#THIS IS THE WORST CRIME KNOWN TO MAN WHAT THE FUCK IS READY SET GO VIOLENCE MURDER KILL KILL

[chisatowo]

I always forget english sekai exists and is always does me such intense psychic damage. What do you mean Rui's stamp where he is literally just sighing got translated as "seriously?" what the actual fuck

[rocorambles]

Hit It Till It Breaks

Pairing: Oikawa x Reader

Genre/Warnings: Yandere, Mafia AU, NSFW, Drug Dealing, Dub-Con/Non-Con Sex, Dub-Con/Non-Con Drug Consumption, Drug Addiction, Manipulation, Humiliation, Degradation, Prostitution, Slight Pet Play

Prompt: Hard At Work

Summary: Growing up, you’d always loved fairy tales and happy endings. You’d always believed that despite how bad things might seem or get, there would be a light at the end of the tunnel. But you’re quickly realizing that this isn’t a fairy tale, that there is no happy ending, and that sometimes, you only go downhill, farther and farther from the light. 

Author’s Note: This is my contribution for my HQ Discord Server’s NSFW collaboration. There are so many talented writers on the server and I highly encourage you to check out the collaboration masterlist to see how everyone decided to run with this spicy prompt.  

(Thank you as always @sawamooora for helping me keep this a coherent degenerate mess~)

It’s hard to believe that bright eyed girl holding her college diploma in the photo on your nightstand was you not that long ago. And your heart clenches when you remember how hopeful you had been. So excited to venture out and experience life. Ready to enter the job market. Ready to be an adult. 

Doors opened and closed. But you hadn’t let it deter you at first. It just wasn’t meant to be. You can’t expect to get the first job you interview for! 

But then more and more doors opened, only to be shut in your face.Your rose-tinted glasses began to crack as your funds quickly dwindled, as you lowered your standards, desperately mass applying to any small time company vaguely related to your major, only to be turned away at every step. 

And now, here you are, barely able to make rent, barely able to even feed yourself with the little you have from odd part-time jobs you’ve managed to stitch together into some sort of financial life line. 

Well, you HAD been barely able to make rent, but your hands tremble when you stare at the letter notifying you that your rent will begin to increase starting next month, mind speeding into a panicked haze as you unsuccessfully try to think of what to do, how you can possibly afford to live even in this dump anymore. And before you even realize what you’re doing, you’re scrambling, stumbling to your bathroom, throwing open your medicine cabinet as you rummage for the little pills that you know will help slow down your racing thoughts and provide much needed clarity. 

You swear everything seems clearer as soon as the smooth texture hits your tongue and you can finally breathe, slumping down on the cold tiles of your floor, pill bottle still clutched in your hand as you allow yourself to relax, praying for any ideas to flow through you. And it hits you like a ton of bricks when your grip on the plastic container accidentally loosens and the bottle clangs against the floor. 

A humorless chuckle slips past your lips as you stare at the rolling cylinder. 

Drug dealing. Fucking drug dealing. 

You can’t believe you’re even thinking of going down this route, but your mind flashes back to old roommates, old friends, old classmates who had nonchalantly made a pretty bundle on the side, carelessly tossing around and selling all types of prescription drugs on campus. And you vividly remember how simple they had made it seem, how they had all gotten away with it. Scrumptious meals, pricey alcohol, far beyond a college palette, and beautiful clothing were the only “consequences” for their crimes. 

If they could do it, you could too. Or so you’d like to think. 

But as naive and ignorant as you are about this line of work, even you know there’s a difference between selling to silly college students on campus, and selling it at a popular nightclub owned by an infamous crime syndicate. 

Even as far removed as you are from the more seedy underbelly of the new city you live in, you know of the Seijoh Syndicate. Everyone in town does. It’s hard not to when they literally run and own the entire place. 

Oikawa Tooru and the rest of the Seijoh Four run their domain with an iron fist. They’re practically nonexistent, merely a scary story to keep people in line, for those who abide by the laws and keep their noses out of trouble, but an all too real nightmare for those who choose to defy them. And you shudder, remembering the horror stories you had heard of exactly what happens to those who decide to try and start their own nefarious business and practices on Seijoh streets without Oikawa’s permission. 

But surely they wouldn’t pay you any mind? Right? Surely a mere girl in her early twenties selling the leftover prescription medicine she has in her cabinets for one night won’t do any harm? 

Maybe it’s stupid to go to such a prevalent and well known club, especially one that’s notoriously favored by the Seijoh Four. But you convince yourself that it’s the most crowded venue in the area with a target demographic who’s guaranteed to buy you out, even at the obscene prices you plan on charging. How would anyone even notice you? Where else could you go? What options do you even have? 

So despite the nervous pit swelling in your stomach, you soldier on, plastering a cheery smile at the bouncer who easily waves you in without a second glance, slipping into the sweaty mass of bodies, going deeper and deeper until you’re surrounded - skin, bones, and muscles pressing against you on all sides, safe from any prying eyes. 

Or so you believe. 

You know who the Seijoh Four are. You even know their names. But never have you met them, never have you ever seen a picture of what they each look like. Not that it would help you if you did when you’re so laser focused on finding potential customers, not even bothering to look around to see if anyone’s watching you. So you carry on, unaware of the four sets of eyes looking at you in amusement from their roost high above the writhing crowds. 

There’s nothing subtle about the way you sloppily nudge people, practically shoving your pills in stranger’s faces, almost wildly waving your merchandise around you in a desperate attempt to pull in buyers. Sweaty nervous hands fumble as you exchange little plastic baggies for wads of cash and Matsukawa raises a brow in disbelief while Hanamaki cackles when you drop your merch and payment, getting on all fours on the trashed dance floor to recollect your goods. 

It might be the most amusing show they’ve had in a while, but Iwaizumi feels a pang of pity at the wild hopeless look in your eyes and he swiftly stands, brusquely telling the other three that he’s going to go down and tell you off with just a warning, only to be stopped when Oikawa smoothly stands to his feet, effectively blocking Iwaizumi’s path. 

“Now, now Iwa-chan. Don’t be so hasty. Let me go talk to the cutie. I’ve been so bored recently and she looks like she’ll be fun! Plus you’ll make her cry with that scary face of yours.” 

Suddenly the sight of you bumbling around isn’t quite as entertaining as the remaining three men watch the brunette prowl towards you, heavy realization of what’s to come sombering the mood.  

 You’re frantic, flitting about the throngs of flailing limbs and swaying bodies, frustration from not being able to get through your supplies fast enough weighing at your conscious. Sure, you’ve managed to accrue some cash, but it’s not enough, not nearly enough to even feed yourself for the coming week let alone make a dent in the daunting rent that looms over you. And you can feel hot tears prick at the corner of your eyes when you see that it’s almost closing time and you’re still stuck with more than half your inventory, no closer to figuring out how to survive. So when a hand firmly rests on your shoulder, you whip around, ready to take your anger out on the poor soul who’s managed to catch you at the worst time. But you freeze, vicious words stuck in your mouth when you see the handsome man beaming down at you, a thick wad of rolled up bills haphazardly dangling from his fingers. 

“I heard you might have some stuff I’d be interested in.” 

You wonder if this is all a dream, if the man in front of you is (ironically a devilishly) handsome angel swooping into save you when he casually asks you how much stuff you still have, how much you’d be willing to sell everything for, not even blinking an eye at your outrageous price tag. You’re so stunned by how quick he is to call it a done deal, not resisting even a bit as he wraps his hand around your wrist, pulling you after him, saying some vague comments about wanting to go somewhere a little more private since it’s a bigger trade. All you can think about is how you’ll finally be able to eat something other than instant noodles and not have to worry about rent as you throw yourself back into interviewing, too lost in thoughts to be wary of how you’re being dragged farther and farther away from the rowdy crowd. 

But the sound of a door slamming shut behind you jolts you back to reality and Oikawa fights back a laugh at how adorable you are, eyes blown wide like a deer in headlights as your head swivels side to side, dismay and panic making you tremble when you survey the private room you’re in, throat nervously gulping when you notice the three other occupants. 

You’re so predictable and Oikawa just rolls his eyes fondly at how you swiftly turn around, trying to lunge towards the door in an attempt to escape, taking his time to leisurely make his way towards you, brown orbs taking in every inch of you as Matsukawa and Hanamaki hold your writhing body in place. 

It’s so satisfying watching you crumble to pieces before his very eyes at just the mention of his name, despair and fear swirling beautifully on your face when he continues to introduce the rest of the Seijoh Four. It never gets old, that deliciously addicting feeling of power he feels when people tremble from just a few syllables and he relishes in your pleading apologies and your tears, patiently waiting for you to finish your little sob story, barely listening to the details as he focuses in on how gorgeous you are, broken and vulnerable. 

And really, there’s no need for him to pay close attention to your blabbering anyway. It always comes down to one thing…

 “So you need money, cutie? How about working for me?”

 “Oye! Oikawa-”

“I’m just asking her some questions, Iwa-chan.”

There’s tense silence and your eyes nervously flicker back and forth between the two imposing figures staring each other down, green and brown eyes clashing in a silent argument. But as if they’ve somehow come to a conclusion, Iwaizumi tsks and looks away while Oikawa turns his attention back to you, a sickeningly cheerful grin on his face. 

Blood curling fear lances through you and you’re almost grateful for the two pairs of strong arms holding you tight, their grip keeping you from falling to your knees as your legs threaten to give out under the pressure you feel as Oikawa thoughtfully looks at you. 

You know the smart answer would be to adamantly say no and promptly figure out a way to leave this moment far behind you, even if it means forfeiting any money you had made tonight. But...a job is a job, right? And surely a job in the Seijoh Syndicate would be more lucrative than anything you’re doing now, right? 

Oikawa hides a smile at the way he can see the cogs in your head turn, apprehension turning to curiosity as you stutter out questions about pay and what the job would entail. Desperation is a good look on anyone, but it suits you particularly well and just like that, hook, line, and sinker, he has a new cute live-in maid to replace the recently vacated role.  

Working as Oikawa’s maid is more...normal than you would have expected. Not that you’re complaining and other than the embarrassing maid outfit he makes you wear, complete with frilly bow and garters, the chores are mundane. Bring breakfast to him and wake him. Clean his room and do his laundry when he’s away at meetings or jobs. Make sure guests have refreshments when they come over to his large estate, a mansion you now also call home. 

If you’re honest, it’s much more relaxing than the multiple part-time jobs you had been juggling previously, and with free board, free food, and the substantial paycheck that regularly makes its way to your bank account, you can see your future brightening up again. When your duties are done for the day, you resume practicing for interviews and keeping up with the industry, feeling emboldened and empowered to finally resume working towards the career path you had always dreamed of. 

But the more time you spend with Oikawa, the closer and more entangled in your life the brunette becomes. Alarm bells ring wildly in your head as you’re forced to join him for meals, forced to dress in elaborate gowns and jewelry while you’re waltzed around on his arm, forced to travel around the world with him, and attend to him like a glorified assistant. He’s too charming, too familiar, too bold, and you can’t help but feel like you’re racing towards some inevitable crash as he easily brushes aside any boundaries between the two of you. 

You know so many women would kill to be in your shoes and you can understand why, not completely immune to his playful smile and the lilt of his voice yourself. But you know better, know exactly how dangerous it would be to get involved with a man like Oikawa Tooru. 

It’s clear from the crimson stains on the clothes he leaves for you to either dispose of, or have cleaned. It’s clear from the wails and sobs of woman after woman he uses and tosses aside like garbage on an almost daily basis. It’s clear from the guns, knives, and weapons, most of which you don’t even know the name of, filling up all the walls, drawers, and cabinets.  

So you do your best to keep your distance, building titanium walls around your heart. Always polite, too terrified of what would happen if you pissed him off, but cold enough to deter him from more amorously or intimately testing his boundaries. 

And it seems to work as he turns his eyes towards other women, leaving you alone after throwing a few flirty comments and winks your way and ultimately falling in bed with some other poor damsel. But you nervously gulp when it’s just the two of you one night and just as you’re ready to make yourself scarce after turning down his bed and laying out his pajamas, his voice beckons you over and you anxiously bite your lower lip at the sight of pills of all shapes and sizes splayed out across his desk.    

Other than your prescription medicine, you don’t have a lot of experience with drugs other than the few blunts here and there during your college years and you had always strictly kept to your recommended doses, never even entertaining the idea of taking more. So the sight in front of you is overwhelming and you hesitantly stare anywhere but at the table surface, anxiously waiting for Oikawa to explain why he called you over. But what you’re not expecting is the warm hand gently grasping your wrist and holding your arm out, small objects being carefully placed in your outstretched palm, and soft coaxing from Oikawa to “give them a try”. 

Every part of you is screaming to throw the pills and make a run for it, begging you to come up with some excuse or just outright reject his offer. But it’s as if your body is frozen and he firmly pushes your hand to your mouth, grip tightening enough to make you wince when you hesitate to listen. The slight pain is enough to remind you that you’re not exactly in any position to negotiate and you force yourself to down the pills and gulp down the glass of water he holds to your lips. 

The last thing you remember is the unsettling feeling of beginning a descent to an unknown place from which there is no return as Oikawa pulls you to his bed. And then euphoria floods through you as your body slots against his larger frame. 

It feels good. Too good. Unnaturally good. But it’s intoxicating and you can’t help but let yourself drown in the hazy waves crashing down upon you, feeling lighter, freer, happier than you have for years. You vaguely register roaming hands, a hot wet mouth, a body on top of yours, something hard pressing against the apex of your thighs, filling you, consuming you in heady pleasure only amplified by the drugs coating your insides.  

Bliss. Pleasure. Pure unadulterated joy. And then nothing. 

When you come to, the weight of what had happened last night comes crashing down on you, making your foggy mind throb even more and you can feel bile rising inside of you as a toned arm around your waist tightens its hold on you. Oikawa grunts in annoyance when you claw your way out from his hold, scampering on shaky legs to his bathroom, heaving and expelling the contents of your stomach, trying futilely to cleanse yourself of your employer’s touch. 

You flinch when you hear footsteps approach, shrinking into the corner of the tiled room, body crouched and curled into a tight ball as you try to save any shred of dignity you still have by hiding your naked body as much as you can from his prying eyes. Salty drops threaten to trail down your face when he hovers over you, sweetly cooing down at you “not to be like this”, “you liked it so much last night”, “come back to bed with me” only to stream down your face when his countenance swiftly changes, handsome face glowering down at you before brusquely turning away and snapping at you to “get on with your work then if you’re going to be an annoying bitch”. 

It’s easy to convince yourself that you’re just being smart, just trying to survive as you obediently wash up and don your humiliating uniform, that it isn’t just you being a coward as you submissively go about your usual work day, still sitting with thighs pressed against Oikawa’s legs at meals, making no move to brush off the heavy arm he slings around your shoulders, only slightly flinching when his fingertips teasingly play with the hem of your skirt as he converses with the rest of the Seijoh Four. 

But you can’t deny that all you are is a weak fool, desperate to live when you shakily accept the pills he pushes towards you again that night, silently crying yet not doing anything to prevent the inevitable as you swallow any self-respect or pride you had along with the smooth pellets under his watchful gaze, too scared of the glimmer of gunmetal you see on the inside of his jacket to even think of resisting. 

And history repeats itself. Over and over again. 

Oikawa smiles at how different you are from that skittish creature who fled from his every touch, smirking at how naive and innocent you still are as you try to hide how eager you are for your daily dose, unaware of how he’s slowly been increasing it every night, ignorant of how you unconsciously lean into his touches, pretty lips wrapping around his fingers as he hand feeds you. 

Do you know what an animal you are in bed these days? Do you realize how little there is left to differentiate you from one of his filthy whores when you’re so doped up on whatever he gives you, moaning like a pornstar and leaving vicious red claw marks on his skin as you bounce on his cock? 

And he knows it’s time to move onto the next phase of your conditioning when there’s not even a speck of shame in your clear eyes when the sunlight begins to filter through the window, knowingly smiling in satisfaction when instead of slinking off to wallow in your regret you shimmy down between his legs and begin to nuzzle and mouth his morning wood, face full of nothing but wanton desire as you take his cock in your mouth. 

He doesn’t give you anything that night. Or the next night. Or the one after that. He doesn’t so much as even look at you outside of your usual eye contact, not a single flirtatious word slipping past his lips.

You should be grateful. This is what you wanted, right? To keep things strictly professional between the two of you. To not be coerced into the artificial pleasure you’ve been swallowing on a daily basis for the last month now. To not feel like just another warm body for Oikawa to taint. 

Your interview notes and open tab of job listings are right there, begging for your attention, practically screaming at you to pursue the life you’ve always dreamed of. 

Yet here you are, not even a week later, on your knees in between Oikawa’s legs as he leisurely reclines in his chair, peppering his inner thighs with kisses and rubbing your face against the growing bulge in his trousers, begging and pleading for another dose, feeling utterly empty and cold inside, unable to sleep, unable to focus, unable to function without the nights of hazy ecstasy. 

Your heart drops at the long disappointed sigh the brunette releases. 

“Drugs are expensive, cutie. I was just being nice and letting you try some new batches we’ve been producing, but now that they’re on the market, I can’t just keep on giving them to you for free.” 

He rolls his eyes when you adamantly tell him you’ll pay whatever the price is, a condescending smirk splitting his face from how quick you are to shut up, soul crushed when he reveals the extravagant cost, a price he knows you can’t afford with the salary he’s providing you with. 

But he artfully softens his smile as he begins to unbuckle his pants, sliding the fabric down and letting his throbbing cock spring into view, chuckling when it lightly slaps your face as it’s released from its confines, wondering if you’re drooling from the sight of his erection or the pills he’s playfully placing along the length of it. 

“I know you don’t have that money, cutie. But I’d be willing to accept other forms of payments.”

The words are barely out of his mouth before you’re rushing to take him in his mouth and he loudly laughs at how obscene you look, slobbering all over his length, fervently bobbing your head up and down, hastily trying to deep throat him to reach the pill strategically placed right at the base of his shaft, lips puckering as you inhale the drugs, swallowing around him in a way that has him groaning as you stuff your face full of chemicals and pre-cum. And it doesn’t take much longer for him to wash your mouth and throat with warm rivulets of sticky white fluids as he watches the goods take effect, his balls tightening and cock straining with arousal as you reach between your legs, fingers playing with your tight dripping hole while your lewd moans vibrate against him. 

It’s pathetically endearing how you can’t keep off of him after that, insisting on sitting on his lap during meals, your cute ass grinding against his clothed cock, always dropping to your knees in between chores, warming his cock in your greedy mouth, always asking him how many pills you’ve earned so far. You really are just his little slutty drug addict now, aren’t you? 

But he needs you to be more than that, needs you to learn that you belong to anyone who’s willing to give you the high you crave, needs you to realize that you’re just a free use drug addicted whore for anyone and everyone to use. 

So despite how tempting it is to just plunge balls deep inside your tight little pussy, he shoves you off of him one night as you try to grind against his body, feigning exhaustion and boredom of your body, watching in amusement at the panicked crazed look that flashes across your face at his words. Well aren’t you a beautiful sight, throwing yourself at his feet and groveling, saying you’ll do anything for another dose. 

Anything, huh? 

In your defense, even through the daze of your withdrawal, there’s still a wary expression on your face when Matsukawa and Hanamaki enter the room. Maybe you aren’t as broken as Oikawa had thought. But when you see the little baggies filled with the tablets you’ve become far too familiar with twirling between the duo’s fingers, you practically lunge at them and Oikawa finally allows himself the pleasure of reaching into his pants and stroking himself to the debauched sight playing out in front of him. 

Maybe he needs to fuck you in front of a mirror more often if this is what you look like from an outside perspective. It’s like you were made to be used, to be just a warm toy for men to use and Oikawa can’t help but think you look best like this, cocks penetrating both your front and back holes, your body squeezed between two bodies. And he fondly smiles at how you have Hanamaki’s face between the palms of your hands, your lips locked in a sloppy kiss as your tongue ravages the strawberry blonde’s mouth, searching for the pills the man had playfully placed on the tip of his tongue in front of your very eyes before winking at you and telling you to come and get them yourself if you wanted them so badly. 

They keep your daily training a surprise, mixing up who gets to wreck your body each day, how many cocks and rounds of cum you’ll need to pay with, what pills and dosage you get. Always keeping you lost and confused, making sure your mind is just a muddled mess that can only think of reaching your next high by any means necessary. 

Hell, even Iwaizumi takes part when he realizes that you’re beyond the point of no return, that Oikawa wasn’t joking when he said that there is no other choice for you anymore. This is your life now. This is who you are now. This is your “happily ever after”. He knows all that, can see all that in the way your dazed eyes only come to life at the sight of your addiction, your otherwise listless body perking up at the sound of the tiny objects rattling in their container. And yet a small sliver of guilt has him growling at you to get on all fours, ensuring your face isn’t visible, turning you into just another body for him to mindlessly use as he pleases. 

It’s an uncomfortable position, borderline painful as your knees rock back and forth on the hard floor with every brutal thrust of Iwaizumi’s hips. But you don’t care, the aching pain in your legs just dull background noise as you fixate on the tablets scattered on the floor in front of your face, dropping your entire upper body low to the ground, only your hips raised high as your mouth snaps forward. You’re so close and you mewl as your lips make contact with the first pill, uncaring of the pitiful sight you make licking and lapping the floor, whimpering when a hand firmly grabs you by the hair and roughly pulls your face away from your feast. 

“Maybe we should get you a dog bowl, cutie. It’s humiliating even for you to be eating from the dirty floor like that. Hold her hair for me, Iwa-chan.” 

You crane your neck back and forth, jaw jutting forward as you frantically fight against the tight grip holding you back, mouth drooling and tongue extending like a ravenous animal. But it’s no use and you whine, too focused on your unfinished “meal” to notice how Oikawa is still standing in front of you, cock pulled out from his pants, his hands rapidly fisting the shaft. And only when thick white spurts glaze the remaining pills do you whip your attention towards him, staring with hopeful wide eyes when he crouches in front of you and grabs your face. 

“When Iwa-chan lets go of your hair, you’ll get to have the rest of your treats, but you also have to eat the special seasoning I’ve generously given you, okay? If I see even a speck of it left, you’re not getting anything tomorrow, understand?”

Oikawa laughs at how vigorously you nod your head and with a nod in Iwaizumi’s direction, you’re released and the two men watch on as you lick the floor until it’s sparkling clean, slumping your face in the mess of your own drying saliva as you reach euphoria once more. You wail as Iwaizumi shoves you off a cliff and into floating clouds of bliss with one last thrust, the drugs in your system weaving a comforting cocoon around you that you melt into, unable to escape its soothing pull, giggling in content as his seed fills you to the brim. 

There’s silence as Iwaizumi pulls out of you, tucking himself back into his pants before sitting besides Oikawa, joining him as he continues observing your used and drugged up body sprawled across the floor, a dopey smile on your face as cum begins to leak out of your spent pussy. 

Minutes pass and Iwaizumi sighs, knowing what Oikawa is waiting for him to ask despite how insistent he has been over the years about not wanting to be involved in this particular side of the business...

“Are you going to have her start working at the brothel soon? She seems just about ready.” 

“Not yet. I want to give her a few test runs first before I have her work full-time at that establishment. She’s only been with the four of us, so I’m curious to see how she is with a complete stranger. It’s perfect timing too since Sawamura is coming over for a meeting soon and I know he won’t damage the goods if I gift her to him for a night or two. Plus, she hasn’t completely lost her mind yet so we can get some more use out of her before we toss her aside...”

The brunette rambles on, tone light and airy as if he’s just discussing the weather or a TV show he watched, as if he’s not mere feet away from a woman he’s utterly destroyed and rebuilt into just another brainless profit-making doll. 

And Iwaizumi tunes him out, already having heard almost this exact speech countless times by now, unable to even keep track of how many others like you there have been in the past, unwilling to think about how many more there will be in the future. But he snorts at Oikawa’s typical closing line.

“I guess it’s almost time to find a new cute maid.” 

[btswrckd]

War of Hearts II

Mafia Boss!Taehyung x Fem!Reader

Summary: Being in an arranged marriage with Kim Taehyung does not mean you have to be civil. Or make his life easy.

Warnings: mentions of violence, mentions o weapons, mentions of blood, slight angst, next chapter will be smut

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Taehyung isn’t sure how you can sleep through the night after the little stunt you’d pulled, but he finds himself tossing and turning through most of it. When he does finally manage to fall asleep at the fun hour of 3 o’clock in the damn morning, he’s woken an hour later by the dipping of the bed from your side. “Going somewhere, princess?”

“I have to pee,” you snap, “or will you be holding my hand to the bathroom as well?”

“Is that an invitation?” He grins, tucking one arm behind his head. Huh. Maybe you aren’t as well rested as he thinks. Maybe you’d spent the night just as frustrated. At least he isn’t alone in that.

“Shut up, Tae.” You stomp across the room and slam the bathroom door behind you. You can hear him laughing from the other side and silently contemplate shoving him off the bed when you return. You hadn’t slept, body anticipating his touch every time he moved but it never came and then you’d deflate in disappointment. You don’t know what time he plans on starting his day and hope it’s soon because you need space. You need room to think back on last night and figure out where the hell your sudden boldness came from. Where had you gotten the idea to touch him from? You were pretty bitter about the incident in the living room, sure, but to play a dangerous game like that? 6 months ago, you wouldn’t even dream of it. Now you’re panicking in the privacy of your personal bathroom because what, you actually want to sleep with your husband? You’re fairly sure you won’t be the first woman having sex with her own husband, but still, it was Taehyung. Tae. The chubby cheeked little kid who’d been your partner in crime at boring dinner parties that both yours and his parents attended. What kind of audacity did he have becoming so fucking attractive? Who allowed this?

“Are you going to actually use the restroom?” Taehyung’s voice startles you as he leans against the doorway. “Or can I brush my teeth?”

You didn’t hear him open the door. You hadn’t even locked it like you usually do. You’d forgotten and that irritates you. It means you’re letting your guard down when you can’t afford to. Not today of all days. You look at him, see the hunger swirling in his eyes, and your stomach drops because it’s been a very long time since any man has looked at you like that. “What time is it?”

“4:30,” he responds with a sigh, rolling his neck to release the tension that built overnight. “Why are you up so early, princess?”

“Why are you?” you fire back quickly and see him grin. He’s always known that you have a habit of deflecting when you can’t answer a question or explain yourself. His eyes drift down to the purple bruises around your neck, a lasting result from his mouth yesterday, and he smirks. You step back when he pushes off the door jamb and stalks forward, lightly gripping your chin.

“I wasn’t able to sleep,” he answers your question, “because my wife likes to play games and leave me with the worst case of blue balls I’ve ever had.” He watches your breath hitch and his smirk grows wider. “Then she runs into the bathroom and forgets to lock the door after winning said game from last night. As if I won’t come in, bend her over the sink, and play my own little game.”

“Just brush your teeth, Taehyung!” you squeak, shoving at his chest and rushing out of the bathroom before your mouth has a chance to ignore your brain, and most likely ask what kind of game he’s talking about. You throw yourself on the bed and burrow beneath the blankets in hopes of disappearing.

Taehyung doesn’t actually brush his teeth. He didn’t really need to. It was the only excuse he had for checking up on you after 30 minutes of silence. He does, however, splash cold water on his face to cool the heat spreading through his body. Last night is still very fresh in his mind and just being near you sets him off. He makes his way back to bed, falling onto the mattress and praying he’ll get a few more hours of sleep.

You peek out from underneath the blankets when he sighs, burying his face into a pillow. His nose scrunches up in discomfort. You know that it’s because he can’t fall asleep, can’t stop thinking about last night, despite having to be up soon to do...whatever the hell he does. Truthfully, you won’t be falling asleep either, even though you really need to if you’re going to pull off what you have planned for the day. Scooting closer, you see his eyes drift open in silent question, but you dip beneath the weight of his arm and tuck your head to his chest. His breathing stops for a moment before his hold tightens and he shifts onto his side, nuzzling his face into your hair. It’s this way, snuggled up to Taehyung, that you finally fall asleep to the sound of his steady heartbeat.

The shrill ringing of the alarm clock has you jumping in Taehyung’s embrace. You swear you had just shut your eyes before the screeching woke you, but looking at the time, you see that it had actually been 4 hours later. Taehyung blindly reaches for the clock, pressing random buttons until it finally quiets down and wrapping his arm around your waist once more. The shuffling of feet outside the bedroom door alerts him to Jungkook’s presence and the hushed tones of someone asking how he’s still alive alerts him to Jimin’s company as well. Right. He’d forgotten that they’d be taking you on another book haul after he’d ruined the one from yesterday.

At first, he had shut down the idea entirely when Seokjin texted him after his shower. Seokjin insisted that you be out of the house by the afternoon and Taehyung insisted on tearing his head off if he kept on with that nonsense. But Seokjin had just gotten a call from Namjoon and Hoseok that they were on their way back, and that they’d contacted Cecil for a meeting. To which Taehyung responded by reiterating that you needed to stay in the house until it was dealt with. He doesn’t remember how Seokjin had convinced him to let you go, but he had, and now he’s supposed to wake you up to get ready when he doesn’t want to.

“Princess,” his voice is groggy and barely audible, but you stir nonetheless. “Jungkookie and Jimin are going to take you somewhere today.”

“Where?” you mumble into his chest, brushing the tip of your nose beneath his chin.

“It’s a surprise.”

“I don’t like surprises.” You shift against him, tossing one leg over his hip.

“This one you will.” He smiles against your hair and presses a kiss to the top of your head. “It’s not like you to deny going out.”

“When I have more energy to burn, I like going out.” You don’t know why, but you’re working your mouth against the skin of his neck, teeth playfully nipping at him. “Not when I’m running on 4 hours of sleep.”

“Even if it means getting to pick out a new book?” He teases, and you’re up in a flash, stumbling to the bathroom to get ready. Your love for books and knowledge rivals Namjoon’s and between the two of you, Taehyung isn’t sure how there’s not a daily debate on whatever topic either of you bring up. Yesterday, when you’d rifled through half the shelves at the store, you resembled a kid in a candy store.

“Boss.” Jimin knocks on the door as Taehyung gets out of bed to answer it. He grins at Taehyung when he sees the look on his face. “Morning, boss. How’d you sleep?”

“Don’t let her out of your sight,” Taehyung snaps at him in return, yet Jimin merely laughs. “I don’t care if she brings home the whole fucking store, as long as she makes it home, am I understood?”

“Yes, sir.” Jimin nods, side eyeing one upset looking Jeon Jungkook and gesturing to him. “If it makes you feel any better, Taehyung, you’re not the only one who thinks she should stay in.”

“Are you saying she should be out and about with everything that’s going on?”

“I’m saying that despite whatever progress you’ve made as a couple,” Jimin clarifies, “if she continues to feel suffocated, she’ll lose her mind. You’ve seen it happen.”

Taehyung opens his mouth to argue with him when you duck beneath his arm, fresh faced and dressed in a simple pair of jeans and a t-shirt, a jacket hanging over your arm, and the backpack you’re sure to fill with books. You step up next to Jungkook, nudging his side with your elbow and not so subtly tilting your head Taehyung’s way.

Jungkook looks like he’d rather vomit than say whatever is lingering on his tongue, but you pin him with a look that says he’d better spit it out. “Yesterday,” he clears his throat and looks to his feet as he addresses Taehyung, “I was out of line, boss.”

Jimin reels back in shock, Taehyung following his lead. Jungkook is still young and while he makes for a great marksman and an even better fighter, his mindset can be hard to crack through. Though he’d never been defiant against Taehyung, he could still be stubborn in his ways and would sooner chew off his own arm than admit he was wrong. So, this is what you were up to last night. Taehyung had known you’d been texting Jungkook, he just didn’t know what about and had honestly forgotten all about it until now.

You give Jungkook another hard nudge and when he shakes his head, you stomp on the top of his foot. Both Jimin and Taehyung raise their brows at the way you dig your heel in until Jungkook finally caves and lifts his foot to get you off.

“Arlight!” Jungkook hisses in pain and resists the urge to kick off his shoe to see if you’d broken any bones. “I shouldn’t have overstepped and it won’t happen again.”

“Let’s go,” you announce with satisfaction and shoulder past Jungkook, who limps after your retreating figure.

Jimin waits until you’re both out of sight to throw his head back and roar with laughter, nearly toppling over as he wheezes. “Sh-She really made him apologize. She got the most stubborn person on the planet to say he’s sorry. Oh, my God, I really think she’s my new favorite person.”

“She most likely did it for his benefit more than mine.” Taehyung is still unable to fully process what just happened. “Losing Jungkookie as her bodyguard would devastate her.”

“Even so,” Jimin gasps as he tries to catch his breath, “she still got him to admit he was wrong. That was gold. I should have recorded it.”

“Yoongi probably already did.”

-------------------------------------------------

Namjoon and Hoseok arrive back at the house not long after you leave, refusing to believe Yoongi’s tale of Jungkook’s apology.

“No way.” Hoseok shakes his head. “Jungkook would rather shoot himself in the foot than admit he was wrong.”

“Hobi’s right,” Namjoon agrees with a nod. He’s sitting in the chair next to Yoongi’s in the security room while Taehyung and Seokjin prepare for Cecil’s visit. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

“Then I suppose it’s a good thing I got it on camera.” Yoongi snickers, pulling up the feed from this morning and pressing play.

Namjoon and Hoseok simultaneously wince when you shove your foot into Jungkook’s and put a good amount of pressure on it for some time. They listen to Jungkook apologize without really using the words ‘I’m sorry’, but it seems to be good enough for you. It’s when he limps after you that Namjoon and Hoseok share an amused look before bursting into laughter.

“Jimin is so lucky he was there.” Hoseok wipes at an invisible tear as Seokjin steps into the room with a questioning look.

“Do you 3 mind getting your asses in gear and getting the hell out here?” Seokjin scolds them. “Cecil just pulled through the gate.”

Namjoon, Hoseok, and Yoongi right themselves before following Seokjin to the living room where Taehyung is already waiting. They move to stand behind him just as Cecil strolls in through the foyer. All but Taehyung sneer at him and the two men at his side.

Cecil is an old, sweaty, greasy excuse of a man that couldn’t be more than 5’5. He’s balding, though he attempts to cover it up with a toupee, his stomach hangs over the waistline of his pants, and he smiles with crooked and yellow teeth. Even his appearance could be looked past if he wasn’t such a piece of shit person. Before Mr. Kim had gotten involved, Cecil had dabbled in human trafficking, mostly targeting women and girls 13 and older. When Mr. Kim had begun building his empire, Cecil was desperate to work underneath him, but Mr. Kim had demolished the trafficking ring Cecil had run in response. Cecil had exploded and accused Mr. Kim of being a hypocrite when Mr. Kim himself had dealt in drugs and assassinations. Mr. Kim admitted to being an awful person, but neither he nor anyone wishing to work with him would ever deal in people. Needless to say, Cecil had never gained Mr. Kim’s trust and very few people chose to work with Cecil anymore. Everything about this poor excuse of a man is nauseating.

“Kim,” Cecil greets with a sneer of his own, “you’re very much like your father, aren’t you? Sticking your nose in my business where it doesn’t belong.”

“Your business with the Seong family is my business, Cecil.” Taehyung peers at the two men flanking either side of Cecil. “What do you want from them?”

“Who says I want anything?” Cecil taunts. “I saw a pretty face and wanted it for my collection. I wasn’t aware she was a Seong girl.”

“And my wife,” Taehyung informs through clenched teeth. “You were aware that this is my home, and that she lives here, so why the fuck are you really circling around here, you greasy son of a bitch?”

“I knew this was your home when my boys scoped it out.” Cecil nods, observing the living room carefully. “I just thought the Seong brothers put her under your protection. I had no idea she was your new whore.”

Fire flashes in Taehyung’s eyes, nostrils flaring, as he steps in Cecil’s direction. “My original plan was to find out what you wanted and be done with you. Now the only way you’ll be leaving here is in pieces.”

Namjoon and Hoseok advance on the two men Cecil has with them. The men fight, but they’re no match for Namjoon and Hoseok, going down quite easily. Seokjin and Yoongi draw their guns quickly, both cocking back the firing pin as Cecil panics.

“I’m not the one that’s after her!” Cecil admits, hands raised in surrender. “I don’t know who is!”

“Don’t fuck with me, Cecil.” Taehyung raises a hand to stop Seokjin and Yoongi from pulling the trigger.

“I’m not!” Cecil insists. “It’s like this, okay? I’m sitting in my office one day, giving over some books for a new product I want to move when I get a call from a number that’s untraceable. They tell me to look into the Seong family, that there’s only one living girl left, and they want to get their hands on her. They tell me I’m the only one who can get it done, and they wired $1 million into my account as payment, but by the time I got to the Seong brothers, the girl was gone. She’d been moved and I told them that the next time they called. They were the ones who told me where to find her, they were the ones who set up the plan to trick your cameras, I just had the perfect lackey, that’s all.”

“What else do they want from her?” Yoongi is the one to ask, hand shaking with rage at the thought of someone getting to you.

“They didn’t say. Just that they wanted her.”

“Boss.” Namjoon looks panicked, and Taehyung is about to ask why when the sound of the front door opening hits his ears.

“Fuck,” Taehyung hisses, swiftly barreling into the foyer. He relaxes when he finds that his father is the one coming through the door. “Dad, you should have called.”

“I did.” Mr. Kim pats his son’s shoulder. “Y/N said she was out and that you’d be busy at home.”

“Why did you call Y/N?”

“Because she’s my daughter-in-law,” Mr. Kim states as if that should have been enough of an explanation, “whom I happen to adore very much, so if you’re done lecturing me, then shall we proceed?”

Taehyung guides his father back to Cecil and his unconscious men, nodding his head at Namjoon when he’s met with a questioning raise of Namjoon’s eyebrow.

“Mr. Kim.” Hoseok beams at Taehyung’s father as he looms over one of two beaten men.

“Always a pleasure, Hoseok.” Mr. Kim returns his smile fondly before turning his attention to Cecil. “I’m not at all surprised that you’re behind this, Cecil. I am, however, surprised that you were stupid enough to believe you could get away with it.”

“My men are expecting me back soon,” Cecil informs the room and is less than enthused to find that Mr. Kim’s smile has not faltered. “If I’m not back, they have orders to swarm this place and swoop down on your girl, Kim.”

“Of course.” Mr. Kim nods at his declaration in the same way a mother would do to a child that’s spouting a lie. “I believe you, Cecil, I truly do. Unfortunately for you, there are no men left to wait for you.”

“What have you done?”

“It’s been brought to my attention that perhaps I’ve been too lenient with you and that I’ve killed men for far less than you’ve done. I plan on fixing that, starting with the complete eradication of your entire syndicate. Well, what’s left of it, anyways.”

“This is your son’s mess,” Cecil bellows, feeling his knees shake at the new information being given to him. If what Mr. Kim said rings true, then he won’t be able to rebuild. He’d already been hanging by a thread as is. “But here you are to clean it up for him while he runs around playing ‘boss’. Pathetic.”

“This isn’t a mess,” Mr. Kim corrects him with a dangerously straight face. “Nor is it something for my son to handle on his own when it affects the entire family. This is us coming to a solution for a problem that will soon cease to exist.”

Hoseok and Namjoon rush to Cecil with a wave of Mr. Kim’s hand, gripping him by the shoulders and dragging him back through the front door to Mr. Kim’s waiting car. They wrestle him into the back seat where two of Mr. Kim’s men sit patiently.

“You’re sure all of his men are dead?” Taehyung asks his father.

“Every single one,” he assures. “We’ll handle Cecil from here. It’ll get bloody and your mother’s used to seeing it on my hands. Y/N hasn’t had to clean you up after a job yet, I’d like to help you keep it that way.”

“Cleaning him up isn’t exactly what she’d do,” Hoseok jokes upon his return to the living room. “More like make him sleep on the couch.”

Taehyung rolls his eyes while his father and Hoseok share a laugh. He doesn’t argue against Hoseok’s joke because it’s true. Though it would be more from being pissed off that he’d get into a fight in the first place than it would out of concern for staining an expensive set of sheets. When his phone rings, he barely hears it over the ruckus that is his father and idiot friend, but he fishes it from his pocket when he finally does hear it. “Jungkook.”

“She’s gone,” Jungkook is panting from having run around the entire bookstore and then around the entire neighborhood.

“What the fuck do you mean gone?!” Taehyung’s voice booms so loud that Seokjin and Yoongi drop the two men they’d been working on disposing of. “Where?! How?!”

“She went to the restroom, but never came out.” Jungkook can feel his chest tightening with each passing minute. He needs to find you. Not just for the sake of his own life. For the desperate need to make sure you’re still alive yourself. “We took all the precautions. No one was in there when she went in. We kept watch, boss, I swear on my life. She just never came out.”

Yoongi doesn’t need to be told to hop onto his tablet and tap into your phone. His fingers are already racing across the screen when Taehyung turns to him. Mr. Kim is rushing out with his own phone to his ear, barking orders to search the entire city, shut it completely down if need be. Namjoon, Hoseok, and Seokjin feel helpless when all they can do is wait for Taehyung’s command. They could attempt to hack your phone, but that’s what Yoongi’s for, and if he can’t find you then they for damn sure won’t be able to.

Taehyung is running through every possibility in his head and finds nothing to clue him in as to where you could be. Yoongi’s frantic ‘I found her!’ has everyone gathering around him, Taehyung’s nostrils flaring at the location on the screen. He still has Jungkook on the phone, informing him that, “We know where she is, Jungkook, calm yourself now. Get Jimin and meet me back at the house as fast as you can. We’re going to pick her up.”

“You want us to ride with you?” Namjoon asks, the concern in his eyes quickly morphing into anger. If anything had happened to you…

“No,” Taehyung sighs as he hangs up the phone. “I want Yoongi and Hoseok to go talk to the Ahn brothers. They have eyes and ears everywhere. I’m sure they can give us some answers.”

“I’d rather go with you,” Hoseok chimes in. “Y/N has a tendency to listen more when I’m there.”

“Everyone has a tendency to listen more when you’re around, Hoseok,” Seokjin points out.

“Which is exactly why you’re going with Yoongi to the Ahn brothers.” Taehyung begins dialing his father’s number into his phone, hoping to stop him before his men turn over the entire city.

--------------------------------------------------

It’s the second month of your marriage when you finally get your phone and laptop back. You comb through both of them to make sure they still work the way they’re supposed to. Yoongi had promised that he didn’t delete or alter anything and you’d snorted in denial. Taehyung had taken them for a reason and if Yoongi was the one returning them, then they’d both definitely been tampered with. You were holed up in your room for hours, answering emails and text messages, scrolling through Instagram and Facebook to catch up on your friends’ lives, editing pictures that you’d promised Soyoung weeks ago, and called the HR department of your job to confirm if you even still had one. They had seemed confused by your questions and had let you ramble on like an idiot before informing you that the leave of absence paperwork you’d submitted had been approved, and they were looking forward to whenever you were ready to return. It was after the phone call that you realized Taehyung had been the one to submit LOA papers on your behalf. That sneaky little son of a---.

“Y/N?” The tapping of Jungkook’s fingers on your door startles you. “Dinner’s ready. You haven’t eaten all day. If anything’s gone wrong with your phone or laptop, Yoongi will fix it. So, please come out and eat something.”

Your heart melts at his tone, looking to the bedside alarm clock to find that it was nearing 9 o’clock in the evening. Resisting the urge to face palm, you scramble out of bed and race for the door, throwing it open. “I’m sorry, Jungkook, I didn’t mean to worry you.”

“Is everything okay?” He steps back to give you space to move, shutting the door behind you and following along to the dining room. “Is there a problem with your stuff?”

“No, no,” you sigh, shaking your head and running a hand through your already messy hair. “I just lost track of time catching up on some things. I didn’t realize how late it was.”

“Didn’t you get hungry at all?”

“Not when I get busy doing things,” you explain and laugh at the expression on his face, a memory coming to mind. “Namjoon gave me that same look the other day when I was reading a book I borrowed from him. I guess I hadn’t been out of my room all day and missed lunch and dinner, so he came looking for me. I told him that when I was a kid, my mom used to lose her head when she couldn’t find me. At the time, I didn’t fully understand how dangerous it was to wander off by myself. Anyways, her and my dad would tear the house apart looking for me. Turns out, I’d ended up being curled underneath my bed with a book in my hands. The second I learned how to read, I never stopped. It drove my parents nuts because I would become so engrossed in a book that I wouldn’t pay attention to the world around me. They complained that I needed real friends, not imaginary ones, and set up playdates with their friends’ kids. I didn’t have the heart to tell them that I actually had made friends, through the equal admiration and love for a specific book.”

“You must miss them,” he notes and winces at the sheer stupidity of it. Of course you miss them. “I’m sorry. That was a dumb thing to say.”

“No,” you smile at him. “I miss them very much. I was 14 when they died, so they didn’t get to see me grow into adulthood. Some days it’s a little harder than others.”

“I’m sure they would have been very proud.”

“Not if they knew what a huge nerd I stayed,” you joke and earn yourself one of his rare bunny smiles, teeth, dimples, and all. “They never met any of the friends I still have now. Soyoung, Yunhee, and Bora are the same girls who’ve stuck by me for so long. Soyoung was actually the girl I met who loved the same book she’d caught me reading like a loner during recess one day.” You laugh fondly as you recall the start of your friendships. “Or attempting to read, I should say. A few annoying boys from our class had taken the book from my hands and played a little game of keep away. Soyoung saw them, came over, knocked the biggest one to the ground, and challenged the rest of them to a fight. They ran away and Soyoung spent the rest of the time sitting with me to make sure they didn’t come back.”

Jungkook isn’t sure what he’s done to deserve the retelling of a happy memory, but he doesn’t stop you from talking, even when he finally steps into the dining room where Taehyung is already waiting. When he sees Taehyung, he attempts to interrupt your story, though he doesn’t as Taehyung shakes his head with a slight smile on his lips.

“That was the first time I knew what protection was,” you continue while staring off into space, not yet noticing Taehyung standing from the table. “Sure, my parents had their own version of it, but having their security guards around wasn’t the same as having someone around that actually listened to you.”

“Princess.” Taehyung almost laughs at how high you jump in place. “Are you ready to eat something?”

With your trip down memory lane on hold, you walk past him to sit at the table. You think maybe you shared a little too much with Jungkook. For two solid months, you’d managed to hold off giving up your friends’ names, even when Taehyung had offered to have them brought over to stave off your boredom. Nothing had ever sounded so tempting and had you said yes, it would have undoubtedly been an amazing day. Still, you can’t risk their lives for your own selfishness. You look down to the plate filled with carbonara, your favorite, and bite back a smile because you know it was Taehyung’s idea to have it served. You’re not willing to give him the satisfaction of seeing you smile when he had held your phone and laptop hostage for two months.

Taehyung sits beside you as Jungkook stands just a few feet away and Jimin comes in to stand at the other exit. He sees your eyes squint with suspicion and almost tells you that he’s expecting a guest. Instead he taps gently on the table to get your attention. “Is there a specific reason you didn’t eat anything today? Or so much as leave your room?”

You give him a sideways glance, jamming the fork left for you in the pasta. “You had my phone and laptop for the last two months, Taehyung, things piled up.”

“And catching up was more important than eating or seeing the sun?”

“I wasn’t hungry and I prefer the moon to the sun anyways, so yes, catching up was more important.” Only half of that is true and just barely. It’s not that you weren’t hungry at all, it’s that you didn’t notice you were hungry until Jungkook had come to fetch you.

Taehyung rests his elbows on the table, rubbing at his temples and hearing Jimin snicker in the corner of the room. “Princess---.”

Suddenly you lean in close, propping your chin in the palm of your hand and hoping neither Jimin nor Jungkook can hear the next words about to come out of your mouth. Your gaze drops to Taehyung’s lips and then flickers back to the intensity of his eyes, the corners of your mouth tilting up. “Will you fuck me, Tae?”

Taahyung chokes on his own spit as you sit back, satisfied at having rattled him. He’s 100% sure you’re not serious and it’s payback for what he pulled the day he took your computer and phone. Lifting a hand to his mouth, he clears his throat and peers at Jungkook, then Jimin, who hadn’t heard what you said but laughed at Taehyung’s expense all the same. When his eyes land back on you, they’re met with a cat-like grin on your lips, your teeth biting down on the steel fork as you shove pasta into your mouth.

“Cute,” he comments dryly. He’s not completely unamused but he won’t be cracking a smile soon either. You had called him ‘Tae’, a nickname reserved solely for you to use when you’d gifted it to him as children. As a kid, it melted his heart when you would call out his nickname and he would do anything you asked. Now, it brings on an entirely different reaction and he’s adjusting the way he sits, and he knows you know why he’s squirming in his seat.

“Something wrong, Taehyung?” You pretend to be worried, hearing Jimin take a step in the direction of the table in case something was wrong with Taehyung. “You look uncomfortable.”

“I know you’re fucking with me,” he rasps through grit teeth and Jimin freezes in place. “But on the off chance that you’re not, the answer is ‘yes’, princess, I will fuck you tonight. I’m so glad you asked.”

Jungkook lets out an awkward cough as a deep blush creeps up your neck. He looks over at Jimin, the older man nearly doubled over in glee with a hand covering his mouth. He thinks he should step in and give you an excuse to flee, but truthfully, you really should have known better.

“You get on my fucking nerves, Kim Taehyung,” you hiss and hear Jungkook hiccup at the bold way you speak to Taehyung. With a quick glance, you can see his eyes go wide and jaw drop before he looks at Taehyung in a panic.

“Relax, Jungkookie,” Taehyung chuckles darkly, completely abandoning his food in favor of reaching out to grip the back of your neck to pull you close. “I’ve killed for less, you know.”

“Then by all means,” you challenge, have no qualms about matching his glare, “kill me, Taehyung.”

“How charming,” someone quips from the dining room entrance and you snap your head up to look for the unfamiliar voice.

“Hoseok,” Taehyung leans back in his chair and lets you stew in panic for a minute. “You finished your assignment early. You’re not due back for another few weeks.”

“I got impatient.” Hoseok shrugs in response, eyes darting to you. “Ah, so you’re Y/N. I have to say, you’re much prettier than Taehyung gives you credit for.”

“Is that so?” You manage to relax at the familiarity between your husband and this new stranger.

“He really doesn’t do you justice,” Hoseok teases, watching Taehyung tense. “Relax, boss, I’m not going to steal your wife. Though if she happens to fall for my charm then it’s really not my fault.”

Taehyung hears you bite down on a laugh and rolls his tongue against his cheek in irritation. With your attention still on Hoseok, he takes the opportunity to invade your space by leaning in close.“Finish your food, princess, and then go to bed.”

“I’m not a kid, you know.” You turn to him, breath hitching at his proximity. Moments ago, you’d been too pissed to care how close he was, not to mention how mad he was himself. But his face had softened in the last few minutes, now looking at you as he always did.

“I’ll make you a deal,” Taehyung offers, hand coming up to twist your hair in his fingers. “You finish your dinner and I’ll give you anything you want. Sound fair?”

“I want to go back to work.”

Taehyung sighs and leans back in his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Anything but that, Y/N.”

“That counts as anything, Taehyung,” you argue through clenched teeth. “You don’t get to change the rules because you don’t like what I’ve asked for.”

“It’s not safe for you to go back to work right now.”

“Then I’ll take Jungkook with me.” You’re not opposed to begging, not if it gets you back to work. “My cousins used to have men watch over me at my job all the time. As paranoid as Joongki is, he still let me go to work, that’s a testament to how uneventful that place is.”

“The answer is ‘no’.” Taehyung’s voice is firm as he sets his jaw. There are many things he’d be willing to bend on. You leaving the house is not one of them. “Don’t pout at me like a child or like I’ve kicked your puppy. You asked, I answered, and now you deal with that, am I clear?”

“Are you, really?” You push away from the table with so much force that the chair nearly falls backwards in the process. “Or are you going to change your mind when it suits you?”

Jungkook moves behind you quickly should Taehyung decide he’s had enough of your attitude and goes back on his promise to never harm you. He isn’t allowed to stop whatever Taehyung may do, but he is allowed to stop it from going too far.

“Sometimes I think you forget how hard I can push back.” You glare down at your husband. “And how painful that can get for whoever I feel like putting in their place.”

Hoseok lets out a whistle of appreciation after you storm out of the dining room with Jungkook hot on your heels. He looks at Taehyung, chuckles at his tired state, and sits at the table while Jimin decides to join them. “She’s a handful, Taehyung. Are you sure that’s what you want?”

“She’s not a handful,” Taehyung counters lamely because what Hoseok just saw definitely seemed like a handful. “Y/N’s lived like this her entire life and, unlike most of us, doesn’t embrace it.”

“Certainly sounds like she does.” Hoseok plucks the glass of water from where you previously sat and takes a sip. “Or does she only talk like that when she’s throwing a fit?”

“Believe me when I say if she plans on putting someone in their place,” Jimin finally speaks up, “she’s going to do it brutally. You’ll feel pretty stupid afterwards, too, so you should do what you can to avoid arguing with her, Hobi.”

Hoseok snorts. He won’t be intimidated by some girl who thinks she can handle the cruelties of this life just because she’s grown up around it. So has he, but he’s never been arrogant enough to throw out an attitude like that, especially not to a fucking boss of all people. Maybe if Taehyung wasn’t so whipped, he’d teach you what respect is.

“I’m serious, Hoseok.” Jimin is no longer smiling when Hoseok turns back to him. He recognizes the look in Hoseok’s eyes and doesn’t like it. If Taehyung, the one who actually gets a say in how you’re treated, says to never lay a hand on you no matter the circumstance, then all of the boys are to keep their damn hands off. His friend is far from abusive, Hoseok simply respects the chain of command with more passion than anybody. If something threatens that, then he’ll do what’s necessary to protect it. “If you can’t handle Y/N’s attitude, then you stay the hell away from her.”

Hoseok watches Jimin march out of the dining room, rolling his tongue against the inside of his cheek before facing Taehyung. “First Jungkookie looks ready to throw himself between you and her in the middle of a fight, and now Jimin thinks he can just go around threatening anybody. That girl’s power trip must be contagious.”

“We’ve been friends for a long time, Hoseok.” Taehyung curls his hand into a fist on the table and notices Hoseok’s eyes dart to the action. “But if you can’t respect Y/N, then I’ll toss you right back where I found you, rotting in the gutter.”

Hoseok looks down at the table and smiles, not at all bothered by Taehyung’s threat. “She reminds me of your mom. Y/N’s so much like her that I flashed back to the Christmas of our senior year in high school. Remember that?” He doesn’t wait for Taehyung to answer before he continues. “Your father had promised that year’s Christmas to be a work free one, but when she’d caught him on the phone, dealing with another shipment, she lost her mind. She screamed at him, hit him, threatened to disappear from his life if he didn’t get his shit together.”

Taehyung laughs at the memory. “Everyone had been home that Christmas. My grandparents, my aunts, and uncles. They all watched my big bad father get chewed out by a woman who could barely reach his shoulders. They likened it to a pitbull being afraid of a chihuahua. I think that’s why my mother loves Y/N so much, because she doesn’t take anyone’s shit.”

“So she has momma Kim’s seal of approval, huh?”

“The only girl who ever has.”

“You did bring some pretty mean trainwrecks through her house.” Hoseok teases him, though his smile drops as he becomes serious once again. “I know Jimin thinks I’ll hurt Y/N if I think she’s overstepped, but I won’t. If anything, I look forward to watching you cowering under the hateful gaze of your wife. It’ll be the most entertaining thing that’s happened in a long time.”

“All of the boys are excited to watch that happen.” Taehyung shakes his head.

“Are you going to let her go back to work?” Hoseok tilts his head in question. “It won’t be too bad if Jungkook’s with her. Maybe she’ll even let Jimin tag along.”

“I can’t take that chance right now. Joongki might have let her work, but there weren’t any threats against them at the time. Now someone’s after the Seong brothers and if they can use Y/N to do it, they will.”

“This is the Y/N you’ve been obsessed with since you were a kid, isn’t it?”

“I wasn’t obsessed,” Taehyung insists. “At least not in a creepy way.”

“She’s married to you,” Hoseok points out. “The girl you’ve been hopelessly pining after since you were a teenager is now your wife. Tell me that doesn’t sound like a creepy stalker.”

“Shut up, Hobi.”

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Standing across from Taehyung in the break room of your workplace, you grip the strap of your backpack tight and clench your teeth. You should have known better. Honestly, you almost didn’t run off because you knew he’d come chasing you down eventually. Even more honestly, if you didn’t actually want him to know where you were then leaving your phone somewhere miles off would have been the best idea. You’re aware of the ‘discreet’ tracking app that Yoongi had installed on the phone, hiding it amongst the music files as if you hadn’t memorized each and every one.

Coworkers gather around to watch the spectacle Taehyung has created. Some have the decency to pretend they’re not being nosy while others whisper to each other about the handsome stranger you’re facing off with. Most women are trying their hardest to catch his eye, but his focus is solely on you. It drives the women nuts and you almost smile at the thought until Jimin and Jungkook flank Taehyung on either side.

You almost flinch at the look of betrayal on Jungkook’s face. He was in charge of you, of your whereabouts and needs, and you ran from him. You’d snuck off from right under his nose and sent him into a panic, leaving him with no other option than to dial Taehyung. His anxiety subsided when Taehyung calmly explained that he was sure of where’d you be, thus leading them to this moment. You want to explain, to tell him that deceiving him was one of the hardest decisions you’ve made in a long time. There’s relief in his eyes, obviously, but there’s also anger and pain. “Jungkookie, I---.”

“Y/N?” Your friend and ex-boyfriend, Seojun, questions as he enters the break room. He scans over Taehyung, Jungkook, and Jimin, sensing the anger rolling off of you in waves. He steps in your direction to make sure you’re alright. Being broken up doesn’t mean he can’t still care about you. When your eyes cut to him, he catches you wince before the deep bass of Taehyung’s voice recaptures your attention.

“Princess,” Taehyung grits out in irritation when your attention shifts elsewhere. A smirk lights up his features when your eyes dart between him and the man who’d just called your name, panic crossing your features. You don’t want him to know who this is and that’s something he can use to his advantage. “You could have easily avoided my being here if you hadn’t snuck away from Jungkook. You really hurt his feelings, sweetheart. Look at him, he’s heartbroken.”

“Shattered into a million pieces, boss,” Jungkook deadpans, earning himself a spiteful glare. Tilting his chin and raising a brow, he silently questions why you’re the one who’s angry when he’d been running around like a chicken with his head cut off for the past two hours.

“Something of his will be broken soon, but I can assure you it won’t be his heart,” you snap, making Taehyung grin his rare boxy smile that you’d possibly return on any other day. Now though, now you want to slap the smile off his annoyingly handsome face. You see Jimin take a cautious step away from Jungkook in hopes of protecting himself and admittedly, it almost makes you giggle. Jimin always knows how to make you laugh even on the darkest of days, yet as he stands at Taehyung’s side, you know who he’ll always remain loyal to.

Taehyung’s heavy sigh slices the tense air and he’s in front of you in a matter of seconds, tucking a stray hair behind your ear. He can see the internal struggle you have to not recoil at his touch or slap his hand away. Maintaining a public image is something drilled into someone as soon as they step into the mafia life, but he figured you’d be angry enough to not care in front of your coworkers, and expecting you to blow up at him. When you don’t, he suspects it has something to do with the women who haven’t stopped ogling him since he first walked in. “Interesting,” he voices aloud and you jump at the way his fingers slide along the length of your jaw before he tucks his thumb, tilting your chin upward.

Your breath catches in your throat as he steps closer, bridging the gap between you two. It takes everything in you to not bite the thumb currently skimming across your bottom lip. The last time you’d done that, Taehyung had taken it upon himself to return the favor by biting down on the pulse point of your neck. You don’t need a repeat of that incident in front of your coworkers. A sigh escapes you when he wraps his free arm around your waist and nuzzles his face in your hair.

“You don’t want me,” Taehyung whispers in your ear, playfully nipping at it, “but you don’t want them to have me either, do you, princess?”

You grit your teeth, dropping your forehead to his chest, and using your hair as a curtain to hide your mouth. “I don’t care if they want you, Kim Taehyung. You could take any of them home right now if you wanted to and I wouldn’t give a damn.”

“Don’t tempt me, Y/N,” he growls low and it’s then that you realize how angry he truly is. Taehyung doesn’t use your real name with the exception of introductions during a dinner party, charity event, and when you get too stubborn in your ways. “If you want me to take a girl home and fuck her brains out while you sit and stew in your own denial, then I will.”

You stiffen in his arms, the mere thought making you nauseous. You know damn well how eager any one of these girls would be to jump in bed with him. Suddenly, a certain presence looms over the room, something dark makes the place feel smaller than it already is. “Seojun,” you breathe with realization. It’s him, his stare nearly burning a hole into the side of your face as his jealousy blankets the room.

Taehyung grits his teeth, hand sliding up to tighten at the nape of your neck and knotting the hair there. His fingers twitch against your scalp as he’s about to move away to face whoever the hell Seojun is. His grip loosens and fear strikes the air before you’re looping your arms through his to lock together at his back. The embrace is seemingly romantic to everyone else, but he knows that it’s to keep him in place.

He sighs once more and skims his fingers down to massage the tension in your neck, lips brushing against your cheek as he pretends to ignore what you’ve just said. “Can I kiss you, princess? And then every girl in here will know who I belong to. Sound good to you, baby?”

You’re on the tips of your toes, gripping the back of his neck, and tugging him down into a kiss as soon as he finishes the question. The hand in your hair tugs on it gently, silently asking for you to open up to him, but you’re already pulling away before it goes too far. Public affection is never something you could bring yourself to like but Taehyung makes it a little more tolerable. Even so, this was still your place of work and it requires a level of professionalism that you’re one more kiss away from throwing out the window.

Taehyung grins against your mouth as your chest heaves and he straightens up to take the backpack hanging from your shoulder. He tosses the bag to Jimin, who immediately digs through it in search of your work vest. With Cecil’s men dead and Jungkook on a new level of awareness after your disappearing act, enough of the threats to the Seong family have been eliminated for you to work peacefully. You’re not entirely out of the woods just yet, there’s still the matter of finding who paid Cecil, but he’s already spoken with your boss about Jungkook hanging around and keeping an eye on you. He’ll send Jimin down to help after the house has been cleaned up.

Jimin produces your vest and tosses it to Taehyung after swiping the name badge clipped on the fabric. He hands Jungkook the backpack to rifle through the contents, catching a quick peek of your puzzle book. Such a nerd, he thinks as a fond smile spreads across his face.

“I could murder her,” Jungkook mumbles from beside Jimin. “Scaring the shit out of us like that. Almost getting us killed because Taehyung was so pissed.”

“You have to admit that her determination is admirable,” Jimin jokes, nudging Jungkook with his elbow. “Come on, Jungkookie, don’t stay upset with her for too long. You saw the look on her face when we came in. She didn’t like sneaking away from us, but did we give her any other choice? No. So stop pouting and hold down the fort until I get back.”

Jungkook snorts in response. He’s still pissed off at himself for letting you slip through his fingers like that. Jimin only chuckles under his breath and Jungkook is left rolling his eyes. He catches the sight of Seojun in the process, the man’s mouth parted with confusion and brows pinched together in anger. Jungkook looks Seojun over and notes the way his eyes never leave you and Taehyung. Elbowing Jimin to get his attention, he gestures to Seojun, and Jimin clocks the way Seojun’s fists curl at his sides.

Taehyung is too busy swinging the vest around your shoulders to pay any more attention to Seojun. Pulling the zipper up to secure your vest, he tugs you a step closer and fiddles with the pull tab while pressing his forehead to yours. “You can stay, sweetheart.”

“I can?” You break out into a smile before you can stop yourself, pulling back to see his face. If he’s pulling a cruel joke, you’ll kill him. You will 1,000% murder your husband on the spot. But no, he’s not teasing you. “Seriously?”

“Under the condition that Jungkookie stays with you,” Taehyung clarifies, setting his jaw. When you bite your bottom lip in attempt to stop your smile, he tests your giddiness by leaning in for another quick kiss that you happily return. “Jimin will be back in about an hour to help him keep watch. So don’t try to run away from either of them.”

“I promise!” You throw your arms around his shoulders and squeeze him close. To a normal couple, being told that one actually has permission to do their job would be cause for concern. So it was understandably confusing for your coworkers when you practically vibrated with excitement at being allowed to work, of all things.

Taehyung presses another kiss to your lips, holding it just a bit longer than the previous two and smiles as you laugh against him. He’s surprised to find that he can easily slip his tongue past your parted lips, and that you eagerly accept him. When he finally pulls away, you’re looking at him like he just gave you the world, and it dawns on him that this, this is all you asked for. The freedom to make your own choices and keep at least a little bit of your previous life didn’t seem like an option with your cousins and now he was doing the same thing they had. He’s keeping you from enjoying the little things like the job you didn’t necessarily have to keep anymore.

“Thank you, thank you! I’ll see you at home, bye!” You rush past your husband, quickly snatching the name badge Jimin was holding out, and dancing in place as you swipe it through the time clock. Jungkook is basically sprinting after you in an effort to keep up with your newfound energy.

Jimin steps up beside his friend as Taehyung tries to compose himself by shoving one hand in his pocket and clearing his throat. He rolls his eyes as Taehyung uses his thumb to swipe away the chapstick you’d left behind on his lips. “You look like a kid in a candy store, you weirdo.”

“She called it home.”

“Yeah, for now,” Jimin snorts and it’s Taehyung’s turn to roll his eyes. “I give it two days before you fuck up something else.”

“Thanks for the support, asshole.”

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You don’t explore much of the house until about the 4th month into the marriage. You've seen most of the first floor and so far, Namjoon’s miniature library is your favorite place. The second floor consists of the guys’ rooms and you find it odd that Taehyung would have them sleep an entire floor away from you. They’re meant to protect you should anything go wrong, so why?

“Find what you’re looking for, Mrs. Kim?”

You jump and whirl around to face Hoseok, your heart nearly beating out of your chest. “Jesus, Hobi. You scared the hell out of me.”

“Sorry,” he laughs, though he doesn’t seem very apologetic at all. He’s drenched in sweat, hair is matted to his forehead, and he’s unraveling tape from his knuckles.

“You were boxing,” you point out with admiration. “I didn’t mean to interrupt you.”

“No, I was done anyways.” He waves his hand dismissively, but notes the way your lips part in curiosity. “Do you want to try?”

“I didn’t know Taehyung had a gym in the house.” You immediately change the subject. Yes, you want to box. Not exactly ‘try’ because you have enough training to defend yourself. This newfound knowledge of a home gym has you excited. The idea of being able to let out your frustrations on a punching bag is thrilling.

“Jungkook requested it before the house was built.”

“Kook did?” You reel back in surprise. If Jungkook was around before this house was built then… “How old is this place?”

“A few years, I believe.” Hoseok finishes unwrapping his hands and crumples up the used tape. “Taehyung had it built for you when he found out your cousin wanted to merge the families.”

“Right.” You clench your jaw. You often forget how long this plan was in the making before judgement day. Or your ‘wedding’, as some would call it. Still, that Taehyung would go through such effort to build a home just for you, almost brings a smile to your face. Shaking the thought from your head, you take the tape from Hoseok’s hands to keep your own occupied. The itch to pick at your cuticles is clawing its way to the surface and you need to stop it before it takes over. “It’s flattering, I know that, but it’s also a reminder of the life I didn’t intend on having.”

“A safe one?” Hoseok quirks one of his brows, watching you fiddle with the used tape and catching the tiny scabs on your cuticles.

“A different one,” you say as the ball of tape is tossed back and forth between your hands. “One where I didn’t feel like a prisoner.”

“What happened?” He quickly snatches one of your hands and the tape falls to the floor. There’s a hint of dried blood on the cuticles of your nails and the skin around the pads of your fingers look to be gnawed on. “How long have you been doing this?”

You try to pull your hand back but it’s useless when it comes to escaping Hoseok. You learned this after spending a month with him as your bodyguard instead of Jungkook, when Taehyung had insisted you build a friendship with Hoseok before the rest of the guys. You had asked why and it had become clear after Hoseok was the one to track you down in a matter of minutes during your first attempt to run away.

“Hobi,” you grunt, twisting your wrist out and away from his hold with ease, instead wrapping your own fingers around his wrist to shove him away and he stumbles back. You laugh at the shock on his face. “Sometimes when I get too nervous or antsy, I chew on my fingers. It’s not very ladylike, is it? I didn’t do it for awhile after my teen years, but recently---.”

“How did you do that?” He interrupts your explanation. “Get out of my grip like that?”

Of course, he knows how you did it. His question is more about who trained you to do it, who taught you to defend yourself, and who taught you to fight. It’s the first time he’s seeing anything like it from you and he’s sure that Taehyung and Jungkook, or any of the guys for that matter, have no clue you can do it either.

You shoot him a teasing smile and pick the tape up from the floor. “My grandfather always wanted to make sure I could do at least the bare minimum if I was attacked. So, he had some of his men teach me to fight alongside Joongki and Jeonghan. I’m sure I’m nowhere near any of your guys’ levels, but I like to think I could hold my own against you if need be.”

“You’re really something else, aren’t you?” Hoseok questions with awe. He doesn’t mean it in an offensive way and he’s glad you realize that as your shoulders tremble with more laughter. “Taehyung always said you were amazing, but I thought it was because he’s so in love with you. Not because you’re a genuinely amazing person.”

You pale at the words ‘in love’ because although you’ve always known about Taehyung’s affections, you’ve never known how deep they truly run. Up to this point, you thought his feelings were more infatuation and lust than anything else.

“Enjoying your little tour, princess?” Taehyung comes from around the corner, leaning against the wall.

“You’re back.” You resist the urge to go to him. The space he’d given you when you first moved in was welcomed, and then you’d gone and given him a reason to revoke that privilege by trying to run away. After spending time together now that he’d been sleeping in the same room, that you had come to learn was actually the master bedroom and he’d been gentleman enough to leave it to only you, you found that you would actually miss him when he was out. There are nights when you sidle up to him as soon as he steps in the door, and you know he’s aware of how dependent you’ve become on his presence because Jimin did you the not so kind favor of pointing it out.

“I’m home,” Taehyung confirms, the ends of his lips almost tugging up into a smile. The way you basically wait for him to come home every day tugs at his heart. He didn’t think it would only take a few months for you to warm up to him, slowly, but definitely surely. He’d calculated that it would take you at least a year to want to be around him. Maybe two, maybe even ten given how stubborn you are. “Finally found your way upstairs, huh?”

“I was bored.”

“I know.” He pushes off the wall and comes to take the tape from your hands. He finally looks at Hoseok and nods. “Did Hoseok teach you anything?”

“Apparently there’s no need,” Hoseok explains while crossing his arms. “Did you know that she can fight? Not that sissy slap fight that some people do. I mean, real fighting, Taehyung.”

“You’re exaggerating, Hobi.” You roll your eyes and try to snatch the tape back from Taehyung, but he’s quick to pull it out of your reach. “You make it sound like we just went a full round of sparring. I was just able to get out of your hold, that’s all.”

“That’s the most important part,” Hoseok says as you and Taehyung begin a playful game of keep away. He’s sure you don’t notice the grin on your own face when you jump for the piece of trash in Taehyung’s hand. “Even if you can’t actually fight, being able to get away and run as fast as you can is the deciding factor in whether you live or die.”

You’re not listening anymore. It’s not to be rude or simply because you’ve heard it already. It’s because you’re trying to pry the tape away from your husband and you don’t even know why. Perhaps because you had it first? It’s childish thinking, you know it, but it’s what makes this part so fun. You make one final lunge for the used tape and Taehyung grabs your wrist, not prepared for you to counter it so quickly. Clamping down on his wrist with your free hand, you pry it away from your own and duck. You twist around, never letting up on his wrist, and pin his arm gently behind his back. A triumphant grin breaks out on your lips, but it’s short lived.

Taehyung spins around on his heel and is able to quickly back you against the wall. His fingers are already curling around your forearm to press against the plaster. He feels the push of your other hand to his chest and he’s shoved away with more force than expected. His chest rises and falls rapidly, winded from the surprising amount of energy this small little tussle took from him. You don’t rush to him like he thinks you will, instead clutching something in your hand that you open to reveal the balled up tape.

“Whoa,” Hoseok whispers, having been present the entire time rather than giving the two of you privacy like the other guys usually do. He was simply too curious to see how this would pan out. He’s going to say something, not entirely sure what words to use, when he looks back at Taehyung to find an all too familiar look on his face.

Taehyung’s pupils are blown wide as he drinks you in. From the cat-like curve of your lips, to the useless tape balled up in your palm, and down to the heaving of your chest. He’s always been an adrenaline junkie, he knows that, but never had a scuffle turned him on. The fact that you’re his wife and not some bulky, sweat drenched man definitely contributes.

“Well,” Hoseok chimes in uncomfortably, “I’m going to go anywhere that’s not here. You guys have fun.”

You don’t even realize Hoseok is still there until he breezes past you to make himself scarce, watching him disappear from the hallway. When you look back at Taehyung, he’s already in front of you and running the back of his knuckles across your cheek. The affectionate touch makes you blush, heat spreading across your entire body as he leans in so close that his nose bumps yours.

“Will you welcome me home, princess?” he rasps against your lips and it snaps you out of your own thoughts.

“Your home, Tae,” you whisper back and bump his nose gently, “not mine.”

“You are my home, Y/N.” His lips brush yours with every whisper before he fully presses against your mouth. A tiny kiss that somehow leaves you wanting much, much more. But then he’s pulling away and kissing your cheek next. “I know you hate being here, and the idea makes you want to puke, but this is your home. Always.”

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Later, when you basically skip into the living room with a very tired looking Jungkook and Jimin, Taehyung is surprised when you plop next to him on the couch. You’re equally as exhausted as the guys, but it’s a good kind of tired, like you’ve accomplished something.

“What did you do to Jungkookie, princess?” Taehyung plays with the locks of your hair. He looks to his youngest member and almost laughs at the way Jungkook’s shoulders are slumped forward, his hair is matted with sweat, and like he’s on the verge of passing out.

Jimin is standing next to him looking pristine as ever, a smirk lifting the corner of his mouth at Jungkook’s state.

“I didn’t do anything to him.” You roll your eyes and laugh. “He was just having a hard time keeping up, that’s all.”

“Retail workers are animals!” Jungkook bellows, throwing his arms out in frustration. “And the customers who shop there are even worse! Who raised these people, savages?!”

“Kook, you’re in a gang!” You look at him like he’s grown two heads.

“Yeah well, nobody I’ve ever pointed a gun at has yelled at me for giving them the wrong color sweater, alright?” Jungkook runs his hand down his face before rubbing his tired eyes. “I need a nap.”

Taehyung chuckles as Jungkook stalks upstairs to his bedroom. His shift is over now that you’re home anyways, so the least Taehyung can do is let the poor kid sleep.

Jimin bids the two of you goodnight, making his way to the staircase and quickly following after Jungkook.

“I think Kook’s traumatized.” You turn your head to Taehyung just as he leans in and brushes his nose against yours.

“We should probably get him an emotional support animal,” he jokes, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “Did you have a good day, sweetheart?”

You tilt your chin up as his mouth travels lower, leaving open mouthed kisses down the column of your throat. Nodding in response to his question, you ask, “did you?”

“It’s boring in the house without someone to argue with,” his tongue snakes out lick at your skin before he’s pulling on it with his teeth.

“I’m sure Yoongi could have kept you entertained if you pushed his buttons enough.”

Taehyung knows that his being able to touch you within reason is basically a reward for granting you basic human rights. He didn’t like to think of it as keeping you a prisoner in your own home, but he knows there’s no other way to describe being locked inside almost 24 hours a day. He wanted to think you were finally understanding the rules and would stop fighting him. That wasn’t the case, he sees that now, because he practically falls to his knees every time you allow him to touch or kiss you. Little by little, you’re breaking his resolve with how defiant you can be, and then turning him to mush when he apologizes for making you feel a certain way. You’re practically training him like one would a new puppy.

“Tae,” your moan breaks his train of thought, and he pulls away to find that at some point he’d leaned you flat on your back. His hand had dipped into the waistband of your jeans and he was quick to pull back in case you were uncomfortable. You giggle and sit up to cup his jaw, giving him one more kiss before retreating to the bedroom.

“She’s happy,” Yoongi observes as he steps into the living room. “What did you do to deserve that?”

“Why doesn’t anybody in this house ever take my side?” Taehyung readjusts the way he sits on the couch. He beckons Yoongi closer and takes the tablet from his outstretched hand.

“Because it’s easier to take Y/N’s side.” Yoongi smirks. “It’s certainly more entertaining.”

“This Seojun guy,” Taehyung swipes through photos of your ex, most of which consisted of you by Seojun’s side or tucked underneath his arm. “Who is he?”

“A nobody, really.” Yoongi throws himself on the couch next to Taehyung. “Just some guy who was lucky enough to be hired fresh out of high school. He’s been with the company for 7 years now. He and Y/N dated for about a year before breaking up. Jimin asked around and found out that Seojun didn’t like how secretive Y/N was when it came to her family. So he broke up with her.”

“She didn’t look too happy when I showed up today.” Taehyung grips the tablet tighter when a picture pops up of you and Seojun from his instagram. You’re in a bed with Seojun’s arms wrapped tight around your waist and his face tucked in the crook of your neck.

“She never looks happy to see you,” Yoongi counters and earns himself a sneer.

“I’m saying she didn’t want me to know who this guy was, smartass.” Taehyung tosses the tablet back to Yoongi. He runs a hand through his hair and moves for the kitchen to pour himself a glass of water. “Did you get anywhere with the Ahn brothers?”

Yoongi pulls up more images on his tablet and hands it to Taehyung. “The Choi family isn’t happy with Joongki and Jeonghan. It seems your family wasn’t the only one hoping to merge with the Seong’s.”

Taehyung stiffens as he swipes through photo after photo of you with Joongki’s men, but there was someone else trailing you. They weren’t close enough for you to think anything of it, and maybe your cousins hadn’t pieced it together yet either, but Taehyung knows this man, and he clenches his jaw. “Meaning?”

“Mr. Choi had been trying for months to convince Joongki to hand off Y/N to his oldest son, Hyunwoo, and he almost did before your father stepped in and told him the truth about the Choi family.” Yoongi leans against the kitchen counter and drops his voice to a whisper as the opening of a door echoes down the hallway. “Joongki didn’t want to scare Y/N or his brother, so he didn’t tell them why he was so quick to go to your father. Neither of the Seong brothers are the actual target. Y/N is.”

“What about me?” you pipe up, stepping into the kitchen while running a towel through your damp hair. You grab the glass full of water and take a few sips, eyeing Yoongi and Taehyung suspiciously. “What are you two up to?”

“Taehyung was curious about your friend Seojun,” Yoongi is quick to throw his boss underneath the bus, crossing his arms and tsking at Taehyung. “Jealousy is not a good color on you.”

“Sometimes I think you really forget what I’m capable of, Min Yoongi.” Taehyung pushes Yoongi out of the kitchen with a hiss. “Don’t think I won’t get you back for this, you son of a bitch.”

You hoist yourself onto the counter, running your hand through the tangled mess of clean hair. It should probably piss you off that Taehyung had Yoongi dig up information on Seojun, but your ex isn’t exactly your favorite person. After he’d broken up with you, he had made it pretty clear that unless you fessed up about your family, he wouldn’t be coming back any time soon. Six months after that, he’d heard about your marriage but was yet to know who your husband was. Protecting him from Taehyung earlier was more out of instinct than anything else. Taehyung just doesn’t have to know that part.

“You don’t like Seojun.” You swing your legs back and forth gently as Taehyung makes his way back into the kitchen.

“I don’t like any man that’s touched you before me.” He takes the cup back and downs the rest of the water. “I imagine you wouldn’t like meeting the women I’ve been with either.”

“Your one night stands aren’t comparable to the relationships I’ve had.” You glare at him with the hope that the side of his face will catch on fire. “Your women were just placeholders in your bed. They were there to warm it, not to become a permanent fixture in your life.”

“And you were planning on being a permanent fixture in Seojun’s life?” Taehyung turns to meet your glare with a sneer of his own. “Were you going to marry that pathetic little nobody, share a mediocre life, and live in comfort rather than luxury?”

“Your definition of luxury is burying someone in the most expensive gifts and then leaving them to their own vices.” You jump off the counter with a huff, snatching the towel you’d set down. “Maybe the women you’ve slept with could live with that, but I can’t. Seojun may not have millions of dollars to throw at anyone he wants, but he makes due with what he does have. And unlike you, his father wouldn’t have to step in to get me to marry him.”

Taehyung braces his hands against the counter as you saunter off, his shoulders tense and chest heaving with anger. He hears the slamming of the bedroom door and he bangs his fist against the counter before he’s storming down the hall after you. When he reaches the door, he’s even more pissed to find that you’ve locked it, and he’s seconds away from tearing it off its hinges when a piercing whistle catches his attention.

Jimin is standing at the end of the hallway, leaning against the wall and swinging a key ring around his finger. “Man, I really should have bet a few hours before you fucked things up instead of betting two days. I can’t wait to see how your wife reacts to you lying about having only one key to the master bedroom.”

Taehyung snatches the key from Jimin and growls out, “if you don’t want to be the next person I murder, then I suggest you walk away, Park.”

Jimin only shakes his head with a laugh, raising his hands in surrender and doing as he’s been told. It wasn’t the first time Taehyung threatened him and it certainly won’t be the last. He makes it back to his room in one piece where he finds the rest of the guys waiting. He grins as he looks around and says, “I think Y/N is my new hero. Nobody’s been able to piss off Taehyung like that in a long time.”

“She’s ballsy, I’ll give her that.” Yoongi looks up from the laptop he’d been typing away on.

“She’d make one hell of a leader,” Seokjin chimes in and Yoongi chuckles low in his throat.

“You’re lucky if Taehyung doesn’t have you tossed in a river with weights tied around your ankles for starting that fight,” Namjoon scolds Yoongi and gestures them closer to see what he’d been working on. “The Choi family is gaining quite the reputation for all the shit Hyunwoo keeps pulling. We’re talking gambling debts, jail time for street brawls, even a few women accusing him of sexual assault. I mean, this guy is close to costing Mr. Choi his whole empire. Nobody wants to work with them, even their supply is suffering. They’ll be left with nothing soon.”

“Choi wants to use Seong’s climbing reputation to save his own ass.” Jimin skims his eyes down the screen of Hyunwoo’s rap sheet.

“It goes a little deeper than that,” Namjoon frowns as Yoongi pulls up a different tab. “Hyunwoo went to high school with Y/N, had the biggest crush on her, but she always rejected him. I talked to her friends and they said that Hyunwoo couldn’t take ‘no’ for an answer. Whenever Y/N snubbed him, he’d corner one of them and threaten their lives if they didn’t try to talk Y/N into dating him. He was obsessed with her, still is. So I’m guessing he promised Choi that he’d clean up his act if he got Y/N.”

“Choi must have pursued Joongki for a long time.” Jungkook stretches his arms above his head until his back finally pops. He rolls his shoulders next as if preparing himself for a fight. If they go to Taehyung right now then they’d certainly be gearing up for one.

“He was close, too.” Yoongi curls his hands into fists at the thought of where you’d be now if Mr. Kim hadn’t stepped in. “Joongki almost agreed to the marriage because he was under the impression that Choi still had a good following.”

“So what happened?”

“Mr. Kim happened,” Yoongi explains, letting out a slow breath. “Nobody’s loyal to Choi anymore. Some of his men branched off and told other bosses what the plan was for the Seong family. Luckily, one of them came to Mr. Kim and he was able to get to Joongki before anything became final.”

“Does Y/N know any of this?” Jungkook questions while looking back and forth between Yoongi and Namjoon. When both men shake their heads, he scoffs. “Don’t you think she should? She’d probably be more inclined to fucking listen to us if she knew what was really happening.”

“Or she’d run away and disappear off the map.” Seokjin offers an alternative. He knows you well enough by now and if you knew how much danger you were truly in, then there’s no doubt in his mind that you’d leave. “We can’t take that chance, Kook. She’s our family now and we take care of family. So we’ll deal with Choi soon and be done with it.”

---------------------------------------

“I’m not really sure what you think you’re doing,” you interrupt whatever Hyunwoo is doing at your locker and he whirls around to find you a few feet away, “but it’s not going to happen, Choi. Move on.”

He steps away from your locker, giving you space to open it and shove your books inside. He gives you a greasy smile and leans against the locker next to yours. “You always say ‘never’ Y/N, but I’m pretty sure I can change your mind if you let me.”

“The only way I’m going to give you a chance is if you let me push you off a cliff.” You slam the locker closed just as your friends approach. “What’s your deal, Hyunwoo? Why don’t you get it by now? I don’t want anything to do with you.”

“Most girls would kill to be by my side,” Hyunwoo slaps an open palm on the lockers, rattling them enough to make your friends jump, but you stand strong.

“Then you don’t really need me, do you?” You turn to walk away with your friends only to have him clap his hand on your shoulder, and you’re shoved against the lockers. You wince at the impact, the combination locks dig into your spine, and Bona runs off to find help.

“I don’t need your permission to have you, you know?” Hyunwoo hisses in your face, his forearm rests gently on your collar bone, not heavy enough to cut off your air supply, yet. “My father will give me anything I ask for and if that’s you, then you don’t get a choice anymore. I suggest you come willingly while I’m still asking nicely.”

“There’s not a fucking thing nice about you, Hyunwoo,” you sneer and stomp on his foot, digging your heel into the top of it. It’s enough for him to release his grip as he jumps back in pain, and you’re already cocking your arm back to land a solid punch across his jaw when Bona comes rushing back with Jeonghan in tow.

Jeonghan moves for Hyunwoo but you step in front of your cousin before he does anything to get himself in trouble. He stiffens as Hyunwoo straightens up and uses the back of his hand to wipe away the blood dripping from his mouth. Gripping your arm, he gets ready to pull you behind him if Hyunwoo gets any closer.

You shrug Jeonghan off and take a step toward Hyunwoo. “Your daddy may baby the shit out of you, but make no mistake, Hyunwoo, you’re a trash human being. If you keep this up, you’ll run your father’s reputation into the ground and then where will you be? Certainly daddy won’t keep you around if you’re useless.”

Hyunwoo is seething, and if steam could come out of his ears, you’re pretty sure it would. He lifts his hands to grab you once more, but a teacher’s voice stops him. His eyeline is blocked by Mr. Lee, a math teacher that won’t have a job tomorrow if Hyunwoo can help it.

Mr. Lee directs both you and Hyunwoo to the principal’s office, stopping every so often to ask why Jeonghan is following behind him. He gets a mere shrug in response and he sighs, letting your cousin do as he pleases. He sits you in a chair far away from Hyunwoo before entering the principal’s office and explaining the situation.

Jeonghan stays plastered to your side, concern written all over his face as you goad Hyunwoo from across the room. You certainly had grandmother’s temper and, not for the first time that day, Jeonghan wishes you were a little less fierce. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Hyunwoo sneer at you, bloody gums and all. You tilt your head mockingly in response, leaving Jeonghan to nearly facepalm. The only thing that stops him from slapping his own forehead is the rapid footsteps of Joongki, grandfather, and one of grandfather’s men.

Mr. Choi and his right hand man come barreling in next. They blink in surprise at Hyunwoo’s busted lip and your completely unruffled response to him. Mr. Choi is about to ask what exactly is going on when the principal steps out and calls everyone into his office.

“Mr. Choi, Mr. Seong, thank you for coming down.” Principal Chang settles in the chair behind his desk, swiping the glasses from his face to rub at his temples. “Seong Y/N, I wish I could say it’s a surprise to have you here, but it’s really not, is it?”

“Y/N,” your grandfather sighs tiredly in the cramped space, “what have you done now?”

“Nothing that wasn’t prompted,” you defend yourself wholeheartedly.

“You assaulted Hyunwoo, did you not?” Principal Chang looks at the bruise forming on Hyunwoo’s jawline. He wouldn’t voice out loud how impressed he was given that Hyunwoo is twice your size. Unfortunately, his actions speak for him as he nods his admiration for you.

“I didn’t assault Hyunwoo, I defended myself when he nearly choked me to death.”

At this, Joongki snaps his head up to look at the boy in the other chair, rage building underneath the surface. “He did what?”

Mr. Choi lays one hand on Hyunwoo’s shoulder and uses his other to grip his son’s chin. “Look at this. My son is the one bloodied and bruised, and you mean to tell me that you’re the victim in this?”

“Your son doesn’t understand the kindergarten concept of keeping his hands to himself.” You grip the sides of your chair and lean forward to taunt Hyunwoo. “I was simply reminding him of what happens when he doesn’t respect someone else’s boundaries.”

Your grandfather grips your shoulder and hauls you back into the seat. “Stop it.”

“Maybe if you weren’t such an uptight bitch, then I wouldn’t bother you.” Hyunwoo fires back and tries to get in your face as you did him.

Daeseong, your grandfather’s most trusted man, steps in front of you and effectively cuts off any access Hyunwoo might have had. He stares down at the kid with a quirked brow until Hyunwoo seemingly shrinks in his seat. “You’ll refrain from using such language when it comes to Ms. Seong.”

Mr. Choi sputters at the blatant way his son is being intimidated and looks to Principal Chang for some kind of interference. “This girl damages my son’s face and her bodyguard has the audacity to try and scare him. Yet you want me to believe she’s done nothing wrong?”

“Believe what you will, Mr. Choi,” your grandfather’s voice holds the kind of authority that grown men usually cower at, “but given how your son just spoke to my granddaughter, I think it’s quite clear who the antagonist here is. Admittedly, it’s my fault she’s so headstrong. You see, Mr. Choi, my family doesn’t believe in ‘when you’re dead, lie down’, so my granddaughter obviously found it necessary to correct your son’s behavior.”

“You’re aware of who I am, Seong,” Mr. Choi seethes, attempting to be just as vicious. “I suggest you get that delinquent under control before I have to.”

“You’re also aware of who I am, Choi, so I suggest you watch your tone and be careful of who you threaten. Whatever happened here today is just a glimpse of what my granddaughter can do, and unless you want to find out what more there is, then you’ll get your poor excuse for a son under control before I have to.”

Your grandfather is bluffing and it really takes every muscle in your body to keep from reacting. The strength behind your punch is literally all you have, though after today, you’re sure you’re about to get some new self defense lessons. You’d throw your head back and groan if it didn’t give away his obvious lie. Thankfully, Principal Chang’s dismissal of everyone from his office so he can ‘think on your punishment’ saves you from embarrassing your grandfather any further.

Mr. Choi stops you from getting too far by gripping your arm, quickly letting it go as Daeseong latches onto his wrist in return. “You must think you’re so precious, don’t you, little girl?”

“No.” You don’t flinch away from him and you can tell he hates it. “I just know what it means to be a decent person. You’ve taught your son that the world would fall to his feet if he so much as commands it, but he is neither king nor god, Mr. Choi. Hyunwoo doesn’t get to demand the world only to throw a fit when he ultimately breaks it, and then you come in to clean up his mess. The longer you let him believe he’s untouchable, the more likely he is to fall harder than anyone else.”

---------------------------------

Taehyung watches you stomp around the room, pacing back and forth while tugging at your hair because he’d lied about there being one and only one goddamn key to the master bedroom. Tomorrow he plans to do away with the door completely if you so much as think about locking the fucking thing again. He’s sitting on the bed, dressed in sweats and a plain t-shirt, waiting for your tantrum to be over. “Are you done, princess?”

“No, I’m not fucking done!” you screech, picking up the nearest object and hurling it his way. Another frustrated scream bubbles from your throat as he easily catches the bottle of perfume headed towards his skull. “You asshole! You said there was one, one fucking key to this room, Taehyung, and you lied to me!”

“This isn’t about the key, Y/N, you and I both know that.”

“It’s certainly not about the array of women you’ve paraded through here!” You pick up a bottle of lotion, your favorite to be exact, and launch it at him. When he skillfully dodges it, you begin picking up anything and everything that isn’t nailed down and try your damndest to cause him some kind of damage.

“I’m not bitching about Seojun, am I?!” Taehyung counters and peers around for any more loose objects. “I’m not throwing the disaster of that relationship in your face!”

“It wasn’t a disaster!” Your chest is heaving from exertion and you’re sure that if your pulse raced any faster, you’d have a heart attack. “Seojun was the best thing that happened to me and my cousins ruined that! This life ruined it! And yes, Taehyung, if Joongki hadn’t pimped me out to you then I would have absolutely married Seojun. We’d get married, leave this godforsaken city, have some kids, and live happily ever after.”

Taehyung knows you’re trying to get under skin, knows you’re trying to work him up so you’d have an excuse for your cousins to pull you from his home. Truthfully, your words do hurt, they pierce his heart and piss him off at the same time. Joongki didn’t pimp you out to the Kim family, and he for damn sure wouldn’t have let you marry Seojun and take off. The idea of you having kids with your ex-boyfriend makes Taehyung’s blood boil. The mere idea of Seojun putting his hands anywhere on your person is enough to have your husband close to pulling out his phone and calling for a hit on the poor guy.

You can see the gears shifting in Taehyung’s head, the cold calculation of whatever he’s about to do, and you know that if you didn’t diffuse the situation soon, you’d cost Seojun his life. “Stop it, Taehyung. You don’t get to be an asshole about Seojun and then get mad at me for calling you out on it. You for damn sure don’t get to be pissed that I wanted some space after you were the one who lost your shit over nothing.”

“It wasn’t nothing,” he growls low in his chest and shuffles up the bed to get comfortable. “It was that you felt like you had to protect him in the first place. You really think I’m some kind of monster that would have him killed because he dated you? Far from it, princess. I’m glad you were happy, but he’s not part of your life anymore. You’re my wife, mine, so you’ll forgive me if I get a little testy when you brag about some other man giving you a better life than I can. Especially when you haven’t even given me the fucking chance.”

“Hauling me into this house and then locking me in is not a better life, Taehyung. It’s barely even a life at all. You can say it’s for my own safety, I’ve heard it a thousand times before, but I know that it’s more about your pride than anything else. That the great Kim Taehyung has what someone else wants and no one can get to it.”

“You think if this was about my pride that I’d keep you locked away? There is nothing more that I want than to show you off to the world, Y/N. To show whoever wants you that you’re protected and safe from them, not because they can’t have you. My pride stems from the fact that I have one of the strongest women by my side who isn’t afraid to put me in my place. Not everyone finds that in this life, so yes, I’m proud to have you and no, I will not apologize for whatever kind of blow your ego takes because you can’t stand to be wrong.”

You walk up to the bed, and for a second Taehyung heaves a sigh of relief that the fight is finally over, but you simply strip the mattress of its sheets and turn to leave the room.

He’s on his feet, striding across the room and boxing you in against the door before you can yank it open. “And just where the fuck do you think you’re going?”

Whirling around to face him, you hiss, “I’d sooner sleep under a bridge than in the same bed as you right now, Kim Taehyung.”

“That can be arranged if you want it, princess.” Taehyung is done. He’s jealous, he’s pissed, and he’s exhausted, so if you want to throw out empty threats then he’ll match you vicious word for vicious word.

“Then do it,” you challenge quickly. If he wants to toss you out because you fought him so hard then that’s all the opportunity you need to disappear.

His hand comes up to slap the door, landing dangerously close to your cheek, but you aren’t afraid of him or his outburst. He curls his lip up in a sneer before he bites down on his bottom lip and takes in a deep breath to compose himself. “We can fight, we can yell and scream at each other all you want, but at the end of the day this is the bed we’ll be sleeping in. You and I, because it’s ours and I’ll be damned if you curl up elsewhere, understand?”

You swallow the lump in your throat when he presses his forehead to yours because damn it, you’re supposed to be mad at him, not craving his stupid touch. You understand perfectly well, but he doesn’t need to know that, nor does he deserve a verbal response. Shouldering past him, you spin around and hold your hand out. “I want the key. Both of them.”

“There’s two for a reason, sweetheart.” Taehyung explains, turning to lean his back against the door and crossing his arms. “If you lock yourself in here and something happens, either me or one of the guys needs to be able to get in here. In fact, for that reason, I think I’ll be giving one of the keys to the boys and keeping the original copy for myself.”

Your fingers curl against your palm and you clench your teeth. “If I could, I’d drown you, Kim.”

“I know that you’re perfectly capable of it,” he smirks and crosses the room to the bed, “yet I’m not afraid to sleep in the bed as you.”

You try to crawl onto the bed next to him, but unlike most nights, he’s chosen to occupy your usual side of the bed. You huff and try to shove him over. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“Sleeping.” He pretends to yawn and bury himself into the mattress.

“I sleep on this side, Taehyung, you know that.”

“Not tonight, princess.” He smirks and closes his eyes, knowing how much you hated sleeping with your back against the wall. The bed was pressed into a corner of the very large room simply because after he moved into the room, he’d keep you pinned between him and the wall so you couldn’t run off in the middle of the night. After a few weeks, you’d complained about feeling claustrophobic and he’d relented, granting you the open side of the bed.

“I won’t do this crap again, Taehyung,” you warn with your hands on your hips after giving up on trying to move him. “Move over.”

Taehyung doesn’t say anything, instead tucking his arms behind his head and crossing his legs at the ankles to make himself comfortable. The bed dips unexpectedly and his eyes shoot open to find you swinging one leg over his frame as you settle yourself in his lap. He wastes no time in gripping your hips to keep you from falling if you lose your balance. “What are you doing?”

“You didn’t move.” You shrug your shoulders, sitting your full weight on his crotch and bunching your hair up to pull into a bun. “The only way for me to get to that side is to climb over you.”

He isn’t paying attention anymore, his hands grip you with a bruising force as your chest juts out with the way you pull your hair up. Your hips circle ever so slightly and he hisses through clenched teeth. This is payback, he realizes, and doesn’t have time to react before you’re rolling off and throwing the blankets over your body.

You hear him grumble something under his breath, but can’t tell what exactly it is. He’s angry, but it doesn’t stop him from turning on his side and snaking his arms around your waist. You nearly lose your breath when he harshly tugs your back to his chest so you push back against him in retaliation.

“You’re being a child,” he growls into your ear, “and if you plan on pushing against me all night, then you should also plan on not sleeping.”

You turn in his hold, coming face to face and bumping your nose against his. “You’re the one being a child, Taehyung. Not that you need to know, or even deserve it, but Seojun isn’t someone to be concerned about. I may not like that we’re married, but I’m not going to go out and violate the sanctity of our marriage either.”

You duck your head and nuzzle it beneath his chin before he can see the blush forming on your cheeks as you whisper, “I’m yours, Tae, no one else’s.”

He freezes and knows that if you hadn’t been embarrassed about admitting as much, then he would kiss you until you both struggled for breath. Your lashes flutter against his neck and he pulls you closer, burying his face in your hair and placing a kiss to your head.

[lady-of-the-lotus]

Drink, No Drink

xuexiao - M for violence - 4.9k - AO3!

In which Xiao Xingchen drunkely flirts with an oblivious Xue Yang ____________________________

They come by once a month on average, sometimes twice. Once, about eleven months after Xue Yang came to Yi City, three come at once, but that's a group and Xue Yang, always fair, counts them as one.

Still three times the fun to kill, of course.

The men step into the Coffin House courtyard at noon, just ten minutes after Xiao Xingchen and A-Qing had left to buy groceries.

Xue Yang is busy dumping fresh dirt into a raised bed. He and Xiao Xingchen have built raised beds throughout the courtyard to plant vegetables in. Xiao Xingchen had wanted flowers, but Xue Yang had vetoed the idea, flowers being useless, and the daozhang isn’t one to argue.

He looks up as the men step into the courtyard. “Who are you?”

The leader of the group, a tall, brutish-looking man with a cauliflower ear and broken nose, seems almost angry at the question. “Where is he?”

Xue Yang dusts his hands off. And here he thought he’d be bored until the daozhang returned. “Who is this ‘he’?”

“The blind cultivator in white! Xiao Xingchen! We know he lives here!”

Xue Yang taps his chin. “Doesn’t ring a bell.”

The musclebound man on the right steps forward, seconds away from grabbing Xue Yang by the collar and losing a hand. “We were told there’s a blind cultivator living here!”

“Ohhh, I thought you meant the other blind cultivator in white. I lose track. What do you want from him?”

“To take a strip out of his hide!”

Xue Yang rolls his eyes. “Let me guess, you committed some crime once upon a time, and he got you in trouble for it, and now that he’s blind you want your revenge.”

“How did—”

“It’s all very original.” Xue Yang’s knife is in his hand. He tosses in the air, catching it deftly. “Don’t you have anything better to do?”

The skinny little man on the left shrugs. “Not reall—”

He never finishes his sentence. A flash of silver blade, and Xue Yang’s knife is sprouting from his eye. Shrieking, he falls backwards into a vegetable bed, yanking the knife out of his face.

Xue Yang shakes his head. “Don’t you know not to pull a knife out of a wound? Trust me on that one, I should know. Look, now you’re bleeding all over the place.” He produces a second knife and turns to face the other two men, who stand gaping at him in slack-jawed shock. “How about you two? Up for some first aid practice?”

“You—you—”

“Got any weapons? Get them out. It’s more fun that way.”

Still looking confused, the leader draws his own knife out and stands there, blinking, while the other man drops to his knees beside his companion, who’s writhing in the dirt and shrieking like a wounded fox.

Xue Yang makes a face. “Can you shut him up? He’s going to give me a headache at this rate.”

“He—he—”

Xue Yang floats over and slices the man’s tongue out with a practiced twist of his blade, but the man continues to emit bone-chilling scream from deep inside his throat.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake—” Another twist of the blade, and the man falls silent. Permanently. “You’d think he’d never been stabbed in the eyeball before.”

“You killed him—”

“Like you were going to do to the daozhang?” Xue Yang flies back over near the leader. “And for what, arresting you? You clearly escaped whatever the charges are. Grow up and let it go.”

The leader’s hand tightens on his knife. “The magistrate beat me so badly I couldn’t get honest work again as a porter—”

“Your back, your arms, your legs, what was the problem?”

“My left leg was broken so badly it—”

Xue Yang jams his heel into the man’s left kneecap, shattering it. Howling, the man collapses, knife falling from his spasming fingers. “Like I want your life’s story?” He hauls the man up by his collar and flies him over to one of the raised beds, dumping him in the dirt. Dislocates the man’s shoulder, just to be safe, and nicks the side of the man’s throat so that he bleed out into the soil.

Best kind of fertilizer, or so he’d been given to believe.

Then he turns to the third man, who’s cowering on his knees, forehead pressed to the dirt. “How about you? Going to put up more of a fight, I hope? I mean, what were you three arrested for, anyway? Couldn’t have been anything requiring actual fighting skills. Tax fraud?”

“Forgive me—forgive me—I won’t harm Xiao Xingchen! I swear I’ll leave here, I’ll never speak of this—”

“A bit late for that, I’d think.” Xue Yang tilts his head down at him. He likes seeing the man grovel. Kowtow, really. A trembling heap of peasant clothes and greasy hair, not half as good as if it had been the daozhang or one of the self-righteous cultivators who’d dogged him half his life, but it still fills him with heady tingling pleasure. “You should never have come here.”

“It wasn’t my idea—I swear it wasn’t!”

“Great, a spineless lackey. Even better. Now, the question is how to kill you.” He crouches before the man, patting his trembling cheek with his knife while he thinks. “I usually go for something more creative, but we need to wrap this up before the daozhang gets home, and more than two beds needs fertilizing, so here we go.”

The man makes a feeble effort to resist, taking an easily-dodged swing at Xue Yang's jaw. A flick of his hand, and Xue Yang’s knife is suddenly plunged deep into the man’s throat. Grabbing him by the hair, he hauls the man into the neighboring vegetable bed and gives the knife an experimental jiggle, then wiggles it a bit farther up his throat. A delicate balance, this—he needs the man alive to pump out as much blood as possible, but can't resist playing with him a bit. Of course Xue Yang could always rip out his intestines and bury them in the dirt, but that would be messy, and Xue Yang hasn't time to clean up.

A sigh, and the man bleeding out from his eye socket expires.

Xue Yang hesitates, then removes his outer robes and flies the man over the back wall of the courtyard, dumping him in the forest outside the city.

The second man has died by the time he returns. Xue Yang flies him out, then the third man when he too dies.

He stands beneath the trees, eying his handiwork.

Not a bad day’s work.

If only the daozhang knew that Xue Yang, his worst enemy, had been saving his life for the past eleven months. Knew how deeply indebted he is to the delinquent from Kuizhou.

But the daozhang can’t know.

Not just yet.

He’d probably make me stop, Xue Yang thinks, no matter what the personal risk. He’d insist on arresting all these opportunistic degenerates and bringing them to justice, as if such a thing exists.

The idiot. Xue Yang finds himself smiling at the thought. The sanctimonious idiot, blind in more ways than one. For all Xue Yang knows, he might even hear the men out—“Oh, your leg was broken? The scoundrels!” and embark on a journey to track down the magistrate who’d wronged the criminal degenerates—

A vulture approaches, drawn by the scent of blood, startling Xue Yang out of his thoughts.

“Wait your turn,” he tells the bird. “It’s first come, first serve around here.” Chuckles to himself—too bad the daozhang is completely unsuited for the day’s activities. He knows Xiao Xingchen would have appreciated the afternoon’s humor—maybe even relished the irony of watching Xue Yang, the man who was going to one day kill the daozhang, protect him—

Well, perhaps not that. But he could have gotten a few laughs, at least.

Xue Yang cuts a lock of hair from each of the men, just as he has for the last thirteen criminals who’d come after Xiao Xingchen, removes their tongues, and flies back over the wall.

He can take care of the bodies later, if the vultures don’t handle them for him.

He places the tongues in jars he sets inside a coffin painted with preservation sigils. Then, grabbing a rake, he begins mixing the blood-soaked earth, evenly dividing it among the dozen raised beds that take up half the courtyard and patting the soil down in preparation for tomorrow’s sowing. He’s just finishing up when Xiao Xingchen and A-Qing return.

The first thing out of the daozhang’s mouth is, “What’s that smell?”

“What smell?”

“Smells like blood,” says A-Qing, who can always be counted on to say the wrong thing.

Xue Yang fights the urge to tell the daozhang the truth, see the look on his face. “I got bored without you, and went for a walk in the woods, and found a fierce corpse.”

Xiao Xingchen’s face softens at the words without you. Xue Yang is still at a loss to explain how readily Xiao Xingchen displays his feelings. Surely letting another person know that you value their companionship is a dangerous show of weakness?

Xue Yang has learned to reveal nothing that can be used against him in the future.

What Chengmei says to the daozhang is different. His esteem for the blind white fool is all an act, and there is no way a lie might harm him.

“I have the beds all ready for planting,” he tells Xiao Xingchen.

Xiao Xingchen moves towards him as A-Qing runs inside with the groceries. “Were you wounded?”

“By what, tripping and falling on the rake?”

“The blood smells fresh. Did the fierce corpse manage to hurt you? That’s unlike you, Chengmei.” He lays a hand on Xue Yang’s chest, eyebrows rising slightly at the feel of Xue Yang’s thin, silky inner robe beneath his hand instead of his textured outer robes. “I know you, Chengmei. You wouldn’t tell me you were hurt, even if you were.” Slowly, he runs his hands over Xue Yang’s chest, pats his arms, feels his waist.

Xue Yang swallows hard, freezing.

From the touching, he tells himself. Not from the display of concern. It’s hard not to tense up when touched, given how often past touch has been something bad.

Truly it means nothing, the daozhang’s concern. Xue Yang knows this. Has always known it.

What good is the compassion of a man who only cares because he doesn’t know the truth?

Xiao Xingchen rests his hand briefly on his hip, but seems unwilling to go any lower and check Xue Yang’s legs. “You’d tell me if you were hurt, right?”

Xue Yang’s heart is pounding. “….I wouldn’t lie to you…”

“I know you wouldn’t.” Seeming to realize how close they're standing, Xiao Xingchen moves away. “I’ll go help A-Qing make dinner. We'll keep the seeds from tonight’s vegetables, we can plant tomorrow…”

Xue Yang slips his outer robes back on but doesn’t head back into the house. He’s cursing himself for having lost his composure for even a second, especially in front of Xiao Xingchen, of all people.

It’s not like he noticed. You sounded normal, and he’s blind, for fuck’s sake.

The reddish gold sun has sunk beneath the courtyard walls when Xiao Xingchen comes out onto the porch. He looks blue in the twilight, slender and beautiful and somehow soft despite the boniness of his long slim body.

“Chengmei? Dinner’s ready.”

Hesitating, though he’s not sure why, Xue Yang heads inside. Xiao Xingchen hands out the bowls and chopsticks while A-Qing serves.

Xue Yang is silent during dinner, mechanically shoveling rice into his mouth.

Xiao Xingchen does most of the talking, as if sensing Xue Yang is in a strange mood. He talks about the past, places he’s seen, people he’s met. He’s a poor storyteller, with a laughable memory of details, but his tendency to ramble from one story to the next without finishing any of them is amusing in its own way, and A-Qing's interjections of her own more colorful experiences keep any heavy silence at bay.

After the meal, Xue Yang removes Xiao Xingchen’s horsetail whisk from where he keeps it on a shelf in the corner.

“Just combing it,” he says when A-Qing, who has even better hearing than the daozhang and an uncanny knack for getting in his way, asks him what the hell he thinks he’s doing. “It’s getting tangled.”

“Tangled. Right.”

Normally Xue Yang would bicker back, but he doesn’t have the energy tonight. He sits on the steps, the horsetail whisk in his lap, while A-Qing lies on a blanket, staring up at the dazzling carpet of stars as if she can see, and Xiao Xingchen polishes his sword beside him.

Xue Yang knots the locks of hair he’d taken from the three convicts into the flowing mane of the whisk, streaks of black staining the pure white.

A little ritual he’d developed after the first would-be murderer had come to Yi City. Watching the daozhang parade around with a murder trophy tucked under thin white arm was endlessly entertaining.

Now…

It’s still a good joke, Xue Yang tells himself. Still good fun to see the streaks of black against the white. But it’s become a symbol of something else, now, too.

Of what, Xue Yang isn’t entirely sure.

But of something.

The eggplant is starting to sprout when, five weeks later, another convict comes to the Coffin House searching for Xiao Xingchen.

Xiao Xingchen is inside the house making dinner with A-Qing. Xue Yang had just stepped outside to fetch more water when he sees a shadow detach itself from behind a coffin and slither across the courtyard, a flash of silver in its hand.

Jiangzai is out before Xue Yang can even think.

Footsteps.

Xue Yang flies across the courtyard and grabs the shadow by the throat. “Who are you and what do you want?”

“Xiao Xing—”

Xue Yang cuts his throat before the man can finish, flying him over the wall before so much as a drop of blood can splash onto the stones of the courtyard.

A shame to waste the fertilizer on the trees of the forest, but Xiao Xingchen is expecting him back any second now.

He’ll fetch the tongue later.

“Thank you, Chengmei,” Xiao Xingchen says when he returns, accepting the bucket of water. “Do you mind chopping the potatoes? The oil should be hot enough any minute now.”

“Fried potato? Not boiled? Do my ears deceive me?” His pulse is reverberating through his skull, so that’s very possible. The quickness of the kill had done nothing to diminish the euphoria that always accompanies it. If anything, it had heightened it, a half-hour’s torture compressed into an intense dose of power and pleasure and blood.

“I figured I would fry it, as a treat. It’s been a year since…well, it’s been a year since we all came to the Coffin House.” Xiao Xingchen turns to the stove, blushing slightly, as if almost ashamed to have kept track of the anniversary, as if he doesn’t think it's as important to Xue Yang as it is to him.

Xue Yang doesn’t speak. A-Qing is glancing at the floor, looking uncharacteristically solemn.

“I know it’s foolish—” Xiao Xingchen begins again, but Xue Yang shakes his head, forgetting for a moment that he can’t see him.

“It’s never foolish to fry potatoes,” he says emphatically. “That boiled stuff is for the dogs. Anything else?”

Xiao Xingchen smiles. “I bought nian gao at the market today.”

“Now you have my attention.” He slices the potatoes swiftly, hand shaking slightly. Lingering euphoria from his recent kill, most likely. “The sweet cake kind, right? Not that vegetable stuff.”

Xiao Xingchen affects chagrin. “Do you take me for an amateur?”

Xue Yang discovers that he’s grinning.

Still from the murder, no doubt. It’s been a while since he’d killed anything larger than the rats that sneak into the Coffin House.

It’s not that he needs to kill. Enjoys it, yes. Who wouldn’t enjoy holding complete and utter power over another human being? Being the most important thing in their world, if only for those final moments? The pleasant exercise of the fight, the witty banter, the desperation in the victim’s eyes as they bleed out?

But, if he’s being entirely honest, he hasn’t thought about it much these past few weeks.

A-Qing turns in early that night, having eaten too much fried food and nian gao, leaving Xiao Xingchen and Xue Yang alone on the porch. Xue Yang plays with the dead man’s hair in the horsetail whisk while Xiao Xingchen sits beside him, just a little too close, knee almost touching his, having misjudged the distance. It’s odd, how the daozhang can spin through the forest to sever a fierce corpse’s throat without disturbing a single leaf or blade of grass, but he’s rather clumsy around Xue Yang, stumbling into him at times, brushing his hand with his while handing him something, mistakenly letting his shoulder touch his as he passes.

“I have a surprise,” says Xiao Xingchen.

“We’re getting a puppy.”

“We can, if you want."

“Just joking.” Briefly, Xue Yang wonders what a dog would make of the corpses popping up around the Coffin House.

Well, it would be one way to dispose of the bodies, and save on buying dog food.

He grins to himself at the idea. It's a real shame he can’t share some of his best thoughts with Xiao Xingchen.

Who’s tilting his head at him expectantly. “Chengmei?”

“You’re buying us a new house. A-Qing found a husband. We have an invitation to Jinlintai.”

Xiao Xingchen smiles. “I feel quite inadequate, now. I bought some of this.” He draws two wine jars from his sleeve. “Or rather, traded some protection talismans for it with the local weaver.”

“Is the daozhang a secret wino?” Xue Yang accepts the small white jar. He’s not one for drinking, but he can’t turn Xiao Xingchen down. “Is that what you’re really doing during your private meditation sessions?”

Instead of being offended, Xiao Xingchen smiles. “Given how many great poets were drunks—going by their poetry—I could do well to follow their example.

‘Life in the world is but a big dream;

I will not spoil it by any labor or care.

So saying, I was drunk all the day,

Lying helpless at the porch in front of my door—’ ”

“A tripping hazard for A-Qing.”

“ ‘When I awoke, I blinked at the garden-lawn;

A lonely bird was singing amid the flowers.

I asked myself,

Had the day been wet or fine? ’ ”

Xue Yang struggles to keep a straight face despite the fact that Xaio Xingcheng can’t see him. “Baoshan Sanren teaches cultivating by way of winemaking? No wonder she has to hide on her mountain. Every cultivator for miles around would be trying to sign on with her.”

Xiao Xingchen laughs. “Given how many classic poems are about drinking wine, I wouldn’t be surprised if such a thing existed...at least the poems in Shifu’s collection. She didn’t focus much on classical poetry.” He pulls the stopper from his jar, sniffing it. “So…I just…drink it? Is there some kind of…I don’t know…”

“A wine-drinking ritual? Like you walk in a circle three times, flapping your arms—”

“…do you think we can forgo it, just this once?”

Xue Yang is the one to laugh this time, though he’s not sure if Xiao Xingchen is joking. “You just drink, from what I’ve seen.”

“From what you’ve seen?”

“I don’t drink.” He instantly regrets his words at the look on Xiao Xingchen’s face. “I mean…”

“It’s fine. I wouldn’t want to make—”

“I mean—” And suddenly he hears himself saying, “I could never afford to be…impaired in any way. For…my own safety, I mean. I was just never…look, it’s…” And then, just as suddenly, he’s uncorking his jar and taking a deep draft.

It burns unpleasantly in his throat, but it’s worth it for the smile on Xiao Xingchen’s face at the silent admission that he feels safe here.

That Chengemi does, at any rate.

“How does it taste?”

“Good, I think,”Xue Yang lies.

Xiao Xingchen sips delicately at his jar, then wrinkles his nose. “The poems made me think it would be a lot more like drinking moonbeams and lotus blossoms.”

“More poems about passing out on the lawn?” Xue Yang asks. Poetry is just as useless as he’s always imagined it to be, but it sounds nice coming from Xiao Xingchen. Melodic. Kind of like singing...

...Must be the wine, that idiotic thought.

" 'A cup of wine, under the flowering trees;

I drink alone, for no friend is near.

Raising my cup I beckon the bright moon,

For he, with my shadow, will make three men.’ ”

Xue Yang frowns slightly. “I’m sitting right here, daozhang.”

Xiao Xingchen smiles. “So you are.”

Xue Yang shakes his momentary pique away. “Four men, then. Five, counting my shadow. You know, I don’t think those poets knew what the hell they were talking about, like with anything.”

“That’s not true…well, not entirely…there are some very pretty poems about nature…”

“How about a drinking game: I say something untrue, and if you correctly guess that it’s a lie, then I have to drink.”

“Alright.” By Xiao Xingchen’s amused smile, it’s clear he doesn’t think Xue Yang can successfully lie to him.

“I’m ugly. Hideous. Ladies pull their skirts away from me in the street and I frighten children and old people.”

Xiao Xingchen laughs, misjudging the distance between them again and touching his arm by mistake. “Not going by what I’ve heard.”

Smirking, Xue Yang takes a drink. “Your turn.”

“I…I have two heads.”

Xue Yang rolls his eyes. “That the best you can do?”

“I’m not accustomed to falsehoods!”

The pretentious way he put that should have made Xue Yang roll his eyes again, but the strong wine has mellowed him. “Drink. I hate candy.”

“Drink!”

“See, it’s not fun if it’s something too obvious.”

“Fine. I want that puppy you mentioned.”

“…drink?”

Xiao Xingchen raises his jar. “No drink! I wouldn't mind a puppy."

“You seem more like a cat person.”

“I like all animals. Would you rather a cat? You seem like a cat person. Like…” Xiao Xingchen hesitates. “Takes a while to warm up, independent, but loyal once you know you can tru…” He trails off, as if sensing he’s gone too far.

Biting his lip, Xue Yang looks out over the beds of budding vegetables, silver in the starlight. He’s never imagined anyone examining him in any way other than to evaluate him as a threat. Certainly not to comment on any traits in a tone Xue Yang tells himself is definitely not one of fondness, no matter how much it sounds that way. “Well, I have always liked cats better.”

“My favorite food is congee.”

“No drink, for reasons I’ll never understand.”

“You can add anything to it, and you have a nice warm meal!”

Xue Yang shakes his head. “I killed a man today for trespassing.”

“Oh, that’s terrible, Chengmei! Drink….”

It’s late when Xiao Xingchen's wine jars are empty. He'd had another two tucked away in his long white sleeve, and grown melancholy as the night wore on.

“I did everything I could to ruin my friend’s life,” he says, raising the last of his wine to the moon.

Xue Yang glances at him sharply. He’s kept his head better than Xiao Xingchen, only pretending to drink most of the time. “You what?”

“Song Lan. Zichen. The destruction of his temple was all my fault…” Head drooping, he slides sideways, cheek resting on Xue Yang’s shoulder. “All my fault, his eyes, all me…”

Xue Yang sits very still. Xiao Xingchen is warm against him, his breath soft on his neck. Then, very delicately, he pries Xiao Xingchen’s fingers from the wine jar and sets it beside them on the step.

“That was not your fault,” he says, and feels a thrill at his own words, because of course it was Xiao Xingchen’s fault, it was all his fault, and one day Xue Yang will get to throw it all in his face—

But not tonight.

“You did more than most would,” he says instead. “You gave him your eyes.” And he took them, the fucker! he wants to add. You do-gooding moron, mutilating yourself in service of that plodding lump of self-righteousness—

“My fault, my fault…”

“For what, doing your duty?” Xue Yang’s throat is beginning to tighten. He’s not sure why Xiao Xingchen would be telling him something so personal. For all his friendly, open nature, Xiao Xingchen is guarded when it comes to anything too revealing, to the point that Xue Yang sometimes feels as if he only half knows him. “You’re not responsible for that madman’s actions.”

Xiao Xingchen moves slightly, eyelashes brushing Xue Yang’s throat. “You really think so?”

“I know so,” says Xue Yang, and then, mentally, Drink!

And suddenly Xiao Xingchen is all smiles again, straightening up. “You always know just what to say to cheer me up. You—you wouldn’t leave me like Zichen did, would you? Not even if…I…” He hiccups. “I’d…I’d miss you too much…”

“Drink,” Xue Yang says automatically.

“No drink.”

Xue Yang glances away. Xiao Xingchen chooses this moment to pitch forward, to be caught by Xue Yang moments before he sprawls forward onto the stairs.

“I might be a little tipsy,” he mumbles into the hollow of Xue Yang’s throat.

Xue Yang tightens his grip. It feels…it feels wrong to be holding a person that isn’t a corpse.

A warm, living person, who seems to want to be in his arms.

Not hate being there, at least.

Or so he thinks. Xue Yang has never embraced another person before and isn’t quite sure how people are supposed to behave. Surely Xiao Xingchen would have pushed him away if he found his touch detestable—?

“You really can’t hold your liquor, can you,” he says before he can think into it too much. Gently, he scoops up Xiao Xingchen and half-carries him into the house. He weighs almost nothing, and Xue Yang thinks, I should get him to eat more, then chases the ridiculous thought away and bleaches the spot it had rested.

Xiao Xingchen grips the front of his robe as Xue Yang lays him down on the Coffin House's single bed. “Stay with me. Talk to me.”

Xue Yang hesitates, glancing over at his coffin in the corner of the room. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Xiao Xingchen almost pouts. Drunk daozhang is a petulant daozhang, it seems. “Just for a little while.”

The feeling of wrongness increases as Xue Yang crawls into bed beside Xiao Xingchen, keeping on top of the covers.

It shouldn’t be like this.

It’s not as if he hasn’t pictured sharing a bed with the daozhang. Who wouldn’t, if they had only a claustrophobic coffin to sleep in? But he’s never imagined an inebriated Xiao Xingchen curling into him, picking up his good hand, playing with it. Tracing the scars, running his fingertip between his fingers, brushing the palm with his thumb.

Soft, harmless touch that makes Xue Yang freeze, every nerve in his body screaming at him to snatch up Jiangzai.

“You have nice hands,” says Xiao Xingchen, voice thick with alcohol, almost giddy, and Xue Yang, focusing on the familiar voice, feels himself relaxing.

He’s safe, here. Safe with the daozhang.

The daozhang would never hurt Chengmei. And Xue Yang is Chengmei, for now.

The daozhang cares about Chengmei.

And in turn—

And in turn, the daozhang belongs to him.

Xiao Xingchen, the man who despises Xue Yang more than anyone else, now owes him more than he can ever repay in a single lifetime. He has saved Xiao Xingchen’s life a dozen times over without him having so much as suspected his life was ever in danger.

True, Chengmei could have killed the unsuspecting daozhang hundreds of times over the past year.

But this is different somehow.

Better.

Xue Yang is the guardian of the man he hates most in this world. Has held his life in the palm of his hand and chosen not only to let him live, but to actively destroy his enemies.

A delicious perversion of what he knows will come on the day he tears off his mask and reveals everything to Xiao Xingchen.

Finally takes his life, after preserving it for so long.

Xiao Xingchen rolls over, soft black hair in Xue Yang’s face, still holding Xue Yang’s hand in his.

Xue Yang wonders what Xiao Xingchen will say in the morning. If he’ll be embarrassed or realize that this was all simply the wine. If Xue Yang should pretend to have been too drunk to remember, or if he should say something, maybe crawl under the covers tomorrow night before Xiao Xingchen gets into bed, see what happens…

The bed is far more comfortable than the coffin, after all.

Will be warmer in winter, too…

He winces at the thought. He should go back to his coffin, stop whatever this is.

"You don't really want me here," he says.

“Drink,” Xiao Xingchen mumbles, and drops off into slumber.

Xue Yang takes a deep breath. He wants to free his hand but is afraid of waking the daozhang. As if sensing this even in sleep, Xiao Xingchen tightens his grip on his hand.

Xue Yang stares up at the ceiling, mind settling, the last of his tension fading.

He thinks he’ll go into town tomorrow and buy some flower seeds.

_______________________

thanks for reading! Spare a reblog? AO3

[troubatrain]

together by this christmas tree - p.l. dubois

a/n: happy december, so because The Maine’s Ho Ho Hopefully is a god tier Christmas song and I forgot how to write anything else heres like 5 words of just fluff. big shoutout to @prettyboybarzal​ for letting me just dump this fic on her for a few days so i could fuck around with the plot you are a queen!!

Pierre was in Los Angeles.

At any other time, he’d be pretty happy. The long West Coast road trip was one of Pierre’s favorites, he got to spend some time with his teammate’s, enjoy the warm weather, and play a few games that would hopefully end in a win. This time, however, he was sulking in his hotel room because he wished he was in Columbus. It was the first day of December, and Pierre knew that meant one thing - You were undoubtedly getting ready for the holiday season in whatever ways you knew how.

You stumbled into Pierre’s life by accident - literally. When Phillip was just a puppy, Pierre had taken him on a run. The French Bulldog pulled him with all his strength, causing you, who’d been looking at your phone to trip right over his leash. You assured Pierre it was fine, but while you were explaining to him that you had dogs growing up and sometimes shit happens your elbow had been bleeding before you could finish your sentence. Pierre offered to help you out, given his own apartment was barely a block away, and you’d been friends ever since. Friends. Just friends.

“Just tell her,” Tex says from the bed next to him, his road roommate having enough of watching Pierre sulk around their hotel room, “I’m tired of this.”

“Tired of what?” Pierre asks, his eyebrows raising. 

“This, the thinking about Y/N all the time,” Tex exasperates dramatically, he sighs, putting on his best impersonation of his teammate, “Y/N’s watching the dogs while I’m away. Y/N and I are trying that new French restaurant downtown. Y/N’s favorite holiday is Christmas and I’m not decorating with her. Dude, you’re in love with her, just tell her. I’m sure she feels the same way.”

“What if she doesn’t?” Pierre asks, finally admitting the real reason he’s yet to say anything. Pierre had been rejected a few times in his life, but he never let it get to him. That was because those people didn’t matter the way you did. You knew everything about him. You knew the way he took his coffee and the way he hated being woken up. You knew Pierre better than you knew yourself, and losing that was the first thing that’s ever really scared him.

“Well you won’t know if you don’t do something about it,” Tex sighs, frustrated with his two friends, “Or you’ve got to let her go.”

Tex walked out of their hotel room after he spoke, undoubtedly to get away from Pierre’s energy that was clouding the room. Pierre sighs, rolling over to the otherside of his bed and pulling up your contact. He did the math internally in his head for a moment, trying to figure out if you’d be asleep or not - smiling to himself when he realized you were probably still up. 

“Shouldn’t you be at some fancy LA restaurant?” You chirp, smiling on the other side of the phone when you pick up the Facetime call.  You were home, but Pierre could see two familiar figures snuggled together on her couch. You had become Pierre’s accidental dog sitter at the beginning of the season. He put finding one on the backburner, and when it came close to the start of the season, he was coming up empty. You offered three different times before Pierre finally came to his senses and said yes, not because he didn’t trust you, it was because if he had to watch his dogs love you as much as he does - he was never going to recover.

“Shouldn’t you be decorating for Christmas?” Pierre smirks, knowing exactly what the first day of December meant to his friend.

You loved Christmas, like in the type of way that made Pierre envious that anyone could be that happy from a holiday, and the first day of December was the day you went all out. A tree got put up in your apartment, a fake one because hauling a real one up to her place seemed like it would be too much, decorated elaborately in gold and white. You’d get dressed up in a set of Christmas pajamas, one’s that Pierre would scrunch his nose at but he secretly adored, and when he’d make fun of you for it - you’d just pout and call him a grinch.

“I thought I’d wait for you this year,” You mumble, hoping the lighting in your living room would hide the blush on your cheeks, “Speaking of Christmas…”

“I told you three times I don’t want anything,” Pierre reminds you, the argument sprung up twice a year, on Pierre’s birthday and the second the holiday season started. Pierre really had all he could want, his family and his friends were healthy, the team was doing well, and he could buy any material thing he wanted. His answer wasn’t a total lie, because he couldn’t think of anything he wanted besides you.

“You’re the worst,” You whine, throwing yourself back on the couch dramatically, Pierre watched Georgia spring up from next to you, the puppy dropping sloppy kisses all over your face. He thought about what Tex had rambled on about just before he called, that he had to just tell you, but you deserved it to be perfect. So he made a decision, he would tell you by Christmas and he’d spend every moment before that proving to you that he could be the man you deserved.

***

Pierre sighed, stepping back and looking at all of the pine needles that were scattered through his freshly washed BMW. He was going to have to get it cleaned, but the smile on your face would be worth it once he lugged that tree through your apartment building. It was part of his plan, one Tex had called stupid just three hours prior, but Pierre knew it wasn’t. You loved Christmas, and as much as you tried to never show it, you did always get a little bummed out that the tree in your apartment wasn’t real - something that not even the prettiest decorations could fix. So, Pierre decided he was going to fix it, and he was going to give you the best holiday you could ask for.

Pierre buzzed up to your apartment, the tree in his hands while he made his way up to your floor, holding up on his end of the promise he made to stop being a Grinch and help you decorate, “Special delivery.”

The snowman mug, undoubtedly filled with coffee and a tiny bit of sugar because that’s how you always drank it, slipping right out of your hands and onto the floor. The handle snapped off, but that seemed to take second place to the scene in front of you, “Is that-”

“A real tree? Uh yeah,” Pierre nods slowly, trying to not let the grin growing on his face show, “I know you say it’s not a big deal for your tree to be fake but-”

In all of the time you’d known Pierre, you were always his softer side. To the rest of the world, you almost seemed too sweet for the tattooed hockey player who wasn’t afraid to back down from a fight, but it wasn’t entirely true. Pierre had a softer side, one you’d seen shine through when he saw his mom or when a kid could stop him for an autograph, but they were never just random acts of kindness. You wrap your arms around his waist, taking a big sniff of the fresh pine scent that was sweeping through your apartment, “This might be the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me.”

“This is the nicest thing I’ve ever done for someone,” Pierre jokes, pressing a kiss to the side of your head, “Where are we putting this thing?”

Once you had the tree in the stand, it was time to get to work. The real reason you waited for Pierre wasn’t because his lack of holiday cheer was a crime, even though it was, it was because then you could hang up decorations using a ladder. Pierre was keeping the smile on his face, not because he was happy that he had a Santa hat hanging from his head or that he was untangling string lights for you while he wrapped them around the tree, but because you would show him every ornament you had with some sort of story as to why you bought it.

“Do you have a favorite ornament?” You ask, snapping a picture of Pierre’s confused face while he untangled the lights. He looked silly, the hat that you placed on his head was hanging off, his tongue poking out the side of his mouth while he tried to untangle the lights. He looked up at you, and you could see him thinking for a moment before he answered you.

“I do actually, I had this little Canadians skate that I used to steal off the tree to play with as a kid,” Pierre finally settled on, smiling to himself when he could practically see himself at seven trying to steal that ornament off the tree. His mother would scold him, and tell him there’s a million other things to play with but it just wasn’t that stupid plastic skate, “My mom used to get so mad at me for taking it but, I loved it.”

“So you didn’t always hate Christmas?” You tease, a giggle escaping through your lips.

“I don’t hate Christmas, I’m just not obsessed with it,” Pierre defends, “But maybe I liked it more when I was a kid.”

“Well be more like seven year old Luc, and get decorating,” You joke, tossing an ornament at him.

Three hours and two broken decorations later, the tree was propped up in the corner of your living room. It looked perfect, because there was nothing that could stop you from decorating that tree flawlessly, but Pierre was sincerely proud of himself for how much he’d actually helped. You were happy, standing in front of it with the gold star that went on top in your hand, “Well put it on.”

“Shouldn’t you do that?” Pierre asks before you shake your head no and try to hand him the topper. Pierre stays planted in his spot, knowing if he looked at you for just another minute you’d explain yourself.

“I’m too short to get up there and I don’t feel like getting out a ladder-” Pierre scoffed before you could finish your sentence, ducking down and hooking your legs over his shoulders without a second thought. You squeal, latching your hands on any part of him you could to stop yourself from losing your balance, “You could’ve just done it.”

“Hang up the star before I drop you,” Pierre teases, loosening his grip on your thighs like he was going to let you fall. Your laugh filled your apartment, and Pierre knew that had to be his favorite sound in the world. You place the star on top of the tree, Pierre stepping back so you could admire your work.

“Perfect?” You ask, your eyes scanning over the twinkling lights that seemed to just hang from the tree flawlessly. Pierre didn’t look at the tree before he answered, his eyes still trained on you.

“Yeah it’s perfect.”

***

The first snow in Columbus could not have come at a better time. Pierre had an afternoon game, and by the time he’d been out of the arena on his way back to his place, the snow was starting to just cover the ground. You had been at his place all afternoon, baking away pieces for a gingerbread house because you told Pierre buying one was unacceptable. You practically destroyed his kitchen, the counters covered in flour and pieces of gingerbread dough. You had Christmas music blasting over the speaker, lost in your own little world until you heard the door open.

“What happened in here?” Pierre asks, his suit jacket slipping off of his shoulders while he took in the sight in front of him. His kitchen was a mess, the dishes piled high in the sink while the entire place was flooded with the smell of gingerbread, “Did you rob a bakery?”

Pierre picked up the candy that was neatly placed in different cups on the counter. He looked at you with an amused smile on his face, “I didn’t come here to fuck around, and neither did you.”

With your words came a bright green apron for Pierre, he unrolled the fabric taking a deep breath and reminding himself that if he wanted you to know he cared about you, he was going to have to suck it up and build the damn house.

As it turns out, building the damn house was harder than Pierre thought. The cookie kept crumbling, the house kept sliding apart and Pierre couldn’t construct a roof to save his life. You, on the other hand, were working tireless at the most well constructed gingerbread house he’d ever seen. You were lost in your own little world, mouthing along to the Christmas music playing in the background. It would have been cute, and at any other time Pierre probably thought you were downright adorable, but not while another cookie broke in his hands.

“I can’t do this anymore,” Pierre growls, a pout on his face while he swiped the cookie crumbs from his hands.

You laugh at his disgruntled state, his back was hunched and his face was red. It was what he looked like after a bad game, except your friend who prided himself on acting like a tough guy was absolutely defeated by a simple gingerbread house. You drop the pastry bag that was in your hands, “You need to relax.”

“I am relaxed!” Pierre yells, stepping back in frustration, “It’s the house it won’t-”

“Luc, listen to yourself for a minute, it’s not the house’s fault,” You explain gently, you walk behind him and place both of your hands on each of his arms, “Try again and calm down.”

Pierre didn’t want to finish the house, but if your hands were on him he wasn’t going to tell you to take them off anytime soon. Your hands were wrapped around his arms lightly, your chin resting on his back while you peeked around his arm.  He grabbed the bag and you rolled your eyes at how tense he was, “Do you hold hockey sticks that tightly, jeez.”

Pierre turns around, giving you a glare and raising his eyebrows. You stifle a laugh, trying your best to keep it together despite how hilarious you found his mood to be, “Quit making fun of me and help me.”

“Okay, okay,” You nod, running your arm along Pierre’s arm while you watched him try and squeeze the frosting out of the bag, “Slower Luc.”

Don’t get a boner. Don’t get a boner. Don’t get a boner.

Pierre’s mind was racing, trying to drive his focus in the direction of the house, and not the fact that you were standing behind him. The air in the kitchen was thick, the same weird sexual tension that seemed to creep up when the two of you were alone for too long was back and stronger than ever. Your fingers ran along Pierre’s tattoos absentmindedly while you whispered simple directions that were turning Pierre’s brain to mush. He couldn’t think of anything else beside the fact that all he wanted was turn around and press his lips to yours, but he couldn’t just do that.

Your heart was beating out of your chest, while your logical side told you that you were simply telling Pierre how to build the silly little house and this shouldn’t feel so sexual - but it did. Pierre touched you all the time, a hand on your back while you guys were out, a kiss on the forehead whenever he hugged you and you never thought anything of it until you realized he didn’t do that with everyone. So you panicked, ignoring the little voice in the back of your head that reminded you that you wanted him, and pretending like it never happened. That wasn’t easy, and every minute you spent with Pierre you could feel yourself falling into him like it was the easiest thing in the world. 

The moment was ruined by the sound of a cookie sheet hitting the floor, and the sound of a scared puppy’s feet running away in fear. You both jumped, your hands flying off of Pierre when the realization that you were doing it again washed over you. You were letting yourself pretend like this could lead somewhere and that one day Pierre would choose you and it would all work itself out. Except that was just hope and hope wasn’t going to stop your heart from getting broken.

“You should shower, I’ll start cleaning,” You offer, moving around the kitchen to clean so you could hide the blush on your cheeks.

And a cold shower was probably what Pierre needed.

***

This wasn’t part of my Christmas activities.

You were whining while Pierre drove down to the arena, the Blue Jackets family skate was that afternoon and he insisted you went. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to go, but you couldn’t  stop yourself from reading into things. He’d never brought you to the skate before, so why now?

“Isn’t this on that silly list of Christmas activities?” Pierre reminds you, tapping your leg lightly with his free hand, “Or do you just not know how to skate or something?”

“Well…” You start, Pierre’s eyebrows raising while he focused on the road ahead of you, “I don’t-”

“You eat Christmas cheer for the entire month of December but you don’t know how to ice skate? When were you going to tell me?” Pierre teases, chuckling while he shook his head at you.

“It never came up!” You defend, crossing your arms at him for teasing you, “And I didn’t tell you for this exact reason.”

Pierre made fun of you for the rest of the ride, teasing you that you should skate with his teammate’s kids who were practically toddlers and were probably better than you were. You walked into the arena behind Pierre, immediately smiling at the familiar faces of his teammates and their families. You made your way to his stall, Pierre telling you to sit he could get your skates laced up. You bit your lip, watching his hands work at the laces as delicately as he could. You were sure he was rougher with his own, but Pierre’s touch was always light as a feather with you.

“Too tight?” Pierre asks, breaking out of your trance from his too big veiny hands.

“No it’s fine,” You squeak out, and you could hear Tex snickering to himself next to you.

Pierre wasn’t a bad teacher for someone who almost tossed a gingerbread house across his apartment just a week prior. He was slow, his fingers laced with yours while he pulled you along and tried to help you skate on your own. It was a failure, and you looked like a baby deer trying to walk for the first time, but Pierre refused to believe you couldn’t get better. 

“You guys disgust me,” Tex chirps, hopping onto the bench next to you while you watch Pierre play tag with Savvy’s kids. You raise your eyebrows, waiting for an explanation, “You’re both so disgustingly in love with each other why won’t you just admit it?”

“Because Pierre’s going to find someone else who won’t be me,” You sigh, picking at your nails. You told Tex this once before, when you were wine drunk and sad about the date Pierre was on, “He’s just my friend.”

Tex wanted to scream, lock you both into a room and force you to talk about your feelings. He wasn’t going to do that, because he didn’t want to be the demise of what he thought might actually be something, but god did he want to. You both were frustrating the hell out of him, and if Pierre didn’t nut up soon he was going to take matters into his own hands by New Years.

“You don’t know that, if you told him-” Tex tries his hardest to reason with you, make you see that it’s worth the jump because Pierre was on the other side waiting for you.

“So he can flat out reject me and never speak to me again? Really I’m good,” You huff out, swinging your leg over the boards to get back onto the ice. You were doing okay, until you started to push yourself forward. Two steps later, you were on your way to face plant into the ice until you felt two arms wrap around your waist.

“Easy there,” Pierre laughs, stopping you just before you fell, “You’re not an expert now.”

“You’re such a bully,” You tease, avoiding Tex’s gaze when Pierre intertwined your fingers to pull you across the ice. Tex watched you both, the shared laughs and longing stares were just proof to him that if people did have one person for them, you were it for each other.

Only if you could get it through your heads. 

***

The Savard’s threw a bigger Christmas party than you’d ever seen before in your life. You loved David and his wife, given Pierre introduced you to them as his adoptive parents the first time you ever came over for dinner with him. It was your favorite version of Pierre, the one who let David’s kids paint his nails and color the black and white ink on his arms. You walked up the well decorated driveway, your heels clicking against the pavement while you made your way inside.

“You need to go see your boy in the kitchen,” You hear Seth call over to you, grabbing your attention as soon as you walk into the house. You wave hello first, making your way into the kitchen to see a sight that you were most definitely not expecting.

Pierre was sitting on a candy cane throne, a big Santa hat on his head and equally as red suit to match. He had one of Nick’s kids on his lap, listening to the little boy about the train set he’d been writing to Santa about since Thanksgiving. Your heart grew about four sizes at the sight, you walked over and tapped Pierre on the shoulder, “Can I borrow Santa for a minute?”

“Are you Mrs. Claus?” The question was a simple one, and the two big brown eyes that were looking up at you were the only thing that didn’t stop you from saying yes.

“Mrs. Claus huh?” Pierre teases, pulling you onto his lap while you watched Nick’s son make his way back to his mother.

“I wasn’t about to ruin his Christmas,” You shook your head, running a hand over the white fur on the jacket Pierre was wearing, “How’d you get sucked into this?”

“I was going to say no, but then I knew you’d at least laugh at me,” Pierre admits, a blush creeping up his neck. His hands were wrapped securely around your waist like for a moment he could just pretend like he had you, “Wanna tell the big guy what you want for you Christmas.”

“Hmm, nothing,” You settle on, “And you won’t know until you finally tell me what you want.”

The sound of cheers flooded the kitchen, and when you went to look at what all of the ruckus was about you realized that you were the ruckus. Seth had a shit eating grin on his face while he held the mistletoe above your heads. You knew you were flush, the heat on your cheeks made it clear while Pierre looked like he was a pale as a ghost. He planted a kiss on your cheek, telling Seth to fuck off before you pushed yourself off of him, muttering an excuse about needed to use the bathroom. 

You had your palms against the sink while you tried to catch your own breath. This was the reason you never made a move, because you knew it wouldn’t end in some sort of heartbreak. It was clear Pierre didn’t want to kiss you, and that was enough for you to let him go forever. You wiped the tears that were welling up in your eyes, deciding that when you walked out that door Pierre was your friend and your friend only.

“Where are you going?” Pierre caught your arm when you tried to leave the party, the idea of going home for a good cry was far better than a rowdy holiday party. He looked insane, his eyes wild while he panted to catch his breath after he searched the house in a panic for you.

“Home, I’m just not feeling well-” You come up with an excuse fast, hoping the quicker you spoke the quicker you could get out of there.

“Is this about Seth? I’ll kick the shit out of him,” Pierre promises, latching onto anything that would fix your mood.

Your feelings were something Pierre was an expert at, probably because he never seemed to take his eyes off of you. He knew when you were upset just from your body language alone and you were definitely not happy. Was it from Seth trying to force the idea that you should be together or was it that he didn’t kiss you? It had to be the first, because if it was the latter then Pierre fucked up his entire plan to make you see that he loved you.

“No it’s fine, really I just think I should go,” You were begging Pierre not to fight you on this, so he wasn’t going but he was going to be damned if he let you slip through his fingers.

“Stay, Tex and I were about to sing Christmas karaoke,” Pierre offers, dragging out his words, “I’ll let you pick the song.”

Pierre and Tex ended up serenading you with the worst rendition of All I Want For Christmas Is You you’d ever heard. Their dance moves were a crime, and they were definitely the two most tone deaf people you have ever met, but their heart was in the right place. The mistletoe incident was forgotten for the moment, your attention directed at the silly drinking games you were playing with your friends. You sat on the kitchen counter in the Savard’s home, your head leaning on Pierre’s shoulder after you’d taken your fourth shot in the span of an hour. A hangover was definitely on the horizon, but for the time it wasn’t going to kill your buzz.

“I hate when you do that you know?” You poke Pierre’s side, grabbing his attention from the crowd of people in the kitchen.

“Do what?” Pierre asks, a bold hand landing on your thigh.

“Make everything better somehow, it’s pretty fucking annoying Luc,” You tease, taking a look at his face for a moment. Pierre smiled before he answered you, the kind where his teeth would show and you could see his little vampire teeth you loved so much.

“I’ll always make it better Y/N.”

***

You’re coming over right?

Pierre sighs at your question, your voice flooding the speaker in his car while he drove home from his game. It was December 23rd, and he wanted to sneak in a nap before his middle of the night flight to Montreal to see his parents for Christmas. He’d just finished an afternoon game, one where the team lost and Torts lost his mind on them before he shipped them off to Christmas break tired and angry, but he wasn’t going to miss out on seeing you before Christmas. He made a promise to himself he’d tell, come clean once he felt like you knew he loved you. Maybe you did, and if you didn’t you were in for one hell of a surprise.

Pierre took a quick right in the direction of your place, deciding you couldn’t wait any longer. His brain was switched to autopilot and when he opened your apartment door with the key you gave him forever ago, he realized what this was. You were sitting on the couch, a gift box in your hand that was undoubtedly for him and it hit Pierre like a freight train.

He didn’t get you anything.

Pierre could’ve punched himself, calling out every name in the book because he was an idiot. He spent so much time focusing on spending time with you, and going along with all of your silly little Christmas things that he didn’t even realize he forgot to get you a gift at all. Pierre just knew whatever was in that bag was thoughtful and perfect, and he was walking in empty handed.

“Open it!” You exclaim, your excitement couldn’t be contained. Honestly, you were surprised you made it this far without spilling the beans about the gift. 

You hand Pierre the box, and he opens it slowly, pulling the top of the box off and gasping at what was inside. The skate ornament was the same as the one he mentioned when you were decorating your tree, the blue and red Canadians logo faded a bit, “Is this…?”

“I called your mom and asked her for it,”  You admit sheepishly, a little embarrassed to admit just how often you did talk to Pierre’s parents. He didn’t call often, mostly because he simply would forget, so his mother would start just calling you instead, “I know it’s silly but I thought maybe it’d remind you that the holidays aren’t all bad-”

“I love it, it’s perfect,” Pierre whispers, letting the ornament dangle from his large hand, “I fucked up, I uh, shit, I forgot to get you something.”

You laugh, practically falling to the floor while the giggles take over your body, “Luc, you sucked it up all month for me that’s enough.”

“It’s not, I did all of this so you’d know that I loved you and when I told you it would make sense,” Pierre starts to ramble, pacing around your apartment, “And I couldn’t even be bothered to remember to get you a damn gift.”

“You love me?” You repeat, just to make sure you’d gotten clear what’s been up with him since the start of the month. You felt the shift, the extra acts of kindness that just weren’t normal for him, but you knew if you read into it you might end up disappointed.

“I’m hopelessly in love with you, like one of those romantic Christmas movies you love so much,” Pierre admits, looking at you with the softest eyes you’d ever seen. You stood in front of him, dumbfounded that your best friend just told you he loved you, “Please say something.”

“Do you know what I want for Christmas?” You ask, taking a bold step forward and wrapping your arms around Pierre’s neck, “This year I want you alone.”

Pierre closed the gap between the two of you, and it felt like the entire world had stopped. The bustling city outside didn’t matter, Pierre’s flight in a few hours didn’t matter, and the brutal loss he’d taken hours later was on the backburner. Right now, Pierre’s hands were wrapped around your waist while your lips were pressed against his and he would have rather died than let go of you in that moment.

“So I don’t have to get you a gift right?”

“No you still do, but you can kiss me again first.”

[checked-windows]

I WOULD PICK YOU TILL THE END.

Aaron hotchner x gn reader

Notes: reader doesn't have any pronouns so should fit anyone

Warnings : none. A kiss (maybe)

"I love you" Aaron whispered as you moved around the apartment packing your things. "I love you too" you responded equally as quiet, only pausing your movements for a brief second "But I can't do this anymore Aaron. I'm not going to make you decide who you want because I know you and I know you'll try to make everyone happy but yourself. I'm taking the choice away from you. Goodbye Aaron"

You left his apartment steeling every muscle in your body to not turn back around and ask him who he wanted, beg him to want you. But you kept walking away, from the apartment, from that life, from Aaron.

8 years later

The BAU had decided that this unsub was in their lists of worst people known to man. They were breaking into houses with families and slowly picking them off one by one starting with the children finishing with the fathers. They had been called in by the Situational Counter Unit or the SCU, who had caught the case and were the ones diving in headfirst into crime scenes and bringing in suspects. However, they had admitted to needing help narrowing down a list or well creating a list, just trying to find someone to get it to stop as their "ask questions later" policy was starting to get them heat. It didn't even seem like the SCU Unit Chief had called them in, it was their section teeth who had claimed they would be happy to let the BAU lead the investigation. Possibly.

The BAU arrived at the building to a group rushing back and forth with files and notes seemingly trying to collate all of their evidence into one place while trying not to bowl each other over. A tall bald man spotted them and waved them over.

"You must be the Behavioural Analyst Unit" he greeted "Welcome to 'The Den', I'm Agent Leo Monroe. Let's get you settled in the conference room away from all this noise" He directed them up to a windowless room hidden away from prying eyes soon enough three more people followed, two more men and a woman.

"Agents Martin James, Lucy Hay and Kyle Brennan. The chief is running late claims to be stuck in traffic but will be here soon. I hope" Leo said with a small smile that showed he was used to this sort of thing and files were handed out to each of them. Occasionally Leo's phone would chime and he'd snicker at whatever the messages were. You finally arrived almost 20 minutes later, sweating and ready to commit a felon.

"Sorry I'm late. Got stuck behind a truck that clearly had no idea where it was going, debated slashing his tires so that he at least had a reason to be driving a quarter of the speed limit" you fumed as you breezed into the room, throwing a black jacket over the back of a chair and dropping into it. You glanced around quickly not taking in any infeomation before ducking your head into a file only for your eyes to shooting back up to the unfamiliar faces. And the one familiar one. That you hoped you'd never see again.

"Ah you must be the BAU, they told me you were coming" you did try and keep the dispair out of your voice but you kept glancing back to Aaron who looked like he had seen a ghost. Aaron himself hadn't been expecting you to be here. He hadn't expected you to have cut your hair to the length it was now or for your eyes to have hardened as much as they had over the year. He hadn't expected the wave of emotions to hit him so hard that he almost fell over.

There was more very brief introductions before you shook said man's hand.

"(y/n) (l/n), Unit Chief" you greeted and watched his eyes take you, every change and reading your body language before you spun and started spewing details of this case that you knew, trying to ignore how you felt seeing him once more and what bubbled up in your heart.

"(y/n), it's good to see you" Aaron said when the room had cleared of agents from both teams.

"Uh, it's good to see you too" you tried to sound confident and sure of yourself but ended up mentally slapping yourself for sounding unsure "Would've been better on nicer circumstances but beggers can't be choosers"

"Your right" he responded and you saw his Adams apple bob when he swallowed "So Unit Chief huh? What happened to 'fuck the police'?"

"Oh don't start" you said with a laugh and his lips quirked slightly "People change"

"That they do" he agreed nodding.

"So how've you been? How's Haley?" you asked moving the folder on the table almost missing how he winced.

"Ups and downs. Haley died a couple years back." his said quietly and your head shot up. You and Haley had never gotten along but you'd never had wished her any ill.

"Jesus Aaron." you breathed and gripped his shoulder comfortingly "I'm sorry for your loss"

He smiled sadly at you and in that moment you realised exactly how much Aaron had loved her. Yes he may had loved you but he had loved her more, it made sense.

You were dragged away almost physically by Lucy who was trying to show you a connection she and Doctor Reid had made with the unsubs drop off points but your mind wasn't in it. You had nodded and sent them with Agent Morgan and Prentiss to see if they could find anything else out from the scenes themselves. You had retreated to your office just to take a small breather, even as you sat at your desk you were eyeing the small cabinet at the opposite side of the room. It was like it was dragging you towards it as you inched forward and unlocked it, pulling the small box out. Photos of you and Aaron spilled out when you had opened it, keeping it here was supposed to keep the need to look at them away but clearly your brain had other plans especially when memories bubbled to the surface.

Dates, adventures, visiting him in hospital because he got hurt again. First times. Last times.

Everything flooded through your mind leaving you sitting on the carpeted floor, tears filling your eyes. You had missed him, when you had said you had loved him you meant it but even after so many years seeing him brought fresh waves of affection and love into your heart. You decided to put on your Unit Chief face and squash every single emotion down so that it didn't bother you. There was time to cry after this case.

As it turned out their was time to cry during the case too. As you realised almost 20 hours later running on no sleep, terrible coffee and spite. The words on paper, screens and boards were floating and spiralling in on each other making it impossible to read and if Aaron tried to tell you what to do one more time you were going to shoot him and you didn't care about the repercussions.

"You should-" he started after following you into your office.

"Do not tell me what to do Aaron Hotchner" you growled before he could even finish his sentence, a finger pointed at his face. He rolled his eyes which seemed to irritate you more than it should have.

"I'm not telling you what to do, I'm offering a suggestion" he grumbled and you weren't sure if it was the lack of sleep, the pent up emotions or something else entirely but you exploded.

"Get the hell out of my office!" you basically screamed at him and he took a step back before turning towards the door.

"Make a change from you walking out" he hissed lowly and you wanted to hit him.

"I walked out to help you" you shouted slamming your hands onto your wooden desk causing him to turn back to you.

"I didn't need the help, you didn't even give me a choice. You took that choice away from me" he shouted back and briefly your brain supplied that this was very unprofessional and that everyone in the office could definitely hear what was taking place in your office.

"I knew you were going to pick her. I'm not an idiot Aaron. A fool yes. But not an idiot" you yelled hands landing on your desk again. Only softer this time. "I took that choice from you because I knew you and I knew Haley was your everything. I. I was a placeholder until your issues worked themselves out"

"You had no idea what was going on! It was nothing like that" he hissed as if he had realised that everyone was listening it. You pushed away from the desk, taking in the hard lines on his face and the set of his shoulders. You huffed as you swing the door open.

"I knew exactly what it was. I knew exactly how you felt about her. You married her didn't you? I knew everything Aaron. That's why I took the choice away from you, because I wanted you to be happy even if it wasn't with me. You loved Haley, you should have been with her" you said quietly, all the fight had left your body as you stepped out of the office squaring your own shoulders and walking past both teams to the door.

"Chief" Leo called out and you turned your head to face him, catching Aaron's stunned face still in your office.

"I'm going home. I suggest everyone gets some rest. Home. Hotel. Break room. I don't care" you said slowly and continued your mission to get to your car without any more damage. You got the the parking garage before realising that you didn't have your bag, which meant that you didn't have your keys. You sighed and threw your head back trying to stem the tears building in your eyes.

"Here" a voice came from behind you and you sighed again. You kept watching the ceiling, refusing to look at him "(y/n)"

Your resolve crumbled in front of his eyes, as your shoulders slumped and you slowly turned to face him. He had your bag in one hand and a small almost comforting smile on his face. You took the bag from him with a small "Thanks" he nodded turning back towards one of the SUV's that the BAU were travelling in and you had to force yourself into your own car to not call for him.

The case continued quickly after the breakdown, you avoided Aaron like the plague and in turn he didn't try to speak to you about anything other than the case on the odd occasion you ended up in the same room together together. No blood had been shed in the final meeting with the unsub. Luckily the man had given up fairly quickly and had allowed himself to be handcuffed without much of a fight.

You sat in your office, head resting on your hands after greeting farewell to the BAU and sending your own agents home for a well earned couple days off. You were ignoring the piles of paperwork that had began to accumulate with every ounce of willpower you possessed.

"(y/n), are you OK?" Aaron's voiced echoed into the small room and you groaned into your palms. He chuckled slightly which cause you to look up at him with a frown.

"Why are you here Aaron?" you asked, none of the fight from the past few days was left and you resigned to just leaning on the desk.

"I could ask you the same question" he asked and you sighed "I was hoping we could have a talk before I left, clear what ever this has been up"

"Aaron. I'm sorry, just forget about it" you said taking a deep breath "Emotions were high and I hadn't slept. I didnt mean it"

"No. You did, but that's ok" he responded sitting on the chair opposite "You were right. I would have tried to make everyone happy even if it meant I wasn't. You knew that. You knew how I felt about Haley but you never knew how I felt about you. You left me with one option and most would say that I couldn't have loved you both at the same time but I did. I loved you both equally."

"Aaron you seriously don't have to" you try but he was holding up a hand to silence you.

"I would have picked you (y/n)" he said quickly at the end "I would have always picked you"

Your eyes snapped up to meet his and you huffed a small disbelieving laugh at him. You weren't sure what had happened really one minute you had been sitting opposite on another, the next you were pressed against his front pressing your lips against his. Aaron's hand cupped the back of your head and he pulled you closer with his other hand on your waist.

"I would still pick you" he mumbled against your lips before you were pressing them together once more.

[heyitsani]

So Devoid of Color

@dickgraysonweek Day 4: Bruce hits Dick and doesn’t get away with it

Word Count: 3161

Rating: Teen and Up

Warnings: Off screen violence, Dami might say a bad word

Pairing: None

Summary: Tim, Jason, and Damian learn something about Bruce and Dick’s relationship that none of them are willing to let continue.

Notes: I think this is my second time writing from Tim’s POV and I’m still not certain I’ve got a good grasp on it.  But here it is all the same.

You can also read this on AO3 here

----------------------------------------------

The Cave went deathly silent in the aftermath.

For those 30 or so seconds immediately after the distinct sound of a fist hitting a cheekbone, it was like they had landed in a vacuum of sound.

It was such a startling contrast to the shouting that had led up to that exact moment.  The fight between Dick and Bruce hadn’t been surprising. When Red Robin had called Nightwing on his private comm line to report that Robin had been shot on patrol, he had known the eldest would panic.  And when he found out it was because Batman had made a mistake, Tim knew shit would hit the fan.

Quite literally.

But Tim hadn’t anticipated Bruce taking a swing at Dick when the latter had accused Bruce of purposefully using Damian as a shield so he could go after Two Face himself.  It wasn’t even one of the worst things he had heard Dick tell Bruce in the heat of an argument, but something about it had pushed Bruce over an edge none of them had realized he could go over.  Sure, Bruce could be a hard ass, but Tim had never seen him get to this point.  And a quick glance at Jason, who was coiled tight with his hands clenched tightly at his side, revealed that Tim wasn’t the only one caught off guard.

He expected Dick to swing back, to say something in retaliation, but instead he watched his brother straightened and wipe at the blood now dripping from his nose.  From this angle Tim could see the angry mark Bruce’s gauntlet had left on Dick’s cheekbone and it made him wonder if there was anything broken beneath the surface.

“That’s your one free hit, Bruce.  I’m not the kid you used to push around to win arguments anymore.  Nor am I emotionally compromised to the point that you can manipulate me into getting your way,” Dick spoke lowly, voice dangerous and anger simmering just below the surface.  It was rare to hear that particular tone come from Dick, but it never failed to send a shiver down his spine.  For all the sunshine Dick projected, most weren’t aware of the precision of the weapon he could be.  “I told you if you couldn’t protect him that I would.  He’s still legally mine.”

“Are you threatening me?”

“I’m stating facts.  I may have been disposable to you over the years, but you are out of your fucking mind if you think I’ll let you hurt him the same way.”  Movement out of the corner of his eye pulled Tim’s surprised attention from the pair, finding Jason stalking forward.  And Tim knew that walk, he knew that look.  

Jason was pissed and that didn’t bode well for one or both of them.

“What the fuck did you mean by that?”  Jason demanded, grabbing Dick’s shoulder to turn him to face him instead of Bruce. But Dick didn’t respond, and Tim could see his jaw clench from here.  In fact, at this angle he could get a much better look at the damage Bruce had done and it was definitely looking like Dick’s cheek was starting to swell.  

“What on god’s green earth is going on out here?”  Alfred’s stern voice broke through the silence that had fallen over them again and Tim spared the elderly man a glance before he moved over to where Jason and Dick were still facing each other.  He could tell they were having one of their silent conversations, but that wouldn’t stop him.

“It’s nothing Alfred,” Bruce huffed, causing Dick and Jason to tense up even more.  “How is Damian?”

“Dick?”  Tim spoke softly, not wanting to pull too much attention to himself.  It took a moment before his brother looked over at him and Tim tensed at the look in his eyes.  It was unfamiliar and difficult to put a name to.  But there was something that concerned him there.  He placed a hand on Dick’s upper arm before looking to Jason, finding the other man already considering him with a curiosity that Tim knew well.

Jason’s eyes narrowed just slightly, and Tim gave him a nod before looking back to Dick and making a show of raising his hand to the bruise on his cheek so he would see it coming. “Not broken,” he muttered.  Dick nodded and Jason gave a huff of air while Tim continued to poke at the cheek in question.  “Who is going to get him?”  He whispered as he worked.  Dick jerked in surprise, eyebrows drawing down in confusion, but Tim knew Jason would get it.

“He’s more likely to come with me than you.  You ride with Goldie.  We’ll meet you.”  Tim as he let his hands fall away from Dick’s face, satisfied that nothing needed immediate attention.  It could wait until they got back one of the safehouses.  “Go to the one I showed you after that Penguin fight where Ivy showed.”

Remembering that night and what a mess it had been, Tim also remembered that it was one of the safehouses that Jason always kept stocked up on medical supplies.  If they were going to have Damian with a gunshot wound and Dick with his face, they needed supplies.  “All right,” he agreed, looking over his shoulder to see Bruce watching them with his eyes narrowed and Alfred frowning beside him.

“You two want to clue me in?”  Dick finally spoke up, voice just barely above a whisper and threaded tight with tension.  

Tim watched Jason give his shoulder a squeeze before sending Tim a look that spoke volumes.  “Come on, Dick.  Get your gear.  We’re leaving,” he told his brother as Jason walked away toward the other two men.

“Wait, Tim,” Dick protested, pulling his elbow out of the younger’s grip.  “I can’t just leave Damian.  Not while he’s hurt.”

Sighing, Tim stopped and looked up at Dick.  “We’re leaving.”  His tone gave no room for argument, but Tim also knew Dick was practically made to argue. “Trust me.  Trust Jason.”  Dick stared at him for a moment before looking toward the medbay where Damian was resting.  Tim knew he was considering the options and that whatever he decided now would say a lot about their relationship.

“Okay,” he finally agreed, and Tim gave him a nod before heading over to where he had left his gear, Dick’s not far from it.  There was a moment more of hesitation before Dick finally turned away and grabbed his own gloves and helmet.  “I’ll follow you?”

Where Tim would have usually thrown out a snarky remark and a smirk, he instead nodded and hopped onto his own motorcycle before turning the engine over.  Once he was sure Dick was set and ready to go, he gave one last glance behind them to see Jason and Bruce nose to nose and Alfred no where in sight.  He wasn’t sure what it meant for the situation, but he couldn’t find it in him to care at the moment.  Not when he had just seen his adoptive father punch one of his brothers.  Not when it wasn’t the first time, apparently. No.  He almost hoped Jason would return the favor and knock Bruce down on his ass.  Almost.

But that wasn’t a thought train he could go down at the moment.  He had more important things to do, like getting Dick out of there and fixing up his brother’s face once they got to the safehouse.  Which didn’t take as long as he thought it would.  Of course, with it still being the early hours of the day, most of Gotham was either still asleep or just waking up for the day.  It made it easier to store their bikes in Jason’s hiding spot and sneak into the building without anyone seeing.

“This is Jay’s?”  Dick looked around, frowning as they stepped inside and tugged off their helmets.  He paused and looked at one of the posters hanging on the wall.  “Roy must use it,” he muttered.  Tim let him wander around as he made his way into the kitchen to grab the supplies under the sink and an ice pack in the freezer.

“Here,” he called out, tossing the pack toward Dick who caught it easily and gave him a small smile of thanks. “Will you tell me what you meant?” Tim asked as he opened the medical kit and began digging through it to make sure they had the things they would need for Damian.  When no response came from his brother, he looked up and found Dick frowning as he stared out the window.  “Dick?”

Blinking, the older man looked over at him and waved a hand.  “Don’t worry about it, Timmy.  Ancient history, and all that.”  Unfortunately for Dick, Tim was too good at reading him now and knew when he was deflecting.  So Tim watched him, taking in all the signs he had memorized over the years.  The tight line of his shoulders, the clenched fist at his side, the white knuckles of the hand pressing the ice pack just a bit too hard to his bruised cheek.  They told Tim more than Dick was willing to at the moment.

“How many times.”

It wasn’t a question and Tim wasn’t going to let Dick get away with brushing it under the rug, not this time.  Not this topic.  “Just drop it, Tim.  I’m already going to have to fight Jason on this.  Just…it’s not important.”

Tim scoffed.  “It was important enough to use against Bruce.” Which, throwing back at Dick at the moment was probably a bit of a low blow, but sometimes you had to play dirty to get Dick to talk.

“Look, don’t act like you don’t know of at least one other time he used his fists against me.”  The words were accusatory, but the tone was defeated.  It made Tim furrow his brows, trying to think of what Dick could possibly mean.  “I know there’s no chance you haven’t come across Bruce’s cowl footage from after the Crime Syndicate, before I joined Spyral.”

But Tim had no idea what Dick was talking about.  And it must have shown on his face because soon enough Dick had closed his eyes and dropped his chin to his chest.

“Fuck,” he muttered.

“A little help here,” Jason’s voice cut off anything either of them were planning on saying and Tim hurried over to take some of Damian’s weight from Jason.  A quick scan of the teen showed the blood seeping through the bandage at his shoulder and the light sheen of sweat on his forehead.  The ride must have been rough.  “Let’s get him on the bed.”

Dick rushed ahead of them and fussed over the bedding so they could get Damian comfortable with minimal effort from the pair carrying him.  Jason let out a grunt when they set Damian down, leaning just slightly upright on the pillows Dick had stacked.

“I’ll grab the kit and change the bandage,” Tim muttered, looking at Jason before leaving the room to grab the supply kit he had been looking through moments earlier.  He paused on his way back into the room to grab the ice pack Dick had been using but dropped to hurry and help get the bed ready for the youngest of them.  “Dick,” he called, handing the ice pack back to him as he moved onto the side of the bed where the wound was.  Dick frowned but took the pack, pressing it back to his cheek.

“What-”  Damian tried to speak as Tim went to work on the bandage. The teen cleared his throat and clenched his jaw for a moment before slowly releasing a breath through his nose, all signs of how much pain he was in without showing it on his face.  “What happened, Richard?”  He asked, voice a bit raspy with the pain he was fighting.

“Nothing.”

“Bruce.”

Tim looked between Dick and Jason as they both answered, Dick sounding calming and Jason with the expected anger.  Honestly, he expected this from both of them.  Dick would forever be shielding Damian from what little bad the teen hadn’t already been exposed to.  And Jason would never sugar coat anything that had to do with Bruce.  Even if their relationship had been improving up until this point.

He wasn’t foolish enough to think that would continue with what they witnessed tonight.

“Don’t,” Jason growled, pointing a finger at Dick who had opened his mouth to say something.  “You don’t get to lie or brush this off.  You suggested this wasn’t the first time and if that’s the case then we deserve to know.  He deserves to know.”

But Dick didn’t respond. Instead he turned his eyes onto Damian and Tim locked eyes with Jason.  The older man’s expression was grim and Tim felt his probably just looked exhausted. They had all dealt with Dick’s stubborn nature, but he wouldn’t win this time.  Not with all three of them pushing.

Not with what Dick had accidentally revealed before Jason and Damian had arrived.

“Tell us about after the Syndicate.”  Tim turned his eyes onto the bandages he was taping to Damian’s wound, which thankfully hadn’t torn any stitches.  The teen narrowed his eyes on him and Tim attempted to give him a smile.  He wasn’t Dick and he wasn’t good at comfort, but at least he and Damian had gotten over the feud they had suffered for so long. At least they trusted each other now.

With a shuffling sound, Tim glanced over to find Dick sitting on the edge of the bed near Damian’s feet with his eyes gazing off at a spot on the wall.  “I didn’t want to go.  I…” They watched him take a deep breath and release it slowly.  “I begged him to let me stay.  But he had already planned out the whole thing.  Had my funeral and told the world I had died.  Said it was the only way to make sure none of it happened to anyone else in the family.”

“But that has nothing to do with Bruce punching you tonight.”

“It doesn’t seem like it, but his words were not going to be enough to convince me,” Dick turned to Jason, who had moved to lean against the closest wall with his arms crossed over his chest.

“And by that you mean….?” Tim considered what Dick said earlier and what he was saying now.  “The cave was trashed after your funeral.  Alfred said he had never seen so much damage.  And how it almost seemed too much for one person to do.  Even Bruce.”

The silence blanketed them for the second time that night and this time it was suffocating.  Whereas the air felt sucked from them earlier, this time it felt like it was weighing him down to the point that it would crush him where he sat with a hand still on Damian’s shoulder.  

That point of contact clued him into the fact that Damian was shaking.  Small tremors rippling through his muscles.  A barely contained anger.  And Tim didn’t blame him.  Damian had been dead and Dick had been devastated.  He said it was the only reason the Syndicate had been able to get the drop on him to begin with.  That if he hadn’t been so destroyed by Damian’s death, his focus wouldn’t have been in pieces. That they would never have grabbed him without a fight.  And that was enough to make the teen upset, but then throw in this new piece of information?  

“He beat you into submission,” Jason’s voice finally broke the silence, cutting through it like one of Damian’s katanas cut through flesh.  Effortlessly and deadly.  “That’s what you’re not willing to just come out and say.  He took an emotionally compromised man who had been beaten and strapped to a literal bomb, and beat the ever loving shit out of him to get him to do what he wanted.”

“Richard,” Damian whispered.

“You know what the time was like, Jason.  Tim. You both know what everyone was like,” Dick tried to reason, ignoring Damian’s almost-plea.  “None of us were our real selves, Bruce especially.”

There was a loud crash and Tim jerked as he snapped his eyes onto Jason, finding him breathing heavily and his eyes rimmed green.  “Don’t make excuses for him!”  Jason pushed off the wall and Tim noticed a dent next to him, assuming the crash had been a fist hitting the wall.  “None of us might have been the real versions of us, but none of us beat the shit out of people we supposedly cared about just to get them to submit!  You don’t get to brush this off like it’s no big deal. You don’t get to do that because if this had happened to any of us, you wouldn’t let us.”

“That’s different.”

“The fuck it is,” Damian cut in.  Tim watched Dick’s eyes go wide as he looked at the teen.  “It’s only different because you think you are not worth the same as the rest of us.  You value your life less than ours, but the same cannot be said for us.”  When Damian’s hand landed on Tim’s arm, he looked over and immediately jumped to help him sit more upright.  “Father is not infallible and your loyalty to him is a disservice to yourself.  And I for one will not stand for it any longer.”

“I’m with the kid,” Jason interjected, crossing his arms over his chest again.  Tim noticed the green had faded from his eyes, but his body was still one large ball of tension.  “This stops now.  I can’t do anything about what happened in the past, but if he lays a finger on you again and I will put him in his own grave.”

“You know they’re right, Dick.”  Tim spoke softly, keeping his own emotions out of it because Damian and Jason had enough for all of them.  “There’s more than you’re telling us, we all know it.  But this can’t happen again.  And when we tell the girls and Duke, they’ll all say the same thing.”  In fact, Tim cringed inwardly thinking about how Cass and Barbara would react once they heard.

“No,” Dick turned his wide eyes on Tim.  “You can’t tell them.  They don’t need to know.”

Tim sighed and shook his head.  “They do. They might already know what happened tonight, who knows where Babs has her cameras and mics set up down there. But we’re a family and we don’t keep these kinds of secrets.  They always backfire on us.  It’s time we learned that lesson.”

Jason moved over and set a hand on Dick’s shoulder.  “You can’t preach the family line to the rest of us and not think we’ll use it against you.”

“Yeah, okay,” Dick nodded, looking between the three of them before settling on Damian.  “Okay.”

[thegirlwhomoanedwolf]

Truth or dare

(Halloween party truth or dare)

*reader has plot of Elena

Damon x Reader

Warnings: 18+, slightly rough

It had been months...

months since (y/n) had been touched by a man. Her last intimate moment had been a gentle kiss with the person she swore she would never willingly touch. But things change and she would have never forgiven herself if she let Damon die without showing him how much she cared. She was prepared to grieve the man who had gotten under her skin, against her best efforts. She had realized a part of her would die with him.

Along with that part would be the guilt she carried. The way she would get excited when he would walk into a room. The sick feeling knowing she could easily have him if she just asked and how sometimes she fantasized about what he would do to her when she finally gave in. That didn’t compare to the worst of her crimes. There were times she had made sure Damon would hear her moans and cries as Stefan thrusted into her.

“Please harder,” she would beg her voice echoing throughout the boarding house. Always one to please Stefan did as he was asked. He didn’t care if Damon heard. He wanted him to know (y/n) was his and that he would never be able to experience the heaven that was being inside of her. If only he had known she screamed and begged hoping his brother was listening. Sometimes she even imagined Damon with flushed cheeks, his need for her burning through him like a fire he couldn’t put out. She would imagine him with his head thrown back and his eyes shut tightly as he stroked himself pretending he was the one responsible for her pleasure.

She would shriek “ Oh my god, please, I’m gonna cum,” when her fantasy had gotten her to her peak and even louder and raspier “ I want you to cum with me!” Her (y/e/c) eyes would slam shut as she thought of Damon stroking his cock faster and being pushed over the edge with her. Self hatred would wash over her afterwards knowing she betrayed Stefan but no one but her would ever know.

(Y/n) couldn’t help but feel some relief knowing the man she truly wanted could no longer plague her relationship or mind. Though as soon as her mirror image walked into his room with with a crimson colored bottle that was the cure, (y/n) felt more relived then she ever had in her life. That relief soon ended when Katherine happily announced that Stefan had given himself to Klaus to save his brother.

................................................

It was a cool fall day in Mystic falls. Four months after stefan left and made it clear he was not coming back. Damon Salvatore sat on his leather sofa reading from dust returned by ray Bradbury getting himself thoroughly into the fall spirit. His favorite time of year. The sound of the crackling fire place and smell of leaves falling outside was the perfect combination for relaxation.

“ Damon! Why aren’t you answering my calls I’ve been trying to reach you for hours?,” Carloline Forbes voice boomed, the door slamming shut behind her.

He looked at her pointedly “ Well maybe I put my phone on silent so I could have a relaxing day without someone needing my help for a mundane task any human could fufill.”

Caroline huffed, “ this is a big deal Damon, Tyler’s mom has the flu so now we don’t have a place for our yearly friend-o- ween party!”

Damon Laughed, “ friend-o-ween? That’s the best you guys could come up with?”

“ We made it up in middle school and it’s cute!,” she argued. “ please Damon no one else can have it at their house.”

He sighed “ fine.”

Caroline shrieked and jumped “yay! I’ll go get all the decorations!”

.................................................

What was supposed to be a relaxing day turned into hours of assisting Caroline in decorating the boarding house until it looked like something out of a movie. The lighting was dim. Orange and purple lights were strung throughout the house giving it a spooky yet enchanting glow. There were real pumpkins, fake pumpkins, spider webs, skeletons and other spooky decorations. It really was overkill but he did have to admit he enjoyed the finished result.

They stood finally finished Caroline grinning. “ This looks amazing. Oh! I forgot about the food! I’ll have Matt bring the snacks by before everyone else gets here. I have to start getting ready. I’m running behind! You better have a costume Damon!” She said so quickly it’d be hard to understand if he wasn’t supernatural. She left slamming the door behind her.

With an hour to go Damon walked upstairs deciding to take a shower before the party. He stripped his clothes and turned the shower on high heat enjoying the steam that filled up his large room. He decided he would just splash some fake blood on himself as a costume and his mind began to wander to (y/n) wondering what she might wear. He liked her sexy nurse costume but it probably had too many negative emotions attached to it after the last time she wore it. Damon felt guilty over what had happened but all he could think about right now was how badly he had wanted her that night. He could have thrown her in a school bus and fucked her for hours he had been so worked up from her anger towards him. His cock got hard at the thought and he moved his hand down his chiseled wet abs and gripped it.

He started to stroke it thinking of what he normally did, memories of (y/n) moaning and cumming. He should feel ashamed or grossed out by the fact it was because his brother was fucking her but he didn’t care. He could easily remember those sounds and pretend they were caused by him. He stroked himself even faster imagining the school bus fantasy. His arm supported him against the glass wall as the other twisted and began to stroke himself faster. He was so close he was going to

“Damon!,” Matt’s voice yelled from downstairs and Damon had never wanted to kill Matt more than in that moment. He lost the coiling feeling in his abdomen and shut the water off quickly. Pissed he quickly threw on pants and a white v neck.

Once downstairs he helped Matt set out all of the food besides the pizzas Caroline was ordering. If only he had showed up one minute later, Damon thought still extremely frustrated. He splattered some fake blood on his white shirt and face. Then put Caroline’s cheesy Halloween music on that she said he HAD to play.

The door opened and he got excited hoping it was (y/n) but to his disappointment blondie appeared with Tyler and witchy. Bonnie wore a black latex bodysuit with cat ears and Caroline was wearing a black lingerie nighty with animal ears as well. “ I see you decide to go as a slutty hamster,” he joked confused by her outfit.

“ I’m a mouse duh,” she said pointing to her ears the reference lost on him.

Bonnie looked at Tyler in his football jersey and Damon in “ blood” splattered . “ I see you two put in a lot of effort,” she joked.

“ if you want me to take it all off all you had to do was ask bon bon,” Damon joked back as she rolled her eyes.

Everyone moved to the kitchen snacking on chips and soda waiting for the pizza to arrive while Damon anxiously waited for (y/n) . The pizza delivery guy arrived before her much to his dismay and Caroline seeing the look on his face added “ It’ll be worth the wait Damon,” as she smiled. He ignored her not knowing what she meant and poured himself a bourbon as they all sat around eating pizza. When the door finally opened Jeremy came in first wearing a black hoodie as usual (y/n) following behind him.

Damon’s eyes bulged and he tried to stop another area from doing the same as he saw her costume. She was dressed like a playboy bunny and it was the least clothed he had ever seen her. Now he really was hating Matt because tonight was going to be torture until he could relieve himself.

.....................................................

A few hours later they all sat in a circle on the floor in front of the crackling fireplace, filled shot glasses in front of each of them as Caroline yelled. “ Okay never have I ever, so if you have take a shot! Also no lying.” “ I’ll go first! Never have I ever had a one night stand.” Damon and Tyler took a shot.

Bonnie went next, “ never have I ever kissed a girl.” Everyone took a shot besides Bonnie and learning this new fact about (y/n) was making it even harder on him. Especially since he was trying not to stare all night as is.

Tyler went next “ never have I ever slept with Damon Salvatore,” laughing as Caroline hit him and took a shot.

Matt went next following Tyler’s lead , “ never have I ever fantasized about Damon Salvatore.” Also looking at Caroline. She took a shot.

“ Wow I’m hurt Matt,” Damon joked and noticed out of the corner of his eye (y/n) taking a shot too. He thought he could explode right then. He clapped his hands getting everyone’s attention . “Alright this is dumb, lets do truth or dare, you know there’s nothing I won’t do.” He winked. Since it’s my turn I’ll go first he turned to (y/n) whose heartbeat immediately increased.

“ (y/n) ,” he said slowly. “ truth or dare?”

She figured he saw that she had taken a shot for fantasizing about him and knew he would probably ask about that so in this case dare was the safe option. “ dare.”

Damon smirked, “ I dare you to tell me what you fantasized about me doing.” Her face went red.

“ That’s not how it works Damon it has to be an actual dare,” Bonnie said trying to cock block him like usual.

“ Fine,” he looked at (y/n) who was still flushed “ Then I dare you to kiss Caroline.”

(Y/n) crawled over to Caroline on her hands and knees seductively. Her pink body suit showing off her ass with a cute little bunny tail on it. She sat in front of her moving her blonde curled hair behind her ear and passionately kissed her. Caroline wrapped her hands into (y/n)s hair as they moaned into each other mouths. They pulled away laughing and at this point all the men were slightly hard. (Y/n) crawled back to her spot next to Damon and glared at him. Worried what his dare would be after that so he picked truth.

She acted like she was thinking it over “ have you ever jerked off while thinking about me Damon?” She asked trying to embarrass him, making everyone but Caroline slightly uncomfortable. Only because she knew (y/n) and Damon just needed to bang it out already.

He kept eye contact, “ right before everyone got here I was thinking about you in your sexy little nurse costume. Oh by the way Matt thanks for interrupting right as I was about to cum.”

His answer was followed by a few ewww’s and Jeremy, Bonnie and Matt deciding it was time to go. Now it was Caroline’s turn and she was playing matchmaker “ (y/n) truth or dare,”

“ truth,” she responded nervous yet excited.

“ what is your naughtiest fantasy of Damon?”

(Y/n) froze debating on lying but new the supernaturals would easily be able to tell. Looking down ashamed she responded quietly, “ that he would jerk off while hearing stefan and I ... well you know.”

Damon couldn’t believe it. It wasn’t always stefan after all. Had she wanted him the entire time? Did this mean she was purposefully being loud? Was she always thinking about him when her and his baby bro did the deed?

Tyler interrupted his thoughts. “ Caroline truth or dare ?” He said quickly trying to move things away from (y/n) who was obviously embarrassed.

Caroline’s face lit up, “dare.”

“ I dare you to kiss me.” Caroline moved over to him getting into his lap kissing him their bodies pressing close together as Damon and (y/n) looked at each other awkwardly. Caroline let out a small moan and Damon coughed loudly trying to remind them they weren’t alone.

Feeling turned on from so many of the events that happened today and now knowing how long (y/n) had been wanting him physically Damon looked over to her yet again. “ truth or dare ?”

Her face was flushed from Tyler and Caroline’s show of affection and it reminded her how badly she needed intimacy. Damon was sexy all the time but now with his tousled hair and blood spattered shirt he looked rough and it was making her think about all the times he had gotten bloody to save her. How strong and rough he actually was. She wanted to be closer to him she hoped choosing dare would grant that wish. “Dare.”

He patted his lap “ come sit.” She crawled over to him and took a seat in his lap her back facing his chest and his arms wrapped around her tightly. She could feel the buldge underneath his Jeans and her core tightned feeling him pressed against her. He ran his nose along the inside of her neck and whispered “ your turn.”

She responded the need for him finally taking over. “ truth or dare Damon” she said in a husky tone her face turned towards him looking into his eyes, her need evident.

“ dare.”

“ kiss me,” she dared and without hesitation Damon pulled her face to his forcefully. They moaned into each other’s mouths and Damon wrapped an arm around her and the other in her hair after throwing her bunny ears off of her. Well aware of what was about to happen and in need of release themselves Caroline and Tyler snuck out unnoticed.

Damon pushed (y/n) unto her back hovering above her, their lips always connected. He pressed her body firmly into the floor grinding into her core enjoying as she bucked her hips up to meet his. He moved his mouth to her neck kissing it aggressively. “ I want you so fucking bad (y/n) ,” She trembled underneath him.

“ please Damon.” With that he sat back and ripped off her tiny pink body suit leaving her in a black bra and panty set. She sat up and kissed him pulling away to lift his shirt over his head. He picked her up easily sitting her on the leather couch closer to the lit fireplace. He stood in front of her and she fumbled slightly trying to get his pants off as quick as she could. Her eyes widened when she unzipped his black jeans and realized he was going commando and he was BIG. His large erection sprung out of his pants standing proudly in front of her face. He stepped out of his pants and was going to resume undressing (y/n) but that thought was forgotten about when she wrapped her hand around him and did and experimental tug.

She looked up at him her (y/e/c) eyes meeting his blue as she stuck her tongue out and slowly licked his tip a few times before wrapping her lips around him completely.

“ fuck (y/n) ,” he moaned as she went further down on him, bobbing her head up and down on his length. She began to use her hand stroking what couldn’t fit in her mouth. Damon wrapped his hand around her throat gently pushing her off of him knowing If she continued he wouldn’t last much longer. Using his grip on her throat he pushed her back into the couch and crawled untop of her kissing her passionately. His other hand reached being her back unclasping her bra and she gasped as the cool air hit the newly exposed skin. He began to kiss down her neck his fingers traveling to play with her over her soaked panties. “ so wet.” He moaned against her neck as she began to grind into his hand.

Damon moved lower sucking her nipple into his mouth gently nibbling on it as he slipped his hand underneath her underwear making direct contact with her clit. “Please Damon, I need you inside me,” she cried desperately wanting him more than she thought was humanly possible.

He lifted his head from her breast looking down at her. The need evident in her eyes and ripped her panties off of her. Hovering over top of her he grabbed his member and and ran it along her folds watching as her wetness coated him. Looking down at her biting her lip he asked , “ are you sure you want this?”

“ I’ll always want you Damon,” she replied the sincerity clear on her face. With that Damon slowly guided his head into her. He watched her face as she slightly winced and leaned down to kiss her softly. He moved back and slowly slid farther into her. He kissed the side of her face gently trying to remind himself she hadn’t had sex in months and stefan wasn’t as well endowed as he was. Her tightness was testing his will power but he didn’t want to hurt her.

“ are you doing okay?,” he asked moving his hand down to her clit softly rubbing her knowing it would help her adjust more easily.

She moaned her eyes shut tightly the feeling of him stretching her so far. “ yes,” she lifted her hips trying to show him she wanted more , “ I want all of you Damon.” With that he pulled almost all of her heat and thrusted back in completely connecting them.

“ yes!” She cried out feeling like they were made for each other. He pulled back again and thrust in slow and deep enjoying the look of pleasure on her face. He continued his slow thrusts rolling his hips into her filling her all the way. He sat back and watched as her folds gripped him tightly. The view bringing him closer to his release. Damon sped up his pace slightly pulling out mostly than thrusting back into her using more force than before. He could feel her pussy begin to tighten around him and moved to rest his forehead against hers.

“ I want you to come for me (y/n). ” He sped up his circles on her clit and thrust into her harder and harder his abs tensing trying to hold off his orgasm.

(Y/n) began to tremble underneath him, “ I’m close!” she exclaimed. Her legs began shaking uncontrollably the pleasure like nothing she had ever experienced before.

“ me too ,” he grunted on the edge “ I want you to come with me.” He thrust again softly whispering “ come on baby, come on my cock for me.” Feeling her walls start to pulse around him.

With that she cried “ yes! I’m cumming, Damon yes!”

“ Fuck (y/n) ,” he growled, her walls gripping him harder pulling his orgasm from him as he continued to move inside of her.

They lay there still connected the aftershocks traveling through their bodies. He kissed her before slowly pulling out and rolling off the couch onto the soft carpet in front of the fire place. He patted next to him. “ join me?”

She slowly moved beside him her muscles already sore from her incredible orgasm. He played with her hair as she asked him “ truth or dare?”

“ truth,” he responded not questioning her motive.

“ Do you love me Damon?”

“ I always have (y/n),” he paused “ do you love me?”

“ yes, I always will .” With that he brought her mouth to his sealing their love with that one special kiss.

[1000roughdrafts]

Family Secrets: Chapter Seventeen

God, are you out there? Oh, right, that’s me.

Summary: Allanah connects you with Nathan, a man who might have the answers you seek, but will he be wiling to share that information with you?

A/N: I completely lost interest in this series, and had no real intentions of picking it back up because I didn't think anyone would actually care to read it. Its my least popular series after all. Then, recently, it started to gain a bit of traction, and i got a request to finish it. so I re-read what I've already posted and after cringing and laughing a bit at my past self, I started working on an ending to it. This is the start to that ending. Thank you to @hannahcoursey for the push to finish this. It definitely needed closure. This chapter is a bit slow paced, but only so that I could tie up some loose ends and get back into the groove of this series.

Warnings: cursing, some angst, much suspense,

W/C: 2.3k

Standing on the roof of a desolate parking garage as you wait for Dan, you’re safe from the worst of the storm for now. As the day fades into night, the waters start to calm and you keep your eyes on the streets that have turned to small rivers. With your arms bundled tightly against your wet body, your jaw chatters from the cold.

Everything up until this moment had been moving so fast. It had been one thing after another, not allowing you any time to think, let alone process any thoughts that did manage to slip through. And the ones that do sneak past your guards crush you. Back on Earth you reach out in your most desperate moments for a God that, should he exist, doesn’t know or care about your existence, much like you hadn’t known about the exist of those praying for your help.

Ignoring Sam and Allanah as they mumble behind you, you keep your attention on the mostly wiped out town, and you can’t help but to feel responsible for it all. You were the one to create it in the first place. How could you be so selfish as to create a world and neglect it for thousands of years?

Now, though, as you stand still, just waiting in the near silence, your mind roams to the darkest and apparently the loudest parts of these thoughts. They write themselves on your face, broadcasting to those around you just how destroyed you feel.

Sam removes his jacket, draping it around your shoulders and nods at his brother. Dean, now at your side, wraps his arm around you and you lean into him, accepting the embrace without removing your eyes from the damage that surrounds you. However, the more you think about the town’s ruination, the less of it you can see. Through blurred vision, you take your eyes off the town and turn to Dean.

He pulls you completely into him, staying silent as he wraps his arms tightly around you. The comfort he provides you with is all you needed in order to let go. Tears fall quietly as he rubs your back, cooing and shushing you. A third hand rubs a soft circle on your back and between your shoulder blades and you turn around to see Allanah. Standing behind her is Dan and Nathan. They talk amongst each other in hushed tones. After a short moment, they turn to face you, taking slow steps over.

”Allanah, good to see you,” he says with a nod. Your eyes squint as you look over at her tight smile, and you make a mental note to ask her how they knew each other prior to this wretched day if her instructions had been to not intervene. “Y/N, Sam, Dean, this is Nathan,” he says, palm up, gesturing to the old man. “Nathan, these are the people I was telling you about.”

Nathan nods somberly, and to your annoyance, speaks slowly. “It’s nice to meet you,” he says, taking in a deep and heavy breath as he glances around, “although unfortunate for the circumstances.” If you hadn’t been watching him so closely, you might have missed his smirk. He looks at Dan, clearing his throat, “uh, Dan says you have some questions for me?”

You walk towards him, standing only a few feet away, “sorry to cut to the chase here, but I want to know what you meant when you told Tullie that ‘you never know who is listening’.”

His eyebrows furrow. You suppose Dan left that part out when talking with him prior. “How - how,” he starts looking over at Dan, then back at you, “how do you know about that? That was a private conversation.”

“These are the creators,” Allanah says softly, pointing at you and Dean before moving to stand by your side, “well, not exactly them per se, but their souls,” she sighs, “it’s a long story.”

You try your best to remain calm, but the more time that passes means the less time you have to save the people you came here for to begin with. A knot ties in your chest, and your heart thumps rapidly.

“Well, all right,” Nathan says slowly. “Look, I’m not sure what your intentions were in building or creating this world, but,” he sighs, shaking his head, “things haven’t gone right for a while. The separation between regions has become bloody, and that’s not even the worst of it. People in Ira are fighting for their lives. Their hospitals are overcrowded, and not equipped enough to handle what’s happening. Nor are the others!” he shouts, throwing his hands in the air.

Despite your reservations about the man, you can understand why he’s so frustrated. Before you knew this world existed you questioned whether or not God on Earth is real, and if he is, how could he let such horrible things happen? Has he forgotten about Earth the way you and Dean forgot about Teraw and the other regions? Or has he moved on all together, starting anew?

“By the sounds of it, they never were,” you sigh. “I’m very sorry for the state of this world, and I’m incredibly embarrassed that something I created has turned into a place that fosters such evil, but we don’t have time to be talking about the history of this hell like we’re at a fucking tea party,” you say, voice elevating. “If I had it my way, this whole world would never have been created in the first place, but past me was a selfish bitch, and I’m here to correct her wrongs. Luna, Ana, Tullie and two men are currently tied to chairs in Mr. Grant’s house, and we’re here talking formalities. In fact,” you say, “hours have already passed, so we may not even know where they are now,” the words scratch your throat on their way out.

“With all due respect, Nathan,” Allanah starts, “she has a point. Time is of the essence here,” she pleads, “at a later time I’m sure we’ll be able to discuss what needs fixing here, but our top priority needs to be finding them.”

“If it’s because you’re worried he’s going to hear you,” you say in a calmer voice, “it’s all over. It won’t even matter once I get my hands on him.”

“Fine,” Nathan sighs, “it’s not exactly a secret,” he scoffs. “I mean, half the town knows that he spies on us.”

“What do you mean by spying? Hidden cameras, recorders, people undercover, voodoo? I mean, what?” Dean impatiently spits, nearing your level of irritation.

“Spells,” he says, “location spells, peeping spells, the like.”

Sam’s eyes squint, ever the observant one, he says, “why are you so hesitant to share with us? What are you so afraid of?”

Nathan steps closer, “I have a family to protect!” He shouts.

“So do we!“ you say, matching the ferocity in his tone, “and we’re here to save them, and through that, we could save yours.”

He shakes his head, “you don’t know him like I do.”

“Enlighten us, then,” Dean shrugs.

”By doing so, I would be committing a crime comparable to no others,” he says, eyes focused on the ground, “I just can’t divulge any further information. I’m sorry,” he says, turning to walk away.

“What does he have on you?” Sam shouts after him.

“What does it matter?” You glare. “Do you know where he lives, Nathan?” You ask.

He turns to face you, and you notice the hesitation on his face. Asking again, more aggressively, he nods.

“Take us there,” you say, taking a step only to be stopped by Dean throwing his arm in front of you.

“Y/N, wait,” he interjects, gripping onto your arm. “He saw us there, he’ll know we’re coming. We need to be smart about this, come up with a plan,” he says in a low whisper.

“That’s the only advantage he has,“ you frown, “since we have been there, we’ll know where to hide until we’re ready to attack. Then, once we have them, we’ll be able to take him down from there. Sounds like a fine plan to me,” you shrug.

Allanah steps in, her hand resting gently on your shoulder, “I’m afraid Dean is right.” She turns her body towards you, gesturing towards the ledge to step away from the group, “a moment, please.”

Following her over, you fold your arms in front of you. With soft eyes, and a soft smile, Allanah sets her hand on your forearm. “Y/N, I hate to sound blunt here, but you’re acting a bit like your late partner.”

Your eyes widen at the comparison, and you drop your arms to your side, “what?”

“You’re bloodthirsty and I completely understand why, but it’s blinding you. We all want nothing more than to save them, but this abrasive and zealous nature you’ve taken on is likely to get us all killed if you don’t take a step back and realize that.”

Rolling your eyes, you look away to glance at the purple sky, remembering the night for what seems like the millionth time. You remember the way you pleaded with Jolie to wait until you had more people, a better plan, but her desire to gain revenge in the name of her son is what took her life. You want to hate Allanah for speaking truth, for reminding you yet again of such a painful memory, but you can only blame yourself for letting this get the better of you.

Witch a sigh, you relax your body, “fine. You’re right,” you concede.

“I know,” she smiles somberly, her hand finding its way back onto your arm. “Listen, we’re going to get them back safe, I promise you that. But to be honest, I think it’s time to reunite them with our world,” she says. “It’s ultimately a decision for you and Dean to make, but I believe that it’s time to bring this world to its end. It was created in vein, and I empathize with your mindset at the time of creation, however due to these circumstances, I’m afraid the foundation is rocky, and these things, no matter who is here, will keep happening until we put a stop to it for good.”

Pausing for a moment, you soak in this information, “how do we do that?” You ask.

"I'm not sure, yet," she says, letting her eyes fall to the concrete you stand on. "I'd have to think back on what you two did to create it and try to reverse that somehow, but with no powers here, I'm afraid that's going to be easier said than done."

Letting out an exasperated sigh, you look around at the falling sky and swimming infrastructure. Shaking your head, you look back at Allanah, “I can’t give up on this place. Not like Earth’s God did,” you sigh. “In a last ditch effort to save lives,” you say, tilting your head, “I’ll entertain the idea, but for now… I have to try and do right by the people here and fix what I started.”

Allanah nods, “I understand,“ she says with a smile. “Then we’ll figure it out.”

After a brief moment of thought, you question the events leading up to this moment, much like you had earlier, and before you could stop it, you blurt out, “can I ask you something?”

Allanah nods, “anything.”

"Why did you take me from my family?" you utter, grateful for the cutting wind that prevents the tears from falling.

She sighs, “honey, I never wanted to come clean about this as to not taint your view of your father, but,” she sighs again, “Mary wasn’t the only one in the Winchester’s circle to make a deal with Yellow Eyes. Your father, he,” she pauses, looking away, “he couldn’t have known what was to come. You know how sly and manipulative demons can be, and Yellow Eyes,” she shakes her head, her eyes meeting back with yours, “he was by far the worst I’d encountered. I had already begun my operation to build a coven, and despite what you may think I never took children from the clutches of loving families, but rather, like in your case, saved them from evil. Soon after your birth, he kidnapped you, and once I caught wind of it, I’d already begun to gain memories of this world. I absolutely knew I had to save you. It cost me a great deal of trouble, but I would stop at nothing in order to keep you safe.”

You scoff, crossing your arms, “if that were true, why were you so vicious when you had me? The memories you forced me to see all over again, the way you talked about the Winchester’s. You made me question my entire life,” you spit.

In an effort to gain control of the conversation, Allanah steps closer to you, “I know it’s unforgivable, but I needed to make sure you would stay away from him until we were ready. It was absolutely the wrong way to go about it, and I understand that now, but I was trying to make sure you remembered your powers, how to access them.”

“You had me shaking in anger! What would you have done if I killed him?” You shout, never minding how the guys look over in worry.

Allanah, however, does notice, and smiles at them before lowering her tone to a soft whisper, “I knew you wouldn’t. The bond you two share, as you know, goes beyond and deeper than a single lifetime. But, if it had gotten to that point, I’d have intervened.”

The lies are endless, and right now, you can’t even bare to look at her. Glancing back at the others, you’re immediately distracted by the disappearance of Nathan and Dan. “Hey!” you shout at Dean, “where the hell did he go?”

Dean shrugs as you storm over, “I tried to stop them,” he says breathlessly, “before I could get my hands on him, the bastard zapped outta here.”

“Shit,” you harshly whisper, throwing your hands onto your face, and pressing firmly as you bring them down your chin.

PermaTags<3 @waywardblueshun @81mysteriouslyme @drakelover78 @soab1967 @shutupandfeedmethings @pollywantacracker666 @sonnierae26 @obsessed5sosfreak @tlovescoffee @noodledoodlebug @hobby27 @cluz1babe @emptycanvasposts @suckmyapplejacks @sigrunsavestheday

Family Secrets<3 @lilulo-12 @vicmc624 @cluz1babe @idksupernaturl

[kbstories]

habits

(Or: Bakugou is a little shit and a dork. 1-A gets used to it.)

Read on: AO3 / Twitter

*

One lesser known truth about Bakugou Katsuki is that he's an unrepentant thief of snacks.

Class 1-A is blissfully unaware of this habit all the way up to their move to Heights Alliance. There, they not only share living space, but every meal of the day as well — a status quo that revealed many a peculiar fun fact about most classmates, really.

Bakugou's first victim by sheer proximity is Kirishima. They're hanging out outside after a weekend session at the gym, drinking their electrolytes and talking about the pros and cons of different brands of protein bars. Well, Kirishima is, at least.

Bakugou is huffing, saying, "It's all bullshit", as he gives the one Kirishima is currently eating the side-eye. "The food industry is one big scam, really. Learn to cook your own stuff and you won't need processed anything."

"Okay", goes Kirishima, long used to debating him on anything from hero rankings to the weather. "But consider this: I burn anything I cook. Anything, dude."

"That's factually impossible."

"...I burned water trying to make ramen once?"

"Shitty Hair. Water doesn’t— How the fuck?“

Kirishima laughs, waving the half-eaten protein bar around. "I don't know, but there was smoke, I swear! I set off the fire alarm and everything, my moms were so done. Life-long kitchen ban in my own home, that's me."

Bakugou groans a disgusted eugh sound. "Fucking understandable."

When it only makes Kirishima smile all the wider, Bakugou pushes at his shoulder, a shove too rough to count as affectionate by anyone's standards but Bakugou's.

"Fine. Normal people shouldn't eat protein bars. You shouldn't either, but you'd starve without 'em, apparently."

"Or, you could, y’know, cook for m—"

Another shove, enough to push a still-laughing Kirishima over. "Keep trying, dickhead. Pshh, cooking for you. In your dreams, maybe."

Kirishima hums and says nothing, his idle sip of sports drink interrupted by Bakugou pulling him to his feet.

"Who cares, c'mon. Don't think for a second I forgot about Thirteen's assignment."

A sputtering gasp from Kirishima. "Thirteen gave us an assignment?!“

"...Kirishima."

"Wait, no, listen. Why do physics have to, like, exist?", is Kirishima's brilliant argument. Nailed it.

Bakugou just stares. Then he snorts, "Fucking hell", shakes his head. "Whatever, I'm gonna make lunch and you're gonna do your damn homework. Maybe I'll let you have some. There's a faint chance. Very faint."

"Bro", Kirishima looks at him in wonder. "What about this, though?“

The glance Bakugou gives Kirishima's protein bar is downright offended if a little confused, too. "What about it?"

"Yeah, you're right. I'll just throw it awa—"

Bakugou moves so fast, all Kirishima sees is a blond blur.

Suddenly, the hand holding the snack is empty and Bakugou is chewing, having snatched the thing up with his teeth and devoured it like a beast from myths and legends.

"Problem solved, we're going. Huh, these don't even taste that shitty.“

Kirishima is too stunned to resist.

The Bakusquad is next in line when it comes to Bakugou's food-related crimes. Specifically, the croissant Kaminari is enthusiastically gesturing with to emphasize the point that yes, sneaking off campus for one (1) French pastry was definitely worth risking Aizawa's wrath over.

"It's perfectly baked. Look at its impeccable shape", Kaminari holds it up to his circle of friends like its his first-born child, "and the crust! It's so fluffy. I've been craving one all freaking week. This is gonna be so—"

Chomp.

Before Kirishima can even attempt to stop the tragedy waiting to happen, Bakugou has wandered back from his room, a stack of books under one arm and Kaminari's prized croissant in his mouth. The books are slammed on the table.

"Less talking, more studying", Bakugou snarks, somehow without getting crumbs of the stolen treat on anything. "Where'd ya get this from, anyway? S'good."

Kaminari’s jaw is on the floor, shell-shocked. "My… My croissant..."

"Sorry, bro", Kirishima sighs and pats his back. "He's just too damn quick."

The words are said with a look towards Bakugou, the that-wasn't-nice-man kind. Bakugou wrinkles his nose at him. (The very next day, an identical croissant shows up on Kaminari's plate during lunch break.)

Weeks fly by. By then, most of 1-A has been caught unawares by Bakugou's sneaky ways exactly once. They're training to be Heroes, after all — there's no way he'd get the drop on them again, at least not as easily.

Bakugou seems to be aware of this.

It doesn't stop him from snatching away Tokoyami's apple during movie night, smirking at both him and Dark Shadow with near-obnoxious levels of smugness. Tokoyami stares him dead in the eye while he grabs another one, one feathery brow raised in challenge.

Aoyama's handpicked brie is next, the guy's offended swearing almost as colorful as Bakugou's on his worst days. Bakugou outright cackles at that, obviously delighted by the prospect of someone else being subjected to Iida's no-cursing lecture for once, foreign language or no.

Speaking of Iida: It's his unopened cup of chocolate pudding Bakugou is eyeing like a cat does an especially oblivious mouse.

"Dooon't", Kirishima warns, hand hardened and ready to make a grab if needed. "I swear to Crimson Riot. Let the poor man have his pudding, or else."

"What has Iida even done to you, bro?", adds Kaminari, sliding his food tray into his usual spot across from them. "Like, I get it, I've pranked you enough times to owe you twenty croissants. And you're carrying Kirishima's entire academic career, so targeting him is valid, too."

"Hey! ...That's fair, actually. Carry on."

Kaminari winks at him. It's not like it's any different for him. "Iida, however, is wholesome, and—"

"Guys, you're making a great point and all that“, Ashido contributes over her bowl of natto. "But he's already gone."

Kirishima's head whips around. Indeed: No Bakugou. "No!"

"How is he this stealthy?!" Kaminari whines. "Bakugou, of all people!"

A few tables over, Iida is currently mid-story and too wrapped up in telling his audience of Momo, Todoroki, Uraraka and Midoriya about his adventures of googling what Aoyama had yelled out in sparkly rage the day before to notice a certain someone approaching.

Bakugou smiles, certain of his victory. Pretending to walk past them, he takes one hand out of his pockets and reaches out—

Only for his arm to be slammed to the table with a loud bang, mere inches from the desired snack.

"Kacchan", Midoriya pipes up casually, eyes still on Iida who — like everyone else at the table — jumped half a foot in the air from the sudden movement. "That's not yours."

Every member of 1-A is blatantly watching as Bakugou, food thief extraordinaire, is stopped in his tracks for the first time since his reign of terror began.

A collective breath is held. Surely, this will lead straight into a showdown of epic proportions in the middle of U.A.'s cafeteria. After all, any interaction between Midoriya and Bakugou tends to end in a shouting match, chaos or even bloodshed. And Bakugou does look intense, glowering at Midoriya as the muscles in his pinned arm bunch up and his palm starts to glow.

Then, he goes tch and rolls his eyes, grumbling: "Let go, Shitty Nerd. Figures you'd be the only one paying fucking attention."

Midoriya smiles and does as asked, pushing his own pudding cup closer to Bakugou right away. A blatant offer that's equally as blatantly ignored, as expected.

The actual food was never the point, after all.

Bakugou huffs off, lips upturned in somewhat of a smile of his own. Not that he'd ever admit to it as he rejoins his own friends, snapping at them to close their mouths and finish their lunch already.

Read on: AO3 / Twitter

[365days365movies]

March 15, 2021: Clash of the Titans (1981) (Part One)

This one’s personal…sort of.

Other than the fact that this is based on Greek mythology (previously well-established as one of my favorite subjects), this movie is, in a way, responsible for my existence. And that is because, according to legend, this is the film that my parents went to on their first date. And apparently, it went very well, because I came into being 10 years afterwards. So, yeah, this film is personal, like Dirty Dancing.

And also like Dirty Dancing, I HAVEN’T SEEN IT? I don’t know HOW I escaped seeing this movie. And that’s especially considering that I’ve seen the new one. And that movie was...not great.

Maybe not the worst film I’ve ever seen, but it’s definitely not a good movie. But OK, what’s this one about, exactly? Y’all ready for “The 365 Greek Mythology Hour” again? OK, then, here we go. SING IT LADIES

Clash of the Titans concerns the myth of Perseus, one of the greatest Greek heroes ever. Before Heracles, there was Perseus, son of Zeus. Yeah, Zeus, as he is wont to do, came down to Earth and had some good time with the princess of Argos, the beautiful Danaë. He came upon her while she was locked in a box by her dad, Acrisus, king of Argos.

Yeah, the Oracle at Delphi, ever the wisest, was visited by Acrisus one day, who wanted a son instead of a daughter. The Oracle spoke with Apollo (AKA huffed some of that SWEET SWEET ETHYLENE GAS), and told him that his daughter’s son would kill him. And so, he did the most logical thing: he locked her in a box. Yup. Dick. SPEAKING of dick, Zeus appeared to her in the open box as a golden shower. NOT THAT KIND OF GOLDEN SHOWER. I mean a literal shower of gold. Although...I wouldn’t put it past Zeus, of all gods. Dude was kinky.

So, Perseus is conceived, and Acrisus responds to this with his usual tact; he stuffs Danaë into a SMALLER box, and shoves it out to sea. She gives birth to a boy in the box, and the two eventually wash up on the shore of an island, where a fisherman finds them and takes them in. The boy is named Perseus.

Years go by, and Perseus’ mom is sought by his adoptive dad’s brother, and the king of the island, Polydectes. Polydectes is kind of a dick, and Perseus, now an adult man, doesn’t like him. The feeling’s mutual, and Polydectes has a plan. He holds a banquet, and forces all invited to bring a gift of horses. Perseus, being pretty poor, cannot bring this gift, but promises on his honor to bring whatever Polydectes wants of him, no matter what. And Polydectes asks for the head of Medusa.

Fuck.

Medusa’s one of your classic Greek monsters, a Gorgon. She’s one of Athena’s victims, formerly a vain temple priestess who was, well...raped by Poseidon, let’s be honest. However, since Athena’s priestesses were meant to be celibate, she was the one who ended up being punished. Fuckin’ YIKES. But OK, literal ancient gender politics aside, Athena cursed her with snakes for hair, and the ability to turn her victims into stone with a gaze into her eyes. Classic. And sure death for anyone who went after her.

So, Perseus is fucked. He’s gotta kill Medusa, and he doesn’t even have a way to get to her place. And that’s when he gets a favor from none other than Athena, goddess of wisdom and wartime strategy, as well as Perseus’ half-sister. I love Athena (other than the Medusa bullshit, obviously), and this is one of her most prominent roles in mythology. Well, that and the creation of spiders. That was also punishing a woman for her vanity, by the way. She has a type.

First, Perseus was told to find the Hesperides, nymphs of the dusk and dawn who would give him weapons. He got their location from the Greae, more colloquially known as the Gray Sisters. Weirdly enough, you may know them from Hercules, where they were combined with the Fates. They don’t have the future gimmick, but they do have that whole “sharing an eye” thing. Also, they share a tooth. Neat.

Anyway, Perseus takes their eye hostage, which makes them tell him where the Hesperides are. He goes to them, and they give him a bag to hold Meduga’s head. Then, the gods step in. Zeus decides to be a good dad for a change, and gives him an indestructible sword, and Hades’ Helmet of Invisibility. Hermes, another of Perseus’ half-brothers, gives him a pair of winged sandals to fly with. And Athena, technically Perseus’ patron, gives him a mirrored shield.

Perseus heads to the cave of Medusa, uses the shield, then goes up to her and cuts off her head. From her neck, for some goddamn reason, and golden sword pops out, alongside this guy.

Yeah, he’s not made out of clouds. He’s actually the, uh...he’s the result of Poseidon’s crime against Medusa. Fucked up, innit? Pegasus flies up to hang out with Bellerophon to kill the Chimera, and Perseus heads back to...actually, he goes to ANOTHER king who was a dick to him, and turns him into stone with Medusa’s head. Kings hate Perseus, seriously.

Perseus heads home after that, and goes through Ethiopia. There, he meets the King and Queen, Cepheus and Cassiopeia. Cassie’s gorgeous, but she tells Perseus that her daughter Andromeda is, like, WAY hotter, as beautiful as the sea goddesses. Which PISSES OFF POSEIDON (who is basically the villain of Perseus’ story, let’s be honest), and he send a sea monster named Cetus to destroy the kingdom, UNLESS they sacrifice Andromeda to it. And, because kings are assholes in this story, they do, chaining Andromeda to a rock. But, because Perseus believes that all women are queens, he goes to rescue her, and kills Cetus using all of his things. He weds Andromeda, and turns his romantic rival Phineus into stone using Medusa’s head.

Usually, that’s where retellings end, because there’s a recurring trend to Perseus’ story after that. A king is an asshole, Perseus whips out the head, asshole becomes statue of an asshole. However, there is that prophecy to contend with, about Perseus killing his grandfather. See, Acrisus basically retired by this point, and lived in the kingdom of Thessaly. But one day, he went to see some games, in which Perseus was competing in the discus. Well, wouldn’t you know it, Perseus isn’t great at it, and loses control of the discus, which hits Acrisus, killing him instantly.

Utimate frisbee, man. It’s dangerous.

There’s another version where Perseus uses Medusa’s head to turn his dad into stone, surprise surfuckingprise there. But yeah, after that the story varies. Sometimes he becomes a king, sometimes he doesn’t. He basically always marries Andromeda and has kids with her. Sometimes he founds a city of his own, sometime he doesn’t. And in one ending, where he’s lived to be an old king, he fulfills his ultimate destiny and turns Medusa’s head on himself. Geez.

So, yeah, there you go. That’s the story of Perseus. Let’s, uh...let’s see what the movie does, huh? This is another Ray Harryhausen joint, so I’m...tentatively excited for it. We’ll see how badly they mess up the myth, and whether or not it works despite that. So, ENOUGH of me lecturing you guys, huh?

SPOILERS AHEAD!!!

Recap (1/2)

We begin approximately where most iterations do: King Acrisius (Donald Houston) has just cast his daughter Danae (Vida Taylor) and grandson Perseus into the ocean, containing them within a wooden chest in order to “forgive his daughter’s crimes”. Yeah, sure, OK, buddy. Whatever helps you sleep at night.

This also pisses off Zeus (Laurence Mother Fucking Olivier), who consorts with the rest of the Olympians on what to do to Acrisus. Said Olympians include Hera (Claire Bloom), goddess of marriage and women; Thetis (Maggie Mother Fucking Smith), goddess of the sea and leader of the Nereids; Athena (Susan Fleetwood), goddess of wisdom and strategic victory; Aphrodite (Ursula Andress), goddess of love; and Poseidon (Jack Gwillim), god of the sea.

Hera tries to defend Acrisus, noting his prior years of devotion to Zeus and the other gods. But Zeus ain’t HAVING that shit, and tells Poseidon to destroy the city of Argos in revenge. This is to be done by...releasing the last of the Titans? Which is apparently the Kraken. I mean...no, a thousand times no, but whatever.

This little tantrum is Zeus’ way of showing his love towards Danae, whose child Perseus is his. This is helpfully pointed out by Thetis, who seems...a little spiteful, as much as Hera is about Perseus. Seems like she’s stoking some fires. Hmm. She is Queen of the Nerieds, so she may play a larger role later on.

Beneath the sea, Poseidon readies himself to set loose the Kraken and destroy Argos, at Zeus’ command. Zeus, meanwhile, kills Acrisus by using a clay voodoo doll of sorts to strike him down. And that’s when Poseidon lets loose the Kraken for the first time. And the Kraken...

Guys, the Kraken looks...actually, I’ll spoil his appearance later on. The Kraken destroys the city, and Zeus kills Acrisius. So much for the goddamn prophecy that explains why Acrisius did what he did, but fuck me, I guess. Danae and Perseus, meanwhile, have safely arrived on the shores of the island of Seriphus, at Zeus’ insistence. There, Perseus grows from child into a fine young man, with Zeus always watching over him...and with Thetis and company always watching over Zeus. Interesting.

The adult Perseus (Harry Hamlin) lives happily on the island, much to Perseus’ delight. Thetis, on the other hand, asks about her mortal son, a young man named Calibos (Neil McCarthy). Apparently, Calibos is a bit of a monster, and while he’d been set to wed the princess Andromeda, he’s also managed to kil all living things on the island that he’s been given, save for a single winged horse named Pegasus. Hence...he is to be punished.

Calibos, by the way? Entirely original creation of the film, and there’s nobody like him in Greek mythology. Anyway, Thetis is crushed by this, and decides to exact revenge of both Perseus and her son’s would-be fiancee, Andromeda. She pledges to open up Perseus’ eyes to grim reality, and does so by placing him in the kingdom of Joppa, where Calibos was originally set to rule alongside Andromeda.

Here, in an amphitheatre, he encounters a mysterious masked and robed figure, who quickly reveals themselves to be Ammon (Burgess Meredith), a poet and playwright. Apparently, Ammon wears his disguise to scare off trespassers. He tells Perseus that all of Joppa is in a tizzy about a curse of some kind, and that the story of the fallen kingdom of Argos is a famous legend.

Ammon tells Perseus to go back home to Seriphus, but Perseus tells Ammon that he’s promised to restore his mother’s old kingdom, and decides that Joppa would be a good start. Despite his drive, though, Zeus is pissed off at Thetis for plopping Perseus down unprepared. He tells the other goddesses to give him gifts to help him claim the kingdom of Joppa as his own. This includes a helmet from Athena, a sword from Aphrodite, and a shield from Hera. I mean...OK, that’s super goddamn weird, but OK.

After Zeus leaves, the goddesses rightfully complain about Zeus’ constant womanizing, but note that he probably doesn’t remember Danae at this point, is is most likely acting out of stubborn pride for his “handsome son”. Their words, not mine.

In Joppa, Perseus finds the gifts by the statues of their grantors. The sword from Aphrodite is adamantine, like the original myth, and slices through marble without a blemish. The shield from Hera...talks. Yeah. The shield bears the visage of Zeus, who tells him that the weapons are gifts from the gods, and that the helmet from Athena turns the wearer invisible. I mean, fuck Hades, I guess, but OK. Technically Athena did give the helmet to Perseus, so OK.

Armed with his new gear, an invisible Perseus immediately takes off to see Joppa, sans his sword. We only see his footsteps in the sand as he leaves, which is legitimately a VERY neat effect, and I’m not sure how they did it, but it’s neat as hell. Off to Joppa, a vaguely Phoenician/Persian kingdom, despite the fact that the original Joppa, or Jaffa, is a port city in Israel.

There, he meets a soldier, Thallo (Tim Pigott-Smith), who tells him of the situation. Since Calibos fell to Zeus’ wrath, Andromeda rejected him, allowing any suitor to try for her hand, whether they be royal or not. To do so, they must answer a riddle. If they fail to answer, the would-be suitor is burned to death. This is lorded over by Queen Cassiopeia (Sian Phillips), while Andromeda (Judi Bowker) lives in the tower of the palace.

Which is why Perseus IMEDIATELY uses the helmet to go into her room that night! CLASSY, PERSEUS. There, he sees...a giant vulture bring a cage to Andromeda’s balcony. No idea where in the fuck this is going, but that’s a damn good looking vulture. God, I love Harryhausen.

Anyway, the vulture is here for Andromeda’s soul, which leaves her body and goes to sit in the cage. The vulture takes off with it, al as the invisible Perseus watches on. He takes this opportunity to touch Andromeda’s face in her sleep (stop, Perseus, for the love of Zeus), then decides that winning Andromeda is his destiny. And so, his simpin’ journey begins.

The next day, Perseus asks Ammon how they can follow the vulture, who has apparently headed to the marshes to the “marsh lord”. To follow the vulture, Ammon suggests that they find and capture the last of the winged horses, known as Pegasus. And we’ve officially lost the track of Greek mythology at this point. Shit.

Well, with Ammon’s help, Perseus captures Pegasus and rides him through the skies. Meanwhile, in Corinth, some dude named Bellerophon is just having a stroke, I guess, because he’s totally fucked now. Whatever. The next day, the vulture comes back to Andromeda’s place and takes her soul to the marsh. But this time, Perseus and Pegasus follow them.

In the marsh, the marsh-lord and riddle-maker is revealed as Calibos, who is still in love with the beautiful Andromeda. As she cannot love him, he provides to her another riddle to give her would-be suitors. In tears, she memorizes the riddle and its answer, Calibos touches her uncomfortably, even as Andromeda asks him to lift his curse and show pity. But he refuses, in pain from his love. Jesus, this movie should be called Clash of the Simps, goddamn.

Perseus was watching the whole thing, though, which Calibos immediately figures out when he sees Perseus’ footsteps in the dirt. As Perseus goes through the swamp looking for Pegasus, he’s found and attacked by Calibos. Calibos, by the way, is a guy in pretty solid makeup in close-up shots, and a Harryhausen model in far-away shots.

The two struggle, the helmet is lost in the swamp, and Perseus draws his sword. But we suddenly cut away to see the daily ritual of the presentation for Andromeda’s would-be suitors. Perseus steps in, having survived the attack from last night, and offers his hand to Andromeda, who recognizes Perseus from a dream. She gives the riddle, which is ABSOLUTE BULLSHIT. Here, I’ll prove it.

In my mind’s eye, I see three circles joined in priceless harmony. Two, full as the moon; one, hollow as a crown. Two from the sea, five fathoms down. One from the Earth, deep under the ground. What is it?

Any guesses? Anybody?

NO MATTER WHAT YOU FAIL. Because the answer is Calibos’ ring! HOW IN THE SHIT WOULD ANYBODY HAVE GUESSED THAT? It’s a golden ring with two pearls on it! WHO KNOWS THAT SHIT? I call complete bullshit, and the only reason that Perseus knows it is because he spied on this last night! Also, because he cut off Calibos’ hand, and made him renounce his curse, which is...never really specified, now that I think about it.

With that, Perseus has both Andromeda’s and Calibos’ hands! HA! Calibos is not as amused, as he preys to his other Thetis, at a temple of hers. He demands that Thetis take revenge on those whom Perseus loves, specifically Andromeda and the city of Joppa itself. He demands justice, but Thetis identifies this correctly as revenge. All the while, Perseus declares his love for Andromeda, and they seal their union with a kiss and ritual.

During this ritual, in which Andromeda and Perseus are essentially married, Queen Cassiopeia, LIKE A DUMBASS, says that Andromeda is more beautiful than the goddess Thetis herself. Yeah. BAD FUCKING MOVE, especially because she said that IN FRONT OF THETIS’ FUCKING SANCTUARY. At least that dumbass move was kept from the original story.

Well, Thetis tells Cassie that she can only atone for her stupidity in one way: sacrifice your daughter to the Kraken in 30 days. Later on, Perseus speaks with Ammon to figure out how they can defeat the Kraken. Ammon suggests speaking with the “Stygian Witches”, who I’m assuming are our Grey Sisters for the night. However, according to Thallo, they have a taste for human flesh. Still, Perseus is going, as are Ammon, Thallo, and Andromeda. But not Pegasus.

Well...shit, man. That changes a few things, huh? But that’ll be addressed...IN PART TWO! See you there!

[furidojasutin]

Title: The matching costumes

Pairing: Fraxus (Freed x Laxus)

Universe: Canon

Rating: K+

a/n: Happy Halloween!! Not sure if I’ll also be able to do something for Fraxus Day on November 5th but I wanted to do at least one of the two dates, Halloween or Fraxus Day djkwsl Enjoy the scary day, guys!

He hated that he caught himself thinking how perfect they looked together. He hated that this thought even made it into his mind, but here he was. A mug of beer in his hand, lazy cat ears on his tousled blond hair (Bixlow had made him wear those) and pulling a face looking as miserable as sin.

How fucking great.

Laxus chugged his drink and put his mug back on the wooden counter. He had stopped counting how many drinks he's had this night and he didn't really care. It was a quite blessed thing that his tolerance for alcohol was very high, he thought every now and then. Other times he had experienced the need to numb all his senses, but alcohol rarely seemed to work.

Point is, he still couldn't outdrink Cana but his tolerance was high enough to try battling her. Not that he wanted to do that right now.

What did he wanna do? Perhaps just go home and escape this noisy mess of a Halloween party.

Yet, he didn't end up doing any of it. Instead he found himself being hypnotized by the scene presented on the guild's stage. He just couldn't seem to avert his eyes, even if he wanted to so badly.

Freed and Mirajane had done a matching costume. They had dressed up as demonic partners in crime and it was impressive, maybe even the most impressive costume duo Laxus had ever seen in one of the guild's contests. Both of them looked equally attractive and fearsome (was that a weird thought to have?), with their fangs and dark clothes with just the right colorful accents, glowing eyes, horns as their crowns, the mischievous expressions on their faces. There were so many details that turned the overall image into a feast for the eyes. Impressive, formidable, dark...

People would look at them standing there together and think that these two would have the most beautiful, smart and confident children one day. Alright, perhaps without them wearing their costumes, but the point was still made...

Fuck. Did he really just think that, too?

The feel of discomfort tightened in Laxus' chest and instinctively he reached for his mug, just then realizing that it was already empty again. And Mira wasn't serving right now. At least this finally prompted him to rip his eyes off the scene he had been watching intently for the past couple of minutes, attempting to find Kinana or Lisanna among the crowd of people flooding the guild hall. Without any success, though.

“Regretting your choice yet?”

Laxus grimaced at the almost mocking voice that suddenly appeared next to him. He realized that he should have seen this coming, but he had hoped that he'd be able to avoid it somehow. Not with Evergreen, though. He noticed that hint of a smirk on his friend's face and refused to look at her, deciding to stare down his emptied mug.

“I don't know what you're talking about.” This wouldn't be good enough to shoo her away, he knew. If he had learned anything about his closest friends then it was that they were just as stubborn as he was, if not even more stubborn sometimes. A curse and a blessing all the same, really. Who was he to talk though, if he suffered the same flaw?

“Oh, you don't?” Evergreen took a sip from her purple cocktail. The color was matching her outfit quite nicely but the sound of her slurp was almost a little too aggressive. Perhaps he was just imagining it but he rather guessed that it was all part of her attempt to mock him.

“No,” he grumbled and tapped his fingers on the counter. He really didn't feel like talking, especially not right now and where everyone could possibly hear him.

“Alright,” she shrugged and took another sip from her drink. It almost fooled him into thinking that she would leave him alone, until- “So you're completely fine with Freed and Mira doing matching costumes because you declined when Freed asked you? They're absolutely gorgeous, by the way.”

Laxus wasn't sure why Evergreen needed to rub salt into the wound so hard. It didn't matter anyway. The weird pang he felt in his chest followed by a dizzying nausea was more real than anything else in that very moment. When had he started to allow his emotions to overrule his mind?

He wasn't even sure what the worst part about this entire situation was. His feelings messing him up? Him realizing what it was but still trying to deny them for some reason? Freed and Mira truly looking breathtaking together? Evergreen making him feel even more miserable for pointing out all of it? Knowing that it was his fault that Freed had asked Mira instead?

Truth is, Laxus had just never really been into Halloween. Not like he would admit it to many people, but he'd always been more of a Christmas guy himself ever since he was a little boy. He had forgotten about the charms of this holiday in between times, but it was slowly coming back.

Freed, however? Back then he hadn't been sure if he should be surprised or not when he found out that Freed was very fond of Halloween, actually. The Raijinshuu's captain turned out to enjoy the atmosphere, scaring people, setting up Halloween parties with the help of his rune traps, the decorations and even... the costumes.

This year had been the first year of Freed actually wanting to participate and he had asked Laxus if he wanted to join him.

And what had he done? Remembering the moment clearly, Laxus frowned, not registering whether Evergreen was still talking to him or not. Freed had asked him and he had messed up. He hadn't even thought his answer through, it just slipped out before he could even realize what was happening.

Then he had said that he knew that Freed would find a better partner for this.

That's what he did, indeed.

“Laxus? Laxus, hey.”

With a growl rumbling in the back of his throat he turned his head when he heard Evergreen's voice, returned from his pit of thoughts. He was surprised when he found a tinge of guilt on her painted face, though decided to neglect it. She could have thought her words through before she said them. Now here there were and he definitely wasn't in a better place than before.

If anything, he was more frustrated and it showed when he pushed himself off his bar stool, ready to retreat somewhere else. “I was wrong and you were right, 's that what you wanted to hear? Give me a break, Evergreen,” he snapped between gritted teeth, becoming so tunnel visioned that he didn't hear what Ever said to him about Mirajane as he left the bar area.

It wasn't a problem for him to slide through the people, occasionally bumping into the one or other but not caring. She knew that she would just end up provoking him with her words, didn't she? Was that what she wanted to achieve? He had no fucking idea and the more he thought about it the less he seemed to care anyway. Perhaps he shouldn't have snapped at her just now, but honestly, she had it coming.

Not like Ever didn't know that he was a mess when it came down to handling emotions. He had made visible progress in the last two years, but hell, he was still learning. At least he liked to think that he was.

Without a destination in mind he ended up on the second floor, hoping for some peace. His nerves really needed to be less on fire and his thoughts to be less of a clusterfuck. He was ready to slump on one of the chairs. Even a cigarette sounded tempting right now.

But neither the quiet nor the peace happened when suddenly he heard a way too familiar voice behind him.

“Laxus? What are you doing here?”

He honestly felt like his soul left his body right then and there when he spun around in a movement that possibly looked way too hectic to not be suspicious. He usually wasn't all too easy to scare either. And what were his heightened senses doing right now, huh? Were they on vacation?

God-fucking-dammit.

It got worse when his eyes fell on Freed who was in the middle of taking off some of the less comfortable pieces and details of his costume. The dark écriture mage was focusing him with a slightly tipped head, curious and wondering. And waiting for Laxus to respond, obviously.

But Laxus’ heart was pounding in his chest ridiculously hard. He had spent the last minutes with multiple rants in his mind and Evergreen had thrown him off completely at last. What was Freed doing here? Laxus could obviously see what he was doing but – when? When did Freed leave the stage and when did he get up here?

“Are you alright? You look a little tired.”

Tired. If it was only that, then Laxus could live with that. Crossing his arms in an unapproachable pose that he had perfected over the years, he gave a low huff. “Yea, I'm fine. Just needed to get away from all the noise.” Hopefully this would be enough to explain himself. It wasn't even far away from the truth either, was it?

To his relief, Freed nodded and continued to remove some small details from his garments. “I see. Well,” the demon added, “I'll be ready to go back down in a few moments. Will you rejoin us again later?”

“Uh, I-” That caught him off guard. Freed's eyes met his when he looked up for a second and then he worked on a few of his buttons. Laxus' throat felt awfully dry. At least he could depend on his poker face to stay in place. “You can keep me company, if you wanna. I don't mind.” And that was the whole truth. He hadn't meant for it to sound like he intended to throw Freed out in the first place and he hoped that Freed understood. They had known each other for so long now. Freed had seen his worst and his best sides – motion sickness and a case of his senses being overloaded included. So he counted on the other man to know that, sometimes, he just needed some time for himself while at the same time not minding Freed's company because...

Because why? He knew exactly why and he would be able to list all the reasons right here and right now.

The response Laxus got from Freed consisted of a brief smile and a nod. “I guess I wouldn't mind some quiet moments either,” he then agreed further and stopped fumbling with his clothes. There was a moment of silence between them in which Laxus tried to figure out what was coming next, but Freed was quite unpredictable. Something in his visible, cyan eye changed before he asked- “Did you like the costumes Mirajane and I came up with? She was quite excited when I asked her if she wanted to be my partner and she put lots of effort into the performance.”

He should have been prepared for this conversation, Laxus thought. Alas, he wasn't. Like an absolute coward he wasn't able to hold the eye-contact Freed was bringing upon him. What was he supposed to say now? There was so much he could say but so little he was ready to say. With his arms still crossed, he focused the wooden floor beneath their feet when he answered. “I bet. Mirajane's always liked this kinda stuff,” he shrugged and lightly cleared his throat. “I mean, you look awesome. Looked. You both did, I mean.” Here he was stumbling over his own words like a pro, something that was hard to believe. Laxus prayed that the warmth that rose to his cheeks didn't actually tint them in a different color.

It didn't help that a low, seemingly amused, chuckle was Freed's initial response.

Not only did it surprise Laxus but it also managed to coax him into looking up where he was met by Freed's unrelenting gaze immediately. The approach of a lopsided smirk on his friend's lips and the glint in his eyes did indescribable things to him in that moment. When Freed spoke again, however, it had an entirely different effect than expected.

“I'm glad you enjoyed it,” Freed stated still having his tiny smirk and a lively glint, “Perhaps you want to join me next year instead. I'd be happy to ask you again, Laxus.”

For the first time this night he didn't feel overwhelmed in a negative way. It took Laxus a moment to realize what was happening, but then he felt how a lot of tension seeped out of his shoulders and his posture relaxed. Did Freed just say that he would ask him again next year? He hadn't fucked up? That's what Laxus was getting out of this and it was more than enough for now.

Puffing out a breath, his own lips took on the shape of a visible grin. Ever since he started to shut out his feelings less and less, there had been this tickling feeling in his gut in certain situations and this was one of them. There was still a lot for him to get used to but he had begun a new journey and if there was one thing he knew for sure then it was that he wanted Freed to be with him along the way like he had been for a long time already.

“Yea, maybe you should ask me again.”

“Then I will,” Freed promised and before he averted his eyes again he made one last remark that threw Laxus completely off the track. “The cat ears are quite adorable on you.”

[writingwithadinosaur]

“Under the Knife” - Part 4

“Under the Knife” - Part 4

My Masterlist - Here

Story Masterlist -

Here

My Tag List - Here

Hannibal Lecter x Reader, Will Graham x Sister!Reader

Word Count: 3,100-ish 

Key: Chunks of text in italics are (Y/N)’s thoughts. Y/N = Your Name, H/C = Your Hair Color, E/C = Your Eye Color

Warnings: Description of Crime Scene/Murder Victims, Murder, Cursing, Blood

Summary: You are Will Graham’s sister who works with him at the FBI. When you get offered a job promotion, life starts to change. Some changes for the better; Some for the worst.

Tag List: @fruitloopzzz @theeactress @melconnor2007 @ashenfallsof @geeksareunique @all-by-myself98 @sj-thefan​ @fuck-your-bad-vibes-dude​ @ntlmundy

Author’s Note: This is my first Hannibal piece and I am proud of it. There aren’t too many stories for Hannibal, so I figured I would add to the collection.

This does take place in some happy medium where they are all alive and work together. Sort of a happier season 1 era.

This is beta-read by @theeactress​, but please let me know if there is something that we missed or that we should look at again! 

If you would like to be tagged in any of my future pieces, check out my tag list above and let me know! And as always, feedback is greatly appreciated!

<3

- DreaSaurusREX

~~~~~~~~~~~~

No matter how many times you looked at crime scene photos or had to visualize how the killers from the Evil Minds Research Museum had done their work, you were not fully ready to be completely immersed in an active crime scene. 

You were inside another upper-class house in Lorton, Virginia. Everything seemed normal on the outside, until you got past the familiar yellow tape. You were escorted in by Jack. As you walked through the front door, Jack motioned to the right. 

“Mindy Pencalt’s sister called local police and said that she was worried about Mindy. They have weekly video calls and Mrs. Pencalt didn’t respond for two days, which apparently was very abnormal. Uni’s came in and saw her on the kitchen floor, then called in for backup.” 

You walked over, putting on gloves as you got closer. You brushed some hair away from Mindi’s neck. You saw the blood down her front, but you really got a good look at the slice that spanned across most of her neck. You spoke out loud as you inspected the victim, mostly to get confirmation from Jack that you were right.

“This was a quick kill. Sliced neck, just like half of the other victims. No other obvious wounds or marks other than a gash on her forehead that seems to have happened right around time of death. Which means she didn’t-or couldn’t put up much of a fight.” You stood up as you began to see the scene in your mind as it happened. You walked slightly behind where Mindi was laying on the ground. “Most likely from the killer coming up and shoving her head into this set of cabinets before taking his weapon and cutting into her neck from behind.” 

After you had acted out bashing an invisible victim into the overhead cabinets and then taking an invisible knife and dragging it across the same invisible victim, you stopped and looked again at the sliver in her neck.

“The cut starts a few inches below Mrs. Pencalt’s right ear, drags through and across her sternohyoid muscle and stops an inch or so to the left. Leaving her to bleed out at a decent pace. The length of the cut and where it starts and ends indicates that the killer is left-handed.”  

You were looking at the cut on her neck when another thought popped into your mind. Without breaking your gaze from her neck, you held out your open hand towards Jack. 

“Swab, please.” There was some shuffling behind you and not even 20 seconds later, you felt the small familiar shape of a long cotton swab. You gently use your gloved hand and the swab to open the wound slightly. You made a confirming noise to yourself and spoke out loud as you reached your hand out for a disposal bag from whoever gave you the swab.

“The slit is at more of an upward angle. Which means that he is taller than Mrs. Pencalt, who is... how tall?” You ask over your shoulder, still not looking away from the corpse in front of you. 

You could hear Jack flip through his notepad for a few seconds before responding with “5’7”. You just nodded, trying to visualize the killer in your mind. As of right now, it was just a shaded outline of a man. Now you had some sort of height to work with though, but you still didn’t have any major identifying markers yet.

“I would estimate our killer is somewhere between 5’10” and 6’ tall. Which makes him almost painfully average.” 

You looked around Mindi’s body once more to see if there was anything else that really stuck out to you. Any sort of signature left behind on any surface, a stray hair or thread from a shirt being snagged. But you found nothing. You mimed the movements the killer would have made to really see the picture and try to get more into his head. Physically being at the crime scene did so much more than just looking at pictures and notes.

“After the trash is taken care of, he moves on to find and set up his mise-en-scène.” 

You turn to go through the only hallway visible, finally looking up. You were expecting to just meet an accepting or objecting Crawford, but instead was greeted not only to an accepting Jack, but also a somewhat surprised Hannibal. He knew you were brilliant, but he had never had the chance to see you really work. 

“Oh! I wasn’t aware that Dr. Lecter was going to be joining us.” You were really thrown off your rhythm for a minute. Jack nodded before turning and heading down the hallway to what you were sure was a dismembered doctor.

“When you are done, meet me down here. First door on the right.” 

You were left with Hannibal in a slightly awkward position. Looking around at the floor, you tried your best to gracefully get away from the victim and closer to where Hannibal stood without messing up the crime scene. He offered a guiding hand to help to which you gladly accepted. Once you had your feet planted, you decided to speak up and try to dispel as much of the weirdness you felt as you could.

“I um-- I would have offered to drive us both if I’d have known you were coming. I thought you said that you only consulted on one part of this case.”

“Originally, yes, it was just the one. But Jack asked me to tag along, as back up. He wants to make sure he made a good choice in recruiting you. And having never had the privilege to see you work like this before, I felt the urge to agree even more so.” 

You could feel like there was something off or something else he wasn’t sharing, so you just raised your eyebrow at him, waiting for him to continue. He took a slightly large inhale before changing to a more cautious tone of voice. 

“I also agreed because Will and I thought it would be safest if I followed this case as well.” 

Your mood went from confused and unsure to upset and slightly betrayed very quickly once Hannibal’s reasoning settled in your brain. You tried your best to stay cool, but you couldn’t help the frustration that slightly morphed your voice. 

“So this is Will’s way of babysitting me, is it? He-- No. Both of you are so sure that something is going to happen that you felt the need to put yourself on this case?” 

“This is just a precaution and to try and help Will feel a bit better about the situation.” 

“I--.” 

Before either of you could continue, Jack’s voice rang from the next room over.

“Lecter! Graham! Get in here! We don’t have all night!” 

You took a deep breath, trying to sort out the clusterfuck of emotions in your head. You opened your eyes and diverted all attention to walking away from Hannibal and ignoring the situation. Before you could take a full step, Hannibal tried to speak. 

“(Y/N)--”

You just paused and held your hand up to stop him.

“I’m sorry but I really do not want to talk to you about any of this right now. I just want to go in there, get some initial findings, and go home.” You couldn’t fully see it, but Hannibal nodded his head in understanding and extended his arm in the direction of the next room. You muttered a small “thank you” before continuing towards where Jack called out for you.

You would deal with all of this later. For now, you needed to be able to look at this scene and try to find anything that could save whoever this creep had in mind next. 

Walking into the room, you saw the various markers and teams working on collecting evidence and taking pictures. Jack was right by the door to greet you into your first macabre serial killer scene.

“Give us the room.” Jack ordered and everyone got to the end of whatever they were doing and filed out, giving you, Jack, and Hannibal the room to yourselves. Now you could get a better visual of just what you were dealing with. 

“Do you want to know what we have so far, or do you want to just do your thing?” Jack watched you as you couldn’t bring yourself to look away from the scene in front of you. All you could do was shake your head ‘no’ as you worked your hands into a fresh pair of gloves, which was enough of an answer for Jack.

“The floor is yours, (Y/N) and Dr. Lecter.” 

With Jack’s previous experience with your brother, he had learned to just let your brain work and then talk later. But Hannibal had never seen this side of you, so he observed with immense curiosity as to what you pick up on and the connections you make. 

“I would rather (Y/N) take over. This is her case. I am just here for support.” Hannibal said somewhat softly, seeing that you were trying to slip into the same mindset as he had witnessed earlier with Mrs. Pencalt.

You tried to just breathe through the resentment you were feeling as you straightened your shoulders and stepped through the doorway of the room, slowly making yourself forget that they were there, focusing on how your killer would have done all of this.

You could assume this was Dr. Pencalt and Mrs. Pencalt shared bedroom from the general layout of the home, or the fact that Dr. Pencalt was laid out in the middle of a king sized bed. 

As you stepped closer and closer, you were able to see those clean cut lines that you’d come to know very well by now. His body looked slightly elongated due to the fact that he, like the previous Scalpel victims, was dissected at every major joint. Each part of him had an inch or so gap between each other. 

Making your way around the bed, you found the door to the attached master bathroom open and the light on, a trail of blood connecting the bed to the bathroom. When you peeked inside, the once pristinely gray floor tiles now had a layer of red over them and thick blood stuck in the grout. You nodded as you committed that room to memory and walked back to the bed.

You carefully tilt Dr. Pelcant’s head to the side to try and find a small hole in where a syringe would have gone, figuring it would be somewhere in his neck. You couldn’t find anything with just your naked eye. 

“We’ll have to see if Beverly or Zeller can find the injection point. If we can see any sort of angle to it, that could help narrow down our killer’s height.”

Jack wrote that down in his notes as you took a step back from the body and scanned the whole room again. Your gut was saying that you just needed to keep looking. Hannibal and Crawford watched you, waiting to see if you had anything else to add. Hannibal saw that you were slightly troubled by something.

“Something wrong, (Y/N)?

"Something about all of this is off."

“What is it?" Jack butt in, a slight shift in his tone making you a little more frustrated at yourself for not seeing it yet.

"I'm not sure. It’s just-- This set up- This doesn't feel like the others. Not entirely."

"Could it be because these are not photographs, like how you're used to seeing?" You know Hannibal didn’t mean to sound condescending in any way, but with your bitter bias towards him right now, it definitely felt it. Still, you didn’t look away from the bed.

"No. I know it's not that."

You couldn’t tell exactly what Jack and Hannibal were discussing behind you but you didn’t really care; Everything had started to muffle as you focused more and more on the display in front of you. 

My eyes and gut keep bringing me here. This is it. Something isn’t right here. But what the hell is it? The body is cut up in the same way as the other doctors. The only slightly weird thing is that the eyes are left open on this vic. Everything is so neat and tidy, why can’t I tell what is wrong?

Then it hit you. That’s what is wrong: Things were neat. More specifically, the bedsheets.

"The sheets." You felt the words slip out of your mouth as your brain was still going, now picking up on how this bedroom looked like a picture from a Better Homes & Gardens magazine, just with a dead body laying in the bed instead of a photogenic couple or dog or something.

“(Y/N), I really don't think their choice in bedding lead to their--"

"Shh! Shut up for a second! Just-- Everyone shut up!" You waved your hand at Crawford to try to quiet him quicker. Jack was about to reprimand you, but Hannibal held up a hand to him, letting him know that you were on to something. You did a full circle around the room before landing back on the sheets. 

“The sheets are flat.” You said aloud, moreso to yourself than to the other two off to the side. You then looked directly at Jack, not giving Hannibal any attention, knowing that would bring your personal life back up and derail the potentially good track you were on.

“There are only two victims in this household, correct?” You spoke while following the blood drip stains from the edges of the bed to the pool on the floor to the trail that led to the bathroom.

“Yes.” Crawford responded, slightly judgmental.

“And we’re sure about that?”

“Positive. I looked in every room in this house myself before you two got here.” You just nodded, your eyes finding their way to the bathroom and the seemingly odd pool of blood in there.

“Were there any weapons found in the bathroom?” Both men were a bit confused at the sudden change of topic, but continued anyway.

“Not that I’m aware of.”

“How well did the crime scene interns look though?”

“What exactly are you insinuating, (Y/N)?” You could tell that Jack wasn’t a fan of you talking like that, but you had your reasons. 

“Either we have a mysterious third victim that was killed in the bathroom and then vanished, or this is one of those cases where the evidence collecting teams didn’t search thoroughly enough and missed out on a piece of evidence.” Jack waved his hand, motioning for you to keep talking. 

“Taking into account that there is only one trail of blood that leads between these two pools of blood, there are in fact only two victims in this house. So what I am insinuating is that your collection team missed something.” You turned back to the corpse in the bed and went on to explain yourself further, physically taking the steps that the vic would have taken in this likely scenario. 

“Dr. Pencalt was relaxing in bed when he heard commotion in the kitchen. Instead of jumping out of bed and going to check it out with no weapon, he rushed to his bathroom to search for something to defend himself with.” 

You quickly scanned over the bathroom, your eyes finally landing on exactly what you were looking for: the toilet. You gently hopped over the blood that had stuck to the tiles and got to the toilet. You lifted up the lid to the tank and reached in. You turned back to the men as you got the new piece of evidence out safely.

“One of the most common places that civilians hide their guns or valuables are in airtight baggies, in the tanks of their toilets.”

Jack gave you a slightly annoyed look before calling for an evidence bag and handing it to you. You sealed up the gun and hopped back to the main bedroom, Hannibal making sure to help steady you as you landed. Once you were on solid ground again, he respectfully backed away. You gave the gun to Jack, turned around to face the bathroom, and continued your assessment.

“So, like I said, he goes to his bathroom to try to get his gun to defend himself against whatever he thinks is in his kitchen other than his wife. He gets into the bathroom but then is stopped before he can make it to the toilet or his gun. Here, he is injected with whatever insanely fast paralytic drug our killer decided to use tonight, and falls to the ground, where the killer decides to chop him up.” You walked parallel to the trail of blood leading back to the bed. “And then place him here.”

You could feel yourself slowly losing your grip on your mind due to exhaustion. You took your gloves off and ran your hands over your face. 

“I need to get some air. I did all I can here. I need to write some stuff out and then I can get back at this tomorrow when I have some more forensic evidence to work off of.” You were about to leave the room when Jack called out.

“No.” You stopped and faced him to see if he was serious. His face was stone. “Write out what you need to. Then I want you and you, Dr. Lecter, to report back to my office in an hour. I need a list of suspects, a good motive, or something out of this case, tonight.”

You knew you couldn’t do or say anything to change Jack’s mind without possibly getting yourself taken off the case. So you just took a deep breath and nodded, making your way out of the bedroom. Hannibal just nodded his head as well and followed you out.

You heard the soft but quick steps of Hannibal’s nice shoes catch up to you as you reached your car. You didn’t want to talk to him, not sure of what you would even say now that you felt almost completely drained. 

“Hannibal, I really don't--”

“I know.” 

You were slightly taken aback at his interruption. He leaned slightly towards you and opened your car door. You then realized that he only wanted to make sure you got to your car safe, as he always did when he was with you. You felt slightly guilty, but tried to not think about it too much as he waited until you had your seat belt on to shut the door. Letting you drive off; Leaving you alone in your car to try to prepare for this undoubtedly intense brainstorming in an hour.

[aelaer]

Uhh can I ask for BBC Sherlock fic recs? (Preferably friendship and/or familial fics, but romance is okay too)

Ooohh boy are you in for a list. I know you asked this like, at the start of quarantine or at sometime where I decided that I was no longer interested in communicating with the wider world, but hopefully this will still be of interest to you?

Throughout 2018 I did very little writing because I was busy consuming everything offered by the Sherlock fandom produced over 7-8 years. I definitely read well into the millions of words. A lot of them were from specific collections on both ff.net and AO3. I recommend looking in “collections” on ff.net in particular (as I still can’t really figure out how collections work on AO3 and how to find them easily... it’s really easy to find them on ff.net).

To my knowledge, these are all complete.

If there is any romance tagged here, it’s because it’s really, really fucking good as romance is my least favorite genre. I cannot remember all of them, but there’s a lot of angst, definitely humour, and definitely some great canonical bits. Also whumpy ones that are either really really good or a bit ridiculous but there you go.

It’s long, so under a cut. If the cut doesn’t work, I have tagged it as well.

From ff.net (alphabetical order) - NOTE: I did NOT include anything from the authors I recommended because the list was already too freaking long! But be sure to check out the authors, you can sort by “category” on ff.net on their author page and then go down to “Sherlock” to find their works:

Anything by A Wandering Minstrel (sooooo many genres)

Most anything by chappysmom (tons of genres, some are excellent, some I could take or leave, overall good stuff)

Most anything by Dayja (she writes in a ton of genres, so some I *adore* while others aren’t my cup of tea, but overall good stuff)

Anything by Gwen's Blue Box if you want angst up the wazoo.

Anything by ivywatcher for fantastic character studies.

Most anything by Jennistar1 (another multi-genre writer, both friendship and slashfic)

Anything by Radon65 - a mix of stuff. Canon IIRC.

Anything by Richefic for good, canon-friendly gap-fillers

Anything by StillWaters1 for good, canon-friendly gap-fillers

A Brief Account Of Life With Zombies  by Silver Pard Sherlock thinks it's all a bit of a nuisance, John is having the time of his life, and Mycroft is Not Impressed. With anything, but mostly his minions' inability to provide a good cup of tea. Rated: T - English - Humor - Chapters: 1 - Words: 2,384 - Complete

A House is not a Home  by selenityshiroi  This is a prompt fill from the LJ Fic Meme.  John and Sherlock got a flat share because they needed to split the rent.  But when John comes into money, people wonder 'why hasn't he found a place of his own'   The actual prompt is inside the story Rated: T - English - Friendship - Chapters: 1 - Words: 8,190 - John W., Sherlock H. - Complete

Annie's Song  by Berouge She has a second engagement with a man and his violin, in the park, at night. Sherlock's not going for it! ONESHOT! Rated: K - English - Romance - Chapters: 1 - Words: 8,869 - Sherlock H., Molly Hooper - Complete

Basic Training  by chai4anne Summary: A death at a boys' school leads to conflict and revelations among Lestrade's team, Sherlock, and John. Set between "The Hounds of Baskerville" and "The Reichenbach Fall." No slash. Rated: T - English - Mystery/Friendship - Chapters: 1 - Words: 10,851 - Sherlock H., John W., DI Lestrade, Sgt. S. Donavan - Complete

Breaking Point  by Haelia  When Sherlock and Donovan are abducted and Sherlock is grievously wounded, it is up to Donovan to get them both out.  "First things first, Freak.  You do not give me orders.  You are going to do everything I tell you to," Sally said sharply, "because we are getting out of here."  Can they both escape with their lives from the most dangerous gang in London? Rated: T - English - Mystery/Hurt/Comfort - Chapters: 3 - Words: 14,401 - Sgt. S. Donavan, Sherlock H. - Complete

Firestorm  by Dustbunny13 Sherlock returns, but his friendship with John is damaged. Nevertheless, they embark on their final hunt to finish off Moriarty's net, but it ends in a catastrophe: Sherlock is shot and lapses into a coma. As John keeps vigil, he reads Sherlock's diary written during the hiatus. Slowly, he begins to understand and finds himself wishing for another miracle. Completed. Rated: T - English - Hurt/Comfort/Adventure - Chapters: 53 - Words: 133,754 - Complete NOTE: Probably my favorite novel-length multi-chapter you find only on ff.net for this fandom.

How To Accidentally Summon a Demon  by patster223 Sherlock is possessed by a demon. A damned, wicked soul that uses the kitchen table for blood rituals and experiments. John doesn't even notice the difference. Rated: K+ - English - Supernatural/Humor - Chapters: 1 - Words: 1,411 - Sherlock H., John W. - Complete

Kidnapped! A Comedy by scuttlesworth Poor kidnappers. Kidnapping John Watson is like pulling on a thread tied to all sorts of crazy. It's enough to make a bloke get a job and go straight. Rated: T - English - Humor/Friendship - Chapters: 2 - Words: 10,758 - John W. - Complete

Mobile Phones, Rubble and Shock  by prettybirdy979  In the aftermath of the explosion, Lestrade must work to keep Sherlock Holmes alive and make sense of his communications... with only a mobile phone and Sherlock buried under the rubble of the pool. Rated: T - English - Hurt/Comfort/Angst - Chapters: 1 - Words: 2,679 - Sherlock H., DI Lestrade - Complete

Mouth of Babes  by Morgan Stuart  Several weeks after the explosion at the pool following "The Great Game" episode, Lestrade visits the recuperating Sherlock and John at 221B Baker Street. He brings case files and food... and a visitor in tow. Rated: K - English - Friendship - Chapters: 1 - Words: 2,495 - Sherlock H., DI Lestrade - Complete NOTE: This is a whole series. If you like it, look up the rest under the author. It’s super cute.

Of Surgeons and Soldiers  by EmRose92 Being a doctor has its advantages. He knows how to put people back together, and he knows how to take them apart. 221B is forced into a hostage situation, and John seems to be the only one who has the power to get them out of it. Includes BAMF John, protective Sherlock, and several unfortunate criminals who mess with the wrong army doctor. No slash. Rated: K+ - English - Adventure/Family - Chapters: 2 - Words: 9,695 - Sherlock H., John W. - Complete

The Empty Home  by chai4anne Sherlock would always be haunted by memories of one particular case. The first body, its once-so-familiar features blurred by the passing of time and death, moved him more than he would ever have expected. But the worst was the skeleton he uncovered later, bits of hair and clothes still clinging to it—which had no effect on him whatever, until he looked up and saw John's face. Rated: T - English - Mystery/Suspense - Chapters: 28 - Words: 150,773 - Sherlock H., John W. - Complete

The frigid trench  by Nova-chan Sherlock is badly hurt. And alone. And incapacitated. Rated: T - English - Drama/Hurt/Comfort - Chapters: 15 - Words: 13,118 - Sherlock H., John W. - Complete

The Hand You're Dealt  by Lady Sam Mallory Sherlock, John and several others are trapped in a building when an explosion disrupts the crime scene they are working. COMPLETE. Rated: T - English - Hurt/Comfort/Angst - Chapters: 1 - Words: 12,092 - Sherlock H., John W. - Complete

The Secret Identity of John Watson  by scifigrl47  Taken out of context, John Watson leads a terrifying life.  You have to wonder what those poor women he dates thinks of it, especially if John decides to try keeping one away from Sherlock, and Sherlock decides that it'd be best if he could get rid of her Rated: T - English - Humor - Chapters: 3 - Words: 29,251 - John W., Sherlock H. - Complete

This Is What He Does For Fun  by nyssa123   Sherlock and John go to the pub after a long day and Sherlock realizes that the man sitting next to them is a serial killer. He then proceeds to tell everyone how he knows. Written for a prompt on the LJ kinkmeme.

Rated: K+ - English - Humor/Mystery - Chapters: 1 - Words: 1,147 - John W., Sherlock H. - Complete

Totem  by IshkabibbleScribble  Rescuing Sherlock from the clutches of a violent terrorist cell forces John to rely on a long-unused, lethal skill. Rated: T - English - Friendship/Drama - Chapters: 2 - Words: 8,752 - Sherlock H., John W. - Complete

War Wound  by SoulfireInc  Set sometime after Sherlock's return, before John's wedding to Mary Mortsan. An old comrade of John's arrives at 221B Baker St, scared and desperate for the consulting detective's help. Perhaps, had Sherlock known the consequences he and John would suffer as a result of this surprise encounter, he never would have accepted the case ... [Written before season three aired.] Rated: K+ - English - Drama/Friendship - Chapters: 1 - Words: 21,319 - Sherlock H., John W., DI Lestrade, OC - Complete

From AO3 (alphabetical order) - NOTE: Just like the ff.net list, I did NOT include anything from the authors I recommended because these lists are just ginormous.

NOTE: I did *not* include warnings, pairings, etc in these summaries (too many tags to try and organize in the messy copy/pastes). Read the tags if you have any sensitivities/squicks/etc for all links!

Most anything by CaffieneKitty (over 100 shorts, so some I really love, others I can pass. Well worth checking out)

Anything by dragonnan if you want a huge wallop of angst. Also illustrations. Also writes in the MCU.

Anything by Jolie_Black (You thought stories written in script could only be bad? You thought WRONG. Very very canon-compliant goodness).

Anything by sgam76 (another multi-genre writer)

A Freak Adventure   by  dioscureantwins Words:    13,719    Chapters:    1/1    Teen And Up Audiences Sherlock Holmes Sally Donovan John Watson Mrs. Hudson Oh Christ, the Freak will be like a dog with two tails if she turns to him for assistance. Sally can feel her hands curling into fists ready to punch the condescending smirk off his face as she glares at the lift panel, willing the lift to go faster. But this is about Susy, Sally tells herself, not about him or Sally’s abhorrence of the atrocious git. She’s still convinced he gets off on it but he can wank himself into a stupor over Susy’s disappearance for all she cares as long as he finds her.

A Smelly Affair  by  dioscureantwins  Words:    13,756    Chapters:    1/1   General Audiences Sherlock Holmes John Watson Mrs Hudson Greg Lestrade Molly Hooper Anthea Mycroft Holmes Sherlock had published an interesting thesis on the splintering of various woods on his website. As well as an equally fascinating treatise on different types of ropes and knots and the best techniques for securing someone. Obviously, his captors had followed those instructions to the letter; thereby disproving John’s theory nobody took notice of Sherlock’s website. A victory, perhaps, but one Sherlock felt he could have done without. Trust his readership to turn the tables on the author.   Morons.

Constantly      by thesignsofserbia Words:    4,530    Chapters:    1/1    Mature Sherlock Holmes Mycroft Holmes Mycroft and Sherlock have a tenuous relationship at best, but with Sherlock taking down Moriarty's web, they might need each other more than they'd care to admit.

Croatia-Water-Blue      by hollyesque Words:    12,117    Chapters:    1/1 Not Rated Sherlock Holmes John Watson Mycroft Holmes “I…” John licks his lips, twitches his fingers as though he wants to reach out, “I’m here, Sherlock,” he says; “I know I haven’t been, but…but I am now.” Sherlock wrinkles his nose. Haven’t been—? “What on earth do you mean, you haven’t been here?” he asks, “You’ve been living here.”

Getting to Know You      by  Dimity Blue (Arnie) Words:    4,605    Chapters:    1/1   General Audiences Arthur Weasley/Molly Weasley Sherlock Holmes John Watson Mycroft Holmes John picked up the kettle.  "Nothing from Lestrade?"Sherlock flipped himself over on the sofa and presented John with his back; John sometimes felt he was living with a cat.Clicking the switch on the kettle, John grinned to himself and, keeping his tone casual, said, "Maybe you could send him an owl."There was silence for a few seconds, then Sherlock asked, "Why would I send him an owl?"

Landscape With The Fall Of Icarus      by CaitlinFairchild Words:    4,572    Chapters:    1/1   Teen And Up Audiences Sherlock Holmes Mycroft Holmes John Watson Closing his eyes, Sherlock allows himself a brief swell of feeling--let’s not put a name on it, just call it a feeling--for his big brother. He knows that when Mycroft opens that steel door again, every man now inside will be a fresh corpse.The East Wind will take them all, Sherlock thinks fuzzily, before the curtain of sleep descends.

London Orbital   by merripestin Words:    13,642    Chapters:    1/1    General Audiences Greg Lestrade Sally Donovan Sherlock Holmes John Watson "I'm driving first," Sally said.  "Guv can take over after me. If we're all still mad enough to be at this after that,  John can drive third shift.  Then the freak, if we decide we can risk it.""John doesn't drive," said Sherlock."Then what's John along for?" Sally protested. Which Greg reckoned had to be just Sally trying to wind Sherlock up.  She knew better.  All night in a car with Sherlock was bad enough.  All night driving round and round the M25 looking for a killer, with Sherlock deprived of John Watson, sounded like a new circle of hell.   

Official Recruiter by Captain_Author Words:    49,469    Chapters:    21/21   General Audiences  Clint Barton Phil Coulson Sherlock Holmes John Watson Stephen Strange Crimes were so simple before aliens, gods, and supernatural abilities made themselves known. But Sherlock Holmes never enjoyed simple and these inhumans and mutants provided quite a challenge. SHIELD needed someone to find the superpowered. Funny how both their needs can be met.

Rigging screws, size 1 3/8 inch, galvanised  by  AJHall    Words:    15,250    Chapters:    6/6    Teen And Up Audiences Sherlock Holmes John Watson "How's a woman supposed to prove her husband's a murderer, dammit?" On the eve of a planned voyage to Brittany, Marjorie Jameson starts her day with no problems more pressing than forcing a boatyard to do an emergency repair to the family yacht.  A chance encounter at the Cowes hi-speed ferry terminal begins to unravel a web of conspiracy and murder, with her charming, untrustworthy husband Julian right at the centre and Marjorie as the next intended victim.But no-one's going to trust the word of an aging housewife whose complaints of abuse the police have previously dismissed as delusions.

Somewhere in the Dinaric Alps      by  drpepperdiva91 Words:    1,735    Chapters:    1/1    General Audiences Sherlock Holmes John Watson Sherlock is caught off-guard by a flashback to his time in Serbia, just before John arrives home from work. Sweet, but still semi-realistic, hurt/comfort.

The Case of the Missing Bus Ticket      by  Unsentimentalf Words:    10,543    Chapters:    1/1   General Audiences Dirk Gently Sherlock Holmes Richard MacDuff John Watson Mycroft Holmes When Dirk and Richard's new client inexplicably fails to stay alive long enough to pay them, their ailing finances mean that a certain amount of subterfuge is required to get them back to London. The sudden death of their client has, however, attracted the attention of another rather more famous (if less holistic) detective and the stage is set for a long distance bus ride of suspense…

The Green Blade   by  verityburns Words:    72,929    Chapters:    15/15   Teen And Up Audiences Sherlock Holmes John Watson Lestrade (Inspector) Mycroft Holmes Sally Donovan Anderson (Sherlock) Mrs. Hudson As a serial killer hits the headlines, the police are out of their depth and the next victim is out of time. With faith in Sherlock Holmes at an all time low, this is a case which will push loyalties to the limit... WARNING: COMMENTS CONTAIN SPOILERS!

The Holiday    by Scriblit Words:    18,962    Chapters:    9/9    Mature Sherlock Holmes John Watson Mycroft Holmes Mrs. Hudson Greg Lestrade Molly Hooper Mary Morstan ACD Canon Characters A month following an horrific, sadistic attack during a case, Sherlock is still physically incapacitated and emotionally damaged. A holiday is suggested, but even stuck out in the middle of nowhere, he and John happen upon a case that could make Sherlock begin to feel like his old self again - or could kill him.BBC Sherlock Reworking of ACD's Devil's Foot, with Illustrious Client in flashbacks. Scenes of violence and implied "off screen" sexual violence/sexual assault.

The Shallow End      by  hollyesque Words:    6,923    Chapters:    1/1   Teen And Up Audiences Sherlock Holmes John Watson Mycroft Holmes "I told you once that I don't have friends," he says to John's back, "Now you know why."

The Silence of the Bees  by  trappedinathoughtbubble Words:    14,169    Chapters:    7/?    Mature Sherlock Holmes John Watson Mary Morstan Mary Watson Greg Lestrade Mycroft Holmes A kidnapped teenage girl. A political conspiracy. Bees. And somehow in the midst of it all, John learns a few things Sherlock forgot to mention about those two years. Note: Not completed, but the author's around and one of the sweetest people ever if you want to give encouragement to take a look again at this story!

The Triple Bluff    by SarahKnight  Words:    28,331    Chapters:    8/8   Mature Sherlock Holmes Greg Lestrade Mycroft Holmes Sally Donovan Philip Anderson Sherlock annoys his landlord at Montague street, grows to hate Donovan and gets into trouble a lot on a kidnapping case involving a woman who bullied him as a child.The events leading up to A Study In Pink. A case fic that answers questions from the first episode such as why Sherlock had to leave Montague Street and find a new flatmate, why he and Lestrade both quit smoking but didn't know the other had, why there's so much animosity between Sherlock and Donovan, and why Sherlock hates traveling in a police car.

Welcome Home    by   thesignsofserbia Words:    3,435    Chapters:    1/1    Teen And Up Audiences Sherlock Holmes John Watson Mrs. Hudson Mycroft Holmes "All my nightmares escaped my head. Bar the door, please don’t let them in. You were never supposed to leave. Now my head's splitting at the seams."

And of course I have my own Sherlock/Doctor Strange crossover up on AO3 if that tickles your fancy, illustrations and all. :D

But if you haven’t delved deep into the fandom, this should tide you over for some time.

This list is by no means an exhaustive list of recs. I didn’t really include anything that concentrated on a romantic pairing, for instance. I left off anything explicit as well. But yeah, here’s a small amount of the overall goodness produced by the BBC Sherlock fandom over the last 10 years.

[thebestpersonherelovesbucky]

Perchance to Dream

For @whumptober2020

No 8. WHERE DID EVERYBODY GO? “Don’t Say Goodbye” | Abandoned | Isolation

No 30. NOW WHERE DID THAT COME FROM? Wound Reveal | Ignoring an Injury | Internal Organ Injury

Summary: Steve knows something is very wrong. An outbreak of some sort. Something out of Hollywood’s worst nightmare.

Read on Ao3 

Week One

“What’s going on up there?”

Traffic is one thing. Perfectly commonplace in Brooklyn especially, but this is utterly ridiculous, even Steve agrees. This bumper to bumper, stop and go madness is just out of control. 

“I dunno,” he answers Bucky’s question. “It looks like they’re making everyone turn back around.”

“But why?” Bucky asks. “Is there something going on today? A parade or something?”

Steve chuckles as he inches the car forward. “You know as much as I do, babe.” 

It's unusual but it has happened before. Something big going on that redirects traffic that the neighborhood isn't made aware of. Rare. But then, The City of New York isn't always known for its efficiency. 

When the pull up to where traffic is being turned, however, it's not normal traffic cops. It's not even the NYPD. It's the military. National Guard, Steve thinks.

"Turn back that way!" yells the man in front of them. Dressed in full riot gear. "Just follow the detour!"

Rolling down the window, Steve doesn’t intend on giving them a hard time. He’s just curious about whatever’s happening. As a former captain of the army, Steve is familiar with military procedure and now that he’s a paramedic, maybe he can help. He’s sure Bucky, the former sergeant of the 107th, won’t mind lending a hand either, if they need it. 

“Is there any way we can help, private?” Steve asks after he explains who they are. “Is anyone hurt?”

Before answering, either to turn them away like everyone else or wave them in through the barricade, he looks over his shoulder. When he glances back at Steve again, he looks rather dismayed. Both Steve and Bucky know damn well that whatever he’s about to say, even if it’s virtually nothing, it’ll be against protocol. He’s supposed to be directing traffic away from the area. Not answering anything. 

“We’re not entirely sure,” he says. “We’ve just been told to clear the area. If I were you, I’d get home and get in touch with any officers you might still have an in with.”

That’s all he says on the matter before straightening back up again and waving them along like everyone else. It’s enough for Steve, though. If a soldier, trained not to divulge anything, gave them just that nugget of information, it means something big is about to happen. 

They follow the soldier’s advice as soon as they get home. Steve immediately tries calling his contacts. He starts with Peggy who confirms that something really is happening. 

“I don’t have the details yet,” she says. “But we’re mobilizing all over the country.”

On the television, Bucky’s turned on the news. There’s nothing out of the ordinary on it right now. The typical stories. The weather. Some crimes. Financial changes. Only a few reports about a possible rabies outbreak throughout a few major cities. 

“Do you have any idea what it is?”

“Just that the CDC and WHO have been flooded with calls and reports about an outbreak of some unknown virus.” There are a lot of things happening on Peggy’s end and she lowers her voice. “Keep watching the news,” she says, “but they’re not getting the full report. I’ll call you when I have more information.”

The call goes dead then, and Peggy’s never ended a call so abruptly before. Even when in a rush, she always says her farewell. Just a simple, “Good bye, darling,” and a kissy noise. 

The way she hurried now, the stress and worry in her voice, it makes Steve’s stomach flatten. 

“What’d she say?” 

Bucky, who left the room to grab himself an apple, tosses one to Steve as he plops down on the couch. 

“Um…” Steve shakes his head. “I…”

The lack of response has Bucky paying closer attention to him now. The worry is clear on his face.

“What is it?” he asks. “Is it serious?”

“I…dunno. She couldn’t say.”

“Well…that doesn’t sound good.” He glances at the television. Just a story about a woman being found with multiple animal bites this afternoon in Connecticut. “Did you call Rhodey?”

“Um, no. I was about to do that now.”

Steve’s already scrolling through his contacts for the right one. When he gets to the right one, he hits send and lets it ring and ring and ring until he gets the voicemail. Normally, no one bothers with voicemails -- a simple text will suffice -- but things feel off enough that he does.

“H-hey, Rhodes, it’s Steve. I…um, just…call me. When you can.” 

But Rhodey doesn’t call back.

And he doesn’t answer when Steve tries again an hour later. Or when he calls again an hour after that. Or the three times after that. 

In fact, it’s a little after three in the morning when they hear from anyone. 

Both Steve and Bucky are asleep on the couch. They passed out together watching the news. Looking for anything that might clue them in to what’s happening. Nothing helped.

But the phone ringing startles Steve awake, and since Bucky’s lying on top of him, it jerks him awake as well. It takes Steve a moment to realize what’s happening and when he sees who’s calling, his eyes go wide.

“Rhodey?” he answers, hoping to keep the panic from his voice. “Rhodey, is that--”    

“Steve, I need you to listen to me and listen closely,” Rhodey says, hurried and low. “Do not interrupt. I can only say this once. Containment didn’t work. This thing is going to spread like a fucking brush fire. You and Bucky pack up bags right now, only what you need, and have them by the door. They’re gonna quarantine in quadrants first and when…if that fails, they’ll try to evacuate the cities. When that happens, just go. Do not wait. Whatever you do, do not let them bite you. I’ll be in touch if I can.” 

“Wait, wh…Rhodey…” 

“One more thing,” Rhodey says. “Go for the head.” 

The line goes dead then and Steve’s heart begins to pound. All that urgency, the god-awful fear in Rhodey’s voice, it makes Steve’s blood run cold. 

“Steve?” Bucky places a hand on his shoulder. “What’s wrong? What is it? What’d he say?”

Steve looks at the phone still clenched in his hand before flicking his gaze to meet Bucky’s. 

“He said,” Steve whispers, “we have to pack.” 

Week Two

There are two bags by the front door, packed and ready to be grabbed at a moment’s notice. Just like Rhodey said, they’ve been quarantined in a four block radius since two days after they spoke. Steve hasn’t heard a word from either Rhodey or Peggy since. 

Martial law has been declared for two weeks now and the military is patrolling in full force. Always in riot gear. On foot or in tanks. Always armed. There’s a strict curfew being enforced. Each zone has been sectioned off with barbed wire blockades that are manned around the clock. There are snipers on every other rooftop. Sirens blare all day and night. 

Of course, people are coming up with their own reasons for what happened. Obviously, it has to be terrorism. The number one excuse for more racism. Even with absolutely no evidence to support their claims. 

Lots of theories have been floating around. Everything from bioterrorism to some sort of super bug to the start of World War Three. It’s hard to keep track of facts versus conspiracies since the internet keeps crashing. The phone lines keep going in and out as well. Steve doesn’t know if that’s being done in order to cut off communication or if it’s just a side effect of whatever’s happening. He assumes it’s the former and can only hope it’s the latter. 

Restrictions are even tighter come sundown. No exceptions. Nobody is even permitted to sit outside on their stoops or in their yards. Once the sun sets, everybody is ordered indoors. Helicopters pointing spotlights down over everything circle all night.

The news is only somewhat helpful and, Steve’s sure, being censored as well. Every hour on the hour there’s an emergency broadcast. All other stations are not in service. Steve keeps in mind what Peggy told him. To keep watching but to remember that they don’t have all the information.

And what little information they’ve been providing is sketchy at best. 

“This is Elizabeth Brandt.” Steve can hear the television from the kitchen where he’s making lunch for Bucky and himself. Canned soup. “Coming to you live to bring you this important news bulletin.” 

“Hey, Steve!” Bucky calls from the living room. “News is back on!”

“I’m coming,” Steve murmurs as he heads back into the living room where Bucky’s waiting on the couch. “Anything new?”

“Mm-mm.” Bucky gets up to offer Steve help. Takes one of the bowls. “Just something about the hospitals being filled to capacity.” 

Every news report that comes on has information scrolling at the bottom of the screen. Today, it’s about insurance rates expecting to spike over seventy-five percent in the next coming weeks. 

“We are receiving unconfirmed reports right now,” the newscaster says, “of seemingly random acts of violences and mass murder that have occurred in some major cities. We will continue to bring you live updates as this story unfolds.” 

“Jesus,” Bucky whispers. “Mass murder? How did we go from rabies to mass murder?” 

“People are scared,” Steve offers. “They might be panicking.”

“The violence I can understand. I mean, I’m fucking scared and we have a little more information.” A tremble flies up Steve’s spine. That’s the first time Bucky’s said anything about being scared. At least Steve’s not the only one. “But mass murder? People being violent because they’re scared and mass murder are two different things. Don’t you think?”  

Steve, taking a spoonful of soup and burning his tongue in the process, nods. He knows Bucky’s right, but despite his fear and worry, he’s still trying to stay positive. 

“It’s the media,” Steve says. “Maybe they’re exaggerating.” 

The look Bucky gives him, slightly amused but also doubtful, makes Steve smile. He knows that Bucky knows he’s just reaching for answers or excuses. 

“You’re adorable, Rogers,” he murmurs and presses a kiss to Steve’s cheek. “I hope you know that.”

Steve chuckles. “Why?”

Head against Steve’s shoulder, Bucky uses his free hand to caress Steve’s thigh. 

“Because even during the apocalypse you look for the bright side.” Bucky hums softly. “I love you for that.”

“Well, I think that’s a compliment, so I’ll take it.” Steve grins softly. “And I love you, too.”

If anyone could make Steve smile during this, it’d be Bucky. At least they have each other. 

Week Three

The only time either Steve or Bucky sleep in their bed anymore is when they take quick naps during the day. When at least one of them is awake. Always ready to watch the news when the television comes back on the air. If it’s not, there’s just a Please Stand By screen. Sometimes colorbars and a high-pitched ringing. 

At night, they sleep on the couch together. When they can both sleep. Which is not that often.

Right now, Bucky is sleeping with his head in Steve’s lap. Steve has been dozing a little, but he can’t fall into a deep slumber. Not with Bucky out like a light. He deserves some sleep and Steve enjoys this little moment of peace when he can just run his hair over Bucky’s head and pretend like nothing else is happening in the world.

Steve’s actually nodding off a bit when Elizabeth Brandt is on the screen again. 

“Good evening,” she says, “for those of you who are just tuning in…” Steve wonders if she really needs to say that every time they come back on. He can’t imagine there’s anyone who isn’t at least paying a little attention. “We are going to try to remain on the air for the remainder of this crisis.”

Across the screen, as usual, are mini-stories scrolling by. Steve tries to follow along as they do.

A family of five has been found dead in Jacksonville, Florida. Police have described the victims as having been…”torn apart” by their attackers. 

“There have been wide-spread attacks,” Ms. Brandt continues, “all across the country, by what are being described “rabid people” in a “trance-like state”. 

Military forces have deployed to every major city to cope with the drastic increase in crime and violence. 

“Now, whatever this is, the phenomenon does not appear to be limited to the United States. We’re receiving reports of similar cases coming in from cities all around the world. We still have no specific answers as to why this is happening. Reports range from a germ or a virus with a mind altering effect or possibly some sort of chemical spill causing or a behavioral disorder causing mass hysteria.”

Over a dozen bodies have been found in what police are calling a ‘mass grave’ were found with severe ‘bite marks’ in various parts of the body.

“The president has issued a statement urging all people to stay in their homes and lock their doors until the situation is handled.”

The station reverts back to the stand-by screen and Steve’s stomach hurts. He’s somehow both too hot and too cold at the same time. He briefly considers waking Bucky to tell him these updates, but decides against it. 

“Sleep, my love,” he whispers. “We’ll deal with this in the morning.”

Bucky shifts a bit, his nose wiggling and fingers scratching at something on his cheek. 

Steve smiles and then checks his phone. All the unanswered messages. He hasn’t heard from Peggy or Rhodey in almost two weeks and what he did get was a few words at most. 

Reminders to be ready. 

To be alert.

Pay attention. 

Sighing, Steve puts the phone down and rests his head on the back of the couch, hoping to get a little rest.

Week Four

Steve jerks awake to a high-pitched ringing. Sun is streaming in through the bedroom windows, the curtains pushed open. It takes him a few moments to realize what the noise is and that he’s actually slept through the night. 

Steve flings the blankets away and hurries out of the bedroom to see Bucky seated at the very edge of the couch just staring at the television. There’s no one there. It’s just a message. A message from the Emergency Broadcast System. And it says nothing about this being just a test. 

We interrupt our program at the request of local authorities. This is the Emergency Broadcast System. All normal broadcasting has been discontinued during this emergency. This station will continue broadcasting, furnishing news, official information and instructions, as soon as possible for the Extended Operational area. 

As Steve approaches the couch, he notices that Bucky’s breaths are hitched. He’s chewing on his nails -- an old nervous habit of his -- and bouncing his knee. There’s a tear rolling down his cheek. 

When Steve slips a hand over Bucky’s shoulder, Bucky gasps and spins his way. He clearly tries to wipe those tears away before Steve cans them and fakes a smile.

“Hey,” Steve murmurs. “I didn’t mean to startle you.” 

“N-no. You didn’t. I just…” Bucky shakes his head and huffs a chuckle. “I just didn’t hear you.” 

“What time is it?”

“Almost noon.” 

Steve nearly topples over at that. He had no idea how late it was. He hasn’t slept that much in weeks. 

“Why didn’t you wake me?”

Bucky offers a soft grin. This one, Steve believes, is genuine, and that gives him a sense of peace, however small. 

“Why don’t you ever wake me?” he asks. “Probably for the same reason.” 

Nodding, because Steve can’t really argue with that logic, he comes around to sit with Bucky. As soon as he sits, Bucky scoots a little closer. Steve takes his hand. Bucky squeezes. 

“What’s happened?” Steve asks. “Something new?”

“No. They went out about an hour ago.” He gestures to the television. “It’s been like that since.”

Both their cellphones are on the coffee table. Steve reaches for his but figures he already knows the answer to this one.

“They’re still out, too,” Bucky says as Steve clears his screen. They’ve been keeping them charged, of course. Just in case. But the cell service has been out since last week. “Internet, too.”

The no service icon on Steve’s phone still gives him chills. The last time he spoke to someone on it was two weeks ago. When Rhodey called to say that things are going downhill. 

That’s when Steve agreed to take out their weapons. While both he and Bucky agree that gun control needs to be better enforced, they’re still armed. A leftover effect from combat, maybe. The need to feel protected and able to protect each other. 

They don’t have a militia worth of weapons or anything. Just the standard, really. Things for survival. Dehydrated food. Bottled water. First Aid kits. Really, the two of them can survive for a few months completely off the grid. It’s just that…well, they don’t really want to. 

“Hey,” Steve whispers when Bucky starts staring at the television again. “You okay?”

“Mhm.” When Steve covers the top of Bucky’s hand with his, Bucky sighs and shakes his head. “I’m, uh…I’m starting to get really scared.” 

“I know.” Steve nods. “So am I.”

“I don’t fuckin’ like this, Steve. They fucking roll up in their armored cars and tanks and start patrolling the streets, claiming it’s for our safety, but they won’t tell us what’s wrong. No wonder people are pissed.” 

Pissed is actually a kind way of putting it. More like fucking infuriated. And, honestly, Steve can’t blame people. He’s not exactly overly thrilled that the government, here in this country and clearly in others around the world, are not telling them anything. 

Instead, they just send the freaking military into civilian areas and expect everyone to fall in line. 

In fact, when Steve lets himself think about it, he’s fucking infuriated as well. If not for having friends in high places, the two of them probably would have split from here a while ago. Possibly when this first started.

It’s too late for that, though. 

There’s no way they can get over the bridges to get to the mainland and it’s not as though mass transit is still running. Hell, there isn’t even any cell service or internet. There’s been rolling blackouts and the news keeps going out, but, they’re still expected to just sit in their homes and wait to be told it’s all clear. 

Steve has no idea how the fuck they’re expected to trust in…shit, he’s not even sure who anymore. 

Week Five

“Widespread panic continues across the country.” Elizabeth Brandt no longer wears make-up. Her hair isn’t done. Every now and then there’s a tremble in her voice. “Many communities are without telephone. Most without power. Some without water.”

Steve wrings his hands together. They still have some power left but it comes in and out. Right now, the only light they have is that of the T.V. Nighttime, they’ve been instructed to keep the lights off and the shades drawn. They haven’t had any way to contact anyone for over a week now. Water went off yesterday. 

“Scientists at the CDC have released the following statement,” she says. “This virus is passed through bodily fluid such as blood and saliva. It is most often passed through bites but can be contracted if contaminated blood is absorbed into the body.”

“What the hell?” Bucky breathes, leaning forward and resting his arms over his knees. “What the fuck is this shit?”

Hand on Bucky’s back, Steve rubs it in soft circles trying to offer whatever comfort he can. Hard, that, when he’s just as confused and concerned and afraid.

“The infected exhibit rabid-like symptoms within five to thirty minutes of infection including skin inflammation, flu-like symptoms such a headache, violent coughing, and sore throats, and nausea and vomiting. At two hours, mild paralysis sets in leading to locking of the joints but does not lead to immobility. Finally, severe confusion and aggression.”  Ms. Brandt pauses before she continues. “We have some…some footage here of some people who have contracted the virus but we must advise you this may be difficult to watch.”

On the screen now is video footage clearly taken on a cellphone. Somewhere in Europe, Steve thinks, based on the license plates. When they hear people start talking, rushed and panicked, Bucky murmurs that they’re speaking Romanian. 

A moment later, screaming. Running. Gunshots. Sheer chaos and pandemonium. Only Steve can’t see what they’re running from. The phone’s camera is shaking violently as its owner runs.

Until a person next to them tumbles and falls to the ground. Whoever’s filming stops to try to help and drops the phone in the process. But the camera is still rolling. 

And within seconds, someone…or something comes into view. 

A man, or at least what used to be a man. His head is bent nearly all the way to the left and his jaw is clearly broken. He’s dragging his right leg but that doesn’t seem to impede his speed. His right arm is twisted and locked against the side of his body. There’s blood everywhere. Around his mouth. Dripping from his eyes and nose and ears. He lunges for one of the two people there. They both scream.

The video ends there.

When the screen goes back to Elizabeth Brandt, she’s staring blankly. Not at the camera. Just staring out at nothing. Trembling. Until someone off-camera clears their throat. 

Her gaze slowly lifts and focuses back on the camera facing her. She sucks in a deep breath and nods.

“The military is mobilizing,” she murmurs, very quiet. Little emotion other than the fear that’s permeating through this living room, “in an attempt to evacuate all major cities.” Ms. Brandt’s breath staggers. “We’re providing a list of rescue stations.” Scrolling on the bottom of the screen. “Please, make your way to the rescue station closest to you. If you are watching this broadcast at this time, please, get to a rescue station immediately.”

The screen starts cutting in and out, and Ms. Brandt is still speaking when it cuts off completely and goes dead. Colorbars with a high-pitched ringing is all that’s left.

“Steve…” Bucky whispers. “Did you…did you…this can’t be happening.”

All Steve can think about is Rhodey’s first call to him. 

They’ll try to evacuate the cities, he’d said. When that happens, don’t wait. Go.  

“We have to go.” 

Steve is already on his feet. First thing he does is grab two of their handguns. Both loaded. The only time Steve’s ever considered bringing a gun outside is when they go to the gun range and they’re always stored in locked cases. 

“Where are we going, Steve?” Bucky asks. “It cut out before the list even reached Brooklyn.” 

“I don’t care,” Steve replies, shoving one of the guns into Bucky’s hands. “But we need to get out of here. We’ll figure it out.” 

Bucky doesn’t question any more than that. Seems he’s already caught up with Steve’s thinking and wants to get the fuck out of there as much as he does. Even more so when they hear gunshots from not all that far away. 

They both freeze on the way to the door and stare at each other for a second. They’re leaving everything behind, Steve knows that. The bags they packed a few weeks ago are useless now. 

“I love you, Bucky,” Steve says and pulls him in for a kiss. “We’re gonna get through this.” 

Strange and horrifying as all this is, Bucky still manages a smile and grabs Steve’s hand. Tight. Unwilling to let go.

“I know.” He nods and adds his own kiss. “I love you, too.”

Steve takes one last, long look at Bucky before he wretches open the door and they dash outside. 

It’s already chaotic. People are doing the same as them. Running. With no sense of direction, they just fucking run. Steve runs with Bucky’s hand still tucked securely in his. 

The military there is trying to give out instructions. No one’s listening, of course, and even if Steve wanted to, he can’t understand them anyway. 

There are people everywhere. Parents carrying children. Lovers clinging to each other. Friends desperate to help each other. Some people trip and fall, and Steve and Bucky do what they can to help them back to their feet. Others aren’t so lucky and are trampled. 

Horns are blasting and metal twists around metal and glass shatters. There’re fires. More gunshots. Looting. 

They’ve only gone a few blocks when the screaming changes. The panic shifts to outright horror and fear. One glance over his shoulder confirms Steve’s worst fears.

They’re being chased by the infected. Several of them. Lots of them. So many… 

“Where the fuck did they come from?!” Bucky shouts as he pulls out his gun. “They’re everywhere.” 

Behind them, there’s snarling and growling. Squelching sounds and crunching bones. 

Steve is suddenly very aware of the sound of his own breathing. It’s all he can hear over the screams and cries for help. His heart is pounding like it’s never done. 

This is all wrong. 

Nothing makes sense.

These people need his help and he’s just running. That’s not what he does. That’s not what either of them do. But Steve doesn’t know what to do. Doesn’t know how to help these people. To save them. All he can do is run until his legs feel like jelly and his chest hurts and his head is spinning. 

They get a bit of luck when they have a chance to duck into an alleyway that’s not far from a school. The list that had the rescue spots listed a lot of schools and churches in the other boros. Can’t be too different for them. 

When they reach the end of the alley, there’s a fence that they need to climb over. A few people, not infected from what Steve can tell, have followed. Them, Steve helps as best he can by assisting them up and over the fence. 

Bucky, already on the other side of the fence, helps them over and down. Some of these people seem to know each other. Possibly a family. Three children. Four adults. 

They say something about trying to get to the rendezvous point. That they’re evacuating people in trucks and buses and vans not that far from here. 

One of the adults climbs over the fence and runs without waiting for anyone else. Steve hopes that means they’re not associated with the rest of them. Another climbs over and waits as Steve and the other two help the three children. 

They’ve just made it over, Bucky helping the last one and handing her off to the person next to him, when his eyes go wide.

“Steve…” He’s gone very rigid, staring at something behind Steve. “Hurry.”

Steve glances over his shoulder. Sees what Bucky does. Three people. Growling. Drooling. Their bodies all contorted, and bones cracking when they take a few steps in Steve’s direction. 

“Holy shit,” Steve breathes and then whirls back to the last person on this side of the fence with him. He grabs him and shoves him at the fence. “Go! Go, now! Hurry!” 

“Steve!” Bucky yells. “Steve, hurry! Come on, please!”

In his rush, Steve slips a time or two as he clambers to the top of the fence. The entire thing shakes and trembles. The young man next to him nearly loses his grip and falls. Steve grabs him by the wrist and keeps a hand on his back to help him.

“God damn it, Steve!” Bucky shouts. “Come on! You need to run!”

They’re at the fence now. Grabbing at Steve and his companions legs. Tearing at their clothes. Trying to pull them back down. 

When Steve makes it to the top, he swings one leg over, and just as he goes to bring the other, a sharp, unimaginable pain radiates at his ankle and shoots up his entire leg. He screams as he jerks his knee up and grabs his ankle. 

The pain is so agonizing that Steve lets go of the fence and falls the rest of the way, landing with a hard thud on the concrete. Something might break, he isn’t sure. It’s the pain in his ankle that has his attention. 

“Steve!” Bucky is at his side the second he hits the ground. “Steve, what happened? Are you all right? Can you get--oh fuck.”

Steve snaps his gaze back to the fence. Where the infected are climbing up it. To make matters worse, there are three coming into this side of the alley on the other end.

“Bucky…” Steve pants and coughs. His ankle throbs and that fall knocked the wind out of him. “Get the…the kids…” 

They’re all trapped. If they’re going to get the rest of these people out of here, Steve knows what needs to be done. He and Bucky need to separate. 

Gun at the ready, Bucky nods and shoots back up to his feet, stepping in front of the group of people with his weapon aimed. Steve reaches into his holster and pulls out his own gun. 

They start shooting. 

Steve knows he hits them. One in the arm. One in the leg. One in the chest. But they keep coming. He fires again. Foot. Shoulder. Back. And they still keep coming. 

“The heads!” Bucky suddenly yells. “Steve, go for their heads!” 

Vision blurry and ears ringing, Steve takes several shots before finally getting one in the head. He manages to get another but the third, right before she’d lunge at Steve, is taken down by Bucky. She falls in a heap right next to Steve. 

Once again, Bucky drops by his side. At the same time, he’s waving at the rest of the people there to run. They do, but not before thanking them. 

“Come on, Steve,” Bucky says. “You gotta get up.” 

That fall did a lot more to him than Steve realized. It shouldn’t be all that surprising. He just fell at least ten feet. His head hurting isn’t very shocking. The sore throat is a little unusual, but Steve figures that’s from all the screaming. 

Still, he’s so dazed and disoriented, that when Bucky once again tries to pull him back to his feet, he tries to push him off.

“Just go,” Steve grunts, “get outta here.”

“No,” Bucky growls between his teeth. “Not without you. Now c’mon, Steve. Get. The fuck. Up. Now.” 

If they weren’t in the middle of a zombie-like apocalypse, Steve would laugh. That tone, it’s not one to be reckoned with. 

Steve nods and accepts Bucky’s help as he brings him back to his feet. The strain makes Steve grunt and he teeters a bit off balance. 

“You okay?” Bucky asks. “You with me?”

“Always.”

Even in the midst of a waking, walking nightmare, Bucky scoffs a laugh and, fuck, that smile is worth walking through fire for. 

“Don’t get all sappy on me now, Rogers.”

Steve is limping a bit, but after just half a block, he’s able to at least sprint without needing to lean all of his weight against Bucky. 

The coughing starts a few minutes later. Uncontrollable fits that have Steve doubled over. His head hurts so bad that he almost wants to bash it against a wall. 

That fucking fall. He’s taken hits worse than that, he’s sure of it, yet one tiny fall off a tall fence has him ready to keel over. He can’t, though. He needs to suck it up and keep running to get Bucky out of here. 

“Steve?” Bucky asks when Steve is bent over coughing again. “Baby, are you okay?”

“Yeah.” He nods and tries to straighten again. “I think…I think I broke a rib or something.” 

“Okay. Okay, you’re gonna be okay,” Bucky assures him. “We’re not far now. When we get there, they’ll help you.”

Spitting some blood from his mouth, Steve wipes his arm across his and clears his throat, wincing from the pain of it. He exhales sharply and then lets Bucky wrap his arm around his waist to assist him again. 

Only this time, when Steve takes a step with his right foot, white light flashes in front of his eyes and he shrieks as his weight falls out from under him.

“Steve!” Bucky goes down with him. “What is it? What happened?”

Steve shivers from head to toe. It’s too hot out. He has no idea when it got so freaking hot out. It’s only April for god’s sake. 

“Stevie…” 

Steve can just make out Bucky’s voice through clogged ears. Then it disappears altogether and all Steve can see is Bucky’s lips moving. It’s hard to make out what he’s saying, but Steve can venture a guess. So he nods, assuming Bucky’s asking if he’s all right, and lets Bucky help him back up. 

“Come on, baby, we’re almost there.”

Bucky’s right. 

They’re not far. 

Just another two blocks sees them at the blockade. There are swarms of people being ushered in a few groups at a time. 

As Bucky leads Steve there so they can wait their turn, Steve takes a glimpse down at his ankle. It’s covered in blood. He knows it’s his. It’s seeped into his jeans and down into his sock. That's why, he realizes, his foot squishes every time he walks. That’s why it hurts when he walks. That’s why… 

Eyes filling with tears, Steve coughs again, his breaths shuddering. Bucky readjusts his grip on him. Helps him as best he can because that’s what they do. They help each other. They save each other. They love each other. 

Steve just watches him now. His Bucky. His best friend. The man he’s loved since they were a couple of punk kids running around the streets of Brooklyn. Life had taken them in different directions after middle school but they still found their way back to each other. 

“What?” Bucky asks when he notices Steve staring at him. “Are you okay? Do you need to sit?”

“No.” A sense of peace and calm washes over Steve. “I just love you.” 

The corners of Bucky’s mouth twitches. Almost a smile. Hard to smile with all this, but it’s almost there. 

“I love you, too, Steve.” 

Steve coughs more. His throat is on fire. His stomach turns, nausea creeping through. 

When they finally reach the entrance through the barricade, Steve hands Bucky his gun just as he walks through. 

“Steve, what’re you doing?”

“Take it,” Steve whispers. “You’ll need all the protection you can get.”

“I have my own,” Bucky says. “You need it.”

Steve shakes his head and ignores the officers trying to move them along. 

“Just take it. And go.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?! Come on, Steve! Don’t fuck around!”

Those tears almost get the better of Steve, but he manages to hold them back. For now. 

He looks down at his ankle and lifts up the bottom of his jeans. Shows Bucky what Steve already knows is there. 

A bite.

A big chunk of his skin all red and black and blue and swollen. 

It pulses. Throbs. It’s almost unbearable.

“No…” Bucky whimpers. “No, no, no. We can…you’re gonna be fine. You…”

“Go, Bucky.”

“No! No, I’m not leaving you!” Abruptly frantic, like he can’t figure out what’s happening or what to do, Bucky starts to shake all over. “No. No, I’m staying. I’m staying with you. I’m not leaving you!”

The tears finally break through, mirroring those rolling down Bucky’s cheeks. But Steve won’t give in. He won’t be selfish. He’ll save Bucky. Even if that means taking himself out of the picture. 

“I’m bitten,” Steve says to the soldiers there. “Take him out of here.”  

They don’t wait.

Steve’s actually surprised he and Bucky got this last bit of time together. That doesn’t stop Bucky from screaming. From struggling with all his might against the soldiers dragging him away. 

“No! No, Steve! Steve, please! God, no! No, this can’t…you can’t leave me! You can’t!”

Bucky’s reaching over the soldiers. Trying desperately to get back to Steve. Even for just one last touch. 

And Steve is selfish enough for that.

He reaches once.

Their fingers graze.

Stomach lurching just as they load Bucky in the back of a military truck and it drives away, taking Steve’s whole life with it, Steve claps a hand over his mouth and pushes out of the crowd. Right at the fringe of it, he leans over to be ill. 

Steve doesn’t know what’s going to happen to him now, but he does know that he’s going to be a danger to all these people soon. No matter how much it hurts -- and it does, inside and out, like a red-hot poker shoved between his ribs -- he pushes onward. Gets himself out of there. As far away as possible before his legs give out from under him and he collapses in a gutter not far from where he and Bucky met. 

Week ???

The sun beats down on the empty city streets. Sizzles and burns Steve’s skin. He knows it is happening. Feels it happening. Can do nothing about it. 

He cannot remember how. 

Sometimes, he cannot even remember his own name. He knows he has one. Or did have one. It is not that important. 

The ankle that was bit still throbs. It always does. Now, that foot is all twisted. He can’t really bend his right knee and his right arm is clenched to his chest. He has been unable to move it for the longest time. 

Sometimes Steve sees people. Real people. The way he used to be. If they see him, they scream and run. If they have weapons, they try to kill him. 

He wants to tell them that he does not want to hurt them. And that much is true. Steve doesn’t want to hurt them. But he will. He can’t stop it. The guilt is overwhelming, the screams of the people he has hunted down echoing through his ears. 

He is just so very hungry. Always hungry. Or maybe he is thirsty. His tongue and mouth and throat are on fire. The taste of iron has not left his mouth since the first meal he had. 

The only other thing he wants to do is sleep. Nothing ever stops, though. Steve can’t sleep. All he ever does is wander. 

There is a building he passes from time to time that feels right. Familiar. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knows there’s a word for it. It sits at the tip of his tongue. Not that it matters. He cannot speak anything more than grunts and moans and growls. 

That’s because of the pain. So much pain that ravages through his entire body, day and night. 

Steve can’t stop crying. It is different now. He doesn’t think he is doing it right, but he still cries. Wordless and soundless. 

Maybe he has lost something. It feels like that. Very much so. Like he is looking for someone. Someone that left him here. Right? Or…no, that is not right. The others did. They left Steve and the rest of the Wanders to rot. 

Things do not make sense so much anymore. They haven’t in a long time. 

He hates them. Steve doesn’t know who but he does and he wants to hurt them until they feel as much pain as he does. If he gets the chance he’ll bite into their flesh and tear into through skin and gnaw down to their bones just to hear their screams.  

No.

No, no, no, no, no…no.

Why does he want that?

Steve can’t remember. 

If he finds them…them…him…then maybe it will be better. The pain won’t go away but that smile. Yes, that smile. 

Bucky.

The name pulses through him and for one single second, Steve’s existence makes sense again. That second passes quickly. 

Something is behind him. Steve can hear it. Smell it. Fresh meat. Warm. Alive. 

Head stuck tilted to the right, Steve turns, his bones creaking and cracking along with the movements. The living. Three of them. From the smell of them, two males and one female. 

Steve is hungry. It does not matter that they carry weapons, Steve will try to get food. He opens his mouth. Jaw popping, drool leaking over his teeth. Steve hisses. Tries to warn them. Threaten them. Demand they do not move so he can have his meal. 

“I hate it when they make that noise,” one of the males says. “Fucking creepy.” 

“Oh, c’mon, Sam,” the female answers, “you’re not losing your nerve, are you?” 

Steve runs toward them now. If they do not shoot him first and set him free, he will catch them and he will eat them and for just a few moments he will not be hungry. 

“No, Nat, not losing my nerve,” Sam says. “Doesn’t stop that noise from being any less creepy.” 

“Yeah.” Nat nods. “I’ll give you that.”

“Stark, what’re you waiting for?” Sam asks the second male. “You wanna be his happy meal?”

“Not today,” Stark replies and Steve is only a few steps away when he raises his weapon and it discharges. 

Hits him in the chest. Steve does not stop. A puny weapon as that will not come between him and his food. Except when a new pain spreads from that spot and sparks throughout his entire body, Steve drops to his knees and gasps for air. 

They have hurt him more. More pain. 

So much more pain.

Pain.

Pain.

Pain.

“All right,” Stark says when Steve falls forward, unable to move. “Tag ‘im and bag ‘im.”

Nat crouches down in front of Steve and turns his head so that he’s facing her. She lifts his eyelid up and clicks her tongue. 

“You’re right, Stark,” she says. “He’s one of the firsts.”

Sam comes close. Take a good look as well. Must agree because he nods but why will they not kill Steve? It will be better for them…for him… 

“Eyes are totally bloodshot,” Sam says. “Poor guy.”

“Well, let’s get ‘im back to the lab,” Stark tells them. “Bruce and Helen will wanna have a look.” 

A lab.

Steve cannot remember this word but it makes his insides feel wrong. Afraid. Maybe that is it. 

***

Steve feels quite weightless. 

Floaty.

No, not floaty. Actually floating. 

Perhaps that means he’s finally died. If that’s that case, he’s not sure if he’d feel this good. After everything he’s done as a Wanderer, he deserves damnation, not salvation. 

There should be no reward. No easing of his pain. And this dull ache in the back of his head, the heat in his throat, and the aches in his body is the most relief he’s had since…well, it feels like a lifetime ago. 

Although, if by some miracle, he’s been let into an eternal paradise, maybe that means he’ll reunite with Bucky someday. 

Oh. 

Oh, his Bucky.

A tremble flies up his spine. 

The last time Steve saw Bucky, he was crying and scared and screaming for him. He could still feel the spot where their fingers last touched. 

But it was the right thing to do, it was. If Bucky had stayed with him, he’d’ve died. All this guilt topped with the idea of taking Bucky’s life as well? No, Steve couldn’t handle that. 

It occurs to Steve then that he hasn’t fully been able to recall Bucky in quite some time. Now, he’s all Steve can think about. 

The pain in his ankle feels so much better. 

His head isn’t tilted. 

His arm isn’t pinned against his chest. 

Steve finally gains enough coherency to open his eyes. When he does, he gasps and thrashes about. 

He’s submerged in water. In a vertical tube. There are wires hooked to his naked body and tubes in his mouth and nose. Steve bangs on the glass. He can breathe and he can hear but he doesn’t know what the fuck is going on and he needs to get out of this thing.

“Whoa, whoa! Hey, it’s okay!” 

Someone’s voice comes through the thick water and Steve turns that way. He doesn’t know this person but he recognizes him. The man who shot him. With someone. Not a bullet. 

Now that Steve’s thinking a bit clearer, he thinks it may have been some type of taser. 

“My name is Tony,” he says, pushing closer to Steve on a wheelie chair. “Tony Stark. You’re gonna be okay now.”

Too busy trying to figure out what’s happening and how he got here, Steve looks around at all he can see. It’s a lab, just like they said. They must’ve brought him back here. Brought him…back.

“I know, you’re probably confused, that’s normal,” Tony explains. “The process is a bit disorienting. Is this getting through? Can you nod or something, big guy?”

Tony, Steve realizes, is asking him a question. He’s actually talking to him. Not running and screaming, but talking. Steve can’t talk with the tubs in his mouth so he nods. 

“Good, good. Here, I’m gonna pull up a virtual keyboard.” Whatever he does out there makes letters appear on the glass in front of Steve. “Can you type your name in?” 

Steve might be achy but he’d also be fucking thrilled to do this. He lifts the arm he hasn’t controlled in so long and types his name.

S-T-E-V-E 

R-O-G-E-R-S

When Steve sees his name displayed on the screen, he smiles. For so long, he couldn’t even be sure if that’s who he was and now he knows. He’s him. He’s Steve Rogers. 

But Tony just blinks at the name a few times. His mouth opens not once, but twice before he finally answers. 

“Steve Rogers?” He says that as if he’s familiar with it. “You…do you know a Bucky Barnes?”

Eyes going wide, Steve would gasp if he wasn’t breathing through a tube and underwater. This guy knows Bucky. He’ll be able to tell Steve if he’s okay. If he’s near. If he’s safe. 

“I guess that’s a yes,” Tony mumbles. “Well…shit. He was right. You were too stubborn to die.” He snickers before pushing back over to the lab table he’d been at before Steve started banging on the tube. He picks up the phone and only dials one digit. “Hey, I need you two to bring Barnes down.”

Bring him down. That means Bucky’s here. Oh, god, please, please let this be real. 

“Uh…let’s just say he’s been right this whole time,” Tony says. “He always said he was still out there.” 

Tony continues with a brief conversation with whoever’s on the phone but Steve doesn’t pay any attention. All he cares about is the fact that Bucky is here. Bucky’s here and they’re bringing him to see Steve. 

While he waits, Tony explains a bit of what’s happened and why Steve is in this thing. It’s a bit hard to follow along; not everything is entirely clear yet and Steve’s mind is still a little fuzzy. 

Apparently, the weightless environment helps the Wanderers’ limbs to unlock. That, combined with the antibodies speeds up the recovery process. The recovery process that Bucky’s been helping with.

According to Tony, Bucky’s part of some vigilante group. A group that rallied together to go out and look for survivors. Killing Wanderers when they needed. When they could.

“It was your man who thought he saw something in one of them one day,” Tony says. “Saw…what could be. And instead of killing…”  

They started bringing Wanderers back to the lab. To their base of operations. Found something of a cure. 

“You’ll probably have to stay in there for another forty-eight hours or so and then go through a ton of physical therapy, but, based on our other subjects, you should make a--”

The door swings open, and without even pausing to check the room, Bucky comes running in and right up to the tube where Steve is. 

“Steve!” There’re tears streaming down his face. “Oh, god, baby, I knew it. I knew you’d be alive. I did. I told you. I told you, you’d be okay. Oh, fuck, baby, I miss you so much. I love you. I love you, Steve.”

Steve still isn’t entirely sure if this is really happening. It feels real. Maybe not what he deserves but…if he’s allowed a few moments of peace, he’ll gladly accept it. 

If it is real, well, they did it again. Somehow, against all odds, they found their way back to each other. 

He smiles around the tubes in his mouth and traces a heart along the glass. Still crying, Bucky lets loose a wet laugh and traces a heart over it. 

It’s the last thing Steve sees before his eyes close again.

He’s tired. 

He’d very much like to sleep. 

And maybe dream. 

[et-in-arkadia]

ok listen friend the hacker au was 7 years ago and so much has changed in computerlandia since but like i am incapable of not biting at this so let’s consider:

jaskier as a defected senior systems engineer from a company we’ll call, hmm, bookface who quit in a spectacular fashion by leaking the company’s most corrupt and illegal policies to journalists and basically getting them subject to congressional hearings and under fire for antitrust violations. he made a lot of money there in the early days but now feels sick after the company essentially helped destroy democracy so he dedicates himself to hacking for good and exposing the worst players in the tech world with these dramatic disclosures but this gets him persona non grata status and it’s an open secret that there are huge bounties from massive corporations for anyone who can find and expose him to the authorities, and it’s also known that no few of those companies would mind if something more insidious were to happen to him, so he goes underground

geralt as a former special agent in the fbi turned private detective who lost his g-man job for consistently refusing to carry out unethical practices but his decisions still culminated in the death of an informant, renfri, he’d been working with for a long time and he’s haunted by his failure to protect her. he’d like nothing more than to retreat entirely but he can’t, since he somehow inherited a kid. he’s hard up for cash after his goddaughter’s parents die in an accident and he becomes her guardian, and he tries his best to keep food on the table with whatever private cases come his way and odd jobs, but it’s a struggle. he hears that there’s a windfall for finding the whereabouts of that hacker brat “thebard” who seems to be peacocking about on the world stage for attention and for ciri’s sake he’ll do anything, so he decides to track jaskier down and succeeds via good old-fashioned detective work where all other efforts had failed

geralt lets himself into jaskier’s safe house and confronts him, ready to drag him out and turn him over for breaking countless laws, but jaskier talks very fast and shows geralt what he’s working on and manages to convince him that his next project is going to indict the worst people and change the world for the greater good and all he needs is a little bit more time. after that, geralt can do whatever he likes with him (no really, thinks jaskier). eventually geralt is begrudgingly won over and agrees, and that’s when jaskier offers to hire him as security because if geralt found him, someone else could, and a lot of people want him dead. geralt doesn’t want to get any more involved in this mess, but jaskier’s offering enough to pay for ciri’s college fund and set them up in a comfortable life (and there’s something earnest and resilient about jaskier that geralt likes, though he’ll hardly say that) and he can’t say no

against his better judgment, geralt is now jaskier’s private security, and he decides to bring jaskier and his operation back to his house, which is as secure and fortified a space as geralt can make. he’s nervous to be possibly endangering ciri but doesn’t see another way, and then ciri and jaskier get along like a house on fire and after a few days it’s hard to remember what life was like before jaskier lived with them. the rapport between jaskier and geralt grows, with geralt respecting him more and more as he comes to understand jaskier’s work and jaskier impressed with geralt’s wide-ranging competency and his dedication to ciri and, well, geralt’s everything, pretty much, and the sexual tension is getting to be unbearable, resulting in a bunch of near-kisses and finally a wildly passionate kiss that geralt walks away from because it’s fucking stupid to get involved with his client, who is also a criminal, and he tells jaskier as much and jaskier retreats to the basement where he’s staying and they stop talking. ciri, meanwhile, is doing her level best to make them stop being so stupid and get them together, because she knows what jaskier doesn’t—that geralt has never been so happy as he has since jaskier came to stay

jaskier releases his project, which threatens to bring down multinational corporations and possibly some governments, with reverberations worldwide, and he becomes the most infamous person on the planet overnight. he diverts geralt and sneaks out, leaving behind a note saying he can’t risk their safety for his sake and telling geralt that he loves him, and a bank account in ciri’s name with most of his money. it’s clear he thinks he’ll never see them again. geralt just goes absolutely feral trying to find him, but it’s ciri who’s able to track him down in the end, using the white hat skills jaskier had been teaching her

geralt goes to where jaskier’s hiding out and they both apologize for being fucking idiots and end up fucking for just hours and hours and hours, and then some more. but even then jaskier says he won’t come back and put ciri in danger, and geralt tries to assure him that he can keep him safe, and that’s of course when they’re attacked by a band of delightful blackwateresque mercenaries. geralt manages to fight them off and finally kills or injures enough to know that jaskier can escape, and then geralt collapses, showing that he’s been hiding how badly he was hurt in the melee. he tells jaskier he has to go, but jaskier refuses to leave him, and he calls for help knowing he’ll be apprehended along with getting help for geralt. he tells geralt he doesn’t care about anything else if it means losing geralt, and geralt thinks that this is it, he’s dying, so he tells jaskier that he loves him too and closes his eyes

geralt wakes up in the hospital with ciri by his bedside. he’ll live, but jaskier is in custody, and the government is not happy. however, it turns out that geralt still has some friends in high places who haven’t forgotten about him. his former fbi partner yennefer is now an assistant director, and after a whole lot of wrangling and string-pulling, jaskier gets a plea deal with only a few months in prison contingent on him working for the fbi’s cyber crimes unit under yennefer for, well, as long as she feels like it. geralt and ciri visit whenever permitted, and they’re waiting the day of his release to bring jaskier home

smash cut to: a very comfortable house in a lovely leafy neighborhood in d.c., where ciri is at the best school, geralt has started a thriving security consulting firm, and jaskier finds he really likes sticking it to tech criminals, even if he lives in perpetual fear and awe of his boss, yennefer. ciri has two dads who are madly in love, even if they keep up old habits and play at bickering a lot about it. ciri knows—and they know—that they have never been so happy or so lucky as they are now.

wait sorry was there a question? anyway. hacker aus, yeah, i’m done with those no way they’re still in my system at all