#like one day she’d be talking to the dealer about all the times she shot up heroin

[bbyboybucket]

Just saw a post that reminded me of this but I didnt wanna add to a meme so I’m saying it separately, but anytime I see anything about the phonetic alphabet it reminds me of my insane art teacher who was on drugs, and I’m not just speculating that or believing a rumor, she’d tell us herself about her drug escapades and how she’d sometimes come in hungover, she just never got in trouble bc her husband was rich af.

Anyways, she’d always be talking ab the craziest stuff and this one time she just randomly sat down at the table with me n my friends (which she’d do a lot actually?) and was randomly telling us about how to get out of the woods if you ever get lost and was trying to teach us the phonetic alphabet bc apparently if we knew it, we’d be able to get someone to save us from being lost in the forest ??? Like idk what was happening, we were just trying to do our drawing assignment and she tried to give us 4 a private lesson on survival and the phonetic alphabet

[atrueneutral]

May - June - July ( Fallout TV Show - Lucy x The Ghoul)

AO3 Link

---

Sex.

It was nice - the few times she’d had it.

It started with messing around with her cousin, which in the initial days included shy fumbling, apologies, and a lot of trial and error. Lucy was grateful for those experiences (as awkward as they were), for she always intended to use what she learned to make her wedding night unforgettable for her husband - whoever that turned out to be.

Who her husband ‘turned out to be’ was a no-good raider.

Who was now dead.

Drowned in a barrel of pickle juice.

All that aside - the sex was nice! Lucy didn’t at all feel any awkwardness in jumping his bones, and her husband, Monty, was very eager to get the show on the road (in more ways than one, now that she thought about it). His penis had been an average length with a decent width, but, most importantly, Monty knew how to use it.

So well in fact that, in the heat of riding on top of him, she’d fleetingly wondered how often he experimented with a cousin in Vault 32.

Anyways, with the combination of her hand and the wonderful usage of her good-for-nothing husband’s penis, Lucy orgasmed three times. Each orgasm had been toe-curling and back arching with waves of pleasure that coursed through her body, and each celebrated her spouse by having the name ‘Monty’ leave her lips. At the end of it, for Monty’s release, he’d pulled out of her and ejaculated onto her stomach with closed eyes and her name nowhere to be heard.

Hardly romantic for the consummation of their marriage, but it was fine! Overall, a very satisfying endeavor for husband and wife both that left them sweating in their shared bed, silently contemplating their life together. Lucy thought of little else outside of a wholesome future that involved raising children, scheduled meal plans, making her husband happy, and more sex.

Meanwhile, her husband thought of little else outside of how to kill her and the rest of Vault 33.

It’s fine; her husband got his comeuppance, was rightfully dead and was nothing but a rotting corpse partially smelling of pickle juice.

What wasn’t fine was the wholesome future she’d envisioned; there would be no raising children in the vault because Lucy wasn’t in the Vault any longer (and she had no idea when or if she would return); there was hardly a meal to be found in the wasteland; her happiness was shot at the reveal of who her father was and is, what he’d done and -

Deep breaths.

“You good back there?”

“Yep! Fine and good!” Lucy replied, giving the back of her associate a cheery smile as they traipsed through the desecrated remains of an outlet mall. At the Ghoul’s discretion, one of the stores was to be their campsite for the evening, and it would be swell if whatever-store-chosen was already emptied of people; Lucy wasn’t in the greatest mental state for a firefight, and she wished to not spend another night covered in blood and guts.

Being a glass half-full kinda gal, at least she still had her blood and guts - thanks to the Ghoul’s perception, his exceptional gun-slinging skills and his ability to save her butt as she continued to acclimate to the violent and unpredictable world she was now a part of.

On paper, there was a lot to not like about the Ghoul; he avoided telling her his real name, he was prickly at the best of times and insulting at the worst of times, conversation tended to lead to debates, and he never offered anything in the way of personal information - even after she unloaded her entire life’s story upon him. To be fair, he didn’t ask to hear it, she just… felt like talking, and there was a lot of dead air to fill as they trailed after her “stuck-pig” of a father.

But, though he was a cold, hard wheeler and dealer, Lucy liked the Ghoul. She found him alluring - handsome, even. It didn’t matter that his skin was taut and burned to disfigurement by radiation - or that his nose was missing and his teeth yellowed. The remnants of a handsome man were there, and the remnants of a good man were there, too - somewhere hidden in the depths of his eyes.

She was sure of it.

Which made her feel better about wanting to jump his bones.

Lucy would be the first to admit that she was sexually frustrated, but it wasn’t as if she was to the point of throwing herself at everyone who was anyone (which would be a very stupid thing to do out in the Wasteland). The last time she’d felt this amount of pent up horniness was with Maximus in Vault 4, and that hadn’t gone well. Maximus’s bewilderment at her proposition wasn’t unsurprising (she did kind of unexpectedly throw it out there), but his inexperience and lack of knowledge in the sexual side of the birds and the bees became blatantly apparent by time he recited the myths he’d heard.

Especially that myth about a man’s orgasm.

The Ghoul had experience in a plethora of departments - more importantly, the department she was looking for, or so she presumed. She wouldn’t risk ridicule by asking if he knew that the head of a penis wouldn’t explode upon ejaculation; the man had a family at one point (which included procreation), and he likely partook in a handful of sexual liaisons within his two hundred years of still-standing (assuming his penis remained intact - a question she would never dare ask, no matter how bold she was feeling).

She supposed her interest sparked one of the few times he’d said her name. He’d said it in admonishment, chiding her for trying to hold onto the ethics instilled in her by her Vault - the ethics that kept her from sneaking behind an armed raider and cutting his throat. To make a poor point, the Ghoul ended up shooting him in the back instead, leading to a firefight that led to him confidently taking out four raiders without breaking a sweat (if ghouls even sweat) and led to her needing a stimpak after an encounter with a woman on Psycho.

“Could have been done the easy way, Lucy.”

Said in that slow drawl of his and said whilst staring down at her from within the cast shadow of his wide brim hat, the chill he elicited down her spine wasn’t the bad kind. Lucy played the sound and image of him on repeat as she laid in her bedroll in the following nights; she could imagine him over her, threatening to teach her another lesson of the Wasteland with the same knife he wanted her to use against the unsuspecting man he’d blown to bits. Every night, the fantasy progressed into the Ghoul drawing the knife down her vault suit, slicing through the dirtied undershirt underneath, cutting open her bra to reveal her breasts… her name on his lips…

And every night Lucy’s arousal reminded her of how badly she wanted sex.

“Look alive, Vaultie,” the Ghoul said from over his shoulder. His shotgun was locked and loaded in his hands as he stalked towards the blown out glass door of a two storied department store. “We’ll clear out this here store and hold up for the night.”

“Roger that!” Lucy replied, getting her pistol ready. “Dogmeat and I are right behind you!”

It was a win in her book that no one needed to be shot, or stabbed, or blown apart with grenades; both levels were devoid of any activity aside from their own careful clearing of sections, aisles, and backrooms.

The place was a mess - as was natural when anything and everything (aka the entire world) was a mess. The aesthetic of ruin persisted wherever they went. Looting had long purged any remotely useful item from the shelves, and what was left for the pickings were broken toys, upended furniture pieces, other random household goods, and clothing that was mostly nothing but scraps of fabric that barely held onto their hangers.

It was determined by the Ghoul that they would station themselves on the upper level with a strategic view of the escalators and stairwell entrance. A minute later, and the Ghoul was halfway down the unmoving steps of the escalator, hollering the command that Lucy set up their makeshift camp - he’d be back after a bit of exploring the other stores and, if need be, clear them out of any lingering occupants alongside Dogmeat.

Having been left to her own her own devices, Lucy began by dumping her pack and clearing a decent sized space for her bedroll, and she was thoughtful enough to set up a makeshift bedroll for the Ghoul that was made from remnants of a few comforters she’d seen in aisle 42. She next neatly laid out their rations for the evening: some banana yucca fruit that looked… okay to eat, some mystery jerky she wanted to leave a mystery, and a tin of absolutely-irradiated Cram.

Her stomach became queasy the longer she looked at the offerings, and, hoping to distract herself from thinking about perfectly normal Jell-O salad, Lucy decided on embarking on a more thorough exploration of the department store.

She started with the nearest section; a showcase of the latest and greatest home appliance models of the time. Introducing her to the department was a life sized advertisement depicting a wooden cutout of a housewife who elegantly showed off an equally wooden, ‘clean’ button up shirt - having just removed it from the bent, rusted dryer she stood beside. The woman’s smile might have been white-toothed and embellished with a radiant sparkle - were everything above her shoulders not hacked off to leave splintered ends.

As Lucy leisurely strolled down the aisles, it became a game to pretend she was shopping for a new washer and dryer. She mentally checkmarked what she liked and disliked about each model (price included), and at the end of the section, she eventually had an entire list of theoretical appliances she’d go home and excitedly tell her non-existent (and not-smelling-of-pickles) husband about.

The following sections weren’t as fun to peruse; items not made of enamel and steel weren’t nearly as indestructible, therefore Lucy quickly lost interest in scrutinizing scrap. Thankfully, a new interest unfurled in wanting to learn more about the lives of those who came before - what belongings had they left behind, and what stories could she piece together?

Forcing a spring in her step (it’s better to be optimistic), she headed down to the first level and beelined for the break room she last examined with a pistol at the ready.

It was, luckily, still empty.

She walked over to the radio and switched it on - only to switch it back off when nothing but white noise came through. She opened the cabinets to find nothing of note, and she eyeballed the Nuka-Cola vending machines that, of course, had nothing in them but broken glass.

Nothing.

Lucy sighed - unsure of what it was she was hoping to find.

A broken door in the corner revealed a staff locker room meant for the storage of personal items, and she breezed in with the intent of opening every locker she could.

Nothing…

Nothing…

Nothing…

Of the ten lockers, nine held nothing, but the tenth and final locker seemed promising - only because it was locked.

Feeling excitement, Lucy reached into a leather pouch attached to her belt for her trusty screwdriver and bobby pin. She crouched down beside the locker, carefully inserted the pin into the keyhole, and began to meticulously pick the lock - a skill she was developing a penchant for.

A minute of concentration later, the combination lock clicked open. A proud smile split her face as Lucy put away her toolset, and she held her breath in foolish anticipation for the revelation of what was hidden inside the locker.

Probably nothing, but her finger pulled up on the latch and pulled the door open to reveal-

Her mouth parted in astonishment.

It was precisely the kind of treasure she was hoping to find.

It was perfect!

Of course, it wasn’t entirely perfect; the calendar was a little worse for wear, but the color remained rich despite time and the pin-up suggestively posing on the page for the month of October was beautiful in her black and orange themed bikini, dark lips, and exaggerated expression. The witch hat she wore was tilted on a head of curls, and she sat atop a large grinning pumpkin looking very alluring and very cheeky.

Lucy slid the calendar away from the magnet that held it to the door, and she eagerly flipped through each page from January to December. Every woman was delightfully dressed themed to the month, and she was enchanted by their beauty, spunk, and sexiness.

During her third flip through, and by the month of May (perhaps her favorite of the pin-ups), an idea began to take root in her head - a profoundly crazy idea that could very well lead to her being as headless as the wooden woman on display in ‘Appliances’.

An idea that she, Lucy MacLean, would seduce the Ghoul with a little help from May, June, and July. [Part II]

[t3mpest98]

FRIEND! I BRING YOU PAIN

Scenario: they are paired off in couples for a high stakes mission. Things go wrong, very wrong.

Person A jumps in front of person B and takes the killing shot in their lover's place.

Cut to person B holding A in their arms while their life fades away.

Who tries to soothe who in the final moments? Do they fly off the handle, do they share a last kiss? Does person B hugs A until they're pried away, in denial that they are gone?

For the sufferers of such fate, dealer's choice on who is in each role: Naji and Vixen, Cyra and Noir (already in a relationship).

Drink water 😌

HHHHHHHHHHHHHH OW OW OW WOW OWWWWWWWWWWW I LOVE IT

Vixen/Naji

At first I was like “Well probably Vixen” but then I decided to be mean

So ya, Vixen is busy trying to get everything under control and doesn’t see it coming. Naji, despite how awful his vision is, does.

He wasn’t expecting it to hurt as much as it did but at least Vixen wasn’t feeling it. Doesn’t stop him from feeling a little scared but hey Vixen’s ok, she’s ok, that what matters. Vixen immediately ignores the rest of what’s going on to get him out of there and somewhere safer, but she can’t go far because moving him just seems to make it worse. She’s running through everything she can to get him out, but nothing prepared her for this.

She’d try to comfort him, probably kiss his forehead and tell him it’ll be alright and she’ll get him out of here. She knows she’s lying but she can’t stand to see him look so uncertain and scared.

Vixen gets him to tell her about the stars again, about all the stories he knows better than anything. So he tells her about the one that reminds him of her. But he’s getting really really tired. He fixes his glasses so he can look at her better, tell her he loves her then he’s gone. Even tho she knew it was coming it still shocks her. He doesn’t have the sparkle in his eyes anymore. He felt even colder than normal.

She thinks she hates the color red now.

Cyra/Noir (do u understand how many times I’ve thought about this??? Do u????? Even before this ask????? That’s why it’s so lengthy too akkdkfk)

Honestly Noir always felt like at some point that would be it for him. He wasn’t sure when or how but he always had a feeling that he might not survive one day. But at least it was his own choice, something he wasn’t sure he would get. He’s no stranger to pain either. So overall he wouldn’t be panicking as he lay dying probably.

Cyra would though. Because he’s it, she hasn’t had one single good thing in years until he literally crashed into her life. So whoever had even hurt him to begin with was already going to die, she’d shoot them multiple times just to make sure they stayed dead. And then when she gets back over to Noir who hasn’t gotten up, who is barely moving, she’s already overwhelmed with a lot of emotional distress.

She doesn’t say his name often, but this time she’s very serious. She’s desperate. She can’t fix this. Noir would probably just try to curl up in her arms, like it was any other day and they were at her garage. He’d rather not think about how much pain he’s in right now, about how cold he’s getting even tho he’s right there against Cyra.

Cyra trying to talk to him and hopes he can please just hold on for a little bit longer, someone would come help just a little bit longer. But Noir’s losing a bit too much blood too fast and he can feel it. He knows help isn’t coming fast enough. Funny how life always seemed out to get him, but why did it have to be now? Cyra looked really upset and he doesn’t want that. But he also didn’t want her dead.

In the end he’d probably apologize. Man who hates saying sorry finally says it but at the worst time possible. She’d tease him if he weren’t bleeding out. She’d probably start crying at that point, mainly because she’s angry, angry at herself for not seeing that coming and for not stopping him. She doesn’t know how she’s going to tell Spade. She’s too focused about the fact that to one person she let in after everything went to hell is dying.

If he has his lighter on him (very likely) he’ll give it to her. Yk. So she has something else to keep her warm.

And then he’s gone just like that and she has absolutely no clue what to do, she hates this she can’t believe this is actually happening. She knows she won’t recover from this. He’s the one not breathing but she’s dead too.

[eddiessidegirl]

Your DMs are always welcome, my dear. Ohh! I almost forgot! I have a prompt for you. Congrats on the followers! You deserve it 💕 I wanna do a fun sleepover too, really soon.

Could I possibly request Eddie with an alt/punk girlfriend? I don't usually see a whole lot of Punk!Reader and it would make my week. Something fluffy and fun, no pressure.

Omg, this took forever and I’m so so so sorry 😭 please forgive me. I hope this is good, and makes sense.

For Want Of

Summary: Punkrocker Tara is in love with Eddie Munson

Pairing: Eddie x Punk/Alt!Fem Reader

Warnings: Standard 18+ for my blog, this is a fluff piece, angst (if you squint), mutual pining, minor drug use and drinking (typical teen shit), let me know if I missed anything

Word count: 4166 words

Alarm clock blaring, record player left in the final stages of playing last nights record, and the person sized lump on the bed under the covers. This was how Tara’s mother found her in the morning on this particular Friday morning. “Tara, I swear to Jesus himself if you do not get out of bed this minute, you’re losing car privileges this weekend and you will not be able to go hang out with your little friends. You’ll be forced to clean out the garage with your father.” A cigarette dangled from her mothers thin, pursed lips her fake attempt at being a good mother was such a lie. She was only mad that her stupid church friends heard that her only daughter was out at all hours of the night hanging out with other teens who dressed like she did: coloured hair, dark makeup and listening to Misfits on full blast while driving the streets of Hawkins, Indiana. But most of all her mother hated hearing she’d been seen talking to and being around a one Eddie Munson. He was a drug dealer, a cult leader, and he listened to “that God awful music” as her mother put it.

“Will you lower your fucking voice? I heard you the first time you bellowed at me like an hour ago. Fucks sake.” Her voice draped in sleep, mascara and eyeliner smudged and giving her the raccoon look. Tara pushed the blankets back and slid into her jeans and pulled a Ramones shirt over her head - not bothering with a bra.

Jonathan was already waiting outside for her, mug of coffee in hand for her to drink while they drove to pick up Robin, his little brother Will in the back seat, his newest companion guide for his game night with his friends in hand, he didn’t even notice her sliding into the front seat. “So, is today the day? Or are you never gonna tell him? I mean Graduation is coming up quick, and you’re not gonna be here forever,” He asked her, he’d known she’d had a thing for the town drug dealer for ages but never worked up the courage. Sure she could throw down with assholes who grabbed her ass but Munsons’ chocolate eyes just made her stomach do flips. Her arm reached across the front seat and she shoved her best friend.

“Shut it, Byers. What about you and Wheeler? You guys gonna cut the shit and finally figure out your college bull? Or are you just gonna pretend that you still haven’t gotten your rejection letter to Emerson?” He shot her a nasty look, but it softened when he saw she was just poking fun at him, she laughed teasingly an scooped her hair into a bun.

They secured Robin who was all giggles about this girl Vickie and she loved how happy her friend was, being yourself was hard in this town but the three of them did their best to never hide their true selves around each other. It just sucked big time that the rest of the town didn’t subscribe to the same thoughts and feelings.

-

Tara had turned 18 in December, and while Eddie was still in high school he was a super senior, 19 going on 20. She’d liked him ever since she could remember, but it became more prevalent when he turned up to school when she was 13 and he 15, his buzzed hair grown out and dressed in a battle vest and leather with heavy metal band pins all over it. She herself had always been more into the punk scene. She’d seen the Clash in concert in Chicago with Jonathan and they were planning to she The Cramps this summer before she moved for college. But she could tolerate his music tastes, if only he paid her an ounce of attention aside from selling her dime bags here and there.

She’d gotten lost in her thoughts and wasn’t paying attention as they exited the car, “watch it freak I don’t want to catch whatever it is you have wrong with you.” Carol Perkins cackled and turned back towards her friends, brushing off pretend dirt as they walked away from the group. Tara flipped them all the middle finger and shoved her bag further up her shoulder. “Christ, you’d think she’d have levelled out after Wheeler smacked her when she made fun of her for dating you…” Tara muttered to Jonathan. Will had quickly gotten out of the car and was running towards his little nerd herd, the four of them colliding around Eddie and his friends, collectively they were the Hellfire Club, the only Dungeons and Dragons club in all of Hawkins and subsequently made them the butt of every joke, but Tara knew that after the years of trauma those kids had suffered they deserved too feel some happiness even if they were mocked behind their backs.

Robin nudged her back “can you go get us some weed for this weekend? I can’t get caught with it in my room again, my parents are already on edge after the last time.” There was a smile on her friends lips that said this was more than a transactionary meeting that would be happening.

A small huffing noise came from Taras throat. “Later. I’ll pop a note into his locker for a lunch meeting.”

Which she did, it was a folded triangle note with few words “Forest clearing. Lunch. -T” Eddie pocketed the note, grinning, Tara was his favourite customer, not only because she was a consistent buyer which made it possible to do upkeep on his van but also because she was a person who didn’t judge him, her being hot was just a bonus. And what Tara didn’t know is that he had a thing for her too, and she’d never noticed that he gave a deep discount on all her purchases. Hell, she could ask to walk on his back in her Docs and he’d say “yes please” and ask her to do it again.

-

Lunch rolled around and both parties were walking enthusiastically towards the meeting spot, Eddie, lunch box in hand and Tara, with her headphones on listening to a mix-tape that Byers had given her to check out.

She was walking head down and collided with something hard, but also soft, clearly a person. She took off her headset and yelled “Hey! Watch where the fuck you walk asshole!” But when she actually focused on who she was yelling at it her whole face went beet red, in fact if you’d placed her face next to an actual beetroot you wouldn’t have been able to tell the difference between the two. It was Eddie. He’d been standing by the bench watching her walk towards him the whole time and when she smacked into him he lost it. His body was rocking back and forth with laughter, tears streaming down his cheeks as he tried to compose himself, one of his ringed hands clutching the picnic table for stability.

“I’m so sorry, that was actually one the best things I’ve seen, T.” His voice slightly hoarse from laughing, “y-you just..and then…oh my god.” And he was off again.

Tara tried her hardest to be mad, but she couldn’t, it was funny, and the hard shell exterior she had always cracked a little when she was around Eddie. “Shuddup Munson…” she mumbled, her mouth in a smile, reaching to punch his arm lightly. “I’m supposed to be here buying weed, not making you piss yourself.”

He sat down and placed his elbow on the table, his lunchbox beside him, hand tucked under his chin, “ooo a woman serious about her business.. I love it” his eyes sparkled and watched her sit, clocking the fact that’s her chest jostled freely but focused on her face. “How much are we talking?” His nimble fingers opening the lunch box, gesturing to the nuggets inside.

“An eighth’ll do.. it’s for Robin, Jon and I for the weekend, we’re going to watch movies and play some pool at the Byers since their moms going to Hoppers this weekend,” he’d nodded and starting doling it out, it was like time slowed down and then sped up because before Tara knew it her mouth was speaking words and she couldn’t stop them from coming, “y-you should come too, Jon’s bringing Nancy and Robin will be bringing Vickie, I really don’t want to be playing pool on my own.” The blush had come back just as strong only now it was creeping down her neck and disappeared into her shirt. What was she doing? This was stupid. She told herself of course he didn’t wanna hang out with a bunch of 18 year olds.

“Sure, I mean, I’ve got nothing better to do, just running campaign tonight and then free all weekend.” She couldn’t tell if he was joking or not, but it didn’t seem like it. Her heart raced. “It’s on me since I’ll be there, don’t worry about paying me.” He handed her a bag that was clearly more than what she asked for and got up. “See you there, sweetheart” he called out, and disappeared into the trees back to his van to calm his nerves. He was basically going on a date with the girl he liked and he couldn’t believe it.

“I didn’t even tell him when it was…” Tara couldn’t find him to tell him and she didn’t want to be late to class, since the teacher was friend of her mothers and she didn’t need more trouble before the weekend.

-

Saturday evening arrived faster than she thought it would. Bad Religions’ ‘We’re Only Gonna Die’ played on the speaker, Nancy was learning how to play pool with Vickie, Robin teaching both of them, Jonathan and Tara drinking a beer in the corner laughing every time one of them launched a cue ball off the table and had to get it. The air in the room was hazy with the smell of weed. Everyone was there, except Eddie, maybe he’d forgotten or maybe he just didn’t want to come after all. Besides why would he want to hang out with them when he could be hanging with his band mates or anyone else for that matter.

Eventually though, the windows lit up and at first everyone thought it was Joyce come back but then they heard Dio blaring from the vehicle and they knew it was definitely not Joyce. Tara went outside to meet Eddie, the air outside only slightly chillier than the house, plumes of smoke exiting behind her form.

“I see you guys started without me, it’s ok I brought extra provisions” he motioned to the bag of weed in his pocket and the beer in his hand. Eddie tucked his free arm into his pocket and tilted it towards Tara. With the high she was experiencing being full force she was more apt to be nice to him, and she took the elbow he extended.

“Didn’t think you were gonna come, Munson.” Her eyes were blissed out and a smile across her features, she led him into the house, showing him where to put his stuff before going to the makeshift game room that they’d thrown together for the festivities.

A low chuckle escaped his mouth and he leant down so only she could hear him “I’d never miss an opportunity to hang out with my favourite client, especially when she’s dressed like this” he spun her slowly so to not give her stomach a bad turn, she’d forgotten she’d put on a leather skirt and a lacy tank top with her army jacket, it wasn’t even intentional, at least not consciously anyways. The blush she experienced the prior afternoon returned. He was slowly breaking her when it came her to attitude that she’d come to have after idolizing Joan Jett, Eddie Munson, it was clear would be the death of her.

“Can it Eddie,” she told him laughing the whole time, “get your ass in there so I can beat you and Byers in a game.” He let her lead the way and Eddie was met with cheers, he set the beer down and laid out the weed for replenishment. Tara told Jonathan to go the table and set up a game for the three of you now that Robin and Vickie had vacated it, opting to sit in the living room and watch movies instead.

-

The game was progressing well, Tara was up by a couple points, ‘How Soon is Now’ was playing quietly, and she was swinging her hips to the beat, while she lined up her shot. Eddie was staring. Hard. Nancy was quietly talking to Jonathan something about wanting to go home so she could get some yearbook work in before Monday. Robin and Vickie were still in the living room. Jonathan told Tara and Eddie that he’d be back soon.

“Is this how you pictured your Saturday night, Munson? Hanging out with us listening to punk, playing pool?” She looked over her shoulder at him, a glazed look in her eyes but her mouth turned up in a smile, she’d never admit it but the air felt electric when it was just the two of them and the high made it better.

He grinned back “well, no, but I’m having fun and the view is amazing which is a bonus.” Eddie’d moved closer to her his hand next to hers on the pool table, his lanky frame towering over her smaller one, especially since she was slightly crouched from planning her next play.

Maybe it was the high, maybe it was the few beers she ingested but the room was hazy, and even though she knew people were in the room next to theirs, they felt immensely alone, and they were never alone in any capacity apart from her buying. She straightened and stood up, in the soft warm lights of lamps and with the smoke swirling around him, Eddie looked entirely different. Ethereal almost. Her eyes darting around his face as she took him in. He was far different from his school persona, and his dealer one as well. Softer, but maybe it was the weed.

Eddie on the other hand was only high, he had to drive home so he hadn’t been drinking but he too was focused intently on her face. Tara was so very different from everyone, even himself, a metalhead. But he knew a lot of it was a mix of rebellion and self expression. Her parents were overbearing and hyper religious. And he’d definitely knew there was a softer side to her that she didn’t show unless she was among friends or alone. In public, she was brash, loud. In private she was kind, funny and cared deeply for her friends no matter what they were going through.

Finally when the game was finished, and she’d rightfully so kicked his ass the two of them made their way to the living room, Robin and Vickie had fallen asleep on the couch leaving only the recliner to sit on. Neither of them had the heart to wake the sleeping couple, Eddie was quietly insisting on sitting on the floor and Tara had to interject, “uh, no, I’m not watching…” she looked over the VHS box that he’d tossed to the ground, “The Texas Chainsaw Massacre in this chair alone, get your denim clad ass up here.”

Shaking his head back and forth in a self argument way he eventually climbed into the seat of the chair and Tara settled half on his thigh and half on the arm of the chair, Eddie swiped his arm behind her and put her wholly in his lap. “Don’t need your ass cheek falling asleep mid-movie.”

The two of them sat in silence, save for a few squeaks or soft ewws when something really gross happened. One particular scene when the teen girl was strung up and Leatherface was coming at her with his chainsaw Tara tucked her head into Eddie’s neck and out of instinct, he pressed his mouth to the top of her head and made sure to tell her when it was over. Butterflies had erupted everywhere in her body at this gesture, she still didn’t know if it was friendly or more. It didn’t really matter at this point.

Instead of lifting her head, she slid it so her face was forward, the movie was almost over and Tara was getting sleepy, the amount of weed she’d smoked and the beer she drank starting to weigh heavy on her senses in earnest. Eyes sliding shut, she fell into a not very restful but deep sleep, Eddie sat awake the whole time until the movie ended and then he too fell asleep, Tara’s body warmth the perfect blanket.

-

Loud voices woke everyone in the living room early, Robin and Vickie disentangled and tossed Tara look, both had their eyebrows raised. The only person still seemingly asleep was Eddie, Tara tried to undo his grip but it was too tight.

“HEY! EDDIES’ VAN IS HERE! Eddie I need help with my character” a voice rocketed through the house as the door opened, it was a one Dustin Henderson, and Munsons eyes flew open.

“Shit. Just a second Henderson, lemme go tame the beast.” He moved to get off the recliner and forgot Tara was minorly tethered to him, pulling her forward and then the two of them collapsing into a pile, Robin cackling, wiping the leftover eyeliner and mascara from her face as the two of them disengaged their limbs. Tara flipped Robin off but laughed along with her, the situation was really funny, only now her ass was bruised from the fall.

She stumbled to the kitchen, eyes bleary with sleep still, “Yo, Jonathan, is there any coff..ee?” Only the person in the kitchen wasn’t her best friend, it was Joyce and Hopper at the kitchen table both sipping their own mugs of dark coffee.

“Jonathan is in his room, but there’s plenty of coffee, dear.” Mrs Byers gave Tara a soft smile and nodded towards the coffee pot. Pouring herself a cup she stretched and cracked her back, the position shed laid in all night had caused her back to be sore, but she was well rested, she did have a good pillow after all.

Hopper cleared his throat “so…how long have you and…” he gestured to where Eddie had gone to fix his hair “…been a thing?” Tara shook her head and explained that they were just friends. “Didn’t seem like just friends the way you were clinging to each other like your life depended on it.” he chuckled as Tara high tailed it out of the kitchen to the respite of the living room where she in turn was grilled for the entire time Eddie was outside talking to the kids about the campaign.

-

Tara took a few days off from everyone, she needed a clear head about what had happened between her and Eddie, did he really like her or was he just being nice to her because she buys weed from him? On the third day, her bedroom phone rang continuously for two hours, but instead she turned up her music and just kept thinking, focusing on the what ifs of a relationship that didn’t technically exist yet, if ever.

Eventually the room darkened as did the outside, her record player turned down low so her parents didn’t come up and confiscate it. “I really need to find my own place, I’m old enough, besides I hate this wall color…” her parents had painted it in ‘soft salmon’ what ever the fuck that meant and they wouldn’t ever allow her to change it.

“I dunno about you but I like it.” Came a voice from behind her, startling Tara and causing her to fall sideways off her bed. “Fuck, shit, are you ok??” It was Eddie he hauled ass through the rest of her window and around her bed to check on her.

“What the actual fuck are you doing in here?! Are you trying to get shot at?! My dad has a rifle in the goddamned linen closet.” Tara was pissed, but it was wavering as he held onto her hand and waist as he helped her to a standing position.

His brow furrowed, “you weren’t answering your phone and I got worried, that maybe something happened or that you were mad. They told me they kinda interrogated you after that morning and that was why you left.” He looked so mad for Tara and she couldn’t stay mad forever. She just kind of nodded and sat down.

“It was part of it, but also, I just needed space, to…think y’know?” His hair shook as he nodded and joined her on the bed. His hand taking hold of hers, letting her know he was there for her. “I’m confused about what happened or I guess didn’t happen and I got into my head about it.”

The two of them sat in the emptiness of sound for a bit, the record ending and dead air was the background noise for a bit, both of them thinking, Eddie was the one who broke the silence first, “look, Tara, I like you ok? And I got mad at them for being so nosy, it was none of their business.” He shuffled closer on the bed, holding onto her hand like a life preserver. His eyes searching hers. Hopeful.

Tara’s mouth was dry, but there was a moment when she thought she was going to throw up, but she knew nothing would come up. This was the moment she’d been waiting for forever. Through all the teasing from her friends, through 5 years of stares. “I like you two Eddie,” Tara’s face a shade of maroon, Eddie’s beaming, neither of them had expected this result. Tara expected to go off to college and have to find someone else to be with.

A few seconds passed, Eddie broke the silence, “so, are you going to kiss me?” His lips turned up in a wry smile. Tara shook her head and leaned forward, closing the gap between them. Pressing a kiss his his full lips, Eddie’s arms found a way around her waist and this felt like home. Her own hands found a way up to his mess of curls, but before they could go any further Jonathan’s voice called out from the door.

“Fina-fucking-lly.” Him and Robin had shut eating grins on their faces, they were beyond happy for their friend. But most importantly they didn’t have to listen to her pining over him in the mornings anymore.

“Shut it.” She retorted, a smile plastered on her face, Eddie’s hidden since he was distracted by her neck but she could feel a smile of his own on her skin.

1986, it turned out was their year.

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[heavenbarnes]

feels so good to be us

Fezco (Euphoria) x Female Reader

Warnings/Contains: mentions of drug use, mentions of guns, implied violence (all canon-typical), swearing, mentions of alcohol, unprotected sex (this is fiction, yours isn’t, wrap it), dirty talk, light degradation, light choking, rough sex, light slapping, oral sex (f receiving)

Word Count: 4.5k 

no secret that i fell in love w the guy whilst watching the show, so we’ll just see how this goes

She blew into town one day, seemingly out of nowhere, but not without purpose. Having reasons to be there was one thing, having reasons to stay was a whole other. Lacking in the latter, there was a lot to be grateful for in that one night.

The party that cracked on in a reasonable house, she was told by her friends that’d it’d be a good one. What she wasn’t told was that this was a party that was teeming with teenagers, horny ones in spandex and rhinestones.

A long way from home and everything was different.

Lucky enough, she poured herself a cup and hunted for a spot that was more around her age. Last thing she needed was to be caught up with a hoard of 17 year-olds looking to make trouble.

Whoever owned this house also came equipped with cash, judging by the indoor pool she stepped into, eyes up and trailing along the carefully carved architrave. Eyes far too transfixed to notice the young man on the lounger.

“You came looking for me?”

The voice made her head snap towards his direction, rolled smoke resting between his lips and steadily fingering a roll of cash. Narrowing her eyes at him in hesitation, she traced her finger around the rim of her cup.

“I don’t think so?”

He took his eyes from his counting and let them cast over her, that’s probably the first thing to pique her interest. Those kind of eyes you could fall into, pretty eyelashes too that almost made her want to smile.

She knew that he knew she was staring, but he hadn’t said anything about it, he didn’t seem to mind.

“You not from around here, huh?”

Straightening up and stepping forward a bit, she got closer so she didn’t have to shout across the room.

“No sir, I drove in this morning from out East.”

He nodded more to himself than he did her, tucking the money away in his hoodie pocket before leaning back on the cushion of the lounger. He took the cigarette between his fingers and tapped off some of the ash, eyes still nonchalantly drifting over her.

“Called it, I would’a remembered you otherwise.”

In trying not to let the corners of her mouth turn into a smile, it transformed into more of a pout, bordering on a frown. There was something about this guy, something she couldn’t put her finger on.

“You would’ve?”

“Yeah, cause you wearing clothes,” He answered, making any expression on her face dry out. “You seen those other girls?”

Looking down her front, she had to admit that her belted trousers and high-necked tank was considerably more than what any of the high-schoolers were wearing. Shrugging her shoulders with a nod that spoke of “fair enough”, she managed to draw a chuckle out of the guy.

“That and you cute.” The inflection was so cool she almost missed it, but that wasn’t to say it was lost on her.

Scuffing her sneakers against the poolside tile, he shifted forward along his seat and watched intently at the way she no longer fought the grin on her face. Didn’t know the guy from Adam, but he was already tweaking some kind of feeling in her.

“Who you here with?”

She lifted her head and gestured back towards where the noise of the party was drifting through the door. “My friends Ocasio and Seraphine, made me come to make friends but they didn’t say they’d be teenagers.”

He nodded knowingly, muttering something about knowing them too. “They all so young, why I’m only here for business.”

So the inkling in the back of her mind that he was a drug dealer was correct, making his first comment make a lot more sense. In an attempt not to seem like a total fucking loser, she shifted the conversation.

“They said I should look for some guy, said that I’d probably like him.”

The man lifted a brow, before throwing his gaze over her shoulder in his turn to admire the architecture. 

“Yeah? They give you a name, not a lot of people I don’t know.”

She thought on it for a moment, she knew it reminded her of That 70′s Show, and that is sounded remarkably fake at the time.

“Fezco, I think? If that’s even a real name?”

His shoulders bounced as he chuckled a little, eyes moving back to her own. He had one of those stares where it was intense, but there was nothing in you that wanted to look away.

“Nice to meet you too, mamas,” He lent back again and propped his foot up on the seat. “Do I get your name?”

In attempting to avoid looking like a fucking loser, she’d managed it anyways. Her cheeks burnt as she nodded with a nervous laugh, smiling out of necessity before offering him her name.

He made some remark about her still being cute, before they were cut off by a couple of young people tripping down the stairs and narrowly avoiding the pool. They made a line for Fezco, hoping to make a purchase off of him.

She couldn’t help but feel a little out of place, in the move of things she started to step back to where she came. An obvious cast of disappointment fell over her as she began to pull back from it all.

“Mamas,” That voice stopped her in her tracks. “Just lemme do this, I ain’t done ‘whichu yet.”

Just like that, she’d found a reason to stay. From that point on, you didn’t see her without Fezco by her side, with a hand on her lower back.

They were polar opposites, but MC. Kat said those attract so that could be said for why they’d done so well together. She was warm, kind, and so gentle it’d make your heart do fucking flips.

She was the softest thing that Fez had ever got his hands on, and he’d be damned if he was ever going to let it go. He was open with her, showed her all the bad things that he did and he’d done, and she chose to love him anyway.

If you asked Fezco, she felt like home, she was safe to come back to after a long day of doing things he wasn’t proud of. No matter how many times he made shitty choice after shitty choice, she knew the heart that rested in him was inherently better than anything.

Nothing made that heart fuller than seeing her own coming through, you want to talk big hearts? You start with her. She was the very definition of love, patient and kind, and it wasn’t uncommon for Fez to pinch himself in wonder of how he got so lucky.

The days she sat beside his grandma, holding her up as he brought the sponge along her back. Never a complaint, she’d just smile at Fezco, at the gentleness of his movements. The smile that said “I’d never want to be anywhere else.”

And if his boys were on their way around to fetch payment, nothing had to be said. She’d quietly tuck away in the bedroom, laying in silence as she daydreamed of a life where Fez was totally happy. In her visions they live in the countryside, he never has to look over his shoulder and he is forgiven.

She was always the delicate to his rough around the edges, but that didn’t mean she didn’t know exactly what was happening. You couldn’t mistake her kindness for stupidity.

“Mans, I don’t think you know what you getting into.” Fezco’s voice never shifted from that calm tone.

Nate Jacob’s shit eating grin made the hairs on the back of Fez’ neck stand up, the kid using his height to try and forge an ounce of intimidation. Unlucky for him, the man in front of him wasn’t a 17 year old cheerleader with daddy issues, he couldn’t scare him.

Nate would still give it his best shot.

“You obviously don’t know what you’re doing with me, I will fucking ruin you.” His bark through gritted teeth drifted up the hallway.

“You came to my house, ‘tryna start shit with me,” Fez never backed down, nearly chest to chest. “I never gave a fuck about you.”

The sound that came from Nate was a scoff, the disrespect was evident as he looked down on the other man. “So you’ve forgotten how you threatened my life?”

As he lifted his hand up towards Fez’ throat, he wasn’t able to clock her on his right quick enough.

She calmly padded down the hallway, shorts and her boyfriend’s hoodie draped across her body as she approached the scene before her. Left hand coming to lift the hem of the sweater and right coming to grip the glock stashed in her waistband.

By the time Nate Jacobs even knew she was there, he could already hear the safety coming off. His hand stilled as his eyes drifted over to her.

“Take another step, playboy.” Eyes staring down the slide and right at the guy in her sights. “Pick up your nuts, and get out of my house.”

Nate looked back to Fez, meeting an almost unfazed expression. His eyes came over to her and the barrel aimed between his eyes.

“The cops coming here didn’t teach you a lesson? You want them coming back here looking for guns too?”

Her laugh rolled around the room, drifting between the three of them as her eyes narrowed.

“Yeah, go ahead and call the cops again,” Her grip on the pistol never faltered. “I’m sure Fezco’s boys would love to hear about the little bitch that had the pigs sniffing around their supply.”

There was no missing the way Nate’s jaw clenched at the sentiment, the thought ticking over in his head that he might’ve finally met his match. The match that he’d tried to chat up in the convenience store, right in front of Fez with his own girl in the car.

“Everyone knows your name, Jacobs,” Fez wasn’t the only one he couldn’t scare. “Would hate for it to be dropped around the wrong people.”

The quarterback brought his arm down from her boyfriend’s neck, turning to face her with the gun only following his movements. Fezco stepped off him, making his way over to his girl.

He stood behind her, chest to her back as his hands rested against her waist. Lips moments from her neck as his eyes trained back on the teenager trying to raise hell in his own living room.

“Is that a threat?” The sour expression on Nate’s face was nothing short of unattractive. She didn’t know a lot about Maddie Perez, but she knew the girl could do better.

“No, it’s a fucking warning,” In an instant the gun was turned on it’s side. “I won’t say it again, get out of my house, before I fucking kill you.”

It didn’t take much more before Nate was dragging his knuckles out of the house, door slamming behind him. At that sound, she had the safety back down and was placing the gun in Fez’ hands.

He chuckled, turning her towards him with that same grip on her hips. His hands came back to put the gun in the band of his drawers, before he was shifting to cup her face. Fezco could feel the heat radiating off of her cheeks.

“Do I even ‘gotta tell you how fine you look waving my piece round like that?”

She matched his laugh, heart still beating wildly in her chest. Shaking her head, her lips came to Fezco’s, feeling the plush of his lips moving in time with hers. “I will definitely leave that up to you.”

“But you looked so good handling it, mamas.”

Brushing off his comment, she gripped his hand and lead him up to the bedroom, muttering something about him looking even better.

Sitting on the edge of the mattress, Fez stood in front of her, looking down at the woman who’d kill for him. He knew he’d found his absolute other half, there was no doubt about that.

He lifted the glock to her face, trailing the muzzle along her cheek before she turned her head gently and gave it a sweet kiss. He shook his head, leaning down to tuck it under their mattress.

Kneeling down before her, parting her knees so he could nestle in there, his face was so close to her own that she could feel the heat in his breath.

“You mean everything, baby, I fucking love you.”

That was what it was all about, the perfect balance that existed between them. Whilst Fezco might’ve been the guts, and she was the glory, there was no doubt that they’d always be what each other needed.

The first time in a while that Fez had felt was able to be vulnerable, was the moment he sunk into her arms after a grim night. She didn’t ask any questions, just wrapped him up in her and reassured him that she felt nothing but adoration for him.

On his part, he’d found paradise in a girl that was sweeter than an angel, but was always down to let him fuck her like a whore.

She wasn’t really down for a Halloween party, but she was always down to dress pretty and be on the arm of her man in the cleanest suit. Platform heels and a flowery mini dress, it was the godfather and the hippie, sat outside by the pool as the smoke from Fez’ blunt cast a cloud around them.

Thoughts drifted back to the moment they met, looking an awful lot like this.

Teenagers dipped in and out of the house to buy off her boyfriend, she just sat back with her legs up in his lap, feeling his fingers rubbing against her calf every now and then.

She said hello to the girls as they drifted past, but nothing felt better than when it was just the both of them, enjoying each other’s company as those under the influence stumbled around them.

Fezco let his hand drift slightly higher up her shin, calloused fingers coming to trace along the curve of her knee. She watched the movements of his touch, not ignoring the way her skin prickled underneath the graze of his nails.

Taking the blunt from his mouth, he turned to look at her fondly, hazy smile when he found her already looking back at him.

“This your song, mamas,” He referred to the Jack Harlow joint that was coming through the speakers. “You ‘gone dance for me like you do at home?”

She smirked, lifting her legs out of his lap and stepping out in front of him. “Depends if you’ve got the money to throw.”

Slowly spinning around for him, her hips swayed in a motion that he followed intently, catching onto the way her dress lifted with each movement.

“You trippin’ if you think ‘imma pay for what’s mine.”

Stopping the swing of her hips, she moved in closer to where Fezco sat with his legs spread wide. Moving between those legs, she bent over over and braced a hand on each of his knees.

“What are you tryna’ do, big man?”

Fez lent forward in his seat, lips coming to gently press to her own before he spoke in a hushed tone, better to keep his private moves private from the kids swirling around the both of them.

“I’m tryna’ blow your fucking back out.”

One thing could be said for Fezco, the man could keep his word. The minute he got her into the bedroom, large hands splayed across her hips and gripped tight enough to leave a mark.

Lips ran up the column of her throat, the graze of teeth left in the wake of his movements. Heady moans slipped off her tongue and filled the small room, coaxing Fez to move a little quicker.

His girl was getting impatient and he was never one to keep her waiting.

Turning her in his hands, he still had a mean grip on her waist as he moved her knees to perch on the edge of the bed. One large hand spread in the center of her shoulder blades as he pushed her chest down onto the mattress.

“Be a good girl and arch your back for me.”

Stomach dropping down and hips rolling back, she shook her ass for him as Fezco shifted up the hem of her dress, revealing the pretty lace she wore just for him. His hands gripped her thighs, spreading them further apart till she got even lower.

One hand came back to slap the cheek of her ass, a sorry moan ripping from her chest as he massaged over the spot. Feeling the way his thumb traveled down the line of her underwear, grazing over where she was wettest for him.

Hooking around the band of the thin panties, Fez slipped them down her legs, sucking in a breath seeing how wet she’d been for him this whole time. She shook her hips, presenting herself to him like a meal he’d been waiting to be served.

“What got you so fuckin’ needy? Or you just always begging for it?” His voice rumbled through his chest, hitting her straight between the thighs.

“It’s always you, I just need you to fuck me.”

Two thick fingers dragged up her slit as she rolled her hips back for him, eager to catch anything that felt like pleasure. This teasing was nearly killing her, but he was damned if he wasn’t going to make her work for it.

“You ‘sposed to be a good girl but you lost your manners.”

Whining out, not caring how pathetic it must’ve sounded to him, she shook her ass again. Doing whatever she could to draw him and make him give it to her like she needed.

“Please, Fezco, I fucking need you.”

The sound of his belt coming loose was like music to her ears as his thumb gently dipped into her wetness. So close to getting what she wanted, he was never good at keeping anything from her. Especially not when she looked this pretty.

She felt him run the blunt head of his cock through her wetness, resting at her entrance for a moment. Tiny cries and whimpers still fell steadily from her pouted lips, Fezco sliding his hand down her back until his fingers fixed around the back of her neck.

“Drive me fuckin’ crazy,” With one thrust he filled her straight up. “I never felt anything like you, baby.”

Her cheek pressed against the mattress with his grip, filthy moans drifting through the air as she felt Fezco wrecking her. His other hand still gripped tight at her hip, pulling her back onto him with every thrust.

It was never better than when it was this nasty, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes as he fucked her dumb, the only thing on her mind was his name as she sang it back to him. 

He loved the sound of her crying out for him, pussy clenching impossibly tight around him. Fez knew every spot within her, exactly what to do to make her come apart under his hands.

“You so fuckin’ tight, mamas,” He gritted his teeth as his hand slid from her neck to grip her shoulder. “Tryna’ make me buss’ quick.”

A filthy giggle rolled straight off her tongue, before it turned right back into another cry as Fezco hit that spot just right. The hand on her hip slipped under and before she knew it, her eyes were rolling back as his fingers moved quick against her clit.

He nearly ripped a scream from her, moving his hand back to slap her pussy, before rubbing that same spot. He was going to be the death of her one day, the way he always knew exactly what he was doing.

“Baby- I’m ‘gonna- I’m ‘gonna,” Her words dropped off as she moaned for him under the pressure of it all.

“You good, ‘lemme hear it.”

Clenching like a vice around him, her whole body tensed up as the white hot feeling of her orgasm rolled over her. There was no doubt the neighbors would know about it, the way he never let up on her, had her crying out off the top of her lungs.

Fezco dipped his hand under her throat, fingers lightly fixing around it as he pulled her up to kneel. Falling back against his chest as he kept fucking her through it, her hand came back to grip his thigh.

She knew he was near his end, his hips were stuttering and the way he was groaning in her ear, she knew she had him good. Turning her head, her nose brushed against his face so her lips were moments from his skin.

“Come in me, please, baby.”

That was all it took, his arm flying around her waist as he gripped her hard to him. Hips stilling deep inside her as he filled her up, a vulgar cry from her as she felt him hot and running in her. Sliding his hand down her chest, he crossed his arms against her, nuzzling down into her neck.

“Maybe you are a good girl, huh?”

There was no doubt that she wasn’t just good, she was the best. Who else was going to sit patiently with their feet in Fezco’s lap as he counted his money and chewed through a pack of cigarettes.

Couldn’t find another girl that’d stand by his side at the town carnival, looking just as sweet as the cotton candy she was placing on her tongue as locals came asking around for their friend Molly.

Hot summer days outside the convenience store, popsicle between her lips as her sundress flutters gently in the breeze. Fezco ready to round up anyone that stared just a little too long.

Maybe it was all that candy that went past her lips, but there was never anyone who acted, or tasted that sweet.

Hearing the door shut, her mouth naturally curved into a smile. He was home, meaning he was safe, meaning she was safe and content. Fezco rounded the couch to where she sat, one arm braced behind her on the cushion as he lent down to kiss her.

Hands naturally coming to cup his chin, she felt the scratch of his beard in her palms as his mouth moved gently against her own. His shoulders dipped with a sigh, one that told her he was just as happy to be home as she was to have him.

“You seem so tired,” She cooed as she separated their lips. “Let me take care of you.”

Her hand trailed down the front of his sweater, coming to rest on his belt. Fezco pressed her hand down, against his crotch, bringing their lips back together. As she moved her other hand to start undoing his belt, he squeezed her hands to stop them.

Placing a hand on either side of her thighs, he dropped to kneel in front of her, before wrapping his hands around her knees and parting them. Fez lifted each of her legs and draped them over his shoulders.

Rough hands pushed the bottom of his hoodie, that was currently covering her, up her body and exposing her scantily clad lower half. Shallow breaths came from her as he dragged her panties down her legs, shifting her hips closer to the edge of the couch.

“This the only place I wanna’ be right now, angel.”

Her breath came across as choppy as she relaxed back into the couch, feeling big hands grip the the skin of her thighs. Fez’ head moved between her legs, pressing a kiss straight to her slit.

Hands coming to hold his head, thumbs massaging against the skin as her hips rolled forward toward his mouth. Darting his tongue out, he drew it up and along her until it came into contact with her clit.

Drawing his tongue around the nub, he felt her legs tense up against his shoulders. Fezco’s hands gently rubbed at her legs, feeling her relax once again into him.

The soft little whimpers that only she could make fueled him like nothing else, dragging his tongue quicker in an attempt to draw any sounds out of her. Her hips bucked up with the sensation of his tongue, pulling his face in closer.

“God, Fezco, you always make me feel so good.”

Humming in response, the sensation moved through her from between her thighs and deep into her. The feeling of the tip of his tongue against her clit made her toes curl up, feet running along the length of his back.

Fez wrapped his lips around her clit, sucking the sensitive nerves and making her call out his name. Her chest rose, arching her back off the couch as her thighs tensed around his head.

He never let up, just continued the assault on her clit as she writhed beneath his grasp. Fez couldn’t get enough of this feeling, having her wrapped around him and completely falling apart in his hands.

She couldn’t believe how lucky she got, having a man that walked straight through the doors and got on his knees for her. There was never a moment where Fez didn’t have her feeling like she was in the clouds.

Her whole body burnt hot as his tongue dipped into her, before dragging back up. Eyes falling shut and fingernails running down the back of her head, every time he moaned at the feeling it hit her straight where she needed it. 

“You’re ‘gonna make me come, please don’t stop.”

Fezco’s eyes flickered up to her, watching the way her whole body moved for him and her head kept falling back in pleasure. To have her reacting so strongly to him, he hoped she couldn’t see the way his cheeks were starting to burn.

“Go ‘head baby, come for me.”

The high-pitch of her whine pierced the air as her hips stuttered against his mouth. She felt her body relax, the feeling of pleasure consuming her entirely as Fez let her ride his face out of her high.

As she came back down to Earth, he came back up to her, hand wiping down his beard and watching the glow of her face. Lazy smile across her face as she reached out for him, going back to his belt.

“You going to let me take care of you now?”

One day they’d roll out of this town together, find their peace and spend their time looking forward without a care. Until then they found peace in each other, holding one another close.

More than anything, they’d found hope in each other? That this wouldn’t be forever, that you could find forgiveness in whatever you’d done.

Whenever there was a doubt, she just echoed those words back to him with a smile, the ones that she’d never forgotten.

“I ain’t done ‘whichu yet.”

[chocominnie]

Desperado — 09 (M) | JJK

Pairing: Badboy!Jungkook X Reader

Summary : A messy situationship at it’s finest. You don’t even know whats headed your way, just even engaging in the slightest within him. See, he has an assignment to complete. A mission granted by his father thats do or die. You just so happen to be a major pawn in that assignment. He didn’t mean to take an interest in you. Surely it was an accident right? Only except. you hold much value in this game that he’ll do anything to complete it. Oblivious is what you are. Poor thing. Poor.. Poor thing.

Genre: Mature/ Mafia!Jungkook

Trailer: xxxxx  preview 01 02 03 04 05 06 07 08

Word Count : 7.3k

Warnings : This honestly isn’t for the light hearted and the weak…High angst, usage of drugs, drug mentions, mental illness, switch!jungkook, Brat reader, possible stockholm syndrom, kidnapping, assault, death of side characters, murder, weapons, usage of weapons, masturbation, physical violence, blood, alcohol, weed, unprotected and protected sex, spanking, honestly its a lot of aruging…

Copyright: please do NOT repost, translate, or modify my works in any way, shape or form, on any platform. If found doing so , it is considered as plagiarism and appropriate LEGAL action will be taken

TW : Suicide, Body Hanging for display.

Her hair moves so flawlessly and the her breasts spill over the mini triangle bra with each sensual move she makes. The way her waist and body whines against the pole could leave absolutely anyone in a trance.The rhythm of the music blasts in the air and she’s directly on beat to it, not missing anything through the song playing. 

The led lights are dimmed low enough in a red color, but enough for everyone to see. Shes uncaring at the men in the room sizing her up in her designer high waisted thong that hugs her hips very well, showing off her round, plump ass. That was what she wanted, the attention all on her while they throw hundred dollar bills for her. 

“ Who knew someone could get down and dirty like that.”

To no suprise, Jimin, the ladies man but heartbreaker for sure, enters the private room and closing the door beind him. He throws a stack of money towards her, as he was the seemingly late one to the meet-up. 

“ Jungkook is late, he’s never late. What’s taking him so long?” A grumpy Namjoon says, looking down at his apple-watch. It’s half past 10 pm and usually he’s the first one here.

“ He’s probably sucking up to yn-”

The girl turns her head sharply towards the boys, overhearing what they said. She furrows her eyebrows at them, “ Why would he be doing that..”

Taehyung lets out a small groan. “ Because Mr. Lover boy has gotten himself a crush. The worst part is, she’s his target for this mission.”

“ Shut the fuck up. I don’t have a crush on her, i’m just doing my job.” A semi-loud voice roars through the doors. Everyone stops to look at the sudden intruder and to relief it’s him, Jungkook. 

Of course he has to lie about that. He knew for sure he caught himself up with you and the feelings were strong. Though the big bad mafia boy catching feelings for his target is highly uncommon, and Jungkook doesn’t know the consequences.

“ Jungkook..” The girl says, frowning at him with her hand on her hips. He takes a seat on the couch and tilts his head at her to go on. She rolls her eyes and shakes her head at the young boy. “ You fell for her.. so what about us?”

It isn’t hard to say that he doesn’t have any more feelings left for the girl. She and him both knew what they agreed upon. The pair had history together, sexual to be exact. Romance was hardly there if he were to be honest. She’d began actually working for Won-Shik, under this club they’re in now which is owned by him, a year ago. Jungkook had entered the club once when he was considered a minor, but that was to pass a message along to the girl from his father. He was told to go straight in and straight out. Of course, he did the exact opposite. Sat around looking at all the half naked women that night as the music blared loud. 

It wasn’t until his phone rang and it was Casper telling him to hurry up and come back to the car, is when he finally decided to get up and look for the girl. When he did find her, it was over with for him. The girl was, and still is, stunning. One of the many foreign girls in the club but she’s the one that stood out of all. She wore nothing but a small outfit as she danced on the pole. Her beauty mesmorized Jungkook that night as he watched her dance in awe. Soon enough she came to him showing her her dimply smile and perfect teeth.

He was stunned alright. She knew he looked to be too young for the club so she asked him his age. He told her, and thats when she nearly called security on him until he told her who he was and affiliated with. The message was passed along accordingly to her, she got the memo. Jungkook though, kept coming back to that club and always going to where she was, following her around the club like a lost puppy. She enjoyed his time, as all she did was sit and talk with him and that turned out to not be enough for him. He wanted her, and she insisted that he was too young for her. 

So Jungkook did what any other person would do when feeling rejected, he started to present himself like a true man and mafia boy. The gym was his favorite place after that and he buffed up very well. That jawline of his got sharper and his personality gained more confidence and dominant by the time he turned nineteen. He of course kept going at her, shooting his shot anytime he could and yet kept getting denied. It wasn’t until his nineteenth birthday is when he begged her telling her how bad he wanted her, and that lap dance he kept suggesting months before. Since it was his birthday and he was legal, she gave him what he wanted but that still wasn’t enough for him. He wanted her underneath him bad. The slight age gap between them didn’t phase Jungkook at all. What he wants, is what he gets. 

And he did.

And kept getting it, and getting it, and getting it since then. 

“ Relax baby, I’ll still be coming around you know that.” His voice is smooth, smirking at her.  He wasn’t going to be coming around as much, but he knew that would disappoint her. 

She purses her lips and begins walking towards him and sits directly on his lap, straddling him. Jungkook can’t push her off the way he wants to because it would confirm the crush rumors from the boys about you. So he lets her sit there, uncomfortable as hell for him. 

Namjoon clears his throat to get the rest of the group attention. It’s nearly 11 pm and Crystal has been blowing up his phone ever since he stepped foot in the club. He told her beforehand about the meeting, but she wanted him at her apartment by at least 1 am. 

“ We all know you love yn, but remember who you are Jungkook.” Namjoon says, glaring at the boy who returns the glare back at him. “ Fuck you. Like I said, im just doing my job.”

“ If you were doing your job Jungkook, there’s no way in the hell that it should take you this long. “ Jin retaliates. He knows hes right.

By this time, Jimin had finished preparing seven perfectly rolled blunts filled with the most finest imported weed. He places them onto the tray, taking his own and then passing the tray to Yoongi. Each of the boys take their own until it reaches down to Jungkook who takes his and puts the tray back onto the table. 

“ Enough about her. I was summoned to go over the details for the next seven days. “ Jungkook groans, sparking his blunt and inhaling. He passes it Melanie, who takes it to inhale as well. 

A malicious smile comes upon Yoongi’s face as he exhales the smoke into the already fogged up air. One thing he loves to talk about is torture. One of bangtan’s best walking torture device to be known.

“ Tonight we are starting.. I say you let me go first.” Yoongi pauses, taking a long inhale of his blunt. “ I’m coming for their trade transaction place. Arson, let me burn the bitch down and then fuck around with their father.”

It’s a good idea. Sending a message after burning it down straight to it’s opponent. Fire is Yoongi’s thing, and that’s his signature marking in the Bangtan Boys. The father of the shooter was one of their dealers, until the shooter’s father fucked up by taking money out of bangtan’s cut little by little. The boys knew about it, they waited for the perfect time back then to take action. Of course, giving them a mission to complete.. or so he thought. The mission was a false one. Created by Jungkook to catch him off guard. Jungkook used some of the mafia men on Won-Shik’s side to set up a trade off of drugs, decieving the shooter’s father by thinking they were just setting up a regular mafia trade from another gang. The trade was complete, but their protection was no more. Needless to say, the men didn’t even make it back to their cars. It was a bloodshed war between Jungkook’s assigned men and their men. The point was to send a memo that the Bangtan Boys were coming for them, and coming hard. 

Everynight for two weeks unimaginable signs were sent to their family. Ranging all the way from several gunshot bullets going through their home, to severed heads of previous betrayers of the bangtan boys, sitting right on their porch. By now, all the other gangs in Korea knew not to have any business with them. 

“ Day 2 I want it. I’m going for the mother. That scamming bitch and her precious flower shop? I’m shooting it up. Whoever lives, lives. Whoever dies, dies.” Jimin shrugs, smirking as he leans back in his spot.

“ Day 3, for me I’m sending another message. One of their men is gonna die in my god damn hands. I’ll be sure to take a selfie and send it to the father. The body will lay hanging on that pretty little oak tree in their yard.” Taehyung says. The boys are roar with shock that he’s said that. Normally he doesn’t like touching a dead body, so it’s a change for him.

The boys continue listing off the days and assigned tasks for the rest of the night into the wee early morning. Namjoon left after his, of course going straight to his girls apartment. They don’t judge him, seeing as though the boy really is in love and knows when and how to handle it. He definately doesn’t mix business and his love life together, unlike his other hyung.  Soon enough the banter and socializing ends and it’s time for Yoongi first. 

Night 1

It doesn’t take long for Yoongi to find the place. The empty steets of Seoul have soon faded into just dirt roads with the city left behind. The humming of his porsche echos through the night time air. Yoongi takes one final turn, making sure to pull into the place slowly like a true hunter keeping it’s eye on its prey. It’s not a full house tonight, even better. 

Taking the jug of gasoline out his car, he carries it with ease up to the empty warehouse. The wildlife outside don’t make a noise. As if they know who’s approaching and just shut right up. Forty degrees fahrenheit outside and lastnight’s snowfall piled all around.The darkness outside is haunting, anything could pop out at any second to kill the man. That doesn’t scare him at all. Darkness is always what he crave. Inside and out. 

“ Sir.. do you want us to go in with you?” 

Yoongi stops dead in his tracks. He’d almost forgotten about the back-up men Jungkook ordered for him. It’s not like he needed them anyways, but since Jungkook can’t be there with Yoongi, that was the next best choice. 

Rolling his eyes without turning around,“ No. Wait in your cars. I’ll handle it on my own.”

Just like that. The boys are off like lightening. Yoongi takes one final step towards the two double doors, and begins to pour the gasoline at it’s starting point. Usually, he’d go from the inside out, but seeing as though he wanted them to scurry out fearing for their lives, this is the next option as well. Soon enough, the enire jug is empty and he’s now poured all of it around the outside of the warehouse. Leaves crunch with every step he makes back to the starting point. Part of him hopes they can’t hear him from the outside. It’ll ruin the plans. 

The lighter in his pocket feels so smoothe against his palms as he reaches for it. It’s one of his signature ones with his initials on it. An andrenaline rush runs through his veins as flicks the ignition with his thumb. The flame all bright and orange as he stands there infront of the building. It’s going to be a damn good night.

Without hesitating, Yoongi runs his fingers through his hair and throws the lighter right onto the gasoline puddles. The way the whole ring of fire lights up infront of his eyes makes him laugh hysterically while watching the whole building go into flames. The loud crackling sounds of the now decomposing warehouse jumps him back into reality. 

He heads right towards the big tree next to the right of the warehouse, leaning on it with one foot up against it with his hands crossed. That sinister smile doesn’t leave his face. He enjoys the view of the men from the inside running out as fast as they can. Some falling in the ring of fire in the process. The fire is no match for any human as they try to stop drop and roll. Ha, as if that would work with a 15 foot fire consuming the warehouse. The dead bodies pile up on their own, just burning in the fire over their simple mistakes of falling and thinking they would survive the fire.

Until the golden egg comes out. He’s furious as runs out perfectly, as if he’s been through this, without managing to catch on fire. Yoongi chuckles, leaning off the tree. “ Kang Dong-Woo.”

Usually Yoongi would use the honorfics to people who were much older than him. In this case though, he doesn’t deserve honorifics. 

“ Min Yoongi.” He says, harshness laced within his voice. Dongwoo frowns when nearing the man. He knows what Yoongi is capable of, and that’s what sets his fight for flight into action.

“ Let’s get straight to it. Your daughter is after our leader. She seems to be doing the dirty work for you yeah? Did you not train her enough? Of course you know she wont be able to live after this right?”

Dongwoo laughs right into Yoongi’s face as if he was joking. It angers Yoongi, so he grabs Dongwoo by the shirt and drags the man over to the fire where he kicks the back of his legs to where he’s kneeling inches away from it. 

“ I don’t think this is a laughing matter, Dongwoo.” He growls, tightening his grip around Dongwoo’s arms that are behind his back. “ You want to die?”

“ She’s gonna fuck you all over.” He growls.” You may think she’s not capable of finishing off you guys one by one, but she is. I raised and trained her since a kid. She’s stronger with more energy than me. She’ll kill you all when you least expect it.”

Yoongi rolls his eyes at him.” The dumb bitch can’t even shoot right. Going for someone else knowing Jungkook would save them is an ameteur move. Should’ve went straight for his damn head.”

“ I’ll make sure she’ll bring you guys hell Min Yoongi. All of you. Tell that shit to Jungkook and his daddy for me alright?” He mocks, laughing again at the boy to taunt him.

Yoongi doesn’t care for it. He’s had enough of this foolish talk. With one swift move he kicks the man’s back making him fall down to the left side, away from the fire. He’s lost it. He’s totally lost it at this point and there is no going back. Kick after kick after kick, he doesn’t stop. No. Not until the Dongwoo is sure to cough up blood. The crimson liquid poors from his mouth as he lays there. No remorse is felt.

Besides, the bastard bitch needed to get the message. Consider it message recieved. 

Night 2

The flower shop is full, but not full to its entirety. There's tons of different bouquets and arrangements set around the pretty shop, from what he can see from the outside. It’s almost closing time, an hour left. Jimin’s fingertips grip on the steering wheel, anxious but patient to make his move. He’s running off of pure adrenaline and 2 cans of monster that are crushed and sitting in the passenger seat. Waiting isn’t his forte and he’d honestly like to get this show on the road now.

The moon is out and shining bright tonight. A sigh escapes his lips when he glances again at the shop. The only reason he’s not done it yet is due to the fact that there is a child and his mother inside. Rule number 2 of Bangtan, injure no child. The price to pay if you were to break the rule? Simply it would cost you your own damn life.

As if time would of went any slower for the boy, the child and his mother finally made their transaction and made it out of the store, heading across the street to continue their journey of shopping. It’s go time.

He knew to come prepared with his bulletproof vest and full face ski mask, long Sleeve black shirt to cover all the markings he has and also the two tattoos on each of his arms. He knew that the little lady wouldn’t be so dumb to not carry, or at-least have someone inside that would be her undercover security. Considering who her husband is, there’s no way she won’t be protected.

Oh how innocent the people look to not know what’s coming next. Jimin loads his Glock 19 with golden bullets that have Bangtan Boys initials and symbols on it just before pulling his mask down and getting out the car. He makes sure to signal his back-up men to create a distraction so he could make his entrance. Sure enough, a loud boom in the near distance of what sounds like some type of construction falling, echos loudly. It turns heads from all around to look where the sound came from, making it easy for Jimin to slide into the flower-shop.

Not a sound made by him. He draws his gun and pulls the safety off the trigger, then cocks it. Eyes are all on him as his eyes shift around the room looking for his target. There she is, eyes wide in the middle of a transaction for two middle aged couple. His eyes set into hers, lowly smiling and pointing it at her. The way everyone frantically screams and cries out doesn’t phase Jimin, no. It just encourages him even more as he starts firing shots mid air, shooting any and every person in sight for the hell of it. Bodies drop to the ground, and the bloodbath begins.

Jimin doesn’t hesitate to step over everybody, eyes still set on his target. The middle aged couple’s shrieks were cut short by their bodies dropping to the ground with three shots each to their hearts.

“ Park J-” He cuts her crying off with a finger to his lips, daring her to say his name in public. She gets the memo. “ I wouldn’t if I were you.”

The barrel is pressed against her temple as she trembles with fear. He cocks his head to the side, smiling at her when he taps the gun against her head harshly, repeatedly. “ You know why I’m here.”

“ You kill me and she will murder you all.”

Jimin chuckles, “ That’s what you guys think. We don’t have time for your gimmicks. It was you guys who stole money from us. Why did you think you’d still be protected from the law from us? Getting your daughter to go for the leader first is dumb, like the rest of you.”

“ We almost went to prison for you guys, remember that? We needed that cut money from you guys to pay off our legal fees. Thats why we stole. We completed your dirty work while trying to pay off the fees, its the least you guys could of did as a reward.”

“ That’s not how it would’ve worked. You fucked up. All of you.”

With two shots to the leg, she falls into Jimins arms. He rolls his eyes and throws his body off of him and onto the floor. It’s going to be a headache trying to explain to the dry cleaners why there is blood stains on his designer ripped jeans.

Night 3

It was too easy, way too easy. It took nothing to lure that man right into Taehyung’s trap. Nothing but a simple few slick comments made to him for him to get a riled up at the wrong person. Taehyung had spotted the man prior heading into the park with a small duffle bag. He assumed it was for a night trade off for some other person who had delivered drugs for him. Nontheless, it was merely too easy to pose as the alleged person who completed the mission. 

A rookie. That guy must’ve been a rookie. 

When the money was handed off to Taehyung, he tossed it to the side and struck the man down. The two did fight on the concrete floor for a bit but the man was no match for Taehyung’s quick moves. Taehyung’s pocket knife dances around the man’s throat as his body is pinned to the ground. 

“ Rookie mistake not verifying if I’m the real one.” He chuckles, pressing the blade against the mans neck. The man pleads for his life but it’s no use. Message must be sent, that it’s no way you’ll fuck around with Bangtan and escape.

“ You know, I would’ve trained you more than Dongwoo. Letting the weakest link go run an errand? Ha. Your boss set you up for that one.” 

Although the man is merely innocent, it doesn’t stop Taehyung from slicing into the man’s neck. A blood curdling scream comes out, but soon hushed over as his will of breathing and screaming is cut. It’s music to Tae’s ears. 

The body is transfered per request of Taehyung to his back-up men. It’s not like him to touch a bloody dead body. So they take him into the back of their car and follow Taehyung to the residential house of the shooter. Nothing more than 10 minutes away. 

The lights are cut off in the neighborhood. Not a sound made other than the two cars coming down the street. Everyone seems to be at peace and quiet in their homes. Sleeping to say the least. Upon arrival, Taehyung parks his car right infront of the house. The back-up men drag the bloody body out the car and onto their lawn, placing it right under the oak tree. 

Taehyung takes the rope be brought along with him, and begins to tie multiple knots around a sturdy branch from the tree. When done, he wraps some of the rope around the dead boy’s neck, tying it into a slipknot and hoists him up high into the air. 

The body dangles from the tree like a flag waving in the sky proud and high. He signals for the boys that the assignment is done and that they’re free to leave. Taehyung though, he just sits back in admiration of his work. It’s been a while sinice he felt this way. So he stands there soaking it all in. 

Message recieved. 

Since it’s been three entire days of hell, Jungkook knew his day will be approaching faster than ever. If only it could get here faster though. Truth is, Won-Shik isn’t too happy about Jungkook’s plan still not being complete. At this point, the father is going against him any chance he gets to just get this over with. 

Luckily, tonight he’d be able to meet with his father again with some good news. It hasn’t been brought to his attention yet about your father being in Taiwan. With the technology of Won-Shik’s men, your father could be brought here within 12 hours tops. 

“ Father.” Jungkook says, entering his office doors. The boy fixes his leather jacket upon entering and places his hands back into his pockets. “ I have news.”

Won-Shik is one to not play around with. Interupting his office time is a big, big deal. One is to not enter without it being urgency. That rule still applies to the heir of the company. “ It better be damn good because your plan isn’t getting anywhere Jeon Jungkook.”

Won-Shik takes his glasses off and sets them to the side on his desk. Its full of papers and photos of himself and Jungkook when he was a child. His favorite one right in the middle, where Jungkook had just ate some cherry flavored ice cream and his lips were all red as he smiled for the camera showing his two front teeth. It reminded him of when Jungkook was easier to manage rather as to now where he’s a damn menace.

“ Taiwan. Her father is in Taiwan. I don’t think it’s Taipei though.. he’s hiding so a city wouldn’t be ideal. I say search the mountains first, then the city.”

Bringing this proposal to the table meant that Jungkook wanted to atleast gain his father’s trust back. Hell, he wanted all this to be over with by now because you were driving him crazy to the point where he’s beginning to actually forget who the hell he was and why he was assigned this mission. The plan was not to fall, but to complete. He’d be lying if he wasn’t knee deep in love with you right now. It all comes down to him protecting you from his father at this point. 

“ So your little plan is suddenly working huh.. still doesn’t mean she gets to run free Jungkook.” He says, smirking at the boy to challange him. Jungkook knew that. Once it’s proven that your father is the snitch, all of the family dies.

You’re innocent. Too innocent to know that or to be even tangled in that mafia mess of his. Part of him wishes he never met you and never had been assigned this mission. Then everything would be so damn different and emotions wouldn’t be caught up in this. From the moment he met you, he knew it would be hard. You have always held a special part in his heart. Only because you acted just like his mother. Sweet, but sassy and it hurt him a lot on how you remind him of her. You even word your words just like her, even when upset. Everything about you, is just like her. 

It was hard to not get attached to wanting to get to know you more. Somehow he thought that if he got to know you, he’d somehow fill that hole inside him of his mother’s disappearance. As if you were going to be his new replica as you would be the one to put a band-aid on that hole to patch it up. 

Here you are, not knowing you could die any moment and it will all be thanks to Jeon Jungkook, who couldn’t save you fast enough. 

“ I know. But she’s innocent. She doesn’t even know her dad worked with us. I swear she doesn’t.”  Jungkook bites his lip in hopes that there could be someway to save you by the hands of your father.

 “ I dont care!” He roars, jumping out his seat. Jungkook flinches, backing up a bit from the sudden outburst. “ You know not to mix business and pleasure. You reap what you sew. You get to pay the consequences.”

Jungkook knew that though. 

“ Father-”

“ Nothing more. I’ll have my team start the search right now. You on the other hand, get you god-damn shit together Jungkook. You’re the heir, not a damn lover-boy. Got it?”

It is no use of arguing with him. Jungkook looks down at the ground and nods his head yes just before Won-Shik dismisses him. It’s going to hurt. Seeing you dead. He hopes for a miracle can happen, that your father will not be the snitch. That you and him could live happily ever after. There will no be any happily ever after about this situation though. One will die. Just a matter of who it will be. 

The vibrating sensation in his pocket snaps him out of his trance. An incoming call from Namjoon. It’s alarming since today is Namjoon’s day of hell, and only one thing could be happening right now if he’s calling for Jungkook. 

There’s been a mistake.

“ What is it Namjoon.” 

“ She fucking outsmarted me. The bitch caught on to where my location would be for the next kill. I don’t know where the fuck she is Jungkook.. this is bad.”

Jungkook sighs heavily, closing his eyes while letting out strings of curses come from his mouth. Shit couldn’t get possibly worse than this right now. Namjoon said he’d wanted to go straight for the killer and bust her up a bit. Give her some words and a branding on her. He had wanted to do it with a knife, carving the initals of Bangtan Boys into her upper hip. Namjoon had zero problem tracking her next location down, as he had been keeping an eye on her all day. To him, it seemed as if she would be heading to an orchestra shop in the city. Every step she took, Namjoon took it too. 

Until she rounded the corner to go inside the shop and she wasn’t there. There wasn’t any outlet. The shop was on a dead end street surrounded by other shops that they both had passed. There was no way she didn’t go back, he would of saw it. He saw her go into the store, so she had to be there right?

Wrong. You see she knew all this time that Namjoon was followering her while in disguise. The orchestra shop where she led him to, she knew the owner. They were good friends. She had spoken to him asking if that she could use his upstairs office to read over some of the newest edition of music pieces for her to practice. He obliged, and she made up there in time before Namjoon came inside.

Up there, she’d be lying if she wasn’t scared to death. All this week the boys had definately given her hell. Each day with zero remorse. It was taking a toll on her for sure. Taking up this assignment by herself wasn’t something easy but she wanted to prove to him that she can be just like him. That she wanted to work with him too to take down Bangtan for decieving them and leaving them in the dust. 

She can’t do it. The boys are to expierenced for her. It’s a bad mistake that she cannot come back from. You see, she thought it would be easy to befriend you and become close to you after you’d laid eyes upon Jungkook your first day here. She knew you’d soon fall for him, like any other girl did, and that would be her easy acess to him from you. It was all planned beforehand. To be quiet and observe you and your moves with him. In her mind, Jungkook needed to die first. The boys can’t function all that well without him, so that would be the weak spot to take advantage of if he would’ve died when she knew he’d take the bullet for you. She coudn’t shoot him first, it’d be too straightforward and blunt. 

It was going all well. Deep in the inside she was jealous of you as well. Sungmin had been her crush for years, they even almost dated. Until you came along and he left her in the dust for you. Sungmin is everything she wanted in a boy, but you took that away from her. Her chances to date him ruined by you. It hurt everyday to see him head over heels in love with you, when that was just her at one point before you came along. Not only that, but she seen the way you play with Sungmin’s emotions. It made her upset that you do that. Sungmin’s love is a drug, whether it be friendship love or romantic, nobody can get enough of it. 

All this stressed her out to her max. Her family being hurt because of her, her mom unable to walk for the next few weeks is all because of her. Only cause she cannot complete this task she brought onto herself. As if being in danger because of Won-Shik and Bangtan wasn’t enough beforehand, she just made things worse all in all. There is no way out of this for her and her family. So it’s time to just accept it and say goodbye to it all and start a new life. 

“ I’ll find her. You wait at the base and I’ll report back to you guys after I find her. When I do, you will come and finish your damn task Namjoon. Do you hear me?” Jungkook’s beyond pissed at this point. If it wasn’t for him, the boys would be lost as fuck without him.

He shoots Casper a text, letting him know that he is to follow him closely as he searches for her. To his luck, Casper was already outside his apartment building in his car. Not long after he pops those contacts in and changes his outfit again, he’s cruising the streets of Seoul in his midnight purple lamborghini. 

The pain in his shoulder throbs with each turn he has to make with the wheel of his car. A little pain medicine would of helped beforehand, but rushing to get this shit over with was more important. This bitch definately has it coming. It’s been taking Jungkook these past few days to not just up and kill her. No that would just be too easy. Torture and marinating her to lose her shit at the last minute is something so satisfying to him. 

The streets of Seoul soon end behind him and the Mappo Bridge comes into view. It had been an a whole hour searching around the areas of where she could’ve been, including where she was last seen. No sights of her at all. She’s good at this for sure. Text messages are sent back and forth between the boys and Jungkook. They’re all on edge, tired, and frustrated at this chasing game that they’re all playing.

He’d almost missed it. The body walking alongside the side-walk of the bridge with their head hanging low and hoodie on. It’s the hoodie of his school, but most importantly it has their class graduation year on it. It has to be her. Jungkook flashes his hazard lights on, letting Casper know to pull over with him. 

It’s now or never.

After sending the text to Namjoon, he’s out the car and jogging towards the suspect. Height, body type, and shoes match the alleged identity. It seems she’s too into something to notice the extra footsteps behind her. He can’t do anything to her though, it’s not his night. 

“ Kang Minlee.”

She stops dead in her tracks as if a ghost had called her name. Frozen, she stands there contemplating on running or staying. If she runs, she’s dead. If she stays, shes dead. 

“ You think..” He pauses, grabbing her arm and turning her around to face him. Her face is red from crying and her glasses all fogged up from underneath her mask. For a split second, Jungkook does feel regret. 

Killing a classmate of his wasn’t something he’d ideally let happen. But it’s far too late to not have her killed off. “ You think that running away is the best option?”

Minlee trembles underneath his grip, “ I made a mistake. Please just let me go. Let me and my family go and we’ll leave you alone forever.” She breaks down into tears, placing her hand over his in attempt to let her go. 

It didn’t hurt Jungkook to see her like this. All in all it just feels weird to him. Weird to have one of his classmates begging for her life to be spared from the gruesome events to come. 

“ You know I can’t do that.” It honestly can’t be an option at this point. It’d be better to just continue out her days of hell with her family. “ You came for me, that means you die.”

Finally she jerks her arm back from his still in tears as she starts to back away slowly. Jungkook knew that she wouldn’t run. Not in this case. Letting her cry it out was the best way, hell it’s the only way because Namjoon would be here any minute to brand her. It would mean she belonged to Bangtan after that, and she’d have to keep quiet as they planned out her death.

Her sudden movement from the ground to climbing up the railing of the bridge alarms Jungkook. She cries louder when Jungkook comes closer to getting her down so he stops. Suicide? Right now? What happened to being all big and bold? It confuses Jungkook as to why she would take her own life right now. Either way she’d still end up dead and unhappy if Bangtan would kill her or she’d kill herself. 

“ Jungkook!” She semi-yells, pointing to the direction behind him as another guy approaches them. Just in time, the sound of Namjoon’s car can be heard from afar. He’s getting close.

The guy she’s pointed to is Casper, who’s also alarmed at the fact that she’s close to the edge right now. Jungkook holds his hand up at Casper for him to stop right there and shakes his head, meaning that it’s too risky for Casper to step in right now. Casper nods and Jungkooks turns back to the scene. 

“ Don’t you think that I’ve suffered enough? Everyday you guys give me hell. My mom can’t walk because of you guys, and my dad has health issues. You left us in the dust when we needed your support the most! I was almost put up for adoption a year ago because of you!” She sobs, wiping her never ending tears with her hoodie sleeves. 

Jungkook doesn’t know what to say, or do. It’s not like him to have sympathy over a rival. It’s just not in him at this very moment. 

Minlee continues on, “ Yn? She took what’s mine. My Sungmin. She plays with his heart and it hurts him a lot. I wouldn’t have did that. But no, he’s head over heels in love with him. I got left in the dust when she came along and it looks like everyone loves her, including you Jungkook. My friendgroup does anything and everything she wants because she’s just oh so little miss perfect. That was supposed to be me!”

There it is. The jealousy. Jungkook would have never known it. It’s all news and shock to him. Sungmin and Minlee? Didn’t seem like a match to begin with. 

Her dramatic meltdown continues on, but Jungkook allows it. Namjoon will be here any minute to sneakily get her down. Where is he and why the hell is he taking so long?

As if on cue, Namjoon pulls up to the scene and immediately gets out his car running towards the girl. Jungkook waves his hands for him to stop, eyes wide with a finger to his lips. The last thing he wanted was for the girl to jump. A death from their school? Surely was to be put on him and his boys. 

Namjoon stops infront of Jungkook’s car, confused as to what’s going on. Jungkook mouthes to him the words suicide attempt. That’s when Namjoon gets it and decides to let him handle getting her down. 

“ Yeah it was meant to be you. But I plan to take Yn away anyways. Then you and Sungmin could come together again.” Jungkook’s convincing isn’t convincing enough, she doesn’t buy it at all.

“ If I get down I’m going to die. There is no escaping that within the next few days i’d be dead in your hands. I made a mistake and there is no going back. Spare my parents. Let them live. I’m the one that started this. I’ll be the one to finish it.”

The girl lifts one foot off the railing and leans backwards. Jungkook’s breath hitches along with Namjoons. No. It wasn’t supposed to end like this. 

“ Kang Minlee!” They both scream, running towards her. It’s too late though. Her body falls gracefully down as all three of them watch over the railing. She looks peaceful, a smile on her face while her body is sprawled out in the air.

Inches before she hits the water, the three of the boys look away with only the sound of dense water splashing to fill their ears. Namjoon sighs, putting his hands against his head. Jungkook stands there in complete shock. Casper, well Casper just shakes his head knowing the two boys weren’t prepared for that.

“ We fucked up Jungkook.”

“ I fucking know that Namjoon.” His voice cracks. It isn’t like Jungkook to cry. No not at all. Especially for a target like that. At the end of the day she was human and she did what any daughter would do for her family.

 She was also your friend.

You hadn’t heard about her death yet the next day. It’s a normal saturday morning for you. This time you’d decided to go to the cafe with your laptop and write your essay for your Psychology class. The cafe is nice, it’s cat themed and has some pretty kittens running around the outside of the kitchen and customer service area. 

As soon as you order and sit down with your Caramel frappe you spot a white kitten laying near you on the floor. A smile comes upon your face when it comes to you when you call for it. They don’t have these in Canada. Cat Cafes. The kitten lets out his purrs when you rub his back as he lays across your lap. The nametag says Mochi, a cute name for a cute kitten. 

Minutes seem to pass by without your knowledge. You’d been too into typing to hear the news on the tv being broadcasted live. It wasn’t until you heard suicide of a teenage student on Mappo Bridge. That got your attention.

You listen carefully as the news reporter goes into detail of how the body was found. It had gotten caught on a rock as the stream moved it around. A mother had found it with her kid as they walked across the bridge that early morning to look at beautiful water. It saddens you to know someone took their life. Maybe if that person had access to getting help, they’d live to see many more days. 

When they announce the name and show a school picture of the student, the look on your face drops. 

Minlee. It’s Minlee on the screen. Its all too much for you right now. Your stomach twists and turns along with your hands that begin fidgeting. She seemed so healthy and happy these past few days when you saw her. It didn’t add up. It wasn’t going to ever add up to you that you had just lost one of your new friends.

Packing your things up in a hurry, your phone begins to go off with a bunch of text messages at a time. You know it could be the groupchat. What you wanted to the most right now, is to go home to cry and calm down. You shove everything in your backpack and place the kitten back on the floor nicely before taking off towards the door. You bump into somebody on the way out, causing them to drop a picture in their hand. The two of you both reach to pick it up, but they pick it up first before you.

“ I’m sorr-”

You’ve seen her before. Long curled hair, big dimple on her left cheek, and bangs. 

There’s no fucking way. 

[rhysismydaddy]

Casual Ruin Pt. 3 (Elriel)

Elain’s part of the Damnation Series.

Part 1 | Part 2

God help yall this shit was a rollercoaster to write

________________________________________________

~Elain~

For a second, no one breathes, let alone moves.

Azriel’s hands are steady as he grips the gun, body lined with tension, eyes so cold I shiver. The barrel’s close enough that if I leaned forward an inch, it’d brush my forehead.

The man next to him holds a cigarette halfway to his mouth, looking at me like he’s never seen a woman before and has absolutely no idea what to do. 

And me? I’m frozen in place, horror rushing through my veins and mixing with the shock to create a nauseating cocktail I’m not sure I’ll survive.

It’s the brutalized man in the chair slumping over and hitting the floor with a loud thud that finally snaps us out of our momentary haze.

Azriel blinks and throws the gun to the side so hard it makes a dent in the wall, the stranger drops his cigarette and reaches for me, and I sprint like my fucking life depends on it. Because at this point, I’m pretty sure it might.

What the hell did I walk into? 

I race up the stairs toward the garage, where less than a minute ago, I’d heard Azriel’s voice and gone to surprise him. By the look on his face when he turned around, I’d at least succeeded in that.

I can practically feel the man behind me, can tell he’s reaching a hand out to grab me.

I’ve never been a violent person in my life, but with the amount of adrenaline coursing through me, I don’t even question the urge to use the wine bottle in my hands as a weapon.

It breaks over the man’s head, but unlike in the movies, he doesn’t go down immediately. However, he does lose his balance enough that with a firm shove to his chest, he goes crashing back down to the hellhole I’m running from.

I make it to the garage and slam the door to the basement closed, locking it for good measure. Then I drag the heavy workbench next to the line of pristine cars over in front of it for even better measure. 

I refuse to let myself stop and think, because I’m pretty sure if I do, I’ll break down into a pool of tears and never get up. I’m running on nothing but adrenaline, and I know I’ll crash soon, but I force myself to keep going.

For a moment, I’m tempted to steal one of the cars to get away, but the sound of angry Italian shouts behind the locked door makes me hesitant to waste any more time.

I also definitely don’t have time to call the cab driver that dropped me off and beg him to come back.

The fear and terror don’t give me time to doubt myself as I take my heels off, take off up the driveway, and pray I’m fast enough to escape the devil on my trail.

~Azriel~

“Get that goddamn door open,” I shout at Luca, who’s dripping wine all over the place and has a gash on his forehead from where little Elain Archeron shoved him down the stairs.

I almost fucking shot her in the head. Her. 

Dolcezza mia. The girl I’m stupidly obsessed with. The one who’s always quick to smile--the same one who sighs when I kiss her and lights up when I walk into the room.

I almost shot her between those beautiful brown eyes, almost snuffed them out forever.

I run a hand over my face, listening to the sound of Luca throwing himself into the door repeatedly. “I’m trying, boss, but I think she pulled something in front of the door.”

Smart.

Fucking annoying as hell, but smart.

If I wasn’t so damn pissed at myself for not locking the basement door behind me and allowing her to find us down here, I’d be mildly impressed. 

Two of the most dangerous men in Italy, trapped in the basement like idiots. 

I pull up the app to track her phone--which was originally for her safety, not because I’m a complete stalker--and see that she’s on foot, going behind the houses instead of down the road. She probably thinks I’ll drive by her while she gets away right under my nose.

“Fuck,” I mutter, sending out a text to all my neighbors to tell them not to shoot the beautiful young woman trespassing through their properties. She has no idea the people around us have security systems better than the President’s. “Luca!”

“Working on it,” he grunts back.

“If that shit isn’t open in the next twenty seconds, you’re going in the incinerator after this asshole,” I warn, nudging the dead body on the floor with a boot.

The threat must work, because a second later, there’s a loud bang and the telltale sound of the workbench from my garage toppling over. “Got it!”

I storm up the stairs and tell him, “Run interference with the neighbors and local police. Anyone talks-”

“Got it,” he interrupts, grabbing his phone to start threatening people.

Pulling up the app again, I track the path she’s on, curse when I see she’s headed to the bus station about a mile from here, and take off after her.

Technically, it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world if she got away. She’d probably go to the police and tell them what she saw, not knowing that Marco, the deputy on duty, has been on my payroll since the day he passed the police entrance exam.

Having done her civic duty, she’d probably try to recover from the trauma of what she saw, eventually finish her classes and move on, and leave. Forgetting all about me in the process.

Technically, for her, this option would not be the worst thing in the world.

But in my head, it feels worse than being stabbed. In my head, there isn’t a question about it. 

I’m going after her. 

There’s this weird, itchy feeling in my chest I’ve never felt before as I run and run and try not to think about the look on her face as she saw the body fall to the floor.

I realize the feeling in my chest as panic, something I haven’t felt since I was a teenager getting booked for stealing my first car.

She knows.

She knows, and the look on her face... she looked at me like I’m a monster. 

And fuck, maybe that’s true. Maybe I am beyond saving.

But having her look at me, and having her take away the easy smiles and bright eyes I’d grown strangely accustomed to... it feels like being robbed.

And it makes me panic.

So I’ll chase her, and catch her, and do whatever I have to do to get her back. 

Because I need her, and damn if I’m going at this alone. 

After a surprising amount of time, I see the thin outline of her off in the distance, sprinting like the devil himself is chasing her. 

I take a deep breath and try to stay quiet, but it’s hopeless. Like she’s the one with the tracker on me, she can tell the second I’m close. I can see it from the way her shoulders go stiff and her pace increases.

“Elain!” 

I call out again for her to stop, because I don’t want to tackle her and risk hurting her. She ignores me and keeps running, turning behind the coroner of one of my dealer’s house. 

That sticky, awful, panicky feeling in my chest grows as she disappears from sight, and without thinking, I follow.

Which, if I had been thinking, I never would’ve done, because shit like this leaves you open to attack. 

Which reminds me: I’ve now broken all three rules for this woman, because I don’t have a single weapon on me to defend us if something happens.

I hit the ground hard enough the wind rushes out of me and my stupid brain rattles around in my stupid skull. 

Blinking through the blur, I look up to find Elain standing over me with an empty metal trashcan raised like a bat, ready to strike again. 

I need to explain, need to talk to her, but all I can seem to say is her name.

“Elain,” I croak, trying to force air down my lungs.

As my vision clears, I notice she’s crying, beautiful face streaked with tears and dirt. 

She pauses and looks at me, like the sight of me knocked on my ass hurts her just as much as it does me, then shakes her head to clear it. 

She throws the trash can at me and turns to flee, but I know I can’t let her go, at least not like this. Grabbing her ankle, I yank her down to me, making sure she lands on me instead of the ground. 

She screams, the sound scraping away another layer of the trust we’d built, and I don’t think I’ve ever been so desperate in my life. Elain flails around, but I use my weight to pin her, trying not to hurt her. 

She has to let me explain. She has to.

I hate what I’m about to do, but the only other option I have is making her pass out the old fashion way, which I know I could never bring myself to do.

The second the needle goes into her neck, she goes stiff underneath me, looking at me with wide, panicked eyes. 

“You drugged me,” she sobs, the betrayal in her voice making my chest hurt.

I brush the hair off her face, press my forehead to hers, and start telling her things I haven’t told another living soul.

I’ll never hurt you.

I’m sorry.

~Elain~

Am I dead?

Why does it feel like I got hit by a bus?

Where am I? 

These three questions rattle around in my brain at the same time, all demanding answers, as soon as I open my eyes. 

And the weird part is... I don’t have any.

I have no idea if I’m alive or dead, but the headache I have that seems permanently settled behind my eyes points to the latter.

I blink the haze in my brain away and realize I’m at my house in bed, but my extend of knowledge seems to stop there. 

There’s a voice in my head whispering something, but it’s too quiet for me to understand what she’s saying. All I know is that I feel like I need to do something, need to get out of here. 

I rub my sore eyes and see there’s a note on the bedside table, written in precise, calm handwriting I recognize better than my own. 

Come downstairs. 

He’s here? I thought I went to his house, not the other way around.

The blinds are closed, but when I make my way to the window and peak out, I see a dark night sky, the moon reflecting off the water and making everything seen calm.  

What the hell happened to me?

I start to leave the room, intent on going downstairs and asking Azriel that very question. 

Except as I’m passing by my closet, I see something. 

Something small and so inconsequential, I almost don’t think anything about it.

Like I’m in a dream, I feel myself walk over to the corner of the room. I feel my knees hit the floor, see my finger extend to the floor and touch the tiny drop of liquid that caught my eye.

I pull back and look, and somehow, I’m not surprised to see that it’s blood.

The floors are dark enough I shouldn’t have been able to see it from so far away, but it’s like a part of me was looking for it. 

And that’s when it comes back to me.

Coming to surprise him, seeing the door in his garage, going downstairs... I press a hand to my mouth and squeeze my eyes shut, trying to fight the tidal wave of nausea washing over me. 

I remember seeing the blood first and wondering if someone was hurt, then coming further into the room to find myself in the middle of a nightmare. If I wasn’t so strangely sure it had been real, I would think it was a horror movie.

The man strapped down had been so brutalized, I doubt I would’ve recognized him even if I’d known him my whole life.

I remember running without a thought more, giving into the fight or flight impulse to get the hell out of there. 

I remember hitting Azriel, seeing him fall to the ground and looking up at me with those deep, wounded eyes that will haunt me more than the torture he inflicted on that poor man. 

Eyes that told me everything and nothing at the same time.

I remember looking into those eyes and crying at the pain in them that was surely reflected in my own. 

And then nothing. 

Why don’t I remember? How did I get back here?

I’m sorry. 

I finally recall that last whispered promise, and if I hadn’t already been sitting on the floor, I would’ve fallen to my knees as I realize what happened.

He drugged me.

Azriel, the same man who slow-danced with me in an empty restaurant and drove me along the coast and held me in his sleep, drugged me.

And he’s downstairs.

I start to hyperventilate, because I don’t know what to do or what he’s planning to do. Why is he still here?

What am I going to do? Should I call the cops?

I realize I don’t have my phone, probably a countermeasure on his part. 

I also realize there’s no way for me to run. I remember how fast he’d caught me, how easy it had been for him to render me useless. 

There’s no escaping him. Not if he’s already down there waiting, evil plan cooking in his mind.

I have no other option, unless I want to stay in this room for the rest of my life.

So with confidence I don’t feel, I walk downstairs. 

I find him sitting at my breakfast table, leaning back casually and sipping a cup of coffee despite the late hour. 

The moonlight clings to him like it loves him, playing off of his sharp cheekbones and illuminating his features. His face is carefully blank, but there’s a flicker of something as he looks at me, something that seems almost like relief. 

He’s calm and collected and everything I’m not, and it pisses me off. My world’s on fire, yet he’s sitting here like nothing’s wrong? And he’s drinking my coffee?

I stomp over to grab the stolen drink, then sit across from him and cross my arms. 

And wait.

Because I sure as hell am not talking first. 

He stayed because he has something to say. I don’t have anything to say to him. 

For a long time, we just stare at each other, because he’s apparently playing by the same rules. 

Then he accepts his defeat, sighs, and asks, “Why did you come to my house last night?”

I purse my lips, narrow my eyes, and try to stop myself from throwing the coffee in his face. 

Because he said that almost like an accusation. 

Like the problem is that I came over unannounced, not that he was torturing someone. 

“I’m not justifying that with a response,” I eventually tell him.

He gives me a hard look. “Answer the question.”

Something about the entirely male way he demanded that, like he expects a response immediately, makes me tilt my head and ask so sweetly I almost choke, “Why? Are you going to torture me if I don’t?”

He sighs and runs a hand through his hair, showing the first sign of imperfection I’ve ever seen from him. “What you saw-”

“Was horrifying, and I don’t want to talk about it.”

He acts like I didn’t even speak. “-was something I meant to keep private from you.”

I don’t tell him that’s pretty fucking obvious at this point. 

Instead I ask, “Why?” 

I’m not sure why I want to know, but it suddenly feels important. 

He doesn’t takes his eyes off of me as he says, “Because you’re you. You shine so brightly it should be illegal, and you look at the world like it isn’t a terrible place. I didn’t want to take that from you.”

My throat feels uncomfortably tight all the sudden, but I clear it and say, “Well, you did.”

His jaw clenches, and he looks down. “I know. If I could go back and walk away, I would. Shit, I told myself I would more times than I can count. But I just... couldn’t. And I couldn’t tell you either. I wanted to, but I didn’t know how, Elain.”

The sound of my name on his lips makes my heart finally start beating again, but I still call him on his lie. “That isn’t why you never told me. You never told me because you knew I’d hate you the second you did.”

“Maybe,” he admits, looking back up at me. “But now you know, and I’m glad you do. You know everything now.”

It’s my turn to look down, because while I’d wanted to know the real him, I’d never imagined I’d find something like this. 

“No, I don’t. I don’t know anything, because you haven’t explained anything.”

He tilts his head. “What needs explaining?”

I ask the obvious question. “Who do you work for?”

“Myself.”

Once again, I don’t feel like justifying that with a response. He still isn’t saying anything that explains what I saw or why he’d do that to someone. 

If he isn’t going to say anything meaningful, I’m not having this conversation.

Eventually, he seems to realize this. Because he says, “I’m Capo of the Sicilian Outfit of the Cosa Nostra, Elain.”

I bite my lip so hard I taste blood, trying to keep my emotions in check. I don’t know how to feel, other than confused and angry.

“Any other questions?”

“Why did you drug me?”

If he just wanted to talk, he could’ve dragged me back to his place or maybe just say that. Not chase me down like a rapid animal.

“You were panicked, and I didn’t want to hurt you. I needed time to explain, needed to tell you this was never the plan.”

There’s something else there, and I narrow my eyes in a silent demand for him to continue.

Azriel sighs and admits, “My neighbors are business associates-” aka fellow criminals, “and I didn’t want them to hear you yelling and come to... investigate-” aka kill me, “or watch me get knocked unconscious by a twenty-four year old woman with a trash can.”

I give him a smug smile, more than ready to give him a repeat of that show, and try to decide what else to ask. 

But before I get the chance, he says, “I don’t see why this changes anything.”

My mouth falls open.

He doesn’t see- is he serious? “You’re joking.”

“I’m not known for my humor.”

I’m still stunned into silence, so he tilts his head and asks, “Why does it matter? Why does what I do make me a different person?”

When I don’t answer, he says, “It doesn’t. Nothing I do will ever come near you. You won’t ever have to see it again. I promise.” 

“It’s not about seeing it! It’s about knowing what you do when we’re not together. You kiss me goodbye, then go home and... there is absolutely no way I can go back to what we were doing before. You killed someone, Azriel.”

He straightens his cufflinks and shoots back, “He deserved it, Elain.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“I have a feeling you’re about to tell me.”

“First off, murder is illegal. So is torture, which from the way that man looked, you’d definitely been inflicting on him. Not only is it illegal, it’s wrong! He was an innocent human being-”

“He wasn’t innocent.”

I keep going. “You aren’t judge, jury, and executioner! You-”

He’s on me before I can finish, sliding a hand over my mouth and leaning over my chair. 

God, the man is fast. Has he always been that fast, or have I just never noticed?

“Let me explain something to you, Elain. On this island, I am. I decide who’s guilty, which he confessed to being. I decide the punishment, which was a bullet to the brain. I’m the executioner, and I pull the trigger myself, because I’m not a fucking coward.”

I fight his hold, trying to push him away, but he doesn’t even budge. 

“I play by different rules, bellissima. Just because you’ve never been exposed to them, or my world, doesn’t mean it hasn’t always existed. I’m the judge, jury, executioner, and the goddamn king.”

A shiver goes down my spine at his words. 

He pushes my head back, forcing me to meet his eyes. “And it doesn’t matter.”

I shake my head, bite his finger, push at his chest. But it doesn’t do any good.

“It doesn’t matter, because like I said, we live in two different worlds. I’d never let mine impact yours.”

I want to tell him that isn’t the problem, but his hand is still on my mouth. 

“Have you even asked yourself why you’re not afraid?” he asks out of the blue, surprising me. 

I stare blankly at him, no longer fighting, waiting for whatever he’s about to say.

“You’re scared of what I do, but you aren’t scared of me. Not really. If you were, you never would’ve come down those stairs.”

That’s why he looked relieved, I realize. He was worried I’d be scared of him.

Everything he’s saying makes sense, which makes no sense at all. 

Because if he’s right, and he certainly seems to think he is, it begs the question... why aren’t I scared of him?

He seems to see my ask myself that, because he answers it a second later.

Eyes growing softer, he murmurs, “It’s because you know I’d never hurt you, nor would I let anyone else.”

I remember him whispering that right before I passed out. I’ll never hurt you. 

He comes so close I can see the individual flecks of green in his dark hazel eyes. “I may do terrible things, and I’d do terrible things for you, Elain, but I’d never do them to you.”

“So you aren’t afraid. Just angry,” he concludes. Then he looks at me like he did the other day in the sea behind his house, right before he called me his. “Do you know why you’re angry, Elain?”

Currently, it’s because he’s explaining my emotions to me, which has to be the most male, obnoxious thing that’s ever happened in all of history.

But I have a feeling that isn’t what he’s talking about.

And I have another feeling that I’m not going to like what he’s about to say.

I take another glance at the look in his eyes and realize what he means, starting to fight again. I push at his chest and hands and try to get him to not say the words I know he’s going to. 

It doesn’t work. 

“You’re upset,” he says a moment later, slow and sure like always, “because I lied to you. You feel betrayed, like you don’t know me. But that isn’t why you’re angry.”

One hand on my face, the other in my hair, he holds me perfectly still as he whispers, “You’re angry because you were falling for me.”

I press my eyes closed, trying not to hear the words he’s saying as if that’ll make them any less true. 

But it doesn’t, because they are true. 

Every easy smile, midnight whisper, and lingering kiss he’s given me in the past month has given him a permanent place in my heart, and it hurts to have that all feel like a lie.

It hurts to look at him and not know if I recognize the person holding me.

A sob escapes me, which seems to confirm what he said, and he takes his hand off my mouth to wipe away a tear. 

His brow comes to rest against mine, and I breathe him in, unable to stop myself. 

There’s a war happening inside me, and it distracts me enough I don’t stop him from pulling me closer.

My heart plays me a montage of the past month, showing me countless moments where I’d been so positive I’d found paradise, so positive I’d found someone I could trust completely. It tells me Azriel has always felt like home, like something so inexplicably right I don’t even know how to describe it.

But my brain reminds me the hands cupping my cheeks softly are covered in blood and gunsmoke and victims’ tears. It tells me I’ve never really known the man I’m currently begging myself not to have feelings for. 

The battle inside of me rages on, and I cry harder, not even knowing who I want to win.

It only gets harder to choose as he murmurs, “Ance io mi sto innamorando di te.”

I’m falling for you, too.

I don’t know what to do or feel or think, and I’m so helplessly confused it makes me want to scream. 

Yet even though I’m confused, something about this makes sense. Something about knowing what he really does for a living makes everything in my head just click.

The way he’d redirect the conversation whenever I asked about his job. The way I’d always suspected him of hiding something about himself from me. The way every movement he’s ever made with me has been lined with restraint.

He could hurt me, has had the opportunity for months, but he never has. He’s always been careful with me, has always held and looked at me like I’m something precious to him.

My brain starts shifting to his side of the argument, and I can feel my morality ripping to shreds under his hands.

Before I can think, I shove him away, getting to my feet to point at the door. “Get out. You lied to me. You’re a murderer. A monster.”

Feelings or not, I know I can’t do this. I can’t just ignore what I saw, what he’ll continue to do. So he needs to leave.

He doesn’t.

Azriel just leans against the kitchen island counter and pulls out a cigarette, lighting it as he watches me for a long moment. 

“Maybe I am,” he says eventually around a mouthful of smoke. “But just because I’m a monster, Elain, doesn’t mean I can’t give you what we both know you need. Nothing has to change.”

It already has.

“I don’t need anything from you.”

“No?”

“No.”

He prowls toward me, the intent shining so clear in his eyes I take a step back for every one he takes forward. My back hits a wall, and he traps me between it and himself, caging me in with strong arms.

The line between right and wrong, good and evil, seems to blur as he gets closer and closer, and by the time we’re sharing air, I don’t know which way is up. All I know is him.

He takes a deep inhale of his cigarette, tips my head back with his thumb, and then breathes the smoke into my mouth. 

It should be disgusting, considering I don’t smoke and make it a point to avoid cancer-causing products in general. 

It should be. But it isn’t.

It’s the opposite of disgusting. 

There’s a buzz in my veins that has nothing to do with the nicotine, and I realize too late that he’s the vice I can’t quit. 

I’m too far gone, too addicted already.

He pulls back slightly, tucking the still-burning cigarette behind his ear. His eyes burn with intensity, and his dark hair and shoulders are surrounded by the smoke clinging to his shoulders like a shadow. 

He looks like the villain of a movie I never even knew I wanted to watch, and it physically pains me to have him this close and not be touching him, so I put my hands on his chest, fingers fisting in the expensive material of his suit.

His are on the wall by my head, bracing himself as he leans in and slowly licks a line across my lower lip, like he’s tasting me. 

My want for him is a tangible thing, and I have to ask myself if he’s right. Does it matter what he does, when he makes me feel like no one else ever has? Do I care enough to stay away from him?

“You don’t need me?” he asks again, so close his lips brush against mine.

I shake my head, even though I know it isn’t the truth. I do need him, and that’s why this hurts so damn bad. Why this betrayal cuts so deep.

Even though we’re so close he’s nothing but a blur, I can feel his eyes on me, burning a hole through me. 

And then he says something that changes everything. 

“Well, I need you,” he whispers, so softly it breaks my heart.

I’m lost.

I’m so goddamn lost in him, I forget everything we were talking about, forget everything he’s done. 

My knees go weak, and I cling to him, pulling him into me as I slip down the wall.

His lips crash against mine, and I know instantly that this is him. This is all of him. I finally know exactly who he is, and he doesn’t have to hide anymore.

It’s probably our hundredth kiss, but it feels like the first, and I’m drunk on it, drunk on him.

Hands in my hair, he kisses me like he wasn’t lying--like he needs me. 

My hands pull tighter, until there’s not an inch between us, and he makes a low sound in his throat. His are on my waist, gripping me tightly and telling me he wants this just as much as I do.

The restraint from before is all but gone, and I tremble at how much power is in his grasp, how small and fragile it makes me feel in comparison. 

My willpower crumples further, like a napkin in his fist, as his tongue teases mine, making me chase him for more.

Azriel pulls my lower lip between his teeth, pulling it between us as he draws back. It’ll be bruised tomorrow, but a sick part of me likes that he’s leaving his mark on me.

“Say it,” he say roughly, voice deep and scratchy with lust.

I don’t get a change to say it, or anything else, before he’s kissing me again, running his hands up my back and into my hair.

“Say it,” he demands again.

Maybe I’m not as lost as I thought, because I know what he wants but stay silent, refusing to give it to him.

Because I can’t.

Everything he said tonight makes sense, but I just... can’t.

He kisses me again, a lingering kiss that makes my chest ache, and almost pleads, “Say it, Elain. Say it doesn’t matter. Say you need me.”

The air grows thick as I stay silent, because it’s response enough.

His eyes narrow, and even though everything inside me begs me to, I don’t stop him as he steps away. 

“Only two more months here, and you want to spend them lying to yourself?”

I hadn’t even thought about the fact that I’m leaving so soon, but I don’t let myself get distracted. “I’m not lying to anyone.”

Except it feels like I am.

A smile pulls on his lips, but it isn’t friendly. “You’re fucking lying, and you know it. You know it doesn’t matter, you just can’t admit it, because then you’d be like me.”

Heart pounding, I shake my head, but he keeps going. “Fucking a monster would be condoning the devil’s work, right?”

He takes a step in, catching my wrists as I try to push him back, pinning them above my head, and laughing. 

“You saying you don’t want me is the most pathetic lie I’ve ever heard, carro. ”

“Azriel-”

Mouth next to my ear, he growls, “You’re really telling me if I slip my hand between your pretty thighs, I won’t find you wet and ready for me?”

I push against his hands and look away, all the confirmation he needs. 

He tsks, feigning disappointment. 

I close my eyes and fight my response to him with everything I have. I try to tell myself it matters, that what he does disgusts me, but it doesn’t sound believable to even myself at this point.

“I could prove it to you, make you come right here and now, but I don’t think I will.”

I’m breathing heavily, two seconds from passing out at the intensity and violence in his voice. 

“I think the next time I fuck you, Elain, you’re going to have to tell me you need me just as much as I need you. You’re going to tell me you want me, and you’re going to beg me for more.” He licks up the side of my neck, and I press my lips together to hold in the moan that wants to escape. “You’re going to tell the goddamn truth, and you’re going to fucking apologize for lying to me in the first place.”

I glare at him, silently conveying that that will never happen. He lied to me. I’m not apologizing for shit.

He sees that and everything else in my gaze, and he shakes his head slowly. 

“I’ll get your confession, Elain,” he promises, going to the door and almost ripping it off its hinges as he opens it. “I always do.”

___________________________________________________

Part 4

@perseusannabeth @cursebreaker29 @a-bit-of-a-cactus @elriel4life @girl-who-reads-the-books @shinya-hiiragi @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln @bamchickawowow @live-the-fangirl-life @ireallyshouldsleeprn @nahthanks @highqueenofelfhame @autophobiax @rowaelinismyotp @ghostlyrose2 @lovemollywho @inardour @tillyrubes10 @claralady @tswaney17 @rowanisahunk @superspiritfestival @thegoddessofyou @awesomelena555 @booksofthemoon @greerlunna @jlinez @studyliketate @over300books @justgiu12 @maastrash @aesthetics-11 @b00kworm @sleeping-and-books @musicmaam @hizqueen4life @maybekindasortaace @elorcan-trash @loosingdreams @januarystears @emikadreams @swankii-art-teacher @thedarkdemigod @full-tilt-diva @biggestwingspan-az @bookstantrash @mari-highladyof-feels @pilesofriles @teddytdr

[sunjaesol]

Kiss prompt 19 Juke

KISS PROMPTS (closed)

19. One person stopping a kiss to ask “Do you want to do this?”, only to have the other person answer with a deeper, more passionate kiss.

(high school au)

In retrospect, the game ‘Seven Minutes In Heaven’ was a really bad idea. It could’ve really fucked them over had it not been the right time or place. It had been, thank God, but neither would risk it all again any time soon.

Julie was a mess. 

Carrie’s house parties were, as expected, completely out of control. The kitchen was filled to the brim with alcohol, music boomed from stereos that probably reached the other side of LA, drunkards jumped in the pool and drinking games were started on a whim. 

She’s avoided ‘Circle Of Death’, ‘Fuck The Dealer’, beer pong, flip cup, ‘Avalanche’ and whatever else existed. All she really wanted to do was dance and forget Luke had been flirting with Yasmine, a senior girl. 

God, she was such a cliché. Of course, she was in love with her best friend. It didn’t help he was a year older nor that it was uncommon for her to feel like a child. She knew that was stupid. They were completely on the same wavelength and were super close, but then she saw some of the girls he liked talking to… 

Yasmine was pretty and experienced and Julie was definitely not. Not in that way, at least. It wasn’t like she had a shot with Luke either, both strictly friends, but his interest in Yasmine didn’t help her self-esteem. 

In a moment of weakness, (a combination of too many White Claws, the buzz of dancing, the taste of teenage angst, the bitter fantasy of being with him) Flynn and Kayla managed to drag her to the den. It was slightly quieter here. A group of kids were sprawled over the many couches in a circle, Carrie standing in the middle like some warrior in glitter. 

Luke was there too. He saluted at her from the other side of the room as she sat down, amusement pulling on his lips.

“Alright,” Carrie declared. “Seven minutes in heaven! If you’re not into it, leave!”

A few left, Julie almost joining them in fright, when Flynn held her down. Her nails dug in her arm, a coy look crossing her hazy features.

“You either get over Luke, or you get with Luke.”

Julie shook her head. “No. This isn’t happening.”

“It is,” Kayla grinned. The girls high-fived each other. “You’re welcome.”

The game began. A suffering Julie watched on as Alex and Willie had no qualms pulling each other into the wall closet. They were lucky, basically already a couple with their very blatant flirting. She focused on talking to the girls or teasing the ones that were chosen, pointedly not looking in Luke’s direction. 

What if he saw it in her eyes? That she wanted him? She’d die of mortification. 

It was hard to not like Luke. He was the definition of effervescence. Every little thing he did had intention. Dialling his charm up to eleven, laughing harder than anyone else, encouraging her to chase all the dreams tucked in her dream-box with awed conviction. It was like he didn’t even have to try to be all-encompassing; he just was.

And she wasn’t the only who noticed. Ever since they’ve been friends - her a freshman and he a sophomore - she has seen girls come and go on his radar. Nothing ever stuck. Whenever Alex and Reggie called him out for it, he claimed he was too focused on music to care about that stuff. 

She didn’t know whether that should make her happy or not. 

Just as she was getting bored, leaning against Flynn while her friend recounted a story from her job, the bottle was handed to Luke. Instinctively, Julie straightened up. Her heart pounded in her throat, muscles straining and lungs constricting. This crush would kill her one day. 

It spun and spun and spun and slowed down and twisted precariously, lingered and then… landed undoubtedly on Julie.

Shit.

Kayla gasped, cause of course she had to be unsubtle about it, while Flynn slapped her arm. Her friends were fucking wonderful. 

Their eyes met, hers nervous and his apprehensive. God, that hurt. They didn’t even have to do anything. 

“Chop chop,” Carrie smirked. Everyone knew they were best friends and a handful, like Carrie, picked up on Julie’s differing emotions. She was eating this up. “Go and make out!”

The crowd hollered as they stood up, this time with Luke rolling his at her, as if that would be comforting. She knew what he was trying to do, silently calling them idiots, but she just felt like the biggest idiot of all. 

The closet door slammed shut. Encased in the dark, Julie tried to even her breathing. 

“Huh,” Luke mused, so close she felt the words ghost her face. “Thought it would be bigger.”

She crossed her arms and leaned back as best as she could. “This is so lame.”

“Then why were you in the circle?”

“Why were you in the circle?” she retorted. Though usually a terrible liar, the obscurity helped her sell it. No way he saw her red cheeks and skittish gaze. 

Her body was burning. He was too near, every cell of her all too aware of where he was. The hairs on their skin brushed when they inhaled, their hands mere inches away. They didn’t need to move to kiss; only needed to tilt her head to kiss him.

Kiss him, kiss him, kiss him. 

“Where were you, by the way?” he asked, faux-offended. “‘Toto’ was playing and I didn’t have my dance partner!” 

She laughed, the tension marginally eased. “Sorry. I was busy avoiding Flynn from pulling me into a drinking game.”

“Aha! So, this is also Flynn’s plan.”

She shrugged. “More or less.” And then- “Were you hoping for Yasmine?”

What the fuck. Why did she say that?! It sounded so jealous! If he could see her, he’d remark she was going green with envy. Her eyes shut in embarrassment, waiting for a bark of laughter and a coy confession that yes, he was hoping to get alone with her. 

Instead, she got a hesitant pause. “You- you think I wanna get with Yasmine?”

Swallowing back the pain, she uttered: “She’s pretty.”

“I guess.”

Another pause, more loaded with unsaid implications and rising temperatures. She felt him shifting on his feet, his arm swiping past hers and alighting her heart into a frenzy. 

Kiss him, kiss him, kiss him.  

“I want you.” Her eyes widened as she blurted out the double entendre. “To keep talking! I want you to keep talking.”

“Right,” he chuckled, a nervous edge to his tone. “Uh…”

Julie sighed, frustration building in her chest. “How long does seven minutes take?”

Luke scoffed. “Damn, Jules, it’s that bad to be in a closet with me?”

“No!” Gah! She was doing everything wrong! “That’s not… I didn’t mean it like that. I’m just-” Letting out a breath, she took a risk: “-nervous.”

All at once, she deflated with relief. It was out. No turning back. He could do whatever he wanted with that information.  

“Good or bad nervous?” he whispered.

And then she felt it again, his hand coming near, knuckles bumping against hers. It pricked and sparked and she was losing her mind a little. But they were so close to something and Julie was too curious - too dazed - to not see where it led to.  

“Good.” Her head tilted up, brave. “Very good.”

The quiet words lit a match, Luke surging forward as his hands slipped around her face and pressed an urgent kiss on her lips. It was so fast, so unexpectedly dizzying, that she didn’t have time to react. Right as she leaned in, he pulled away. 

His voice trembled, thumbs swiping her cheeks. “Do you wanna do this?”

An incredulous chuckle leapt from her mouth, a beat later crashing their lips back together with two years of hidden passion pouring out. He groaned, hands clenched around her jaw and waist as hers were gripping his neck. Her soul was on fire, adrenaline coursing through her bloodstream at a tempo she couldn’t keep up with. 

They deepened the kiss, tongues grazing past lips and teeth and eliciting pleasurable sighs and needy whimpers. Falling onto her side of the closet, Julie interrupted the kiss to giggle at his frantic rush. 

“Don’t laugh,” he giggled along, muffling the sound with another kiss as he crowded over her. 

It was intoxicating. The faint scent of his cologne, allowing her nails to trail his jaw, arching into him like he etched a space for her long ago. Kissing Luke was better than any drink she could get here.  

When his face shifted, lips dropping to her jaw and shrivelling any rational thought she might’ve had, she gasped out: “I take it you weren’t interested in Yas?”

“Never,” he mumbled. Having him so close, she saw the way his hooded eyes flicked up at her. “Is this real to you?”

The nod was fast and the kiss even faster, their incessant grins keeping them from tilting off their axis. This was the realest she’s ever been with him. This was the only way she could ever be with him; impossible to go back to friends after this. Every touch drove her further into her feelings, that delicious type of wild she’d been craving for so long. 

His hands snuck underneath her top, its warmth causing shivers up her spine and a pleased smile to curl his lips. The move made her push the beanie from his head and rake her fingers through the soft locks. It was the right call, their teasing game washing away any sense of doubt or fear. 

Or sense of time.

The door flung open. Instantly, everyone in the room started screaming and whistling at the sight of the pair’s compromising position. Flynn and Kayla were hugging each other as if their favourite artists just appeared in front of them. Alex and Reggie body-slammed in victory. 

Julie couldn’t be bothered to feel embarrassed. Luke and her were finally where they were supposed to be. Noting the cocky grin crawling up his face, he was thinking the same thing.  

Carrie was unfazed, a quirked brow assessing them.

“Had fun?”

[swan-of-sunrise]

Spellbinding (Chapter Fourteen)

Summary: While dealing with a surprising new development in their relationship, Loki and (Y/N) are stuck in the middle of an explosive feud between Steve and Tony.

Pairing: Loki X Reader

Word Count: 3.7k

Warnings/Disclaimers: None

A/N: I’d call this a filler chapter but I absolutely love writing about the Avengers as a whole! I also thought we needed a little break from the plot for some team bonding before things get too crazy lol I hope that you enjoy!

Chapter Fourteen November 22nd, 2015 Avengers Tower, New York City (Previous Chapter)

“You read this book when you were how old?”

(Y/N) smiled mischievously and turned her attention back to reorganizing her closet. “I was seven. I checked it out from the library without telling my Aunt Evelyn and read it late at night; I couldn’t sleep without my nightlight on for months afterwards but I’m glad I read it, since it’s a literary classic and everything.”

Loki let out a half-laugh and turned the page of his book. “Well, if we’re ever blessed with children, I think we should wait until they’re at least twelve to introduce them to Dracula. Perhaps even fourteen.”

“Children?”

In an instant, Loki froze and it dawned on him what he’d accidentally said. (Y/N) was also frozen, her arm still extended to grab a hangar from inside the closet. “I-I…I just meant…I’d like to…” Loki cleared his unusually tight throat. “I, ah, wouldn’t mind having…you know, children. Someday. With…with you.” Dammit, I’ve made a mess of things again, Loki inwardly groaned.

They’d only been together for a little over four months and it was much, much too early in their relationship to bring about the subject of children. But after he acknowledged his love for (Y/N), it was challenging for Loki to envision a future without her in it and lately, the idea of a more permanent future with the woman he loved was all he could think about. He knew that his girlfriend liked children; back when she still worked at the New York Public Library, he’d fondly watch her helping them with their homework or reading to them and since officially becoming the Cosmic Sorceress, she’d visited the children’s ward at the nearby hospital once a week to cheer up the young patients. And despite what others might believe, Loki also liked children and the thought of being a father one day – while admittedly a little nerve-wracking – was not an unwelcome one.

Just as (Y/N), with her (Y/E/C) eyes widened in shock, opened her mouth to reply, there came the sounds of voices shouting angrily from the common room down the hall. In an instant, Loki and (Y/N) summoned their magic into the palms of their hands before sprinting out of her suite and down the hallway.

Steve and Tony stood on either sides of the common room and were fully engaged in a blazing argument by the time Loki and (Y/N) arrived. Skidding to a stop beside (Y/N), Loki’s first thought was that he’d never seen either man as angry as they were now, even during the Battle of New York.

“Because you flat-out refused to listen when I said to wait, three S.H.I.E.L.D. agents are at the hospital in critical condition!” Tony yelled.

Steve stepped closer and shouted back, “And if I hadn’t acted when I did, an entire apartment complex would’ve been demolished anyway and dozens of people would be dead! Those agents would be fine right now if you hadn’t hesitated to use your scanners!”

“You mean, if I hadn’t stopped to think the situation through?!”

“You’re acting like a civilian, Stark, not a soldier! Our job is to make the tough decisions as quickly as we can for the benefit of the whole, we don’t have the luxury of holding committees for every choice we make!”

“Bullshit, it’s better to weigh options instead of barreling in without a plan; that’s what you’re best at, though, isn’t it? If you hadn’t made the dumb-ass decision to crash that plane in ‘45, you and Carter-”

Before Tony could finish his sentence, Steve landed a punch on his jaw that sent him staggering backwards. Tony quickly surged forward to retaliate, but Loki used his magic to halt his movement while (Y/N) used hers to stop Steve. “Enough!” They dissolved their magic and with matching looks of contempt, both Steve and Tony turned and stormed away, leaving Loki and (Y/N) to gape at each other in shock.

“Yeah, that was a continuation of what happened on the Quinjet.” They turned and watched Bruce step out of the elevator with a weary expression on his face. “I’ll explain everything to you both, but can we do it in private? The rest of the team’s at each other’s throats and I don’t want all the fighting to accidentally trigger the Big Guy…”

After leading the scientist into (Y/N)’s suite and subtly lighting one of her calming lavender-scented candles, Loki sat beside his girlfriend on the sofa and listened as Bruce talked. “This arms dealer was holding an entire apartment building in Luxembourg hostage, said he’d blow the place up if his demands for more guns weren’t met. Fury sent Steve, Tony, Bucky and Clint this morning; the plan was to surround the building and find a way in before going after the guy, but he decided he didn’t want to wait any longer and turned an automatic timer on for the explosives. Cap sent the other S.H.I.E.L.D. agents in to clear the building and Tony said to wait for the agents to give word before ordering Bucky to take the shot, but Steve didn’t listen. Bucky took the shot, got the guy, but the explosives still went off.” Loki and (Y/N) exchanged looks of confusion, and Bruce continued. “There was a pressure timer hidden in his hand, they call it a dead man’s switch; Tony scanned and saw it at the last second, but Steve was already giving the order to Bucky.” Bruce started pacing as he ran a hand through his hair. “It’s like a civil war; Clint and Nat are taking Tony’s side, they think Steve could’ve waited a little longer, and Sam and Bucky are on Cap’s side.” He snorted in derision. “Thanksgiving dinner should be a blast this year.”

(Y/N) nodded, a saddened expression on her face, but Loki furrowed his brow. “Thanksgiving? You host a dinner of thanks on Midgard?”

“I’ll explain it to you later.” She flashed him a brief smile before returning her concerned gaze to Bruce. “Is there anything we can do?”

“You both should probably just stay out of it; they might come around faster if they see that you’re neutral in all this.” The scientist walked to the door. “I’d better go down and talk to Fury, so I’ll see you guys later.”

Once Bruce closed the door behind him, (Y/N) threw herself back against the cushions of the couch and sighed. “How could something like this have even happened? We’ve been such a strong team these past few months and now…”

“They’re both strong-willed men and stubborn in their own right, you know that. Each holds steadfast to their beliefs no matter the consequences; this is a trait of theirs I’ve both admired and admonished in all the time I’ve known them.” Loki admitted. “But Banner is correct, any attempt of ours to help may only worsen the situation for everyone.”

“Mm-hmm.”

Taking in (Y/N)’s troubled frown, Loki decided to try distracting her from their fighting teammates, laying down and resting his head in her lap so that he was staring up at her. “So, a feast of thanks sounds…quaint.”

As he’d hoped, she relaxed as she gave him a look of amusement and began running her fingers through his hair. “It’s more than that, silly. In America, it’s a day where we give thanks for our lives and the people in them. We sit around a table for dinner and let our loved ones know just what they mean to us, that we cherish and appreciate them, no matter any differences…we might…we might have…” (Y/N) trailed off, pausing a moment before gasping in excitement. “Loki, I think I may have either a brilliant plan or an insane one!”

“I know just what you have in mind, darling. Let’s go!” They both hurried to the living room closet and tugged on their coats and scarves; they had a long, long day of shopping ahead of them.

Although he’d acclimated fairly well to Midgard in the months since his arrival, one of the things Loki still utterly despised about the realm were its ‘grocery stores.’ They were crowded, lit by horrendous fluorescent lights and stocked to the brim with inedible, overpriced food; whenever he’d been asked to accompany one of his fellow Avengers on their shopping trips, he would come up with every excuse under the sun to decline their invitation. But he decided to put aside his displeasure for the benefit of his girlfriend and teammates, resigning himself to pushing the rickety metal shopping cart up and down the aisles as (Y/N) read off her hastily-written list.

Their shopping trip had gone far better than he’d imagined and in no time, they were carrying their bags into the lobby of the Avengers Tower.

“You know, we’re going to need an extra pair of hands to help us with the cooking on Thursday.” (Y/N) pointed out as they stepped into their team’s private elevator. “I’m not very good in the kitchen, as you already know, but I’ve always been able to bake pretty decent pies.”

Loki nodded. “All right, so who did you have in mind to help?”

At that moment, the elevator stopped and the doors opened to reveal the smiling face of his golden-haired brother. “Ah, there you are! The J.A.R.V.I.S. just informed me you had returned from your outing, was it productive?”

“…You could call it that.”

The tone of his girlfriend’s voice prompted Loki to glance over at her; she was looking from Thor to him, her eyebrows raised and a triumphant smile spreading across her face. Finally understanding her words, Loki’s smile morphed into a look of absolute horror. “Oh no, no, no, not him…!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Wait, you guys cooked all this? Without burning the kitchen down?”

Loki couldn’t help but give Bruce a pained look. “Believe me when I say that it was not for lack of trying, Doctor Banner.”

Since they wanted dinner to be a surprise, they’d prepared each dish in one of the kitchens used by the new S.H.I.E.L.D. organization; unfortunately, in their attempt to be secretive they were forced into cramped quarters with rather primitive kitchen appliances at their disposal. And to add to Loki’s growing list of responsibilities, he was forced to babysit the love of his life and his brother in order to prevent the dishes from being ruined by their absolute lack of culinary skills. More than once, he had to use his magic to protect the food he’d cooked from (Y/N)’s over-zealousness with the spices and at one point, he was forced to quickly talk Thor out of using his lightning to rapidly cook the turkey. Hopefully it’ll all have been worth it, Loki tiredly thought to himself.

As if in-tuned with Loki’s inner monologue, Bruce nervously adjusted the sleeves of his coat and replied, “Well, I hope this works and doesn’t just end up making everything worse.”

“You and I both, Doctor.” His eyes were drawn to the elevator as its doors opened, revealing (Y/N) and a cart filled with the feast they’d cooked, and he hurried over to meet her. “Everything’s going to plan so far, they think that it’s only the seven of us for dinner.”

With the help of Bruce, they went about setting the enormous table. “I just sent Thor to fetch Team Cap, so they should be here any minute.” Once they finished, (Y/N) removed her apron and smoothed out her skirt, her anxious expression softening a fraction as she turned to the two men. “Now we see if our brilliantly-insane plan will work.”

Loki had just enough time to lean down and press a reassuring kiss to his girlfriend’s forehead before the elevator doors once again slid open.

“Mmm, smells good in here!” Tony grinned, walking up to (Y/N) and handing her a bottle of wine. “I had Pepper ship one of my best labels over from Malibu for the occasion.”

Natasha did little to hide her amusement at his words. “You just couldn’t resist, could you? And you,” She turned to shoot Clint a glare. “If you don’t stop fidgeting, Barton, we’re going to have a problem.”

“I can’t help it, this stupid suit’s uncomfortable!” Clint grumbled; once Natasha returned her attention to the others, the archer rolled his eyes and whispered to Loki, “Damn straight jacket. (Y/N) forced you into one too, huh?”

“Yes, I-” The sight of Steve, Sam and Bucky entering the room behind Thor caused Loki’s words to die in his throat and as the others caught sight of them, he surreptitiously summoned his magic into his hands in case a fight broke out. Out of the corner of his eyes, he spotted Thor and Bruce exchanging weary looks.

Steve’s face was a mask as he stepped forward. “Stark.”

“Asshat.”

All Hel broke loose; Steve and Tony lunged towards one another, their struggling forms barely held back by Bucky and Clint. A cacophony of shouting quickly filled the room as both sides began arguing with each other, but just as Loki raised his arms to use his magic, (Y/N) calmly stepped forward and walked in between the warring groups. The shouting and struggling instantly stopped as they gawked at (Y/N), but she merely smiled warmly at them as she spoke. “Thank you all for coming to our Thanksgiving dinner, Loki and I are glad you were able to make it. Bruce mentioned that you usually don’t celebrate together, but this is my first Thanksgiving with you all and I wanted to mark the occasion with my new family…all of it.” Her words seemed to have their desired intent, as both Steve and Tony relaxed their stances and the others backed away from them. “Now, we should start eating before everything gets cold!”

Needless to say, dinner was a tense affair. Where there was usually the sounds of deafening chatter and laughter, there was quiet murmuring and stoic looks. Loki watched (Y/N) with equal amounts of admiration and sympathy as she tried her hardest to engage their teammates in conversation with one another and with each failed attempt, he could see a little more of her heart breaking. After learning the difficult truth about her parents and having lived so long without a family, (Y/N) deserved to have a wonderful Thanksgiving dinner with her friends. They all did, really. This has gone on long enough, Loki thought to himself as (Y/N) silently stared down at her plate; after a slight moment of hesitation, Loki got to his feet.

“I’ve done a fair amount of reading about this country’s Day of Thanks, and the custom of expressing what one is thankful for whilst surrounded by their loved ones piqued my interest. So, let’s begin.” Loki swallowed thickly, looking around the table at his teammates’ confused faces before settling on (Y/N)’s. “I’m thankful for you, darling. You came into my life at a time when I believed I could never be deserving of love and you showed me not only was I deserving, but that loving you would make me a better man. You’re the love of my life, and believe me when I say that all our lives have been blessed since meeting you.” Loki and (Y/N) shared a smile and as he turned back to address the others, he felt her take hold of his hand and squeeze. “And I know you may find this difficult to believe, but I am also thankful for all of you. When I first joined the Avengers, I was bitter and filled with resentment at the prospect of serving out my sentence on a planet I despised with people I despised even more. But after a short while, once we’d come to understand one another, you accepted me as your teammate and friend. Well, some of you more than others.” His eyes flicked to Tony, who hid his small smile behind his hand, and to Clint, who gave him a small shrug. “I value our kinship above all else and on this Day of Thanks, I implore you all to remember our bonds with one another. Severing those bonds on account of a petty disagreement is something you all will come to regret in the future; take it from me, I have firsthand experience in that particular department.” He and Thor shared a knowing look as he took a seat; although he wasn’t comfortable expressing his emotions so openly, the look of pride in his brother’s eyes had made it worth it.

The table was quiet for several moments, until Steve cleared his throat. “Well, I’m, ah…I’m thankful that after coming out of the ice to an unrecognizable world I was able to find such great friends and teammates in you all.” His azure eyes flicked hesitantly over to Tony. “We may not get along all the time or agree on everything, but that doesn’t mean we should allow ourselves to become divided.”

Tony’s face remained unchanged throughout Steve’s speech and when he got to his feet, Loki could practically hear the others’ sharp intakes of breath. The billionaire held Steve’s gaze for a heartbeat before offering him his hand over the table with his trademark smirk on his face. “Couldn’t have said it better myself, ‘Roid Rage.” The two men shook hands and the room almost instantly relaxed; Loki exchanged looks of triumph with his co-conspirators as dinner continued, satisfied that their plan had been successfully implemented.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Dinner was delicious, by the way.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed it, darling, though I’m not sure what the others thought of it.”

“Well, they were a little too distracted to hand out compliments on food, wouldn’t you say?”

The pair had decided to spend the night catching up on their reading but instead of utilizing the library, they had made themselves comfortable in Loki’s bed with their books and plenty of blankets. Loki sat up against the headboard, his legs stretched out across the mattress and his ankles crossed, and (Y/N) was leaning against his side, her head resting comfortable in the crook of his neck and her free arm holding Loki’s around her waist. They sat in comfortable silence as they read their own books, occasionally permeating the tranquil atmosphere with light conversation.

“Um, Loki?”

“Hmm?” Loki could feel (Y/N) shifting beside him, so he tore his eyes away from his book and watched as she marked her page and set her book down on the bedside table. Setting his own book aside, Loki adjusted himself so he could see her face better. “What is it?”

(Y/N) bit her lip and played with the sleeve of her sweatshirt before answering. “We’ve been so busy planning Thanksgiving dinner and trying to get the team back together that we haven’t had a chance to talk about what you said the other day.” Loki’s brow furrowed in confusion, and the corner of (Y/N)’s mouth twitched. “About wanting to, um, have children. With me.”

“Oh.” Loki felt himself pale; he’d completely forgotten about his slip-up and being reminded of it caused panic to flare in his chest. “I-It was stupid, (Y/N), I just…we don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, I only meant-”

His explanation was abruptly cut off by (Y/N), who had covered his mouth with her hand and was shaking with suppressed laughter. “I always love those rare moments when you’re the one to get flustered; a little line always forms in between your eyebrows.” She leaned forward and pressed a brief kiss on the spot before moving her hand from his mouth to cup his cheek. “I was surprised by what you said the other day because I didn’t realize that you’ve imagined the same future that I have.” (Y/N) shyly looked down but she reached for his free hand and intertwined their fingers together. “I may not have much experience with relationships, Loki, but I love you with all my heart and if there’s anyone I want to share that wonderful future with someday…well, it’s you.”

A grin slowly formed on Loki’s face; removing one of his hands from hers, he gently took hold of her chin and coaxed her to look at him. “Really?”

She nodded, her (Y/E/C) eyes sparkling with happiness. “Really.”

Surging forward, Loki held her face in his hands and smashed his lips against hers. (Y/N) made a sound of surprise before wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing back with equal vigor; Loki eventually found himself lying flat on his back while (Y/N) straddled his waist, one hand clutching her hip while the other traveled up and down her spine as they kissed. (Y/N) pulled her lips away from his and just as his throat made a noise of protest, she began kissing along his jawline and down his neck; needless to say, his annoyance quickly morphed to groans of satisfaction. Only when her soft lips brushed against a particularly sensitive patch of skin near his collarbone did Loki lose all restraint; he flipped them over so that (Y/N) was pressed against the mattress and after grabbing her hands and threading their fingers together, he held them over her head and hungrily attacked her eager lips with his own until an unfortunate lack of air forced them to break apart.

“I said I’d like children with you someday, Loki, not today!” (Y/N) exclaimed breathlessly, a dazed sort of smile illuminating her face as she looked up at him.

Loki let out a laugh before kissing her forehead and rolling off to lay on his back beside her; try as he might, he couldn’t keep the broad grin off his face. “Apologies, my love, but you’re entirely irresistible. If I’d known there were kisses like that in store for me, I’d have told you all that ages ago…”

Later that evening, (Y/N) was fast asleep against his chest and the sounds of her quiet snores filled the room as he stretched out on the bed in contentment. I suppose there’s only one thing left to do, Loki thought tiredly, pulling (Y/N) closer and glancing over at the bedside table that hid the engagement ring before sleep finally claimed him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: Wow, that was a lot of fluff! Thank you all so much for reading and commenting! I’ve created a Spotify playlist inspired by this series, and I’ll be updating it every time I upload a new chapter. Enjoy!

https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2wx8TZwpDN0l33tES3W3Nk

Chapter Fifteen

Spellbinding Masterlist

Tagging: @nexiva @ravenclawbitch426 @cminr @confusedfandomwriter @momc95 @nickkie1129 @austynparksandpizza @brooke0297 @destructivebliss @outoftheregular​ @itscomplicatedx​ @0-artemis​ @vivloki​

[myonechicagoworld]

CHICAGO FIRE – RETALIATION HIT (S01E21)

Commander (Sgt. Halstead): How long was she in your apartment?

Kelly Severide: Half hour. Hour tops.

Commander (Sgt. Halstead): And how many beers did you have?

Kelly Severide: Two.

Commander (Sgt. Halstead): In 30 minutes?

Kelly Severide: First time in history anyone ever drank two beers in

                          half an hour?

Commander( Sgt. Halstead): Ms. Little stated that it was hard to

                                                 keep up with you. She felt buzzed.

Kelly Severide: That’s what happens when you drink beer. She’d

                           know since she brought the six pack over.

Commander (Sgt. Halstead): She said you tried to kiss her, but

                                                  she was uncomfortable and tried to

                                                  leave. You backed her against the

                                                  wall, leaned into her body and put

                                                  your hand on her buttock.

Kelly Severide: Unreal.

Commander (Sgt. Halstead): Care to respond?

Mouch: Lieutenant Severide is not obligated to respond to any of

              these questions, Commander. He came in good faith to

              hear the charges against him.

Kelly Severide: Actually, I faked a yawn and said I was tired and she

                          should probably get going. Because I started

                          thinking she was a little… desperate.

                                           cutscene

                                       [door buzzing]

                                        [door opens]

Police Officer (Officer Blair): You’re up, Voight.

                                   [handcuffs clicking]

                                            cutscene

Hallie Thomas: How’s Dawson?

Matt Casey: Good. Great.

                      Why?

Hallie Thomas: Don’t even pretend.

Matt Casey: Um, she’s dating young Peter Mills.

Hallie Thomas: That sneaky little bastard. Good for him.

Matt Casey: How about yourself? Seeing anybody?

Hallie Thomas: Nah, no one serious.

Matt Casey: You heard about Curtis, right?

Hallie Thomas: Yeah. Um, is Voight behind it?

Matt Casey: I have no idea. I mean, the kid was in a gang, but

                     still…

Hallie Thomas: That doesn’t make any difference in terms of

                           Voight’s case, right?

Matt Casey: Apparently there’s a dismissal hearing today, and his

                      union is pushing hard for entrapment. All I know is I

                      can’t get sucked into it again.

                                               cutscene

Hank Voight: [sighs]

                       I’m hungry. Let’s go.

                                              cutscene

                                [coffee machine steaming]

Christopher Herrmann: Drink coupons?

Otis Zvonecek: It’s called a loss leader, okay? It gets people in the

                          door. Once they’re inside, they keep spending.

Christopher Herrmann: I’m already confused, all right? It’s a bar,

                                         not the New York stock exchange.

Matt Casey: It’s actually not that complicated, Herrmann.

Christopher Herrmann: Well, we have a soft opening in a week,

                                          andwe don’t even have our decorations

                                          up yet.

Otis Zvonecek: Call it a drink special. I don’t care.

                                           [kissing sound]

Leslie Shay: Oh, marry him.

Chief Boden: Okay, everybody listen up. In light of recent events…

                       recent allegations, rather… personnel division has

                       flagged this house for sexual harassment sensitivity

                       training.

Matt Casey: [silently groans]

Joe Cruz: Uh, Chief? I think actually it’s sexual harassment and

                  sensitivity training. ‘Cause the way that you just said it, it

                  makes it sound like we have to be, uh, sensitive toward

                  sexual har…

Christopher Herrmann: All right, what the hell? This house needs it.

                                        All right, listen up everybody. CFD special,

                                        okay? Happy hour prices all night long

                                        when Molly’s opens.

                                   [murmuring and applause]

Otis Zvonecek: [groans]

                                               cutscene

Peter Mills: Lieutenant. What you’re going through ain’t right. So if

                    there’s anything I can do to help, name it. I mean if you

                    just want to grab a beer or put on some gloves…

Kelly Severide: Appreciate it.

                                       [locker door shuts]

Kevin Hadley: Hey Mills.

                                      [locker door closes]

Kevin Hadley: His shoes need shining.

                               [alarm buzzing and blaring]

(Over PA): Truck 81, Squad 3, Engine 51, Ambulance 61. Car

                  accident, 3464 Morgan Street.

Chief Boden: Casey, I just heard from the state’s attorney. Voight’s

                        out.

Matt Casey: All right.

Chief Boden: Yeah.

                                          [sirens blaring]

Chief Boden: What’s the story here?

Police Officer (Officer Sobek): We got two people stuck.

Chief Boden: What happened?

Police Officer (Officer Sobek): Driver got shot and lost control.

                                                    Word is this is the guy that shot

                                                    Curtis. Retaliation hit.

                                      [engine humming]

Kelly Severide: Looks unstable. Be careful.

Matt Casey: He’s pinned in. Foot’s stuck on the gas.

Victim 1: [screams] Oh God! Oh God! Help me, please!

                                         - title screen -

                                      [indistinct chatter]

Kelly Severide: Hey, stand clear of the car! Second victim’s

                          underneath.

                          Hang on, ma’am. We’re gonna get you out, okay?

Victim 1: Hurry, please.

Matt Casey: Driver’s got a head wound. We’ve got to get him out of

                      there.

Kelly Severide: Hey, we budge this car, it’s gonna take off.

Chief Boden: We lift the car. Kelly, you get the woman. We stabilise

                       this on the truck and get the driver at the same time.

                       Go.

Kelly Severide: Capp, Hadley, air bags and halligans!

Matt Casey: Cruz and Mills, we need bottle Jacks and cribbing as

                      much as we have. Mouch, take the center punch.

                      Herrmann, sawzall. Let’s move.

Christopher Herrmann: Got it.

Gabby Dawson: What do we got?

Matt Casey: Looks like a perforating head injury. The driver’s still

                     alive. You’re gonna have to move fast.

Gabby Dawson: We’re on it.

Victim 1: [whimpers]

Kelly Severide: Okay, help me out with this. We gotta lift it.

                          Don’t worry, ma’am. We’re right here with you.

Chief Boden: Don’t let it touch that wheel!

Victim 1: [whimpers]

Kelly Severide: Hang in there. Hang in there.

                          Watch your back.

                          All right, let’s get that board in!

Victim 1: [cries out]

Kelly Severide: Easy, easy.

                           Watch it.

Victim 1: [whimpers]

Kelly Severide: You got it?

Chief Boden: Keep her away from that wheel.

Victim 1: [whimpers]

Chief Boden: Good job, guys. Good job.

                                    [glass shattering]

Matt Casey: [grunts]

                              [engine stops humming]

Chief Boden: Pop those hinges.

Firefighter: I got it.

                                         [grinding]

Chief Boden: There you go! Get the board in now.

Leslie Shay: He’s got a pulse. Barely.

Kelly Severide: Watch his head.

                           Okay.

                           Watch it.

                           You got it?

Leslie Shay: Got it, yeah.

Gabby Dawson: Did I hear right? Voight’s out?

Matt Casey: Yeah.

Gabby Dawson: Let’s go.

                                           [siren blaring]

Mouch: You’re not doing what I think you’re doing, are you?

Kelly Severide: [sighs] What if I just meet her face-to-face and…

Mouch: Do not contact this woman, you hear me? We have a

              follow-up interview tomorrow, and we have the upper hand

              right now. Okay?

                                               cutscene

Gabby Dawson: Single gunshot to the head through and through.

                            Entrance is at the cheek.

ER Doctor: Pressure?

Gabby Dawson: 50 over 30.

ER Doctor: Get him into six.

Leslie Shay: I told you that Tara chick was bad news. Now look.

Gabby Dawson: So there’s no way that Severide could have gotten

                            a little too frisky with her?

Leslie Shay: Against her will? No way.

Gabby Dawson: Well, what’s Severide saying?

Leslie Shay: Not much. Whenever he gets this look on his face, I

                     just steer clear and let him figure it out. ‘Cause me

                     trying to fix it never does any good. She’s not gonna

                     get away with this, is she?

Gabby Dawson: Well, that’s what they said about Voight.

Leslie Shay: Ugh, crazy town. I mean, how does that guy walk?

Gabby Dawson: I don’t know. It reminds me of this joke my dad

                            once told me. Why is Chicago style pizza so

                            thick?

Leslie Shay: Why?

Gabby Dawson: Don’t worry about it.

Leslie Shay: She’s not here.

Gabby Dawson: Who?

Leslie Shay: Hallie.

Gabby Dawson: I’m not looking for Hallie.

                                      [cell phone vibrating]

Leslie Shay: Who is it?

Gabby Dawson: Blocked. Who blocks their phones anymore other

                            than drug dealers.

                                               cutscene

                                   [tapping on whiteboard]

Man 1 (Trainer): Nice slacks! Acceptable compliment? Yes, no or

                            depends?

Christopher Herrmann: I don’t think people call them slacks

                                        anymore.

Man 1 (Trainer): Oh come on, come on. No, you know what I mean.

                                              [laughter]

Man 1 (Trainer): Pants, dungarees, whatever.

Joe Cruz: Depends.

Man 1 (Trainer): On?

Joe Cruz: What part of the pants?

Man 1 (Trainer): Exactly. A female co-worker is standing in front of

                           you... ”Nice pants,” is acceptable. Walking away

                           from you, noway, Jose. And why not?

Christopher Herrmann: Isn’t it kind of obvious?

                                              [laughter]

Man 1 (Trainer): Look, I know all this new political correctness-type

                           deal is a head spinner, ‘cause it was a little more

                           loosey-goosey back in the day. I mean, hell, when I

                           first started working for the city you’d-you’d walk

                           into some locker rooms, they’d have Hustler

                           centrefolds taped up. You do that nowadays, ninjas

                           drop from the ceiling and will airlift your ass right

                           out of there.

                                              [laughter]

Christopher Herrmann: Tell me about it. When-when I started there

                                         was this guy, Eric Weinburger…[chuckles]

                                         and if it was somebody’s birthday, he

                                         would walk around with his testicles

                                         hanging out of his fly…

                                               [laughter]

Man 1 (Trainer): Okay. Okay! Look, tap the brakes, pal. That’s what

                            I’m talking about.

Christopher Herrmann: Hey.

                                              cutscene

Antonio Dawson: Voight’s got a condo in Myrtle Beach. And there’s

                              a good shot he threatens to sue the department

                              for wrongful prosecution, settles for a chunk of

                              change and then goes to play golf year round.

                              That’s according to my buddy who used to work

                              for Voight.

                              He’s dirty, but he ain’t stupid. He knows he

                               dodged a bullet on this one. And with his son

                               already doing a year, there’s no way he’s gonna

                               come after you again.

Matt Casey: That’s what they told me right before he tried to have

                      my skull cracked open.

Chief Boden: You’ll keep us apprised, won’t you, Antonio?

Antonio Dawson: Of course.

Chief Boden: Casey. Do not get drawn back into this.

                                          cutscene

Man 2 (Paramedic): Leslie Shay!

Leslie Shay: Hey, Derek.

                     What’s wrong?

Gabby Dawson: That was Voight.

Leslie Shay: What’d he say?

Gabby Dawson: He’s calling in that favour I owe him.

                            [exhales]

                                          cutscene

Matt Casey: You’re gonna call Voight back?

Gabby Dawson: [sighs] I mean I guess I have to.

Matt Casey: Want me to?

Gabby Dawson: No. No, no, no. But… that’s really nice of you to

                            offer.

Matt Casey: You let me know. And we’re cool. No matter what you

                      do. I don’t want us going down the same road we did

                      last time and not talking to each other for a month.

                      You’re too important to me for that.

Gabby Dawson: Thanks. I feel the same way. Which is why I wanted

                            to bring you in the loop. So that you didn’t think I

                            was scheming with Voight or anything behind your

                            back.

Matt Casey: Dawson, I’m serious though. You-you try to deal with

                      Voight on your own, you’ll end up in quicksand.

Gabby Dawson: Okay.

Man 1 (Trainer): Can I borrow you two for a second?

Matt Casey: [clears throat] “You look very nice today.”

Gabby Dawson: “Thank you.”

Matt Casey: “A bunch of us are gonna get some beers after work.

                      Care to join?”

Gabby Dawson: Sure, yeah. That sounds fun.”

Matt Casey: Keep going, or…

Man 1 (Trainer): Please.

Matt Casey: Okay.

Leslie Shay: Oh look, he just groped her. Did everybody see that?

Chief Boden: Shay.

Leslie Shay: I’m just saying. That’s all it takes, right?

Matt Casey: “Have you been going to the gym?”

Gabby Dawson: “Um, yeah, you know, here and there. Not as much

                             as I’d like.”

Matt Casey: “Because your physique looks really good.”

                                            [laughter]

Gabby Dawson: “Well, thank you. That’s really nice of you.”

Man 1 (Trainer): Now freeze it. Freeze it. What did we talk about

                            behavioural modifiers?

Matt Casey: I think he means stop the role-play

Gabby Dawson: Oh.

Man 1 (Trainer): Matt should not be making comments about

                            Gabby’s body. We know that.

                                     [cell phone vibrating]

Man 1 (Trainer): But Gabby should not be accepting compliments

                            about her body from Matt.

Chief Boden: Keep your radio on.

Man 1 (Trainer): Uh why don’t we break for lunch?

All: Yes.

       Sure.

Matt Casey: Thank you.

Harold Capp: Hey, candidate?

Peter Mills: Yeah?

Harold Capp: You park across the street?

Peter Mills: Yeah, why?

                    Oh! Son of a bitch!

Kevin Hadley: Oh, man.

Peter Mills: Man, right in front of the house! God!

Harold Capp: Whoa, wait a second. Wait a second. Isn’t this an

                        ’03?

Peter Mills: Yeah.

Harold Capp: I think this is the model they built with the spare

                       window.

                       Yeah.

Kevin Hadley: Yeah, yeah, yeah.

Harold Capp: Hang on a second. Hold on, let me show you.

                                     [engine starting]

Peter Mills: [sighs] Ooh… [chuckles]

                    Yeah funny. Give me my keys.

                                [Capp & Hadley chuckles]

Peter Mills: That was a good one.

                    [groans]

                                             cutscene

Kelly Severide: [exhales] I just wanted to talk, you know. Human

                          being to human being.

Tara Little: I-I-I don’t want to talk about the other night. It’s still so

                   painful.

Kelly Severide: Tara, come on. We were both there. And if I said

                          something that offended you…

Tara Little: Look, IAD is pushing me to file a police report. And

                   despite what happened, I’m not interested in making

                   this a criminal case.

Kelly Severide: For what?

                          Look me in the eye. Tell me what I did.

Tara Little: But there is another option. If you apologise on record,

                   it’s called an Alford plea. You won’t be admitting guilt,

                   but we could both…avoid the embarrassment of

                   reliving this in public.

Kelly Severide: You’re crazy.

Tara Little: I knew I shouldn’t have agreed to meet you.

                                              cutscene

Antonio Dawson: I’ll take care of it.

Gabby Dawson: Look, I don’t have a problem calling him to see

                            what he wants.

Antonio Dawson: No.

Gabby Dawson: Hey. Don’t do anything crazy.

                                [alarm buzzing and blaring]

(Over PA): Truck 81, Engine 51, Squad 3, Ambulance 61.

                  Overturned tanker, Eleanor and Fuller.

                                        [sirens wailing]

Kelly Severide: Squad’s set to pull the driver out. We just need

                           engine to get some water on this fire so we

                           have some clearance.

Chief Boden: This first tank is leaking sodium hydroxide. We have

                        an active chemical spill. That is a negative on the

                        water. That’s going to spread the spill out even

                        further. We need to get foam on this fire… and

                        masks on!

Victim 2 (Truck Driver): Hey! Hey! Hey! Hey, get me out of here!

                                       Get me out!

Chief Boden: (into radio) Squad three, suit up for rescue. Call in

                        Hazmat.

                        Hang on in there! We’re gonna come and get you!

                        (into radio) Battalion 25 to dispatch, we need the

                        closest available foam engine to Bridgeport right

                        now. We are on Eleanor and Fuller.

Dispatch: (over radio) Copy that, 25.

Chief Boden: Let’s dyke off this area right now. If it gets into the

                        river, it’ll spread into Chicago.

Matt Casey: Got it. Shovels and pick axes!

                      Right here. Start digging

                                             [grunting]

Matt Casey: (over radio) Chief, where’s our foam?

Chief Boden: (into radio) We’re working on it, Casey.

Kelly Severide: Chief, if you need us to pull him out now, we’re

                          ready.

Chief Boden: (into radio)That diesel fire’s impinging on that tanker.

                       It’s getting ready to blow! You can’t go in yet.

Matt Casey: (into radio) Driver’s gonna get burned inside and out if

                     he stays in there much longer.

Chief Boden: (into radio) Where the hell is that engine?

                                       [foam spraying]

Chief Boden: Severide.

Kelly Severide: Yeah.

Chief Boden: That foam will cover up the vapors. You ready?

Kelly Severide: Yeah, let’s do it!

                           Hadley!

Kevin Hadley: Yeah!

Kelly Severide: Have the descender ready to send up the aerial.

Kevin Hadley: Uh, it-it’s new. I don’t know the set-up yet. I’ll just,

                         uh, I’ll rig up a rope and pulley.

Kelly Severide: Nah, that’s not enough. We’re gonna need the

                          descender. Ask Mills to do it.

Peter Mills: On it.

                     Let’s go.

                     Hadley, stand by.

                     Here. Take that, run it up

Chief Boden: (into radio) Mouch.

                                          [motor humming]

Chief Boden: Capp, make sure you stay tight to Severide.

Victim 2 (Truck driver): [breathing heavily]

Kelly Severide: Chemicals flooding the cab. Driver’s losing

                           consciousness.

Victim 2 (Truck driver): [groans]

Kelly Severide: Hey buddy, hang in there. We’re gonna get you out!

                          Watch your eyes!

Victim 2 (Truck driver): Okay.

                                         [glass shattering]

Peter Mills: Okay, throw me the rope bag.

Harold Capp: It’s coming down.

Kelly Severide: (over radio) Got the harness attached.

Victim 2 (Truck driver): [groans]

Kelly Severide: (over radio) Okay, pull him up!

Peter Mills: Haul!

Victim 2 (Truck driver): [groans]

Kelly Severide: Keep it going!

                          Okay, Mills, the driver’s clear.

Peter Mills: We’re good!

Kelly Severide: Let’s go, let’s go!

Chief Boden: All right. Bring him over, Mouch.

Joe Cruz: This way!

Peter Mills: Keep it going! Keep it going!

Firefighter: Keep coming!

Victim 2 (Truck driver): [groans]

Gabby Dawson: Let’s go!

Chief Boden: Good job.

Peter Mills: [chuckles]

                                          cutscene

Joe Cruz: Hope we weren’t too much of a pain in the ass.

Man 1 (Trainer): Not at all. Fully aware that you work 24 hour shifts

                           together and you see the things that you see. And

                           there should be consideration for that. You just

                           have to be careful, or you can find yourself in a

                           real predicament.

Chief Boden: Did everybody hear that?

All: We got it.

       Mm-hmm.

Man 1 (Trainer): Still using the Elkhart brass nozzles, I see. Is that a

                            75/100?

Joe Cruz: Yeah, how you know about nozzles?

Man 1 (Trainer): Ah I took the CFD exam. Back when dinosaurs

                           roamed the earth. Made it all the way through,

                           then got dinged on the last day.

Chief Boden: What happened?

Man 1 (Trainer): Colourblind.

                            What are you gonna do? It all worked out.

Christopher Herrmann: Eh, you know what’s gonna work out on

                                         my end? Molly’s bar. This thing takes off

                                         we’re gonna brand it, franchise it. We’re

                                         gonna have Molly’s Kansas City, Molly’s

                                         Des Moines…

Gabby Dawson: Easy, tiger. Let’s get this one off the ground first.

Peter Mills: Ugh…

                    Who put dog food in here?

Kevin Hadley: [chuckles]

Peter Mills: That’s funny to you?

Kevin Hadley: Relax, mutt.

Peter Mills: What did you say to me?

All: Hey! Hey! Hey!

Peter Mills: What did you say?

Chief Boden: Hey! Hey!

Kelly Severide: Take it easy!

                           Mutt? You out of your mind?

Kevin Hadley: When I was a candidate over at 38, they put menthol

                         in my underwear. What is the…

Chief Boden: No, no, no, no, what you did was so far beyond that,

                       that if you can’t tell the difference, you are dumber

                       than you look.

Kevin Hadley: [chuckles] What…

Chief Boden: I mean this house was already under a microscope.

                       You really couldn’t put that together? You are so lucky

                       Mills is not filing an incident report. Not to mention

                       knocking your teeth out.

Kevin Hadley: Did I not apologise?

Peter Mills: You don’t talk to me. I’m serious.

Matt Casey: Everybody shut up. He’s coming in.

Man 1 (Trainer): I told my boss that the course work was complete

                           here but that a follow-up might not hurt. I did not

                           mention the infraction, because it would turn into a

                           major, major deal. I’ve seen folks lose their jobs

                           over less. And in my sense, this was an isolated

                           incident involving otherwise good people.

Chief Boden: First of all, let me say thank you. And second of all, I

                       can assure you that I will deal with all of this in-house.

Man 1 (Trainer): How exactly?

Kevin Hadley: [scoffs]

Chief Boden: Look, anybody asks, I’ll tell them you wanted a

                       change of scenery. A lot of guys like to float from

                       house to house as it is.

Kevin Hadley: You know if I had known that kissing ass was the

                         way to move up in this house, I would have brought

                         some lip balm.

Chief Boden: Good luck, Hadley.

Kevin Hadley: [scoffs]

Chief Boden: Yeah, good luck.

                                             cutscene

                                 [train in the background]

Antonio Dawson: Come on.

                                       [car door shuts]

Antonio Dawson: Why are you calling my sister?

Hank Voight: I got an ethics panel over at the IG’s here in a little bit.

                       I was looking for some character references.

Antonio Dawson: Not her. You helped me out of a jam, I don’t

                              dispute that. But if you got a favour you need

                              done, you come to me man-to-man and leave

                              her out of it.

Hank Voight: I hear you left Vice.

Antonio Dawson: What about it?

Hank Voight: Working in that Intelligence unit here in the district?

                       You got backbone, Antonio. You’ve always been an

                       aggressive cop. I respect that.

                                             cutscene

Kelly Severide: And?

Mouch: You may be asked to go back in, so… sit tight.

              I told you not to contact her.

Kelly Severide: Fine. I screwed up.

Mouch: Big time. Now they’re looking into your history.

Kelly Severide: Of?

Mouch: Other women you’ve... banged on the job.

Kelly Severide: What?

Mouch: Remember Nicki Rutkowski?

Kelly Severide: What about her?

Mouch: Her name came up. Did it end bad?

Kelly Severide: No!

                          We slept together a couple times, and she went on

                          her merry way. Ask her.

Mouch: Oh they’re going to.

Kelly Severide: Unreal.

                                          cutscene

Matt Casey: The new place is very, uh… zen.

Hallie Thomas: I’m hardly here.

                                      [liquid pouring]

Matt Casey: Thank you.

Hallie Thomas: Mm-hmm.

                          To new beginnings, I guess. Right?

Matt Casey: I like it.

                                       [glass clinking]

Matt Casey: Well, uh, this is all your stuff. Just some pictures and

                      jewellery.  

Hallie Thomas: And here’s yours. Pictures and Blackhawk

                          memorabilia.

Matt Casey: I was wondering where all that went.

                     Yes!

                                        [kissing sound]

Hallie Thomas: [chuckles] You know, I found this contract that we

                           both signed after we had that argument about

                           where to spend Christmas. Do you remember it?

Matt Casey: I do. Yeah.

Hallie Thomas: [giggles]

Matt Casey: Let’s always keep the fighting clean and the sex dirty.

                                              [laughter]

                                         [kissing sounds]

                                              cutscene

                                          [coins clinking]

Hank Voight: IG office on a Tuesday afternoon, that can’t be good.

                       Just remember, squeakiest wheel always wins around

                       here.

Kelly Severide: Looks like it.

Hank Voight: You’re Benny Severide’s kid, huh?

Kelly Severide: That’s right.

Hank Voight: Ol’ Benny…

                       [chuckles] I’ll be seeing you around.

Kelly Severide: Yeah, I don’t plan on making it out to Myrtle Beach

                           anytime soon.

Hank Voight: Well, neither do I. I just got reinstated.

                                        [door closes]

                                           cutscene

Matt Casey: Where on the job?

Kelly Severide: No, he didn’t say.

Peter Mills: God, has the world gone crazy? What the heck is going

                     on?

Kelly Severide: I know. Tell me about it.

Gabby Dawson: Well, they’ll just park him somewhere behind a

                             desk, right? Let him collect a paycheck for

                             nothing. I mean if I’m CPD, that’s what I would

                             want.

Matt Casey: That’s got nothing to do with it. It’s what Voight wants.

Gabby Dawson: [whispers] Damn it. Maybe I should have just

                            played ball with him.

Peter Mills: No, absolutely not.

Gabby Dawson: But now I’m on his enemy list?

                                       [door opens]

Peter Mills: Who’s that?

Kelly Severide: Nicki’s dad.

                                    [knocks on door]

Chief Boden: Hey! Big Al!

Al Rutkowski: Hey, Wallace.

Chief Boden: [chuckles] What brings you out?

Al Rutkowski: I guess that Severide character’s got himself in a bit

                         of a pickle, huh?

Chief Boden: How’d that get on your radar?

Al Rutkowski: Well, the girl he attacked, her lawyer contacted me.

Chief Boden: Attacked? Since when do you believe everything the

                       lawyers tell you?

Al Rutkowski: [scoffs] Yeah, well, regardless, I guess they want my

                         account of events. They’re looking to establish a

                         pattern of behaviour. And I wanted you to hear it

                         from me first out of respect for our friendship.

Chief Boden: Hear what?

                                          [door closes]

Al Rutkowski: How I came here to pick Nicki up, and I saw him

                         guiding her out of that change out room after doing

                         God knows what. How she came home in tears 

                         after being over at his apartment. How she broke

                         off her engagement with a guy I happened to like.

                         And how Nicki came in and quit her job and ran off

                         to Europe and she hasn’t been able to get her life

                         back on track since.

Chief Boden: Al, I spoke to him. Nothing happened.

Al Rutkowski: No, he was screwing around with a subordinate on

                         the job. My daughter. And shame on me for not

                         having made a bigger stink of it back then,

                         because now it looks like a girl got hurt.

Chief Boden: Al, I know you’re pissed at him, but if you, as a Chief

                       in the department, if you go forward with your beef,

                       you will sink him.

Al Rutkowski: Do you really believe that he didn’t push that girl up

                        against the wall because she didn’t want to be

                        another notch on his belt?

Chief Boden: We go way back. I’m going to vouch for Kelly

                       Severide.

Al Rutkowski: Yeah, well, like I said, I want you to hear it from me.

Chief Boden: Please don’t do this.

Al Rutkowski: I already did. They have my statement.

Chief Boden: Yeah. Nice knowing you, Al.

                                [alarm buzzing and blaring]

(Over PA): Ambulance 61, fallen person. 1610 Kedzie Street.

                                         [siren blaring]

Child 1: Hurry, I think my dad’s sick.

Gabby Dawson: What’s your dad’s name?

Child 1: Terrence. I’m Patrick.

              And that’s Buddy.

Leslie Shay: Oh.

Gabby Dawson: Okay.

                                         [snake hissing]

Victim 3 (Terrence): [groans]

Gabby Dawson: Okay, see ya.

Leslie Shay: Okay, here we go.

Gabby Dawson: What was that, a pet?

Child 1 (Patrick): What about my dad? Something’s wrong with

                              him.

Gabby Dawson: [groans] I don’t believe this!

                            Patrick, how long since that snake bit your dad?

                            Patrick?

Child 1 (Patrick): My dad says not to tell anyone about Buddy.

                             We’re not supposed to have him.

Gabby Dawson: How long, sweetie?

Child 1 (Patrick): Ten minutes?

Gabby Dawson: Okay, I’m gonna call animal control.

Leslie Shay: What kind of snake is it?

Child 1 (Patrick): Rhino Viper. He got out of his cage.

Leslie Shay: We gotta go back in there.

Gabby Dawson: Bitch, are you out of your f… Dear valued

                            colleague, I strongly disagree with your

                            suggested course…

Leslie Shay: Okay, God only knows what Rhino Viper venom does

                      to a person, okay? We can’t wait on animal control.

                      He might not even have 30 minutes.

Gabby Dawson: [groans]

Leslie Shay: Patrick, hi, um, what does your dad use to handle

                     Buddy?

Child 1 (Patrick): The hook.

Leslie Shay: The hook. Come on.

Victim 3 (Terrence): [groans]

Child 1 (Patrick): Here it is.

                                             [snake hissing]

Leslie Shay: That is a longass snake.

                      [heavy breathing]

                      Here.

Gabby Dawson: Whoa! What?

Leslie Shay: You do it. I can’t. I can’t.

Gabby Dawson: [exhales] Okay, Patrick. What do I do?

Child 1 (Patrick): Dad puts the hook under him and grabs his tail.

Gabby Dawson: Mm-hmm. Grabs his tail. Right, of course

                            [exhales]

                            Hey, Buddy.

                            [groans]

                            [snake hisses]

Gabby Dawson: Oh God! Okay.

                                           [metal rod clanging]

Gabby Dawson: [heavy breathing]

Leslie Shay: We’ve got to try again.

Gabby Dawson: Yeah.

Victim 3 (Terrence): [groans & whimpers]

Leslie Shay: Just… try again.

Gabby Dawson: [frustrated groan]

                                             [snake hissing]

Gabby Dawson: [whimpering]

                            Come on. Come on.

Leslie Shay: Yes. Yes. Yes.

                                                  [thud]

Gabby Dawson: [panting] Nightmares. I will have nightmares.

Victim 3 (Terrence): [gasping]

Gabby Dawson: Okay, let’s put him in the chair and get him out of

                            here.

Victim 3 (Terrence): [struggling to breathe]

Leslie Shay: Watch the cabinet.

Gabby Dawson: Let’s go.

Child 1 (Patrick): Is he gonna be okay?

Gabby Dawson: He’ll be okay. Hop in.

                                         [ambo door shuts]

                                                cutscene

                                              [door closes]

Kelly Severide: What’s up?

Mouch: Uh, a couple things. Internally, Tara’s not gonna be acting

              on the charges.

Kelly Severide: What do you mean internally? Are the charges

                           dropped or not?

Mouch: Well, there’s where it gets complicated.

Chief Boden: She’s been reinstated as commander of operations at

                       field division headquarters.

Kelly Severide: Promoted?

Chief Boden: IAD felt an administrative post might be a better fit for

                       her.

Kelly Severide: For a liar?

Mouch: IAD lacked the sufficient amount of confidence needed to

              disprove her claim, so they wanted to move quickly to have

              this go away.

Kelly Severide: Great! Y-You know what? Make her the… Queen of

                          England, I don’t care.

                          Are-are we done?

Mouch: No. Because of Chief Rutkowski’s rather incendiary

              statement, the IG has sustained Tara’s allegations. They’re

              kicking the case up to the State Attorney’s office.

Kelly Severide: Meaning what?

Mouch: Meaning they will review it. And if they feel there’s a case,

              they’ll file charges. Criminal charges.

Kelly Severide: [sighs]

Chief Boden: You need to get an attorney, Kelly. You need to be

                        ready.

Mouch: Listen… this is not coming from me. But it was put out

              there that if you did apologise for what she’s claiming, it

              might go a long way towards…

              [sighs]

                                               cutscene

                                          [water running]

Kelly Severide: I walked her to the door.

Leslie Shay: We’re gonna fight this. We’re gonna be all right.

Kelly Severide: I don’t trust anyone in this world other than you.

Christopher Herrmann: Hey buddy. We heard. No one can believe

                                         it. Look, we’re doing our soft opening

                                         tonight. Maybe you want to come down,

                                         tie one on, be around your friends.

Kelly Severide: I’m not up for it.

Christopher Herrmann: No. Of course. All right.

Joe Cruz: Hang in there, man.

                                               cutscene

Gabby Dawson: This is it, you guys.

Otis Zvonecek: Ready or not.

Christopher Herrmann: I got jitters, I ain’t gonna lie.

Gabby Dawson: This is probably like, the craziest, riskiest, insanest

                            thing any of us has ever done.

Otis Zvonecek: And for Herrmann, that’s saying something.

Christopher Herrmann: [chuckles]

Gabby Dawson: But if nothing else, I have had so much fun

                            spending all those days off and all the wee hours

                            building Molly’s with you guys. And I know that

                            you guys have heart because I saw it when you

                            put it in the business, and I just want you to

                            know that I consider you guys family. You’re my

                            brothers.

Christopher Herrmann: Wow. You’re beautiful. I know it’s been a

                                         tough couple of shifts for everybody. But

                                         that is why this place is gonna rock

                                         tonight. Because we’re gonna put aside

                                         our worries, and we’re just gonna have a

                                         good time.

Otis Zvonecek: Amen.

Gabby Dawson: Amen.

Christopher Herrmann: Amen.

Gabby Dawson: To Molly’s.

Christopher Herrmann: To Molly’s.

Otis Zvonecek: Does it sound like we’re saying “tamales”?

Christopher Herrmann: What? Who cares? This place is gonna

                                         rock!

Otis Zvonecek: I hope so, ‘cause I’m a little concerned about the

                           number of hits we’re getting on Facebook.

Gabby Dawson: Oh my gosh.

Otis Zvonecek: Not as much traffic as I want. Not to mention…

Christopher Herrmann: Will you please celebrate the moment, for

                                        God’s sake.

Otis Zvonecek: To Molly’s.

                                              [glass clinking]

                                                  cutscene

Peter Mills: [grunts]

                     Come on, another one.

                     All right, another one.

Kelly Severide: [grunts]

Peter Mills: Throw it out!

Kelly Severide: Unh! Unh!

Peter Mills: Come on! Come on. Come on man.

Kelly Severide: [grunts]

                          [laboured breathing]

                          [spits]

                                               cutscene

Christopher Herrmann: Are you guys good?

Crowd/Customers: We’re great!

                                  All right.

                                       [chatter & laughter]

Christopher Herrmann: Who is this guy?

Joe Cruz: That’s my Uncle Zoozie!

Leslie Shay: Hey, so I cannot stop thinking about Tara being

                      promoted?

Gabby Dawson: Oh, she is a bureau bitch now. We’re never gonna

                             see her.

Leslie Shay: Oh, if I do, I’m gonna drop her. Not joking.

Joe Cruz: Good to see ya.

Hallie Thomas: Thanks.

Matt Casey: Hey.

Gabby Dawson: [clears throat]

Leslie Shay: When did that happen?

Gabby Dawson: Good for them.

Leslie Shay: [sighs] Oh, yeah…

                                             [door closes]

Christopher Herrmann: [laughs]

                                         Cop walks into a bar…

                                              [chatter dies]

Hank Voight: Wow. It’s a nice place. Congratulations.

                       [chuckles] Chief.

                       [exhales] Listen, there’s…there’s been a lot of bad

                       blood between cops and firemen in this district.

                       Since we’re all gonna be working together, I want

                       to be the first to put it all behind us.

                       This round’s on me.

Gabby Dawson: So what was that about?

Antonio Dawson: You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.

Gabby Dawson: What?

Antonio Dawson: He was promoted to Sergeant, and he’s running

                              the Intelligence Unit.

Gabby Dawson: You’re in the Intelligence Unit.

Antonio Dawson: Don’t I know it.

Hank Voight: I want to apologise. To you both. It got way out of

                       hand. You know, as it turns out my son needed to

                       hit rock bottom. Prison has certainly provided that.

                       I just want to say I’m sorry. And I am looking forward

                       to working with you, Lieutenant.

                       [sighs]

                                                       - end -

Definitions:

Bottle Jacks – Have a capacity of up to 50 tons and may be used to lift a variety of objects

Hustler – Prostitute

IAD – Internal Affairs department

Alford plea – Guilty plea in criminal court, whereby a defendant in a criminal case does not admit to the criminal act and asserts innocence. Defendants usually enter an Alford guilty plea if they want to avoid a possible worse sentence were they to lose the case against them at trial. It affords defendants the ability to accept a plea bargain while maintaining innocence

Dyke – a ditch

Descender – The descender or “descent control device” is another important element of a bailout kit selection. They are used as friction brakes when descending a rope in a rescue situation

IG’s – Office of Inspector General (I believe)

Rhino Viper – Small doses of the snake’s primarily hemotoxic venom can be deadly. This venom attacks the circulatory system of the snake’s victim, destroying tissue and blood vessels. Internal bleeding also occurs. In only a few detailed reports of human envenomation, massive swelling, which may lead to necrosis, had been described.

[pascalispretty]

dial ‘n’ for narcos - one

The Colombian Correspondent

Javier Peña x Female Reader

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Adult themes, references to death, references to violent crime, references to sex, swearing, smoking, drinking

Summary: A Narcos Film Noir AU. Javier Peña has returned to Colombia, and is determined to see justice handed down to the Godfathers of Cali. On his way, he meets a fresh-off-the-plane journalist with a tip burning her hole in her pocket that might just help him crack the Cali racket. (ao3)

¡Al Fin Cayó! The headline of El Tiempo declared, the blocky type seeping slightly into the thin paper where it had been exposed to the humidity. 

Or perhaps it had gotten damp in transit. The papers could take days to arrive at best; the Argentine headlines were almost always weeks out of date by the time they reached the office.

With a sigh, you spread out the paper on your narrow desk, trying not to smudge the ink any further. Below the headline, with all the subtlety and grace of a sledgehammer, was a photo of Escobar laid out on a slab, his mother at his head.

It was nice to know that the news game was a crass one wherever you were in the world.

The reports of Pablo Escobar’s death had crackled over the airwaves well over a week ago, though stories were conflicting.

The police shot him. An American did it. He shot himself.

Either way, Escobar was dead.

To your annoyance, the article was also scanty on the details, barely more than four paragraphs long. Even the cables that Sierra had managed to get through had been sparse, especially on what would happen now that he was dead.

You rapped your knuckles on the walnut wood of the desk before yanking the drawer open. There’s a mess of paper inside, scraps of telegrams and envelopes, unsent memos, and unused stamps.

Somewhere in there was your ticket out of here.

Buried somewhere in there is a letter from Sierra, prematurely aged by how often you’ve looked it over in the last few days.

You found it underneath a receipt for a cab and pored over it once more. Sierra Nimri had been The Telegraph’s Colombian correspondent ever since Pablo Escobar had become an international news story.

Now that he was dead, Teddy James wanted to pull her out of Colombia and rotate her into Cuba, to replace Harry Johnson there. Officially, Harry was getting bumped up to the Brussels gig; unofficially, the higher-ups were getting twitched about how much time he was spending with the commies.

Either way, Teddy James, Latin American Editor and nephew of the publisher, wanted Sierra in Cuba, and so she was going to Cuba. To his mind, her gig in Colombia was over.

You disagreed.

Sierra wrote to you from time to time, handwritten letters accompanying the typed manuscript pages of her latest article. Usually, it was just trivial; notes asking for more of an allowance for bribes or passing on gossip that didn’t have a place in the paper proper.

You’d been working for the Latin American desk of The Telegraph for almost two years now, and nothing had made you sit bolt upright in your rickety chair the way the last paragraph of Sierra’s last letter had.

At the start of the missive, she’d acknowledged Teddy’s request to ship her off to Cuba, but she was adamant that she be replaced in Colombia by another reporter.

Cocaine shipments were up, she argued. The Godfathers of Cali were the new big racket in town, and the paper needed a newshawk on the ground to keep an eye on things. 

There was also the sensational tip she had been given. 

She had been told by Andrés Pastrana that he had listened to a series of tapes that he called ‘narco-cassettes’. She had been told that what was on them was explosive. 

And then, before Pastrana could detonate whatever bombshell he had been about to drop, he’d vanished. 

His left index finger had washed up in the Cauca river, where the rest of him had doubtless been tossed. Now he was having his bones bleached by the water, his secret gone into the river along with him.

Still, it was the break you had been waiting for. You had spent years, first in school and then in various news offices, working your way up the totem pole. You were tired of covering congressional campaign breakfasts and pet pageants. 

Your time working the Latin American desk at The Telegraph had entailed little more than writing occasional updates on stories broken by the correspondents on the ground. From your tiny, cramped office by the stairs, you had read about assassinations and coups, about guerrillas in the jungles and juntas in the pampas. 

You were determined to get the Colombian gig, no matter what Teddy thought about it being a waste of money. 

With a long sigh, you ran your finger along the edge of the letter. Sierra’s writing looked like a spider had danced a jig in some ink, but you’re used to it by now. Holding the worn paper close to your heart, you pushed your chair back and stood up. 

Teddy usually strolled back in from his liquid lunch with the sports editor around two; it was ten past now, and the best time you could think of to argue your case. Hoping the alcohol has done its job on your boss, you took a deep, steadying breath, and stepped out of the office. 

Pastrana had been an important guy, a presidential candidate. Escobar was dead, and all of his men were either pinched or offed; it had to mean Pastrana had found out something serious about Cali. They were more or less the only narco game left in town, certainly the only ones with enough pull to murder a potential president.

There was a story in there somewhere, you could feel it. You needed to see for yourself if you could shake anything loose, and you were past positive that you could talk Teddy into letting you replace Sierra. 

You just had to hope you didn’t end up dumped in the river yourself for your troubles.  

* * * 

Javier Peña tugged at the collar of his shirt with one hand as he drove, trying to loosen it slightly. Before starting his new job as the DEA attaché in Colombia, he had bought fresh clothes. It had seemed like a gig that required a little more formality than his usual jeans and short-sleeved shirts offered. 

So, before he had left Laredo, he’d done a little shopping, feeling ridiculous as he trailed around the store and dodged men whose wives had clearly dragged them inside for fresh duds. 

Still, he was glad to be back in Colombia. The idea of a few weeks at home had seemed tempting at first, especially after his brush with the DEA brass. 

The wedding was what had made him come back to Colombia early. It had been a painfully awkward affair, people that Javi hadn’t seen in years rushing to shake his hand and call him a hero for helping win the War on Drugs. 

They’d been wrong on both counts.

It almost felt like a relief to pull into the parking lot of the grey hunk of concrete that housed the US Embassy in Bogotá, where people were a little more in touch with the reality of what the US was doing in Colombia.

Stoddard, his new deputy, met him at the door and quickly shattered any hope Javier had that his staff was savvier than the general public. It was like being right back at the wedding; people were practically lining up to shake his hand and ask him about Escobar.

He got rid of them as quickly as he could without being openly rude, sending the kid off to find the boxes of files kept on the Cali cartel. 

It was only when he was ensconced in his office, away from the whispers and stares of the new blood that had been rotated into his department, that he felt more at home. Once the door was closed, and the blinds were down, he was free to surround himself with paper, slip off his jacket, and settle down to work. 

The glass of scotch he’d liberally poured for himself helped too. 

From among the paper and photographs, a better image of the Cali cartel started to emerge. 

They were a bunch of slick bastards, with carefully maintained fronts. 

Gilberto and Miguel Rodríguez Orejuela were businessmen of renown in Cali, and Colombia more broadly. Gilberto had graduated from being chairman of the board for Banco de Trabajadores to setting up his own bank, First InterAmericas Bank. 

Together, they also ran a chain of drugstores, donated handsomely to their favourite football team, owned a phone company based out of Cali, and still found the time to run the largest drug cartel in history. 

They were slightly less brazen than Pablo Escobar had been; Pablo had claimed his immense wealth had originated in a firm that loaned out bicycles before he graduated up to a taxi firm. At least the brothers had more obvious sources of wealth

The brothers had two business partners; Chepe Santacruz Londoño, who handled New York operations, and Pacho Herrera, who officially helped run the drugstores, and unofficially ran security for the brothers. He also apparently owned nightclubs and bars all over, a gunsel who was drawn irrepressibly to the nightlife. 

There was an op running in Cali tonight; they’d found a brother of a cartel dealer who’d been willing to cut a deal. Two agents had fitted him up for surveillance and sent him in as a waiter to some shindig the cartel was throwing. 

It felt strange to Javier to not be there overseeing it personally. He was used to being on the ground, not up in some fancy, newly renovated office made almost entirely of glass. 

“Stoddard!” Javi called, rubbing his eyes. The words were starting to swim on the pages, and he wasn’t entirely sure if that was down to the lateness of the hour or the amount of scotch he’d consumed. 

When there was no answer, he stood and pulled the glass door of his office open, the blinds swinging violently at the motion. 

“Stoddard?” He asked, but it was an empty gesture. The hallways beyond his office were dark; his staff had all left him for the night. 

With a look back over his shoulder, Javi decided to call it a night as well. His new office was a mess of paperwork and boxes already, and now that he was up and shaking the stiffness from his legs, he couldn’t imagine sitting at the low, unforgiving couch in his office again. He itched for a cigarette, but he did his best to fight the urge. 

Instead, he decided to indulge in his only remaining vice and headed for the nearest bar. 

Not far from the embassy was La Social, its name broadcast in bright neon blue above the door. It was a frequent haunt of embassy staff; Javi could remember many hours spent in here with Murphy, talking theories over a cold beer. 

Javier slipped the noose of the tie from around his throat as he walked in, and almost instantly wanted to walk back out. Clustered around a table by the window were his new team, Stoddard holding court at the head of the table. 

Before Javi could make good his escape, Stoddard noticed him, and the cute brunette Javi had clocked earlier. Time was, Javi would have tried to get her into bed. But he was older now, and his run-in with Lorraine in Laredo had thrown him off his game. 

Besides, too many of his mistakes in Colombia had been caused by his weakness for women. Better to avoid that temptation entirely than to risk another Helena, another Elisa, another Maritza. He didn’t need some pretty twist clouding his judgment this time around.

Instead, Javi shrugged his jacket off and took a seat at the bar. Whiskey would see him through, his most reliable partner.

“Hey, boss. Do you mind if we buy you a drink?” He offers, with an earnestness that Javi hasn’t seen in a long time. Was Murphy ever like that? Had Javi been, when he’d first stepped off the plane in Bogotá? The bartender set down the glass of whiskey Javi had ordered, and he took it gratefully. 

“No, thanks.” They’re all too green; he wondered what Ivy League criminology course the DEA had recruited Stoddard from. The kid seemed a little deflated by Javi’s rejection. Perhaps he had hoped for stories of dramatic gunfights with Escobar’s men, of foiled car bombings and cocaine raids. 

If Stoddard was going to survive down here, he had to get used to disappointment. 

Javi finished his first whiskey and ordered another. That itch to smoke was back; he’d spent so many nights in here, with Murphy or Carrillo, smoking until his throat hurt and talking about La Catedral or how to force Escobar out of his hole. 

Murphy was gone, playing happy families with Connie and Olivia in Miami. 

Carrillo was dead, his widow back in Madrid with her son. 

So Javier drank alone, and tried to ignore the desire for nicotine. A glance over his shoulder told him that the cute brunette from earlier was still sneaking peeks at him, and he tried to talk himself out of it. Sleeping with his staff would be a bad look for the new DEA attaché on his first day. 

Just as he was about to slip off his barstool and talk to her, he found the seat beside him being pulled out and occupied. 

Not by a cute brunette; by an overweight, balding man who looked fresh out of the jungle, still in khaki pants and heavy boots. 

“Pretty girl. Poor taste in men though.” Stechner said, making himself comfortable in the seat beside Javier. “It’s nice to see you back, Agent Peña.” Javi very much doubted that. Ever since Stechner’s appointment as the CIA station chief down here, he’d rubbed Javi up the wrong way, and the feeling had apparently been mutual. 

“Heard you signed off on me coming back.” Javi said, trying not to let his surprise show. It had taken him by surprise to hear it, especially after the CIA man had put the skids under Messina. Not that Javi had liked Messina, but there was something that rankled about the CIA being able to dispense with his former boss. 

“Did indeed. You’re no sap, Peña; you know what the deal is down here. You know Escobar wasn’t a win, no matter how much the brass back home said it was. The same, please.” Stechner ordered his drink with the same casual tone as he spoke to Javi. 

It was the tone of a man confident that he was always seven steps ahead of whoever he was talking to, and it made Javi grit his teeth.

“The fuck is that supposed to mean?” Javi would get into incalculable trouble for starting a barfight with the CIA station chief, but it was an enjoyable thought nevertheless. His steady calm was in direct opposition to the rising annoyance that was trying to crawl its way up Javi’s throat.

He almost missed the days when Steve had been the loose cannon; it had forced him to be more measured. 

“What was accomplished, Javier? Thousands of Colombians died, and coke’s still flooding American streets by the ton.” Stechner took his drink from the bartender and took a slow sip. 

“Oh, come on. You don’t care about American streets or dead Colombians.” Point of fact, Javi doubted Stechner cared much about anything. At that, Stechner gave a mirthless little chuckle. 

“Point being, Peña, we can’t afford another bloodbath. No swallowing the spider to catch the fly this time. America has plans for Colombia; blood in the water will just gum up the works.” Stechner said this like it was the most obvious thing in the world, that somehow Javier had been responsible for the bloodbath and it had now fallen to William J. Stechner to tidy up after him. 

“So what’s the play?” 

“Surrender. The negotiations are all silk so far, and has the seal of approval from those muckety-mucks in DC.” 

“And these fucking guys just breeze?” 

“After handing over the keys to the biggest coke racket in history. Hell, the biggest racked in history full stop. Far as I’m concerned, the DEA can even take the credit.” As gestures go, it’s as hollow as a log, and it’s all Javier can do to stop himself from rolling his eyes. 

“So what do you need me for?”

“The dashing DEA agent who took down Escobar? Helps to have a hero along for the ride. The godfathers’ will serve some time, most likely.” There was that word again, hero. Coming from Stechner, it just sounds like an insult, and Javi isn’t sure if that’s worse.

“And that’s enough for you? Sending them up the river for a spell?” 

“If there were any justice in this world, Javier, you’d be in jail. That op your guys are running in Cali tonight? It’ll come up snake eyes. All you’ll get for the trouble of going after Cali are more stiffs.” With that, Stechner drained what was left of his drink and left, with a pat of Javi’s shoulder that smacked with condescension. 

Javier had every intention of making tracks, the bar no longer feeling so welcoming. He truly meant to, finishing his own drink and tucking a few bills under the empty glass. But then, as he stood, he caught the eye of the cute brunette. 

Fuck. 

* * *

It had been a struggle for you not to press your nose up against the window of the cab as you were driven through Bogotá that first night that you arrived. On its high plateau in the Andes, Bogotá was cooler than you had anticipated, a look of rain in some of the clouds up above. 

Part of you wanted to send the cab ahead with your luggage so you could roam the streets for yourself. Neon lights glittered everywhere, people spilled out of bars and night markets and onto the pavements, the whole city so vibrantly alive in front of you. 

You had only read about it in Sierra’s dispatches; seeing it for yourself was another experience entirely, and you didn’t want to waste a single second of it. 

The car paused in traffic, and you stared out of your window at the bar directly across from you. A neon blue sign flickering above the door revealed it as La Social. You wanted to climb out, to go to the bar and order yourself a drink and start exploring immediately. 

But before you could work up the courage to jump out of the car, the traffic started moving again, carrying you closer to your destination. 

The Telegraph had leased an apartment for Sierra not far from the US Embassy, a two-bedroom affair that sounded far nicer than your own tiny apartment that you barely afforded on your meagre salary. Still, the paper was footing the bills, so you were happy to take advantage while you could. 

From the bag next to you, you pulled out the new leather notebook you had bought and squinted at the notes you had made in the light of the streetlamps you passed. 

What was on the tapes worth killing Pastrana for? 

Who has them now? 

Why?

It wasn’t much. But it was a start.

Taglist: @lannister-slings-and-arrows, @zeldasayer, @coffeeandtodd, @lokiaddicted, @yespolkadotkitty, @steeeeeeeviebb, @pascalisthepunkest​, @pascalesque​ . Let me know if you would like to be tagged!

[reginaofdoctorwho]

ok so i started this as a draft days ago and barely remember where i was going with this idea but i tried to fill it out a little more. basically it’s just that anytime Curt says he misses being a spy he misses being a spy with Owen or the spy he was with Owen. so probably everything is what everyone knows already

Curt ties being a spy with Owen. completely, intrinsically, whatever, okay?? in Spy Again Curt says “Owen would want me to do this”, and lists

hop in a jet and fly again

grow a spine again

do my best not to cry again

wear a suit and tie again

drink martinis and drive again

get by again

feel like a real important guy again

as what he’s going to do as a spy. let’s check off what happens before Owen’s reveal (i’m trying to include some)

hop in a jet and fly again

grow a spine again

do my best not to cry again (i’m trying to be nice here he’s probably doing his best despite what happens)

wear a suit and tie again (literally part of the mission)

drink martinis and drive again (he’s sobering up)

get by again (barely my dude)

feel like a real important guy again

which, decent, but our dude is also having gay flashbacks, messing up a very simple and clear mission, and mistakes flirting for fighting (to quote my friend “Amelie” “he’s,,, so bad at pretending to be straight”) this all being with him having been one of the greatest spies, to the point of recognition years after he retired.

and post Owen’s reveal

hop in a jet and fly again (we’re going to count whatever that in

grow a spine again

do my best not to cry again

wear a suit and tie again (i mean he doesn’t need it??)

drink martinis and drive again (ok i don’t know maybe?? he does shots before and THEN chases Owen and then he’s drinking whiskey when he meets with Tatiana)

get by again

feel like a real important guy again (look at him at the end

more below the cut because this is already long and it’s going to be even longer

Okay, to be more in depth, (this’ll sound like a lot of my other posts) at the beginning Curt Mega is truly a great spy. yes, he was captured by Oleg, but the entire interaction with him Curt is still in control. he mocks Oleg, breaks his fingers, hits the bat back at him, all while holding a conversation (and flirting) with Owen. he’s confident the entire time, he’s willing to go against plans and is overconfident to a fault. While Cynthia is somewhat rude and pays more attention to Owen in the beginning (”finally someone who knows what the hell they’re doing!”) but i think she’d treat him the same as Curt if he ever did decide to work for her. it’s partially a “bring in new talent” and partially a “keep the old talent from being overconfident” thing. i don’t think it’s an actual mark on what pre-fall Curt was like as an agent. but either way, their record was six minutes to get out of a building presumably set to explode (or implode. fuck if i know) and they were still both confident and eager to lower the time even more. and they would have accomplished it, if not for Owen falling. what i’m saying is pre-canon Curt was a very effective agent, was good at his job, and was likely almost never out of his depth.

in Spy Again, he’s talking about becoming a spy again, but he links this to Owen, believing that being a spy again would enable him to work past Owen’s death (”but maybe this time’ll be different, it might be what I need”). he’s haunted by the “memories” not “memory”, which could be taken as any time he and Owen worked together, not just when he died. he wants to be a spy, but even stating that and the things he misses about being a spy (above lists) starts to remind him of Owen (”and i know just where i’m goin’, me and my partner Owen!”). he sees himself post-fall, with his beard, alcoholism, and trying and failing to improve (”i do what i can, try to make a plan, to be a better man, but nothing seems to stick”) and again relates it to Owen (”Owen please, if you could see what’s become of me, what would you think?”). Curt decides Owen would want him to be a spy again (”i once was a spy. i think you’d want me to spy again”) and repeats it to make it stick (”Owen would want me to do this”), and that is what truly starts him off again. or so it would seem.

in his first mission back, Curt can’t start again. he has to talk himself into doing his job again (”looks like that someone has to be me. you came here to do this, so do the job, stop acting like a little pussy”), and then mostly rides along on what Tatiana does anyway (”i second that motion!) a far cry from the beginning Curt who did his job eagerly. and we are again reminded that Curt was a great spy when Sergio recognizes Curt on sight and says “is that Agent Curt Mega? ... i can’t believe this, the most famous spy in the world busting my arms deal. hey, would you mind signing something...” followed by DMA immediately being able to disarm Curt with ease, showing the contrast. Curt does recognize the baked goods are the way to hurt Sergio, but also loses the bomb to Tatiana

Curt is, at this point, still waiting [in a way] for a partner. it is not implied in the beginning that he and Owen worked together every mission, rather the opposite in fact (“MI6 didn’t tell me you were on this mission”), but he still seems to almost expect a partner, and goes off what Tatiana says even though they’re not working together, and they both train their weapons on the baked goods.

Cynthia points out that he’s been on an early retirement for four years, which Curt is very quick to correct as a grieving period. his hands shake during Cynthia’s drill, he fumbles the gun, and he has none of the grace or style of the beginning. when Cynthia mentions Owen and Curt’s alcoholism (”i remember when i got the call that Owen died and you lived, i screamed into Susan’s neck for fifteen seconds, then i locked it up and moved on. you on the other hand, you drank yourself to rock bottom...”) Curt doesn’t even look at her. when she poisons him, he’s still able to repeat back (in essence) what she said, showing that the spy of the past is still there, deep down.

Eyes on the Prize II is the (i think) first time we see Gay Flashback-Owen. he is notably not slipping and dying, as would likely be going through Curt’s head if he were haunted by that specific memory alone (going back to the “haunted by any memory of Owen”) thing i mentioned, but is instead also saying “keep your eyes on the prize” with the ensemble, again lining up Owen with Curt’s idea of being a spy.

during the casino scene Curt is clumsy with his acting, and is trying to get information from Tatiana (it’s all very awkward. “make it a white russian, hold the vodka, please, thank you so much” “excellent choice. one vodka martini bone dry, and one glass of cream”), but as soon as another person joins it (Dick Big), the relationship between them turns from enemies trying to get information from the other to an uneasy team (”i’m hardly alone, the woman and i were just about to-”), with Curt even giving a russian toast, and although Tatiana definitely notices when Curt is given a gun by the dealer, she politely declines to mention it, and when Curt offers her his arm while Dick is off finding a waiter, she smiles. and while it could be argued that it is just them working undercover, this did feel more genuine than when they are alone and back in their assumed positions (”besides, without that horrible face fungus, what will i have to yank?” “we are talking about fighting, right?”) Tatiana also recognizes that Curt is alone in more ways than one, both without backup and without anyone he can trust fully. in the short time they’ve been together, they already are close enough to friends that Tati apologizes for bringing him to DMA

despite the two of them being on opposite sides during this encounter, they are already beginning to act as partners/friends, and Curt takes her betrayal more personally than he should have

i’d also like to take this moment to point out that DMA almost instinctively stabs the Nazi henchman for saying “seems his noggin’s a bit dense!” of Curt

during Torture Tango, it seems like he’s having a natural reaction to getting tortured. Curt is nervous, he’s afraid, he’s ready to die (”you sick bastard, why don’t you just kill me already?”/”i can’t deny that i’m gonna die”). but this is NOT how the torture scene at the beginning went, even before he knew Owen was there. at the beginning scene Curt is arrogant, throwing Oleg’s words back at him, breaking his fingers, keeping a cool tone and staying in control the whole time. this time he barely talks to the DMA, he doesn’t fight back, he just accepts it. also, he sings “i once was a spy but i won’t be a spy again” and “thought i could say goodbye, but i can’t lie i wanna be a spy again” despite the fact that he is a spy again. he says he wants to be a spy again, but he already is a spy again, what he’s missing is Owen. he was once a spy with a partner he loved and could trust completely, and the partner felt the same way about him. that is what i believe enabled him to be such a good spy, he had someone who knew everything about him, being gay included, and he was able to act more confidently as a result. what he misses is less of the “go get the girl and go save the world” and more seeing his partner even for short periods and having the confidence that comes from being known. also, curt is on the verge of death and is still thinking of Owen (”doesn’t even matter if i killed my best friend”)

back to Tatiana, who’s having her own crisis. “is Mega my enemy do i let him die? i’ve got to think about my family ‘cause no one’s looking out for me...” she, at this point, has not interacted with Curt beyond the arms deal, the casino, and betraying him to von Nazi and DMA. despite this she still sees him as a possible ally, and ultimately does decide to betray von Nazi and DMA for him (to his understandable confusion). when she unties him, he only calms down when she holds her arm out to him, but he becomes so distracted by it and Gay Flashback-Owen that he doesn’t notice DMA is waking up until he’s already been shot.  i’d also like to point out that Gay Flashback-Owen is doing the same arm out pose Tatiana is doing while holding Curt’s arm

end of act 1. can i get a wahoo?

when Curt is with Barb, he acknowledges that he’s fucked things up, but still catches himself on saying he is a [great] spy again ”i was, i am, supposed to be the best”

i think during the gala he is trying to be the Curt from the past while ignoring why he was that way. he insists on going rogue, he confidently (and foolishly) announces that he is a spy, the prince will be assassinated, and that the Russians and Americans know, despite the fact that it doesn’t seem like a good idea if thought about at all. With blowing up the facility at the beginning there was some merit to it. they had been seen, they stole the plans and possibly wished to muddle why they were there, the facility might have had more plans they didn’t know about and they were already on a time limit. they also had a limit on the tech items they had (no rocket shoes :’( ).

when Tatiana rescues him again and takes him to his mother’s safe house, who mentions a “constant parade of drinking buddies, for poker or wrestling or whatever you boys do in the rumpus room” and while we could make an argument about Curt trying to move on after the fall, i think this youtube comment on the video is a fucking treasure and i will forever remember it.

i’d also like to point out now that Tatiana is truly the only character that i believe could “replace” Owen for Curt. he needs someone in his life who can know even the parts he hides from those closest to him, someone on equal footing with him, someone who doesn’t idolize him, and someone who works well with him. he can’t tell his mother, because she wants grandchildren, she wants a daughter-in-law, she wants to plan a wedding. it can’t be Cynthia, she’s his boss, it’s set during the Lavender Scare when he could lose his job for being gay. it can’t be Barb, who has an intense crush on him, and even when she does act in a platonic way, she is willing to risk her job based on the fact that it’s him (in an almost awestruck way). Tatiana is unimpressed with Curt when they first meet, they become friends quickly, work together to stop von Nazi and DMA, they are both spies at the top of the field, and she accepts him (”you’re cool with me?” “till the end!” “cool :)”). also, i think it’s interesting that Tatiana believes she is saving someone (her family) by leaving them behind, while Curt believed he killed someone (Owen his lover) by leaving them behind. just kinda parallels i think

before Doing This, Curt says he is is afraid that “[he’ll] never be the spy [he] once was” and that he believes he shouldn’t need anyone else. when Tatiana says he’ll get everyone who cares about him killed with his line of thinking he says the line “i already have.” explains about Owen, and adds “and that was back when I was the old Curt”.

during One More Shot, Curt acknowledges that he tried to get past missing Owen by trying not to need anyone else, which was wrong (“i used to think i could do this by myself i was fine, i didn't need any help“). this is him starting to take his friendship with Tati and being able to use it to see that while he cannot work alone, he doesn’t need one specific person to make him the man he is.

this of course promptly goes out the window when DMA is revealed to be Owen

however, Curt still calls Tatiana “partner” before going after Owen.

when he does go after Owen (One Step Ahead), he still thinks of Owen as the man from 1957 (”what happened to the man i knew?”). when Owen begins to explain, Curt tries to remind him of what they did “together. two of the greatest spies to ever live”. once again associating him and Owen together with being a spy

also, once Owen is dead (idk if i hope for real or not) again, Curt does make a change for the better. he’s able to be fairly confident around Cynthia, he tries to be enthusiastic about Barb’s tech/data analysis merge, he is able to talk about his “ex lover returned from the grave” with Tatiana. i do find it interesting though that he does not tell her about the other facilities, again taking it upon himself to fix it, and only telling her “give me a ring if you’re ever stateside”.

in a final moment, Curt is able to move on from Owen, and acknowledge “i once was a spy, i’ll always be a spy” with or without Owen.

[wiypt-writes]

Stark Spangled Banner

Ch 3. You Can Miss Something, But Not Want It Back

Summary: Steve opens up to Peggy about his feelings towards Katie and, after an emotionally charged afternoon, things heat up between the pair.  But it all goes horribly wrong.

Pairing: Steve Rogers X OFC Katie Stark

Warnings: Language! Angst and a pair of total dumbasses in love…

A/N: A huge thank you to @angrybirdcr​ for her lovely little edit below. She’s so talented!!!!

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar Katie Stark and the other OCs. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

Chapter 2

Stark Spangled Banner Masterlist // Main Masterlist

 April 2013

“You know, you need to find someone you can experience all this with.” Peggy looked at her picture frames on her nightstand. “So you can have as many memories as I do.” Her gaze returned to Steve and he wondered if she could possibly know about his feelings towards Katie, those feelings that had been growing stronger and stronger over the past few weeks.

And then when she asked the next question, he knew she did.

“How’s Miss Stark?” Peggy asked, her eyes twinkling and Steve looked at her as a wicked smile crossed her face. He rolled his eyes.

“Peg…”

“I’m just asking a question!” She teased.

“We’re just friends.” he sighed.

“Hmmm” the old lady said thoughtfully “Still a bloody idiot when it comes to women, I see.”

He shook his head, a small laugh escaping him.

“I can tell you like her, the way you talk about her.” she pressed

“I do, I like her a lot, but she’s my best friend. Nothing more.”

“Alright, I’ll take your word for it.” She lay back on the pillow. “Thousands wouldn’t.”

“Just a good I don’t need to convince thousands.” He leaned back in the chair, raising an eyebrow at her.

“No, just yourself.” She shot back and he sighed. “Talk to me Steve.” She pressed again and he took a deep breath.

“I don’t know, maybe…ok not maybe…I do like her you’re right, but it’s just so damn complicated.”

“Why?”

“We’re from different places, times.” he sighed, running a hand through his hair.

“Do you always have to be so dramatic?” She laughed

“You know, I’m getting tired of you calling me that.” He teased and Peggy laughed again.

“Because you are!” She shook her head. “Steve, I get it, you’re old…but, you’re not.” “Well that’s not confusing.” He rolled his eyes.

“What I mean is I have lived through these times, seen the world change, a lot of it for the better. Don’t let your life pass you by because you’ve still got one foot jamming open the door to the past”

“I know.” He popped a shoulder in resignation. “You know, sometimes I think it would be easier if I had my old life back, when times seemed a lot simpler.” “But then she wouldn’t be there.” Peggy raised her eyebrows. “You can miss something and not want it back, Steve. Just tell her how you feel, for goodness sake.”

“I don’t want to make an idiot of myself.” He shook his head. “If she doesn’t feel the same then-“

“Then at least you’ll know, and won’t live the rest of forever adding to that huge, great list of ‘what ifs’” the old woman shook her head “You’ve been given a second chance here Steve, don’t waste it. Barnes would be so mad at you right now.”

Steve had to fight a smile as he knew exactly what Buck would be saying if he were there.

“If you don’t ask her out, punk then I’m gonna…”

Suddenly a memory flashed in front of his eyes. The evening Peggy had walked into a pokey London boozer in that red dress, the one that had Bucky practically drooling and Steve’s crotch twitching slightly.

“I’m invisible…” Bucky moaned, turning back to the bar as she left, having just basically asked Steve to go dancing when the fighting was over.“I’m turning into you…”

“Never mind pal, maybe she has a friend…”

“You know, I’d like to see her again one day?” Peggy spoke, jerking him out of his thoughts “Katie, I mean.”

“Really?” he asked. Peggy had mentioned she had met Katie several times years ago, when she was a very small girl. Peggy and Howard had remained close until his death.

She nodded. “Especially if she’s as like Howard as you say.” “Alright, I’ll bring her in one day.” He said, before his phone beeped.

“When?” the old woman pressed.

“Were you always this impatient?” Steve quipped an eyebrow at her as he opened the message. It was a call in. He sighed “Soon, I promise.” He stood up. “Sorry Peg, I gotta go. Duty calls…”

*****

The mission was the retrieval of a stolen piece of Chitauri technology that had, according to Romanoff’s intelligence, been auctioned to some Arms traders operating out of Jordan. They were to intercept the piece of technology before turning over the dealers to the authorities. They were up against it time wise, and for that reason, everyone had boarded the jet with no real plan of what they were actually going to do, Steve had been thinking about it and studying the files since the jet took off and now he and Natasha had the bones of a strategy planned out, they just needed to flesh it out with the team.

“We’re at altitude.” Evans called from the cockpit. “Auto pilot engaged. ETA I hour 34.”

Everyone moved from their seats and crowded round the display as Natasha gave them a rundown of what they were up against.

“The main exits are here and here.” she span the blue prints round on the holodisplay. Katie frowned, her mind working fast “Evans and I can position ourselves here…” She pointed to the right of the screen. “That should give us a clear view of most of the grounds but there’s a blackspot here…” She moved her hand to the left, circling the bottom corner.

“Well we’ll just have to keep them away from there.” Steve said, and Katie glanced at him, his eyes flashing with humour. Their eyes remained locked, before Steve swallowed and he looked back round, clearing his throat. “There should be a clear run from where we touch down to the lawns.”

“Sure.” Katie nodded, making a show of looking at the detail, even though she wasn’t. Her mind was spinning. She’d been picking up signals from Steve for a few weeks now, signals that he might feel the same way as she did. The glances he gave her, the smile he would flash her that made her feel like there was no one else in the room. The gentle touches, the way he would lift her legs on movie nights so they were laying across his lap, how he would throw his arm round her when she’d lean into him, moments like the one that had just passed… but then, he made no effort to take things further and she wasn’t about to push him into anything. If there was something there, he had to decide, he had to make the decision he was ready to move forward. 

And Katie wasn’t sure he ever would be.

“Rumlow, I want a STRIKE perimeter set up around the site. Cover that blackspot.” Steve looked at Rumlow who nodded. "The weapon is our main priority, but I want a clean sweep so they don’t have chance to do this again. Then I want you and Rollins with me and Romanoff inside to flush them out. Stark, Evans you to take down anyone who looks like they might break the perimeter, non-lethal if you can.”

Katie turned to Evans who nodded at her, the pair of them sharing a fist bump as he winked at her. Evans was a brilliant partner, and a good friend at that too. They worked well together.

The rest of the journey was spent pouring over blue prints, and once they reached the point where they could land safely, everyone was confident they were prepared as much as they could be. Whether that would be enough, was a different question.  

Natasha and Steve slinked off into the shadows, heading to the building. There were two armed guards on the door but they had the element of surprise and took them out easily.

“Ok, we’re in…” Steve spoke. “Get ready, as soon as they see us they’ll make a run for it.”

Katie listened from her vantage point, a tall oak tree that overhung the South East side of the property, rifle trained, ready.

“I count six.” Natasha spoke

“At least three are armed.” Rumlow added

“Any sign of the weapon?” Katie asked.

“Negative…”

Katie kept her attention on the spot she was covering, and had to fight the giggle that threatened to erupt in her throat when she heard Steve utter, quite possibly, the cheesiest line he could have come out with when their team burst into the room.

“Auction is over Gentlemen. Where’s the Weapon?”

There was a split second and then all hell broke loose. Gun fire erupted in the ears of everyone listening on the coms along with the familiar sound of vibranium clanging off surfaces and people alike.

“One is making a break for it.” Rumlow yelled and Katie stiffened, raising her rifle slightly “Along with a case, it must be the weapon.”

“In pursuit.” Nat responded.“

He’s armed.” Steve shot back. “Someone cover her.” More gunfire and clanging rang out as Katie watched the door she was covering, not once breaking her line of sight. Suddenly it burst open and the man with the case flew out, shortly followed by a shock of red hair. But as Katie watched, her sharp eyes picked up movement in the shadow and someone barrelled at Natasha taking her down.

“Shit! Romanoff’s got company!”

“I’m handling it.” The red head grunted, jumping up.

Katie paused, before remembering the main operative.

“I’ve got no shot.” Evans spoke in her ear and Katie wheeled round locating the man in her sight. She cocked her gun, exhaled sharply, and pulled the trigger. Seconds later he hit the floor, clutching at his knee.

“Hostile down.” she informed, allowing herself a little smug smile before her attention turned to Natasha, who now had her target in a choke hold. He went limp and then she released him, dropping him.

“Well handled Widow.” Katie quipped.

“You do know that I can kill a man in twenty different ways, using just my hands, right?” Natasha replied, making her way over to the man with a bullet in his knee cap.

“Twenty?” Katie muttered, “I can think of, what, like eight, max?”

“Clearly you lack imagination, Nova.”

Once Steve was happy that the inside was clear and everyone was rounded up and secured, he made his way outside and headed over to where Natasha was kneeling over the briefcase. She opened it and grinned up at Steve, the black, silver and purple metal shining back up at them.

“The package is secure.” Steve smiled at Natasha, “Alright, Good job team. Rumlow, tell the Authorities they can move in, clear this lot up.”

“Sure Cap.”

“She’s good.” Natasha watched Katie join Evans where he was crossing the lawn, the two exchanging a hi-five before they made their way back to the jet.

“Yeah she is.” Steve nodded, allowing his eyes to follow Katie for a moment a she walked across the grounds.

“When you gonna ask her on a date?” Nat asked, turning to him as he picked up the case and they made their way back to join their team, the local police now swarming the place meant they were no longer needed.

“Seriously?” Steve looked at the red head rolling his eyes. “We’re in the middle of an op and you ask me that?”

“Well first off the op is over and second off I’m just trying to help. I see the way you look at her, like there’s no one else in the room.”

Steve floundered for a response. Was he really that obvious, or was Natasha simply that observant? He settled for a shake of the head, and an exasperated sigh. “You were trying to fix me up with someone from accounts not long ago.”

“Yeah that was before I decided Stark is a better match “ She shrugged, walking up the ramp to the jet.

Thankfully, Steve was spared responding as the jet was loud with cheering, the team all crowding Katie, taking turns to slap her back and congratulate her on a shot well taken.

Katie couldn’t help but grin as she removed her utility vest, before holding her hands up “Thanks but it was a team effort.” She felt a hand drop on her shoulder and she turned to Steve.

“If you hadn’t taken that shot he would have got away.” He looked at her. “All in a day work Cap.” she smiled.

“I mean it. You’re the best shooter I’ve seen since Buck.” He gave her shoulder a squeeze before instructing Evans to get them back to base.

As they flew back, Rumlow was engaging Katie in a conversation about a date he had had the previous weekend. Steve wasn’t really listening, but as Katie threw her head back in a genuine laugh at something Rumlow had said, gently nudging the man in the arm, it felt like someone was digging knives into his chest as the waves of jealousy crashed over him.

He glanced over at Romanoff who raised an eyebrow at him having seen the exchange and mouthed the word “just fucking ask her” and he looked away, irritated.

Steve wasn’t a chauvinist by any means, but he’d had enough that day of women telling him what to do.

*****

May 2013

The start of May brought with it a week of nothing but rain. And it was during this week that Fury dropped a bombshell on Steve. The Smithsonian wanted to curate an exhibit about him, and SHIELD along with the Government thought it would be a good idea. Steve wasn’t entirely sure how he felt to be honest. He knew the world was fascinated with Captain America, but he wasn’t sure how he felt about them knowing about him, about Steve Rogers.

So this was how he’d ended up taking a trip down memory lane in an office at the Triskellion, surrounded by boxes of his belongings that had all been in storage, things he had long forgotten he had. He’d found his mother’s old ring, the one his father had bought her when they left Ireland, a St Christopher’s pendant that had belonged to his father, a few books which Katie told him were first editions and probably worth a fortune, a couple of old records, a stash of Photos which Katie was currently digging through and something that made his breath catch when his hand closed around it. His compass, the one containing Peggy’s photo.

“Steve.” Katie spoke and he looked at her. She gestured him over and he obliged as she held out the photo for him. He glanced down, a small smile crossing his face as he looked down at the photo of him and Bucky, both in their uniforms, laughing.  “Can you remember what you were laughing at?” she asked him.

“They had us doing this info documentary type thing, for the people back home.” He cleared his throat, taking the photo. “We were laughing at how utterly ridiculous and staged the whole thing was, like we would ever let press near our actual ops.”

Katie reached for the next photo and this one made her heart stop completely. Steve was on the left, looking at something that the man to his right was showing him on a screen. And that man needed no introduction.

“Dad…” she breathed out as Steve peered over her shoulder.

“He was a good man your father” Steve smiled as he thought of Howard “If a little… wild.”

“Wild? Dad?” She raised her eyebrow

“Yeah, he errr, liked to fondue…” Steve said, as he thought back to that conversation when he had thought fondue was some kind of innuendo for what Stark and Peggy got up to on their private time

“It’s just bread and cheese my friend…” Howard had said, clapping him on the shoulder.

“Really? But I thought…“

"Well that’s your first mistake pal. The minute you think you know what’s going on a woman’s mind is the moment your goose is well and truly cooked…”

“Wow, melted cheese…what a rebel” Katie snorted sarcastically.

 “Well I thought it was…never mind,” he shrugged, absentmindedly turning over the compass in his hand and he opened it, glancing down at the photo inside for the first time in almost seventy years.

“Peggy?” Katie asked, looking down at the compass

“Yeah” he snapped it shut and then looked at her, deciding that the time was right. He wanted to take her to see Peggy. Not just because Peggy had asked him to, but because he wanted to. “Would you like to meet her?”

“Me?” Katie asked, surprise in her voice.

“Well yeah, you’re a big part of my life now and I know she’d love to see you again”

“I’d be honoured.” Katie replied, and she meant it. Peggy had been important to her father, and she was curious to meet the woman that had held her best friend’s heart. Steve beamed back at her, thrilled by her answer and as their eyes locked, he felt that warm feeling as the butterflies in his stomach woke up.

******

They sorted his belongings into three separate categories- things for the museum, some more stuff to take back to his apartment, and the remainder to go back to storage, before they headed over town to see Peggy. Giving Katie assurances he wouldn’t be long, Steve entered the room first, leaving Katie, who was feeling quite nervous, waiting outside.

She didn’t know where the nerves were coming from, after all she had met Peggy when she was a young child, but that was before she knew who she was. Back then she’d simply been a lady that worked with her daddy, and now she knew the truth.

Inside the room Steve quickly told Peggy where he had been and she smiled when he told her about the museum and the photos, quipping that she would quite like to see that when it was all open.

“That is if they ever let me out of this place. I swear breaking out of Alcatraz would be easier.”

He chuckled at her joke. “Well, today I brought someone to you so you don’t have to plan an escape just yet.”

The old woman instantly brightened up and beamed up at him. "Katie?”

Steve smiled at her excitement and nodded “Yeah.”

“Well don’t leave me waiting, again!” Peggy shooed him to the door and he stood up, opening it. Katie spun to face him, her hands wringing each other and he gave her what he hoped was an encouraging smile.

“Come on.” He held the door open. Katie took a deep breath, quelling her nerves and stepped into the room, Steve’s hand gently falling to her back as he guided her over to a seat by the bed.

It was easy for Katie to see that Peggy Carter had been a good looking, powerful woman in her day. Her eyes were bright, hair set in bouncy curls and she had a sort of regal quality emanating from her. She shrewdly eyed the brunette, before she chuckled and looked at Steve.

“Good grief!” Peggy smiled, looking back at Katie “Forgive me my dear, but you really do have that Stark look about you, but an awful lot of your mother too.”

Katie relaxed instantly and smiled back. “So I’ve been told. It’s an honour to meet you ma’am, again. I’ve heard so much about you.” “Please, call me Peggy” she smiled reaching for her hand “And I’m so pleased to see you again, it’s been a long time.”

Katie smiled, taking Peggy’s hand as the old woman continued.

“Steve talks about you a lot.” Peggy smiled and Katie glanced up at Steve, raising an eyebrow as he inwardly groaned, taking a deep breath.

 “Peggy…” he warned, somewhat exasperatedly.

“What?” she asked innocently “I’m just saying…” she turned to look at Katie “Steve says you’ve been a good friend to him since he came out of the ice. I’m glad he’s had someone.” “He’s a good friend to me.” Katie replied, smiling “Keeps me on the straight and narrow.”

“You mean I try to.” Steve teased, and he saw Peggy smile as he was sure Katie was rolling her eyes “She’s a law unto herself this one Peg, not unlike you were!”

“He’s very sensible.” Peggy loudly whispered to Katie, before the old woman levelled Steve with a look, her eyes flashing mischievously. “But I want to know, Steven, why on earth haven’t you taken this gorgeous young lady dancing yet?”

Steve groaned and looked at Katie, feeling the heat rush up his neck and into his cheeks as he could do nothing but mouth the word sorry. Katie’s cheeks also flushed a shade of pink and he looked away as he replied, dodging the question.

 “I can’t dance…you know that.”

“Everyone can dance, they just need the right partner.” Peggy looked at him, eyes locking onto his meaningfully. He swallowed again and Katie instantly picked up on his discomfort, she wasn’t stupid, the dancing thing clearly meant something and unless she was mistaken Peggy was implying something to do with her. Katie took pity on him and decided to save him his embarrassment so she spoke, breaking the moment.

“Well I won’t be much of a teacher, I’ve got two left feet.” she said, casually causing Steve to smile slightly shooting her a side glance.

*****

Steve would be lying if he said he hadn’t been slightly worried about introducing the woman who had been his first love to the girl he was harbouring feelings for now, but he needn’t have worried. Katie had laughed and joked with the old woman, often at his expense but he hadn’t minded. In fact, he had enjoyed it.

But that’s what Katie did. She made people feel better, at ease, knew what to say and when to say it.

And he’d decided there and then, buoyed by how well the meeting had actually gone, he was going to ask her out on a date. Today had brought everything into focus for him. Peggy was right, he couldn’t move forward and take the second chance life had given him if he had one foot in the past, one eye over his shoulder, and one part of his brain constantly wondering about what could have been.

Katie, meanwhile was locked in her own thoughts. The meeting with Peggy had put her slightly on edge. Not because of the old woman, in fact it had been amazing to meet her, but something about Steve changed as they left the Nursing Home. It was almost as if he was putting up a guard. She told herself it was normal, he was bound to feel confused after visiting his old flame and the whole thing with the museum, but part of her couldn’t shake off the feeling he was hiding something, and she didn’t like it.

She wasn’t an idiot. Steve and her had grown closer over the last few months and she knew to many it would be considered more than what you would dub a normal platonic relationship. She also knew, however, that he had ghosts in his past unlike any she’d ever dealt with before, which was what was making this entire situation ridiculously complicated.

She was pleased to see, however, that as they neared his apartment he relaxed and suggested that watch a film. They were still discussing which one as they climbed the three flights to his apartment.

“No.” He immediately deadpanned when she suggested watching the remaining Saw ones before he rolled his eyes when he clocked her grin. He hated those films, and she knew it. “Why don’t we start Star Wars? We never did get round to it…”

“Providing you don’t start the debate about which episode we begin with because if so I’m not sure I can be bothered trying to explain it again…” “I just don’t understand why you don’t start with one.” he took the opportunity to tease her as he slid the key into his lock.

“Because you don’t.” She said exasperatedly and he smirked at how easy it was to rile her when it came to films. ”It ruins the surprise and plot lines. You go Episode Four, Five and Six, then we hit One, Two and Three….”

They both turned as his neighbour, Kate walked onto the landing, bag over her shoulder, clutching a pile of mail.

“Hi Steve.” She smiled, unlocking her door.

“Hi Kate.” He greeted her back before he turned to Katie, who he realised had never met the woman before “This is my neighbour. Kate this is,”

“Katie.” she extended her hand, smiling politely.

“Katie Stark, I recognised you…sorry.”

“It’s fine” she said, still smiling. There was a pause and the faint sound of a phone could be heard.

“Sorry… I gotta’ get that.” Kate said quickly making her way into her apartment. “Goodnight Steve.”

“Night Kate.” He said in response. When he turned back around Katie was waiting, smirking at him.

“You’re as bad as Natasha.” He rolled his eyes, closing the door behind them as she stood front of him, kicking off her shoes.

“What you mean?” She asked walking through the small cloak area and into the hall way, heading straight for the kitchen.

“She keeps trying to set me up on dates” he sighed watching as Katie pulled two beers from his fridge.

“Who with?” Katie asked, frowning slightly, and she felt her neck and ears growing warm as the green eyed monster stirred.

“Pretty much anyone she can.” He snorted as they walked back into the living area.

“And none of them are…” She pressed, and he sighed.

“No.”

“Can I ask you something?” Katie sat next to him.

“If I say no are you gonna ask me anyway?” He looked at her. “Yeah.” She said after a pause. He snorted and gestured for her to go ahead.

“Peggy and you…how far did you actually get…I mean…”

Oh Jesus…

He contemplated brushing this one off, but then he realised he couldn’t lie to her, and he didn’t want to.

“We were supposed to go dancing.” He said gently, turning to face her, his right hand curling over the back of the sofa and she immediately understood then what that moment in the Nursing Home had been about. “Like on a date. I’d never been before, never found me the right person. And then I ended up in the ice before we got the chance.” He paused shook his head, “I know it’s dumb but…”

“It’s not Steve.”  Katie replied, and at that she felt the tears prick her eyes. The emotion of the day completely overwhelming her. This man, this wonderful man had been denied the opportunity to live his life how he should. Robbed of his best friend, his love and all because he’d done what he could to keep people safe, serve his country.

“Hey.” He frowed as he noticed she was getting upset. “What is it? What’s wrong, Doll?”

“I hate that all that happened to you.” she shook her head softly. “That you never got chance to do all those things, that you never got your dance or your happily ever after. You deserve more.”

“Katie.” he sighed, gently wiping away a tear that fell down her face with his thumb. “Taking that plane down was my choice. Don’t cry over it, please. I hate seeing you upset.”

And he did. Her face was made for smiles, her eyes should be happy and shining, not full of tears. “Sorry.” She dipped her head, and then, before he could stop himself, Steve reached out gently and his finger tilted her face back up to look at him.

Ocean blue met emerald green, and Steve felt his insides coil tightly like a spring as Katie’s eyes bounced across both of his, the distance between them growing shorter, and shorter…

And then there was a knock on the door. Steve closed his eyes, let out a sigh and unfolded himself off the couch. Cursing internally all the way to the door, Steve wrenched it open a little harshly and took a deep breath at the blonde at the other side.

“Sorry to interrupt…” Kate said, handing him a letter “But this was in the pile of mail I got before.”

“Oh, thanks…”

“Enjoy your film.” Kate smiled and Steve nodded. “Have a good evening.”

The door clicked shut and Steve turned and headed past the doorway to the lounge and into kitchen, dropping the bill on the side. He rest his hands, palms flat on the cool surface of the kitchen counter, hanging his head slightly and taking a deep breath. He was in deep.

“I’m gonna head home.” Katie spoke and he turned to look at her, his face falling. He didn’t want her to go. But instead of telling her that he merely nodded.

“Okay.”

Without another word she turned and left, leaving Steve stood alone in his flat, rooted to the spot, disappointment an anger lancing through his body like red hot pokers.

Outside the rain had started again, so Katie didn’t waste any time in getting to her car. She’d wanted nothing more than for Steve to ask her to stay, to prove to her that he wasn’t merely swept up in the emotion of the day, but he hadn’t. Which was all the answer to her unasked question she needed. They both had baggage, she knew that, but Steve Rogers came with an entire fucking suitcase.

She managed to start the engine before she felt the tears spring forth. Slamming her head against the head rest in frustration she wiped at her face.

She was in deep, and she had no idea what she was doing to do about it.

***** Chapter 4

**Original Posting**

[juliettalfacharlie]

Day 4, alt: Visiting a Grave

CW graphic death, gun violence, suicide, acceptance of death, and drugs.

The previous two years, she'd shaken with emotion. First with anger, then grief. Anniversaries weren't necessarily special dates; they weren't anything she looked forward to or dreaded, but it was still jarring to realize how much time had passed. She'd experienced a minute of disbelief when she first recognized it'd been a year since her wife was with her.

It was customary in the Earth Kingdom to show respect only towards elders. When parents lost their children, no vigils were held, for it wasn't acceptable to honour those your junior.

It was a practice that thankfully hadn't taken roots in Republic City. Kya wouldn't have cared, regardless. She was hurting, damnit, and that wasn't lessoned because Lin was three years younger than she.

Now, 1,095 days past her lover's death, Kya was finally in a place of peace. Not with Lin's killer, or the circumstances surrounding it. She didn't believe she'd ever accept that.

The two had been walking out to their car after an evening dinner, and Lin sensed an altercation a block away. Kya sat in the Satomobile while Lin cautiously neared, concerned over a potential mugging or assault. It hadn't felt like anything serious, especially compared to what both women had already seen.

Lin used her seismic sense when she'd crossed half the distance, seeing two figures. One was pressed against the wall, the target, while the other stood in front of them, the instigator.

She treaded as quietly as possible, peeking around the corner to assess the situation.

There were two men, both tall and muscular. The assailant held something Lin originally believed to be a small baton, but as it caught light from the streetlamps, Lin saw it was a handgun. They weren't exceedingly common, due to being new inventions that were quite costly, but the amount of nonbenders in Republic City meant they were more concentrated here compared to other nations.

Lin desperately wished for her old spool of cables, but she'd retired them fifteen years prior, and they'd been gifted to the top metalbending prospect at the time of her departure.

The weapon was pointed at the victim, so any surprise attack risked him firing. She instead went for a civil approach, calling from behind the corner, "Step away and put your weapon down." she instructed, hearing his loud gasp.

"Who's there? Don't come close or I'll shoot!" the attacker yelled. His voice was strained, likely from fear.

"You haven't done anything yet, kid. Just set the gun on the floor, and we can talk about it." she replied, using a tone of placating authority. She displayed power without intimidation; the other man was acting on pure emotions, he needed to feel like he had an ally.

"I don't want to talk. That's not going to do shit to bring back my brother." he said, and Lin heard a head hit the concrete wall.

"Killing someone else won't either. It's also not going to make you feel the pain any less. The only thing it'll accomplish is ending your own life as well." she told him, voice softening just slightly. One constant in life would always be violence, and there would always be people hurt by it. Lin stepped around the corner, hands up in submission.

The gunman yelped, swinging the weapon towards her. "Hey, I know you! You're a cop!" he said, and Lin had a full view of his face. He was young; not boyishly so, but somewhere in his early 20's.

"I'm not an officer anymore, but the experience I have means I know exactly how this can end up. I don't want to see that happen to you; there's so much left to experience." she told him, calm under his pressure.

His hands trembled just so, eyes full of pain. "There would have been if it weren't for him!" he yelled, turning his head to the other man.

His face was bloody but he looked otherwise unharmed. "It's not my fault the idiot overdosed, I just gave him the shit." he argued, and the young man clenched more firmly around the gun.

Lin intervened quickly, taking attention off of the loudmouthed dealer, "I know what it's like to lose a sibling. My younger sister. My mom took her side, so it felt like I was entirely alone, but I found joy in my job. In my hobbies and friends. It made that pain feel much more manageable, and I couldn't be happier right now." she explained, eyes not straying from his face.

"I don't have any of that. I just had him." he said, shaking his head.

"For a long time I didn't either. I held onto my anger for decades, and it prevented me from fully enjoying myself. I don't want that to happen to someone else," she told him, "It wasn't until I was 52, actually, until I let that go. I didn't get closure, and the people who hurt me never apologized, but I saw how much harm it had done to me. Shortly after, I started talking to the woman I came to marry. She's the best person I know; beautiful, kind, insightful, she brought out the best parts in me, and I found myself wanting to be happy for her.

"If it's too difficult to feel joy with yourself, would you pity an old woman and feel it for me? I promise you, this hopelessness isn't permanent." Lin said, watching as the man slowly relaxed his grip and lowered the weapon.

"How about you start by telling me about him, hm?" she encouraged. He kept the weapon up, pointed at her knee, but his shoulders had dropped.

"His name was Mingyu. I was eight when he was born, and I was so excited. We didn't have a lot of money, and mom and dad were always working, so I had to look after him instead of going to school.

"I taught him what I had learned, and he was so smart. I got a job to make sure he could go to school when he turned 6. He was so good at kuai ball.

"We lost our dad this year, and Yu took it so hard. I was too busy with my job to see it, but he at school he started- why didn't I just-" the man finally lowered the gun, eyes welling up.

"Kids make mistakes. It's not your fault that Mingyu slipped." Lin told him, taking a cautious step forward.

The man didn't respond, so she continued to close the distance.

Lin straightened, feeling the distinct thud of metal-soled boots. The police had been called before she showed up.

"Hey, give me the gun and we can keep talking." She urged, and he looked up at her, startled by her change in tone.

"RCPD, hands where I can see them!" an officer behind her bellowed. Lin felt a pit open in her stomach, watching the emotions flash across the man's face.

In a moment the gun was back up, four feet away and aimed right between her eyes. "You lied to me!" he shouted, and pulled the trigger.

Kya had heard the shot, and immediately she knew what had happened. She felt a tug in her soul, similar to the feeling when her mother passed, and she sat in the passengers seat for hours, unable to move.

The man who murdered Lin was only 22. His name was Han. He ended up receiving life in prison for killing the former police chief, compared to the 30 he would have gotten if he killed the drug dealer, but he instead hanged himself in his holding cell. He was survived solely by his mother, and Kya deeply pitied her, but it was because of her son that she was now a widow.

It was unbelievable to imagine Lin losing her life there, in the alleyway fifteen years retired from the police force, instead of the dozen times she'd been severely injured, or the hundreds where she'd faced worse danger. Kya forgot, sometimes, in the beginning. She'd return to the empty house and think Lin must be in the backyard, or wake up in a cold bed expecting the smell of Lin's favoured morning tea, tieguanyin, to have permeated upstairs.

Kya had been so achingly raw with pain. She'd felt nothing like it before, where the jagged edges of her grief made her lash out instead, but for months she hated Lin for having left her. Spirits damn her noble nature.

After five months the wounds finally soothed, but she'd been terribly surprised to feel its return when she visited Lin's grave a year past her demise.

She then felt guilt over her reaction; Lin had told her countless times how Kya had "saved" her. Shown her love, and helped her realize to be cared for wasn't negative. Kya wished so desperately just to speak to her once more. To thank her for all that she gave, and ensure Lin knew how deeply she'd been loved.

The second anniversary was when she felt sorrow, but in the past year she'd received news that wasn't altogether bad. It made the third occurrence pass with far less grief.

Kya had been experiencing chest pains and severe shortness of breath. From her own diagnosis, she surmised her heart was giving out, but a healer in the city confirmed it with ease. There wasn't too much surprise given her age, approaching 84, her lifestyle, not always the healthiest, and the compounding emotional experiences she'd weathered.  While she'd never looked forward to death, she found that she was ready for it whenever the time came.

It was almost freeing, sitting in front of Lin's grave without the cloud of overwhelming emotion. She didn't visit her final resting place except for this anniversary, as she'd been buried in the Beifong family's tomb all the way in the Earth Kingdom. Lin had been rigid on tradition that way, even if Toph insisted against it and Su planned to start her own in Zaofu. Kya had only wanted to honour her wishes; being with her mortal body didn't give her a particular sense of closeness. She sensed Lin at random moments regardless of her location, which had been one hint she hadn't yet chosen reincarnation. Her spirit had remained hidden despite thorough searching in the Spirit World, but Kya knew she was only waiting for Kya's time.

And with it nearing, for the first time she faced the gilded headstone with a glimmer of hope.

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

The Worry

The Pool | The Difference | The Notes | The Fear | The Thought | The Question | The Walk | The Ordeal | Masterlist Pairing: Benny ‘Borracho’ Magalon x Reader Rating: Explicit - 18+ only

Warnings: The next two chapters will deal with pregnancy, societal pressure around pregnancy, and concerns around pregnancy! I’ve CW’d them for that in the tags!! If you need me to add any additional tags, please let me know. I’m not a doctor. Just, you know. Disclaimer.

Also cursing; canon-typical violence Notes: Angsty and fluffy Summary: You don’t want to give a voice to your panic before you know that anything’s actually wrong. 

It’s been a question since before you and Borracho even get married: So when are you two having kids?  You just laugh it off when his sisters ask, and his mom, and Gabriel, that one time. When you were dating it was only once in a while - usually when you turned down the offer of a beer because you’d agreed to be the designated driver between the two of you for that night. Nadia or Megan or Isobel would sidle up to you and pat your stomach and waggle their eyebrows, and you’d just laugh and knock their hands away and screech, “I’m driving!” But now that you’re married… Well, it’s almost constant. And it’s not just from his family. You know that the guys have a pool going about whether or not you’ll be pregnant by the end of the year. The website that you guys used to register for wedding gifts is popping into your inbox every other week to set up your baby shower registry.

And you and Borracho have talked about the kids thing before, a few times since the weekend that you looked after Lissie. Thing is, you haven’t talked about it in a while, but you know that Borracho’s thinking about it. He hasn’t been smoking - he’s been using nicotine patches and chewing gum like a fiend. When you ask him about it, he just shrugs and mutters something about, “having to kick the habit some time”. He’s a little moody about it, sure, but you had been very clear when the two of you spoke that you didn’t want cigarette smoke about your child - “Besides,” You’d murmured when you’d talked about it, “It’s not good for you, Benny. And I want you around for a long time.” That fact that he’s doing that sort of signals a ‘soon?’ to you, but you don’t talk about it. You’re not sure you want to. Talking about it would make it real, and making it real might freak you out, and you really, really want to bask in your honeymoon phase for a little while longer. His family is still pretty pushy about it. When you get handed a kid at any family function, or you help of your own volition, you inevitably hear something somewhere behind you about, “practice,” and “it’ll be different when she has her own”. And you know that it’s because they’re excited for you and Borracho, but it’s starting to wear. There’s one day when you’re cleaning popsicle off of Lissie’s chin, and you hear Nadia coo about you looking like a little mother. And you’re so, so tempted to ask if she’d rather you just let her child make a mess. You’re not being a mother, you’re just trying to help. If Borracho were doing this, would he look like a little father to them? But instead you give her a tight smile and turn back to Lissie, and let the baby’s garbled speech make you smile for real. -- That night, you wait until Borracho has fallen asleep before you get up and do a little research. And a little research brings on a lot of worry. -- You still don’t talk about it. The talking will make it feel real. You don’t want to give a voice to your panic before you know that anything’s actually wrong. But the thing is you and Borracho have technically been trying since you got married. You’re not on the pill, you’re both clean, so you haven’t been using condoms. You’ve been tracking your cycle, you know your ovulation window, and while you did think, once after you came back from your honeymoon that you two might be-- Well, your period was just a couple of days late, so it didn’t matter anyway. You didn’t mention it to him. You read an article that tells you that 80% of couples conceive after 6 months of trying; the same article tells you that 90% conceive after a year of trying. You and Borracho have been trying for 8 months and-- nothing. So maybe there’s something wrong? Some irregularity with your ovulation cycle - or maybe he could have a low sperm count, you don’t think he’s ever gotten that checked out. All of this is in your head. It’s not on your mind, it’s just hanging out in the background. Occasionally it drifts to the forefront and you wave it back to its place, along with the worries that if, somehow, you ever managed to have a child, you’d be an awful mother and the kid would hate you. -- Borracho, bless him, waits. He doesn’t ask right away. Whatever it is that’s wrong, he can tell you’re not ready to talk about, and he’s got the feeling that the conversation will make him want a cigarette, anyway, so maybe it’s for the best that he lets you come to him with it. -- Your first anniversary should be sweet. It’s not. It’s actually kind of an ordeal. The guys have been working an art theft case for the last three months and you’ve been so consumed by it that you haven’t even had time to worry about whether or not you can get pregnant because the two of you have been so busy that you’ve hardly had time to have sex. After a particularly hard night, Borracho broke down and bummed a cigarette off of Connors, and you didn’t begrudge him that one. You’d just sat outside of the bar with him and rubbed your hand between his shoulder blades. “I’ll be back on the patches and gum tomorrow,” He’d sworn to you, and you’d just told him that it was alright, and that you loved him, and that you knew that this was hard for him. He’d flicked the cigarette butt away and practically pulled you into his lap, kissing your neck and murmuring that he wanted to marry you all over again. And then Nick had come out and threatened to arrest the both of you for public indecency. But you and Borracho spend most of your first anniversary getting ready for a sting. Nick’s managed to rope you into field work again (much to Borracho’s chagrin). You’re posing as a buyer, and meeting up with the man that had stolen the painting from the Kohn Gallery. None of the guys can do it - this dealer’s been busted by them before, he’ll recognize them right off. You’re the only one whose face he doesn’t know. When you show at the station, the guys let out little mutters; Connors gets out half of a wolf-whistle before Nick punches him in the shoulder. You arch a brow. You’re not sure what it is - the suit you’ve opted to wear, the pointed-toe heels, or the wig. This one isn’t pink, of course - it’s similar to your hair, but it has a loose, styled wave to it. “Why don’t you ever come to the office like this?” Henderson teases, even as Borracho stares him down. “You all never get dressed up for me, why the fuck would I get dressed up for you?” You retort. “She’s got a point. We’re rollin’ out in ten,” Nick adds. Borracho stands from his desk and walks over to yours, watching you reach under the wig to put in your earpiece. “You’re sure you wanna do this?” He asks. “It’ll be fine,” You glance at him. He purses his lips, and you reach out, cupping his chin, then teasing your nails through the goatee there. “Come on, this isn’t my first field op.” “We won’t be in there with you,” Borracho reminds you, though he sounds like he’s much more hung up on that fact than you are. “I know, but you’ll be nearby,” You say, “And the second I confirm the painting is the one you guys have been looking for, you’ll grab the guy and we’ll be set.” Borracho doesn’t look so convinced, but you lean up and peck his lips and murmur, “Relax, Benny.” And you expect hoots and hollers to go up from the guys, but you hear nothing. They’re giving you two this moment. They know what today is; they know how worried Borracho is. And the guys can be dicks sometimes, but you love them. -- Your first anniversary should be sweet. It’s not. It’s kind of an ordeal. You wind up sitting on the back of an ambulance because a bullet grazed your right arm - not deep enough to do real damage or hit anything serious, but bad enough to need stitches. Borracho is leaning against the ambulance, jaw clenched as he stares down at your pointed-toe heels. You’ve tried to engage him, and you’ve tried to get him to look at you, but he just won’t. When you’re leaving, you expect him to bum a cigarette off of Connors, but he doesn’t. Instead you drive home in silence, his hand territorial on your thigh, like the art dealer is in the backseat, like the bullet is hovering near your shoulder, but neither will be able to touch you as long as he is. He waits until you two are in your apartment to draw you into his arms and hold you tight against his chest. You go willingly, and you cuddle against him and hide your wince in his neck as your arm twinges when you take hold of him in turn. Some part of you is tempted to joke, to murmur, “Happy anniversary?”, but you consider how mad you’d be if he did that to you just now, and instead you murmur, “It’s just a scratch.” And maybe that’s not the best thing to have said, either, because his grip tightens on you, and he mumbles, “Scratches don’t need stitches, sweetness.” -- That night, he’s gentle with you, the way you were with him the first time the two of you were together after he’d been shot. He takes his time undressing with you, pushes your hands away from your clothes when you reach to remove them yourself. When you tease and ask him if he wants you to keep the wig on, he shakes his head and covers your body with his, and he nuzzles against your jaw and murmurs, “You,” sweet and desperate, “I just want you.” -- It’s a hiccup. A bump in the road. A reminder that what you two do is dangerous, that anything can happen. Time passes. The wound heals. The worry comes back. -- You wake up with cramps one morning. You go into the bathroom - you confirm it is what you think it is. You tiptoe around your bedroom, pull on sweatpants and head into the kitchen to make coffee. It’s been a year and a half now, and you are worried. Borracho never did say that kids are a deal breaker, but what if they are? What if he’s changed his mind? What if you change your mind? Your vision is blurring with tears as you pour water into the coffeemaker. You can hear Borracho shuffling around in your bedroom, and you let yourself sniffle before you scrub at your eyes. You set your hands on the counter, taking a few steadying breaths as you hear Borracho come out of the bedroom. You hear him pause before he cuddles up behind you, his big, rough, warm hands settling comfortingly on your hips. He presses a kiss to the back of your head, then to the side, then brushes his lips against the shell of your ear. “What’s going on, sweetness?” He murmurs. You should’ve known better; the man knows you better than anyone, you can’t hide from him, not well. It’s a wonder you’ve managed to go this long without saying anything to him. You lean back against his chest and mumble, “I got my period.” It takes him a few moments, but he nods a little, turning and pressing another kiss to your head. “Okay.” “What if-- Benny what if I can’t-- And we can’t--...” Your eyes are welling up with tears again; your voice is wavering, and your throat feels tight with worry. He slides his arms around your waist, soothingly rocking the two of you side to side. “We’ll figure it out, sweetness,” He soothes, “We can talk to a doctor, we can look into adoption-- Anything you want.” “What’ll your family say?” “Hey,” Borracho turns you to face him. He lifts one hand to your chin and tips your head up to look at him. “This isn’t their marriage, this isn’t their decision. It’s ours. We make this choice, you and me.” He reaches up and smooths away a tear when it escapes you. “And if that choice is no kids, then that’s our choice, sweetness.” You can’t stop the tears now; you surge up and bury your face in Borracho’s shoulder and curl into him and mumble that you wanna marry him all over again. -- Your second anniversary is sting-operation and bullet-graze free. The traditional second anniversary gift is cotton. The box you give Borracho contains a cotton shirt that says ‘I’m Going to Be a Daddy!’, and your (cleaned) positive pregnancy test. (You’ve got a matching shirt that says ‘You Can Stop Asking When We’re Having a Baby Now’.)

[whumpingcrow]

Ink Poisoning - Chapter 10

"Garbage Person"

CW: bbu and everything in relation to that, drugs/alcohol (explicit), injury description, blood, sick whumpee, anxiety attack, amputation mention (vague), noncon mention, conditioned whumpee, food mention (let me know if I missed anything!)

Nicko had been working on a tattoo when Ben called him. The skin underneath him belonged to a slightly older woman, a blonde with pink lipstick on her teeth that he could see every time she smiled at him. She was annoying, and she was flirting with him, which made her even more annoying. The first time his phone rang, he ignored it completely, too consumed in his work to even look up. Secretly, he was wishing that he was tattooing Gio instead. It had been a little over a week since Nicko made him sick by icing him out, and Nicko hadn't allowed himself to bring him back to the shop. Instead, it became his mission to make him better. He made him soup, he let him sleep in his bed, he even helped him take a bath the first day he was sick.

That had been difficult. Nicko had never been "nice", he knew that about himself. He was notoriously an asshole, famously short tempered and foul mouthed. He knew what empathy was, he could feel it, but it was just...rare. The knowledge that others had emotions and feelings didn't matter to him, most of the time. But when he gave Gio a bath, he'd never felt worse for someone in his entire life. Gio could hardly keep himself upright, couldn't even keep his eyes open, when Nicko undressed him and helped him into the water. Nicko hadn't washed the blood off of his face the night before, hadn't wanted to move him around and hurt him more than he was, so when he wet a rag and tried to gently wipe the dried blood off, he wanted to cry right along with Gio. He held his head still with one hand on his jaw as he ran the towel over the bridge of his nose, over his cheekbones, very carefully under his eyes, wiping away some of his tears along with the blood. Nicko couldn't believe he'd hurt him so badly. He felt even worse when Gio's face was clean and he could see the bruises he'd left there. Then Nicko washed his hair, there was blood there, too, somehow, and then he just sat outside of the bathtub and let Gio warm up in the water for a few more minutes. He couldn't stop crying.

"I'm sorry, sir," he whimpered out, using his wrists to push away the tears, directing his huge, teary eyes at Nicko. He looked hopeless, his chocolate brown eyes dulled down with fear and sadness. Nicko reached out and traced his thumb down Gio's face tenderly. He looked so young, with his hair slicked back out of his face and his huge eyes and his cheeks and nose flushed red from crying and his fever. His file didn't include an age when Nicko got him, but he couldn't have been more than 20.

"You shouldn't be sorry, Gio. Really, I'm the one who messed up. I'm..." He paused, frowning to himself. The words didn't sound right in his head, he hadn't used them earnestly enough all that often, so it was sort of alien to him. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you."

Gio looked positively perplexed, like he was just as much as used to hearing apologies as Nicko was at giving them. "S...Sir?" He squeaked.

"When I came back out and saw you outside like that, all bloody and fucking tied up...God, Gio, I was just disgusted." He could see Gio's face fall even more, and his heart sank. "No! No, not of you! I was disgusted in myself. I was disgusted that I did something so awful to you. And I'm sorry."

After that, Nicko made him rest, and he nursed him back to health. It was the least he could do, after putting him in that condition in the first place. That morning, he was up with Nicko, asking if he could go with him to work, if he would finish his tattoo. Nicko thought it was adorable, but he still had bruises and still seemed a little out of it, so Nicko made him stay home. He was regretting it now, as the blonde bimbo told him "Don't be afraid to hurt me, I don't mind a little pain" with a wink.

The second time his phone rang, he told the blonde to give him a moment, pulling off his gloves as he stood up and walked into the next room to answer the phone.

"What Ben? I'm working."

"Hey, uh...you didn't take Gio with you to work, did you?" Ben's voice was a little nervous, and Nicko was instantly worried.

"No, I left him there. Is he not there?"

"Um..."

"Ben is he there or not?!"

"I thought I saw him earlier, but I can't find him now. I think he jumped ship, dude."

Nicko had never had an anxiety attack before. Nervous, sure. Fits of rage, all the time. But he'd never felt the tight rubber bands around his lungs feeling that took his breath away when Ben said that. So he hung up the phone and left through the back, all but sprinting to his car. It was a miracle he got home in one piece, with how fast he was driving and how badly his hands were shaking. Gio jumped ship. Gio hates you because of how badly you hurt him. You scared him so bad he ran away. You awful person. You horrible, garbage person. The anxiety only worsened when he got home and Gio really was gone, he wasn't just hiding out somewhere like he sometimes did. Nicko pictured him, his huge, horrified eyes, how small he was, how he was probably out there scared and alone and someone might hurt him and Nicko wasn't there to protect him. You should have just taken him to work with you. This wouldn't have happened if he came with you. This is all your fault. Garbage person.

It wasn't until after he had calmed down and hours after Salem was home that Nicko even realized any of his things were missing. He was exhausted, the second he explained to Salem what had happened there was a fight, with rightfully placed blame on Nicko that he was wrongfully defensive about, as always. With his nerves shot and beyond tired from his incessant anger, he got drunk. It was a bad habit, his drinking in an attempt to mute his anger. But it was better than picking another fight with Salem to blow of some steam, and it felt better than the newfound anxiety every time he thought about Gio.

It was when he was drunk that he decided to paint, to make a mess with some red without actually hurting anyone again, and he noticed a few of his paintbrushes were gone. No one ever touched his art supplies (especially not Gio, and especially not after Nicko once made a joke about cutting off his fingers if he decided to be a thief and take his things), and he was very particular about how it was all organized. So when he realized they weren't where he'd left them, even in his drunken stupor, he could tell that something was wrong. So he looked around more, and he was missing more than just his brushes. His room had basically been ransacked, and he didn't know how he hadn't noticed before just then. So he rushed back out to the kitchen, where Ben and Salem were both standing around talking.

When he opened the liquor cabinet (for the second time in the last hour, and he wondered again how he had failed to notice something so important) he was missing a bottle of vodka and the jar of cash he and Rory secretly added to for party funds was empty. There was only one other person who knew about it, and then it clicked.

"Nicko," Ben started in careful disdain, "shouldn't we be doing something besides...you know...drinking?"

"Gio didn't run away."

Salem scoffed at him. "Right. Why would he want to run away from you?"

Nicko shook his head, trying to rub some of the stress out of his face. "No, you idiot. Rory was here. She took my stuff. She took my art shit, she took my cash, she took Gio."

Ben was instantly pale, and Salem stood from his chair and began pacing. It was unspoken, but they were all thinking the same thing, more or less. Rory had a problem, she had ever since they all met sophomore year at a party, and she had never downplayed it or try to make it less obvious. Sober Rory was a rare occasion, despite at some point everyone telling her she should at least talk to someone, go to a meeting, go to rehab. So at some point, their persistence fizzled out and they stopped trying so hard, and she was happier that way, anyway. Nicko had tried a few times to give her somewhat of an intervention, but in the end he decided the only thing he had the power to do was be there with her, whatever she decided to do. Yeah, because you could be all the help she needed? You, the garbage person? Right.

Nicko spent the rest of that night, all the way through morning, driving to places she might be. Her friends hadn't heard from her in days, they'd said, and the dealer that they had been going to together said she'd stopped by the night Nicko kicked her out and bought some weed. After that, he drove up and down neighborhoods all over the city looking for her car. But he had no luck, and he returned home the next morning without Gio or any idea where he was.

Over the course of the next two weeks, Nicko starting failing his classes. He couldn't bring himself to care much about his assignments when Gio was still missing, somewhere with Rory, probably being pumped with whatever she was using. Don't forget that it's your fault. He's gone because of you're shitty decisions.

He also got fired from his apprentice at the tattoo shop, the blonde he was working on didn't particularly like him running out on her and not finishing her piece, and his boss didn't like it either. He couldn't really bring himself to care that much about it. His job, his school, none of that was important to him anymore. Not as important as Giovanni, who was his responsibility and was probably miserable and scared because of him.

So he mostly stayed hidden in his room, starting paintings but never finishing them, tattooing senseless things on himself out of boredom, laying in bed doing nothing. He drove around a lot, too, looking for anything that would tell him where Rory was. He got pulled over three times, he spent a ridiculous amount of money on gas, and he never found Gio.

The guilt was suffocating. Every morning when he woke up alone in his bed he was reminded that Gio was missing, and then again when he got up and saw his empty beanbag, and knowing that he wasn't there because Nicko hadn't kept a good enough eye on him was crushing.

At some point, even Salem noticed how much Gio being gone was eating Nicko up, because he grudgingly came into his room one night, hovering in the doorway, asking Nicko if he was ok. Nicko was sitting on his bed, eyes droopy from however much booze he'd had that day, and for the first time since Salem had known him, he looked painfully human.

"I was responsible for him," Nicko admitted, "if Rory hurts him...if something bad happens to him..." He didn't finish his thought, but Salem had an idea of what he was going to say: that it would be his fault.

"Nicko, whatever Rory does is not up to you. You've done everything you can to find him, that's all that you can do." It was strange for him to be comforting Nicko, of all people, especially after he had found out that he'd assaulted Gio and left him outside in the cold until he got sick. After that, whatever little respect Salem had for Nicko was gone, and now it was being replaced by pity.

But Nicko didn't want his pity, he didn't want to be comforted by anyone. He didn't deserve that. So he told Salem to get out, to just leave him alone. Only Salem, stupid, relentlessly nice Salem refused to leave, and instead he crossed the room and sat down next to him on his bed.

"He likes you a lot, Nicko. Did you know that?"

Nicko did know, unfortunately. He vividly remembered one of the nights when Gio was sick, when he turned over in bed and pressed himself close to Nicko and told him he was his favorite, that it hurt him when he couldn't be around him all the time. And now he was gone. And it was Nicko's fault. "Yeah, I know. He's sort of dumb in that way, isn't he?"

Salem laughed at him, mostly because he didn't know when Nicko became so self aware. "No, I don't think so. I think he's just miraculously good at seeing the best parts of people. He likes Rory, too. Even after...you know, even though she got him high all the time." Nicko let out a long, heavy sigh, and Salem followed suit. "I'm telling you that because he knows that none of this is your fault. I mean, to him, you fucking walk on water. You couldn't ever do anything wrong. So, wherever he is, he isn't blaming you. No one here is blaming you either."

Nicko didn't believe him, but he didn't have the energy to argue against him. So instead, he just said "ok", and then Salem left. Nicko spent the next twenty or so minutes drinking and sketching lazily, dragging pencils across a paper only as a means to distract himself. Everything he drew was ugly, every drink tasted awful, life was miserable. He thought back to what Salem had said, that Gio liked him a lot, and then he thought again of Gio whispering in the dark, "you're my favorite person, Nicko," and his heart broke all over again. He trusted you and you put him in danger. He liked you and you didn't even fucking care, you god awful garbage person.

He was pulled out of his spiraling, self hating thoughts by a knock at the front door. He almost wanted to ignore it, didn't want to ever see or speak to anyone ever again, knowing he would probably end up hurting whoever it was in the end anyway, like he did to everyone he'd ever been around. But then he decided against it, and he stumbled down the hallway with his beer still in hand.

Giovanni sank to his knees in the same instant that Nicko opened the door, so fast that Nicko didn't even realize it was him at first. Only when Gio looked up at him from his place on the snowy porch and started to choke out a familiar sounding apology did it click that it was him. He looked awful, his pale skin peppered with small scrapes and his neck littered with what looked like hickeys, the usual bags under his eyes were an even darker shade of purple, his lips were cracked and bloody, and his face had hollowed out dramatically.

"I'm so s-s-sorry that I left, Nicko," he was rushing out, tears threatening to fall from his frightened round eyes, "ple...please forgive me, sir, please take m-me back-"

Then, Nicko was on his knees too, reaching out to take Gio's face in his hands, frowning at him when he flinched away just a little. Once Nicko's hands were on him, he really couldn't hold back the tears anymore, staring at Nicko as they slipped down his face and onto Nicko's hands. He was afraid at Nicko's silence, he would prefer for him to just start yelling already so that they could get the punishment over with and Gio could maybe be allowed to sleep after. He was exhausted. But Nicko only kept staring at him, almost in disbelief.

Then, as if he remembered that Gio was still outside, kneeling in a pile of snow, he stood up and pulled Gio carefully to his feet, helping him across the threshold so he could shut the door and keep the cold out. Once he was inside, and upright, Nicko got a better look at him, and he was physically upset at how rough he looked. Then he noticed how badly Gio was shaking, and how he was fidgeting with the hem of his shirt nervously as he stared at Nicko. He realized then that he hadn't said anything, and Gio had apologized because he thought he was in trouble, so Nicko being completely silent was probably freaking him out. Gio let out a soft whine when Nicko stepped closer and pulled him against his chest.

"I was so worried about you, Gio," he whispered, swaying side to side, "I looked all over...I'm so sorry I let her get you. I'm so sorry."

Before Gio could even begin to protest the apology, Salem came down the hallway and gasped when he saw Gio all wrapped up in Nicko's arms. "You came back?" He breathed. Gio nodded as much as he could in Nicko's snug embrace. Nicko pulled away then, brushing Gio's hair out of his face and looking at him with a frown.

"Come on, let's get you some food. Anything you want." He pulled Gio behind him into the kitchen, forcing him to sit in a chair. Gio was confused, wasn't sure why he wasn't being berated with pain and cruel words for running off and being gone for so long. He watched as Nicko looked through the fridge, then jumped when the chair next to him screeched against the hardwood floor as Salem sat down.

"Are you ok?" He asked Gio softly, a concerned frown on his face. Gio was happy to see his kind face, but the question made his heart lurch uncomfortably in his chest. He wasn't ok, his body ached all over, everything felt uncomfortably fuzzy and far away from the drugs that hadn't worn off yet, his fatigue was so bad he felt like sobbing every time he had to move his tired muscles. More than anything he was confused, like always, and it was much too difficult to try and figure out why Nicko was being nice to him and trying to give him food like a reward when he had run away and been gone for so long.

"You want pizza, Gio?" Nicko called from the freezer, already pulling out a frozen pizza and setting it on the counter. Gio didn't answer either of their questions, it felt like his any words that he wanted to say were shards of broken glass on his tongue, and it would only hurt him and everyone around him if he started to talk. It was mostly because his mind was a mess of racing thoughts about Rory and Oscar and all the awful things they did to him and how badly it hurt and how scared he was and how horrible he felt for worrying Nicko.

His silence made them both uneasy, and Nicko set the pizza box down with a thud on the table in front of Gio, then he crouched down next to him, placing his hand on his thigh. Giovanni squeezed his eyes shut in response, Nicko noticed his shoulders began to rise and fall quicker in his uneven breathing.

"What's wrong, darling?" Nicko tried, keeping his voice soft and level. Gio cringed, turning his face away from him. "Talk to me, Gio. Please."

Giovanni let out a tiny whimper, shaking his head. Salem and Nicko shared a nervous glance. Salem shrugged his shoulders hopelessly, not sure how to comfort Gio or make him talk anymore than Nicko did.

So, without any other idea of what to do, Nicko reached up and tilted Gio's face towards him, even though he didn't open his eyes. "Gio, I can't help you feel better if you don't tell me what's wrong. I want to help you but you have to tell me how."

Now, Gio opened his eyes, his frown deepening when he looked at Nicko. Within half a second his eyes were overflowing with tears and his shaking went from a tiny shiver to violent tremors up and down his body. "I...I don't know what's wrong." He admitted. His voice was a hoarse whisper, and Nicko pulled his hand away from his face after he spoke. Gio burst into tears just then, tilting his head down as he sobbed out weakly. "I'm s-sorry, I'm so so stupid I'm so f-fucking stupid I'm-"

Nicko shut him up by standing up and wrapping his arms around him again, pulling his head against his stomach and petting through his hair softly. Salem watched them with his hand over his mouth, obviously troubled at Gio's hysteria. "It's ok, Gio," Nicko soothed him, "you're not stupid. I'm not upset with you. I just want to help."

Gio wasn't really listening, couldn't hear anything over his ragged breathing and his sobs that were muffled by Nicko's clothes. When Nicko realized he wasn't going to calm down like that, he pulled off of him, looking down at his tears stained face. It's all your fault he's crying right now. Look at how broken he is because of you.

"You're not stupid, Giovanni. You hear me?"

The sternness to Nicko's voice snapped Gio out of it a little, he forced his mouth closed and nodded up at him reflexively. Then, Nicko sighed softly and turned away from him altogether. He grabbed the pizza, busying himself with that instead of having to look at how ruined he made Gio. He was only turned away for a minute or two before Salem cleared his throat.

"Um, Nicko?" He said. "I don't think he's really hungry."

When Nicko turned to see what Salem was talking about, and Gio had his head rested against the table, passed out cold. Nicko hadn't thought that he might be tired, and he felt like an asshole for not even checking with him. With a huff, he turned off the oven and threw the pizza carelessly back into the freezer. When Nicko picked Gio up he didn't even stir, completely limp when Nicko scooped him out of the chair and pulled him against his chest.

Seeing Gio back in his bed was more relieving than Nicko had anticipated, and once he was curled up under the covers all Nicko could do was stare at him. He was broken and banged up and looked seconds away from death in a lot of ways, but Nicko felt like he'd never seen anything as beautiful as Gio passed out under his covers. Suddenly, the art block he'd had since Gio had been gone dissipated, and Nicko was as quiet as he could be as he got out a canvas and what little art supplies Rory left him with.

Hours later, Gio woke up to find Nicko asleep next to him, covered in splotches of paint on his face and hands and all over his clothes. He sat up just a little, and then noticed the huge painting across the room. Through the dark he couldn't tell what it was, but it made him smile nonetheless. With a yawn, he layed back down, a little closer to Nicko than he was when he woke up. When Nicko reached out and grabbed onto his hand, Gio tensed up just a little, only until he laced his fingers in between Gio's and held onto his hand gently. Gio looked up at him only to see him still peacefully sleeping, and he realized he probably thought he was someone else, maybe Rory. Still, Gio happily pushed himself closer, resting his head against Nicko's shoulder and keeping his grip on his hand tight.