathroom door, with a pristine white towel around your body and another wrapped around your head, water dripping from the stray strand that manages to escape from your towel turban.

perhaps he had a reason, after all.

perhaps he just wants to see you, the person who coerced him to come back to this god forsaken house where he’s seen more deaths than his fingers could count.

“i’m sorry- i didn’t know you were taking a bath-” hoseok didn’t even manage to take a step back when you shake your head, a smile he’s not used to seeing curved on your lips.

“it’s fine, come in. close the door behind you.”

when he remains frozen in his spot, hand on the handle that seems to seep cold, icy frost into his palm - you raise a pair of trimmed brows, “what? we’re getting married, aren’t we? you forgot but you’ve seen all of me,” a coquettish smile on your lips, “don’t tell me you’re getting all shy now after announcing to the entire head of families that they should sleep with one eye open.”

the funeral had been handled by uncle jihoon, your father’s right hand man and most trusted confidant. he probably cleaned up the skeletons in your father’s closet more times than you’d met your own father in your 25 years of living.

your father had enemies and someone had to get rid of them.

such was the ways of the hans.

yeojun was yours and sehun was chanyeol’s.

hoseok was meant to step in once uncle jihoon resigned since at an early age, he’d gathered enough support to ruin the whole nation. his only fault was being loyal to your father, han jiseok.

and it was his loyalty that made your father drive him away.

because no matter when hoseok was and what he was doing, he’d never betray the hans.

“he’s just a kid,” you’d once heard him say to uncle jihoon.

several months later, he’d announced at the annual family gathering that hoseok got into yonsei university as a business major. it also meant that his ties with the han group would cease to orphan student-influential family sponsors. every record of his existence was wiped clean. he was no longer the child uncle jihoon took in because he pitied hoseok’s miserable state of living. he’d come to your house in tattered clothes and a bluing bruise on his cheek.

jung hoseok was meant to carry half of the burden of the head of family until the true heirs grew up and learned the ropes of leading the han group.

in short, hoseok was a proxy. a stand-in who gathered a little too many support that threatened the powers of the actual heirs.

their bow lingered longer, as if they were thanking the gods for bringing him back just as they’d lost a great leader.

you didn’t mind though. you liked hoseok - he was the only one that didn’t look at you like you were a prophecy of death. a child who’d grow up just as wicked as her father.

he’d looked at you like a human.

han jiseok took a liking to hoseok, the loyal dog of the han family that would drive a fist into someone’s gut at the command of the head or any of his heirs. hoseok wouldn’t question it either - why he was beating someone up half-dead, he just... did it.

so when that jung hoseok who got cut off from the han family at chanyeol’s whining over how his succession would not be supported by the branch families if hoseok were to remain as the stand in - came back and announced  first thing after his return, his engagement to the heiress of han group, naturally, all hell broke lose.

hoseok had stood by your side as you’d kept your head low, the black veil covering your eyes and nose did well to hide your dry gaze.

true to his reputation, as soon as he stepped into the mansion with you, the men who swore their loyalty to the han family, one by one, started bowing at hoseok whilst the heads of the vassal families started whispering among themselves.

“hoseok, the loyal dog? that’s him?”

“did the boss ever say who was going to inherit the family business?”

family business was just a white washed term of the commercial front of han group that was meant to blur the eyes of the korean government on what truly goes on underground.

“the attorney hasn’t been found, right? that means nobody here knows the contents of the will.”

“did he ever mention chanyeol would inherit the business?”

“____’s achievements aren’t something to be turned a blind eye on either.”

one of the heads of the branch approached you, he smiled too sweetly on the day of his principal’s passing. rubbed his hands together schemingly as he murmured words of condolences that sounded like congratulations, “the boss suffered for so long from leukemia, the gods must’ve answered his prayer. i’m sorry for your loss, miss ____.”

foolish fiend.

kang sungho was chanyeol’s uncle from his mother’s side. he was the head of one of the closest branch family who’d swore loyalty to the han’s. yet he acted like a stranger who didn’t have anything to do with his brother-in-law’s passing.

“say, hoseok, you’re here too,” sungho didn’t even wait for you to respond - perhaps he thought you were too in shock to say anything, “it’s been a while, thank you for coming even though you have no relation with han group anymore.”

just like that, sungho made a u-turn and spoke on the behalf of han group.

your hand that you didn’t even know was balled up into a fist shook silently - that was, until hoseok slipped and grasped it with his large hand as he lowered his head in a nod.

“it’d always been my intention to come back to serve the new boss,” his hand had left you to wrap his arm around your shoulders, “well, a husband is a slave to his wife, anyway, right?”

it was clear from what hoseok said that he didn’t mean chanyeol was the soon-to-be wife.

you’d sent yeojun to the hospital to confirm your father’s status while you’d met up with an - well, you were holding her son and husband hostage if she didn’t corporate but still - acquaintance who works at the korean embassy to speed up the marriage registration process.

it was when you were walking out of the embassy and to the car that hoseok slips his hand in yours and murmurs to himself.

but you’d heard every word of it, “your hands are trembling. you’ve never shot a man, have you?”

a sense of melancholy paints his face as his grasp tightens on your hand, as if saying ‘sorry i left you all alone in that house.’

you shook it off, heart too dried and withered to ponder on what he’d thought. thoughts of you father filling your heart.

no ceremony, no nothing.

and now you’re married.

the hoseok from just hours ago stood with his back straight and an ease in his aura. yet his presence alone was enough to make even the eldest of the head bow to him.

“are you... are you okay?” this hoseok asks you with hesitance in his voice.

“what makes you think i’m not?” you amble to the bed and drop your towel, letting it pool around your ankle.

there’s no mistaken low breath hoseok let out at the sight of your naked body. as if he’s a teenage school kid who’s never seen the body of a woman.

“do you mind zipping this up for me?” you say, standing with your exposed back on him, damp hair pulled to drape over your shoulder and chest.

hoseok lets out a cough. as if to announce that he was in the room and he was coming closer.

the fingerpads feels callous against your skin. you have to remind yourself to breathe through your nose than hold it in until your lungs feel like they’re about to burst.

hoseok takes his sweet, leisure time tracing down his index finger down your spine to get to the zipper. and when he does, he drags it up in an agonizingly slow pace, the grazing sound it makes causing the hairs on your neck to stand.

“skip the after-reception... you look tired,” he says after his hand falls away from your body and you’re suddenly missing what warmth it provides, like a flame that thaws the ice in your heart.

a dry laugh escapes you, “the elders are finally looking at me as an heiress, you know i can’t afford to slip out of the spotlight on the pretense of fatigue.”

before hoseok can offer any response, you twirl around, arms banding around his waist and bare face buried in his chest.

“hold me like you used to when i woke up from a nightmare and i’ll be fine,” the remnant of your sob threatens to spill from your mouth - true, you didn’t shed a single tear when you arrived late at night at the hospital.

the death of your father had been announced at 1703 hour.

but it’s only ever sunk in that the only family you have is gone - once you’ve left to your own devices to take a bath and change into new clothes before the after reception begins.

it’s then, that the waterworks began to pour over your cheeks without any hints of stopping.

hoseok must have seen the aftermath of your puffed, pink eyes when you stepped out of the bathroom, not expecting for anyone to be there except the silence.

a pair of strong, secure arms wrap around your body wordlessly. hoseok tilts his head so his cheek is pressed against the side of your head.

“you grew a few inches,” his husked voice brushes your ear like a dream you’d never want to wake up from.

a small laugh escapes you, “oh come on, i got more than my height on me but you-”

hoseok groans and you clamp your mouth shut, chuckling.

“i’m sorry,” he confesses, a treasure trove of remorse laced around those two little words.

all of a sudden, guilt gnaws at your conscience for having teased him too many times about forgetting something he couldn’t control, “don’t say sorry,” you mumble, “now i feel bad.”

“i used to tease you a lot about your obsession for ponies and unicorns.” his voice drums in your ears.

“i used to fantasize about finding a unicorn in the forest behind our beach house and beating chanyeol at a race someday,” without you realizing it, your cheeks are hurting from how wide you’re smiling.

silence lapses around you.

but it has no space in between your flushed bodies. you hear hoseok’s unusually fast heartbeat.

“you’ve changed...” you murmur, somber.

“i did?” he sounds melancholic, as if reminiscing about the days in this household.

chasing after the troublemaker daughter that always thinks they’re playing hide-and-seek. beating and threatening any rival members he sees hovering around the han group’s territorial influence.

“i didn’t say i don’t like the new you,” you tear your face off his chest, tilting your chin to gaze up to his warm eyes that appear deep brown under these fluorescent lights.

standing on the tip of your toes, you peck his lips lightly.

a sweet smile plays on your lips.

‘yeah, his lips are as soft as they look,’ you affirm.

it’s the way his eyelids cover his eyes as he blinks. the way his lips part as if surprised at the sudden, unannounced advancement. the way the realization seems to sink in that there was nothing stopping you from kissing him again-

an index finger presses against your pouted lips as you stand on the tips of your toes once again.

“it’s dangerous...” is all he offers.

but with the way his gaze becomes hooded as the chains of self-restraint shackles his hands and ankles, you think you know what he means.

instead of offering an answer, you sweep your tongue over the length of his digit, mouth opening to lightly bite his finger all the while gazing into his stormy eyes.

“guess i’m just a little kitten compared to the wolves in that room full of old wolves to you, huh?”

once the storm passes, his gaze becomes hooded with something - something you can’t pinpoint.

yet you let him slide his finger deeper into your mouth, feeling the soft pink flesh of your tongue on his fingertip.

you flutter your lashes skittishly, hand pushing the hair to the back of your ear as you lick a strip down his finger like you would his other head. but the rap on your door and the “miss ____, it’s yeojun,” coming from the other side almost sends your heart leaping into your throat.

you suck in a deep breath around hoseok’s finger before pulling away and stepping to the side, completely aware of the sexual tension that hovers in the air like thick, dark clouds.

“yeojun, is everyone here?” your gaze is fixed on the handle that your hand’s reaching out for.

“everything’s set, we’re waiting on the priest to arrive,” his voice sounds muffled through the door.

you step out of the door with half-damp hair and a face bare of make up whilst patting down the skirt of your dress.

but it’s not your half-as-acceptable appearance that makes yeojun stare at you for five solid seconds.

rather, he’s staring at something behind you as you feel the warmth of a body heat against your back.

“i’ll be the one escorting my fiance, yeonjun.”

he speaks casually despite yeojun being older than him and yet it felt natural. hoseok holds out his arm for you as yeojun stepped back with a bow, making way for you and hoseok to walk down the hallway leading to the flight of stairs where the main hall would be.

x

“god, i hate ties,” hoseok murmurs under his breath from next to you, nimble fingers pulling on his collar.

“you wear it well for someone who claims to hate going around in crisp button downs and shiny leather loafers,” a smile tugs on the corners of your lips.

chanyeol finally stepped away with the madam for some fresh air. maybe the death glares she’d been shooting you since you arrived - has finally got the world spinning behind her eyes.

“was the only option an orphaned nobody like me had when i was offered to work a nine to five,” he says casually, still fumbling with his tie.

your hand feels like a child’s when you place it on his. he pauses, gazing down at you before letting his hand fall on his side whilst yours remain on the knot of his necktie.

“may i?”

hoseok’s head moves, not quite a nod but not a shake of ‘no’ either. so you take out the pin from your hair that yeojun fetched from your room after your hair started falling into your face with every head bow you made in front of the guest. undoing the knot on hoseok’s tie, you slip the pin between the knot before looping the end over the knot and patting it down once you’re done.

the ‘how did you learn to do that’ look that hoseok shoots you makes you laugh. he’s both impressed and suspicious.

“my mom-” the one who’s confined to the house your father give and can’t even attend her late husband’s memorial service, reception and after reception, “-taught me all the things i needed to know to be the ‘perfect’ wife.”

“never pegged you for someone who’d obediently absorb her teachings,” he comments.

back then, you were as ruthless and spoiled as they come. the fine lines on your mother’s forehead was probably caused by your bursts every time she tried to push her views on you.

“a year after you left the seong’s proposed for our families to join together... they had a son and daddy had a daughter at his disposal... i was preparing to be a bride because that’s all people around me made my life to be until i just... had enough of being treated like a doll. so i cut a deal with seong joongki, got rid of his dad so he could step up as head, we remained engaged until i turned 18 and broke it. now he’s one of the people i know i can count on,” a shrug of your shoulder and you look up to him, locking his gaze with yours.

“seong, huh?” hoseok scanned the faces of the guests behind you, eyes narrowed like a hawk before they paused on something.

his gaze returns to you, an overly sweet smile appearing on his face as his dimples dig into his cheeks, “people like him cut and run when things get messy.”

you laugh, it sounds tired, but it’s still laugh, “if he does, i’d be the one to tell him to.”

“and i’ll put a bullet in his head if you didn’t,” he says words of murder like a romantic confession as he gazes into your eyes like there’s no where he’d rather be.

that is, until an unfamiliar voice calls the husband of the heiress by his name.

x

“namjoon,” hoseok hugs the chairman of kimcorp. for a lingering moment as the man pats his back once, as if unspeakingly consoling him.

kim namjoon, the second child and heir of kimcorp. and hoseok’s college friend and boss who booked a sudden trip back to seoul at the news of the head of the han group’s passing.

though the later generation washed their hands off the dirty work that got them where they are, they still remember their roots.

when they break apart, hoseok turns to you, arm around your waist, “___, this namjoon. namjoon- ___... my wife.”

hearing the word ‘wife’ slip out of hoseok’s mouth warms your heart yet makes your stomach knot painfully. ironic how you’d want to believe the heartrendering way he introduced you to be anything more than the act you told him to put on.

“ah,” kim namjoon narrows his eyes at you, as if shifting through his memories, “the kid hoseok babysat.”

the disparaging regard to your status as heiress tells you enough what this so-called friend of hoseok thinks of you.

“the friendless nerd hobi befriended out of pity,” you state, flashing you best smile.

a nod from his side. as if saying ‘touché’.

“ah, mrs. aera didn’t come?” hoseok asks, eyes searching the crowd until namjoon shakes his head, a meaningful smile playing on his lips.

“she’s too tired so i told her to rest at home,” he says and hoseok nods, as if understanding the underlying reason that kim aera is missing from honoring the master his husband’s family’s served for generations.

the kim’s are one of the oldest families that was tied down to han group by an oath. your great great great grandfather helped his great grandfather build the legacy the kim’s found themselves on now.

though the later generation washed their hands off the dirty work that got them where they are, they still remember their roots.

he steps away, greeting chanyeol and han chohee, your father’s legal wife before meandering away and keeping out of the spotlight for the rest of the night while you amble languidly with your hand on hoseok’s arm, exchanging pleasantries with the guests like it’s a wedding rather than a funeral until it’s time for the head of the family to gather in the boardroom.

everywhere you and hoseok goes, eyes follow. those who you approach tenses up while they wear their best smiles and utter words of sweet saccharine but as soon as the attorney turns up, you have no sliver of doubt that these people will be the first to vote for your head if it turns out the will appoints chanyeol as the next and rightful heir of han group.

those who you pass by end up with twisted faces. they’re the acquaintances of the han group, loyal to no master - the actual people who’d cut and run.

“mr. jee,” the middle aged man with too big of a nose and overbearing personality turns his full attention to you after hoseok was done talking about the stock market he’d been investing in, “a friend of mine, doctor maria wong, is a skin specialist who just received the asan award in medicine for her recent findings, i can introduce you to her, if you’d like.”

the youngest jee suffers from a rare skin condition which is why she never attended any social functions. they claimed she got accepted to a boarding school in europe when she was actually getting treated in one of the most prestigious private hospitals in the world in switzerland.

the situation is kept under wraps. you lost one of your holiday villas for this piece of information.

“o-oh, yes,” it takes a moment of him staring at you like you’re emitting halo from your body before he stammers back to life, “i- we,” he looks at his wife who shares the same hopeful gleam, “would really like that.”

“one down... tens more to go,” hoseok murmurs under his breath when you walk away from the couple, “you’re pretty good this ‘you know whose side you should be on, don’t you’ kind of threat.”

“i threatened the jung hoseok to marry me, this is child’s play,” you shoot him a coquettish smile, not expecting for him to lean down to your ear and whisper lowly.

“the lock was on the whole time,” he chuckles as he straightens his back at the announcement summoning all the heads of the families present, its representative, the children of the han’s and their spouses to the meeting room.

hoseok pulls out a pair of tucson, ariz’s tucked behind him and places them on the metal tray soobin’s holding out. he slips a hand under his suit, pulling out a revolver from his shoulder holster you didn’t even know he had on. then, two grenades from each of his pockets like he’s taking out a piece of candy. a foldup knife from the pocket of his blazer.

red lights go off when he walks past the metal detector, cursing to himself before he shoots you a sheepish look - the one the new hoseok would - and bends down before pulling out two kolibri the size of your palm and appear like toy guns in hoseok’s that was strapped on both his ankles.

one of your father’s men manually hovers a handheld metal detector and scans him from head to toe before giving him the greenlight to walk into the room just as kang sungho screams, “i’m the uncle of the future head, you’ll regret this!”

you roll your eyes at the old man’s outburst, taking out the dagger strapped to your thigh and pretending to not notice hoseok’s ogling at your exposed thighs when the dress rides up.

“bringing a knife to a gun fight - ballsy,” hoseok murmurs under his breath, his words meant only for you as you join his side, both of you stepping into the still-empty boardroom as the heads of the branch families you pass by grumble to themselves, pulling out the weapons they have on them and piling the tray in front of them.

one even pulled out a bandolier wrapped underneath his coat. the others merely have a pile of handguns and revolvers on their tray.

“oh, i brought something better,” you feel your lips stretching into a smirk as hoseok pushes the chair behind you before slipping in the one next to you, inquisitive eyes boring into yours.

a peck lands on his lips as you giggle at the way his eyes go wide for the briefest moment.

“tch,” someone says as they pass you and hoseok. chanyeol sits across from you, glare digging holes into your skull as he looks at you as if you were guM under his sole.

“please, tell me you have a plan that involves me driving my fist in his face,” hoseok’s low voice sends shivers down your spine.

it takes a moment for you to grasp that his statement needs a response.

“even better,” you murmur, head tilted to him, “you’ll get to do whatever you want with him after we walk out of this room.”

x

“we can’t go on without a leader for longer than 48 hours!” kang sungho smacks his pudgy fist against the clear glass surface of the oval table.

“we get your frustrations head family kang, but we need to locate attorney hyeon first,” seong joongki speaks informally to the man 20 years his senior and kang sungho can only grit his teeth.

in this room, no peerage title exists. every head is equal and that means every single person here is below you and chanyeol, the heir and heiress of han group.

“for all we know, attorney hyeon could be dead,” ahn sujin glances around the room, meeting every eye of the head until her gaze rests on you, “they found traces of tires on the road and a wrecked tree trunk a few feet away.”

“are you saying attorney hyeon got into an accident on the way here but someone quickly moved the car and bodies as if they were planned it, auntie sujin?” chanyeol baritone cuts through the tense air.

he throws you a side glance as he sits at the end of the oval table where your father and his father and his father’s father sat, bearing the weight of a legacy as old and majestic as the royal family had they survived all these years. the audacity of this man you call a brother walked straight up to the seat your father used to occupy and plopped down as if he owned it.

“the crash mark in the bark of the tree was still fresh,” ahn sujin nods.

“well...” at the sound of your voice, the whole room falls silent, “let’s ask him shall we?”

soobin, nods at you like he’s known your ways for years. he pulls out a remote and the tv screens tacked behind the leader’s seat.

the screen flashes with a picture of uncle jihoon getting into a sleek black car with the plate number HG that only you, chanyeol, the madam and your father have access to.

a blurred buzzing echoes against the soundproof walls of the boardroom before it gradually becomes clearer.

“...get the names?” a deep voice asks - the owner sitting directly across from you stares with knitted brows as he focuses on the familiar sound.

“a-... -re you... sure about...? ...involve ...your mother’s family...” uncle jihoon’s dialect wrapped around the syllables of the words, giving out who that voice belongs to.

he used to be proud of where he came from and wore his dialect like a medal.

“..-actly, they’re my mom’s family. not mine. ‘sides, kang sungho’s been clinging onto dad like a fucking leech even though he knows there’s nothing he can offer us that we want.”

silence fills the audio.

hoseok’s hand slips over yours, as if reminding you to let out that breath you’ve been holding.

chanyeol’s jaw tightens as he shoots daggers at you with his eyes.

“the names, uncle.” a sense of urgency laces around chanyeol’s voice.

“th-the kang’s, byun’s and ahn’s agreed to get molly to the scorpios in thailand on 23rd of april on flight ka8792 at 2:35 pm.” uncle jihoon says after a heartbeat.

each of the families listed are known for either their couture designs that receive orders from ministers’ wives all over the world, custom made colognes or either owns five star hotels in south korea and overseas.

“this isn’t enough, you think the cops are gonna believe all we have is the names of families involved in some mid level drug smuggling? my reputation’s on the line here.”

“a-and a fishing vessel will be making port at around 3 in the morning five days from now. it’s owned by the cha’s, they’ve been using it to smuggle meth and hide it under the hauls of fish they caught.”

the cha’s hold the monopoly to the wet market business.

“that’ll do for now, get out.”

the audio cuts off and the screens begin to move again, this time showing shots of chanyeol and a man in his 40′s sitting across from each other, having coffee.

shifting your hand so your palm is facing up in hoseok’s, you slip your fingers in the gap of his longer ones.

“that’s detective kim namseok and my beloved brother having brunch together - that’s right, chanyeol with the held of uncle jihoon, sold the kang’s, byun’s, ahn’s and cha’s off in his grand scheme of getting the leader position in exchange for police immunity for the han group... oops?” your lips purse into a mocking pout.

“lies! you know how much this bitch wanted to take over han group!” chanyeol roars, pushing himself off the chair and turning to face the wide-eyed gazes and dropped jaws of the heads of the families.

“i-i was b-blackmailed...” uncle jihoon stares at his reflection in the table, as if in a whole different world, “i-it’s not my fault! the young master threatened me!”

“let’s ask the detective shall we? since it’s been  proven that men from the han group have a hard time believing the women’s words,” you roll your eyes.

the screen flashes with an dark, barren room with nothing but a man tied to a chair in the middle of it. his head is hung low but there’s no mistaking the sight of blood covering his face and shirt.

the ghost scent of the blood makes your stomach churn yet you wear the malicious smile of someone who’s about to grasp the very thing she desires - perfectly.

“he’s a little... tied up. we caught him just in time before he called up his partner and spilled everything your darling heir provided.”

“uh, hello? are we live?” a cautious, brittle-like voice echoes from the intercom as a man with greying hair enters the frame as he adjusts his glasses to sit higher on his nose bridge.

“attorney hyeon, you’re live,” you affirm, smiling tightly.

“ah, good evening,” a light of recognition glints in the man’s eyes as he smiles, bowing deeply before straightening his back and backing up until he’s standing next to the half-conscious detective, “i apologize for not being able to attend the meeting myself. i got into an accident, drugged and would have had my nails pulled out if miss han didn’t come to my rescue and brought me here.”

“argh... a... ah...” the detective interjects, groaning.

attorney hyeon laughs calmly as if he didn’t just hear the bloodied and bruised man asking for help.

“in my hands here, i have the contents of the will which i will now have my... uh, assistant-bodyguard share it to the screen and send to your phones... are you sure... they’re sent?” his voice becomes quieter whilst phones and tablets begin to ding with a notification simultaneously.

“... the three holiday villas in incheon, jeju and daegu will respectively go to the madam...” he begins listing out the properties owned by your late father and the distribution of a portion of it to the madam and your mother.

no one interjects even though attorney hyeon’s voice seems to drone on and one despite the tape and audio that leaves everyone on the edge of their seats.

“...and for matters regarding the succession of the new head, the boss, han jiseok, wishes a fair voting system be used to decide whether mr. han chanyeol or miss han ___ will take the position a starting a month after his death.” by the end of it, the room is deathly silent as if a pin drop would echo like thunder in this spacious room.

“the heir and heiress are given three months for them to prove themselves to the vassals and in the absence of a leader, jung hoseok will be appointed as proxy-”

at that, the whole room breaks out into a roar.

“jung hoseok hasn’t stepped foot in han manor for over fifteen years!”

“miss ___ and hoseok are married! this will lead to unfair results!”

a screech against the floor as a chair falls over.

“you still want to support the son of a bitch that’s willing to sell all of us out to the blue bastards?!”

“who’s to say the young master’s not selling out the names of sons of bitches like you who switches sides the first chance you have!”

in the midst of the shouting, chairs screeching and the elderly lawyer trying to gain calm the elders, chanyeol turns to you with the eyes of a man who’s watching his legacy fall right in his very eyes.

“i should’ve left you in the forest when we got lost 15 years ago,” he reaches for something behind his back.

you recall the brother with scratches all over his body, the sun was setting and his back had looked broad for your 8 year old self. you were just two kids who lost their way, slipped and fall in the forest not too far from the family villa.

that same brother is holding a gun to your face.

x

hoseok takes a long whiff of the cigarette that sits in between his index and middle fingers.

“that was a shitstorm,” someone laughs from behind him - your voice sounds oddly free for someone who’s about to either get hexed or get worshipped within three months.

the curve of smile on your lips makes him smile too. he breathes out, laughing, “yeah...”

“do you mind sharing?”

hoseok blinks once. then he regains his senses, looking at the smoldering bud and tapping the middle part of the cigarette with the tip of his index finger to get the ash off so it wouldn’t hurt you if it fell.

“yeah... here.” he pushes down the wince that comes from the slightest strain of passing the cigarette to you.

the way your eyes linger on the clean white bandage on his arm tells him you’re not fooled by his unfazed mask. yet you don’t say anything, your eyes flutter close as your matte burgundy lips wrap around the beige colored bud and inhale.

when chanyeol pulled out the gun, hoseok tried to reason him out of it. promises were made at the expense of his own life. all that, in exchange for yours. in the fleeting moment that chanyeol took to consider pointing the gun at hoseok, you find your opening, shoving his hand upward and hitting that spot in his rib.

the bullet didn’t hit you but it grazed hoseok’s arm. he was standing right next to you.

And hoseok has a brand new pack of cigarettes in his pocket along with an electric lighter - he’d probably grab them both in one grasp if he slipped his hand in his pocket now.

for some reason, he takes the cigarette you pass and takes a good, long whiff out of it.

“did you know?” the puffs of smoke pass through your mouth as you speak and breathe out.

“when i left,  boss told me that i should be ready to drop everything i have... everything i am at any moment... they would have dragged me back one way or another and it’s not gonna be with a gun with its safety lock on if i didn’t walk in on my own accords,” hoseok taps the ashes off a second time, watching them flutter down and settle in between the green blades of grass.

a sense apprehension follows your nod as you stare at your reflection in your polished pumps, “after all this... after i convince the vassals, i’ll make sure you walk out of this alive. heck, i’ll sign the divorce papers today-”

the half of the unsmoked cigarette hits the ground.

hoseok finds himself swallowing the gasp that slips out of your lips at his sudden movement. you freeze underneath his fingertips like the ice you build in your heart but you don’t push him away and hoseok takes that as a maybe.

maybe there’s stability in this chaos.

maybe love does bloom in the most desolate place.

he feels his heart leap into his throat when your arm goes around his neck as you kiss him back just as desperately.

maybe, just maybe, you need him as much as he needs you.

x

the three months fly by with you gathering the majority of the votes by exposing the dirt you have on chanyeol as well as obtaining support from the main branch families by giving them more control over the underground market that was previously monopolized by han group.

though you’re competing with no one, the three month grace period still went on to ease you into the leadership spot.

to keep everything fair, you and hoseok lived apart. him in his apartment he’d been living in up till now and you in one of the holiday villas that your father gifted your mother.

by virtue, you had every right to keep staying in the main mansion as the heiress but chanyeol’s presence was still too strong. his people still lurk behind the mask of the so called loyalty for the han group. he’s locked in one of the safest hideout where only a selected few know where it is. one of them being hoseok. you never asked him what happened with your brother.

that brother of yours was dead to you the moment he pointed a gun at your head.

and with that, you find yourself in a standstill when it comes to your relationship with hoseok.

the last time you mentioned divorce was on the day the will was read. you ended up in one of the empty guest rooms in the mansion because yours was too far away. hoseok fucked you into the silk satin material of the bed like he did that night. as if begging you to keep him - even if it was only for cheap thrills and fleeting passion.

once you stepped out of that room - somewhat presentable and barely any feelings in your leg, so much so, he had to wrap an arm around you to keep you upright - he was whisked away to discuss ground rules of what being the proxy head is entitled.

and that included maintaining a professional - as professional as a mafia leader can be - relationship with the heir and heiress he were to oversee.

once the three months were over, hoseok moved in with you. did all the things married couples would do - attended social functions and established your power as the head and him, the husband of said head. as if saying he had no eye for the position of the head. as if saying if they’d get on their knees and bow down at his will, they better be ready to die for you at his will. only when you’re away on trips overseas, visiting other ruling families in tokyo, hong kong, china and everywhere in asia - would he take over your job.

he kept the men in check and made sure they had a good beating if they went astray. and even then, they’d still follow him to the ends of the earth.

jung hoseok has the full support of the people who swore loyalty to the han family and you have the majority support of the heads of the branch family.

to anyone and everyone, you two make a dangerously powerful couple.

except there’s one problem: you’ve only consummated your marriage once and you can barely kiss your husband without him running away like you’re the literal devil that’s after him.

“h-honey, you’re back,” hoseok stammers, his adam’s apple bobbing as he gazes down at your exposed cleavage that’s pressed up against his body, trapping him between the desk and you.

he looks as if he’s a touch away from losing his mind and fucking you against the table in front of the frames of your predecessors on the wall.

but then his phone vibrates in his pocket and he doesn’t need to take it but he does, a ‘namjoon’ flashing across the screen.

as if seeing a lightbulb go off his head, you shake your head, ‘don’t you dare’.

“i remember taehyun caught the baek’s men in our territory, they’re in the tortu- interrogation room. i was gonna kill them and get rid of their bodies, but since you’re back... i have golf with namjoon, see you tonight.” with that, he kisses you on the corner of your mouth.

in other words, hoseok was saying ‘they’re your problem now, boss.’

“wh-what, jung hoseok, you-!” you manage to yell back but he’s out of the door before you knew it.

hours later, the clock hands strike an hour and a half past midnight as they mock you for making your own husband run away at the sight of you. the door clicks twice as some slips in and shuts it behind them.

you don’t even catch the sound of footsteps as hoseok goes about the room, taking off his shirt and wrapping a towel around his waist. the only indication he’s even here is the body that suddenly freezes up at the sudden flash of light on the nightstand on your side.

“where were you?”

“i was out... golfing... with namjoon...” he drags out the sentence as if his brain short circuited when put in the spotlight in nothing but a flimsy towel around that muscular body of his.

“your wife comes back after two weeks and you decide to go golfing on the very day she touched down?” you say curtly, arms crossed over your lace donned chest.

“i-...” hoseok starts pointing to the open bathroom door behind him that he was about to go in had it not been for your abrupt intervention.

“come here,” you order.

“i just got back and i sweated a lot-” is it the way your eyes bore into his without so much as blinking that makes him clamp his mouth shut?

“yes, ma’am.”

a sigh leaves your lips heartbeats after he comes to stand by the bed, head hanging low like a puppy who knows he’s about to receive a scolding. but you’re not his owner and hoseok’s your husband. your lifetime companion.

“hobi,” the nickname slips out of your mouth without you realizing it as your fingers graze his, tugging on his index finger like a child.

he seems to understand your beckoning, bed dipping when he takes a seat, facing you. it takes everything in you not to let your eyes linger longer than a millisecond at the way the towel ends up stretching, revealing a very noticeable lump protruding in between his thighs.

you clear your throat, mentally chiding yourself for the wave of memories that flood your mind when hoseok is looking at you with attentive eyes. all ears for you.

“for some reason, i feel like you’ve been avoiding me and it’s not just this afternoon. since we started living together... it feels like we’re back to being strangers with memories who happen to have to spend their lives together from now on.” you play with his fingers that you tuck into your lap, heart beating too fast for you to look at him in the eye.

and to think you started off like a lioness prepared for war.

all of a sudden, the temperature of the room drops as you mention the word you promised you’d never utter again since the day of the reading of the will.

“i meant what i said about divorce - monthly alimony until the day you die, a house in gangnam a car with a driver, all expenses paid. and if you find someone and want to start a family with them, i swear on my honor as the head of han group, your family will be protected under our care for as long as i’m alive.”

“i don’t want a divorce.” hoseok says, sounding somewhat hurt.

“then- why-” you begin but he cuts you off with his troubled voice.

“____, i watched over you, i dropped you off and pick you up after school,  taught you how to ride a bicycle-”

this time, it’s you who speaks over him,“-ten years ago. hobi -”

i’m an adult who literally knows how to put a bullet in someone’s head.

but you don’t get to say that when hoseok shakes his head.

“do you remember why you started calling me that? because you came home one day and said you learned a new word- hope. you said i was your hope and you were so excited because you could equate a new word to someone you know... someone who’s been like a brother figure to you- how messed up am i to marry the little girl that i watched over and actually desire her as a woman now?”

“so you do see me as a woman.” is all you say.

“is that all you heard, ___?” hoseok’s wide eyed gaze bore into yours, as if disbelieved by your nonchalance.

“it’s the only thing i care about,” you shrug, the easy arrogance almost costing you another ruined relationship but you sigh a second later, eyes fixed on the motionless hand in your lap before you slip your hand in his, holding it like you’re about to commence a thumb war, “i may have acted like a spoiled brat the majority of the time after we met again which is probably why this whole existential crisis is happening right now,” you laugh, “it’s easier to play the role of a bimbo daughter than a strong overbearing heiress. i guess i acted like that for so long, i started becoming that.

your hand lies still in hoseok’s as you look up, meeting his gaze for what it is, “i admit, it’s my fault if you think that my feelings spurred from the fond memories of the only person who treated me like a human.”

“but i assure you, i didn’t get to where i am now because i’m driven by sentiments like hate for chanyeol and everyone who looked down on me nor the love i had for you as a guardian. in life, there’s only one thing i want and that’s to be the head of han group. you’re a chest piece that helps turn the tables around for me but you’re not my only piece.”

the line of hoseok’s shoulders sag, as if hearing the truth hurt him more than the lie convinced himself of.

“choosing to make you my king is entirely up to me... not because of some childhood memory or dependency on a guardian figure like you thought but...” your thumb grazes hoseok’s knuckles as you lift his hand to your lips, pressing a lingering kiss on his knuckles, “we can take it slow, i won’t tease you anymore and you can see for yourself how true my words are.”

“feels like i should be the one saying that,” the lips on your forehead feels warm, spreading through your body like a mid summer’s night.

arms wrap around your body, hugging you to a strong, tight, unclothed chest as your breath hitches in your throat. you raise your hands to return the embrace but decide against it - it feels like a sin to be drooling over hoseok’s abs and greek god-like body when you’ve just promised to stop jumping the gun.

“you smell nice,” you finally cave, slender hands wrap around his naked torso as you breathe in his scent - a faint trace of musk and sea and masculinity.

at that, the body underneath you seems to freeze up, “i-i think i should take that shower now.”

hoseok’s sudden retreat almost has you falling face first into the sheets. you watch as he covers his face with that large, pretty hands of his while his feet carries him into the bathroom door and closes it shut.

x

the room is silent.

save for the sound of the droplet gathering underneath the tap before hitting the quartz countertop.

hoseok stares at himself in the mirror. lips parted, glazed eyes that are becoming clearer with each passing second as if gradually realizing the sticky situation he found himself in.

the bathroom smells like your favorite floral bath gel but he can still sense the scent of his arousal that, after running the shower head over, finally washed down the drain.

the water was obviously hot. not scalding - hoseok couldn’t take scalding hot showers like you do. but since he’d moved in and after screaming and almost tumbling down to his death if the water didn’t boil him alive first - the next day, he’d found the water to be cooler. warm enough not to make him freeze but not hot enough to have his skin emitting vapor like a half cooked human meat.

but that’s besides the point.

the point is - he’s already had a good, warm shower and jerked himself off but he’s still hard.

it’s the way your delicate frame presses against him when you try to hug him. no- hoseok shakes his head mentally, it’s the way you breathe and compliment his scent which, hoseok is certain, smells like sweat and grass and soil that he rolled over after miserably failing to hit the ball.

he might be well acquainted with riches and luxuries but he’ll get used to these rich people hobby namjoon’s been trying to get him on after his marriage with the head of han group.

these days, it feels like namjoon’s been trying to get hoseok to meet him more than the times they have to actually see each other when he was slaving over his perfectionist ass at work.

before hoseok can even ponder further on namjoon’s unarousing quirks and get his boner down, he hears a rap on the door and a hesitant,“hobi?”

“y-yeah?” ha manages to answer somewhat smoothly.

“i just wanted to say that i can sleep in my old room... if you’re not comfortable sleeping in the same-”

“no!” a rushed rejection, a heart trembling inside a chest.

hands of fear grasps at his wrists and ankles as though if he stayed tight-lipped any longer, he might actually walk out to an empty bedroom with no trace of you at all.

as this is all just one beautiful, tragic dream.

“no, i like sleeping with you.” hoseok slaps himself in the cheek, “i mean i like sleeping next to you... in the same bed.”

the silence seems to stretch on for hours until he hears the giggle coming from the other side of the door - hoseok’s heart warms, you sound like you’re back to yourself, “okay, well, come to bed faster.”

“i will!” he curses himself for that rushed response but you’re probably back in bed with the lights from the nightstand off, probably tired as fuck after a one hour flight back to seoul, having had baek’s men’s territory breach matters shoved into your arms and waiting up on your pitiful husband who was avoiding you over his conflicted conscience.

by the time he’s out of the bathroom, loose pajama pants hanging lowly around his hips, he sees that small lump underneath the blanket, your fetal position telling him you fell asleep facing his side of the bed.

hoseok slips into bed, laying on his side and admiring your pretty lips and thick lashes. his hand clenches and unclenches as if he’s not sure if he should sleep hugging you the way he’s used to.

he caves, hand wrapping around your back as he kisses the top of your head.

unbeknownst to him, you’re still awake. you pretended to be asleep because you didn’t want to make hoseok uncomfortable. but now he’s cuddling you like a child whilst his semi erected head presses against your stomach and it’s kind of too late to say anything.

not to mention, you were a virgin up until awhile ago and you’re not sure if it’s normal for men to be able to hold out this long without fucking their wives or if hoseok’s self-restraint is just over the roof and you’re the one with too high of a libido.

‘damn it, should’ve jumped on his dick before initiating a heart-to-heart.’

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

red+white, m | kth, jjk

pairing(s): taehyung x reader x jungkook

summary: On Christmas Eve, you take Kim Taehyung and Jeon Jungkook out on a date and they’re surprised to find out that... it’s actually a real date. At least, until you decide to pull up your dress right in front of them. You are a horny little seductress after all.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language, semi-public sex in the back of a car; intense smut (fem reader, threesome, nipple play, fingering, vibrator use, f-receiving oral, multiple orgasms, overstimulation); fluff; non-idol!AU; noona!reader gets all the attention this time, so sweet of them!

other parts of this series: just kidding + part ii, car ride.

--

You massaged the base of your right thumb, sucking in a tight breath at the pain.

You shouldn’t have played so many League of Legends games last night, but there was an event pass and you had to grind games. Well, you didn’t have to, but you wanted to. League of Legends was probably your longest commitment in your entire life. And it gave you carpal tunnel.

Like all your interests, it was making your life complicated.

You pulled the sleeve of your fur coat over your wrist brace. When you played a lot, you kept it on all the time. It wasn’t the sexiest thing, but you needed your hands after all. For various reasons.

“Excuse me?”

You grinned to yourself before turning around, waving at the smooth, baritone voice of Kim Taehyung.

“Hey, Taehyung!”

Taehyung made his way through the crowd in the busy outdoor mall to stop right in front of you. It was late afternoon on Christmas Eve, when everyone was getting off work, sunny but cold. He looked you up and down, narrowing his dark brown eyes. “What is this?”

White faux fur coat that barely covered your ass, black thigh-high heeled boots, and the outfit completed with a large red fabric bow tied around your neck. You had nabbed it from a package of Christmas cookies you received earlier in the day. Your hair was pinned up, leaving a few strands framing your face. In comparison, Taehyung was wearing a biscuit-brown corduroy jacket with a forest green sweater and white dress shirt underneath, collar poking out. Dark brown hair a bit pushed back, but with most of it falling onto his forehead. Coffee-colored slacks, pointed oxfords.

“But you haven’t seen the best part, Tae!” you quipped, far too cheerful for the suspicious eye Taehyung was giving you. You unsnapped the buttons of your fur coat, revealing the tight, slinky, red silk mini-dress underneath. It clung to your every curve, molding perfectly to your breasts and hips.

Taehyung’s eyes nearly bulged out of his head. He grabbed the sides of your coat and yanked them shut, breath frosting in your face.

“What the FUCK?” he hissed under his breath. “You can’t wear that!”

You blinked at him. “Why not?”

“That’s the kind of clothes you would wear to a club! Not a date!”

“But I don’t go to clubs anymore. I think it’s better to wear what you already own than to buy new ones.”

The look you were giving Taehyung was innocent, but he knew better.

“At least tell me you’re wearing underwear.”

You grinned. “Maaaaaaaybe…”

“Noona,” he growled low in his throat, making you wet already.

“Alright, alright, yes I am.”

Taehyung buttoned your coat, frowning. “Just wait until Jungkook sees you. He’ll be pissed.”

“Pissed about what?”

Jeon Jungkook’s bouncy, energetic voice popped up behind you. You turned around to see him in a big black parka and black jeans with chunky black boots. He grinned, waving a hand, his long black hair half-slicked back as usual. He was wearing leather fingerless gloves. You bit your lower lip, grinning back. Jungkook’s smile faltered, suddenly apprehensive once he saw your expression.

“What’d she do?” Jungkook asked, eyes flickering to Taehyung.

“She–”

“Jungkook,” you cut Taehyung off jovially. “I wore something nice for you two!”

And you popped your coat open once again, ruining Taehyung’s good work of trying to keep you covered. Taehyung threw up his hands as Jungkook’s eyes widened, jaw dropping at the sight of your sinful body wrapped in red silk.

“Noona!” Jungkook scolded, yanking the sides of your coat closed, pressing his body against you. “You can’t wear that!”

“Why not?” you purred, licking your lips. “It’s nearly Christmas.” You pointed to the large red bow on your neck. “I’m festive!”

Jungkook looked aghast, clenching his jaw. “T-That’s not…” He hurriedly re-snapped the buttons on your white fur coat. “You’re going to be cold.”

You shook your head. “This coat is super warm. Plus, I’m wearing panties!”

Jungkook shot Taehyung a pained look. “I’m proud of you…”

“We’re going to be late! Let’s go!”

You grabbed their hands as Taehyung and Jungkook sighed at each other, smiling despite knowing they were already in big trouble.

-

“A… mug café?”

You pointed to the menu. “Not just any mug café, Jungkook. See, you pick a style of mug and then you decorate it with paint. Once you’re done, they cure it for you and then you can eat some snacks as you wait for it to be finished.”

Taehyung tilted his head, reading the instructions. “Looks like you have to make an appointment.”

“I did. It’s almost time,” you said cheerfully. “Look at all these different ceramic colors and paints. I thought it would be fun to do together.”

Taehyung and Jungkook exchanged a look. “You mean… this is an actual date, noona?”

You turned away from the window to frown at them. “Of course, it is. I booked a time and everything!”

Jungkook shifted his eyes. “Uh, well… usually you’re interested in doing other things with us…”

You blinked at them. “What?”

Taehyung clapped a hand over Jungkook’s mouth. “Never mind, never mind. Let’s go in.”

-

“Ah! I’m done!”

You turned your extra-large pale blue mug around, revealing the fluffy white Poro you painted, complete with a tasty cinnamon-bun-looking Poro-Snax biscuit in its mouth. Tiny white and yellow sparkles circled its head like a starry sky.

Taehyung smiled, shaking his head. “Your League of Legends obsession is a little extreme.”

“Oi, Poros are cute. I like cute things. That’s why I like you.”

Taehyung’s tan cheeks turned bright pink as you turned your attention to Jungkook’s masterpiece. He was painting a nighttime forest of evergreen trees on a black mug, with a small cabin and white dotted stars. He had three plates of different colored paints and at least ten small paintbrushes next to him. His pink tongue was in between his lips, holding his breath as he added small details to the trees in different shades of green.

“Wow, that’s intricate,” you admired, scooting your chair closer to him. Your sleeves were rolled up, but you were still bundled in your coat. Somehow, no paint got on the white fur. “You’re so talented, Jungkook.”

He finished the tree he was working on and pulled it back, frowning slightly. “Ah, I don’t know…”

“What are you talking about? That’s the coolest mug I’ve ever seen. I would totally buy that if I saw it at the store,” you protested.

Jungkook smiled sheepishly, picking up another paintbrush covered in white. “Really?”

“Of course. Especially since the artist is so handsome,” you added with a wink.

Jungkook’s ears turned red as you shuffled back to Taehyung to look at his mug. He was painting a small brown bear with a red Santa hat next to a wildly decorated Christmas tree on a light green mug.

“Should I add snow?” Taehyung wondered out loud.

“Maybe on the ground? But I think the tree should be the focus,” you mused. “Will the bear have a little coat?”

Taehyung puffed his cheeks. “Ah, I forgot!”

You scraped your chair back, holding your own Poro masterpiece. “I’m going to have them cure mine first. Be right back,” you chirped cheerfully, walking up to the counter where the jolly-looking man was waiting.

Jungkook watched you go, pursing his lips. “Kind of surprised she hasn’t tried to do anything crazy yet.”

Taehyung squirted out way too much red paint and made a disgruntled noise. “Well, she isn’t a horny seductress all the time. Just most of the time. Also, we’re in public.”

Jungkook went back to his mug as you chatted with the owner. 

“It’s nice, just like this.”

Taehyung paused mid-stroke of red. His eyes flickered to Jungkook’s lowered head, back to being focused and working carefully. Taehyung thought about adding to the conversation, but kept his mouth shut, rubbing his chin instead. Then he went back to the bear and adding the red Santa coat.

You came back with a muffin and hot chocolate.

“Ah, the owner was so nice. He gave me the last blackberry muffin. He said they’re really popular.”

“Oh, can I try some–” Jungkook raised his head as you turned around to place your white fur jacket on your chair. His eyes widened, voice turning into a tight hiss. “Noona!”

You settled back in your seat, facing him as you popped some more muffin in your mouth. “Mmm?”

“Your dress is backless!”

“IT’S WHAT?” Taehyung whispered shrilly, nearly dropping his work of art.

You chewed. “Yeah… so?”

Jungkook jabbed his paintbrush in the air angrily. “So? SO?”

Taehyung craned his head and his jaw dropped. “That’s nearly to your ass!”

You took a sip of hot chocolate. “Yeah… so?”

Jungkook got up suddenly. “I’m going to have my mug cured.”

You blinked at him. “Are you done?”

Jungkook narrowed his eyes at you. “As done as I have focus for.” He walked stiffly to the counter.

You blinked. “What’s his problem?”

Taehyung scraped his chair back loudly, startling you. “I’m also finished.” He also began to shuffle awkwardly to the counter. You tilted your head and went back to your muffin, eating happily. Maybe a little too happily.

Well.

Definitely smugly, that’s for sure.

-

“Ah, should I just put them on the floor like this? Or like this?”

Jungkook and Taehyung were standing behind you as you struggled arranging the nicely wrapped, hand-painted mugs you all had made in the backseat of Taehyung’s car. Meaning that the backseat door was open and you were on your knees, bending down to the floor to arrange said boxes, your thigh-high black boots sticking out, white fur coat riding up your ass and your equally short red dress slowly hiking up your thighs.

Taehyung and Jungkook stood behind your legs, staring at your increasingly exposed butt in the parking lot and blocking the view from passersby.

“You are doing this on purpose,” Taehyung muttered.

“No, I’m not,” you shot back. “I don’t want someone to look in your car and want to steal your Christmas presents. I paid a lot for that appointment!”

You yelped and fell to your elbows, the hem of your dress shooting up your ass and popping against your waist, leaving your thin red thong out in the open. 

“What the fuck?” Taehyung grumbled indignantly, stomping around to the other side of the backseat.

Jungkook rubbed his temples, already expecting it, but still unprepared.

You grinned to yourself, unsurprised as Taehyung ripped the car door open.

“You,” he growled, sliding into the seat and shutting the door sharply. “Are a horny seductress.”

You smiled innocently at him. “Who, me?”

He took the three boxes from you and placed them in the front passenger seat firmly.

“Hey, be careful with those–”

Taehyung grabbed your face and kissed you, pressing his warm lips into yours, silencing your words. You sighed happily, opening your mouth and moaning, enticing him. You felt Jungkook’s fingers on your cold, exposed skin, snapping the string of your thong into your ass and making you whine against Taehyung’s lips. Jungkook grasped your panties and pulled up hard, burying them into your rapidly dripping slit. You bucked, wiggling your hips as Taehyung rubbed his tongue against yours.

“Fuck, noona,” Jungkook breathed. “You’re so fucking sexy.”

He pushed your legs in, forcing you to sit in the center seat and slipped inside, shutting the door.

It was cold outside, but inside the car was so very hot now.

Taehyung broke the kiss, glaring at you. You loved how dark his eyes became, so demanding and lustful, annoyed but also amused with your antics.

“You’re such a bad girl,” he muttered. “But you make me want to fuck you anyway.”

He pushed you into Jungkook’s waiting arms, forcefully turning your head. Your stared into Jungkook’s piercing gaze, his long black hair covering his left eye. He smirked at you, bringing you close to his face as Taehyung unsnapped your coat.

“Can’t even wait until we’re home to cause trouble, can you?” he whispered against your lips.

You tried to kiss him, but Jungkook dodged you, roguish expression on his face. You frowned and grabbed his head, crashing your lips into his as he infuriatingly smiled against them, catching your lower lip in between his teeth and sucking on it. You moaned softly as Taehyung ran his large hands up your hips, all the way up to your breasts. Jungkook’s fingers tangled into your hair, pulling your head back as a needy whine escaped your lips. He shook a finger at you, scooting his body closer, pushing you into Taehyung.

“No, no,” he chided, shushing you. “You want to be so bad and get us into trouble, then you’ll have to face the consequences.”

He placed his leather-covered palm on your cheek, forcing you to face Taehyung as he lowered the shoulders of your coat, exposing the thin straps of your silk dress. Taehyung sucked in a breath, looking down at you hungrily.

“So jealous that someone must have taken you home in this,” he murmured.

You winced a little, biting you lip. “Um… maybe many someones?”

Taehyung’s eyes flickered up to you, dark and dangerous. “You’re insatiable.”

He took one strap and Jungkook took the other, sliding them down your shoulders. Your breasts swelled against the red silk before popping out, black x-shaped pasties covering your nipples. They didn’t need to help you take them off. You reached up with some difficulty and peeled them off yourself, nipples hardening in the cold air.

A part of you was aware that some bystander might witness this and the same part was quite satisfied about that.

Jungkook leaned forward to press his lips against your ear, right hand coming up to knead your right breast. He had removed his gloves, his bare palm rubbing against your hard nipple. Shivers ran through you at his touch.

“Someone’s going to see how naughty you are, noona,” he purred, licking your earlobe. “Someone’s going to watch you get toyed with by Taehyung and I and probably jack off to it tonight.”

You exhaled deeply, feeling Taehyung’s left hand on your left breast, pinching your nipple as he shifted a little to cover your body, leaning his forehead against your temple. You should have been cold, being mostly naked, but you were scorching hot with arousal and the bodies of the two men pressed against you.

“Let them watch,” was your reply, moaning against Taehyung’s lips.

Taehyung scoffed. “Jungkook would probably fuck you out in the open like an animal.”

Jungkook grinned mischievously. “I would.” He sucked on your ear, flicking your nipple as you kissed Taehyung. “And she would be begging for it.”

You spread your legs, whimpering, but they ignored it, Taehyung working his free hand into your hair, ruining all the hairpins, kissing you hard and possessively. You inhaled his heavy, spiced cologne, intoxicated. He released your nipple and reached up to the one end of the red bow, Jungkook playing with the other end.

“I know you said the mug-painting class was our Christmas gift,” Jungkook began, twisting his fingers around the ribbon.

Taehyung broke the kiss, licking your lips lightly as he spoke into your panting mouth.

“But we would have been satisfied with unwrapping just this one.”

And then they both pulled on the red fabric ribbon, slowly untying it, ruining the perfect bow and your common sense, tipping your head as you arched your back. The ends brushed against your chest as Jungkook hooked a finger in the center, fully undoing the tie and exposing your neck. It fell against your elbows, your arms still trapped in your large fur coat.

“Fuck, noona,” Taehyung breathed against your skin. “You’re so pretty, just like this.”

He kissed down your neck, licking down your quivering throat. You had no time to watch though, because Jungkook immediately kissed you, thrusting his tongue into your mouth, making you moan as Taehyung’s lips found your nipples, licking and sucking them while Jungkook sank his fingers into your thigh.

Your panties were drenched, sticking to your folds, leaking down, the strong scent of your arousal filling the car. You suddenly felt Taehyung’s long fingers grip the top of your thong and pull up. You gasped into Jungkook’s mouth and he grinned, fingers trailing up your thigh, so close but so far.

“You want to be touched?” Jungkook taunted, tapping your inner thigh.

“J-Jungkook, please…”

He hummed cheerfully. “I will if hyung lets me.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. Jungkook grinned cheekily back, dark eyes flashing, black hair obscuring his left eye. It was clear that all he wanted to do was deny you, because Jeon Jungkook was a relentless tease.

Well, you had that in common.

Your conversation with Jungkook had distracted you from the fact that Taehyung had removed himself from your chest, reaching into his coat. You jumped as you felt something cold and hard press against your clothed, but still throbbing, wet clit. You whipped your head to Taehyung, who licked his lips, devilish spark in his brown eyes.

“Present for my good girl.”

And then he turned on the bullet vibrator, assaulting your clit.

Your cried out and Jungkook slapped a hand over your mouth, grunting as he held down one leg, preventing you from squirming away as Taehyung pinned the other to the seat, sending intense vibrations straight to your sensitive bundle of nerves. You whined around Jungkook’s palm and he lowered his face to your right breast, taking your nipple into his mouth. Taehyung followed suit with the other.

It was a cramped space, and yet you were already in ecstasy, head forced back, both your nipples being licked and sucked as Taehyung coaxed you to orgasm. Your whole body jerked as you came quickly, unable to cope with the initial harsh, intense vibrations and the sensation of two tongues on you at the same time. Your clit flared with stimulation, thighs trembling. And still Taehyung held you there, barreling you through your first orgasm and pushing for the next, making you scream behind Jungkook’s strong hand, eyes squeezing shut as the wave crashed down again, hips shuddering and spasming with pleasure.

Taehyung removed the vibrator to press it against your wet nipple. You shuddered, clit aching, still wanting more. Jungkook removed his hand and Taehyung kissed you, breathing in your euphoric exhale. You moaned into his mouth, eyes half-lidded, staring into his beautiful lashes, his soft hair brushing against your forehead. You whined and Taehyung broke the kiss, your name floating from his lips, turning off the vibrator for a moment. You wanted to reach up and touch him, slip your hand under his sweater and shirt, but your hands were pinned in place from your jacket.

“Sorry, noona,” he purred in his soul-shakingly deep voice. “Only one of us is getting naked here, and it’s you.”

“B-but, Tae…”

He chuckled, the sound reverberating in his chest. “That’s what you get for teasing us with your sexy body.” He turned away from you, tapping Jungkook who was lazily pushing your nipple around in circles with his tongue, steady pleasure that graced you through your afterglow. Jungkook raised his eyebrows.

“Hm?”

Taehyung pointed to your thong. “Rip it off.”

“Aren’t you going to ask me if I still want those?” you interrupted, amused.

Taehyung cocked an eyebrow. “I have to convince you to keep clothes on in general.”

You nodded knowingly as Jungkook’s fingers danced down your stomach. “You’re right.”

“You don’t have to convince me.”

Jungkook made eye contact with you, lower lip trapped in his teeth. Your lips parted, feeling his fingers close in on the top of your panties. He was smirking playfully, aware of his power over you, watching your eyes tick between his face and his hands. His nail traced your slit, smirk widening as you moaned at his light touch.

“I would let you be naked as much as you want,” Jungkook drawled, slipping a finger under the soaked red fabric, prying it out of your folds. You whimpered softly, lost in his dark brown eyes and his sinful words, his knuckles brushing against your heat as he grasped your thong with his two hands.

“And that’s why I have to wrangle you two,” Taehyung muttered, eyes flickering to the outside world, hoping the owners of the two cars next to you were not going to come back anytime soon. “Otherwise, both of you would be arrested for indecent exposure.”

Jungkook grinned. “Sorry, hyung.”

“Don’t you ‘hyung’ me.”

You gasped as Jungkook ripped your thong apart, turning it into useless scraps of wet red fabric. The strings on the sides snapped as well and it fell off your body. Jungkook swept the shreds from the seat onto the car floor.

Taehyung glared at him. “And I’m supposed to explain that to the car cleaners, how?”

Jungkook shrugged. “Tell them you had a very horny woman you needed to please.”

Taehyung looked up at the sky, exasperated, mouthing silent words before he addressed him again. “I’m first, then you. Then we’ll switch again.”

The younger man grinned. “Okay.”

You blinked as Taehyung handed Jungkook the silver bullet vibrator. “Excuse me,” you said quietly, “I would like to know exactly what you mean by–”

You were abruptly cut off by Taehyung shoving two fingers into you, your words turning into a sharp yelp as your drenched hole was suddenly filled, all the way up to his knuckles. Jungkook lifted you slightly, perching your leg on his so your hips were raised, giving Taehyung a better angle. You felt Taehyung’s lips against your ear as he slowly slid his fingers out, whispering your name.

“We’re going to make you cum so much you can’t stand,” he growled. “And then we’re going to take you home and stuff you so full of cock that you’ll think twice before teasing us like this again.”

Jungkook chuckled, appearing in your vision, speaking in Taehyung’s ear.

“She’s going to take it as encouragement to do more dangerous things.”

Taehyung sighed knowingly, forcefully jamming his fingers back into you. You gasped, pressing yourself against Jungkook’s hard body so you could raise your hips as Taehyung began to pump his fingers into your dripping pussy, wet sloppy squelches accompanying his movement. You could barely register the sound of the vibrator turning on again, but you felt it, sliding down your stomach, skin tingling as you panted.

“D-don’t…” you whimpered, already knowing it was falling onto deaf ears. You were clenching so tightly around Taehyung’s fingers that there was absolutely no way you meant it.

Taehyung smirked. “Jungkook’s allowed to do whatever he wants while I finger you.”

The pulsating vibrations attacked your clit, shooting bolts of pleasure up your torso, hips shaking as Taehyung’s fingers repeatedly rammed into you. Your eyes slid closed, a moan tearing from your lips, Jungkook’s snicker above you, his free hand pinching and rubbing your nipple as he massaged your clit with the bullet vibrator.

“Noona, you’re so fucking hot,” Jungkook praised, breath heavy against your skin. “The most perfectly fuckable body I’ve ever touched.”

You bit your lip hard, pleading noises in your throat, getting wetter at Jungkook’s words, one of your hands clutching Taehyung’s thigh, digging your nails into his pants, indicating you were close. Jungkook changed the setting, increasing the vibrations, and your hips bucked violently, burying your face into Taehyung’s shoulder as you came, screaming into his brown coat.

“A-ah, Taehyung, Jungkook!”

You gasped sharply as Taehyung removed his fingers, moaning as they touched his tongue.

“Fuck, you taste so good.”

Jungkook’s lips pressed against your ear, teasing you. “My turn.”

And then his two fingers slid in, slightly different from Taehyung’s, but just as good, filling you up. He scissored them in you and you lifted your head from Taehyung’s shoulder, panting, watching Jungkook and his sharp jawline, pupils so dilated that his eyes looked black. He seemed to feel your gaze and he turned his head to look at you, the tiny mole underneath his lips flashing as he grinned.

“Who’s a good girl?” Jungkook hummed, tilting his head, pink tongue darting out.

“I-I am…” you breathed, whimpering as you saw his tongue. “I am, Jungkook…”

He cocked his head as the vibrator sounded again, Taehyung pressing it against your swollen nipple, smearing your orgasm all over your tits. You moaned wantonly, leaning back into Taehyung as Jungkook began to finger you roughly, a bruising pace, sliding you up the seat a little with his force.

“What do you think, Taehyung?” Jungkook purred. “Do you agree with her?”

Taehyung chuckled into your hair. “Maybe if she cums for us a few more times, I’ll be convinced.”

He slid the vibrator down, down and you were there again, drowning in copious, sinful pleasure as Taehyung assaulted your sensitive bundle of nerves with relentless vibration and Jungkook fucked you hard and fast with his fingers, your juices sliding down his palm, probably sticking to the seat and your coat, but none of you cared, all three of you chasing your next orgasm, pushing you to the edge, going, going, gone.

It came fast and it came hard, ricocheting through you, so hot, so intense, clit and pussy throbbing together, sucking in Jungkook’s fingers, moaning their names deeply as you rocked your own hips through your orgasm, extending it. You shuddered when Jungkook pulled his fingers out, licking them off noisily as Taehyung pressed the bullet vibrator against your puffy, soaked pussy lips, watching your erotic expression, mouth open, tongue lolling.

“We’re not done, noona.”

Taehyung’s deep voice, warning you, but you couldn’t think, couldn’t believe there was more, more. He turned off the vibrator and switched it for his fingers again, dipping them in, the feeling of his joints and calluses rubbing against your walls, and then he added a third finger. You gasped, throat dry from all your noises as you opened your eyes to see Jungkook’s head lower, pushing your hips down so your knees hit the backs of the front seats, uncomfortably spread wide, ass half-hanging off but feeling so good that you didn’t notice. Didn’t notice until Jungkook’s tongue was on your swollen clit.

Your eyes rolled back into your head.

So fucking good.

Taehyung shoved his fingers into you, fucking you hard and deep as Jungkook lapped at your raw clit, teasing it, nipping at it. It throbbed against the tip of his soft tongue, so sensitive you were a whimpering, moaning mess, even more so as Taehyung’s and Jungkook’s free hands played with your nipples, pinching them as they drove you crazy, ruining you with fingers, lips, and tongue. Your name, coaxing you in heart-shaking baritone, telling you to come in Jungkook’s mouth and all over his hand.

“Aren’t you Taehyungie’s good girl?”

“F-fuck, yes, fuck, Tae, I’m your good girl, oh, fuck–”

Your words tumbled together in a hoarse hiss, hips rutting into Jungkook’s face as you came, liquid gushing everywhere, walls spasming and clamping around Taehyung’s fingers, one of your hands pulling out of your coat and grabbing Jungkook’s head, forcing him down as you rode your high into his mouth, messing up his long hair. Jungkook gave you a muffled groan, twisting your nipple slightly.

Your core was aching with pleasure and overstimulation, never before having been pushed this far, intoxicated by the feeling. You loved every second of Taehyung and Jungkook having their way with you, drunk on the feeling of back-to-back orgasms. Your hand slipped and Jungkook resurfaced, lips shiny with your juices, licking them off slowly as Taehyung sucked on his fingers.

Then Jungkook flexed his right hand at you, tattoos dancing as he did so.

“Round two.”

And then the positions changed, Taehyung’s lips on your inflamed clit, Jungkook’s three fingers knuckle-deep inside you, except Jungkook craned his body to place his lips on your abused right nipple, sucking on it as Taehyung pressed the slippery bullet vibrator against your other nipple, vibrations jarring you right to your heart. Taehyung’s tongue was gentle and firm, still too much as it was paired with Jungkook’s wet muscle teasing you as his fingers thrust into your pussy, slow, deep, hitting your favorite spot. You completely forgot you were in Taehyung’s car in some random parking lot, partly out in the open, lost in the ecstasy and elation.

It took them no time at all since you were already so sensitive that you were the one holding back, trying not to give in, trying to prolong the pleasure, but eventually you lost and the taut coil in your stomach snapped.

“O-oh, Jungkook, Taehyung…”

Your hips jerked into Taehyung’s face, your orgasm leaking onto the floor of his car, fingers curling into his hair, so lovely and soft, wild torrents of pleasure soaring through you. So very, very good. Dirty, deviant, and glorious. Taehyung removed the vibrator from your nipple, turning it off. You moaned softly, coming down from your high, clutching Taehyung’s head, your fingers massaging his scalp as he continued licking you gently. You gazed into Jungkook’s eyes as he slowly removed his lips from your nipple, glassy eyes locking with his.

“You taste so good,” Jungkook murmured, face centimeters from yours. “Smell so good, look so good, feel so good, sound so fucking sexy.” He kissed you, your taste still on his tongue, breathing your name like a caress.

Taehyung finally untangled his head from your hand, panting softly. He came up to your face too, and Jungkook moved to make space, tenderly kissing your cheek and ear.

“Noona,” Taehyung mumbled, smearing your own orgasm onto your chin as he placed a chaste kiss on your lips.

Your voice was raspy and gravelly from all your noises. “W-what?”

“You’re going to spend Christmas with us, right?”

Your lips curved into a mischievous smirk. “Well, I was going to slide down your chimney and–”

Taehyung prodded you as Jungkook laughed heartily. “We don’t have a chimney.”

You shrugged. “Same idea, break in and fuck you both.”

He narrowed his eyes at you. “Santa doesn’t do that.”

“All I’m saying is that Mrs. Claus definitely gets some–”

Taehyung shut you up by kissing you once again.

-

part ii: gold light

--

masterpost

[bluesilksilverspurs]

So, a little intro piece to what I hope will be quite a few pieces about Nikolai. This part is SFW, but the rest will definitely most likely not be :)

F!reader x Nikolai Zinoviev

"Something planned for this evening?" His voice was cool, and unexpected. Sometimes you forgot there was even anyone else in the dim room, the quiet and the faint, still light thrown by blue screens suggesting solitude. You knew he preferred it that way. Wesker wasn't one for small talk.

Turning, you looked along the console to him. An imposing figure, all the more so since the Mansion Incident, Wesker was sitting watching you, his long fingers splayed on the arms of the leather chair.

You felt suddenly self-conscious. You weren't wearing anything risqué - you'd changed into a pair of smart black jeans, a dark blue top that suggested a hint of cleavage. The necklace at your throat sparkled silver in the light above you. But still, you felt suddenly naked, as though he could see through you, as transparent as water.

"I'm meeting a friend for dinner."

Wesker didn't say anything at first, but his fingers drummed very softly on the armrest. When you didn't elaborate, he continued.

"A friend we have in common?"

It was a question, but it came out sounding like a statement. You swallowed. Why were you nervous? You weren't doing anything wrong. Were you?

"Nikolai."

He stared at you for a beat longer, then turned his head to the bank of monitors on his left. His gloved hand tapped a few times on the keypad beside him. Your cheeks burned.

"He's a dangerous man. You should take care with the company you keep."

A nervous giggle bubbled from your lips, and you flashed a smile at him.

"Dangerous men seem to be the only company I keep these days."

Wesker smirked at you, but his gaze had drifted. His attention was already on something else. "Have fun, then."

"Thanks."

You pressed your palm against the release mechanism for the door and walked out of the darkened room, blinking in the sudden harsh glare of the corridor. White and chrome, stretching for miles, it seemed. Given how many people worked in this facility, it was strange that you barely saw anyone. Well, it wasn't strange on this particular floor. Here it was quiet, austere, the atmosphere monastic. People rarely came here, unless to deliver bad news, or receive it.

The elevator doors opened with a soft chime, and you stepped inside. There, three versions of yourself stared back at you, identical eyebrows raised in identical appraisal. You looked okay, you thought. This was a fairly balanced assessment - your inner critic might be lying dormant, but you knew it wouldn't take much to coax her out. Instead, you combed your fingers through your hair, teasing out strands on each side of your face. You'd put on a little make-up - nothing much, only a slick of mascara, really - and you tried a shaky smile. The nerves exploded in your stomach.

There was no point in asking yourself why you were nervous. Nikolai Zinoviev was a mercenary, a ruthless man who played badly with others. But he had a wry sense of humour that delighted you, an odd chivalry about him, and eyes that were surprisingly doe-like for a trained killer. You thought him tremendously handsome, but not the kind of man you would normally be attracted to (here your mind scoffed. He was rather a lot like the kind of men you were normally attracted. Your current employer being a former case in point). If you were honest, you didn't think he would be interested, not in you, nor maybe anyone else. Certainly not for anything more than a quick fuck. So it had surprised you when he asked if you'd join him tonight.

Maybe a quick fuck was all he wanted. You didn't know. It had been a long time since you'd been on any type of date at all - working as a contact for powerful men manipulating the balance of power was exhausting, time-intensive and secretive, in effect making it almost impossible to have an intimate relationship. You didn't want to lie to anyone, or present yourself as something other than you were. You knew what your job was - you were good at it, and you were loyal, which is probably why Wesker had kept you around for so long. You knew that you weren't working for the good guys, although sometimes you could see the logic in the moves that were made. It didn't matter anyway. Good, or bad, there would always be casualties, always be compromises, always deals struck and undone. The money was good, and you were respected, although sometimes you thought that might be, in part, because of who your direct boss was.

Your job was how you had met Nikolai in the first place. You wore many hats and spun many plates for Wesker, but your chief responsibility was the allocation of contracts. At your fingertips was a database of the world's mercenaries, private armies, general guns for hire. Wesker told you what he wanted, you arranged to have it done. Simple. Most of the time, a quick encrypted message was enough to a familiar contact - a straightforward job needing executed. Other times it was more complicated, and for this you would meet contacts to discuss the details, and their compensation. Sometimes they bartered for price, but not always. Not even often, really. Wesker was well-connected and had deep pockets. His contracts were sought after, not merely because of the good pay, but because of the good graces it could land a mercenary in. Wesker might be above the interpersonal politics, but you remembered who you liked to work with, and who was unreliable, or a headache.

You liked to work with Nikolai.

Reliable, efficient, handsome. What more could an agent ask for?

You had reached the front door of the building. Sometimes you wondered if people really did believe this was simply the headquarters of an international manufacturer of lab equipment. The original story had been a HR company, but it was thought too hard to explain the delivery trucks coming in and out. You did wonder what people thought about the helicopters that came and went. It didn't matter. The town was in Wesker's pocket, or rather, in the pockets of the companies that he hid behind. Dark shades hiding dark intentions.

The company car was waiting at the kerb, and you slid into the back seat. The driver pulled away smoothly, heading downtown. You wondered if this is how Wesker had known you had plans, but you couldn't begin to guess how he suspected it was Nikolai you were meeting. It didn't really matter, you supposed. You wouldn't have lied to him. You didn't lie to Wesker and get away with it. If the man wanted to know something, then he could find it out easily enough.

The lights seemed to flicker and blur as the car moved between traffic. You would be early, most likely, but you didn't mind waiting. Maybe you'd even have a drink to calm your nerves, although drinking wasn't something you tended to do. You didn't like feeling out of control.

Soon, the car was pulling up outside a small bar. Inside, you could see patrons milling about, people drinking, heads close together. You hadn't picked the venue, but you'd read favourable reviews in the local press. You thanked the driver, pressed a crisp $20 into his hand and, taking a deep breath, got out of the car.

"Ah, Miss L/n!" The Russian accent was unmistakable, smooth and dark and dizzying. You startled, and he laughed, pushing away from the wall he'd been leaning against. "I am sorry, I didn't mean to frighten you."

The blush that was furiously spreading across your cheeks deepened as your eyes flitted across him. He seemed impossibly tall, even though you weren't particularly short, and he was wearing a smart grey linen jacket and a pale shirt over dark trousers. Even in civilian clothes, he was intimidating, but he made you feel…. safe, somehow. You knew what he had done, what he did for a living. You knew how dangerous he could be. But you didn't feel threatened by him. You smiled.

"It's alright, I just…. Well, I'm early - it didn't occur to me that you would be early too."

"I don't like a lady to have to walk into a bar unescorted." His expression was playful, and you relaxed a little.

"And they say chivalry is dead." Linking your hand into the crook of his proffered arm, you walked into the bar with him. Were you imagining it, or were people staring? Did anyone recognise either of you? Was there anyone here doing surveillance? You shook your head a little, as though trying to shake loose the thoughts. You knew Nikolai would have already run recce here. It was fine.

"Reservation, sir?" The maitre d' asked, his tone polished and bright. Nikolai smiled at the man, and you marvelled at how personable he could appear to be. You knew about his reputation. You knew about his propensity for manipulation, for ingratiating himself with people - you knew this, and worried about it, and somehow were drawn to him anyway. Maybe you had no sense of self-preservation after all.

"Novikov."

You didn’t let your eyes leave the maitre d' and his gloved hand running his pencil down the gilt-lined book, never giving away the sleight in name.

"Ah yes, sir. Yes. Please, follow me." The man made a sweeping gesture and stepped nimbly round the varnished table, and you allowed Nikolai to lead you through the bar. There were booths in the back, curved backs, sleek tables, lined along the wall, but the maitre d' led you off to the left and through a sedate black door. Behind it, there was a staircase, lit with tiny blown-glass lamps, like little frosted irises blooming with soft light. You looked up at Nikolai through your eyelashes as he held the door open for you to go through, and you both followed the man up the stairs.

With a subtle flourish, the man opened the door at the top. The room that you walked into was not as large as the bar down stairs, but there were a small number of fine booths lining the walls. Some of them were occupied, some were empty, but your eyes were drawn to the baby grand sitting on a little plinth in the centre of the room, a tall vase frothing with lilac-coloured flowers beside it. A man in coat and tails sat there, momentarily paused to take a sip of his drink and converse with one of the patrons.

"I didn't know this place was here." You admitted, feeling strangely naïve as you slid into the booth indicated by the maitre d'. The man took your drink orders and then left, and Nikolai looked at you properly for the first time.

"You look very lovely this evening. A little nervous, perhaps, but lovely."

"You look very lovely yourself, Mr. Novikov." Your smile was flirtatious, genuine. It felt as though this was the first thing you had done in an age that wasn't work. It probably was. He laughed.

"Makes sense to keep a low profile. I doubt they'd buy my name was Jones, or Smith, though. Not with this accent."

"You know, I was kind of surprised when you asked if I'd join you tonight." Your fingers played with the edge of the heavy linen napkin, lining it neatly perpendicular to the table edge. Why was it so hard to look at him all of a sudden?

His large hand covered yours, stilling your anxious fidgeting. His skin was warm - a corresponding warmth seemed to bloom low in your belly.

"Why?"

Why, indeed. You glanced up and found his eyes intent on you, his expression intense. His thumb grazed back and forth along the underside of your wrist, the movement mesmerising, tracing the thrum of your pulse.

"I guess I just never imagined you as the kind of man who'd go out for dinner." Or be interested in me. You smiled, "I don't know why I thought you would be working 24/7. Maybe it's because I've only seen you in a work capacity til now."

"There's a lot of things you don't know about me, Miss L/n". His smile was wolfish, sharp. That feeling in your belly made you shift in your seat, pressing your thighs tight together beneath the welcome cover of the table.

"I'll bet."

The smile on his face softened, and he let go of your hand, breaking the breathless feeling of falling, of your mind racing like a rabbit in the parts of your mind you normally kept the doors closed on.

"Let's spend this evening getting to know a few more things about each other, hm?" He raised his glass to you, and you mirrored him, shy and alive.

[tommodirection]

Birthday

Niall Horan x Reader

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings: angst with a happy ending, swearing

Masterlist

A/N: Heylo! I hope you enjoy this! The person who requested this did not want their name mentioned, but I hope they enjoy! If you want to be added to my taglist just let me know! Thank you, and have a nice day!🥰💕❤️

—

You hadn’t spent a birthday alone since you were six, and even then you had your dad at home with you. You never thought you’d encounter the situation again, always surrounded by close friends and family.

Above anything else, you never thought you’d be spending it without Niall.

You’d been together for two years now, you’d celebrated your birthday together twice now. The first year, Niall decided to take you out of dinner, but it ended up being a disaster. Your dress tore, Niall spilled food all over himself, the waitress was a fan of Niall, and not a fan of you, so you ended up going home. Of course it wasn’t ideal, but you both still had a laugh out of it.

Last year, you had decided to stay in, you had learned your lesson from last year. Niall decided to build a fort in the living room, he went all out. He bought fairy lights, an abundance of snacks, about a dozen fluffy pillows, and he even bought a small projector so you could binge watch your favorite movies. It was the best birthday you had ever had.

This year, you were expecting something just as sensual. You walked into the kitchen, biting back a smile as you searched for your boyfriend.

The kitchen was empty, no breakfast, no cups of coffee, and no Niall.

The first thought that entered your mind was that he wanted to surprise you, so you tiptoed through the kitchen, skeptic as to if he was there.

You were answered when you saw a sticky note on the counter, right next to the coffee machine.

‘Sorry love, had to run into the studio for filming! See you tonight!’ Signed by Niall.

You studied the sticky note for a minute longer. Maybe it was just a joke? Something to sell the prank.

You grabbed your phone out of your pocket, quickly dialing Niall’s number before averting your eyes back to the note. It rang for a few moments before he finally picked up.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Niall, where’d you go?” You ask, trying to control your labored breath.

“I went to the studio, they needed me to come and record some stuff. I wrote it on the note,” he said, loud chatter in the background.

“Oh, I guess I missed it,” you mumbled, “I was just calling to see if it was a prank or something,” you admitted.

“Why would I prank you about this?” He chuckled, “I probably won’t be home until after you’re asleep, you can probably go out with Paige if you get bored,” he said, his voice rushed.

Paige was out of town this weekend, as was Henry, your only other friend. You and Niall had discussed this last week. He really fucking forgot. “I’ll find something to do, bye,” you said sharply, hanging up before he got to say anything.

You glared at the note, crumpling it up and throwing it across the room. Tears of frustration pricked your eyes, threatening to spill over at any second.

You pressed the heels of your hands into your eyes, letting out a groan of frustration.

Maybe you were being unfair, he was a busy man with a busy job, and he definitely didn’t have a pristine memory, but just as that thought surfaced, you immediately shut it down. This was your birthday. The one day of the year, beside your anniversary, where you had grown expectant to Niall’s spoiling. This was the one day out of the year you could be this angry, rationally, at your boyfriend for canceling.

Instead of confronting him, you decided to wallow in your own self-pity and anger. You made a bowl of popcorn, cuddling up on the couch as you turned on old rom-coms, the occasional tear slipping down your cheek.

Around eight pm, you decided you had enough of mostly Ryan Reynolds sitcoms. You began playing your heartbreak playlist on your speaker, the volume would definitely gain complaints from your neighbors, but you didn’t care.

You went to raid the pantry, seeing if you could find anything to use to eat away your problems. Your eyes landed on the cake mix you had bought earlier that week, expecting to make it with Niall.

You rushed into making it, using your spoon to sing while it baked. Once it was finished, you let it cool, gathering the frosting and candles you had also bought.

You began frosting it, not even caring about the mess you were making. It was mostly just white, but you decided to be extra, putting some red icing in a makeshift piping bag, and wrote your name with a small heart under it.

You brought it to the counter, turning up your music. You grabbed a fork and dived into the cake, shoveling it into your face, but you couldn’t even enjoy it, not without Niall there.

“Happy fucking birthday to me,” you grumbled.

Your music tuned out the sound of the door opening, and it tuned out the happy humming of Niall, getting back from a productive and enjoyable day at the studio. He was a little confused when he heard the music, but he knew you enjoyed music, it wasn’t that strange to hear the music through the hallway walls.

You began poking meaninglessly at the cake, depression dragging you down from your sugar-high. The song switched and you heard Niall walking into the room. He was beaming. He placed his jacket on the chair, licking his lips at the sight of the cake. He grabbed a fork, turning off the music from your speaker.

“What’s this for? Something special today?” He inquired, digging his fork in to take a bite.

You let out a small ‘oh’, the realization finally sinking in. A part of you still believed it was all a hoax, and he would come home with some extravagant surprise, but this solidified it.

He had really forgotten your birthday.

Your eyes began to water again, Niall looking at you quizzically. You looked down, refusing to meet his gaze, “It’s my birthday, Niall,” you said, voice cracking at the end.

You heard him whisper a small ‘what’, and you heard him grabbing his phone, checking the date. “Shit,” he whispered, slamming his phone onto the counter and running his hand through his hair.

He didn’t say anything for a few moments, so you calmly stood, setting your fork down and walking out of the room. You made your way to the bedroom, hearing the soft thuds of Niall’s sock-clad feet trailing behind you. You crawled onto the bed, sitting criss cross with your back against the headboard, staring at the wall ahead of you.

Niall sat in front of you, placing a hand on your knee. “Love, I’m so, so sorry,” he mumbled, scooting closer to you until your knees were touching.

You pursed your lips, shaking your head, “Sorry is just a word, Niall, it doesn’t immediately solve everything,” you grumbled, looking down and picking at your pajama pants.

“I know, I know,” he whispered, bending over and placing his hand on your cheek, and for the first time since you started dating, you didn’t lean into his touch. He removed his hand. “Why didn’t you say anything? If I had known, I would’ve come running back home.”

You let out a sarcastic chuckle. “All day I thought it was just a prank, well, a part of me did. I was hoping you’d come home and surprise me and we’d spend the day together again. When I called you, I didn’t expect you to actually not know it was my birthday, so I panicked and hung up. I didn’t say anything because I was hurt. I was hurt that my one boyfriend didn’t even remember my birthday,” you were rambling now, “You’d think it’d be easy to remember, seeing as we’ve celebrated it twice already, and we were literally talking about last week, but apparently it wasn't important enough for you to remember.”

You pulled your knees to your chest, resting your head on them. Niall’s face fell, and he looked down at his hands, he began picking at his dry skin. You grabbed his wrist, pulling his hand away. Yeah, you were mad, but you weren’t going to let him accidentally make himself bleed.

“I don’t know how I forgot, I was planning on letting you decide what we did all day, but this morning,” he bit his lip, “they called me in and I just forgot. I’m such an idiot,” he said, shoving his face into his hands.

You softened, “Niall, you aren’t an idiot. You’re a busy man, with a horrible memory. I’m not really mad,” you admitted, “I’m just upset, and a little disappointed. I forgive you for forgetting my birthday, but on two conditions. One, if you ever forget my birthday again, I’m leaving,” you said seriously, “and two, you gotta make this one up to me,” you teased, and he smiled, pulling you in for a hug.

“I love you,” he murmured into your hair.

“I love you too.”

“Now, get dressed, I’ve got a hell of a birthday to make up, and the night’s still young.”

—

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(read on AO3)

It starts as dreams, the night after they lose Ava. They drove straight from Lafayette to Peoria and after Peoria they move one town over so as not to be newcomers in a town that just had a homicide, and they work all through that day, in Bloomington, calling contacts and putting out feelers, trying to see what might've happened to a short sweet dark-haired girl, a secretary, who'd never done a thing to deserve this. Sam couldn't stop thinking that, no matter how stupid it was. How Ava, how all the rest, hadn't done a single thing to merit this kind of punishment.

He falls asleep though he didn't think he would. Dean's reading at the table with the lamp turning the backs of his ears, his neck, pure white, and Sam's looking at him and thinking about Ava's face shocked-white in the neon from the motel, and then he's asleep, and he's dreaming but it doesn't feel like dreaming. It doesn't feel like a vision, either, how that vicious sharp reality climbs down his throat. In the dream he knows he's dreaming, and he isn't really there, and not even the vague protagonist-body that's usually in his dreams, when he dreams he forgot to study for an exam, or is standing in a rotting house with an empty gun and ghosts slipping through the walls, or smiling at a clever girl with her blouse unbuttoned just right. Instead this dream is—feeling. A wash of dark, and water lapping at the edges of a boat he can't seem to see beyond. Dean, sitting in the stern, his head in his hands, and because Sam isn't really here he can't yell or act or splash the dark water into Dean's face, but—as soon as Sam thinks that, about splashing the water, the surge of fear is so overwhelming that the world turns black. Dean's fingers curl against the side of his head, his ring flashing, and his lips are parted and wet and something unknown flashes through Sam's gut and when he wakes up, dragging in air like he's been running a mile, the room is dark and Dean's a curled lump on the other bed and Sam carries that strange, fearful feeling with him all through the next day, like a fresh-broken bone, throbbing.

Dean frowns at him when he's snappish at lunch, but doesn't call him on it. Dean's being careful with him, which Sam—hates, is grateful for. So Sam maybe didn't have the best reaction to finding out their dad's last words, and maybe the thing with Gordon was—a lot. Gordon was a lot. Ava, poor Scott Carey, Andy and Ansem, Max. It's all been a lot. Dean maybe has been struggling with the secret he was carrying but Sam's struggling with how his mouth tastes like metal all the time, thinking of yellow eyes looming up out of the dark, and so he'll take some concessions, maybe even a little pity, if it makes Dean focus on what they really need to focus on. Dean's letting him direct, not looking for other hunts, staying right here in Illinois and keeping his nose to the ground for Ava or for any hint of another 1983 kid with unexplained powers, and Sam doesn't need anything else, beyond that, not right now. They'll work out the rest later.

Trouble is: Sam's focus is split. He spends the day casing details of Ava's life, job and fiancé and family history and any single second where her life might have brushed against the dark, and at night his dreams are a flood. Black water, rising. Dean, terrified, and his skin that kind of white that comes from a flare of too much exposure, and his eyes dark hollows, and the bones standing out in his hands, clutching at his head. On the fourth night of everything the same choking claustrophobia Dean turns his face and Sam sees that he's bleeding, from the ears and from the corner of his mouth, and the blood is so dark it looks black, too, and Dean covers his mouth with one hand and then though the surrounding water is the same endless expanse the boat becomes that cabin where Azazel rode their dad's body, the shift seamless and unexplained in the way of dreams, and Dean's got a hole in his stomach, the blood flooding out onto the dry wood of the boat/cabin floor, and he puts lax fingers against it that don't stop the bleeding at all, and Sam wakes up that time and has to scramble for the bathroom, retching, although when he clutches the sides of the sink nothing comes up and his mouth just tastes like—saltwater.

That day Dean brings him coffee in the morning and tries to be circumspect. He's bad at it. "Starting to smell like a dorm room in here, man," Dean says, mouth quirked. "Laundry stank and BO and, uh, making like the Lone Ranger?" He makes a vague gesture around his lap, but his heart's not in it. "Gotta air it out, dude. See some sunlight for twenty minutes."

"I'm working," Sam says, but to be honest he's not. He's sitting there with Ellen's half-remembered list of demon sightings in the last six months and instead of working the map he's been staring at the closed curtains for the whole time Dean's been gone. He drags his good hand over his face and lets his heavy casted arm thump down over the notebook. Dean raises his eyebrows, letting a glance over the empty map make his point for him, and Sam sighs. "Making like the Lone Ranger?" he says.

Dean's smile gets more real. "Unless you've got a pretty little Tonto around here, somewhere—" he starts, and Sam rolls his eyes and flicks a crumpled ball of wasted notes at Dean's face, and while he's sputtering Sam says, suddenly desperate for it, "Yeah, okay, we could use some air. Laundromat around here?"

"Hey," Dean says, sitting up, "I don't think I heard myself volunteer for laundry duty—" and then, twenty minutes later, they're installed at a laundromat, empty at nine on a Tuesday morning, Dean bitching still about whose turn it is to fold the whites but looking decently happy, stretched out in one of the shitty plastic chairs with coffee resting on his belly and a morning talkshow on the crackling TV mounted in one corner of the ceiling, and Sam feels it.

Sam feels it. There's a chair between him and Dean, piled with a box of donuts and the police folder Dean went out and stole yesterday, and Sam grips the armrest on the side Dean can't see and squeezes so hard the metal edges hurt his hand, and it's welling up in him. A grey clouded day with a shaft of sunlight slipping through and warming a patch of cold dirt—that's what it feels like, Dean's happiness. Sam licks his lips and breathes shallowly, controlled. When he glances over Dean's watching the show—some sponsored segment about a special vacuum for pet hair, in which he seems completed absorbed—and he's relaxed, in that way that Sam's only ever seen Dean relaxed when they're alone. Completely in his body, unselfconscious of how he's taking up space, boots kicked out on the grimy floor, his eyes clear. A fleck of pink donut frosting on his top lip. There are shadows under his eyes because he doesn't sleep enough and there's a bruise at his temple where Gordon hit him, but he's okay, for this moment. Sam can feel it, in a completely distinct way to how he feels his own body, his own aches and tiredness and worry, and he sits there in ringing panic until the washer buzzes. Dean blinks, the spell of the daytime anchors suspended, and frowns at him, and says, "Hey, earth to egghead, I am here in a strictly supervisory capacity," and Sam has to roll his eyes again and stand up and deal with the laundry, and there's Dean, again, the happiness muted and rolled under—a dragging pull at the chest, an ache long-held and familiar. Worry, concern. Annoyance, too, and then as Sam's dumping their load of jeans and jackets into one of the rolling baskets that twinge of annoyance slips away into guilt, and he has to brace his hands on the sides of the basket and breathe again, slowly, trying not to crawl out of his skin with the violation of it.

"What?" Dean says, while Sam's silent over the wet clothes. "Did I leave gum in my pocket or something?"

He knows Dean. He has known Dean, from when he was little and running around after him thinking his big brother was the coolest smartest person in the world to when he was a sad kid thinking his brother didn't actually like him that much to when he was an angry teenager wishing his brother would take his side in anything, ever, for fucking once. Dean was always a known quantity, no matter what. No surprises. Sam knew when he was cheerful and angry and hurt and he knew how to deal with every version. This is—more than that.

No signs, still, of Ava. They move outward. Day trips, stretching out into different towns, different precincts. They split up, Sam renting a car, and on the state highways with the radio silent Sam tries to think, with Dean not around with his thoughts filling up the air between them.

He catches hints, with other people. A sheriff who's not sure why some U.S. Marshal is asking questions, and he's clearly annoyed but there's an undercurrent Sam catches, a sapping weariness and sorrow that Sam blinks over before he excuses himself, wondering. A search: a wife, recently dead at forty. Sam chews the inside of his cheek raw on the drive back to Bloomington, and Dean texts and says dinner? back in thirty and Sam replies I'll pick up pizza and he waits in the lobby of the pizza place with his knee jogging and a waitress smiles at him, professional, and Sam takes a deep breath and looks at her, taking in her sneakers worn around the edges and her muscular legs and the greys pulled back into her ponytail and she says, "Can I get you a Coke or anything while you wait, hon?" and a swirl of heat curls into Sam's stomach, slants down queerly low, and he sits up straight and watches her eyes flick over him, his chest and lower, and he blurts out, "No," and then, too late, "thank you," and she frowns and the heat fizzles out into disappointment and he thinks, fuck. Fuck. What now?

With Dean the feelings bloom raw and real and present. Sam doesn't have to look. A day of frustration and no leads but Dean doesn't actually feel the frustration, not really, because he's humoring Sam's obsession over finding this girl Dean never even met—and there's a little satisfaction there, too, something that makes Sam set his beer down a little too hard on the table when he recognizes it, because they're spinning their wheels here, Dean thinks, and that means that Sam's being kept here, safe, away from demons and whatever plans there might be, so he's getting what he wanted, after all. The second Apes movie is on the motel TV and Dean's watching that, scratching his belly idly after too much pizza, and Sam goes into the bathroom and sits on the closed toilet and presses his fingers into his ears so hard he can't hear anything but the beating rush of his own heart, and even through a closed door and quiet and dark behind Sam's eyes he can feel it: his brother, content to be here with Sam, on a night where nothing's yet gone wrong. Little does he know.

Is this some new shift, in Sam's visions? Not only to see the future but to see—what? He doesn't know how to define this. He's seen in movies when people read minds, like that terrible Mel Gibson thing that Dean loved even if he pretended it was shitty—it's always narrated dialogue, someone's thoughts piped directly into the psychic's head. What Sam's getting isn't as useful as that. Emotion, shifting sensation, the ebb and flood and draining drag of how people move through the difficult world. Guilt, misery. Contentment. Fury, brief and shocking, enough to make Sam snap the pencil he's holding, and he looks up to find Dean leafing through Dad's journal, his face a calm mask, and Sam thinks, jesus, he has to tell Dean. He has to, and yet: what can he possibly say?

The dreams are still bad. Sam comes awake like out of a sucking bog and he breathes slow, eyes on the ceiling. Dean's small snores in the next bed. The fear's a pool, lapping against Sam's skin, and he turns his head and says, very quietly, "Dean." There's no answer because of course Dean's deep asleep, of course he's dreaming, and Sam rolls over, watches the slow rise of Dean's chest, concentrates. The dark rises thick, miserable, but Sam already knows that part.

He gets up, keeping quiet, and takes the step between their beds. The room isn't all that dark, the parking lot lights seeping bright behind the curtains, so it's easy to see the gilded line of Dean's cheekbone, his lips parted in sleep, his eyes closed and still. His face tipped toward Sam's bed. Sam wants to touch it so abruptly that his fingers are already reaching out but he stops himself. He leans over, instead, bracing a hand on the headboard, and tries to focus, tries to pin down the amorphous shifting haze of Dean's thrumming head. When he closes his eyes he doesn't see the black lake, the creaking boat, but the fear slips, slides, lapping against him. Against them both. Sam can't grasp it. He's not Andy, to push thoughts into someone else, and he doesn't see how he could get control of this—to ease the fear, or tell Dean somehow that it's going to be okay even if, really, Sam's not sure that's true. He stands up and turns away, goes to the window to look out at the silent parking lot and breathe, waiting it out. The dream swells and subsides, around him, and maybe that's Dean slipping down into a different REM cycle or something but it's a relief. Sam presses his forehead against the cool glass. Visions, and now this. His pointless, stupid powers, that don't let him do anything except see shit he can barely hope to change. Whatever powers the yellow-eyed demon was after them for, Sam hopes he won't be disappointed that Sam's in particular are completely impotent.

By the time two weeks have gone by Sam's—used to it is maybe not the phrase, but he can deal. Still in Bloomington, still searching. Waiting around, now, mostly, for Ellen's contacts to get back to them, for Ash to come up with anything on a scrape of, as far as Dean could relate, the entire internet. If Sam's honest with himself he thinks they're never going to find Ava, and if they do certainly not alive, but they're looking anyway. Dean doesn't suggest they move on, doesn't argue for anything else. He keeps them fed and caffeinated, finds new badly bowdlerized action movies to watch on the room's TV, follows Sam's leads when Sam suggests a new avenue of searching. His dreams are a little calmer, maybe just from the fact that they're stalled in place—a vacation, of a sort, like Dean asked for even if they're doing nothing remotely fun—and during the day Sam sits surrounded by his thoughts and it's… comforting. Sort of.

Happy isn't the word, Sam realizes, for that thin sunlight feeling. Contentment, maybe. Dean has it when they're quiet together, when they're doing stupid chores like laundry or taking a break in research to make some salt rounds, when they're arguing over Stallone versus Van Damme for the tenth time. When they're working Sam's gut tightens without his say-so in random spikes of anxiety, of worry. His heart clenches and he actually puts a hand over it, and he's just reading the police blotter in the paper, so when he looks up and Dean's got his half open to the obits, Sam frowns and says, "What?"

Dean jerks, like he was caught at something. "I didn't say anything," he says, and his face is calm but his hand's spread over some thin column, some family's sadness, and when he gets up to piss Sam pulls the paper around and sees it's an obituary for someone's father, dead a little too early, and Sam sits back and puts his knuckles into his eyes and breathes out, trying to shake the lingering ache of it.

Coming out of the shower that night, Sam wraps a towel around his waist and steps out into the bedroom. "What's for dinner?" he says, thinking he'll argue for Chinese whatever Dean says, and thinking that he might try searching up more information about Ansem's family, in particular, to see if there were any patterns there they could use, and he's in his own head enough that it takes him a minute to feel how the room has shifted around him. He pauses, leaning over his duffle bag, trying to pinpoint.

"There's that cheesesteak place over on 15th," Dean says, easy, but he's not at ease. Sam's feeling that same unexpected swoop in his gut, that low achy pull, and this time it's not from a woman but from a guy and so it's a tightness in his nuts, his blood heating. Sam grips his t-shirt in both hands, tight enough that his broken wrist aches. His cheeks have flooded hot and he stands up, shrugs his shoulders and feels the cold air on the water still on his skin, and the—the lust, because that's what it is, this thick wanting that's pulsing up through his stomach—it swoops low, shifts, and the flooding rise of guilt and fear that follows is so fast that Sam coughs, shocked.

"Yo, Marlee Matlin," Dean says. "Cheesesteak?"

"Yeah," Sam says, not turning around. He doesn't want to see what face goes with this feeling. "No onions on mine."

Dean snorts. "Heathen," he says, and there's a rattle of the keys being dragged off the table and Dean swinging into his leather coat, and he says, "Have clothes on by the time I get back, you exhibitionist," and the tangled mix of wanting and terror and shame is so thick that Sam can still feel it when the door's slammed behind him, when the car's rumbling on, fading only when the sound of the engine does, and Sam turns around then finally and looks at the empty room and thinks—nothing. His brain doesn't know what to do with this.

The cheesesteaks are decent. They watch the local news for any blood-and-guts, and then Frasier reruns. Dean's content has been blasted away by what happened earlier but he's acting fine and Sam's wondering, now, how often he's been fine when something raw and bizarre was rearing up in him. How long it's been in him. "You okay?" Dean asks, at some point, light but careful, really asking, and Sam dredges up a half-smile from somewhere and shrugs, says, "Just thinking," and Dean rolls his eyes and says, "Oh, god help us all," and Sam throws a balled napkin at him, and Dean grins and swings into the bathroom and Sam hears the sink go on but when he closes his eyes his head is full of Dean's head, and he can almost see it: Dean braced over the sink, his head hung between his shoulders, his cheeks hot and his hands clenched and him saying to himself something like stop.

Sam blinks, back in the room. He did hear that. Stop, Dean says, inside his own head, loud and deliberate, but his thoughts swirl somewhere else and he's imagining—there's Sam's back, broad and damp and golden in the light, and the low line of the towel around his waist, and the wet curl of his hair around his ear, and how Dean wanted to put his mouth there, so badly he could almost taste the water—and then the harsh wave of recrimination floods the image out and Dean looks up into the mirror and thinks to himself, in clear words that he doesn't say out loud, you pathetic fucking freak, and Sam has to get up off the bed and slam out of the room and stand in the parking lot with freezing air on his bare arms and he holds his hand over his mouth so he doesn't curse out loud and he thinks jesus, bad enough that one of them is thinking it—the self-hatred that's tightening up his chest is hardly easing, from getting some distance, and soon he'll have to go back into the room because Dean will wonder what the hell he's doing, standing outside in his socks like a weirdo, and Sam has to say—he has to—this isn't fair, to either of them—but how can he say it without Dean knowing exactly what Sam must have overheard—overfelt—and Sam knows his brother, always has, and he knows what'll follow. A freakout, to say the least. Recrimination, reflected blame, anger and then fear—always the fear—that Sam's slipping further away, or worse that Dean will have pushed him further away—and Sam can't do this, he can't live like this, without Dean. He can't handle this stupid, terrible year, not without his brother on his side.

He takes a deep breath, cold in his lungs. Jesus, is that what he's going to do? Just live with it, because—

"Dude, what the hell?" comes Dean's voice, behind him. Sam turns and finds Dean, yes, standing in the open doorway, his hair a little damp at the edges like he splashed his face, his eyebrows high because here's his little brother being a weirdo like always. Except that he's more worried than his face lets on, and there's a rising tide of is something happening, is this something about the demon, the tang of fear that fills every night.

"Thought I heard something," Sam says, trying to interrupt it before it gets too bad. "By the car. I think it was just a dog or something."

He's a better liar than Dean gives him credit for; already it's working, the fear sliding into warm exasperation. That thin, frail beam of sunlight. "Freaking out Fido, now?" Dean says, while Sam walks wincing back across the parking lot, scattered gravel poking through his socks. "New low, bro."

"Yeah, yeah," Sam says, brushing past where Dean's holding the door open, and there's a thrill—in his chest, in Dean's—that he clamps down on, ignores, but he can't ignore the misery around it. That's a problem.

Sam stays awake that night, waiting for Dean to sleep. The black lake, the blood. Sam turns on his side and watches Dean's face and closes his eyes slowly, thinking of that moment just before the guilt, the shame—the clear, unadulterated want—and when he dreams they're in the cabin, again, and Dean's bleeding with his unconcerned hand holding nothing inside, and the water surges hard against the sides of the boat, floods the floorboards, and Sam opens his eyes and slides off his bed onto the floor and lays his hand onto Dean's stomach where in the dream he's dying, and he presses his forehead against the mattress and shudders, aching with how much it hurts, and the dream—shifts.

He breathes in, still halfway in sleep himself. Dean's hand covered in blood and his shoulders hunched up, but his face turns up and he sees Sam, standing there in the doorway watching him. He says something but Sam, the real Sam, can't hear it; the Sam-of-the-dream comes closer, looms. He looks a foot taller than Dean, broader. Monstrous almost. Sam catches his breath and the dream-Sam puts his hand over Dean's hand, holds it tighter against the wound, and Dean tips his head back and murmurs something and the Sam of the dream presses their hands tighter, hard enough that it should hurt except in the way of dreams there's no real pain but only the knowledge of being torn open—and then the Sam of the dream leans in and presses his mouth to Dean's, a chaste strange kiss, like kissing marble—and their hands sink into Dean's stomach, tearing—and when the kiss ends Sam lifts up and Dean opens his eyes and Sam's eyes are yellow, from edge to edge, and Sam shoves away from the bed, scrambling so fast he slams his shoulder into the frame of his own, and by some fucking miracle Dean doesn't wake up so Sam's left panting, alone on the carpet in the dark, a remembered warmth against his lips and his hand feeling an echoed-ghost slickness of black, dripping blood.

He puts on his sneakers, a hoodie, sticks his phone in his pocket but turns it off. He goes for a run. Three a.m. is silent around here and he needs that, needs no people. He runs hard enough and long enough that it's hard to think beyond the burning in his thighs, his lungs. His hurting shoulder where he's going to have a bruise.

When he gets back Dean comes awake at the door opening. "Where were you?" he says, bleary, and Sam says, "Out for a run, go back to sleep," and Dean's tired enough that he blinks at Sam heavily and mumbles, "Okay, freak," and subsides, turning over and hugging the pillow close. Sam stands with his back to the door, his hands fisted around the knob, watching as Dean slips back down into sleep, and it's deep, dreamless, a relief.

Sam showers and takes his time about it. He's not getting back to bed today. He washes his hair and his face, not bothering to be careful about keeping his cast dry anymore—it's almost time for it to come off, anyway—and his brain won't empty, won't let him forget. He can't get the image of his own eyes out of his head. Glinting gold. The version of him in the dream wasn't cruel, because it wasn't human. Peeling Dean open and giving him what he wanted and killing him, all at once. It's not hard to interpret.

He washes the rest, streaking soap. Takes his limp dick in hand, running his thumb under the foreskin, and then holds himself, his cast braced against the tile wall. He hasn't jerked off in—he can't even remember, the last time. It could clear his head. He squeezes, sliding wet up to the head, but what he imagines is—Dean's mouth, in the dark, barely parted. His own shoulders, gleaming inside Dean's head. He lets go of his dick and wipes his hand over his lips, trying to get the sensation out, and shuts off the water. It can't go on like this. Not like this.

He dries off in a half-assed way and tugs on boxers and nothing else. Out in the room Dean's still asleep and dawn's not yet rising. Sam shuts off the bathroom light and in the mostly-dark goes over to Dean's bed and sits on the edge of the mattress, and puts his hand on the back of Dean's neck. A blurring shift, coming on like a slow dimmer switch, as he rises up out of whatever dreamless space he was in. "Dean," Sam says, very quietly, and Dean's eye slits open, gleaming. He turns his head, rolls back a little, and Sam's hand drags along to his shoulder, fitting there on the smooth warm round of it. Dean blinks and is still almost entirely offline, the fog of his thoughts nothing but grey sleep, and Sam leans down and kisses him, then, catches his mouth a little off-center with his lips dry, his breath sour, his body warm and loose and unable to stop him.

No reaction for a few seconds, either in his body or his head. Sam opens his mouth and presses Dean's lips wider and gets the morning-taste of him, thick and strange, soft. He touches Dean's chin, the damp edge of his cast dragging against his skin, and it's that which seems to wake Dean up—his body going stiff, his mind flooding with—god, Sam can't untangle it all. "What," Dean says, against Sam's mouth, pulling back, but Sam grips his shoulder and presses him flat against the bed, leaning over him, keeping him here. Flicker of his eyelashes in the dark and his mouth's shining now, too, from Sam's mouth. Sam's stomach turns over to see it.

Sam doesn't say anything. Dean's breathing hard, looking up at him. Fear, pooling around the bed, flooding the room like the bed's the boat and the room's the lake, and Sam maybe doesn't get it entirely—he thinks of his eyes, yellow in Dean's mind, and his hand clenches hard enough on Dean's shoulder that Dean cringes away, grips Sam's wrist. "Sam," Dean says, uncertain—wondering if he's still dreaming—and Sam leans down and kisses him again, ignores Dean's stiff scared lips and licks inside, knocking him open, his cast heavy on Dean's chest, his wet hair dripping cold. He feels it, of course, when it starts to wake in Dean—the sensation of his body, his mouth, the warmth rising south, the shock of getting this—the confusion—and he pulls away, enough that he can look into Dean's eyes, says, "Feel this," and breaks Dean's grip on his wrist and slides his hand down under the blanket and past Dean's flinching belly to his dick, heavy in his underwear, swelling. Dean takes a shuddering shocked breath and the rise of want is so thick that it chokes out the fear, the guilt, his mind going full and focused at getting his dick held by someone he wants as badly as he wants Sam. God. To know that.

The want is so intense that Sam knows it won't matter that he's never done this before. A dick is a dick, though, he figures, and he slips his fingers inside the waistband, finds the pole of it—thick, the skin unexpectedly soft—and Dean's body arches under his, his breath hot and fast already. Sam doesn't want this, not in the same way, but it hardly matters when Dean's desire roars high between them. "Touch me," Sam says, and Dean goes for Sam's chest, his shoulders, grasping in fumbled shock, while Sam gets a better grip, pumps, finding a rhythm. Awkward with his left hand but clearly doing the job, from how Dean's already shaking, his thighs spreading for it under the blanket, his fingers tight in Sam's skin. Sam leans down, finds Dean's mouth again, and Dean opens for him easy, letting Sam inside, his hands finding Sam's jaw. His fingers careful, uncertain—sliding up into Sam's damp hair, holding—and his hips jerk—and Sam licks into Dean's mouth and pumps him faster, his shoulder sore and aching, his fingers getting slick—jesus, Sam runs his thumb over the head and feels the wet leaking—and Dean jerks under him like touching a live wire and comes just like that, hips shoving up into Sam's grip, wet heat that spills over Sam's hand and against his wrist. Sam gentles his grip and Dean jerks into his palm, getting the last of it out. His chest is heaving, under Sam's cast. Sam kisses him, again, and Dean's teeth drag against his lip, and Sam slides his hand up out of Dean's shorts and presses his palm firm against his bare belly, heedless of the mess.

When he lifts up Dean's staring at him, fixed. The room's inundated with his thoughts, a whitewater crush. Sam's mouth tastes like metal. Dean's fingers reach up, white, and touch his cheek, and Sam drags in air and lets himself be touched, and Dean doesn't know what to do with this. He wants to tackle Sam back to the bed and he wants to crawl under something and he wants to be not who he is because who he is has ruined—

"Stop," Sam says, pressing his palm harder against Dean's belly. "Stop thinking."

Dean licks his lips, looks back and forth between Sam's eyes. Distracted from the misery but just as bewildered, and worse. "What are you thinking?" he says, after a few seconds. Scrape of voice, thick and unsure.

"I'm thinking I want you," Sam says, and Dean blinks and this terrible curl of hope goes through him, another kind of light like a brush of rose-fingered dawn at the edge of a dark landscape, and Sam hasn't felt that, hasn't come close to that, this whole awful time. Sam bites his lips and hopes Dean doesn't hear the next part as qualification: "I want you here. With me. Not—freaking out. Not worried about—whatever it is you're always worrying about."

Dean swallows. His face turns away a little. "Me, worry," he says, breath of a scoff, and there's that rawness again, the shame pulling at his gut. Afraid of this and afraid of Sam in equal measure.

Sam can't stand it. He won't have it. "Don't," he says, and Dean's eyes flick at him sidelong, his mouth turning to some unhappy shape, and Sam pushes in and spreads out over the top of him and kisses him again, his wet gross hand sliding up Dean's side, his mouth crushed hard against Dean's mouth. Dean kisses back this time, for real, and he's—softer, tenderer, than Sam would have ever imagined Dean would kiss, if he had ever imagined it.

It's Sam who breaks the kiss—every part of Dean, body and mind, is full of the feeling that he would never, ever stop unless the room was on fire, and maybe not even then—and when they're breathing against each other Dean's hand worms up out of the blanket and finds Sam's side, over his ribs. Squeezes there, very lightly, his heart thrilling terrified at the presumption. "Sammy," he says, one word a complicated snarl of a question, and Sam shakes his head, can't answer. He moves his right arm, bracing the cast instead by Dean's head, and Dean's chest rises under the release of the weight. A release, all over, and that dawn keeps rising, though the lake's still black and its depths are impossible to see.

Sam tucks his head down, his face in Dean's throat, like they're hugging, like something familiar at least, and Dean's arm goes around his back, holding him. "Sam," he whispers, against Sam's hair. Sam closes his eyes and feels the surge of it: tender, violent, aching. A glut that presses against the back of his teeth with all he wants to say and won't.

He doesn't know if that feeling is his, or Dean's. Behind his eyes it's black and dawn's still not here. On a lake, in the dark, there's a boat creaking, the water surging high but not yet spilling over the side.

[batarella]

The Bullet: A Sequel to The Commander - Part 7 *FINALE* (Jason Todd x Reader)

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH THIS FUCKING FINALE I SWEAR. HOPE YOU GUYS ENJOY BECAUSE THIS IS THE MOST ACTION PACKED FINALE I’VE EVER WRITTEN.

WORDS: 14349 WARNINGS: FIREARMS, VIOLENCE, DEATH

MASTERLIST

THE BULLET MASTERLIST

-----

Strapped onto the wheel chair like a rabid circus freak, Y/N knew exactly where she was headed. She just didn’t know what for.

With her neck being held back she could only look at the bulbs of white fluorescent light that continually passed by her and couldn’t do so much as look at the ground. Plenty of guards were around her as well. She didn’t bother struggling, nor did she speak. But there were even more armed guards lining up, going to wherever she was going as well. All the way up to a white room.

A mission. Her first mission with the squad. Just delightful.

“Deadshot?” the guard near the door asked. When the ones carrying her wheelchair gave him her files, she was let in.

She was the last one to arrive. Because everyone had their eyes on her the moment she graced them with her presence.

The first one that caught Y/N’s eye was, of course, Amanda Waller. With the room littered with her goons and guards, the woman stood at the very front, against a blank wall with her hands behind her back and her eyebrow quirked up right at Y/N. Y/N squinted her eyes back at her, some sort of a decline to her superiority, and Waller looked amused.

Then when the guards parted to make way for her, she was brought to the very center of the room, where there were five rather familiar faces giggling and snarling at the newest member of the squad. The one at the center, Rick Flag, ordered his men to place Y/N on the leftmost side.

Those faces, the ones she’s seen more often than she wished she had. Some already knew her. Some hated her. And some simply didn’t care.

Harley Quinn. Of course, out of everyone else in the room, was the only one bubbling with laughter and other nonsense spurting out of her mouth. She was waving her legs around the wheelchair like a little girl would on a swing. And she was staring at her, laughing. “WE GOT A NEW GIRL ON THE SQUAD!!!” she bellowed out. “WHAT?! DEADSHOT’S NEICE. THAT’S NEPOTISM RIGHT THERE.” Y/N ignored her.

The one beside her was someone she didn’t know personally, someone she’s never even met. They said this guy came from Australia and robbed almost every bank there was. Captain Boomerang. He, too, was strapped to a chair, though he wasn’t as loud as Harley. Y/N saw him eye her head to toe while he bit his lip, and she shot Boomerang a knife-like scowl before his eyes got too comfortable.

The next one. Killer Frost. A beautiful woman with ice-white skin and the hair of an arctic fox. She didn’t give Y/N so much as a glance. Most probably because they had her stored in a coffin-like chamber with only a glass window where her head could be seen. On the inside, she could see the glass covered in frost, and the chamber looked cold to touch. She was calm, reserved. And looked on at Waller’s direction.

The creature beside Frost was the one she really wouldn’t want to mess with the most. The largest in the room, with blue skin and a body ten times the mass of any human being possibly could be. He had the head of a shark, eyes red like her optics. He even had a fin sticking out his back. and he was muzzled and strapped standing upright with five more guards around him. Y/N could hear him growl, wordless, and when she caught his eye, he snarled at her.

Finally, El Diablo. The quietest out of the bunch. His wheelchair looked just like hers, except his hands were completely covered by iron cylinders, probably filled with ice cold water. The man was covered in tattoos, and he didn’t have a shirt on. His face looked like a skull’s, which made the way he looked at everyone else look more menacing than his supposed behaved demeanor.

These were the dangerous people she’s stuck with, most probably for the rest of her life if all else fails and she’ll never be able to get out. The people that Floyd had worked with. And they were a few of the most maniacal villains there were in the whole country. She wished she could tell herself she didn’t belong. But she actually did. In fact, she had no business going about pretending to be better than all these people. When it came to how much blood they’ve shed, she probably wasn’t too far off from Harley. Maybe even more.  

Y/N was right where she truly belonged. Today, she is welcomed as the newest member of the Suicide Squad.

Waller stepped out to the front. “Y/N, your team. Let’s cut to the chase. We don’t have much time. Bring out the files.”

These files were then projected onto a holographic screen against the wall behind Waller. It was a photo of Scarecrow.

“Some of you probably have heard. Just yesterday, Dr. Jonathan Crane released his new toxin in the National Bank of Gotham.”

The screen started to show footage of what went on in the Bank.

“Our first mistake was thinking Scarecrow had launched the same kind of toxin as the last time, but as the surviving victims were brought out to the stations, they continued to showed the side effects of the toxin, including mania, hallucinations, homicidal tendencies, unnatural human strength, and even cannibalism. Even after being held for observations for more than twenty-four hours, they, unfortunately, could not be brought back.

“Which means that Crane had finally developed a fear toxin that causes permanent effects to anyone who does so much as inhale the gas…”

She heard guards shuffle and hold their guns tighter.

“I have a question!” Harley screamed, holding her hand up despite it being strapped to the chair.

“Flag. Muffle her.”

“Muffle me!? What do you-MMMMM!”

“As I was saying. The victims were forced to be euthanized when none of the doctors could bring them back. One hundred-twenty people died in the incident and the whole country is in a state of panic.”

“MMM MMM MMM?!” Harley asked.

“Yes. The whole country. Months ago, Dr. Crane had blackmailed the crime syndicate Carmine Falcone, who he instructed to forge buy outs of several other Gotham businessmen, stole almost all their money before hiring a certain hitman-“ she stared at Y/N. “-To assassinate them all one by one before his shortcomings are detected. That placed Falcone’s total net worth to be almost two hundred billion dollars. Or so we thought.

“After Falcone’s death, Crane had already taken all the money for himself and had used to build what might be the end to all of mankind. A new Cloudburst weapon. This time large enough to engulf the whole country in his new toxin, as well as a brand-new militia army of hundreds of men guarding his device. Mankind as we know it will be haunted with his obsession with fear and we will all be nothing but goddamn zombies.”

“MMMM!” Harley thrashed about in her chair, then she spat out her gag. “Yuck! That was disgusting! I was about to say that gag had a bug and it crawled down to my throat but it actually wasn’t that bad!”

“Harley!” Rick Flag screamed. Harley pouted and stuck out her tongue.

“And what is it you want us to do, Waller?” Boomerang asked with his heavy accent. “You want us to go there and possibly inhale this bloody toxin!?”

The screen turned to a helicopter’s sight. “Last night, we managed to tracked down a dome-shaped building in the deserted areas outside New Jersey with more than five hundred men guarding it inside and out. It is suspected that the weapon might be hidden somewhere in its center. Your job is to go there, eliminate Dr. Crane and his army, and destroy that weapon with whatever means necessary.

“And as for your concern, our teams have developed a mask for you all to wear. It has the filter to go against the toxin. We found it on one of the Arkham Knight Militia’s men and developed our own.”

Oh. Shit. That. She totally forgot. Man, how time flies.

“Let’s not waste anymore time. Flag. Take them to the airport and give them their gear.”

“Weeeeee!” Harley squealed as they started wheeling her out of the room.

Y/N had no idea where to start, if she even had a place to start.

Everything Waller mentioned, it could all be traced back to her. In so many ways. And she knew it. Everyone in the room probably knew it. It was only fair that she be involved in trying to correct it at all. She had no business complaining or thinking she should be somewhere else. This was Waller’s way, hell, this was the whole goddamn world’s way of handing to her what she truly deserved. And she was so tired of constantly being the cause of hurt and pain. So many mistakes, costing her everything she’s ever known to love. She really, truly belonged here. More than Harley. More than Killer Frost. More than anyone else in the squad.

Because without her even knowing, she’d been involved in this mess before any of Scarecrow’s plans were even thought of. With the militia, the Cloudburst, Falcone’s assassinations. In so many ways, none of this would have happened if not for her.

But did she even have the time to blame herself? When it would barely do her any good?

As Y/N was taken to the plane, beside the other members of the squad, she focused on the buzzing and Boomerang’s rants and Harley’s cackles. She even caught the eye of King Shark and didn’t budge.

Because of course, in a way, she was to blame. She knew Crane had something planned when he almost had her killed that one, terrible night trying to lessen the odds of her ruining his plan once more. And another one of her stupid mistakes was to completely forget about it.

They arrived a few hours later. On the military base somewhere in the interstate, even more soldiers and guards waited for them in the barren grounds surrounded by their tents.

She was the farthest behind, the last one to be wheeled out of the plane. When Rick Flag met them at the center where suitcases and crates were being brought out. He waited until most of the squad members had settled.

“Everyone. Stand your ground. Unlock them and give them their gear. If you idiots do so much as look at me differently, I will detonate the bombs.”

“We know the drill, mate,” Boomerang spat at him.

“I know. I was talking to the new girl.”

Y/N’s wheelchair stopped. Then, they were all released from their straps, from their chairs. Harley hopped up and stretched out her arms, then took out her clothes from the crates and her enormous hammer. Boomerang fixed his coat, then he had a single boomerang from his case. He threw it in the air, and a few seconds later, it came flying back.

Killer Frost, with the air suddenly becoming a little chillier when the chamber opened, walked out and grabbed her icy-blue suit. She didn’t have any more weapons. El Diablo was slow to move, but when the chains were unlocked, he got a single hoodie jacket and hid himself from everyone else.

King Shark, on the other hand, put up most of a fight. Terrified soldiers had their shields up when they released him from his confines and he roared directly at Flag’s face. Flag didn’t budge.

Y/N stood up from her chair, stretched her neck, then cracked her knuckles.

As an entire arsenal of guns was brought to her, she stared vacantly at her red and gray suit and the white mask at the bottom of the crate.

That wasn’t her. It didn’t call out to her anymore the way it did just a few days ago. It was a layer of skin laid over her flesh that wasn’t hers at all. She wasn’t Deadshot anymore.

She can't wear this suit.

Y/N eyed another crate nearby. It must have belonged to the other gunmen in their army.

She can make something out of these.

Nobody batted an eye when she started scavenging for parts.

Black body armor, covering her chest, shoulders, and knees. Dark pants covered in straps and holsters on her hips and thighs. Boots that went up to her knees, covered with the pads. And underneath the armor was a dark blue body suit, making her look completely different from her uncle’s red one. Her wrist gun, spray painted blue. And lastly, a black hood with a mask that covered her nose and mouth.

Around her neck was a small silver chain with the diamond ring through its loop. Y/N longingly stared into its crystal, looking back at everything Jason had promised her. How she believed them even when they weren’t so possible. How much she missed him.

She stuffed it under her suit and placed the hood over her head.

Already, she’d shed off that foreign skin. This was her. This was Y/N.

When everyone was ready, Flag came up to the crowd.

“No longer Deadshot, are you?”

“No,” she said.

“Then what do we call you?”

She simpered.

“The Bullet.”

-----

This had to be all theatrics. Not to mention completely unnecessary. Jason got off his motorcycle and parked it right outside the gate.

Somehow, they kept it. Even the fence. And it still had ‘Wayne Manor’ on its wrought iron bars even when the field behind it had been completely emptied out. The ruins and everything left behind after the manor exploded had been cleared out and demolished. Still, they chose not to do anything with the land, even when millionaires fought over it and maybe a few intruders with metal detectors breaking in to look for the Batcave.

Dick told him to meet him and the rest of the family there. He had no idea where, but when he stepped into the gate, Dick was there leaning against the vine-covered fence behind it. Jason wasn’t so sure how to greet him. the last time they saw each other, they were at each other’s throats. Literally. Now at their mercy, he wasn’t so sure what was the quickest way to let his pride down without looking too much of a desperate asshole.

“Uhm. Hi,” Dick said.

“Hey.”

They stared at the grass.

“Are Babs and Tim coming?”

“Yeah. They just got out of their honeymoon.”

“Oh yeah. Congratulations to them.”

“You can tell Tim when we get to them.”

Of course. Tim. The replacement. He can totally congratulate him on his wedding without it sounding too awkward.

“We talk here?”

Dick wrinkled his forehead and laughed. “You thought we were gonna plan this whole thing out on an empty field?”

“This place sure looks like one.”

He threw his head back. “Come on. Follow me.”

Hands in his pockets, he trailed behind Dick. All the way over to the center of the field where there wasn’t so much as a porta potty for them to go into.

Then Dick pulled out his watch, which wasn’t a watch at all, and started to press onto its buttons.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Jason sighed when the ground underneath them suddenly started to rumble.

“What? You thought the cave went out with the explosion, too? Bruce wouldn’t let it go to waste.”

Then the grass, which turned out to be fake, had split into a large, rectangular shaped ramp that slowly descended down onto the undergrounds for them to walk onto. When it stopped, Jason pressed on his nose. “I can't believe I didn’t know about this.”

“Come on.”

They started walking down. “Barbara’s the one in charge. She practically runs the place.”

“I can see that.”

When they reached below ground, the Batcave was exactly as they had left it. The last time he was here, he was with Y/N, the Commander. And although they’d changed its entryway, the Batmobile and the Batwing were still there, the computers were still up and running. How massive it was and how bats were still up on the rocky ceiling looking down on them with their beady little eyes. Jason and Dick walked down the driveway and he let his hand run onto the batmobile’s surface.

Barbara and Tim were at the computers. They turned to the two and the way they looked at Jason wasn’t something he particularly liked being stared at.

“Hey, Babs.”

Barbara was the first to smile at him. “Hi, Jason.”

Then when he looked at Tim, who didn’t share the same smile, he stopped himself from scratching an itch on his head.

“Hi… Tim…”

“Jason…” he coughed.

“Congratulations, by the way.”

“Thank you,” Babs said, then she reached out to Jason’s hand. He took it, for a while, then he pulled away.

“Sorry to hear about her,” Tim said.

“I know. But if you help me… and I thank you for helping me now… we can break her out.”

“Did you come up with a plan?” Dick asked him. Jason, arms crossed, turned over to the computer. Barbara had already gone ahead with looking up Scarecrow.

“If the squad is being sent out to deal with Crane, they might be going after that new weapon of his. We can go after them there and get her out before anyone sees.”

He stared at his hands. “I was hoping Babs could come up with some sort of devise that can disable the bomb in her neck.”

“Dick already told me. Don’t worry. I came up with something this morning.”

The three men followed behind her as she wheeled over to the table next to the keyboards.

“This,” she held out a device shaped like a thick pen. “If you can get her to settle down, you stick this thing to the back of her neck and it will send shocks right up to the nanite bomb. It should give it the voltage it needs to be disabled. It’s going to hurt. But it can save her.”

She was an angel. A literal angel. Just the thought of it gave him that little flutter of hope he definitely needed.

“Babs, I don’t know how to thank you…”

“Don’t worry about it. We’re here to help you.”

Two years ago, he had this woman kidnapped and sent to Crane, gave her the death scare of a lifetime and almost had Tim killed when Scarecrow had him captured.

It was too much. How none of their faces looked the least bit bothered. Dick held the pen and took off the needle cap, flinching, then he gave it to Jason.

Jason looked down on it, clearing his throat.

“I’m sorry…”

Dick, with his arms crossed, Tim leaning against the table, and Babs looking down at her hands, they all didn’t have much to say.

“I’m sorry for everything I did to you. All of you.”

“Jason…” Dick rubbed the back of his neck. “We used to be brothers-“

“No, I… I couldn’t. When this is over, I’ll be out of your way. And I owe you. All of you… But I shouldn’t stay…”

“You can. And you will. No matter how much you push yourself away… We’re here for you…”

Tim never looked up. But Jason knew, that if he were in his place right now, he’d be all over him with the ‘I told you so’s’ and the snide remarks. But the younger man was silent, didn’t even look at him the wrong way.

And that’s when he really felt like shit.

“We’re happy you came to us for help,” Babs said.

Jason hadn’t figured this part out when he reached for their help, but he knew something like this was about to happen. It was the entire reason why he didn’t want to. Because somehow, when it did, these guys won't hate him anymore, and he’ll end up hating himself instead.

Dick placed his hand on his shoulder. For a moment. Then when Jason’s body tensed, Dick pulled away.

“Now,” Babs went over to the computer. “Time to hack into the government.”

-----

The helicopter landed some distance away from the dome. The Bullet still had no idea why it was shaped that way. Just that it was new and humungous and completely littered with army men guarding every inch of it.

She, Harley, Boomerang, Killer Frost, King Shark, and El Diablo stepped out at the front lines, with Rick Flag right behind them, followed by their own army of men, though a number considerably less than what they were going up against. They had to be smart with this and break in.

They went into the forest, out on the fields. The dome was in a level ground lower than the lands around it, shaped in a circle, much like it was on a pit that was about two or three stories below ground. They crouched down on the bushes when they started reaching the edges of the pit and Flag looked out on his scopes.

“They’ve completely covered the perimeter.”

“Do we just attack?”

Flag put down his binoculars. “We are. To keep them distracted. When everyone’s backs are turned you six go in there and finish the job.”

“You say it like it’s so fucking easy,” Boomerang snarled. King Shark gritted his sharp teeth and growled staring at the armed men around the building.

A hand grenade. Right at one of the trees. It got their attention enough, especially when Flag started firing at the guards stationed just outside the entrance. Crowds of Scarecrow’s men, armed to the teeth, ran the outside grounds to go after Flag’s men. They drifted down the pit, outstretched their legs, and handled them at close range, while some stayed at the trees firing from afar.

The Squad, on the other hand, were all the way over to the other side. Almost all of them had ran off, except for two who stayed behind guarding the backside.

“Bullet,” Frost placed her frosted hand on her shoulder. It made her shiver. “You're up.”

The Bullet took out her sniper and shot down those two men almost at the same time. Then they slid down the side, King Shark rolling down with his immense weight. When another of Scarecrow’s men ran out the door, a boomerang landed on his head.

The door was locked. “I’ll take care of it,” Frost said. Boomerang scoffed, “Fucking metas.”

Holding out her hands, fumes of ice shot out from Frost’s palms and froze down the locks. King Shark kicked the iced hinges down, then the door fell to the ground.

“That was easy!” Harley skipped inside with her mallet over her shoulders. Diablo was still silent, still with his hands in his pockets.

“Don’t jinx it, Harls.”

It looked more like a warehouse by the entryway. And there was absolutely nothing inside save for a few cylinders and water tanks and a whole lot of pipes being guarded.

“We should probably sneak inside.”

“Sneak!?” Harley snorted at the Bullet. “Honey, we don’t do that here.”

King Shark growled at her, then he walked straight up to the center of the room.

“Intruder! Open fire!” the soldiers screamed.

“What is that thing!?”

“Just shoot!”

King Shark walked slowly towards those men, and the bullets just bounced off his incredibly thick skin. He held out his hand, stopped the bullets from reaching his face. Then when the soldiers had backed too much away and reached the wall, Shark grabbed them by the face and actually hurled them all the way across the room.

“Time to play!!!” Harley screamed, then she held out her mallet and started swinging it over at the guards.

Killer Frost had the ground frozen over, slipping the guards off balance, then shards of ice rose up from the ground to impale them. Boomerang had a more melee approach but had his trusty weapon to go around when he needed it.

The Bullet. The new, almighty Bullet. She pulled up her hood and mask and took out her AK.

She fired at the dozens of men going after her. Jumping on top of the cylinders, standing on the highest ground, she shot down anyone who came remotely close to her and had their bodies on the floor before they could even touch her feet. Over and over, she changed the magazines, took out more ammo. She let the gun take charge of her hands and head. A lot of the were swarming her, from different directions. Eventually too many of the soldiers were surrounding the pile of crates she stood on and the others started climbing up.

She couldn’t escape. Even if she were able to take them all down.

Until a raging fire shot out like a car-sized flame thrower and took out the guards that were climbing up. The water tank didn’t seem to have been damaged, but the men on it were burnt like a crisp, and they all started to run away. “Jump!” Diablo screamed.

She did, and she landed on the fire as well. She rolled on the floor to put it out before it got to her skin and Diablo helped her up. “Thank you.”

“Just go.”

She nodded, then with her pistol and wrist gun, went on to keep firing.  Frost had a wall of the men being stuck to the block of ice, some completely frozen inside it, then King Shark let out an animalistic shriek before he punched the glass, destroying it into shards and impaling everyone inside.

Harley, on the other hand, just went on spinning around with her mallet, screaming, manically laughing. The bitch was insane.

“A little help here!” Boomerang called out. He was being held back by two men while another was punching at his chest. The Bullet pointed her wrist gun and fired at his attacker.

Even more men were coming. From the doors to the inside.

“We have to keep moving!” The Bullet cried out to them. To the door where the reinforcements kept coming from, she kept firing as she backed away. The whole squad moved, onwards towards the door. Then when they’d all reached it, Frost froze over the door with more than five layers of ice.

There were sounds of bashing and hitting against the icy door, but it should be enough to hold them back. Before them was a long, seemingly endless hallway. It should probably be leading them to the inside of the dome, where the weapon is.

“Ahhh. The Suicide Squad…”

“WOAH WOAH WOAH where the hell is that comin’ from!?” Harley screamed.

The intercoms. Scarecrow was watching them. The Bullet put on her optics, now shining blue light, and looked around.

A camera. Right at the corner. She shot it with her wrist gun.

“And you have the Commander with you.”

“FUCKING SHUT UP!” The Bullet shot another camera hidden away.

“The Commander, huh,” Killer Frost looking at her head to toe. “You work with him before?”

“Shut up.”

“OH MY MOLLY,” Harley placed her hands on her mouth. “YOU'RE the Commander of the freakin’ Arkham Knight!! I remember you!”

“We should go-“

“I have so many questions. Huge fan. HUGE fan. Ya know she’s drove the first Cloudburst?”

Boomerang crossed his arms. “And they sent her to help us? The fuckin’ nerve of this scumbag coming up here actin’ all hero.”

“You watch your mouth, kangaroo.”

Diablo snorted and chuckled. Boomerang held out his weapon. “You want a piece of this?”

“A kid’s toy?”

“Don’t you fuckin-“

King Shark roared at the two with his mouth wide open for a good ten seconds and deafened their ears. The Bullet wiped his spit off her face and scoffed.

Frost led the way, all the way down its halls. When they reached a large gate, she froze it over once more and Shark beat it down with his fists and his foot.

They didn’t know they’d reach the center of the large dome. They thought they had more rooms to cover.

With the building so big, they thought it would have taken so much more time to reach the core.

But already, they were met with a cylindrical glass tank that was almost as thick as an entire building in itself, and it lit up the room in a menacing red light, all around. It was swirling, even boiling inside. And it shot all the way up to the roof, three stories high.

It was the fucking toxin.

The squad backed away.

Dozens of men surrounded them, all around the dimly lit room. And it was larger than any of them could have expected. It was circular, and there was only a suspended walkway that went all around the sides. There was a runway to the center, where there were controls. A man stood by them. A man with a rag on his head.  

All of them with their hands up.

Scarecrow’s voice was on the intercom, and it echoed all throughout the dome loud enough to rattle their eardrums.

“I assume this wasn’t what you’d expected?”

No. Not even a little. This wasn’t what they expected at all.

They didn’t expect to already reach the weapon.

Or rather. Stand on top of the weapon.

The weapon wasn’t a ray gun or a tank or even a satellite. It wasn’t something so small that it would have been easily taken down by a tank or even King Shark’s fist. Even when it was to engulf the whole of America in its toxin.

No. it was none of that.

The Bullet trailed her eyes down the numerous pipes going up and around the walls, through the floor and over to the room where they just came from, where even more of the toxin was stored in tanks and the pipes that went around it.

The Cloudburst wasn’t inside the dome.

The Cloudburst was the dome.

-----

It didn’t take too much time. It wasn’t the first time Barbara had to hack into the American Government. In fact, it was the easier to hack into than some people’s private accounts.

She went into Amanda Waller’s files.

“Here. Finally.”

Dick, Jason, and Tim stood behind her.

“It looks like they’ve already sent out the squad. Just a few hours ago.”

“Who are in the squad?”

The files on Task Force X. Babs took out the profiles on all their subjects.

Harley’s picture was first to come up. Her blonde hair and vicious eyes staring at the screen. “Harley Quinn, of course. We got Louise Lincoln, also known as Killer Frost.”

The boys watched on.

“El Diablo. Captain Boomerang. King Shark. Rick Flag’s being sent out there as well.”

Then she stopped scrolling when Y/N’s picture and profile came up.

Jason’s heart broke. It did every time he does so much as look at a photo of her. And with that one, a mug shot, the mug shot that was going around every news station in town, the brokenness in her face, the darkness in what used to be the brightness in her eyes, how much rage she had for everything around the world, he hitched his breath.

‘Y/FN Y/LN

Age: 23

Alias: The Bullet’

He smiled at her new name. A sad smile. The most painful kind.

He missed her so much.

Setting his head to the side so they couldn’t see the tear that had seeped out, Jason swallowed and shut his eyes.

“Jason…”

“I’m alright. Can you find out where they were headed?”

Babs smiled at him, then went back to her keyboard.

Zooming in on the helicopter footage on the dome, she traced its coordinates.

“Is that-“

“Scarecrow’s base? Most probably.”

“Jesus,” Jason sighed. “I used to work with that guy.”

“This is the weapon, alright. The sensors are through the roof. We should be heading out there.”

“Do we have a plan?”

“Not exactly. We’ll know when we get there,” Dick said.

“We have to hurry. Who knows when that mad man actually detonates his bomb?”

“How? It’s two hours away.”

“Man,” Dick pat his back. “You really have to get used to working with us now that we’ve got Bruce’s old toys.”

Of course.

What else could he have possibly thought? Get there on his bike?

The Batwing was staring right at their faces, almost taunting them with its silent growl. Dick, Tim, and Jason walked up to it side by side.

“You think he’ll be happy with that?” Jason said.

“Not at all. He even threatens to kill us if we get anywhere near the wheel-“

“Which is why I’m here to drive, Master Dick.”

No.

No.

It couldn’t be.

The sweet old butler, came up from behind the computers where there must have been a room for him to stay in, he held out a tray of four glasses of water for them to take. Setting it down on the table, he gave Jason the sincerest smile.

“I’ve missed you, dear boy.”

“Alfred.”

He wanted desperately to go up to him, give him the biggest bear hug until his bones crack, but Alfred held his hand up to him and just handed him his water.

“It’s better if we skip the ol’ reunion. We catch up after we’ve saved your girl.”

Everything was here. Everyone was here.

Clearly, it wasn’t the time to get emotional. And goddamn, he wasn’t the one to get emotional.

And all the more did they look like a family when the three boys suited up. Dick with his black and blue Nightwing suit and domino mask, Tim with his bo staff and red and yellow suit and cape. And Jason, with his hooded jacket and red visor.

Facing each other in a circle, Nightwing, Robin, and Red Hood took in how they were all now in one team, possibly for the rest of their career. No longer will they fight. No longer will they run.

Oracle smiled at the three. “You all look great together when you're not at each other’s throats.”

“You sure you won't let me drive, Alfred?” Robin said to the butler.

“I had specific instructions from Master Bruce that if you were to inherit the cave, no one was to drive the Batwing but me. You have until I die, Master Dick.”

“Awe. Even in his death, Bruce still doesn’t trust us.”

Laughing as they went in, Alfred had the Batwing soaring into the sky. Silently.

They were going to save her. Them. His family. The one he’d left. The one he thought he hated. The one he almost got killed.

He couldn’t possibly have done anything to deserve this.

With his visor up, he went up to Dick.

“Dick…” he choked.

His older brother turned to him, smiling. He knew what Jason was thinking.

And he didn’t let him speak to make things unnecessarily dramatic. He knew he had his brother back. Dick pulled him into a hug. A sweet, sincere hug that tore out every part of him that wasn’t already consumed by that string of humanity he once had left inside him.

“Thank you,” Jason said to him. Dick patted his back.

“We missed you, Jaybird…”

Jason closed his eyes.

When they pulled away, with Tim watching, he never actually got the change to get to know him. But one of these days, he will. And he’ll be a brother to him, too.

Jason nodded at him, smiling. Tim nodded back.

He never, ever would have thought they’d accept him like this, to help him like this.

And if Bruce were here, he’d have no idea what to tell him. But Jason did forgive him. He forgave him before he even knew he did. Maybe, if Bruce were anything like Dick and Tim, he would have accepted Jason back into his house. He would have helped him, as well.

He let himself think that. For his own sake. For his own peace.  

Not long after, they reached the site.

Nightwing, Robin, and Red Hood stood at the Batwing’s exit doors.

-----

Harley must have had the worst of issues for her to be laughing this off, whistling as she marveled over the room. “I have to admit, Ragdoll, you cer’ainly out did yourself than the last time! I remember when all it took was Ivy’s tree to get rid of your toxin!”

Boomerang scoffed. “A tree?!”

“Gag her.”

“Awe, come on! What is it with you people and the gaggi- MMMMMM!”

Held back by a dozen of Scarecrow’s gunmen, with so many of their guns pointed right at their heads, they stood on their knees, hands tied to their backs. They watched Scarecrow walk over to them from his place near the glass. He chuckled, that low, dark, breathy, and utterly disgusting laugh when he went over the squad.

“MMM! MMM? Mmm…” Harley said to him when he passed by her. All he did was glare. When he passed by Frost, he eyed her body and how icy smoke was coming out of her pores.

“Ya know, this ain’t personal. I’d totally be into this. But we got an explosive stuck to me spine here, mate, and I really just don’t want to die,” Boomerang said. Scarecrow ignored him and walked over to Diablo.

She looked over. Diablo had melted away the ropes on his wrists and no one even noticed. He stood still, watching Scarecrow, then the rag-headed man went over to the next one.

The Bullet. The only one who actually hated this man to the bloody core.

Scarecrow looked amused at the darkness of her glower. He leaned over, pulled down her hood and mask with his disgusting fingers before she flinched away.

“Lovely to see you once more, Commander.”

“Don’t fucking call me that.”

“I thought I left you for dead. Turns out you survived your own bullets. Perhaps you're not as good as you thought you are-“

“Go to hell-“

“This is hell, Commander. At least, it will be.” When he stood back, he eyed the creature next to her.

“An animal? They brought an animal to the squad?” Scarecrow laughed.

King Shark roared. The loudest, more nightmarish roar. Then he charged after him with his large mouth littered with almost three rows of teeth on each side. The guards pulled him back, shot a taser to his arm, but it didn’t do much damage.

Scarecrow backed off and immediately he was guarded by his men.

“Kill him.”

“No!” Killer Frost screamed, but even she was held back by three guards.

And it was the most cruel thing they’ve ever seen. The Bullet watched on, as her fellow squad member was shot with three tranquilizer darts. He fell to the ground, unconscious.

Then Scarecrow’s men took out a grenade.

Shit.

They stuffed it into King Shark’s mouth.

And the squad looked away when it detonated not even two seconds later.

His head was blown off. Much like it would have been if Flag had done it himself.

Five of them left.

Against an army of hundreds.

“Now. You all get to watch as the entire country slowly descends into their deepest, darkest nightmares…”

Scarecrow went over to the center, over to the controls where she saw a bright, beeping light coming from one of the screens. She didn’t have so much as an idea about how this was going to blow. Will the building be going along with it? Is everyone going to live through it?

She should know. She was the one who detonated the first Cloudburst.

They were two hours away from the city. And the government already had most of the people in the area evacuate to shelters underground. They didn’t have much else to hide.

The guards around them had masks as well. They were going to sit it through, fight even with the gas all around them.

She had no idea what was going to happen. But all she could do was sit and watch.

Scarecrow pressed the final button, and on the screen, it showed a minute’s countdown

The Bullet closed her eyes.

There was a heat coming to her wrists. Out of view from the guards. A little flame, floating about. It melted away the chains that were around their hands, and suddenly, she could move them around. She looked over at Diablo and thanked him with a nod. Harley and Boomerang were free as well. Frost, on the other hand, rejected that fire and instead froze over the chains herself. They could charge.

But the guards were too many. She couldn’t just attack.

Time was running out. There was nothing they could do.

But they can shield themselves. At the last second when the guards couldn’t react.

“This is… the Cloudburst!!!”

Three.

Two.

One.

BOOM!!!

“EVERYBODY, GET YOUR FUCKING MASKS!” Boomerang screamed. The five of them grabbed their filter masks from their suits and held it against their mouths. Everything was shaking, an explosion large enough to almost take down its walls, then the glass started to break. The gas was leaking on the inside.

Scarecrow didn’t move. He just stood there, amused, all the while his guards started to panic, panting and coughing and tearing the masks off their faces like it only hurt their skin. She ran out of the way before a guard fell to her body, clutching his throat, before he started screaming the ghostliest noises a human could possibly make.

Then their skins. No longer did they look remotely human. They looked like they were burnt out. Their whole body turning into scabs and burnt flesh. The toxin was eating them from the inside. And their eyes. She’s never seen the look on someone’s face like that when they were looking straight at their deepest, darkest fears. Not even when she’d imagine it.

No.

He couldn’t possibly-

No.

These men. These trained soldiers promised with almost million dollars each.

Scarecrow didn’t hire them here to defend the Cloudburst.

They were here to serve as victims for his horrible toxin that turned them into vicious, mindless zombies. And they looked exactly like they would have in their visions of fear, the ones you’d merely hallucinate with his old toxin. This time, they weren’t hallucinations. The nightmarish creatures of the dark, Scarecrow had turned the people’s fears into something real.

The squad, with their masks on, held tightly onto their weapons, watching the horror in front of them unfold.

One of the creatures ran after Harley, so she swung at it with her mallet, crushing his body against the wall. It didn’t even look like it had human bones that cracked when it was hit.

No. No. No.

Everyone started firing at the creatures coming after them. At their heads, at their animalistic mouths. Frost on one side, freezing the incoming animals into an ice block, and on the other, El Diablo, firing at them with an enormous raging fire. They had to get out of here. There was no possible way they could win this here. Not with the Cloudburst looking like it was about to break.

The Bullet fired at everything she could see. With her AK on one hand and her pistol on the other. But the seemingly endless array of lifeless minions came crawling and pouncing right at her. One of them scratched her arm. She hoped this fucking toxin didn’t work through cross contamination.

Scarecrow, he was still at the center, watching it all unfold.

Scarecrow.

Scarecrow.

Fucking Scarecrow.

The Bullet screamed out, even with her mask, then opened fire as she made her way into the center walkway. She ran to him and pushed everything out of her way, blowing their brains out, jumping onto the railing and running on top of it. She took out a grenade and threw it at a crowd.

Jonathan Crane caught her eye. And with the deathly look on her face, he lost his amusement.

Then the coward started to back away.

She growled and tore through everything, running after Crane. He didn’t have much else to go.

So in a split second, she fired at his leg. The Bullet could have easily fired at his head.

But she wanted him to die from a bullet right between his eyes, that were to look right into hers in the last few moments of his life.

Scarecrow was on the ground, crawling. The Bullet walked right up to him and grabbed him by the collar. Then she aggressively slammed him against the glass where his horrible red toxin was leaking out.

“You killed my son…”

“You did that yourself-“

“No,” she tightened her hand around his neck. “No, I didn’t.”

A pistol. Right against his head. She ends this now. His story ends now. His reign on earth. His madness. His nightmare.

She couldn’t hear the bullet fire out of her hand.

But she did feel the blood spatter when it entered Jonathan Crane’s skull. She heard the crack, and the impact against the glass. She saw the look on his eyes, staring right into her. Taunting her. Waiting for her to pull the trigger until it stayed that way until the worms eat up his body.

The Bullet threw the body on the floor.

She was never, ever going to kill another human being again. She made that promise. To Jason and his family.

But if she were to kill just one last time…

She wanted to make it count.

-----

“Holy…”

“Shit…”

“We were too late.”

“Or the squad failed…”

“No,” Red Hood choked. “No, they can't be dead.”

“They might still be alive. Get your masks on. Come on.”

They put on their masks, Red Hood’s under his visor. As they ran towards the enormous mushroom-shaped cloud of smoke that was spewing violently out of the dome. The ground was quaking enough to feel like it would eventually erupt. And if they were to stay, it might actually split open. They ran towards the center.

And before they could go down the pit. They saw them. Right when they stepped into the are completely engulfed in the horrible red toxin.

They saw the creatures.

In army uniforms of what used to be humans, the creatures were screaming, running and clawing their way around the grass and bushes like they were rabid wolves under a full moon. The bodies, or what used to be bodies, looked like undead carcasses that were walking on their hands and feet. When they caught sight of the three, they started going after them.

Someone grabbed Nightwing’s shoulder.

Rick fucking Flag. He had a mask on.

“You kids better stay away. This is our mission.”

“You really want your boss’s goddamn pride to get in the way of actually saving the world? We’re here to help!”

Flag fired at one of the monsters coming right for them.

“Scarecrow’s baited his own men and turned them into these fucking shitbags.”

“Then let us help,” Robin said. Red Hood, on the other hand, was already shooting at the creatures with his two pistols.

“Red Hood!”

“Oh, don’t give me that! These guys aren’t human!” He fired at one almost flying for his visor. “They never will be again even if we destroy this thing! So get your asses here and KILL THESE GUYS!”

Rick Flag had went on to shoot them with his AK. Nightwing and Robin stared at each other, holding onto their escrima sticks and bo staff.

Flag, despite his guns, didn’t see one of the zombie-like monsters that had grabbed him from behind. It started tearing at its face, claws sharper than a cat’s. Robin and Nightwing went over to get it off him, but it was too late.

Rick Flag’s mask had fallen off.

He stared at the two, with his eyes glowing red and bloodshot from how he was desperately trying to hold his breath. He started clutching at his throat, and his mouth looked like it was about to blow up.

Flag couldn’t handle it. He gasped for air.

Then he turned into one of them. Right in front of their eyes. Nightwing gripped on his escrima sticks.

Then he slammed it against Flag’s head, destroying what was left of his skull. The guilt started to eat him away, but Red Hood was right. He wasn’t human anymore.

“Come on,” Robin said.

Then they attacked everything that came their way. They had to go into the dome. Find the Squad. Hope for the best. But the creatures were running out of the doors like they were in need of air. Hundreds of them in a stampede going out into the field. The trees had cleared, blown off from the explosion. Everything was barren and had fallen under a thick red cloud of his fucking toxin.

Red Hood managed to run all the way to the center. He shot one that had wrestled Nightwing to the ground before he slid down the pit, hands and legs outstretched, and even then, he continued to fire. He reloaded his guns and started firing at the ones going out of the dome.

----

They couldn’t possibly take them all.

So as the Squad rushed down the hallways, out into the first level where it had gone complete barren and destroyed, El Diablo continued to shoot his flames from his hands at all the incoming creatures.

Finally, they reached the door and they all raced outside.

Frost barred the door with her ice, as much as she could, and the monsters were pounding themselves against it with their own bodies and heads. The Bullet, facing behind them, fired at the incoming creatures that must have been the reinforcements waiting to be called. Fuck, there were a lot of them.

Killer Frost couldn’t handle it and the creatures had broken her wall of ice. Unnatural strength. One of the side effects of the toxin. Harley screamed her battle cry and started swinging her mallet around. El Diablo with his flames. And Captain Boomerang with, well, his boomerang.

The Bullet, with her machine gun, fired at ten of the creatures in under a second. She flew in the air. She dodged their incoming attacks. She fired directly at their heads and took out more of them than anyone else with a gun. She fired relentlessly until their heads were blown off, their bodies exploding onto the floor.

She climbed on top of a nearby truck, dropped her carbine, then used her wrist gun and pistol to fire at everything that moved.

“WOOHOO! GO NEW GIRL!” Harley screamed. The Bullet smiled, then went on with her alternating shots until she’d taken down dozens of them.

Everything that moved. Everything that moved. Everything that-

A red hood. Red visor. Gray jacket. And a red bat symbol on his chest.

Oh God.

The asshole.

“Jason!!!”

Red Hood turned around.

A wave that had crashed on the shore, violent and forceful, a wave that tore through everything in its way. Every tree. Every bush. Every doubting thought. The Bullet jumped off the truck, ignored the sting up her knees. She ran to him. She ran to him so fast that two of the monsters smashed into each other when they were going after her. Red Hood recognized her and dropped everything he had on him and sprinted to her way.

The wave was there. A crashing, powerful wave. When they landed in each other’s arms so painfully tight she could have almost fallen over if she hadn’t already clung to him with all her might. All that was left of it.

Yes.

Yes…

Everything lit up. Everything was here again. He was everything. He will always be everything.

It was a miracle they lived through it. Red Hood, with his arms shaking as much as the ground was, buried himself into her and didn’t let go until they heard the world calling out to them, demanding that they give them their attention back. But even then, they held on. Not when they thought it could have been the last. Not after they’ve just been apart. Jason pulled away, raised his visor so she could look into his eyes. He wore a filter mask underneath. And if he could see her smile right then, she was sure he was grinning his face off as well. She could tell with the way his beautiful eyes crinkled up.

“I fucking love the suit-“

Then she held out her arm and shot one of the monsters coming for them.

“We should move.”

“Yeah.”

Side by side, having each other’s backs. She knew something felt wrong fighting with the squad. No, she didn’t belong there. She never fought as well as she possibly could when she was with her partner. Now the Bullet and Red Hood, they fired and shot at everything that came their way.

“Throw me!” She screamed at Red Hood. She run up to him, and he grabbed her legs. Red Hood flung her up at the air and she fired relentlessly at twenty creatures hidden behind the truck. She got to the ground.

Then the fucking Batwing flew in and started firing.

“Woah!” The Bullet yelled.

“How cool is our butler!?”

The monsters started running towards the Batwing, and their attentions were slowly taken away from Red Hood and Bullet. Alfred had them covered.

“We have to get that bomb off you.”

“Where’s Flag? He’ll blow up the bomb if he sees me-“

“He’s dead. He can't blow it up. But we still need to get that off of you before Waller does it herself-”

The Cloudburst dome exploded once again, this time a thicker cloud of smoke blew out of it like a bomb. They held onto the ground, eyes shut. Red Hood grabbed onto her and she swore by her life that she was never going to let go.

When it subsided, they stood back up. “Come on.”

The Bullet stared at him dumbfounded, then the Red Hood grabbed her wrist, pulled her to the back where they could find Nightwing.

“Dick!!!”

Nightwing saw them, slammed his sticks into the creature’s guts, then ran towards them.

“I found a chair at the back. She needs to sit down.”

They moved fast. Waller will find out Flag is dead and detonate all their bombs before they’ll have a chance at escaping.

So they put her into a chair, and she gripped onto the arm rests. The Bullet watched Red Hood give Nightwing a pen-shaped device that had a needle on its end. She swallowed. “Hey, hey…” Red Hood leaned in and held her face. “You're gonna be okay… Scream if you have to… It won't take too long.”

She wished she could see his face. It was the only way she could ever be comforted. But his touch was enough. She held his hand, squeezed it, then Nightwing held her neck.

“Ready.”

Alfred kept firing at all the creatures coming after them. They had a few good minutes.

Y/N screamed out into the air as the needle went into the back of her neck and electrified that one spot by her spine. She gripped onto the wood. She forced her eyes shut. She never felt so much pain from being tased down but with it came the relief feeling that bomb actually stop beeping in the inside of her flesh. The shocks were excruciatingly painful, and it made every agonizing second pass by as long as a minute would have taken. Red Hood turned his head away before the look on her face broke his heart even more.

But the moment it stopped, with her body up in light smokes, she felt everything inside her calm.

It was gone. The bomb was gone. She could actually feel it. Red Hood grabbed her and pulled her to a hug immediately.

“You're safe now…”

“I love you.”

“I love you…”

Robin suddenly jumped at them and took out three incoming creatures with his staff. “Come on guys, Alfred can't handle all this by himself!”

Nightwing. Robin. Red Hood. Bullet.

Like they were all made to fight by each other’s side.

Nightwing smashed his weapons against a monster’s head, threw its body up in the air with his knee, then the Bullet fired at it with her wrist gun all the way down to the ground. He helped her up, gain higher ground, then she fought at Nightwing’s side when he took out the ones coming for her back. Robin, with his bo staff, slammed one right at the gut and let it fly through the air until Red Hood slammed its torso with his elbow, before shooting it in the head.

Red Hood shot three with his pistols, but one of them grabbed him by the head. And man, was it inhumanely strong. Nightwing slammed his stick right through its skull, just inches away from Red Hood’s head. Red Hood elbowed it away, then shot it. The Bullet kept covering them, now with her machine gun. She fired at one going after Robin, at another that had Nightwing in a headlock, and another two that were about to surround Red Hood.

So many were coming to surround her. And as the boys fought them off, she fired at them relentlessly with her gun. She jumped to the ground and fired at them with her wrist gun.

The Batwing was above them, swerving around as it took out everything that stood their way.

The Bullet looked back out at the pit, where the squad was. “We have to help them!” she said.

“What?!” Red Hood screamed. “Are you insane?”

“They just want to live! We all want this nightmare to end! You can go back to being enemies after we’ve saved the world!”

The world. Of course. By now the gas should have dispersed out of the state. They had to move.

The Bullet shot off a creature coming for Harley. And another coming for Boomerang. The man was barely holding up. El Diablo, now a raging monster completely made of fire, tore through everything in its way and burnt down all the monsters to a bloody crisp. Frost was still holding up, doing whatever she could with her ice. And the look on her face when Nightwing came along and hit one of them in the head before it could grab her, she couldn’t describe it.

And it was that way for hours on end. The creatures kept on coming. The fires started raging. The Batwing had landed on the ground but kept its bullets spewing out of its guns in a frenzied attack against the hundreds that were still around them.

But somehow, the dome acted as some sort of beacon. Because there were more incoming. From far away. She had no idea if they were still Scarecrow’s men or if they were people from the countryside that weren’t so lucky…

As far as everybody knew, they were dead.

And they were all going after the dome like flies surrounding a light.

Frost had them in a block of ice, then Diablo fried them up like fish. Harley kept with her hammer and almost hit Nightwing in the head. “Harley!”

“Sorry, handsome! Kinda got used to aiming for your pretty head!”

Jason, standing with his back right up against the Y/N’s side. They shot at the creatures with their guns not knowing if their ammo was going to take it.

“Y/N! You think we’re gonna make this!?”

She shot down a foot, an arm, then eventually a head. Y/N screamed. “It’s not looking good but I sure fucking hope so!”

Red Hood grabbed her shoulder and turned her around, firing at one she didn’t see. Y/N got a circular lid off one of the manholes and flung it into three bodies.

“Y/N! MARRY ME!!!”

She could have been grabbed by the head if she didn’t hear it coming from behind. She held out her wrist gun and fired directly behind her.

“I THINK I’VE ALREADY ANSWERED THAT QUESTION!!!”

Y/N used Jason’s body to haul herself up, swinging her leg in a circle around her before she shot all of them on the ground. Jason grabbed a creature’s head with his bare hands and squished it into its bloody bits.

“NO. I MEAN MARRY ME. RIGHT NOW!!!!”

“WHAT?!”

Almost losing her arm, she slammed her fist against its head, throwing it to the grass and slamming her boot onto its face. Jason kept firing with his two guns, faster than he ever could have fired.

“IF WE’RE GONNA DIE, WE’RE DYING TOGETHER!!”

“WHAT?!?!”

Jason grabbed her arms, flung her around him so she could repeatedly kick them down before they got anywhere near them. She fired her wrist gun and cursed when she almost missed. He started handling them by hand, punching, swerving, kicking them down with his awfully strong thighs.

“YOU EVER SEEN PIRATES OF THE CARRIBEAN!?” He smashed drove his gun into a skull and kicked him off. “THE THIRD ONE???”

“JASON, WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT!!??”

Y/N pressed her back against Jason, and they didn’t stop firing.

“THEY GOT MARRIED IN THE MIDDLE OF A FIGHT. IT WAS FUCKING EPIC.”

“WE’RE GOING TO FUCKING DIE-“

“EXACTLY MY POINT. I WANT TO GET OUT OF THIS WITH YOU AS MY WIFE. DEAD OR ALIVE. I DON’T WANNA WASTE ANYMORE TIME.”

She leapt up in a backflip over Jason and they switched places.

“THIS NEVER WOULD HAVE HAPPENED IF WALLER COULDN’T LEGALLY FORCE ME TO TESTIFY AGAINST YOU. I’M NOT ABOUT TO LET THAT HAPPEN AGAIN. IF ANYONE WANTS TO KEEP US APART, THEY’LL HAVE TO GO THROUGH THE FUCKING LAW!”

“JASON, YOU'RE INSANE!!!”

Five down in a single shot. Y/N kicked them down, grabbed her grappling gun, then shot it at a crate to haul it over to the monsters incoming. Jason went through the whole row of creatures climbing down the pit, and when he had the slightest window, he raised his visor.

“IS THAT A YES?!”

Y/N faced him. and Jason faced her.

It wasn’t even a fucking question. The beautiful asshole.

“YES!”

As they kept firing, Jason pressed on his communicator. “ALFRED!!!”

He tossed Y/N a communicator so they’d both be able to hear him. The butler was still in the batwing, needless to say still firing at all the monsters that have made a mountain coming after it hovering in the air.

“Yes, sir?”

“YOU STILL AN ORDAINED MINISTER?!”

He could hear Alfred sound confused.

“I do believe that is a lifelong thing-“

“MARRY US. RIGHT NOW!!!”

Alfred took out a bazooka gun on the Batwing, a new one no doubt. He didn’t remember Bruce having that when he was still alive, then stook out a crowd of twenty coming after him.

“I’m afraid I’m rather busy at the moment, Master Jason.”

“THEN MAKE IT QUICK. PLEASE, MARRY US!”

“TIM, YOU HEARING THIS?” Dick cried out into the comms. Everyone could hear it.

“I KNOW. IT’S FUCKING ROMANTIC.”

Alfred kept his calm. Then they heard a sigh.

“Alright. Do try not to get yourselves killed, Master Jason.”

“CAN DO!”

Y/N grabbed Jason’s arm, held onto him as tightly as she could, then they turned to meet each other’s eyes. Not after shooting a zombie coming for his back.

“Dearly beloved we are gathered here today…” Alfred fired another bazooka at the crowd. “To join this man, and this woman, in holy matrimony.”

Her wrist gun on a frenzy, she shot at the surrounding monsters and helped Jason kick one down with his knee. They stuck to each other’s backs, firing with their pistols.

“Jason Todd, Red Hood, do you take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?”

Jason’s pistol ran out of ammo, so Y/N threw him a magazine.

“I DO!!!”

She grabbed him, hurled him to the side so they’d switch places, then she started firing at a gun powder barrel she found and it immediately exploded.

“Y/FN Y/LN, Deadsh-“

“THE BULLET! I’M THE BULLET!”

Jason smiled at her with his eyes.

“Ah yes, I do apologize. Y/FN Y/LN, the Bullet, do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

Alfred fired at the creatures coming up to her just as she spoke. “I DO!”

Endless bullets, flying out of their hands, they fired at everything that came their way, protecting each other, shielding each other from harm’s way.

Alfred cleared his throat.

“Then with the power vested in me by the city of Gotham, I now pronounce you husband and wife.”

“DICK, COVER US!”

“I GOT YOU!” Dick screamed.

“You may now kiss the bride…”

Before they’d die. Before it all ends.

They only had a minute before their lungs would give out.

So they ran into each other’s arms, taking off their masks and held their breaths to the best capacity.

Jason grabbed Y/N’s face, pulling her to his lips. Then an explosion happened in the far-off distance that blew off almost everything around them in the air. All except them.

They were one. They were together. Forever. She was his. And he was hers. For as long as they both shall live.

“IS THIS A FUCKIN’ WEDDING?!” Boomerang screamed.

Harley smashed her hammer. “I LOVE WEDDINGS!!!”

Jason leaned down and kissed her despite his chest starting to twist. She grabbed the back of his neck, pushed him back as well. Never has a kiss been more powerful, more meaningful. As far as they knew, they were alone. They were themselves. They were together. And nothing, not even the world, was ever going to pull them apart ever again.

From their first kiss in the meeting room, to the one at the Batcave, to the kiss in her quarters that one rainy night, to the kiss they shared up on that bridge. Everything had boiled down to now. Finally. Finally.

They were fucking married.

They pulled away, stared at each other, and finally they could see the largest smiles on their faces. The places the masks back on and gasped to breathe.

“Shall we?”

“We shall…”

Not a lot more to cover. The fucking monsters were finally starting to run out. And they moved in a dance only they knew. On each other’s side. Never leaving.

They shot, kicked, slammed, tore through the lifeless bodies coming after them and she cried out as another bomb exploded that she threw from her hand. She fought with her fucking husband and man, did it sound like the most beautiful thing in the world.

Nightwing and Robin came up to them.

“CONGRATULATIONS!!!” they both screamed.

“THANK YOU!”

Then Y/N handed them both guns and they started firing at the creatures.

It worked so well.

Finally.

Twenty left. Then there were fifteen. Then another ten died.

Finally.

Gone. All of the monsters. Wiped out.

The Squad was intact. Thankfully, they smiled at the Bullet and they all gathered to the center.

“I can't believe this,” Nightwing said. “But thank you for having our backs.”

“Don’t get used to it, pretty boy, when we wake up tomorrow mornin’ I’m back to slicing your head off with a-“

“Okay,” Red Hood stopped them. “Now we have to figure out a way to stop this.” He pointed up at the beacon.

“Hood,” the Bullet gulped.

“Yes, wife?”

A few of them groaned at that. Red Hood ignored them.

But the Bullet, Y/N, she didn’t look to happy.

She was staring right up at the top of the pit, shivering.

Everyone looked back to what she was looking at.

No.

No…

It wasn’t possible.

Hundreds more. Hundreds of the creatures. From all over the city. Ones with long, blonde hair. Ones that were as tiny as a small child.

It had reached civilization.

No. they couldn’t possibly handle all of them.

Robin looked at Nightwing, whose look on his eyes definitely lost that glimmering enthusiasm that sparked the hope they needed to go on.

And Red Hood.

Well, he made the right choice marrying her.

Jason held Y/N’s hand, and she took it so tightly between her fingers.

The look on their eyes, watching each other, memorizing the looks on their eyes before they go on to their inevitable deaths.

They couldn’t even see each other’s faces.

Harley slumped to the ground. “Well, this is it, ladies and gents.”

Frost screamed in frustration, releasing a large block of ice and slamming it onto the pit.

The monsters had surrounded them now. All in a complete circle. Trapping them.

And they took their time watching them squirm like worms in a tank full of fish.

This is how they die.

Y/N tightened her grip on Jason’s hand when one of the monsters roared and they all started crawling down to the dome.

“T-Tim?”

Their communicators. It sounded like Barbara.

“Yeah?”

“I hope you weren’t saving that favor for anything special,” Oracle said.

“Favor?”

“You know. That favor with Bruce’s friends…”

“What do you mea-“

Like a lightning bolt striking a tree, their eyes shot up at the brightest flash of light.

A golden, glimmering lasso, coming down from something they hadn’t seen flying in the air. The lasso grabbed onto five of the incoming beings and hauled them up.

Y/N’s never seen her up close.

But goddamn, she was nothing like the pictures.

Wonder Woman slammed against the ground on her knee and her balled up fist, letting the soil ripple at her impact. She didn’t have on a mask, but it barely wrinkled her nose. Her striking beauty was made even more obvious when she smirked up at the four, standing up, then took out her shield and sword from her back. She winked at them.

The four were too dumbfounded to move. As victims exhausted or as fanboys and fangirls watching it all unfold right in front of their eyes. Boom tubes coming from different parts in the air, and out of those circles came the heroes they’ve looked up to their whole lives.

Superman tore through a whole row of that were crawling after them with his powerful laser vision, flying through the sky faster than any of Y/N’s bullets could speed through. He grabbed one by the head, flew up to the sky, then threw it against the ground so hard that dozens of others blew up along with it.

Green Lantern made his own machine gun with his ring. He fired at everything that came close to the dome.

The Flash couldn’t even be seen. All they could see was a buzzing red light, powering all around them in circles and taking down everything that was in his path.

Green Arrow started raining down more than five arrows at a time. Ones from above. Ones from the ground. Black Canary ran up from behind them and let out that famous ear-piercing scream that took out everything that was in front of her. Even the grass.

Aquaman came up with his trident, and with Mera following behind, she let a stream of water pierce through the air like shards and a fucking shark was in it eating the heads of everything the water passed through.

Hawkgirl held her mace up in front of her and let her wings force her through the hundreds in the crowd, smashing their brains out with a single hit.

Shazam slammed on the ground, with sparks coming out of his body, then he screamed at the sky and let the biggest lightning bolt they’ve ever seen clear out a whole patch of the land the beings were standing on.

Martian Manhunter transformed into his true alien form then grabbed the monsters with his bare hands, threw them out of the way, and stomped on them with his feet. Or what looked like feet.

Cyborg. Supergirl. Zatanna. Doctor Fate. Huntress. Hawkman. Vixen. The Atom.

They were all here.

They were all going to live.

The fucking Justice League had come to save them.

Never have they seen them all in action. To them, it might have just been another day. But to them? To Batman’s wards. It was everything they ever wished to become.

It was the best, most beautiful thing they could possibly see their whole lives.

Bruce. How much he would have loved this.

Then the ground started to shake once again. The Cloudburst. It let out another load of the toxin.

They had to destroy it now.

Alfred hovered the Batwing above them and opened up the entry way. He waved his hands for them to come in. Robin, Nightwing, Red Hood, and Bullet ran into the Batwing and took their masks off.

“We can't just run off.”

“We have to go help them.”

“Actually,” Alfred said. “I’ve taken instruction from Ms. Prince.”

“She wanted us to leave?”

“No.” Alfred lead them to the windows and the looked out.

Superman, Green Lantern, Cyborg, and Supergirl were all facing the top of the dome, firing their lasers at the concentrated spot at the center. The heart of the Cloudburst. The whole building had gone up in flames, but it continued to fire up in the toxin.

“The Batwing has one more rocket bomb in its ammunition. When the League has the Cloudburst’s core exposed, we only have one shot at firing right at its center, destroying the Cloudburst for good.”

“I’ll do it,” Dick said.

“No I will!” Tim cried.

“Who said it was your turn!?”

“Who said it was yours?!”

“This isn’t a fucking argument, this is the world’s fate in our hands!”

“Exactly, which means I get to fire the Batwing.”

“Well, who exactly has the best aim in this fucking ship-“

Every pair of eyes stopped wandering around. Then they turned to the woman they called the Bullet.

No.

Fucking no.

“I can't-“

“Y/N-“

“Jason, I can't do this-“

“You can.”

“I don’t trust myself-“

“You never miss-“

“Jason.”

She grabbed his hands that were holding her face, finally she could look up at his eyes and see his lips in a smile.

“The last time I handled a tank, it was the Cloudburst… and I missed.”

“It doesn’t matter. That wasn’t your fault. You have no idea how sorry I am for being upset at that, but I know you can do this. Besides, this isn’t a tank. This is the fucking Batwing.”

“Jay…”

“Please. You're the only one who can do this.”

“I’ve never handled anything like this before.”

“You. Can. Do this.”

Looking up at Jason’s eyes, she saw just how much hope he had for her. Then he leaned in and kissed her.

“Man, is he dramatic today,” Tim said.

“Shut up, they just got married.”

When Jason pulled away, the heaviness in Y/N’s chest had slowly started to fade.

Yeah. He was right.

Her husband was right.

She does have the best aim in the room.

Alfred gestured for her to take the seat at the cockpit.  And with Jason holding her hand, leading her to the front, she slowly took the front seat.

Everything was at her control. It didn’t look too intimidating. She pressed onto the buttons and breathed in. Really breathed in.

Breathe. Breathe.

Jason stood back, but not without squeezing her shoulder.

Breathe.

She opened her eyes.

Flying the Batwing over to the top of the dome, right alongside Superman and Supergirl with their lasers still pointing at the center. It won't be long now.

Everything looked brighter. Everything felt hotter. The center of the Cloudburst, at the dome that was once its protective shield.

Irony. She always thought it was what’s going to get her.

Driving the Cloudburst, using it to take down the Batmobile.

Now she was driving the Batwing to take down the Cloudburst.

Yes. Irony certainly did come out to bite her.

But it was in the fucking best way possible.

Doctor Fate and Zatanna had joined in and fired their magical beams at the same spot at the center. Slowly, after each second that passed, she could see its shield slowly start to fade away. A ball around the glass tank of the toxin collapsed. And finally, it was seconds away from its very heart exposed.

Breathe.

The Bullet turned on her optics.

Further. Closer. Brighter.

NOW.

The rocket shot through the Batwing’s bazooka and it came flying out into the air. She waited for that half a millisecond watching it fall to the very spot she aimed at.

Everyone flew out of the sky before it landed on the Cloudburst.

Then the entire dome exploded like a massive nuclear bomb tearing out into the sky with its violently flying debris. The Justice League and the Suicide Squad had cleared out, and with the explosion it took away all the remaining nightmare creatures, dissolving them into the air as nothing but ash.

Everything was loud. Everything was bright. They shielded their eyes away before it blinded them and hid as the dome continued to explode.

They were so high up in the air that they could see the stars up in space despite it already the morning.

And as the bombing sounds had faded…

So did the toxin.

The once red cloud that had covered the sky had dwindled away to its natural white. Everything fell down in beautiful pink ashes. The same ones from when Ivy destroyed the first Cloudburst. They looked up at the sky, and with tears down their faces, everyone leapt in joy and cheered when everything looked as peaceful as it once was.

On the ground where the dome used to be, a crater of soil was left behind. No more creatures. No more darkness. No more Scarecrow.

Everyone took off their domino masks and visors. Dick took Tim and they screamed in happiness, jumped in the air, hugged each other until it hurt like girls at a sleepover. They took Alfred in as well and gave him the biggest bear hug there was.

“DID YOU FUCKING SEE THAT, BABE!?” Tim said into his comms.

Babs was just as ecstatic as they were. “I’M SO PROUD OF ALL OF YOU!!”

“WE FUCKING SAVED THE WORLD!!!” Dick leapt for joy.

“I THOUGHT WE WERE GONNA DIE OUT THERE.”

“I KNOW. THEN FUCKING WONDER WOMAN CAME IN AND DESTROYED EVERYTHING I MEAN HOW CAN ANYONE GET AS AWESOME AS THAT?!”

“YOU SHOULD HAVE SEEN THE LOOK ON YOUR FACE,” Tim screamed. “IT’S LIKE YOU SAW HER AT FUCKING COMIC CON.”

“ALFRED.” They pulled him in. “TELL ME. DID BRUCE EVER DO ANYTHING LIKE THAT IN HIS LIFE?!”

“Well, other than the ten times he’s defeated Darkseid over at outer space, no I don’t think he has.”

“ WE STILL WIN. WE FUCKING DID IT!!!”

“JASON, DID YOU SEE IT WHEN GREEN LANTER- Jason?!”

They looked around. Jason hadn’t joined them in their little celebration.

Jason and Y/N were over at the back, kissing for what seemed to have been the last ten minutes and completely ignoring everything that went on around them. She was holding his face, and he was hugging her waist. Didn’t even stop when Tim cleared his throat.

Dick, on the other hand, had went up to one of the compartments and had grabbed a bottle of champagne they had stored there for purposes like this.

“Can't believe we almost forgot. CONGRATULATIONS TO THE NEWLYWEDS !!!”

Everyone in the Batwing clapped for joy and the couple finally stopped kissing, turning their heads over to smile at them.

“THIS CALLS FOR A CELEBRATION!”

“CHAMPAGNE FOR EVERYONE.”

Jason thumbed her cheek. “You alright with our reception being held in the Batwing?”

Y/N shrugged. “I mean, I wanted to book a caterer, but-“

Jason pulled her face again and kissed her with their hearts light and their spirits so high up in the sky.

A future. She could see it. It was all flashing in front of her eyes now.

Finally, something good had happened out of the series of darkness.

They drank, cheered, partied in the Batwing while it went in a really slow autopilot on its way back to the cave. They hung out like any group of friends would have. Like any family would have.

Jason held her hand the whole time. And Y/N held it even tighter.

This was the end. And it was beautiful, peaceful, promising.

And above all else, it was fucking epic.

-----

EPILOGUE

As if the world hadn’t already stopped surprising them, they continued to go through that very same day bringing them almost to the brink of a heart attack.

When the grounds to the Batcave descended, when the Batwing parked itself in its spot, when its entryway folded down for them all to walk down to, everyone was still in their high, laughing, skipping when they walked down the ramp and out into the walkway.

“Babs!”

Barbara wheeled right towards them and Tim held her in his arms, pulling her up to his level so he could carry her. They all cheered.

“I can't believe you thought of calling the League!”

Babs laughed. “Obviously, you needed help.”

Everyone started talking at the same time, each of them telling Babs one side of the story and how it happened. Explaining in detail how Wonder Woman did this and how Aquaman did that. Even Y/N was so excited she couldn’t stop talking about how Green Arrow’s aim was something she’d admired for so long. A bubble of noise, happy noise. Kids being together.

Like no time even passed. They continued on and on about everything that happened.

Then Jason looked behind at the computers. He stopped talking. His smile faded away. His heart stopped. His whole body stopped.

Everyone saw the look on his face and turned to look at what he was seeing.

At first, he looked just about as regular as any tall man.

And if you hadn’t been expecting it, like practically everyone in the room didn’t, no one would believe it at first glance.

Black shirt. Basic jeans. A jacket over his shoulders. Hair so long it had gone down to his neck pushed back.

But it was him. So undeniably him.

“Oh my god…” Babs whispered.

Bruce Wayne smiled at all their faces. Jaws on the ground. Eyes so incredibly wideset. He didn’t look the least bit bothered.

He walked on over closer to them, hands in his pockets. He stood a few yards away so as to not startle them.

His children.

“Dick…” he greeted.

The eldest choked on his breath. “Bruce…”

Bruce looked over at the girl with fiery red hair.

“Barbara…”

“Oh. My. God.”

Bruce grinned, then he looked over at the man beside her.

“Tim…”

“You're alive…” Tim breathed.

Then when Bruce met Jason’s eyes, everyone parted to give him his way. Bruce started walking towards him, and Jason swallowed on his tongue.

He hadn’t prepared for this.

Not by a long shot.

He thought he was never, ever going to see him again.

He never thought he’d have the chance to make things right.

And now, he did.

Bruce stood in front of Jason.

“Welcome back…” Bruce said. “My son…”

Jason pulled him into a hug, much to Bruce’s surprise. Much to everyone’s surprise.

But he wanted to skip all the thinking and the doubts and the holding back to everything he’s ever wanted to say to him.

Jason forgave him. Already after two years. And it meant so much that Bruce had forgiven him too.

Bruce hugged him back.

Bruce never hugs anyone back.

But he patted Jason’s shoulder and held him as tightly as any father could possibly hold his son. Jason was crying. Hell, everyone in the room was crying. Even Alfred was shedding a tear. Everyone watched on as they fell into each other’s embrace longer than they’ve had with anyone else.

Eventually, Bruce had to pull away.

“I’m so sorry…” Jason cried.

Bruce held his shoulders.

“Jason…” he said. “You have no idea how proud I am of you…”

Jason realized he’s never heard those words before.

He hugged him again, just because he couldn’t hold it back anymore. Y/N dried her tears with her shirt and met Jason’s eyes from over Bruce’s shoulder.

“Bruce…” Jason pulled away. “There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

Y/N stood straight up. She dusted off her suit. She straightened her neck.

“This is Y/N,” Jason said with his hand on her back. She stretched out her hand, and Bruce took it.

“I’ve heard of you. Your girlfriend-“

“Wife.”

Her smile was so beautiful when he said it.

“My wife.”

Bruce shot up his eyebrows. “I see. Well, it would have been better if we had a talk-“

“Don’t. Do that.”

“I’m kidding,” Bruce laughed.

Y/N cleared her throat. “Such a pleasure to meet you, sir.”

“Y/N… I know who you are and who you were…”

“Bruce…”

He nodded at Dick.

“You were the Commander of the militia army. You were Deadshot. You took over your uncle’s old jobs.”

“Bruce, you don’t have to-“

He didn’t even look at Jason’s direction.

“And you drove the Batwing today…”

Y/N was scared shitless shivering on her own two feet. It wasn’t because she was talking to Batman, someone she almost had killed. It was because she was talking to her freaking father in law.

Jason swallowed.

“And I also happen to know… that you worked with my sons like a perfectly trained team and singlehandedly saved thousands of lives…”

Everyone’s eyes lit up. Especially hers.

“What do we call you now?”

“The Bullet,” she swallowed. “I’m the Bullet.”

“Well, Y/N,” he smiled. “The Bullet.”

Then he stretched out his hand.

“Welcome to the family.”

 -----

MASTERLIST

THE BULLET MASTERLIST

-----

TAGLIST

@everyartistwas-firstanamateur

@sarcasmismyfirstlove

@damned-queen-of-gotham

@idkmanicantenglish

@wunderstell

@birdy-bat-writes

@get-loki

@everyday-imfangirling

@comic-nerd-dc

@multifandoms916

@icequeen208

@offendedfishnoises

@egdolan

@xemiefx

@arkhamtoddler

@elsenthal

@mythicbitchx

@supremehaunter

@lucy-roo

@roseangel013bf

@loxbbg

@reclusive-chicken-nugget

@l-inkage

@http-cherries

@shadowsndaisies

@river9noble

@zphilophobiaz

@annoylinglyaries

@knightfall05x

@flowersgirl02

@hyp-oh-critical

@satan-s-ass

[ncssian]

family therapy

summary: cassian is sick of watching nesta and lucien fight all the time, and decides they need professional help. (oneshot)

a/n: this takes place in the same crescent city universe (not a crossover just an au) as this oneshot. you don't need to read that one to understand this one, but they exist in the same world/timeline.

"And how does that make you feel, Lucien?"

"It makes me feel like I dislocated a shoulder, because I did," the fae male grumbled.

Nesta scoffed without looking at him. "You're such a pussy."

"Can't be worse than being an insufferable bitch."

From his spot in the corner of the room, Cassian's jaw ticked at the insult, but he kept his mouth shut. The therapist, Helen, gave Nesta and Lucien a firm look. "What did we agree to about communication in my office?"

A few moments of silence, then Lucien muttered, "Sorry." Nesta echoed him.

"Don't say it to me," Helen said in her smooth tone. "Say it to each other."

"I'm good," Nesta said.

"Nesta." The low warning came out of Cassian's mouth before he could help it. Helen turned to look at him for the first time all session. "And who are you again?" she asked, confused.

Cassian flustered, wanting to be left out of this as much as possible. "I'm her ride," he said honestly. His massive dove-gray wings explained the rest.

Lucien snorted. "Is that what you're calling it now?"

"Okay, I've had about enough of you—" Nesta grabbed for a couch pillow to smack Lucien with.

It was plucked out of her hand before it could make contact with Lucien's scarred face. Nesta whirled on Cassian, glaring. "You promised you'd stay out of this," she hissed.

"I'm paying for this session," he said simply, the calm to her raging fire.

Helen was eyeing all three of them like she didn't get paid enough for this, but she pursed her lips and waited until everybody had settled before speaking again.

"Now," she said tersely, "why don't we start at the beginning?"

***

It was Elain's birthday party, and this year she'd wanted a rager. Lucien, ever the dedicated male, had set up a fine enough party using his dad's money and extensive list of rich friends.

Nesta wrinkled her nose at a pair of grinding werewolves as she walked through the crowded living room, wondering where her sister was in the midst of all this. Cassian's presence was a warm force at her back, keeping her from getting smothered by random Vanir on all sides. She self-consciously tucked the skirt of her minidress down, wishing she hadn't worn white when so many...liquids were sloshing around.

In the dim pink light of the room, she caught a flash of gold and red near the cake table. Her eyes narrowed, locked onto its target, and she sped up her walk until she was face to face with Lucien Vanserra.

"Nice whorefest you've set up, kid."

Lucien turned to her with a fake smile, ready to fight instantly. "Nesta," he greeted sweetly. "Still beating that joke to death, I see."

Years ago, when Nesta had been drunk and feeling particularly vengeful, she'd found herself taking Lucien's father, Helion, to bed. Even now, she liked to remind Lucien of it every now and then by making stepmom jokes at him. And she wasn't about to stop.

"It's not a joke." Nesta didn't bother with the fake smiles. "It's part of my very real multistep plan to marry your dad, make Cassian my lover on the side, become your stepmother, and ruin your life by inches."

"I think you overestimate your ability to ruin my life any more than you already have." Lucien poured something bloodred into a plastic cup. Was he drinking wine at a rager? Gods, she hated him.

"Where is Elain?" she snapped.

"With her friends. You know, because she actually has them."

Nesta sneered. "When are you planning on breaking up with her so she can lead a better life?"

Lucien raised his cup in announcement. "Around the same time you plan on quitting being such a bitch." And then, he tipped over his cup. Wine poured all over the front of her dress, dribbling into her cleavage and soaking her bra. He looked Nesta in the eye. "So, never."

Nesta didn't blink. She didn't know where Cassian had gone off to, and she didn't care. Without looking away from Lucien, she plunged her hand into the three-tier cake on the table— Elain's birthday cake. "This," she smeared the chunk of cake across Lucien's face, "is why your family doesn't love you." She shook clumps of frosting off her hand.

If Lucien was hurt by her words, he hid it well with a smirk. "That's not what your sister was saying last night—"

At that moment, Nesta headbutted him— she rammed into his torso and took him all the way into the wall, then the floor.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?!" he spluttered beneath her, trying to fend off her tiny hands as they slapped at his chest.

"Fuck you!" Nesta screamed at him.

If people hadn't been watching before, they definitely were now. Out of the corner of her eye. Nesta could see Cassian appear at the edge of the crowd, spot Nesta beating the shit out of Lucien, and then immediately turn around to mind his own business.

Good. He knew better than to interfere when it came to Lucien.

Lucien, being taller and stronger, managed to shove Nesta off his body and into the cake table, but before he could pounce and elevate the fight even further, he was hauled backwards by a pair of small hands.

"What the hell is going on here?" dainty Elain Archeron roared.

***

"And where is Elain in all of this?" Helen asked.

"She stayed home, lest this get any more incestuous than it already is." Lucien crossed his bare arms over his chest.

Cassian snorted at the word "lest", because really, who used that in their everyday vocabulary if they weren't Nesta?

Lucien narrowed his eyes at him, one russet and one gold. "What's so funny, angel?"

Cassian had to reign in his smile. "You talk like Nesta," he said. "And sometimes Nesta talks like you."

"That's stupid," Lucien said at the same time Nesta said, "Don't be stupid, Cassian."

The pair glared at each other, only to instantly look away.

"Well." Helen inhaled a deep breath and looked at her notes. "There are a few things I'd like to touch on during this session, especially after what I've heard about this birthday party." She glanced up at Nesta and Lucien. "You two used to be fairly good friends. Can you pinpoint when the animosity began?"

"Well," Lucien pretended to think, "it might have something to do with the time she fucked my dad."

Nesta scoffed. "Like you sleeping with my sister is any better."

"Which happened first?" Helen asked.

Nesta was silent, which was answer enough. Cassian would have rather been anywhere else than discussing Nesta's past sex life, but he knew she needed this.

"Nesta, what was your reasoning behind this?"

Cassian knew this answer, but he didn't know if Nesta would admit it.

Her blue-gray eyes burned with indignant rage. "Do I need a reason? I liked him, I was of age, so I slept with him."

Lucien shook his head. "I'm surprised you stopped at my father. You could've gone through all my brothers, too. Remember that crush you had on Eris?"

Nesta gasped, looking at Lucien with horror and— embarrassment. Cassian narrowed his eyes, torn between being offended on his girlfriend's behalf and being intrigued by this new piece of information.

"You promised you would never tell anybody," she said, her voice uncharacteristically high. Lucien squinted at her. "Are you crying?"

"No!" Nesta blinked furiously.

"There's nothing wrong with crying," Helen assured her. "But Nesta, I have a feeling you're not being entirely honest with us, and we can't get anywhere without honesty."

Nesta glared with red eyes at the wall, and Cassian met Lucien's gaze and held up his hand in a wait gesture.

Once Nesta was decidedly calm, she let out a breath and grumbled, "He was my first friend."

Lucien glanced at her, surprised, but didn't say anything.

She crossed her arms over her chest. "When we moved to Crescent City, he was my only friend, and I thought we liked each other. I thought we understood each other, but then he— " she swung her glare around to Lucien, "was just using me to get to my sister."

"That's not—"

"This is Nesta's turn to speak, Lucien," Helen cut him off.

Nesta was talking to Lucien now. "The showing up at my house late with beer, hanging around with me all the time while your friends were out having a life— it was all so you could get closer to Elain, because she trusted anybody I liked and you knew it."

Lucien's mouth tightened. "That's why you slept with my dad? Because I took Elain out on a date and you wanted revenge?"

"You forgot about me as soon as you had her. We were drifting apart long before I did anything with Helion, trust me."

Lucien was quiet for a long time. "It's true that I liked Elain from the day you all moved in down the street," he finally said. "But she was never my friend the way you were. And just because I liked spending time with her doesn't mean I didn't like spending time with you. It's comparing apples and oranges; I loved you both."

Nesta blinked. "But you don't anymore?"

Lucien didn't answer, and eventually Helen cleared her throat. "I'm really proud of the progress we just made, but I'm afraid our time is up."

Cassian sat up at that. "You can't cut them off here, they just had a—" he waved his hand, "breakthrough or something."

"And it was very powerful," Helen nodded. "Which is why I suggest going home and reflecting on what we learned today until our next session."

It was Nesta and Lucien's turns to sit up. "There's another session?" she demanded.

"As many as it takes until you two are at a healthy place with each other again." Helen smiled in a polite way that surely made Nesta feral, Cassian knew. He had a suspicion that his pockets wouldn't see the end of this.

Lucien was already getting to his feet and stretching. "Yeah, maybe we should just hug and make up now and call it a day."

At the look of blatant disgust on Nesta's face, he rolled his eyes. "Or maybe not, damn."

Helen got up and smiled that fake smile again. "See you next week." She turned to Cassian. "Should I email you the invoice now or later?"

***

Despite the day's revelations, Nesta and Lucien didn't last a minute once they left the therapist's office. Or rather it was because of the recent revelations, that they felt the need to return to normal.

"You look like such a douchebag in those shirts," Nesta snapped.

"It's just a shirt!"

"WHERE ARE THE SLEEVES?"

"Like I'm going to take fashion advice from someone who's boyfriend only wears black like it's wartime!"

Cassian didn't think that was fair. His shirt was dark gray today.

Nesta and Lucien's voices blended into one jumbled shouting match as they furiously walked out of the building.

"You know what, don't even bother calling me for our weekly recaps this time."

"I wasn't planning on it."

"I'm blocking your number right now." Nesta was digging her phone out of her bag.

"Good," Lucien seethed. "Text me when you get home safe before you do it!"

"Fine!"

"Good!"

They spun on their heels at the same time, Lucien storming away in one direction while Nesta did her furious little speedwalk towards Cassian in the other.

At the end of the street, Cassian gathered Nesta in his arms as he prepared to fly them home. "Why can't you just tell him you care for him like you do with your sisters?"

Nesta braced her hands on Cassian's biceps and glared. "Because he's not like my sisters. He's a male."

Cassian's lips quirked up in amusement. "So like a brother?"

Nesta grumbled something unintelligible, but she didn't deny it. Cassian had a feeling she wouldn't be blocking Lucien's number anytime soon. Still, he was proud of the progress she had made today.

Dropping a kiss onto her hair, he spread his wings wide and shot them into the sky.

***

a/n: i said bryce and ruhn but make it nesta and lucien. also the fight scene was better with shiv and roman from succession 😭 hope you guys liked it.

if i was supposed to tag you but didn't or if i wasn't supposed to and i did, it's probably because i have you on the wrong tag list! just shoot me a message so we can fix that.

tagging: @ladywitchling @sjm-things @thewayshedreamed @drielecarla @sensitiveillyrian @superspiritfestival @aliveahaahahafuck @cupcakey00 @sayosdreams @rainbowcheetah512 @claralady @thebluemartini @nessiantho @missing-merlin @duskandstarlight @lucy617 @sleeping-and-books @everything-that-i-love @clolikescloquetas

[midas-or-khaos]

Wrong Place Wrong Time Part 2

Jojo

Some ways away, shivering like a newborn, Jojo could only gaze out helplessly from his vantage point behind a rock as his tunic was examined by both adult and child alike, whilst frost settled into his exposed chest and arms till it reached the marrow of his quaking bones. That boy was smart. Too smart, onto Jojo like a bloodhound. At this rate it was either he stayed still and eventually got caught; or make some attempt to get back his clothes, then make a break for freedom. It pained the borrower to have to let Sindri down, but this was getting too dangerous, even for him.

“C’mon, just ignore it! Listen to your dad.”

As if to spite him, the great mountain of chalk muscle took that moment to look round in all directions whilst slowly kneeling, ignoring his plea, and whispered back as if he knew Jojo was listening, “ If that is clothing, then we are being followed.”

Oh great, the hulking beast of a human was onto him now too.

The boy was looking above, trying silently to slide round to the man’s back unnoticed and be his extra set of eyes. “If Sindri didn’t tell us about it, then maybe it’s someone he cares about. Maybe they’re friendly?”

“We cannot be sure of the dwarf’s intentions. Always expect the worst.”

Arms crossed and furiously rubbing away at scrawny arms, Jojo could spot with precise, doe-eyes the tunic in question: the boy’s left hand. Both were looking in every which direction and checking their perimeter, if he made a move too suddenly or too out into the open they’d spot him for sure. There was one thing the borrower realised he had on his side though. The younger bean wasn’t focusing inwards towards the direction of the tunic, and his father wasn’t focused on it either, if he could keep them from focusing there long enough then he’d have a clear sprint shot at the item. 

Time to distract.

Scanning the floor for something to throw, a fallen acorn sat close by. Easy to lift, makes lots of noise, perfect, but where to throw? Up above the two, a low hanging branch full of dead leaves, even more noise to make them look away from the floor where he’d be running. Waiting for both beans to look away from his position was what took the most amount of time, time he didn’t have if he was to survive with his arms and back beginning to cramp up and chest heaving with the energy to keep his body functioning. C’mon just look up!

There we go! Both icy eyes on the canopy. Taking focus once more, the boy stretched cramped limbs and javelin chucked the nut. The sailing seed caught the boy’s eyes first as he knocked an arrow, tunic falling from the boy’s hand in his haste. MOVE! Sprinting out from under the canopy, Jojo honed in on his prize, hands posed forward to snatch and run on a beat. The flick of the arrow echoed above as the fur became visible to Jojo’s eyes. Just a couple more steps!

“AAAGGHHH!”

A white hand slammed infront of his view. SHIT he forgot to check the dad! Running too fast there was no way to slow down, the boy smacked into the fingers and went sailing over till he landed on his back. Seeing stars was an understatement, the wind had been knocked right out of his ribs. He couldn’t see.

“You.”

A grasp like burning, welded iron snapped round, irritating fresh bruises and scrapes. Hissing and panting hard from exhaustion, the struggles and squirms were rabbit kicks in the solid jaws of the wolf, vainly ineffective. There wasn’t a prayer of a chance at escape now. The safety of stable earth was swapped for delirious changes in gravity, which direction was he facing now? Huffs of boiling fire seared sore skin, and it became clear as bronze turned ashen, He was in front of the mouth. The borrower boy couldn’t help but shut his eyes

“Open your eyes.”

Nonononononononooooooooooooooo.

“Hey!” The human boy.

The tremor that started without knowledge settled under the voice of a fellow child, enough to open a squinting eye. A smile like the sun was his reward. That, and a voice with gentle teasing on its tongue. How could he be like that at a time like this?

“Heyyyyy, sorry to scare you. Was this yours?” The very clothing in question held aloft, temptingly just out of reach. It didn’t stop Jojo from trying to lunge for it though.

“Give me my tunic back! I’ll leave you the fuck alone if you give it back!”

A voice of thunder clashed the air and left small ears ringing. “Why were you following us?”

“I wasn’t! I’m after the whetstone Sindri wanted!” The grip only tightened. Worryingly, a creak was starting to strain from the ribs, pressure building behind eyes that were beginning to bulge.

“You LIE. Sindri sent US after the whetstone.”

The boy butted in at last, grabbing the titan’s shoulder and forcing the two to meet eyes.“DAD STOP! Remember when we met Sindri, he was hesitant to let us go on this quest? It must be because he sent him first, and was worried about us meeting.”

Stone coils loosened their choke hold, and at last Jojo took a deep breath, coughing. The borrower could taste blood, but it was now or never to plead his case. “He’s right. Sindri let me go after the whetstone when he said it hadn’t been collected. I was trying to do him a favour, but that stupid crow attacked me thinking I was a rat. I’m not trying to follow you so please, just let me go.”

Both child and adult shared a silent yet violent conversation, trying to get the other to back down. Blue of the maelstrom clashing a tsunami of liquid gold.

Bearded lips curdled.

“...Fine.”

Suddenly going loose, there was no time to grab or find purchase. The borrower fell with a cry, no warning from the great palm, straight into the danger of open air. 

“NOT LIKE THAT!” The distance was cut short, snatched out the air like a hawk catches a bluebird. Limbs stuck out awkwardly between the delicate fist, and rather uncomfortably, but a heave of relief that had caught its way into Jojo’s chest without permission let itself loose shakily. The other boy saved him. He hadn’t needed to but he still did so and was being nice. Perhaps he had been wrong about the young bean, but his fear had been justified with that beast of a father. The borrower couldn’t help squirming further into the soft fingers, even as they entrapped him in what should’ve been his worst fear. Being caught in hand by a human. The hand tightened closer in response, pulling closer to the fur he must’ve been wearing.

“Father, he’s not a threat. You shouldn’t be so rough!” 

“He is a nuisance.”

“Regardless!”

Plainly ignoring any further comment, the parent just kept on track towards where he was before. “We cannot stop now, we have only so much time.”

A sigh from above.

Fingers unfurling overhead, the borrower looked up in response. Smoothing soft covered his face as a response.

“Here, sorry for taking your tunic.”

Putting the tunic on, Jojo could breathe properly at last, blood not quite so sludgy in his veins as he thawed properly. From here, the face was a little distorted (and kind of hard to take seriously) but the look was unmistakable. The bigger boy wanted to say something more.

“What’s wrong?”

Lips quirked anxiously. “I know you said that you wanted to be let go and go back, but if you’re after the whetstone too there’s no point in us leaving you behind. How about this, I‘ll take you with us so we can find the stone together; just because father is being rude doesn’t mean you’re a nuisance. If Sindri sent you, you’re alright in my eyes. Besides, we can talk on the way there!” The whispered voice of the larger youth was pleasant, if a bit  unnervingly warm seeing as where that warmth came from wasn’t exactly safe. The offer was in his best interests, there was no doubt about that, but did he really want to be held by a human the whole way? Sure, it would be nice to be around someone his age, but he was still a stranger.

And his dad was fucking terrifying.

Seeing hesitation, the bean pleaded even softer, “Please? I’ll keep you away from my dad.”

... “Only if you keep me as far the Hel away from your dad as possible.”

That beaming smile from before returned. “I will.”