#n he just doubles down on me missing the window to consult with him when he didn’t even send anything until yesterday l

[jiseok]

i swear some people only became professors for the power trip n not bc they actually want to help people learn

[angelmavmurdock]

Our Little Secret: Part Eight - A.R.

LAST OF THE SERIES

Word count: Summary: 5 years later...

-

WARNINGS: MENTIONS OF MURDER AND SEXUAL ASSAULT (basically everything Arvin and the preacher did in the movie is touched on).

-

5 years later

"Well, y/n, your application is outstanding. We'd love for you to work here." The headteacher spoke to me from across his desk.

"Really? Wow! Thank you so much!" I beamed.

"The new school term starts in August and the kids really need a well-taught, professional, young teacher who can help them grow as children. I think you're perfect for the job."

"Thank you so much, that means a lot. I can't wait to start."

Teaching. Teaching year 1. It was my dream to work with kids and now finally after 4 years of college I could do it.

I've been living in Cincinnati since I left high school 5 years ago. I needed to get out of that town as soon as I could. Everywhere I went it would remind me of Lenora...and Arvin.

I kept in touch with Emma, though. We still chatted at least a few times a month on the phone and she told me every time how much she missed Lenora and how much she missed Arvin. Though it was easier with Lenora because she knew what had happened to her - well, not fully - but she knew that she was gone. With Arvin, she didn't know why he was gone, what he was doing or had done and if he was still even alive. I didn't tell her about what Arvin told me on our last night. I promised him I wouldn't.

But every time I called her it was like I was being set back on my journey of grief and getting over him. I was with a lovely guy called William and we've been together since my last year of college. He didn't know about Lenora or Arvin or the Russell's.

But he did come with me to my father's funeral a few months ago.

Daddy had gotten worse and worse since being in New Coal Creek. We thought he was going to get better once we got him into hospital but it didn't make a difference. And when I moved to Cincinnati, I hardly ever saw him and Ma and I's row got in between Daddy and I's relationship.

So I went to his funeral feeling like the worst daughter on the planet. And I felt as if I was losing everyone I had ever truly loved.

Will was lovely and he worked in the same position Daddy used to work at. We had a house together and we lived there comfortably. It's much like how I grew up living. A big house with no one to fill it with. We didn't even have a dog or a cat because of his allergies. We were engaged to be married and he had bought me a very expensive and big diamond ring which was nice but I had no interest in.

Of course, I accepted. But as soon as he asked me the million dollar question, the first person that popped into my head was Arvin. And then Lenora. And then Daddy.

Wedding planning was very stressful when you don't have many friends or family around to help.

And after my meeting with the headteacher I was heading into town to find my wedding dress.

I was dreading it.

Ma was coming down to help and we'd meet at the place.

I thanked the headteacher and walked out excitedly, ready to start my teaching career. I got in my car and I drove into town. The closer I got, the worse I felt. I didn't want to get a wedding dress and I didn't want to get it with Ma either.

I parked outside of the dress shop and reluctantly got out. The shop was extravagant and elegant. I dreaded going inside. But my feet took me in as my brain lusted for home.

"y/n!" Ma exclaimed, shuffling up to me, already carrying dresses in her arms.

"Ma, hi." She nearly winded me as she embraced me.

I lightly put my hands around her but she tore away quickly.

"This place is just wonderful! I've already found a few you'd look great in!"

"Ma, I'd love if I was the one who would get to pick out my own weddin' dress." I raised a brow.

She sighed, "Fine. Yes, of course. Go into the changin' rooms and I'll follow."

I rolled my eyes and walked to one of the rooms where a consultant with a pearly white smile greeted me.

"Miss y/l/n, lovely to meet you. I'm Angela and I'll be helpin' you today! Are these the dresses you'd like to try?" She chirped, referring to the dresses in my mothers arms.

I sighed, "Yes."

"Great! Come on in."

-

I stood on the podium in front of the wall-length mirror with the fourth wedding dress on. It was a column dress that fell straight down with only a slight cinch at the waist. It had long sleeves and a high neck and lace covered the bodice. It was not my style.

"You look beautiful!" Ma complimented.

"I don't like it, Ma." I shook my head, twisting and turning to look at it.

"It's your fourth dress and you haven't liked any of them."

"They're just...not my style." I sighed.

Ma rolled her eyes and stood next to me, "It's not about your style. It's about looking gorgeous on your wedding day."

I furrowed my brows, "It's my wedding dress and it's my wedding. I want to love my dress."

"Well you are not the one paying for it." She brushed over my hips.

I felt rage bubble inside of me.

"Fine. We'll take this one then." I stated with a scoff and returned to the changing room in a huff.

-

"Okay, your fitting will be next month and that's when you'll get your dress home, alright?"

"Thank you." I smiled weakly at the consultant.

"You're welcome. Have a nice day!"

We waved goodbye and began walking out the shop. I placed my white gloves on and adjusted the white hat ornamented with a flower on my curled hair. I smoothed out my white and pale blue polka-dotted dress and adjusted the sky blue belt around my waist. Ma opened the door for me and I thanked her before leaving and hearing the click of my heels on the ground.

"y/n, I won't keep you long, but...you're a woman now. You're 23, you're getting married, you live away from home, you're getting a job. You're a woman. But just because you are older, does not mean I stop being your mother. I will always be your mother whether you like it or not and you have to treat me as such." Ma said, folding her arms over her red, floral tea dress.

I took a deep breath and looked at her.

"You took away my freedom when I was a teenager and because of that, I lost time with - not only Lenora - but Arvin, too. I don't know where he is now. No one does."

Just as I was about to talk about our last night I remembered she still didn't know I snuck out.

"I lost my best friend and the love of my life in the space of weeks and you kept me locked away until there was no one left. I'll never forgive you for that." I said, my head held high.

Ma took a few seconds to process the information and then nodded.

"I'm sorry you feel that way. I had no idea. I love you, y/n. I will always love you, alright?" She held my shoulders.

I swallowed and nodded, not looking at her.

"Congratulations on your new job, honey. I'll see you soon." She leaned in and gave me a kiss on the cheek then turned and walked away.

I took a few deep breaths as I watched her, guilt and anger washing away gradually. Part of me didn't want to go home. I wanted to escape for a while. I didn't want to have to go back and sit alone in a huge house I didn't like and I didn't want to wait up for a phone call from Will. I wanted to be by myself. I needed to. I looked around and at my car before deciding I'd go into town for a while.

I left the car and stuffed the keys further into my handbag. I clicked down the pavement until I reached the main road of shops, leading to a lake and a park where families would walk and eat ice-cream.

It was summer, so the sun was out in full, the trees swaying in the warm breeze and the sound of a few buskers playing accompanied by the noise of town people roaming around filled the warm air.

I smiled and said good mornin' to people as I walked by, waving at a few kids and cooing at some babies. I'd never really spent much time in town. I was always working or at the house with Will. It felt good to be out and alone. I wandered around, looking in some shop windows and wishing for the dresses but deciding against it.

It wasn't until I passed a shop and briefly glanced in it that I actually stopped to look closely. I took a double take and stood in front of the window, looking up at the displayed mannequin. It was a white blouse paired with a white tennis skirt and blue ribbon tied around the neck. A fond grin grew on my face. It reminded me of high school. Though I never wore mine on my neck, I still wanted it. I never wore ribbons in my hair anymore.

I couldn't help myself but go in. I entered the seemingly quiet shop and found the nearest shop consultant.

"Hi! I love that ribbon you have on show, is it for sale?" I asked with a smile.

The woman looked almost confused, "It's a ribbon...it's for decoration?"

"Oh...well, I'd still love to buy it. Name a price." I smiled again.

She looked at me dumbfounded for a moment but then shook it off and walked to the mannequin. She untied the silk and walked back over with it, placing it into my hands.

"It's free." She smiled.

"Thank you so much. I love it." I grinned.

"Have a nice day, now."

"I will." I beamed, walking out the store.

I felt giddy with nostalgia and excitement as I pulled my hair back under my hat and tied it with the ribbon, giving it a delicate bow. I checked it in my compact mirror and smiled with joy. I felt closer to myself.

I continued walking down the road and then to the lake. I stood and leaned against the railing, watching the elegant swans float by, their white feathers contrasting beautifully against the dark blue of the water. I watched them for a while, probably for about 10 minutes before I felt a light tug on my dress.

I got a fright and looked down where a young girl was standing next to me. I immediately smiled with relief and stood back.

"Hello," I waved.

"You're very beautiful, ma'am." She complimented in a strong southern accent.

"Why thank you, Mrs." I grinned.

"Would you like some bread to feed the swans?" She offered, holding up a chunk of bread.

"I would love some. Thank you." I graciously accepted the bread, holding it in my gloved hands.

The girls' mother called her back. She looked up at me and waved.

"Bye!" She said, before running off to her mum.

I smiled and laughed a little before turning back to the swans. I broke a piece of bread off and threw it in the water. I threw some more pieces in and watched as they all swam to the food, fighting over who got what.

Once I was out of bread, I sighed, leaning against the railing by my forearms. I took in my surroundings. I looked to my left where children were playing with each other as parents stood or sat on benches, resting. A few elderly couples walked by, hand in hand, arm in arm, chatting about everything and nothing.

A girl on a pink bike caught my eye. She was gorgeous and sat atop the seat with joy and pride as she rode by. My eyes followed her as she rode behind me and kept going.

But my eyes shifted focus when she rode by someone.

Someone who looked eerily familiar.

He had brown, woven, checkered trousers on and a white dress shirt with sleeves that were rolled up to his elbows. Brown suspenders hung over his shoulders and a white vest peeked out from the unbuttoned shirt.

But the dark eyes with the brown, slicked back hair and the cigarette in his mouth gave him away.

He was already looking at me, however. Like he had been for hours. I turned slightly, feeling my heart beat rise as he threw his cigarette on the ground.

It can't be him. It's just a lookalike. It's because I've been thinking about him today. It's not him. He's not here.

He walked closer to me but stopped about 2 metres away, hands in pockets with his chest rising and falling as rapidly as mine.

I could feel my chest heave against my dress as I stared at him, trying to decipher if that was truly him or if I was just dreaming.

"y/n?" He finally said, unsure of whether I was who he thought I was.

"A-Arvin?" I whispered.

A smile began to grow on his face and I knew it was him. It was him. Arvin.

I dropped my handbag and ran towards him, throwing my arms around his neck a our bodies collided, nearly setting us back.

His arms wrapped around my waist and lifted me up, making my legs pop up. He still smelled the same and he still felt the same. He felt like home.

"I can't believe you're here." I whispered, feeling a tear fall down my face.

He placed me back on my feet and I looked at him, cupping his face with my hands. He held them, stroking my thumbs with a smile.

"Why are you here?" He asked softly.

"I-I live here. I have since...since high school." I gulped.

He raised his brows, "I've been here for four years, y/n."

My mouth dropped open, "What?!"

He grinned, his hands squeezing mine, "We've both been livin' here for four years but not ran into each other."

I stuttered, "Wh-what? How is that- oh my gosh." I laughed, bringing my hands away from his face.

"I can't believe you're here, Arvin." I gulped, my chin quivering slightly.

"I didn't think I'd ever see you again." I bit my lip, trying to stop myself from crying in public.

"Hey, shh." He brought me into him, cradling my head against his chest.

"We're here. I'm here." He said softly.

-

We decided to walk around the park to catch up which seemed both amazing but alien at the same time. We were still us but we had changed so much.

"Still wearin' ribbons I see." He grinned.

I laughed, "Don't make fun of me."

"I'm not. I always loved them." He smiled.

I blushed and looked to the ground.

"So, why Cincinnati?" Arvin asked.

I sighed, "I couldn't live there anymore after school." I gulped.

"It was just too hard. And I got accepted into college here so I decided to move."

"You'll be finished school now, right?" Arvin queried.

"Yeah. I just finished and I actually just got a job today, so." I smiled.

"That's amazin'. I'm happy for you." He grinned.

"Thank you..."

We walked in silence for a little longer than I would have hoped. But he broke it again.

"Why're you in town today, then? Considering I spend every day here and I've never seen you leads me to believe you don't come here often." He chuckled.

I nodded, "Yeah, I never get the chance too. But I was uh...I was actually in town for a dress fitting." I coughed, looking down at the floor.

"Goin' somewhere nice?" He asked.

I scoffed a laugh and looked up at him, "My wedding."

He stared at me in surprise, eyes wide and mouth open, soaking in the information.

"Y-you're engaged?" He croaked.

I nodded, removing my left glove to show the sturdy ring that sat on my finger.

"W-wow. I mean...he must be rich if you got a ring like that." He swallowed, looking down at his shoes.

"I mean...yeah, I guess." I shrugged awkwardly, putting the glove back on.

"How long have you been-"

"Uh, since last year. We met in college. He was doin' finance and Daddy actually put in a good word for him and he got his old job."

"He got your daddy's old job?" Arvin repeated.

"Yeah...yeah once uh...once he passed, they needed someone to fill his shoes so." I gulped.

Arvin stopped, "Your Dad passed? When?"

I chewed the inside of my lip, "Earlier this year."

"y/n, I am so, so sorry." He placed a hand on my arm.

"No, don't be silly. It's fine. He just never got well after he took a turn in Coal Creek." I said, beginning to walk again.

"I remember how sick he was..."

My chest fluttered. It was as if our past was an alternate universe. Like we never really lived it. It was just a different version of ourselves that did. Because now, we were here and it didn't feel the same. Not completely.

"So...should I ask how you ended up here?" I asked cautiously.

He tilted his head from side to side as if trying to figure an answer out himself.

"I don't think you'd like the details." He stated, reaching into his pocket for another cigarette.

"Did you..." I stopped, looking around us before lowering my voice.

"Did you do what you implied you would?" I asked, looking into his seemingly innocent eyes.

He inhaled some smoke and then exhaled, turning away for my sake.

"I did what I implied." He stated simply.

My stomach turned. I kept chewing my lip with nervousness, looking into his eyes. He didn't seem like a killer. He wasn't a bad person. I knew him. I knew who he was. And a murderer was not in his description.

I wanted to know about it. About him. I needed to know. So, impulsively - a word I hadn't used since our last night in Coal Creek - I invited him back with me.

"Would you come home with me? I live 15 minutes out of town and I'd really like to talk but I don't think a public park is appropriate." I said in a hushed tone.

He thought about it before nodding, "Sure."

-

The drive to my house was a little awkward. The radio played at a low hum while we sat in near silence, only the sound of the wind and other cars passing by filling the air.

"Used to be me drivin' you everywhere." Arvin commented with a chuckle.

I smiled, "Oh, how the tables have turned."

He laughed and so did I, then we resumed our mutual silence.

When we got to Will and I's estate, I drove through the gates of the house to the driveway where at the top, a large house sat - much like the one in Coal Creek.

"Our drivin' might've changed but this certainly hasn't." Arvin sighed, almost as if he was disappointed.

"What's that supposed to mean?" I asked with a raised brow.

He shrugged, "Feels all too familiar, that's all." He said before getting out the car.

I screwed my face up at his comment but decided to let it slide. I got out of the car and locked it before following Arvin who seemed as if he knew the place, up the steps of the porch.

"Is your fiancé home?" He asked the ground, hands in pockets.

I shook my head, "He's out of town for a weekend with work."

I stuck the key into the lock of the wide, white front door and opened it. I walked inside then held it open for Arvin.

He walked in and looked around, taking in his new surroundings.

The hallway was wide and white, only paintings filling the wall space and a large staircase to the left winded up to the next floor.

"Wow...I mean, you've done well for yourself." Arvin scoffed a laugh.

"Thank you." I smiled weakly, taking my hat from my head.

He looked up at the high ceilings, appreciating the chandelier that hung above the doorway.

"Come on through. Do you want tea? Coffee?" I offered, walking down the hallway and into the open kitchen/living room area while taking my gloves off.

He walked in behind me, looking around the new room he was in before following me into the kitchen.

"How about a scotch?" He asked with a smirk.

I smiled, "That'd be appropriate, I think."

I got the crystal decanter and two glasses from the tray that sat atop the kitchen table. I poured us two glasses and then handed Arvin one. I brought the decanter with us as we migrated to the couch.

I slipped my heels off before sitting down, my dress puffing and fanning out over my lap. Arvin sat opposite me, his ankle resting on his knee comfortably.

"So..." I started.

"So." He repeated.

"I think I might have more questions about you than you do about me." I smiled weakly.

He nodded, "Probably right."

I took a deep breath before asking any questions.

"Who got Lenora pregnant?" I asked.

I thought that would be a good starting point. It was what started everything.

"Reverend Teagardin. The new preacher that came to town." Arvin answered.

My eyes widened, "What?!"

"He took Lenora - and other girls - into the woods," Arvin began to explain.

He stared at the crystal in his hands and the liquid floating inside of it. He didn't once look up at me.

"He'd make them pray before they got started and he'd take advantage of them."

"Didn't he have-"

"A wife? Yeah. But he was abusin' her at home, too." He gulped.

"Oh my god. That's horrible." I sighed, my stomach feeling uneasy.

He finally looked up at me and I could feel his curiosity burn into me.

"Do you...do you still talk to Grandma?" He asked, his voice slightly shaky.

I smiled and nodded, "Yeah. I talked to her last week."

A slight smile grew on his face with relief, "How is she?"

"She's okay. She always talks about you and Lenora. Mostly you now, though. I mean, I never told her a thing about our last night and she still doesn't know about Lenora's pregnancy. She knows just as much as when you left."

He licked his teeth and nodded, "Thanks for keepin' in touch."

"Of course. I said I would, didn't I?" I grinned.

He nodded with a smile.

"So how about you? Livin' here in this big house with a big-shot fiance. Must be nice." He quirked his brow, taking a sip of his drink.

He was trying to pry something out of me, I could feel it.

"It's good. He takes care of me and we're happy." I stated.

"It's not boring?"

"No." I lied.

He tilted his head, "I can tell when you're lyin', y/n."

I scoffed, "You haven't seen me in five years and you think you can just come back here and tell me you know me so well? Don't start with that bullshit, Arvin."

He furrowed his brows, "Are you mad at me? What did I do?"

I rolled my eyes, "You don't know me, Arvin. So don't act like you do."

I sat my glass down and swiftly stood up from the couch. He did the same.

"I might not have seen you in years but I think I know you better than anyone on this planet. Am I right?" He asked, watching as I paced up and down in front of him.

I scoffed and shook my head.

"You're tellin' me that this guy- this guy - knows you better than I do?" Arvin lifted a picture of Will and I up to demonstrate.

"Yes. He does."

"Bullshit." He spat.

"You don't get to say shit like that Arvin. You know why?" I challenged, standing close to him with my hands on my hips.

"Why?" He retorted.

"Because you left! You left to murder someone! You'd have rather been a killer livin' with guilt for the rest of your life than to be with me." I shouted.

I didn't notice how close we were until he laughed and I could feel his familiar breath on my face.

"I had to do it. That preacher was no good. And neither was that cops sister and her dirt-bag husband." He snapped.

I blinked at him in confusion.

"Wh-what do you mean the cops sister and her husband?" I asked in a soft tone.

He looked away from me and gulped.

I gasped and held my hands over my mouth, "Did- did you-"

He grabbed and held my hands, "They were gonna kill me, y/n. They would take hitchhikers and murder them to take pictures with their dead bodies. I wasn't about to be the next one."

I widened my eyes, "They did what?!"

"And then I got caught out by the cop...his sister was the wife. He followed me to Knockemstiff and tried to shoot me with a shot gun. I had to, y/n. He was gonna kill me I-"

I could see the tears and the panic in his eyes. I just reached my hands up and wrapped them around his shoulders, bringing him into my arms. His face went into my neck and I could feel tears drip onto my skin. I threaded my fingers through his hair.

"I'm a bad person, y/n. I killed four people..." He sniffed.

"Arvin, look at me." I tugged him from my neck and cupped his cheeks.

"You are not a bad person. You were just caught up in some twisted shit and you had no other way. You are a good person, Arvin." I said sincerely, feeling tears spring into my own eyes.

"I lost you because of it, though I just- I can't-" He cried.

"I know." I sniffled, feeling a tear drip down my face.

I looked at him; teary, eyes swollen and red, complexion pale. I didn't know what else to do.

"You're a good person, Arvin." I said again, leaning up on my tip-toes to kiss his cheek.

He hummed at my touch and I kissed his other cheek, "You did nothin' wrong."

I went back to his right cheek and kissed it again like I needed to feel his skin on my lips once more.

Just as I went to kiss his other cheek, he leaned forward and caught my lips with his instead.

I gasped, pulling away from his body and looking at him, touching my fingers over my lips.

"I-I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that. You're an engaged woman and I-"

I launched forward, wrapping my arms around his neck and crashing my lips to his. It took a second to make sure it was real. But as his hands slid effortlessly onto my waist, I knew.

"You're the love of my life, Arvin. You always have been and always will be." I whispered, pulling away briefly.

He stared into my eyes but didn't say a word. But I knew what he was thinking. He kissed me again, our lips moved over each other's with fervour and passion, the excitement and thrill of tasting each other again for the first time in years. In too long. He felt and tasted the same but more mature and wiser.

He pushed me back by my waist until my back hit the wall. I let out a moan of surprise and pleasure. He smirked against my lips before devouring me again. His tongue slipped easily into my mouth and I hummed, fully tasting him. My fingers ran through and tugged at his hair, and his hands ran up and down my sides and my back.

His touch felt nostalgic but euphoric and in the heat of the moment, everything was perfect.

"Your lips taste amazing," He said breathlessly between sloppy kisses.

"So do yours." I replied.

He wrapped his hands around my back and skilfully unzipped my dress. It fell to the floor in a pool around my ankles. I brought my hands to his shoulders as our kiss got heavier, teasing his suspenders before sliding them off his arms. I began unbuttoning his shirt in a hurried fashion as his lips started trailing down my jaw to my neck. I was finally able to push the fabric from his shoulders and then pulling his vest over his head.

And as his hands came down to my thighs to lift me up and around his torso, and as he carried me up and into my bedroom; I knew that he was it. He was the person I was destined to be with. He was the love of my life.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

5 years later

(Play ‘That Old Feeling’ by Doris Day now)

I placed the needle carefully onto the record and turned it up.

I walked through the house and got to the porch where I looked out and saw Arvin and Jack playing catch. I stood with a grin as my husband and 4 year old played enthusiastically - the old baseball still intact and very much in use.

I crouched down and placed the 2 year old who rested on my hip, onto the ground. She wobbled slightly but quickly got up and running. She made her way to the stairs which I quickly intervened and grabbed her hand to help her down onto the soil.

"Go get Daddy, Charlotte. Go!" I laughed, pointing to Arvin.

She squealed happily and ran towards her Dad, arms flailing clumsily as she sprinted. Arvin stopped the game of catch briefly as he saw his daughter coming towards him.

"Hey princess!" He grinned, crouching to his knees and grabbing his daughter.

He lifted her up and sat her on his knee, handing her the ball.

"Throw the ball to Jack, Charlotte!" Arvin prompted, pointing to the blonde haired boy who stood confidently.

She babbled a few words and then threw the ball onto the ground. At least she attempted. I whooped and clapped as I walked over.

"Good job, baby!" I praised in a baby voice.

Arvin stood up, letting Charlotte run around with her brother for a while, the dog joining them, enthusiastically bounding around them.

"Hey, handsome." I grinned as I reached Arvin.

"Hey, beautiful." He smiled.

He wrapped an arm around my waist and kissed me, tongue briefly slipping into my mouth. I hummed in surprise and pulled away.

"Careful, Arvin or you'll be makin' another one of those tonight." I giggled.

We stood side by side, an arm wrapped around each other's back as we watched Jack attempt to play catch with his sister.

"Why don't we make another one, then?" Arvin suggested.

I looked at him with raised brows, "If you want to push one out of your ass, then by all means let's do it."

He chuckled, "I'm serious, y/n."

I turned to face him and he wrapped his arms around my waist while I played with the bottom of his hair.

"Another baby girl or boy? With a dog?" I laughed.

"Yeah...I mean it's crazy but it's our crazy." He smirked.

"Hmm, depends how nice you treat me tonight." I bit my lip.

He held back a shit-eating grin, "Oh...you're so gettin' knocked up tonight."

I gasped, smacking his chest with a laugh.

"I love you." He smiled.

"I love you, too."

"Forever?" He quipped.

"And ever." I smiled.

And we meant it.

-

A/N: oh my god. that's the mini-series done! i loved writing for Arvin it was fun with the southern dialogue and the 60s time period! i hope you all enjoyed reading as much as i enjoyed writing. If you'd like to request any one shots, head over to my instagram @tomholland1510 to request!

ALSO!! bonus points to anyone who understands the easter eggs in the kids' names! do they seem familiar? ;)

-

{Tags: @notandordinaryprincess96 @imagine-yourself-happy​}

[lemonjoonah]

Level of Restraint (M)

Pairings: Jimin x Reader, Namjoon x Reader, Taehyung x Reader Word Count: 13K  Rating: M  Genre: Thriller, smut, office AU, BDSM AU  Warnings(contains spoilers): This story contains very dark themes and may not be suited to all readers, protected sex (vag+anal), threesome, double penetration, bondage (including partial suspension), dom/sub roles (reader is a sub), praise kink, mild degration, sensory deprivation, spanking, fingering, cum feeding, mild breathplay, sex toys, exhibitionism, voyeurism, discussion of safe word, Namjoon is a professional dom/sex worker, referenced discrimination of sex workers and those who participate in BDSM, public outing of sexual practices, inappropriate workplace relationships, referenced death of minor character, yandere character, misidentified sexual partner, manipulation, bribery, blackmail, implied stalking, violence.

Summary: As a co-founder of a consulting firm you can’t afford to be caught in a scandal. So flirting with your secretary, Jimin, would be out of the question. Giving your client’s son, Taehyung, a reference for a sexual partner would be reprehensible. And having regular paid BDSM sessions with your dominant, Namjoon? That would be a career ending disgrace. It’s too bad the only restraints in life you approve of are the cuffs that bind you to the bed, because there are those hiding in the dark waiting to take advantage. 

A/N: A huge thank you to everyone who supported me while writing this story. It was hard not to question the level of darkness this tale descends to. In the end your assurances and aid are the only reason this fic made it to fruition. Upon reading you might notice several thematic references to the ‘Fall of the House of Usher,’ by Edgar Allan Poe  and the Greek myth of Tantalus. They are two of my favourite tales, and together they greatly represent the darkened desires depicted in this oneshot.

...

8:55 am KNJ: Good girl.

Your heart races upon receiving the response you’ve been waiting for all morning. The sender had requested proof that you were wearing his last minute gift, and you were happy to oblige with the lewd photo. Finally seeing his simple praise for your efforts makes you grin from ear to ear, as you enter the front door to your workplace’s building. The message will be enough to get you through the day, high on the thought of his praise while his present is wrapped tightly around your ribs. Though the garment may be confining, you’ll endure anything to receive those two simple words.

Reluctantly glancing up from your phone you look ahead to see the elevator closing.

“Hold the door!” You call out, making a run for it. Mercifully the gap between the doors widens allowing you to climb in before it begins the long haul up. Glancing over to your savoir, you find your secretary standing at the panel. “Thanks Jimin.”

“No problem,” he responds with a warm smile. “What floor do you need?” Joking as he pushes the button labelled 14. 

You playfully shove his arm while trying to catch your breath. Had he left you down on the first floor there's no telling how long it would be before the elevator returned. The building in which you work has been down to one lift for a couple days, with no promise of when the other will be fixed. It’s not a surprise really, ever since you moved into this complex three years ago you’ve been plagued with breakdowns and shotty utilities. Considering how opulent  the tower is, with it’s gilded elevators and halls adorned in finery you expected better, but people often overlook flaws when they have something pleasant to stare at. Allowing the management to slack on some of the failings of the structure. 

“Do you think you could send maintenance another message?” You ask your hand clutching your waist to comfort the stitch in your side, no doubt a result of the corset concealed beneath your clothes. 

“Consider it done.” Jimin replies, pulling out his phone. “Are you okay Miss?” He asks, your heavy breathing failing to go unnoticed judging from the concern in his voice.

“Fine.” You quickly change the subject, not wanting to linger on your current state. “What’s on my schedule for today?”

“You have a consultation with Mr. Kim of HOC Industries in an hour-” 

“Really?” You cut in, confused about the sudden change. “But I just saw him a few weeks ago. Why is he coming in?”

“He didn’t say, I just got a message last night from him stating he required an appointment immediately.”

“That’s not a good sign...” You groan, wondering what information had dropped to spur a need for such an urgent response. 

“Afterwards you have an early lunch with journalist Min. Followed by a one o’clock appointment with Jeon Jungkook to go over the new web layout. And the rest of office hours are slated as admin.” 

You cringe over the prospect of bookkeeping. Your accountant’s involvement in a recent accident, placed him on an extended leave of absence. Since you are the only other member of your small staff qualified to balance the books, this leaves you burdened with his duties. “Remind me later to make a posting for a temp position.”

“Noted,” Jimin remarks as he continues to scroll through his phone. “Oh and don’t forget, you also have your monthly massage appointment with Kim Namjoon tonight.”

You smile at the thought, you would never forget a booking with him, especially since he’s the reason for your current state of breathlessness. You’ve been counting down the days until you get to see him, with only a few hours left you can barely contain yourself. To everyone who asks he’s a masseur, but the services he provides are far more aggressively intimate than a standard massage. You force a small cough to cover the involuntary moan starting to escape. 

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah, just tired. I didn’t sleep well last night.” It’s not a complete lie, with the stress from work there have been a lot of restless nights recently, your appointment tonight should help to relieve a bit of that tension. There’s a loud groan as the elevator comes to a stop at your floor. You look up to the top of the lift and over to Jimin with worry, both of you stepping off with haste once the doors open.

Your entire office space consists of only a few rooms. You and Hoseok had started this company only a few years ago, focusing on corporate consultations regarding public image and approval. All things considered you’re doing rather well. With your negotiation tactics, Hoseok's philanthropy efforts, and Yoongi on retainer as your media source, you’ve been able to take on several giant corporations.    

As you walk down the hall you find the temperature starting to rise, and upon stepping into your’s and Jimin’s shared office, you’re hit with a wave of heat. You whisper your curses as you check the thermostat which has been jacked to its highest setting and refuses to shift back down. 

Giving up on the system you turn to the windows, but even those are a struggle after being neglected for so long. You call out to Jimin for assistance, waiting no more than a second before he is by your side. But even with his help you only manage to open them to the grand extent of a sliver before you’re forced to give in. At least with your office door open there’s now a small draft pervading the space.

“I guess I’ll send maintenance another message,” Jimin chuckles.

“You don’t think he’s trying to push us out do you?” You inquire about the building owner, and one of your own clients. You don’t usually make such bold claims, but with Jimin’s ties to the dubious man, it’s hard not to ask.

“I wouldn’t put it past him. Though I think this is more likely due to his lack of regard for the workmanship going into his properties.”

You nod overlooking the now stuffy room which holds both your desks. It serves its purpose with a sufficient amount of daylight from the large windows, and a partial wall giving you each a bit of privacy. You’d rather not have to leave this building and the status that comes with it, but there seems to be no end with these faulty appliances. “So much for being the height of sophistication.”

While you settle into your workspace you’re already dying from the heat, a sweater and camisole overtop your corset was not the best choice for today, but you didn’t want to risk anyone noticing the garment beneath. As you shuffling through your newsite tabs Jimin readies the coffee maker, returning to you with the first dose of your daily caffeine needs. 

“You’re a saint.”

Jimin smiles brightly at your compliment, living for the praise as always. “Do you want some ice on the side?” He laughs as you tug on your sweater to stop it from sticking to your skin.

“Only if I can rub it all over.” You sigh jokingly as you take a sip of the hot beverage.

“I’d be happy to assist.” His smirk and piercing gaze look to be downright serious, his flirtation hitting a new high today.    

“Sorry Jimin, I already have a massage appointment later. I think Namjoon would be very upset if you took his job from him.”

“That’s too bad.” He mutters, his lip still curled into a smile before stepping away from your desk. “Let me know if you change your mind. I’d be more than willing to compensate him for his loss.” Jimin has never been shy about his attraction to you, a desire which you most certainly reciprocate, but your own company policies keep the both of you tied to flirtatious word play. With Jimin winning more often than not when it comes to provocative sentiments.

He hangs around on your side of the room, straightening the chairs and stray flies, while you continue your search for whatever prompted the need for your haste meeting. At last you find it, on the featured articles of a prominent celeb news site, with the headline reading, ‘The Dark Desires of the Kim Family Heir.’

Much to your chagrin the issue isn’t regarding your client, but his son. As much as you try to stay out of personal family matters, sometimes they are unavoidable, and this looks to be one of those cases.

‘Kim Taehyung has long been considered one of the most eligible bachelors. He has it all, money, power, and a spot on every top ten most attractive list, but those who have been with him more intimately say he craves something more...’ 

Your mouth falls open in horror as one of Taehyung's former partners exposes their most intimate moments with him. ‘The Gucci suits and custom cologne are just an expensive mask for the darkness beneath. He would ask to be tied, bound to the bed and struck. He wanted pain and pleasure...’ The further you read the more your chest tightens. You’d rather not jump to conclusions, but you wouldn’t be surprised if it’s true. A fact which must make it all the more painful for Taehyung. You can only imagine what he must be going through, to have such private details exposed and exploited. He’s currently living your worst nightmare, a societal judgement over one's deepest desires. For professional reasons it would probably be best to stay out of this private matter, but you can’t in good consciousness let him suffer alone.

“That bad?” Jimin asks.

“Yeah...” You cover your mouth to hide your shuddering breath, blinking away the tears that threaten to spill on Taehyung's behalf.

Jimin shuffles in behind your desk with you. By lowering himself to read off your screen, his face falls next to yours. His hands come to rest on your shoulders as he leans in to eye the article in question. You should shoo him away, but you can’t help but be curious of his response to those who engage in such practices. As his eyes scan the page his grip on you tightens, his breathing erratic just like yours, with a whispered “‘Fuck,” escaping his lips. 

“Are we interrupting something?” A voice calls out from your open door. 

Your head snaps over in shock to find your next appointment waiting for you, with his son in tow. You jump up pushing Jimin back so you can greet your guests properly. “Mr. Kim! No not at all,  please come in. This must be-”

“Taehyung...” The younger man mutters as he walks in, slumping down in one of the chairs in front of your desk. His sunglasses are still in place, the smell of spirits wafts over you along with the spicy scent of what must be his referenced cologne. He’s a sight to behold, a person of his caliber could make a fortune off his looks alone; he wouldn’t even need a drop of his father's fortune. But of course, that would have been before this public outing of his bedroom tendencies. Now he’s more likely to be seen as a pariah rather than an asset.

Directing the elder to the seat next to him, you take your own once again as Jimin retreats to his desk. You don’t even have the chance to exchange pleasantries before Mr. Kim launches into the purpose of their visit. “I assume you saw the article about my son?”

“I did, but-”

“And? What can we do about it? How can we spin it? Our stocks have already taken a hit.”

“Your son just had a serious breach in personal privacy...” You pause hoping that he’ll have some semblance of a realization that he is not the victim here, instead he simply waits for you to continue. Attempt to hold in your dismay, you give him the only answer you can, “Sue for defamation if you’d like, but whether they are printing fact or fiction the damage is done. The press is still focusing on your family due to your early misdealings in your company. I would argue that if you turn the view of operations around then there is a very good chance that the media will start to back off personal affairs.”

“You can’t expect me to twiddle my thumbs and wait. My shareholders are currently questioning his ability to lead, they might seek to replace him.”

“Good.” Taehyung mutters. “If those prudes have a problem with me, I’d rather not have to work with them.”

You bite your lip to conceal a snort of laughter.  Mr. Kim fails to notice but his son seems to have caught your slip, taking off his glasses, he pierces you with a strong gaze.

Kim senior starts up again looking for sympathy and a way out, “Do you know how many of his flings I’ve had to pay off in the past-”

“Maybe you should just stick to your own business.” Taehyung eyes his father darkly.

“They made it my business when they started squealing to the press about what kind of man you are.”

You try to rein the situation in, this battle between father and son having no place in your office. “Mr. Kim! I would actually like to speak to your son for a moment. We can see if there’s a possible remedy for this... exposure.” You stand up, calling over the wall for your secretary "Jimin? Would you mind taking Mr. Kim to see Hoseok?” You turn back to your elder client, practically pushing him out the door into your secretaries’s care. “Jung Hoseok has been continuing his work on your company's philanthropic efforts. I’m sure he would love to show you what he has done with your portfolio.”

“Do you need me to come right back Miss?” Jimin asks with a pleading stare, his eyes flicker over to the young man still slumped in his seat.

“No I think we’ll be okay for a bit.” You mutter to him quietly as Mr. Kim proceeds down the hall. “Just keep him away for a few minutes.”

Once they're both gone you sit back down across from Taehyung with a sigh.

“So are your going to talk some sense into me?” He drawls with disdain.

“Fuck no,” you scoff, rummaging through your drawer. “Can I get you anything coffee, water... advil?”  You finally pull out the bottle of pain relievers and offer one to him as you take one yourself, your head ready to explode in frustration over his father. 

He tilts his head looking somewhat surprised, “So why did you send him away then?”

“I thought you could use a break. I’ve worked with many people like your father, they all want things done their way, and you’ll never be able to tell them otherwise. He’ll never admit to his faults, and the fact that he’s the real reason the media is all over you. So as long as you don’t tattle on me, we both can make it through this meeting with him thinking that he’s won.”

“Deal,” Taehyung agrees while he chuckles at your ploy. 

“Are you sure you don’t want anything?” You offer once again.

“Actually I’ll take some advil.”

“I thought you might.” You poor him glass from the cooler and offer up the pill. When his sleeve pulls back to reach for the cup you can’t help but notice the glaring red evidence of a rope abrasion on his wrist. While he throws back the pain killer, you take another sip of your coffee rolling the bitterness over your tongue before breaching the difficult subject. “It can’t be easy to have the press prying into every aspect of your private life.”

“It’s not so much that they pry, but...” Taehyung hesitates, his brow furrows as his fingers run through his hair tugging on the strands between his fingers.  “People know that they can go to them with a story and make money off any relations I have with them. And the press will gladly pay top dollar for what they have to offer.”

“The story is not a complete fabrication then?” You already know it’s not judging from his father's response and the marks on his arm, you just need to hear him say it. 

“No, it’s mostly true.” He admits, watching your reaction.

“Then it would seem that your desires might be thought unconventional by many of your past partners?”

Taehyung nods, taking another sip of his water. 

“From one unconventional individual to another,” you pause waiting for your own admission to sink in. To your delight Taehyung immediately perks up listening attentively as you continue. “There are more discreet ways to fill those needs.”

“Are you offering?” He asks, raising a brown along with the corner of his lips.

“No, I doubt that I would be very good at meeting your cravings, since we both hunger the same type of... attention.” You smile back at him, rejoicing in your mutual secret. “But I do have a friend who will take very good care of you. I’m going to give you a name and phone number, it’s up to you if you want to contact them, but I can assure you any conversations or actions between you and them will be kept strictly confidential. It’s not cheap,” you explain, but doubt that’ll be a problem for him. “But I assure you it’s safe and private.”

Taehyung can barely get the information from you fast enough once you jot it down. His hands, reaching for the sheet, accidentally knock over your coffee instead, sending the drink in your direction and staining your sweater. “I’m so sorry, here let me help you.” Taehyung jumps up and runs and grabs napkins from the coffee station. 

“It’s fine really.” You assure him, making an attempt to stop him as he starts to blot the saturated material. 

Unfortunately it’s at this moment that Jimin walks in to see your precarious state. He stands there for a moment in silence before explaining the reason for his return. “Mr. Kim said he needs to leave soon, Miss. He wanted to see if you two were... finished.” There’s glare set in his eyes for Taehyung's forwardness.

“Yeah, be right there, just one second.” You turn back to Taehyung, exchanging the damp napkin in his hand for the paper you had just written on. “Think about it, I hope you’ll give him a call. I don’t give out his information unless I think it will be of help to someone.”

“Kim Namjoon,” Taehyung mutters quietly while reading the slip. “If I were to go see him, would I find you there too?” He looks back up at you, biting his lip after posing his query.

“Likely not, he keeps his sessions very private, but you can always discuss your...” You glance over to Jimin who is still waiting, and well within earshot. “Preferences with him.”

“Then I’ll consider it, thank you.”

After seeing Mr. Kim and his son off, you're left to deal with the stain on your sweater, with only fifteen minutes before you have to leave for your lunch appointment. “Jimin could you call Yoongi and let him know I’m running a little late? I need to stop by my apartment on the way.”

“No need, I’ve got an extra shirt here.” He pulls out one of his own from his desk. “ I know it’s a men’s fit, but I think we can make it work.” 

“Why do you keep that here?” You laugh. He only looks at you and the stain with a raised brow, no words needed to prove his point. “Never mind, stupid question, but I can’t take your shirt Jimin.”

“I insist, go put it on.” He forces it into your hands as you double check your watch, your time constraints leaving you with little choice. 

Stepping behind the dividing wall, you strip down to your camisole, breathing a sigh of relief that the beverage hadn’t seeped into the fabric of the corset. Quickly throwing his button up over top and tucking it in, you check to ensure your intimate garment is still hidden relatively beneath the shirt before coming back out for his opinion “Does it look okay?”

Jimin nods, but when he reaches out to touch the shirt you recoil, fearing that he will discover what you wear beneath. He chuckles and persists, “I’m just fixing your collar.” He moves in closer standing just a couple inches away. Pinching the two seams of the fabric together, he considers the change. “I think it would look better like this.” You nod, keeping silent as he follows through. Pulling the fabric tight around your throat, your breathing is forced to pause for a moment as he fastens the top button. “Better?” He asks, while his hands linger around your neck.

“Much.” You whisper, as his fingers drift up to hold your chin, with the tip of his thumb dragging along the edge of your bottom lip. You stand there confused as to why your flirtatious game has taken such a physical turn. Although his actions are prohibited and should be censured, you can’t fully condemn them, deciding instead to remove yourself, rather than reprimand him. “I-I should go. I don’t want to be late meeting Yoongi.”  

...

It was a productive lunch to say the least, but that was by no means thanks to you. Your focus was distinctly elsewhere. While you toyed with your bottom lip, thinking of how Jimin had touched it just moments before, Yoongi gave you everything you needed to secure several new clients. Even now as you return, disembarking the elevator on to your floor, you still can’t concentrate on the day ahead.

On the walk back to your office Hoseok catches you, quickly pulling you into his own and closing the door behind. “You need to do something about Jimin.” 

“Wh-what do you mean?” You ask, nervous that he had seen you two together before you left for your meeting.

“Your client earlier, Mr. Kim, he said that he caught you two acting rather close, making suggestions that you two are involved in a sexual relationship. Usually I would disregard a comment like his but-” 

“It’s not true, you know I wouldn’t!” As much as you might want to act on Jimin’s advances you’ve never crossed that line. You know it must have been bad for Hoseok to bring it up, for him to take this serious tone is evidence of his deep concern. 

“I know that, but this isn’t the first time someone has thought you two might be a little too intimate. Some of the staff have also considered the notion. And I can see why, the way he looks at you, talks to you...” Hoseok trails off as his eyes linger on your apparel in confusion. “You weren’t wearing that earlier were you?” 

“No, I had some coffee spill on me earlier. Jimin was nice enough to loan me his.”

Hoseok tilts his head as he raises his brow as if this validates his concerns.

“He was just being helpful!” You offer, but Hoseok doesn’t look to be swayed, and he’s right, this is a workplace not a morning after situation. “Fine, I see your point. So what do you suggest?”

“Redistribute him, send him my way if you have to, god knows that I could use the extra hand. You could even play it off as a promotion, just get him out of your office.” Your heart drops at the thought, not wanting to give him up. Hoseok seeing this takes a softer tone. “Listen I can see that you like him too. I’m sure it feels good to have his attention, but you need to get this out of your system. You have to put a stop to it. We can’t afford a scandal and you know it.” 

With the assurance that you’ll think on the issue, and giving Hoseok your solution by tomorrow, you return to your office. But the problem is far from easy, though you did not lie about your physical relationship to Hoseok, you have been keeping something from him. From all of them. Jimin will never accept a promotion if it takes him away from you. He’s never worked here for the money, he doesn’t need to when his father owns half of the city, this building included. 

...

-3 years ago-

“Mr. Lee, thank you so much for agreeing to meet with me.” You pull out the chair to sit across from him. The massive mahogany desk of his placing a rather large distance between the two of you. 

“Yes well, my building manager said you were very persistent.” There’s a small roll in his eyes as he looks from you down to the computer in front of him. 

“I wanted to discuss one of your properties, an office space in the Madeline Suites.”

He takes a swift glance at your modest appearance with narrowing eyes. “Forgive me, but I believe that location might be out of your price range.” 

“Monetarily yes,” You agree. “But we offer services which might be helpful to you.”

“I do not deal in favours. I can see that this meeting was a waste of time, you may go.” He waves the back of his hand to shoo you out, while his secretary grabs the door from the outside.

“I am not asking for a favour, but offering you my services. I’m the co-founder of a corporate image consulting firm. And come this time tomorrow, I believe you’ll be looking for someone within our realm of dealings.”

“And what makes you say that?” Lee asks, his words laced with cynicism. 

You lay out the first page of the article which Yoongi had sent you, stretching it across the wooden surface to place it in Mr. Lee’s view. ‘Real Estate Developer Lee Gungsang Faced Prior Allegations of Unlawful Evictions and Price Hiking.’ “This is slated for tomorrow morning’s front page.” 

Mr. Lee is quick to send his secretary off, the door shutting once again. “How do you know about this? These cases were settled before they made it anywhere near the courts.”

“I have my sources.” 

“Then stop this! I will pay whomever needs to be paid to prevent this from leaching out. You want the office space, it's yours.” He’s voice is desperate, you have him on the hook, the question now is, how long will he let you drag him for?

“That’s very generous of you, but nothing will stop this from going out tomorrow. My offer is simply to help you get ahead of it and lessen the damage.” You explain, revelling in the fact that money can’t hide everything.

“And how do you propose to do that?”

You pull out a contract for your serves. “I will need you to sign off on my services first. A small fee plus a far more reasonable price for a three year lease of the offices on the 14th floor of the Madeline Suites”

“Without knowing your plan, I think not.”

You give him a bright smile before mimicking his earlier statement. “I do not deal in favours Mr. Lee.”

He grumbles while taking the pen, eyeing you with a dark gaze as he signs on the dotted line.

With the ink still drying you hand over another small document. “Here are a few of my suggestions. Twenty percent of the commercial residences that you have just vacated will be handed over to non-profits for a drastically reduced monthly lease. I’ll even let you pick which you want to support.” 

He looks up at you mortified. “This is excessive.”

“No this is necessary. I’ve seen corporations do far more than this when they are not dealing with a scandal. Your accountants will agree with me that this is the best move, it can be seen as a donation and therefore tax deductible. For the evicted  private residences, I was thinking of partnering with a refugee resettlement program but we can discuss that more in depth later.” 

You carefully tuck away your contract in Lee’s file before dragging another concern to the forefront. “I do have one more request, before I leave today.”

“What more could you possibly want?” He scoffs.

You lean in to deliver your short but important demand. “A heads up.”

“I don’t know what you mean...”

“I mean if there are any other past dealings or actions which might impact your company I need to be aware of them.” There’s always more hidden in the dark, you have one of those secrets on hand now. You need to see if he’s willing to be upfront with you on every dealing of his past, otherwise you might be forced to dig him out from another grave a couple weeks from now. 

“There’s nothing else.” 

“Nothing?” You ask again as you pull out your phone ready to bring forward more evidence. 

“No.”

“So the knowledge of you having and hiding an illegitimate son... you don’t think that’s important? The existence of the only child of the Lee empire, isn’t newsworthy?”

“How did you-” The terror in his face looks to be even greater than the prior accusation. 

“You attempted to evict all of the residents who stayed in your residential apartment for over 10 years if they refused to agree with a massive lease hike. Park Jimin was the only one who wasn’t touched. He has no record of a job, living off what must be money given to him by his parents, so I looked into them. His father wasn’t listed but his late mother, Park Haesoon, used to work for your company, and 22 years ago she signed a NDA issued by your lawyer.” 

You open to Jimin’s public instagram page turning it around for his father to see. “He may take mostly after his mother, but I can still see a few clues to your family resemblance.”

“When does this one drop?” Lee asks in dismay.

“It’s not going to, at least, not from me or my source. We try not to deal in personal life consulting, but I am going to give you some advice in this matter. Get ahead of it.”

“My wife won’t hear of it.” Mr. Lee mutters through clenched teeth, it’s easy to see that this conversation has him very much on edge.

You nod seeing the crux of his dilemma. “I looked into the approximate date of his conception, you were newly married at the time, were you not?”

“Yes. She knows, but her family does not, they have a large political presence and we cannot afford to lose all support from them. Trust me, the boy is not worth the risk.”

“He’s your child!” You berate the CEO, your anger getting the better of you as you think of the emotional toll on Jimin. Not only did he lose his mother but his father won't even publicly acknowledge him. 

“I won’t be swayed on this matter. If you have nothing else to say you may leave.” Mr. Lee rises from his desk and once again gestures towards the door. “I’ll have keys to your new office space delivered to you tomorrow along with the lease. But I should warn you, if there is even a whisper of his name in public in conjunction with mine, I can assure you, your so-called firm won’t last another week.”

...

Less than a month later you and Hoseok have moved your entire enterprise to the new office space. You’re holding an open house for several different staff positions, when the most unlikely of applicants walks in your door, Park Jimin. 

He hands you a piece of paper which you can only guess is his resume, because your eyes fail to leave his face, your mouth unable to form words in your state of shock. Closing the door behind him, he gives you a nervous smile. “Judging from your expression, I take it you know who I am?”

You manage a single nod, still confused as to why he’s here, now, with you. It’s lucky you’re conducting the interviews alone, otherwise it would be difficult to explain your shock to Hoseok without exposing Jimin’s lineage. 

“I’ve been wanting to meet with you,” Jimin confesses, adding sheepishly, “My father told me of your meeting. He said you took a bit of an interest in me, even found my social media accounts.” 

“Oh, oh no.” You finally manage to sputter out, far more anxious with the younger man than his father. You never intended to meet Jimin, let alone have him find out you dug into some very personal aspects of his past and present. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t intend to invade your privacy. I was only trying to figure out what was going on. And when I learned the truth, I wanted him to own up to his mistake of hiding you.”

Jimin chuckles lightly, sitting down in front of you, “I didn’t come here looking for an apology Miss, I know why you did it. I merely wanted to meet one of the few people to ever successfully scare the shit out of my father.” 

The wide beaming smile accompanying his statement spurs a laugh from you, while also allowing you to relax in his presence. “Sometimes you have to intimidate these people to get them to do the right thing. But I’m sorry I wasn’t able to convince him to go public regarding everything.”

“That’s not your fault. In the end it was just nice to hear that there's someone who thinks I deserve better.” Jimin adds, with a look of sorrow leaching into his smile.

“Of course you do, but I must ask, why come here now?” You take a moment to confirm that it is in fact his resume that he’s handed you. ”I can’t imagine that you need a job.” He’s appearance alone is enough to tell you he’s buried in wealth, though his father has not given him the family name, it looks as if Jimin has gained some of the assets.  

“Actually that’s exactly what I was looking for.”

“Your father didn’t pressure you to come here to keep an eye on me did he?” You ask with scepticism. Keeping watch over possible threats wouldn’t be a completely off brand for those of his status. And with you knowing some of his deepest secrets you could likely be considered one of the biggest risks.

“No.” Jimin chuckles, briefly raising his hands in surrender. “I promise I’m here of my own volition. Money isn’t my biggest concern, I’ve been hoping to build connections. I want to use my time wisely and work with someone who is worthy of my focus, and that just so happens to be you.” He finishes with a suggestive smirk, making you wonder if you’ve won his affection too. 

“And what does your focus get me?” You ask, trying to weigh the benefits versus the risk. You doubt that Mr. Lee will respond kindly to you hiring his son, but if he continues to deny his son’s  existence then what right does he have to disagree? 

“Anything you require. I was interested in the posting for your secretary, but any position beneath you would suit me nicely.” 

...

There’s no way you’ll be able to convince Jimin to willingly change roles and work for Hoseok instead. But you can’t deny that your co-founder’s points are valid. 

Jimin greets you warmly as you enter your office. “Did you have a nice lunch?” 

“Yeah, it was good.” You respond, forcing out a smile.

“Really? Because you look upset.” 

You curse Jimin’s ability to read you at a time like this. “I promise, lunch was fine. Yoongi gave me some substantial leads.” You sigh sliding back in your seat. With your values shaken and morals questioned by Hoseok, you are deeply in need of someone to brace yourself on. Wanting to step out of the realm of responsibility and control even if it’s just for a moment, you make a request to Jimin. “Would you go fetch Jungkook for our meeting?”

“I can just call him in.” He makes the case looking reluctant to leave your side.

“Please Jimin just go get him. I need a few minutes for a personal call.”

Jimin looks at you crestfallen before finally leaving. It’s not often you keep things from him, he can scope you out too well for that. But Kim Namjoon’s actual role in your life is the one secret you feel is the most imperative to hide from him.

You pull out your cell, not wanting to use his number on your work phone. After two rings he picks up. “Couldn’t wait a few more hours to hear my voice baby girl?”

You're too embarrassed to admit he’s right, settling on another excuse for your call. “N-no I just wanted to let you know that I’ve sent someone your way... sir.”

“Don’t lie to me I can hear the need in your voice.” He chuckles lightly as he taunts you. “Your reference already reached out to me. I’m excited to play with him, is he just as handsome as he sounds?”

“More so.”

Namjoon hums on the line in gratification. “My babygirl, giving me another pet to play with.” 

You blush from the praise. Taehyung makes the sixth person you’ve suggested following the charity ball you met Namjoon at a couple years ago. Where he, much like you, was secretly scoping out potential clients. Every one of those patrons you’ve given him since then has been his pet, but you, you’re his babygirl. 

“I was wondering...” Namjoon’s carries on, in a tone far more hesitant than usual. “Tonight would you be willing to try something a little unconventional? Would you like to share him?”

“W-would that be okay?” He’s never suggested adding another to your sessions before, but you can’t deny you’re intrigued by the prospect.

“He mentioned an interest in you, and after discussing his needs I feel that I require someone other than myself to pin his desires on. You’ll be the carrot while I’ll be the stick. Do you think you could do that for me?”  Namjoon proposes in a low purr dragging every heated thought and possibility to the forefront of your mind.  

“Yes sir.” Your response is instant, with little thought required. Helping Namjoon with Taehyung? You’d be a fool to turn down the opportunity. There’s a small knock on your office door with the return of Jimin and Jungkook trailing behind him. You start to panic while still on the phone with Namjoon. “I’ll see you later then?”

Namjoon can of course detect the change in your tone, but instead of letting you off the hook he pulls you further. “Did someone walk in on you babygirl? I take it they don’t know about this side of you?”

“No they don’t.”

“No sir.” He calls out your lack of decorum, an error which you know you’ll pay for later. “Such a shame they’re missing out. What do you think they would say if they knew of my plans for you tonight? How I intend to hang you like forbidden fruit above another man. Do you think they would approve?” 

Your eyes widen as Namjoon continues and Jungkook takes the seat in front of you with Jimin standing behind him. You clear your throat and hold up your finger to them, gesturing for another minute. Turning away to hide your face as you continue to try and end the call. But hanging up on one’s dom is never advisable, condemning you to listen for as long as he wishes to torment. 

“I bet you would like them watch, wouldn’t you?” Namjoon asks, egging on your sinful thoughts, transferring them from Taehyung over to your co-workers.

You shift your thighs trying to dispel the building need as you consider the notation of them watching. Imagining Jungkook’s wide eyes taking in the sight, likely with a hand on his cock, he’s an innocent man with strong desires. You’ve known others like him before, they act with naivete but when confronted with an opportunity for more, they don’t hesitate to gorge on what is presented to them.

And Jimin, would he accept your darker needs? You wish he would, desperately wanting him to play along, to help mould you into submission. Your head now filled with thoughts of kneeling before him taking him in your mouth while he christens you a good girl. If only you could be sure that he wouldn’t react like most people, like those who condemned Taehyung. Your eyes flutter back over to your secretary who is looking at you with deep suspicion. You desperately need to end the call or risk giving yourself away. “I should probably-”

“Am I embarrassing you baby girl?” Namjoon teases with an amused laugh. “Does that mean I’m right?”

“Yes...”

“Yes sir.” Namjoon reminds you once again. “I’ll release you for now, but I better see you here at seven o’clock sharp. Is that understood?”

You breathe a sigh of relief at the release.  “Yes sir.” After finally hanging up, you offer up an apology. “Sorry about that.”

“Who was it?” Jimin inquires with a soft tone, but  a quick lick to his lips shows his intentions to be far from innocent. His clenched fists and hovering nature further pointing towards jealousy.

“No one important.” You smile through the lie, careful in your attempt to comfort him. It’s pointless to keep acting in this way, but you still can’t bear the thought of disheartening his feelings or pushing him away. 

...

After your meeting with Jungkook, you're left with a stack of paperwork and your ever persistent lack of concentration as you try to figure out what can be done with Jimin. Should you just tell him the issue, would it help or would it make the situation worse? If he knows how he is perceived then will the affection stop, and if it does, will you struggle with that loss?

“Can I walk you to your car Miss?” Jimin asks with his jacket in hand. You check the time, reading just after five. So lost in thought you had accomplished almost nothing in the last few hours of the day.

“I think I might just stay here until I have to leave for my appointment, I still have a bit more work to do.” You explain rubbing your hands over your face as you pull yourself from your daze.

“Do you want me to stay too then?” 

“No, I couldn’t ask that of you. But before you go I’d like to discuss something” You gesture to the seat across from you which he takes with hesitation. You’re usually not so formal and he can clearly spot the difference. You open your mouth and pause trying to find the right words as his eyes shine in your direction. The evening sun pouring into the room bathing his skin in with golden light makes it so much harder to stick to the issue at hand. You eventually resort to staring at the irrelevant papers on your desk as you open with your concern. 

“I’m worried that our actions towards each other imply that our relationship is not strictly professional.” You blurt it out quickly, hating every word that crosses your lips.

“Have I been making you uncomfortable Miss?” Jimin’s expression falls along with his question, the heartbreak ringing out clear in his voice. 

“No, no. It’s just, I’m concerned about how others see our interactions.”

“Oh, so someone said something to you then?” 

“Hoseok mentioned that a few people think we appear to be a bit more than boss and secretary.” You know it cowardly to bring Hoseok into this, but the information is second hand. You can’t be sure what others have said exactly.

“Well you do know more about me than most.” Jimin laughs lightly. 

“That’s not what they are implying. They think we are engaged in a sexual relationship.”

“And...” He draws the word out as if the implication is nothing, implying there should be a better reason for your concerns. 

“We aren’t Jimin!”

“Well, there's only one way to fix that.” He stands up leaning towards you over your desk. “You can’t say you haven’t thought about it. We could keep it a secret if you’d like, no one has to know.”

You doubt Jimin could keep a relationship between the two of you hidden, with the way he dotes on you already, you’re one passionate night away from finding three dozen roses on your desk. “Someone would find out, and the fall out-”

“Fuck the fall out,” Jimin states with resolve, reaching out his fingers tucking back a strand of your hair before curling beneath your chin. “I’m tired of this charade. Hoseok only said something because he’s jealous. He’s jealous that you want me as much as I want you.”

“Jimin,” You whisper. “Even if that was the case, that still doesn’t make it right.” You pull back from his touch. “You should go. Think about what I said, because if we can’t maintain at least some level of restraint and professionalism... then you might be better off working for someone else in the office.”

“So you’d rather keep your social image than be happy with me?” Jimin accuses, the usual warmth having completely vanished from his face.

“It’s not like that. My standing is my life, it’s my career, any blemish would destroy everything I have.” You attempt to express the fear inside you, the weight that bears on you every day. You already have so many secrets and liabilities, but one as close and extensive as a relationship with him might finally crush you and everything you’ve built. “I like you, I really do, but I can’t take the risk. You have to understand, I’m not like you. I don’t have a secret trust fund to fall back on.”  

Jimin looks as though you’ve stabbed him, pulling away he heads to the exit. “I’m sorry I’m not worth the risk. You know, I thought you were better than that, but it would seem you’re just like everyone else.” 

The door slamming between you echoes through the office as you sag in your chair. Never in all your years have you ever sunk so low. By taking him on you wanted to ensure Jimin’s happiness, to show him his value despite the lack of acknowledgement  from his father, but now it seems you’ve fallen into the same role as those who have hurt him before.

  ...

You type your code into Namjoon’s door, stepping into his hall quickly and shutting the door behind you. It’s just before seven and usually you find him in his living room already waiting, but today it’s empty. Not wanting to disturb him, you take a seat on the couch and wait patiently for him to join you. 

You feel ready to fold in on yourself as you continue to dwell on your argument with Jimin. If you laid out boundaries earlier you likely wouldn’t be where you are now. Hating yourself over his confession, and your inability to accept it. 

There’s movement from the bedroom door as Namjoon’s partner Seokjin comes out to greet you. You look up in bewilderment as he takes your hand, pulling you off the couch. “Namjoon has already started with the other client, so he sent me to fetch you.” 

You nod understanding Namjoon’s divergence from the norm, it wouldn’t be safe practice for him to leave Taehyung alone in a precarious position. Now looking to the door with curiosity, you’re excited by what lustful visions will greet you on the other side. But when Seokjin presents something to you it’s clear that you won’t get to see those sights.

“You’ve been asked to wear this.” He holds out a wide silken strip, one that Namjoon has used as a blindfold in the past. You allow Seokjin to cover your eyes, with a touch far more gentle than you know Namjoon’s to be. You don’t want kindness, craving instead to be broken in by the man in the other room, especially after the damage you’ve done today. The loss of your vision will have to be punishment enough for the time being. 

“Does he want me to undress too?” You ask, touching the silk over your eyes, you're completely blind and already longing for the next step. 

“No he wishes to save that pleasure for himself.”

You smirk thinking he might, you’ve been wearing his gift all day it’s only right that he gets to see it first.  

There’s a knock and a click of the door before Seokjin takes you in hand again, leading you in. The air is warmer and heavier than that of the living room, making it impossible to draw a fresh breath. 

Seokjin pushes down on your shoulder, a wordless order to kneel. The plush carpet meeting your knees as you lower yourself, if only you could reach out to get a better sense of what’s in front of you, but form dictates that you keep your hands on your lap. 

The bedroom door closes, signalling Seokjin's departure. Sending one last wave of clean air before you're smothered once again. Locked away for the night with your master and his new pet. There’s a small creek from the mattress and the familiar rattle of restraints against the bedpost. You can just barely make out the tone of Namjoon’s low whisper as he speaks to the current tenant of the bed. 

Footsteps land to your left, muffled by the wall to wall but still sending vibrations through the floor.  As Namjoon approaches, your heart pounds wondering what his first move against you will be. He takes his sweet time letting the anticipation build as your chest continues to heave in its attempts to take in the thick air. You keep your posture, maintaining your stance with the knowledge that he will inspect you. Head lowered, hands on thighs, perched on your toes as your knees dig into the ground. Your legs soon start to tremble as your feet strain to bear the weight.

Namjoon settles right in front of you, the slow draw of his breath reaches your ears, while the heat of his exhale hits your face. A hand trails up the outside of your thigh stilling the tremor in your legs with a forceful grip. You freeze wondering if your jitters will cost you, you can’t let him find fault not if you want him to reward you with his presence. 

But as he takes your chin tightly between his index and his thumb, you know you're in the clear. He tilts your head up as you breathe a sigh of relief. “Such a good girl, setting the perfect example.” His fingers slide down petting the column of your throat with a firm touch. “I was so happy to receive your picture this morning, did you wear the gift all day as ordered?”

“Yes sir.” You pant back, eager for him to see for himself. 

“It wasn’t too hard for you then, to go so long in such a confined state?”

“No sir.”

“Good girl,” He purrs in your ear as he starts unfastening your shirt. He hesitates on the buttons for a moment. “Babygirl, would you care to tell me why you're wearing a men’s shirt?”

You swallow not wanting to admit that it’s the fault of the man currently lying in his bed. You plan to take the fall, wanting Namjoon’s undivided attention even if it’s in the form of a punishment. “I spilled something on mine sir.”  

“So clumsy.” He has the shirt completely off now revealing the corset for him and likely Taehyung to see. Namjoon helps you to stand, unzipping your skirt he pushes it to the floor. You feel so helpless without your sight but Namjoon doesn’t seem to mind assisting. He uses the soft fabric of the shirt to dab at the sweat beading on your skin. “Who, may I ask, clothed you in theirs? Such an expensive label, he must think highly of you.”

You shift in place, made uncomfortable by your inability to answer. Knowing if you say his name thoughts of him will be summoned to your mind. You don’t deserve to think of him at such a time, not after you led him on and left him dry.

“You don’t wish to tell me?” The feel of Namjoon’s breath leaves you, the sounds of his feet  indicating he’s moved to the right of you. Heading to a space you know to be occupied by a table and closet full of his tools. There’s a scrap of metal and what sounds like the jingle of buckles. 

“No sir.”

“And why is that?” Fingers trail up your arm as Namjoon signals his return to your side. 

“Because I’m not allowed to have him sir.”

“A noble response.” Namjoon reasons while he wraps the leather strap of a familiar collar around your neck. “But I still plan to get that name from you before we’re done.” He buckles it swiftly checking the tightness with two fingers. You thought him finished but he progresses to cuff your wrists in leather too, tethering them together in front of you. 

He leans in again with a hushed request, “Still know your safe word?” You nod repeating is back to him before he leads you on towards the bed. 

Namjoon stands behind you as he presents you to his new pet. When you gave Taehyung Namjoon’s number you hadn’t been expecting this but you can’t deny enjoying the prospect. But you find the silence and lack of reaction from him unnerving. “I asked him not to make a sound,” Namjoon explains, “And he’s abiding by my rules so well it’s he?” 

Namjoon takes your hands helping you to feel the current state in which Taehyung is interned. A Leather cuff just like yours binds one of his wrists with a short chain leading to bedpost. You imagine that his other limbs are restricted to the other corners of the bed, for Namjoon has bound you in the same state before. 

“Can he see?” You ask Namjoon wondering if he has been left blind too, or if he’s eyes are watching you now.

“Can he see you? He can babygirl, in fact, he hasn’t looked away once, and why would he?” Namjoon sits you down on the large bed to join Taehyung before pulling down the matching underwear to your corset. “They’re so wet, have you been soaking these all day?” 

You nod in response. A delighted Namjoon makes an offer to Taehyung. “Would you like a taste pet? A reward for being so good.” Namjoon revels in his situation with a chuckle, the man beneath you must have nodded. “Then open up.” You know what a taste means for Namjoon, those panties of yours are most certainly shoved into Taehyung's mouth. He lets out a groan of satisfaction at the welcome intrusion.

Namjoon’s hands find your waist dragging you up further on to the bed with your knees now resting on the mattress. “You’re going to straddle him for me babygirl.” He shifts you over pulling up one of your legs to settle them on either side of the man beneath you. Your knees bent with your calves coming to rest against his bare hips. Without his billowy clothes he is far more slight than you expected, but his skin feels firm and toned. 

You slowly move to lower yourself knowing what you will come down on top of as you sit, but Namjoon seems to have other plans in mind. He takes your bound wrist, lifting them above your head and latching the cuffs to a chain in the rafters of the canopy bed. Once fixed in place he tests your limitations, a quick tug to show you even with your arms fully extended you are only able to lower yourself to half a kneel. You groan in frustration with the realization you can’t move any closer to the cock that rests below you. It’s just as he promised, hung like forbidden fruit above another man. Your dominant’s flare for the poetic never failing to surprise you.

“Problem babygirl?” Namjoon cooes in your ear. “Do you have something you want to say?”

“No sir.”

“Good, because if I recall you still need to be punished for your lack of formality on the phone earlier today.” 

Your stomach drops as you realize he’s going to discipline you right now, in full view of Taehyung. The heat rises to your face at the thought of being demeaned in front of another. Namjoon’s hand cups your bare ass, readying it for the assault. “You failed to call me sir twice, three for each lapse should do it.”

While the first strike eases you in, those that follow are not so gentle. The ring of his index biting your flesh with each impact. The third strike is so strong you pivot forward on your knees, your back arching as you bare forward still confined to the corset and chains. The weight of your body pulls painfully on your shoulders for a brief second, but Namjoon is there to catch you. Stopping you before you can slip and more, and propping you back in place before continuing. 

One hand lays firmly on your stomach to prevent the shift from happening again, while the other rubs the curve of your ass mapping where he should strike next. You can feel the warmth in your skin as the blood rises to the surface in reaction to his beating. Your nerves are caught in the struggle between pain and pleasure, even as the sixth and final blow lands. 

“Good girl.” Namjoon whispers his touch disappearing, as you ease down against your restraints. You hang completely by your wrists while your legs quake from the shock. Every nerve in your body feels as though it’s been left on fire with nothing to quench the flames. Leaving you to hang there for what seems like eternity.

“Sir?” You whisper in the dark as the heat continues to build inside you. Wondering where he has gone your body reacts, begging for the return of his attention with a dripping cunt. And with Taehyung below that can only mean the steady drip of your arousal is left to fall on him.

“Babygirl you’re making such a mess.” Namjoon confirms along with a groan from the man beneath you. “But he appears to be leaking too. Do you want some?” You nod eager for a taste. 

Namjoon obliges, grabbing your throat in one hand, he presses a damp finger to your lips for you to take. Your mouth latches over the offered digit, allowing the bitter fluid to sweep over your tongue. You're forced to let it sit there unable to swallow as the grip on your throat tightens, with the strap of the collar digging into your skin. Your mouth fills with saliva prompting you to close it despite your desperate need for air. 

“Does he taste good?” Namjoon wickedly possesses knowing you can barely even nod. It’s when you start to tremble that he finally releases your airway. 

You swallow quickly before letting your mouth hang open in a pant. With your lungs still restricted by the corset your breathing comes in short shuddering waves. “Yes sir, so good.”

“I think he likes having you drench him, shall we give him more?”

“Please.” You beg but Namjoon suddenly delivers a staggering blow to your backside, indicating your misstep. You’re left gasping from the sudden impact, swinging in the restraints as you try to recoil. “Please sir.” Your plea comes again this time with the proper decorum.  

There’s a crinkle of what sounds like a condom wrapper as Namjoon readies himself behind you. His fingers damp with lubrication find your back entrance, your tight hole giving way to a single finger. “You’ve been training for me like I asked?”

“Yes sir.” You almost come at the thought of it along with pleasure with the swirling digit. You’ve dabbled in anal before testing out a few toys, but a few weeks ago he sent you a plug with a tapered t-shaped end, giving you strict orders to wear it to work the following day. Unfortunately that was the date you had scheduled a meeting with your whole team. You were a flustered mess as you fought through your presentation, Jimin’s presence by your side making it so much more difficult to maintain control of your arousal . But the full day of public and torturous stimulation was worth it, for the reward that night was a call from Namjoon. His orders led you through every action of self pleasure.  Telling you when and where to touch before finally directing you to come. You’ve used the item several times on your own since, knowing your practice would help you in this moment. You wanted to make Namjoon proud and take him with little resistance. That desire now intensified with having Taehyung as an audience.

“Then you're ready to take me in front of him?” 

You nod gripping chains of the restraints as Namjoon eases into you. “Just relax.” His hands glide down your shoulders and back, coming to rest splayed across your hips, the tips of his finger root under the corset and dig into your stomach. Your grip eases as you lean back into him. “That’s it.” He mutters quietly as you stretch to accommodate him. “Good girl.”

After taking a few inches Namjoon pushes down on the front of your corset bowing the metal latches back to so they release, with a few clicks and swift presses the garment is off allowing you to breathe deeper than you have all day. 

“God you should see him babygirl, he’s so ruined by the sight of you. You have him panting for you.” You wish you could curse Namjoon for his choice to blindfold you and silence Taehyung, you would take any punishment that came of it, but all you can muster is a gasp while he continues to fill you more. “I wonder how he’ll react,” One of Namjoon’s hands leaves your hips coming to rest with something soft against your aching clit. “When he sees you come.” With a click the object vibrates, throwing you back completely onto Namjoons cock from the shock.

You catch Namjoon’s lustful groan between your cries. He starts to thrust inside of you one hand gripping your chest while the other holds the vibrate down in place despite your bucking hips. It doesn’t take long for you to completely fold. As the heat inside you finally reaches its peak you shatter, your head falling back on Namjoon’s shoulder as you convulse and moan. With nothing for your cunt to clench your legs grip the trussed man between them. He too lets out a sinful groan as the fluids from your fold continue to drip down your legs meet his adjoining skin. 

Namjoon turns the device off and slips out, the bed shifts as he moves in front of you. When his hand cups your face you lean into his touch. “You okay?”

You nod hoping he’ll be lenient with your lack of speech. You hear him whisper as he checks in with Taehyung too. “I’m going to take these now.” Namjoon must finally be freeing him from the waded underwear of yours.

Namjoon’s hands find you again, playing with the arousal dripping down your legs as he drags his fingers up to the source. A finger grazes your folds slipping between without penetrating. You pull desperately against your restraints hoping that it might find its way inside.  

“So are you going to tell me who you’re not allowed to have?” Namjoon asks again. “Or do I have to let you hang here all night?” 

“My secretary...” You give in with a  whisper, hoping that Taehyung won’t hear.

“And what’s his name? Say it and I’ll give you what you want.” 

The deal is too good for you to resist, you last only a couple more seconds before finally giving in. Crying out, “Jimin,” as two of Namjoon’s fingers breach you. Your sopping slit squelching as he curls his fingers. 

“There it is.” Namjoon sighs, his other hand brushing your cheek. “Is he the reason you’re so worked up tonight babygirl?”

“Y-yes sir.” You stutter as his fingers continue. He gives you another minute of bliss before removing his digits. 

“You’re going to do something for me, okay?” Namjoon asks. You nod as he continues to hold your face. “That man between your legs, you are going to fuck him and imagine Jimin as you do so, is that clear?” 

“Yes sir.”

“Is that okay with you pet?” He asks the other occupant, who still remains silent with his answers. The sound of another condom wrapper, comes as your confirmation.  Taehyung lets out an unexpected high pitched whine, likely due to the pressure that comes with the latex being rubbed down his shaft. You’re already so invested in the lie that he’s even starting to sound like Jimin. 

Namjoon is once again behind you. You can hear the rattle of the length of chain that holds you up and as he sinks back into you, his cock slipping in far easier this time, your body gladly welcomes the fullness of his intrusion.  He then lowers you inch by inch, with little strength left in your legs you are relying only on the restraints and Namjoon to hold you up. After gaining a bit more freedom you can feel the tip of a cock brushing up against you. Namjoon’s arm comes to rest on your thigh as he lines the erection up for you to take it inside. It’s a slow descent, as you stretch to accommodate both of them. Your thankful Namjoon’s mercy for easing you down gradually. 

When you bottom out Namjoon pulls the chain down from the rafters he releases the length from your cuffs, but rather than discarding it he attaches it to your collar, tugging on it as if it’s a leash. Though your hands are still bound together you have the freedom to rest them on the man laying down in front of you. You take pleasure in dragging the tips of your fingers across his skin, feeling his abs flex and his cock twitch inside you as you do so. 

Namjoon starts to thrust, keeping a close hold on your collar. While he pushes you are sent up and down on what you desperately want to be Jimin’s thick cock. After a few thrusts you are shoved forward entirely by Namjoon, colliding with the man beneath you. Your chest is pushed into his, as your bound hands are pinned between the two of you. While your head is left to rest on his shoulder, the tip of your nose is able to graze his neck. As you breathe in your mind continues to play tricks, the smell coming off him mimics that of the cologne your secretary wears, rather than the scent of Taehyung. 

Namjoon must have unbound his legs as they bend up to cradle your own from behind his hips bucking into yours, with both men taking you at a steady pace.

You move in closer to his neck, with a lick you taste the salt of his skin showing  your intentions. Biting down on the spot, you suck in deeply as your teeth dig in even harder. The carnal groans you receive from him sending shivers to your spine. There’s the sound of a soft slap, Namjoon didn’t hit you, but the man beneath you returns to his ordered silence.

Namjoon thrusts even harder, pushing you into his chest repeatedly. The thought of being fucked into Jimin’s embrace is too much to bear. Your cunt clenches as you continue envisioning your secretary, and how you're grinding your clit against his pelvis. 

You cry out over the swelling girths inside you, knowing their both likely to come soon. Clenching down one last time you dissolve in the pleasure and contentment. Namjoon finishes first remaining inside while his pet comes too. He leaves you there laying upon your imagined Jimin, in your daze  you can barely move let alone focus on reality. With a wave of exhaustion you start to slip from consciousness, but not before one last praise reaches your ears. Your delirium grants you the satisfaction of hearing the voice of Jimin whisper, “Good girl.”

...

You can’t remember the last time you slept so well. You woke early to find Namjoon had taken care of you in the night, he released your wrist cuffs, and removed your blindfold, after you had passed out from the physical exertion. The only restraint to remain was your collar which he asked you to wear today. Taehyung was sadly already gone, but you can’t deny it was nice to have Namjoon to yourself before you left. 

Now as you head off to work, showered and freshly dressed, with a turtleneck hiding your gift, you check your phone for the first time. Finding a string of apologetic messages sent from Jimin in the early hours of the morning. You reply apologizing too and asking to revisit the subject as soon as you get into work. Thankfully he agrees, the smiling emoji he ends his text on sends a wave of relief through you.

You step in the front entrance of your building ready to handle and objectively listen to Jimin’s thoughts and concerns. While you wait for the elevator your phone vibrates listing a call from an unknown number. “Hello?”

“Hey it’s Taehyung. Hope you don’t mind, I stole your personal number from my father.”

“Taehyung...” Heat starts to rise in your face at the thought of last night. The elevator arrives and you quickly step in. “No, not at all, to what do I owe the honour of this call.”

“No need to be so formal,” He giggles at you.

“Sorry, habit,” You respond. “What can I do for you?” 

“I wanted to thank you for yesterday...” Taehyung starts off. 

But his words are soon interrupted by someone shouting, “Hold the door.” You comply, pushing the button to keep them open, while trying to keep your focus on your conversation with Taehyung.

“...It’s not often that I meet someone who I can be so open with. I called the man you recommended and I’ve scheduled my first session with him tomorrow.”  

You freeze, unable to fully comprehend what he’s saying, surely he misspoke. It can’t be his first session. “W-what do you mean your first session is tomorrow? You were there-” The collar hidden beneath your turtleneck feels as though it’s tightening around your throat. “Last night, I saw you-” The line goes dead as the elevator closes and starts to ascend. It was Taehyung in the bed with you and Namjoon last night. You saw... nothing you saw nothing because of the blindfolded that you were asked to wear.

“Everything okay?” You jump at the sound of the other voice, forgetting that some else had gotten into the elevator. Looking up you find Jimin there beaming at you, his head tilted from his query.

“Namjoon,” You flutter with your phone, too panicked to even greet your secretary properly. “I need to call Namjoon.” But the line won’t connect, not with you in the elevator. “Fuck...” You try again your patience not willing to wait the minute it’ll take to disembark on your floor.  

You are almost there when the elevator shudders and stops. The sudden halt sends you off balance, but Jimin’s there to grab hold of you before you can fall. You thank him before stepping back and putting a bit of distance between the two of you again.

Jimin turns his attention to the panel, pushing the call button, he waits for someone to answer, but the call remains silent. 

While he continues in his attempt to make contact, every scene of the night before floods back to your memory as you try to piece everything together. It was Taehyung, it had to be. He must just be playing a stupid joke. He was surely going to shout ‘gotcha’ before the phone disconnected, but you won’t know for certain until someone can get you off this blasted lift. You sink to the floor and Jimin follows, unable to reach anyone on the outside. 

Despite your best efforts to rationalize what happened, your panicked breaths fail to slow, Spots start appearing in your vision as the elevator sways around you. Your breakfast threatens to make another appearance on the polished marble floor. 

“It’ll be fine. Someone will notice soon.” Jimin attempts to comfort you but even that won’t quash the fear raging inside you.

“It’s not just that...” You whisper. “Something happened last night. I need to call Namjoon, I need to figure out...” Who was actually in that bed with you. Your confusion and panic break free sending you into a fit of tears as you hug your knees to your chest.

“Hush, it’s okay.” Jimin readjusts, moving in front of you and taking your hands in his. He leans towards you as he whispers in your ear. “Don’t cry babygirl.”

Your eyes snap to look at Jimin in alarm. Your prior worries are nothing compared to the terror which takes hold now. “H-how do you know that name?” Your stuttered words barely make their way past your lips.

“I think you know the answer to that question.” He pulls at the collar of his shirt allowing you to spot a large red mark on his neck, right where you had bitten the man you once thought to be Taehyung. “I wanted to wait a bit longer, I wanted more moments like we had last night but it would seem that someone had to go and ruin it.” You pull back but Jimin’s hands shift to take hold of your wrists, mimicking the manacles that embraced you the night before. “Are you not happy babygirl? You got your wish. And I... I got what I’ve always wanted.”

“This is so wrong Jimin! You knew I thought you were someone else! You knew that I wouldn’t have done that last night if I knew the truth.” 

“Even though I was the one you really wanted babygirl?”

“Stop calling me that! Just because of what happened last night does not make me yours. You lied to Namjoon. You said that I sent you. You told him you were Taehyung!”

Jimin gives a wicked laugh in response to your accusations. “Oh, but you are mine. Namjoon is the one who’s been keeping things from you. He’s been in my employ far longer than yours.” He coos as his fingers tighten their grip on you. “I was the reason you were introduced to him, and I was the one who bestowed you with that name shortly after.”

“No, that’s not possible, Namjoon and I, we met at a charity event.”

“Hosted by my father. Where I told him to make himself known to you, to entice you to become one of his pets. I may have acted the sub last night but I am the one who holds Namjoon’s reins, I always have.”

“No he would never do that! He’s considerate and-”

“Had so much to gain by dominating you on my behalf. Money, power, and an assurance of safety, he would’ve been a fool to turn my offer down. Especially since you were so willing to play along with him. I dare say he enjoyed his time with you, but I was the one who permitted him to touch you. I was there to listen, to read, and to direct every conversation. Those gifts he told you to wear to the office, they were all from me.” He lets go of one of your wrists to pull down the neck of your shirt. Revealing the leather band strapped around your neck. “Today it’s the collar, yesterday it was the corset, and a few weeks ago...” Jimin smirks as he recalls the memory to your mind. “You barely made it through that meeting thanks to my gift.”

  It’s impossible to swallow the admissions coming from him, but regardless of what may be true or false, you won’t stand for any of it. “You’ve had your fun, but this ends now.” You reach up attempting to remove the collar but Jimin pushes you to the floor pinning your arms above you as he straddles you. The elevator wavers from the struggle, teetering as you lay captive beneath him. 

“I don’t think you understand the situation you’ve placed yourself in. I hold in my possession your darkest secrets. One’s that will ruin you if they make their way out. Your illegal activity with a sex worker, your inappropriate sexual conduct with your secretary. Not to mention the names and dubious activities of every client you’ve recommended to Namjoon’s services.”  

“Why... why are you doing this?” 

“Because you found me. I worked so hard to exploit my father from the outside, getting everything I wanted without the threat of public exposure. I couldn’t let you ruin it all. When we first met I considered you a threat, but then I saw how easy and enjoyable it was to mould to my will. The more intimate you become with someone the more power you give them over you. Simply being your secretary isn’t enough, not if I want you in a more pliable state.” Jimin hushed whisper mixes with a haunting giggle as his lips come to your ear. “I plan to bend you to fit every one of my needs.”

“You’re psychotic!” You lash out trying to throw him off but he stems your revolt by planting himself further down on to you, sitting on your chest as the elevator sways.

“Psychotic? No, I am simply a man who found his passion amidst his revenge. I know what I desire, and vengeance has taught me how best to take it. So if you want to keep yourself and everything else around you from falling, I suggest you play along like a good girl. Or I promise you, my punishments won’t be as kind as what you’ve experienced before.”

“What is it that you want?” You ask, already fearing his answer. He has you trapped in a gilded cage with him, where one misstep will send you plummeting to meet your end. Nothing that comes accompanied by such threats can be palatable.

“At work? To keep the status quo, I’ll remain your secretary, only so I can keep a better hold on you.” 

“Hoseok won’t agree to that. He already thinks I should ditch you. I should have listened to him.” 

“Then you will make him agree or he might have an accident, much like your accountant did. He too thought we were too close, even threatened to say something. Don’t worry I saved us from him, just as I’ll save us from Hoseok if you can’t convince him to back off. Do you think you can get him to agree now?”

You give a solemn nod, with Hoseok on the line you have no choice.

“After hours, we’ll drop the middleman.” Jimin lowers himself further on to you, laying down on top, his weight flattening you to the floor. With his head coming to rest on your restrained arm as he whispers further plans. “Every night you’ll come to me instead, and every morning you’ll have a new gift to wear. When we step off this elevator you’ll act as if nothing is wrong. You will go about business as usual, is that clear babygirl?”

You stifle a sob staring directly up and away from his eyes, not daring to give him the satisfaction of your fear. With little else to cling to, all you can do is agree for the time being, as much as it pains you, you choke out your compliance. “Yes...” 

“Yes what?” Jimin purrs, his lips faintly touching your ear. “Address me properly, or I will find ways to discipline you right here on this lift.” His fingers tighten and nails bite into your skin.

“Yes sir,” you whine as a plea for him to stop. 

Jimin mercifully lessens his hold on your wrists, hitting you instead with a smirk and befouled praise. “Good girl. I knew you’d finally see that I’m worth the risk.”

...

[mypersonmyg]

Tebori Tapioca | JJK

**beautiful banner made by @monvante​ <3

pairing: Jeongguk x reader

genre: fluff, strangers to lovers, love at first sight,  tattoo au, tea shop au

wc: 15k

warnings: language, slow burn???

summary: a shining beacon in a sea of monotony OR you just might believe in love at first sight

a/n: hi friends, umm so yea this is a fic i’ve been cooking up for a while and as seems to happen with most of my fics there’s definitely room for more but i didn’t wanna go overboard because the last time i did no one read womp womp...

ANYWHO there’s still very much room for this universe to grow whether it be drabbles, smaller oneshots or whatever so if you have requests pls send them !! for this au or any others

honorary tag: @gukssunshine​

masterlist

Sunlight filters through an open storefront, natural light shading the room in incandescent glow, the honk of horns  just overstating the chirp of the birds perched in overarching trees that line the street. Lights are still lit, strung throughout branches despite the hour slowly inching toward noon. 

Your pencil taps a worn pad, the hundredth rotation of the dormant rectangle of sheets providing no more inspiration than ninety-nine and below. You shove the contents along a desk littered in your crumpled defeat, legs kicking to the wooden surface with comforting intent. 

It’s not unusual, the stray of your eyes to the shop just a few buildings from the florist decorating the opposing side of the street. A work in progress, a work almost in completion. It’s become a game, the guessing of its contents, the colorful display before it’s displayed intriguing to many passersby. You’re close to pondering a new theory when Jimin interrupts with his entrance from the back, reciting safety to Namjoon’s latest masterpiece. 

He whistles an impressive tune following the departure of a satisfied client, rounding his occupied desk and knocking your feet from his cluttered surface. You don’t have time for the countered glare of offense before his words are zeroed in as if he’s been waiting to direct them long before now when your guard is readily disarmed. “You have an office for a reason, why do you always have to sit at my desk.” 

“It’s a nice view.”

“I’ll admit that my delicate features leave nothing to the imagination, but I’m tired of cleaning up after you.” His words are emphasized by his hand’s routine swipe, piles of paper tumbling to the can beside him in rapid succession. Your eyes roll, Jimin’s fingers already beginning to type away on his desktop while your pupils track the delicate arch of his digits and your ears listen to the satisfying click of keys. The consideration of locking yourself away in your office trapezes along the wide expanse of your mind, but before it’s made up Jimin is speaking again, this time with an air of factual superiority. “A tea shop.”

“Hmm?” 

“The shop down the street, it’s a tea shop.” 

“You sound pretty confident,” You hum, eyes darting to the window, turquoise staring back in the fashion of awnings and fresh paint bordering a wooden frame. The sleeves of your sweater bite at your wrist in comforting fuzz, a slight itch along the skin  to pull you from quaint interest. “What makes you so sure?” 

“Just a feeling, it’s got that certain ambiance, you know?” Jimin’s hands wave with the impression of the ambiance so to speak, his eyes squinted in that way you so adore. The thought crosses your mind on many occasions, to compliment his subtle beauty, but the knowledge of his playfully arrogant counter always draws you from speech.

“Or because we ran into the owner on our way in this morning,” Namjoon chirps in kind, strolling to the lobby, his own pad in hand. He neatly tosses it to the desk, fingers skimming through unkempt hair. “Nice guy, said he might drop in for a consultation sometime.” 

“Consultation? Sounds big,” You muse, hand finding your abandoned pencil to drag faint strokes along your page, though even the slight draw brings grimace to your features, dulled in the shadow of your palm pressed to your forehead, easily nudging wisps of loose hair. Namjoon shrugs, a non-committal range of motion, his neck craning over your shoulder to sneak a peek at your lack of a work of art. 

He doesn’t speak on it, simply taking in the unfinished strokes, presumably in an attempt to reassure you in the midst of inspiration long lost. You're prepared to assure him that there’s no need for forced encouragement, but he moves on, collapsing onto near plush without a word.

“Says he’s been thinking about it for a while so I told him we could help him out. He also invited us to his opening, said he'd save some tea for us if we’re busy.” Lips pull back, dimples accenting Namjoon’s heavy cheeks. 

You’re unsurprised by his amicable tale, recalling your fresh steps into this very shop just a few years prior. Your body was bare of ink and your arms bore only a flimsy book with hopeful sketches. He’d taken in your wide eyed glance and the disappearance of your bottom lip to the gnawing confines of your teeth. His towering height and newly trimmed hair taunting you within the daunting shadow that filled your frame through the doorway. 

You chuckle at past memories, wondering how you could ever fear the gentle giant, his lips pulling into ready grin as he showed you to the very desk before you now. 

“What’s so funny?” Namjoon calls to you,  Jimin halting in his current endeavor to glance the smirk stretching your cheek. 

“Nothing, just thinking. Was that your last client for the day?” You grab for the sign-in ledger, finger trailing the thick page, pinky tugging at the pulled edge of a worn corner. Your smirk flips to a frown poorly withheld, the page filled with Namjoon only reminding you that your own supplies need only be sanitized to prevent the collection of dust. 

“Yeah, I figured we’d just close shop early today.” Jimin swipes the ledger with a tisk in your direction, not blind to silent thoughts. 

“It’s noon, what if someone wants a walk-in?” Your gaze slides to the clock, hands ticking slowly along the round wall piece. It’s not unreasonable to assume someone will come in seeking art of the bodily variety, and your hands itch to prove your worth, even if it lies within an album long binded. 

“Then I’m sure they’ll still want it tomorrow.” Namjoon shrugs, his hands folding over his chest forcing the bulge of recently buffed arms. You almost make a joke about the possible tear of the t-shirt hugging his frame, but refrain out of refusal to partake in the pursuance of sure to follow antics. “Besides, it’ll give you more time to work on that.” 

You follow the tilt of Namjoon’s hair, long grown out from his routine refusal to take time from his day to get a trim. You often joke that he’ll be gallivanting with a tail soon enough, his thick locks nearly shoulder length as it stands. He often finds himself shaking it from his peripheral with the wrong angling of his head. He motions to your barely done sketch, the page glaring at you with a mocking disgust. 

“Yeah, that’s what I’m gonna do.” You drip sarcasm, pad tossed to your bag and jacket jerked to waiting arms. 

~*~

Off-white trim borders the wall of a shop nearly complete, Jeongguk checks and double checks a list stored in the confines of his mental. Aside from constant fear of the opening of doors without the steady flood of patrons he’s eager for business, hard work finally paying its due. 

He’s only in for the morning, the steady tick of his wrist a reminder to snap from his obsessive habit, sure that he’ll receive word from Taehyung that he's on his way to drag him from the building. His grin rivals the glare of the sun as his eyes travel a building come together. His hand falls to his arm in dramatic pinch to ensure that his eyes aren’t filled with hopeful deceit. 

It fits, he thinks, stepping out onto the walk, key slotting into the door to ensure security. His shop melds perfectly with the heavily lined street, animated tapioca unfinished in the window somehow making sense with the neighboring extravagance of bloom at the near florist and the samples of ink from the tattoo shop across the way. Even the simple thrift shop with it’s objects of interest decorating the window compliments his simple display.

Opportunity hasn’t struck to visit his new neighbors, though he did stumble into a chunk of the owners of one of the shops. He found surprise in the ease with which conversation flowed, his mouth like the babble of a brooke despite the nerves that skipped like pebbles in his stomach and his heart that beat a million miles a minute following their friendly departure. 

In his stupor he nearly misses the float of voices a ways down the quietly milling street, but the recognition of a melodic tone draws his gaze. 

“I’ll take you for ice cream.” Jeongguk recognizes the voice that seeks to entice as Jimin, though he doesn’t recognize you. 

“I’m not a child you know.” Your statement is grumbled, the words echoing that of a childlike pout. Jeongguk can see the movement of your arms as they reach to a playful shove, the rhythmic shift of Jimin’s feet looking routine even from a distance. You choose not to acknowledge Jimin’s coo, his fingers poking at your protruding cheek as if to say Oh but aren’t you?

Jeongguk watches with interest and the initiative to work up the courage to bring acknowledgement to his presence and perhaps introduction to who he expects is the other third of the tattoo shop. You and Jimin are too caught in bickering to notice the figure just feet away, your fingers pinching Jimin’s nose with  a countering taunt. 

“Can’t I just treat you to a nice frozen treat? I don’t recall that being a crime, but please enlighten me.” You pinch the bridge of your own nose, the scent of freshly packed soil wafting from neatly situated pots. 

You spot the poke of pink from one of the tall and timid plants, though you imagine the fragile nature is only by way of visual, Yoongi always diligent with his seedling evolved friends. You make note to beg him to allow the purchase of a precarious plant, an act of teasing to stem from your track record, the memory of shriveled begonias bringing even your shoulders to lift in cringe. 

“Are you still talking?” Your gaze shifts back to Jimin, his flow not conscious to your unconscious senses. 

“So rude, you should be thanking me for the extra time off.”

“As if I need more time off, but fine, I suppose I can let you treat me as an apology for your ratty transgressions.” You tut. Were your ears peaked and footing less strayed you would’ve noted the distant chuckle of Jeongguk, still standing dormant outside of a dimmed shop.

His thoughts of hurried introduction came to halt with his notice of you. Your voice held a playful jab when you spoke, Jimin’s reactions only animated enough to draw slight attention from your raised tone. Despite your fussing dialogue, your posture was slouched just a tad and your hands fisted into snug jacket sleeves  to mimic paws. Jeongguk decides he’d be hard pressed not to be endeared by you in the slightest. 

“Wow, I thought I was gonna have to come here and drag you out by the ears.” Hands clap Jeongguk’s shoulders, Taehyung rounding his frame, grin gentle as he regards with relief. “I swear you’d probably live here if I didn’t keep you at bay. What are you--oh she’s pretty.” 

The two watch your retreat, your hand easily clasping Jimin's, the swing of connected wrists appearing natural with your stride through the afternoon chill. Jeongguk ignores the flare of his cheeks at the notion of exposure, thankful that Taehyung doesn’t make a show of his ogling. 

“Yeah, looks like she’s taken though...you wanna get ice cream?” Taehyung scrunches his nose, wind kissed cheeks held between gloved palms. His scoff is inward, Jeongguk’s suggestion appearing nothing short of ridiculous as the two are swept by a wind that’s particularly biting. While Taehyung shivers, Jeongguk doesn’t appear to mind, hands shoved in his pockets, heels rocking along cracked concrete. 

“Do I look like I want to get ice cream? It’s freezing out here and not everyone radiates the warmth of a furnace.” 

“Well unlike you, not everyone is so dramatic.”

“Whatever, just get some when we get home.” Taehyung lightly shoves, legs turning in the direction of his car, parked on asphalt, freshly coated by summer’s end.

 Jeongguk stares after the winded trail of a billowing pea, your bobbing figure rounding a corner and straying from widened eyes. He sucks through clenched teeth, opportunities knock having been missed at the hands of Taehyung. The clench of fists in pockets goes unnoticed as he rounds on planted heels and makes his way to the car, Taehyung happily staring from  the passenger seat waiting with a grin dripping sincerity. 

“You definitely owe me for this.”

~*~

You twitch along with the consistent drip of a leaky faucet, the tap of digits on worn ceramic offering a release to limbs without proper use. The biting chill in your toes is only minutely cured by the pilling of four blankets, barely thick enough to rival the wool knit socks Hoseok gifted you last christmas. 

You find pause in the sun setting from the window, dim lighting pouring through weak curtains. Your tongue prods at the confines of your mouth, frosted by forced treat and abandoned with the recommendation of a mug of hot cocoa which now rests lukewarm in your clenching palms. 

You force your mind to yield, racing in a direction opposite the self destructive course that usually remains dormant until you lay to rest for the evening. Hands numbed by the interference of a numbing chill met with the warmth of a mostly empty mug nearly spilling when your right palm jumps in the direction of your phone, perched on an end table composed of chipping wood and stains too set to resemble anything but a dark pool, a picture puddle fit for galoshes in adolescence. 

You wonder if Yoongi’s taken his plants in, the set of cold not nearly the condition for any pending life surely. Though you quickly pull back, recalling a conversation following another mishap, your plant lying limp before the attentive florist, his cheeks rosy from the heat lamps and the temperature set to ensure maximum growth year round. It was with passion that he waxed about the difference between certain plants and the amazing circumstances of their survival. 

It was with half amused grin, your head lopsided along the freshly painted door frame that he assured you that if a plant can survive the harsh conditions of the season of cool there was surely one meant to survive you. 

You glance to the succulent placed on the sill overlooking your sink. You had been indignant at Yoongi’s insistence that you take it, almost begging that he give you one of the smiling pink numbers reflecting in the window rather than the less impressive green poking from the dirt of a tiny hand painted pot. Yoongi’s reaction was much the same, innocence painting his rose blushed cheeks as he explained the beauty of every plant, sure to continue on until you gently removed the pot from his fingers.

Now the once shy note of green was large enough to cover your palm, a bright spot in the dark of your apartment, falling apart at the hands of purposeful ignorance from an absent landlord. 

A sharp tap against your front door draws your gaze, pointed as if to break the barrier of solid wood. You don’t notice the spill of your drink until warmth slips through your sweater, arm jerk sending the mug careening to shatter. The pieces decorate the floor with a colorful tap to pair with the running of dark liquid along the hardwood.

“Shit.” Words muttered in haste, one of many blankets piled in swaddle is heaved to the floor, your legs lifting you from the chair and gently to clothed knees. Cocooning the glass in the thick material you stand to full height when another tap draws you. Your hands tug at your sweater, the seep of the liquid already beginning to set in and your skin grows irritated from the unwanted intrusion. “Coming!”

You glance to the spot where chocolate dances along the edges of your braided rug, the centerpiece itching to soak up what it can manage of the chocolatey drink,  already dreading the work of scrubbing to prevent permanent damage. Making your way to the door your feet stride in a half walk half slide along hardwood, tripping up due to the soiled bits of fabric sticking to your feet and resisting a usually easy trek along the hardwood. The pull of the door is a surprise, an unfamiliar face staring back at you with a geometrically flattering smile. 

“Hello…” Your words are drawn and rasped, a mixture of the lack of dialogue and settling curiosity. 

“Hi, I’m Taehyung.” There’s no deterrence from Taehyung at your lack of reciprocated enthusiasm, just the shake of locks, shaggy and shielding his eyes that appear to glisten in the flicker of the hall lights. His eyes brighten in recognition, though you can’t seem to separate his stare from the reflection of his shocking irises and simply accept his hand as it slowly extends.

“Y/n. Is there something I can help you with?” You attempt a glance around his ever present frame in hope for an explanation, but the notion is non-existent so you wait as he gathers his own. You don’t miss the wandering of his eyes to the open of your apartment but don’t call him on it, an entrance composed of nothing more than a table and a crooked portrait gifted by Jin. You can hear his distant cackles as he positioned it just perfectly before the door. 

“Actually I was gonna ask you how to work the heat in this place, but you look about as warm as me so…” He shifts on his heels unsure, taking in your heavily bundled appearance. 

You tug once more at your stained sweater, your face heating with recollection of the soiled garment still clinging to you, now with more fervor from the added moisture. Your thick socks are layered over a pair only slightly less so and your legs appear heavily padded under two pairs of dense sweats. “You must be new here.”

Taehyung shrugs, half a step taken in retreat. He tilts his head just so, gesturing to the vacant hall, a door half ajar allowing the flood of light to illuminate the peel of ancient wallpaper. Not for the first time you wish you’d taken Jimin up on his spare room. “Yeah, just officially moved in today. We’re down the hall, heard the apartment’s been vacant for a while and it seemed nice enough.” 

“But no one told you that the heat only works correctly on a good day, sounds about right.”

“And our shower--” 

“Leaks?” You finish, the distant drip from your kitchen just audible over your speech. Your thumb pushes against the bow of your pursed lips, teeth grabbing hold of roughened skin whilst you watch the turn of cogs tumbling before you. 

“Yeah...should I call the landlord?” His brows knit at your nonchalance, thumb jerking to his apartment. You almost chuckle, covering your outburst with a quick tilt of your head. The simplicity of the suggestion seems only to add to the hilarity of the situation. 

“Sure, but I’d recommend investing in a space heater and keeping a couple of tools handy. I’m not wearing four layers to make a fashion statement.” Your fingers drum along the frame of your door, the gentle tap carrying between you in soft silence. “Well...welcome to the building and sorry to be the bearer of bad news.” 

“Guess someone had to be,” His throat clears in chuckle, hand tugging at the sleeve of his hoodie, the strings hanging lopsided where his hood lay half scrunched at the base of his neck. His thumb lifts to trace the corner of his mouth, shifted in that same grin that greeted you minutes prior, though this time your return is swift and without the same haze that accompanied his unfamiliar presence. “Thank you. I appreciate your help.”  

Taehyung turns on his heel at the pace of the gears turning in his brain, swift stride carrying him back to his door, yours clicking shut along the shells of his ears. He pushes into his residence, door squeaking on hinges as it closes in his wake. Straight for the living room he makes haste with lengthy stride, spotting  Jeongguk who swallows the couch with his body, spread as much as the lengthened cushion will allow. He peeks from his curtain of hair, dangling at the angle of his head, blinking with the poke of a follicle gently prodding his pupil. 

“So?” He pushes up to a sit, nearly knocking his phone from the arm where it’s perched without care. His shoulders shake from the mix of cold and anticipation, mistaking the grin that Taehyung sports as a triumphant mission. 

“Oh this place is spectacularly shitty, my friend. Looks like we’ll be snuggling like penguins if we wanna get warm tonight.” As if to punctuate his vivid explanation, Taehyung slides dangerously close to where Jeongguk remains sitting, legs brushing as he sinks into the already heated seat. 

Jeongguk nudges to the sharp of Taehyung’s shoulder, encouraging him further inward with a defeated groan. He’s sure he catches the scent of something similar to carpet that’s been left to mildew, but he attributes it to imagination. Somehow this very apartment seemed a saving grace just a month ago.  “I knew we should’ve splurged on that loft. Why are you smiling?” 

“Hm, so that girl that you were staring at earlier, you know her?” Taehyung doesn’t shy from his urge to throw himself over Jeongguk’s lap, ignoring the squint scrutiny from above. He pokes at the underside of Jeongguk’s chin, teasing a reaction from him, grimace evident from the suction of his cheeks. 

“Not exactly, I know the guy she was with though. They own the tattoo shop, why?” Taehyung braces his head with one hand, the other grabbing hold of the string dangling from his clothes, rolling the aglet between agile fingers. He ponders the thought of revealing that just beyond moth eaten wallpaper and the cracks of a concrete hall you await just a few doors down. 

“Just a question. You didn’t think I would just leave it, did you?” Jeongguk’s nose scrunches because he did in fact find that avenue favorable among the chosen. Taehyung pats his muscled thigh with  a patronizing shake of the head, hair already tangling with the push of his heavy skull to Jeongguk’s tough jeans. 

“So what, she’s cute, not like I know anything about her. I’m more concerned with making it through the night without contracting pneumonia or risking the complete freeze of my limbs.”

The two seem to scoot closer at the thought, Taehyung now pushed against Jeongguk’s abdomen. They paint quite a picture on their second hand furniture, couch in need of stitching at the seams and the questionable stain that inhabited it upon arrival nipping at the press of Taehyung’s socked feet into the cushion. 

Fatigue abandoned the task of unloading boxes that litter the expanse of open flooring and leftover furniture. Their energy fueled endeavor long forgotten along with the memory of comforting warmth. They both ponder the idea of retreating to respective rooms, but find it would be a miracle if they could manage to pull themselves from half comfort, abandoning the hope of body heat against the chill of the shared space. 

Audible groan travels the four walls when a gentle fist beats against the door. Taehyung shoves at Jeongguk’s shoulder, a silent appeal to the younger to make sacrifice and leave their cocooned warmth. Jeongguk won’t be swayed, his arms easily finding the weight of Taehyung’s side and nudging enough to send him careening to the floor with a resounding thud. 

Grumbles and groans of the incoherent leave Taehyung’s mouth, amused giggles falling from Jeongguk whose legs are now pulled to drink in the heat left behind. Taehyung stops for a moment, thinking that his timely trek was wasted, opposing party’s fist meeting wood no more. He gently opens the door, head ducking around the corner, foot stepping out only to stub into something surely placed for such an occasion as his physical reckoning. 

He foregoes subtly, mouth unhinging and curses falling akin to rocks from a cliff side, the echo bouncing against concrete and soaking into the slips and edges of the silent walls. Jeongguk ambles around the corner with concern etched features, the draw of his eyes landing on his roommate, leg at an angle and clutched whilst he leans against the doorframe. 

Jeongguk squeezes past, kneeling to pluck the sticky posted from the top of what appears to be a space heater. His eyes scan the crisp note, glancing down the hall with the knowledge that the perpetrator is surely long gone. “Dude, you good?” 

“Stubbed my fucking toe,” Taehyung strains. Jeongguk let’s him sulk, hiding a purposeful grin from the dramatist leaning over him. “What is that anyways.” 

“Space heater.” He passes the note, Taehyung scans it quickly with a hum. He doesn’t miss the look he’s receiving from Jeongguk, aware of the name scribbled along the tiny parchment. “Was nice of them. What did you say anyways?” 

“Nothing really, guess I’m just a natural charmer.” 

~*~

“Will you tell her that she should just move in with me like I suggested in the first place?” Jimin snags on the thick of Namjoon’s t-shirt, pulling him from his task, resituating his glasses along his face rather than the slide to the tip of his nose that seemed a regular occurance. You choose to ignore the commotion, back to sweeping dust and scattered leaves from the entrance of the shop. 

Your living situation, less than ideal, often leads you to Jimin’s door, his spare room rather drenched in your deposited belongings. It’s his futile mission to persuade you to trade up from your desolate one bedroom with it’s desperate calling for tlc and take permanent residence in his humble abode just uptown.��

It’s foolish not to consider, but you always find the scrape of your teeth roughening the budded surface of your tongue when he turns to you with his grin of sweet saccharine nearly once a week. You don’t know what it is about the cracks that seem to shimmy further up the walls with each passing minute or the breaks in the tile that beg an earthquake decades off, but you aren’t quite ready to part with it. 

“If you want me to stop coming over just say so,” You huff, fully aware that’s not the case but sure it’ll throw Jimin for a curve with enough distance to keep him at bay. 

He sputters, releasing Namjoon with a gentle shove, “That’s not it and you know it! I just don’t see why you stay there, it’s so...broken.” 

“I’ll have you know that I-”

“Have lived there since you came here blah blah blah, we know. Oh hey, a customer! Would you look at that,” Jimin’s over enthused response following a set of feet flooding through draws your next words to thin air, replaced with a well meaning grin. His perked posture slumps when he realizes that it is not in fact a patron looking to empty their wallet. “Oh, it’s just Hobi-hyung.” 

“Thanks for the sunshine,” Hoseok counters, elbows covered with a patched overcoat resting along the edge of Jimin’s desk. Though his words hold a tinge of sarcasm, he’s all smiles as he regards you. Much like Namjoon he sports his frames today, wide and rectangular perched along the bridge of his nose. From the opening of his coat you smirk at the peak of a bright yellow sweater, an animation practically dancing along the expanse of his chest. 

“Guess it’s a good thing that’s your job,” Namjoon pats him on his way to his office, returning with a box overflowing with garments and books. It’s not unusual that the two of them exchange goods, Hoseok’s thrift always looking for ways to fill the shelf.

 It surprised you in the beginning, the flow of people who seemed to always leave his shop holding something to their chest like it was the world stuffed into a novelty bag. That was before Hoseok insisted that you visit yourself, sure you’d find something of interest. He wasn’t perturbed by skepticism, it only seemed to fuel the glint of a thousand galaxies that flared in his concentrated stare. 

You’d ambled the lot for a good thirty minutes, fingers gliding along shelves so sturdy it came as a shock that he installed them himself, the wiggle of his elongated fingers when you recited the thought still fresh. It was the belief of Hoseok, in his own words, that there was a magic in places like his. A magnetic pull that would lead you to just the thing you need, often times things he himself didn’t even know he possessed. 

“The rest is all in good fun,” He’d finished with that smile that rivaled the shine of the largest star glistening from above. 

Your magic was nestled in the thick of it all, buried beneath someone else’s waiting fortune. It was the far corner that drew you, something about it just a shade darker than the rest of the large room. You’re unsure what possessed you, ignoring the insistence of magic cycling through the heavy air conditioning as you pillage through a pile of neatly folded quilts and the random placement of a busted stereo. 

“Find something?” Hoseok appeared, head resting just over your shoulder. Your crouch betrayed you and were it not for quick reflexes and a helping hand the bust of your ass was sure to find the floor. Hoseok stood with a pool of change shaking in his palm and his neat smile waiting for you to putter around with your find. 

“It’s just a necklace, nothing special.” 

“Still, take it, you never know.” He was insistent that you leave with the silver chain, an onyx pendant dangling from the end  and even more so that, rather than pay him, you admit that there’s something in the air. You agreed, but your reluctance was only truly squashed when you found yourself adorning the necklace more than your usual jewelry reserved for occasion.

“Hey, did you guys hear about the tea shop opening up?” Hoseok plants himself on Jimin’s desk, ignoring the playful glare burning a hole in his side. Namjoon rests the box on the ground next to him with a grunt, clear on Hoseok’s intention to linger as long as time will allow rather than collecting his treasure and hurrying back to his own place of work. 

“Jimin and I met the owner yesterday, he seems like a really nice guy.” Namjoon fills before Jimin has the chance to allow his jaw to unhinge, no doubt planning to flaunt his basic knowledge like privileged information.

“That’s nice. Rumor has it he specializes in boba.” You would chuckle were it not for the wild look in Hoseok’s eyes, his hands painting imaginary rainbow before slotting through the pockets of his coat. His feet steadily tap tap against the tile, the gentle nod of his head not at all unusual but nonetheless intriguing. “It’ll be so nice not having to drive a town over just to have a nice tapioca pearl.” 

“You know they sell those, you could make your own.” Your words are all but lost on the eccentric businessman, his tactic to avoid information displeasing to his interests taking full effect. His body angles, half hiding a chuckling Jimin from your view. Sliding the broom to the near closet, not unaware of leaves sadly crumpled against the tile from Hoseok’s timely entrance, but not bothered enough to scoop them into the waiting bin, you make haste to your office slipping between the door slightly ajar. “Right. Well I’m gonna go try to get some work done.”

You release a stuttered breath upon the gentle click of your door, mumbled dialogue just barely pushing through the thick wood. Air puffs your cheeks in half contemplation, silence stealing the inspiration that seemed to dance before you, brain now only half awake as time seems to dwindle at the speed of sound. Instead of the reach for a waiting pad and the scatter of ballpoint colors staring from your desk unused and impatient, you grab for a volume that seems to scream from the near bookshelf. 

It begs the recollection of time well spent, a pang in your chest follows a  rushing to the surface as if air tearing from lungs lacking capacity. Your full weight collapses to your chair, recently upgraded at Namjoon’s insistence that nursing the squeaky four wheeler that threatened to collapse with the wrong release of breath violated his own moral codes before the hushed mumble about legal repercussions. You aren’t complaining, the upgrade makes you feel like a permanent staple, especially when your mind is convinced that layoff is imminent. 

Your fingers trace the smooth cover of hardback, reckoning with the ache to feel the crisp of unturned pages and avoid the buildup that follows suit. It’s the not knowing that tugs at the precipice of your flowing mind, wishing for diagnosis from a stagnant flow of a previous gold mine. 

Your ears peak at the surge of voices layering the lobby, though your mind squashes the urge for a slip back into the throw of pleasant chatter. You draw a drawer, fishing for half tangled buds, slipping them into your heightened canals to drown with the sounds of your latest fix. 

~*~

The lift of Jeongguk’s gaze as heavy feet carry him past the fluorescent sign of Uhgood Tattoo and through the ringing entrance is subtle enough as doe eyes scan the lengthy space for a feminine form. He’s met with null, but the snag of his pupils on a wall of intricacy almost distracts from the loiter of men staring straight for him and Taehyung who is decidedly less preoccupied. 

“Jeongguk, nice to see you again!” Namjoon booms over every voice in the room. His arms are half open in eager acceptance and Jeongguk leads Taehyung to the settled group, one last sweep still leaving him wanting for an introduction or a glimpse at best. “We were actually just talking about you.” 

“About me?” His tone toes between surprise and unease, lips puckering in the shape of ‘oh’ and steps stuttering against the crunch of leaves slipping along linoleum. 

“Yeah, Hoseok here was just saying how excited he is that you moved in. He owns the thrift shop just across from you.” 

Hoseok doesn’t need much introduction before he’s centered in front of Jeongguk, smile glinting and hands reaching for the younger man with much fervor. Jeongguk would find the proximity daunting were it not for the friendly face reflecting in his widened irises. His chest rumbles, glad to place a face to bright signs and eccentric displays. 

“Nice to meet you, we’re all glad to have a new face on our little strip. I’m especially glad to have an excuse to save myself from Jin’s questionable experiments in the kitchen.” Hoseok’s hand has yet to stop its steady shake of Jeongguk’s, too caught in words, leaving his mind’s body on its own. “Feel free to drop by my shop anytime, I love seeing new faces. Plus-”

“Here we go…” Jimin cuts, feigned exasperation coating his pitched tone before he excuses himself to the back of the shop. His exit isn’t swift enough to hide the exasperation of the puff of air that gaps his lips. 

“There’s a special kind of magic in a shop like mine and because you just moved in the first trinket is on the house!” 

“Oh magic? Taehyung’s really into that stuff, we’ll stop in sometime.” He gestures to his friend whose hands are shoved to the thick of his sweatshirt, lips pushed inward with the suck of his cheeks. “This is him by the way, Taehyung, he’s my partner of sorts at the cafe and my roommate.” 

“Yeah, though the last one is questionable at the moment. Nice to meet you guys, this place is sweet! Do you do piercings by any chance?” As if by pure luck Jimin’s stepping back into the room, his eyes set ablaze with passion by the innocent inquiry. 

“Piercings are my specialty actually, I can pierce any and everything!” His hands clasp to Taehyung’s shoulder, glad for excitement out of the realm of files and spreadsheets. Taehyung, surprised by the eager response, can only seem to nod along to the spew that falls from Jimin’s lips that near miles per minute.  “Are you interested? I’d be happy to show you our collection.” 

“This could take a while,” Jeongguk is startled by the presence of Namjoon somehow closer than before. Jimin is still spouting about his work to his potential client, Jeongguk takes in Taehyung’s features in search of a signal for help, but only finds him  painted with interest and intrigue at the bundle of knowledge that is Park Jimin. Namjoon gestures to a hall along the far wall, a couple of paintings half crooked beckoning them forth.  “We can talk about those tattoos if you’re interested?” 

The buzz that surges in the cavity of his chest is answer enough, companied with the vigorous nod of his head, curls bouncing against the frame of his cheeks. “That would be great!” 

Namjoon easily falls into the roll of guide, leading the two down the hall and past a couple of doors tightly sealed. The walls are a dark shade, set aglow by the heat of fixtures hanging overhead. Even in the dim setting, Jeongguk finds his head swiveling in every direction, thirsting to take in every inch of the place.  In his haste he nearly trips over a section of flooring slightly raised, likely the result of settled foundation  over many years. He decides rather quickly in favor of the building, the character of the interior clashing rather nicely with the updated signage on the outside. 

‘We’ve got a few different stations for working,” Namjoon speaks up, drawing Jeongguk’s attention back. “We do them in the section off the side of the lobby if the customer is comfortable and it’s nothing major, but we also have private rooms that we as the artists like to use depending on the project.”

“That’s what these rooms are?” Jeongguk reaches with a pointed finger, tracing the expanse of the wooden frame, chipped and roughened, to a closed door. Rather than plaquing to decipher between the various enclosures there are framed sketches posted outside of each, nothing a newcomer like himself could pick up on, clearly contributed by the owners.

“For the most part, there’s my office and Y/n’s, and a storage closet but this is where the magic happens.” Namjoon allows Jeongguk a path to his office, door shutting in their wake with a dull thud. 

It’s less decorated than Jeongguk was expecting, the barely bare walls outside of the office building up the anticipation of the canvas that must be spread within. Instead there’s nothing put bright white, almost blinding compared to what he’s seen so far. There are a few framed photos of Jimin, himself, and you; all smiling in various scenarios of glee. Other than the placement of a decently sized shelf in the corner and the desk perched along the adjacent wall this office gives no indication of Namjoon’ s labyrinthine line of work. 

Even so, Namjoon appears highly intimidating as he takes a seat at his desk, gesturing Jeongguk to the comfortable chair across. Jeongguk is well aware that he doesn’t mean to give the impression of a boss, straight backed and fingers laced over mahogany, but that doesn’t make it any less so. 

“So!” Namjoon speaks with triumph, his gauntlet the toss of the pen that had previously dangled from the fold of  pierced ears. “You have any idea what you’re looking for in the ink department? I figure we can start with graphics and then discuss placement to see who the best fit would be for you.” 

“Best fit?” Jeongguk leans forward, boots squeaking obscenely on the tile beneath. His cheeks flush at lack of knowledge, feeling as if the words spewed were foreign when in reality it was a jolt sent to the creases of his spine and straight to the red soaked appendage in his upper chest. While he’s entered this room with the assumption that Namjoon would be his sole artist, there lay a chance that the two of you will come face to face. 

“Yeah, Y/n and I are both good at what we do but of course we both have our specialties. So we like to decide our clients that way sometimes.” Namjoon’s explanation leaves him none the wiser to hidden meanings and the hopeful perk of Jeongguk’s shoulders. 

“Oh. I haven’t met Y/n yet,” He wonders if you rest behind one of the many doors leading to this one, sketching away on what he’s sure can only be a masterpiece. “Is she around?” 

“Yeah...I don’t wanna disturb her though. Maybe she’ll be in the lobby when we’re finished here.” Namjoon’s words are sincere though his eyes seem to drift far off, their target the window over Jeongguk’s shoulder, shadowed by the growth of a large tree, branches dwarfing the ground outside. His trance is but a moment, focusing once more on the man before him. “What did you have in mind for your tattoo?” 

“Well, actually, I was wondering if you guys use the tebori method here? I know it’s more widely used in japan, but I don’t really see myself heading over there anytime soon.” This shop isn’t the first that Jeongguk has scoped in hope of an artist with an extra element of technique, the buildup for disappointment resting in a rehearsed expression. He watches the myriad of expressions that Namjoon cycles through, almost as if the answer rests against the tip of his tongue, but he’s unsure if it’s the correct one. “It’s totally fine if—”

“We do.” He speaks without much expression save for the way his spine seems to cave inward as he continues to think. Jeongguk isn’t sure whether he should continue speaking, choosing instead to study the tilt of a pen on the desk, threatening to roll to the floor if it dances any longer at the edge of the surface. His nerves itch to grab for the object for some form of reprieve, afraid that the pending clatter will disturb Namjoon’s steady concentration and perhaps the calm mask that he appears to be sporting.

His head tilts a tad, curls falling over one pupil, the other spying Namjoon as if zeroing in on a target, nearly scrutinizing the pensive thinking with his galaxy gaze. He can see that just past the roof of Namjoon’s head there lies a single divot in the wall, nearly tricking the bump of accidental furniture, but Jeongguk’s own fist clenches in recognition, thumb tracing the jag of his knuckles. 

“Y/n is the only person here that can tattoo with that particular technique, she’s amazing at it really, I’m just not sure if she’ll be up for it right now.” Namjoon’s words seem to pain him to utter, a strained longing in his voice that’s indecipherable without context. Jeongguk only nods along, curiosity curbed by his unyielding sense of etiquette in a situation that doesn’t wholly concern him. His feet are already pressing against the flooring, prepared to push to his feet and exchange pleasantries and assurance of no hard feelings, but Namjoon doesn’t seem quite through, leaving Jeongguk’s position to an awkward one hanging from the edge of his seat. “I don’t wanna speak for her though, so maybe you two can talk.” 

“Okay, should I set up an appointment?” 

“No, I think I heard her leave her office, she’ll probably be in the lobby. I’m sure she’ll be happy to see you now.”  Namjoon’s mouth is once again split in dimpled grin, leaving Jeongguk’s head to a spinning akin to a child’s top. He’s led from the room, paying extra attention to the hall, ears itching to pick up a tone much higher than those in the lobby he left only a short time ago. 

Contrary to Namjoon’s inference, the lobby is emptier than when they left, Jimin and Taehyung the only ones left milling about. Their speech mimics old friends, Jimin poking at Taehyung with the smile of someone who knows something that no one else does, Taehyung simply replying in kind with half grin. 

“I thought I heard, Y/n.” Namjoon directs his voice at Jimin, fingers tapping the surface of his desk whilst his eyes take inventory of the shop. Jeongguk wonders if he thinks you’re hiding behind one of the plants situated in the corner, waiting for the perfect moment to catch them off guard.

“Mm, she left. But not before this one got his flirt on,” Jimin’s elbow catches Taehyung’s rib with a sharp jab coloring his words. Taehyung doesn’t allow this to phase him, standing to his feet with a shrug of nonchalance.

“Not flirting, we just happen to know each other. You done here?” He aims at Jeongguk stepping with purpose toward the door. Neither makes eye contact, the subject of interest not particularly left to the category of unmentionable, but leaving them both awkward and stiff. 

“Uh, I think so.” Jeongguk slants so that Namjoon is well in his sights, already typing vigorously on his phone screen. “Should I schedule something or…?”

“Don’t worry about it, I have your number so I’ll just have Y/n give you a call to see when you guys meet.” 

Jeongguk stands a moment longer, his toes tapping to the leather roof of boots so chunky they seem to swallow him from toe to ankle, the footwear attempting to take from his lengthy form and failing miserably. He turns mid-step when Taehyung slaps lightly at the sleeve of his jacket, urging him to step beyond the threshold. He lifts his arm to half wave, mumbling pleasantries, barely audible of the steps that echo in his ears with each pace onto the desolate sidewalk. 

Jeongguk heads toward his own shop, missing the realization of the lack of paired steps with his own. Several paces behind him, a subtle guilt dressing the plains of his cheeks, Taehyung tugs at the wear of half chapped lips, wondering if the broach of a hazy subject is necessary. He catches Jeongguk easily with a jog, nearly stilling him mid-stride but saved from the extra physicality by the passing of a car.

“You know...Jimin was just joking.” Jeongguk’s brows lift, clearly only just catching sight of his constant companion, his own thoughts carrying him along the street without a wayward glance. His eyes widen, unsure of Taehyung’s intentions or the direction of the current topic. “About Y/n, I mean. I don’t really know her and we don’t flirt.” 

“Wouldn’t matter if you did.” 

“Yeah, sure. It’s just—look I know you saw her the other day and I’m willing to bet the only reason you haven’t mentioned that you’re intrigued is because you thought she was dating Jimin.” Taehyung treads, careful to avoid the gaze of reddened cheeks, Jeongguk’s hand raising to a nudge at his soft lobe, the other clenching and unclenching in denim blue, nails scratching the rough of fabric with each clasp. “Well clearly they’re not dating, so it wouldn’t be a bad thing if you did like her is all I’m saying.” 

“Like I said, I don’t really know her. I think she’s cute, from a distance anyways, but I don’t think that’s any reason for a declaration.” The gentle tick of the crosswalk draws Jeongguk's attention on the present path to the opposing side of the street, ignoring the gentle tick of his chest. 

A shining beacon in a sea of monotony. The words that filtered like a mantra, dressing the walls of his clogged brain, overflowing from files and dancing with the fires in tipped bins. Taehyung’s words extinguish the licking flames, if only momentarily, with meticulous reassurance. 

A pocket of vibration, dark and clinging to his chilled skin, is notification for incoming correspondence. His steps skip, tripping along asphalt, saved only by the subtle grasp of a steady hand. His thanks are dropped without hesitation, hand slipping from fabric confines with the heavily encased lifeline pulsing with power.

From: Unknown [ 2:25pm]~is this jeongguk? namjoon gave me your number, said you need a consult?

From: Me[ 2:26pm]~yea...this is y/n im guessing?

His eyes pierce the screen, undressing the words with precision, ensuring he doesn’t make a fool in reply. He wasn’t prepared for the quick interception of the conversation he’s still processing, inner workings too focused on what’s straight ahead, not minutely prepared for Namjoon's speedy deliverance.

From: Unknown [ 2:30pm]~ding ding ding. im pretty much free whenever, so let me know what works with you and we can meet to discuss what you need and whether im the person for the job 

From: Me[ 2:33pm]~ how about tomorrow around this time?

From: Unknown [ 2:34pm]~ cool. let’s meet at the park around the corner  

And now, he waits.

~*~

The first thing you noticed was his approach, a confidence in his stride yet eyes that tried and failed to hide the glisten of steady orbs and the kiss of wind landing atop the surprising density of his cheeks like the piling of new snow. Your legs were crossed at the ankle, bare skin grazed by the cool of grass half dried by the desert chill, hands gripping the accumulation of sleeve inched to the open of your palm whilst your lips curved in mimic at the pout of his own, unintentional but perfectly protruding with the tracking of your steady tilt.

If one were to ask about the slight tremor in your hand or the subtle inch across inches between, you would fail to mention the metaphorical personality of your pulsing appendage and the ooz of liquid red abandoning the organ overflowed to trace the expanse of veins humming with the melodic string of laughter yet to abandon the space since he first spoke. You were immediately taken with soft speech and stolen glances, the professional tossed aside when you asked him to meet you, altogether forgotten when he said hello. 

The pulsing was stunned only momentarily when he withdrew, hand disappearing into deep pockets to pose leather-bound pages and the hesitant stretch of muscles, the quick twitch of his neck the line of a rod, drawing you forward with each gentle reel of innocence. Now you sit, tangled in silent adoration, dripping admiration for the collaged pages, soaked in brilliance. 

“These are yours?” You stroke the page with the ease of your pointer, his head tilting, hair framing, whilst he nods in a lopsided grin. You don’t notice the glue to your cheek, his eyes steady studying you while you study the glide of his hand with jet black against the white page. 

He wonders if you catch the nerves, the steady vibration of his unsteady palms, gentle leap of muscled thigh and the brush of your leg with each accidental inch closer. The proximity did him in, your face from a distance only a picture on a page, face to face giving him the overwhelming sensation of the walk through a gallery filled with seven wonders, their spectacle meaningless without the promise of you. 

He pretended for a moment, between laughter and brushes of innocence that he’s known you a lifetime, the thought only pulling at his metaphorical strings because he wishes he had. Your voices echo is sure to leave him wide eyed and ceiling bound for nights to come, imagining the galaxy as you, white expanse the only thing keeping from the grip he so wishes he could establish on the slip of your time here. 

He knows it’s insanity, thoughts that won’t leave him be, the closeness driving him further to the edge. It’s the reason for his transition to the journal, the reason you’re perched in the grass with the whipping wind and dead leaves skirting around you. 

“It’s just some ideas I have, I jot them down so I don’t forget. I was hoping we could work on them, flesh them a bit more…” Your gaze leaves the page, magic dwindling a sum, aghast at the audacity in his words. You withdraw, clenching fists to rationalize the wait for rejection on your behalf. 

“Why me? I mean, you’ve seen Namjoon’s work, he’s great.” 

“He said that you’re skilled in the tebori method. I’d like them to be done in that style and not many people can. Plus, I’ve seen your work too, it’s just as amazing.” Jeongguk notes the deflation, not unaware of Namjoon’s warning. He’s tempted to pry, but reverses hoping to stumble upon neutral territory, already missing the strain of your muscles in smile. “But obviously it’s only if you’re comfortable. I don’t mean to put you on the spot.” 

“You’re not, I just...can I think about it? I know that’s so incredibly unprofessional of me but—”

“Take as long as you need.” Jeongguk decides immediately he doesn’t need an explanation, that your rumination is the promise of another rendezvous, high hopes lifting him over the horizon of the midday sun, skin aching for the glow of golden hour. 

You already know you’ll say yes, outright rejection never an option, the flicker of expression alight in your left receptacle more than reason to feel him once more. The physical is through the page, but the metaphorical is the connection of souls, the cliché of one person and the hope of renewed ardor. 

“I promise I won’t be long…” The words hang, heavy in the air between and with more meaning than your intent. You’re led away by the weight of obligation, required assistance from Jimin to cover the desk, legs like infant limbs after an hour unmoving. 

Jeongguk follows suit, still chewing the words before spewing his own right back. The same weight and familiarity in his soft deliverance. 

“I’ll be waiting.”

And now, you climb.

~*~

“How was your date?” Jimin is already setting up his station, eyes not sparing a glance, concentration wholly reserved. His vibration is palpable, though you don’t immediately notice, the feeling still finding stringed limbs when you reach your seat behind the desk. 

“I was meeting a client,” You speak hollow and unconvincing, the magic coursing through your veins begging to differ. Wonder is silent, eyes latching to the single eye muraled to the wall, imagining it to glisten like Sirius reflecting in the night sky, musing how one day could build a coherency of such magnetism yet still be held at arm’s length. 

“Oh really? It’s just that, I never meet my clients at the park...” His voice is a hum, settling an array of options for the post pierce browse. “—it’s certainly a bonus that said client is very handsome and already seems pretty interested.” 

“You’ve never even seen us in the same room, I just met him today.” 

“Whatever. I assume he’ll be coming around a lot more.”

Your fingers grasp the nearest instrument, ballpoint clicking in time with the tap of your toe against the leg of the chair. “I don’t know if I’m gonna agree. I don’t want him to be disappointed in the result.” 

“I know you think you’re old news, but the fact that you didn’t say no is reason enough. There’s clearly a part of you that wants to, so why not take the plunge?” 

“I can’t say yes just because I feel some strange attraction to him. That would be inappropriate,” Your mind barely registers the entrance of figure three, a client you presume, the sign-in ledger already halfway across the desk when Jimin speaks again. 

“So you are attracted to him?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Yes you did,” Your pen clatters, nimble fingers swooping it in your absence, Taehyung’s smirk a playful gleam to counter your startled posture. He greets Jimin as an old friend, the two waiting for you to catch up, the slouch of your spine and the configuration of the scene pulling you back into the current take. 

“You’re the one getting a piercing?” Wheels push the foundation, abandoning the desk in favor of the plush leather Taehyung has already sunken into. You believe he feels at home, the decorative jewelry already hanging from his lobes the badge of a pierced veteran. 

“Yeah, I figure it’s time to expand my collection.” His hand brushes the lengthy edges of his dark locks, leaving ample space for Jimin to reach his target, the depth of his gaze landing on your arch over the chair’s arm. “I’m assuming your meeting went well?” 

“What do you know about my meeting?” 

“Why do you think I was here yesterday? The piercing was just a bonus,” He pokes at the tray beside him, the light smack of Jimin’s hand drawing him back to the confines of his lounge. You try to connect dots lost in the fray of day to day. Taehyung is not entirely new to you though still unfamiliar, but you don’t recall the mention of Jeongguk during his earlier visits. 

“So you guys know each other then?” Your disbelief finds Jimin, his hand’s busied with extra sanitation and his lips focusing hard to keep his face straight. “I’m assuming I’m simply the last to know, okay then.”

“It’s just circumstance really, I’m the one who came to your door, you were in your office when we came here yesterday and he was in Namjoon’s office when you came out. I promise he wasn’t avoiding you, quite the opposite actually.” You’re too intrigued for embarrassment, your attention handed tenfold to Taehyung, his head slightly tilted while Jimin readies to pierce him. 

As of late the stench of disinfectant would trigger a memory you were fighting hard to shield from the surface, but the idea of not knowing more of Taehyung drives it from your mind, currently on one track and unwavered by anything that’s not Jeongguk. Even so, there’s a haze, or perhaps the attempt of common sense forcing you to look past the filter of brights to truly grasp reality.

“We’d never met before today, how could he possibly be looking for me?” 

“We actually saw you a few days ago, before you and I officially met. You and Jimin were leaving the shop and he seemed pretty distracted by you, but he thought you two were dating.” Your laughter emits in breathy sighs, muddled by the fluttering in your abdomen, Jimin’s lips smug, shoulders rounded. 

“Easy mistake, we’d make a cute couple.” It would be a fib to deny that it’s the first time it’s been thought that you and Jimin were more than friends. His neighbors foolishly believe your late nights are spent anywhere save for the couch, silver screen glaring back at your glued lids. 

You watch Jimin work, ignoring the bore of Taehyung’s eyes, his focal point to ignore the sharp sting of the needle. He barely flinches, your own body lurching in slight when the needle meets puffed skin. His hand clasps your wrist, pulling you closer, examining the bare skin in earnest. 

“You don’t have any tattoos...none that I can see at least.” He notices, jumping to your eyes and back to your arm. He leans forward when Jimin steps away, gathering his studded collection of earrings, reflecting with golds and silver. “That’s pretty interesting considering you give them to other people for a living.”

“Astute observation. I do not have any tattoos visible or otherwise.” Taehyung kisses his teeth, easily opting for a pair reminiscent of chains. You look for judgement, but there’s none in his study of the colorful space, just a curiosity he’s not sure he should breach. “I’ve always wanted one, but I was too scared. Ridiculous but true.” 

“Scared of needles?” 

“At first maybe. Scared of the permanence of it all. It feels like such a big responsibility, to me at least, to decide what to get tattooed and I’ve never gotten to a point where I could just do it.” You think back to pages bound by leather with frightening immediacy, the conviction with which the they screamed at you almost haunting if not for the beauty of it. Chilling in the details of sketches, moments in time grasped so eloquently. A part of you is certainly jealous, but the other part is so irrevocably drawn to depth and desire. “Hey, Taehyung, is Jeongguk still at his shop by chance?”

“Actually I’m supposed to be meeting him for ice cream after this so he might already be there.” He pulls his device from his jacket, squinting at the screen, thumb gliding in swiftness. “You guys should come!”

“Oh we don’t wanna—”

“I’m in, I’ve been craving a good scoop,” Jimin leaves no room for disagreement, his limbs already at full speed to hurry cleaning his station. “We don’t have any clients and Namjoon is out of town for the day, so I think we’re good to close up. Plus, you can tell Jeongguk you’ll take him on.” 

“I never said I would,” You slide back into your jacket, tucking your limbs into the sleeves. The sky has darkened significantly since the dusting of rays that splashed your skin as you sprawled the grass barely an hour earlier. 

“You never said you wouldn’t.” The two are like stooges, already mastering the collaborative effort to challenge you. 

“Have fun with your ice cream, I’m, hopefully, going home to a heated apartment.” 

~*~

Jin has been talking to Jeongguk since he entered, the recognition of the new young entrepreneur on the strip catching his attention without pause. He’s a nice guy, his energy something Jeongguk would appreciate on any given day, but he was hoping for a moment of collection before Taehyung arrived. 

He’s stuck on a blur, the low heat of his skin and the canals of his ears, yearning for the vibration of laughter and soft words spoken beneath the breeze. It was easy and good, an hour lost, an hour found. He would’ve laid there in the grass for hours after your departure were in not for the chill that crept in so easily without you beside him. 

He wonders if it was a mutual feeling or if your reaction was just polite, a business tactic. No. Not you, you’re not the type to pretend, he knows even if he doesn’t know. Your sincerity was like a sickness, spilling from your every crevice, pouring out with your every phrase. He’s sure even you don’t notice the significant way you carry yourself, impossible to turn away from. 

“Hey, Jin, talking Jeongguk’s ear off I see.” Jeongguk breaks his stare from where it concentrated on the ink already eating his skin, Jimin standing over the booth with Taehyung chuckling beside him. “Maybe give him a break and take out order?” 

“There’s a counter, Park Jimin, and—” Jin squints in the direction of the counter, a small line waiting for their treats of the frozen variety, though not many people are keen for the cold in the midst of winter. “—yup there’s definitely someone up there waiting just for you.” 

“Ha ha, leave him alone, Jin, his mind is already occupied plenty.” Jin slides from the booth, Jimin immediately taking his place, Taehyung sliding in after him. 

Jin feigns reluctance when Jimin recites his order, all around friendlier when Jeongguk and Taehyung do the same. Jimin turns his attention to the other side of the booth when Jin sidles off, already choosing his next target. “Where’s your head at?” 

“Hm?” 

“We just talked to Y/n, I hear your meeting went well, prospects are high. She seems interested,” Taehyung’s speech is backed with encouragement, Jeongguk’s lip quivering, but winning the fight against his impending smile, intent on not giving himself away too quickly. 

“She said she’d think about it and I’m perfectly okay with that.” He thinks of your promise, the thoughts skirting past the surface for a sign, a signal that the more he feels is exactly the meaning behind your words. His rang true, he would wait and be content. He would be prepared to have you work as his artist and end things there, but the weight in his pocket and the recollection of your eyes doubled in size leaves room for the want of more. 

“She seemed impressed with you,” Jimin adds, chin rested in his palm, reading for reaction. “The fact that she’s considering is a really good sign. For her and for you.” 

“It all just felt really natural,” The two watch as Jeongguk’s eyes glaze over just thinking about the exchange. “Almost like we…” 

He trails, face heating, his thoughts almost betraying him. He’s relieved when a server comes bearing dishes, thanking them aloud with pleasantry and inwardly for saving him from himself. The relief is short lived when two sets of eyes beam at him like he’s an amusement, waiting for him to continue.

“Almost like you…” 

“Nothing, it’s really stupid. She’s really great, I’ll be lucky if she decides that I’m worth it.” He covers lamely, shoving his spoon past his lips, letting creamy vanilla coat his tongue and ease his mind. 

“Trust me,” Jimin mumbles, swallowing his own hefty scoop. “She decided that the moment you sat down.” 

~*~

It’s unclear what brought you to this stool some nights later, half buzzed and wondering if you’ll have to call Jimin to drag you home. Your mind hasn’t completely fogged, liquor light with mercy, heavy consequences no doubt pending for the morning to come. A break, you’d decided, hands and knees stained with product, trying in vain to work the stain from your carpet, the smudge faint but not enough to miss your eye. 

The crowd is surprising, though you wouldn’t know as you don’t often go to the place with the metaphorical bad stuff, your own brand of lunacy dancing in boxes lacing your cabinetry. You recall the draw of drinks from mugs and Jimin off-key when you’re sliding more bills than you prefer across the counter. Moving is without appeal, head to the counter the way to go.

“Hey, you okay?” The voice is familiar, worth the work to lift your head. Jeongguk looks down at you, his hand placed to the bar, eyes wide with concern. 

His own stumbling through the door of the room with the dim lighting and the absurd amount of sports playing in every corner was boredom. Taehyung had plans and he was left alone to the drone of the television, the shop in need of a break from him. The dishes already glistening from his tenth wash despite the lack of use. A spot of dust enough to send him into a frenzy. From Jimin the name of the dive was briefly mentioned, in relation to what he couldn’t say, the topic never picking his brain from the moment it was first spoken. 

Now he’s glad he wasn’t a horrible companion, the sight of you hunched over reason enough for his half listen. He notes your solitude immediately, drawn to the side of the bar rather than the thick of it all, two glasses empty before you. 

“Jeongguk!” Your tone is uneven, eyes looking watered under the lights, your smile brightening in his eyes. He can’t help but to return, lowering into the stool so your faces are level. “I didn’t know you were here.” 

“I just got here actually and I saw you so…” 

“You came for me?” If you were less influenced the words would have remained nothing more than a thought, passing in a sea of others you could never muster courage to speak. Though you’re not sure that a post buzz reflection will make you wish they were any less materialized, the way his features soften like a fertilization for the growth of your thudding heart.

“I—yeah, I came for you. Are you ready to head home?” 

“You don’t know where I live,” You say the words, knowing you’ll go anywhere with him even if he doesn’t. You let him guide you from your stool, his touch soft, never too much. 

“You know, I’ve got a pretty good idea.” 

~*~

He lingers outside of your door, adoring the small struggle you have with lock and key, about to lend a hand when your triumph catches him, arms lifting over your head, turning to him with a smile. “Come on!” 

“You want me to come in?” Taehyung will be home soon and he has no way of explaining that he’s at your place that doesn’t involve some teasing on his best friend’s end of it, though it doesn’t matter when you latch on to the sleeve of his jacket and pull him past the threshold. 

The biggest difference between your place and theirs is the lived-in aspect. He would say that it’s cute, but it’s too simple a word. It seems you prefer mood lighting, the flip of a switch igniting fairies strung to the base of the ceiling. It suits you, who’s already stumbling toward the kitchen expecting that Jeongguk is hot on your trail. The décor is simple, a few paintings on the wall, rugs and cozy furniture. 

“I’m sorry if it’s cold in here, it’s always kind of cold in here,” You mutter, grabbing two mugs and giving life to your kettle. Jeongguk recalls that you were no longer in possession of your space heater, taken by Taehyung and himself and still unreturned. He debates running over to grab it, but your hand once more on his wrist, drags him to the sofa erasing the thought of walking out of that door. “Thanks for bringing me home, I promise I’m not that wasted. You don’t have to be so nervous.”

“No, I’m not nervous! Not because you were drinking anyways…” 

“So you are nervous...why?”

“You make me nervous...in a good way!” He’s quick to regroup, noting the fall of your features, hating that it’s because of him. “It’s completely insane, but from the moment I saw you I…” 

“Me too.” Jeongguk’s previously averted gaze rushes to meet you, already staring back. He doesn’t need to ask what you mean, confident that what you feel is what he feels. Confident that it doesn’t matter how insane it may sound. “It’s so crazy, but when I saw you yesterday something just clicked and I thought maybe it’s because you’re ridiculously attractive but then we talked and it was so natural.” 

“I’m glad it wasn’t just me,” He takes a chance, hand sliding to yours, resting against your thigh. Your fingers tangle without stutter, the position meant to be, so full of warmth and understanding. “I saw you with Jimin a few days ago, I couldn't stop staring."

So long is spent staring, enjoying each other and the mutual affection that's like an aura engulfing you.

"Where exactly do we go from here?” Jeongguk tugs at his bottom lip, another quality that fills you with warmth. 

“Why are you opening a tea shop?” 

“What?” 

“We’re practically strangers, I don’t even know your last name actually. So, if there’s some weird predestined love at first sight phenomenon going on here, I’d like to know everything about you before we proceed.” You click, smile a contagious thing, one that Jeongguk would be remiss not to embrace wholeheartedly. “So why a tea shop?” 

“Well first, my last name is Jeon—”

“Jeon Jeongguk…” He watches you test the words against your tongue. “Cute. You’re cute.” 

“Anyways,” He blushes. “I’ve always loved making tea. I learned it at a young age and then I started experimenting and decided that this is what I wanna do. I figured focusing on boba would draw more people in, but I also wanna expand on what I already know.” 

“Well if anything, Hoseok will be there at least twice a day.”

“What about you?” 

“I think I can make time, though you are really out of the way I might not be able to swing it.” 

“I’ll pick you up, or better yet I can just bring it right to you,” He offers, amused but truthful. “No, but I mean how did you get into tattooing, and how did you learn tebori?” 

“Ah…” Your eyes find one of the frames hanging nearest the window, a landscape that Jeongguk can barely make out aside from the distance of neon. “Well, I was studying abroad actually, in Japan. I was an art history major and I didn’t really know what I wanted to do so I thought getting away would help me figure it out.”

You think often about the day when your current occupation seemed so foreign, your adolescence always filled with imaginings of galleries under curation, days filled with frames and packed schedules. 

“One of my classmates convinced me to go out with her one night because she wanted a tattoo and I wanted one too, so I didn’t really see why I shouldn’t go. She got hers first, a flower I think, and while I was watching the artist I was just blown away by the technique.” 

“Tebori?”

“Mmhm, of course I’d seen the regular ink and needle, but this just seemed to me something on a deeper level and I fell in love with it. It’s probably the most insane thing I’ve done to date, but I finished my degree abroad and stayed in Japan to learn and now I’m here.”

“Why’d you come back?”

“It just felt like it was time...sometimes I wish I hadn’t or that I could go back to visit. Like it’ll remind me what it felt like in the beginning, make me feel like less of a failure. I'd actually get my tattoo.” 

“You’re not a failure, we just have patches sometimes. You’ll figure it out, we’ll figure it out.” The steam of the kettle startles from the moment you're quick to exit to the stove, mulling words and recovering from the embarrassment of exposure over the steaming water. “You know, I don’t have tea so I hope hot chocolate is okay?”

“It’s perfect,” Jeongguk accepts his mug and the packet of mix, stirring it in time with his breathing. He’s left to the obvious blushing of his cheeks, musing his circumstance, sharing a drink with the perfect anomaly. He’s ignored the constant stream of vibration from his pocket, no interest in removing himself from the cozy bubble. “So this place is pretty shitty, I would know and I’ve only lived here about a week. Why do you stay here?” 

“You live here? Wait...you and Taehyung are roommates, duh sorry. I’m still trying to catch up.” 

“Yeah, thanks for the space heater by the way. I’m pretty sure I would’ve given in the first night if I had to sleep in the cold.”

“Ha! No worries, sometimes I do give in and I stay over at Jimin’s place. But I’m just not ready to let this place go yet, I guess. It’s not great, but change is hard and I’ve been here for so long.” 

You're close along the counter, space invaded without invitation, gravitation controlling your every step. The rest of the night follows suit, closeness and appeal. You enjoy words and laughter, ignoring the possibility of the responsibility the next day alludes. 

Somehow you find yourselves in your bed, faces close and bodies tucked beneath the thick duvet. You're glad the heat isn’t working tonight, Jeongguk wrapped around you like a boa, slowly falling into the depths of unconsciousness, the conversation lulling with each random topic. Your throat is strained from laughter and your brain is filled with more than it thought possible. 

Inches are now centimeters and you’re snails inching toward the finish, certain but uncertain if the light of day will change the result of your exchange. 

The morning following you wake much the same as you slept, tangled, breaths mingling between. Jeongguk is still snoring, blissfully unaware of the authoritative knock echoing from your front door. Hands pushing at your eyes, feet tingling against the cold flooring, you swing the door with an annoyance you’re prepared to unleash before you’re met with Taehyung. 

His eyes are half frantic, neck craning to see around you. 

“Taehyung?”

“Hey, I’m sorry to bother you, but have you seen Jeongguk? I’ve been trying to reach him since last night and he’s not answering.” 

“O-oh...um he’s here, let me get him,” You mumble, allowing Taehyung, his eyes softening and features squinted, to step inside. You leave him standing in the living room, ignoring the knowing smirk, head bowed as you step into your bedroom. 

You regret the gentle shove of his shoulders, and the hushed “wake up” that slowly but surely draws Jeongguk from his sleep. He looked peaceful, full of youth with his eyes stapled and breath steady rising and falling. His eyes are puffy when he raises, confusion laced features recalling that he wasn’t in his own home. 

His arm extends, patting your side of the bed, unaware that you were the reason for premature awakening. “Hey sleepy head.”

“What are you doing up?” He finds your hand, grabbing hold in an attempt to pull you back to bed. Though you would be more than willing, Taehyung is sure to have heaps to say already, no reason to add fuel to the fire already blazing in his pupils. 

“Taehyung is here,” That catches his attention, eyes darting to the door half open. “He said he’s been trying to reach you. He’s waiting in the living room, I’m sorry if you didn’t want him to know you’re here, I panicked.” 

“No it’s fine,” He assures, sliding from the bed, the same chill that ate you catching him with bare feet. You follow him back out to Taehyung, who’s taken it upon himself to peruse the space, currently examining the coffee table with it’s day old mugs. “Hey, I’m sorry I didn’t get back to you.” 

Looking between the two of you, your hand finding habit at Jeongguk’s shoulder, he shrugs. “No biggie, just thought you might be in a ditch or something. Turns out I was very wrong, so I’ll leave you to it.” 

“I’ll just come with you, I should probably shower and change. I’ve got some stuff to take care of before the opening. I can’t believe it’s only a couple months away.” You drop your hand, leaving him to it, an awkward and unsure feeling settling in your stomach. It’s clear that Jeongguk is a bit embarrassed, not that you’re own emotions haven’t caused the sting of a heat in your cheeks. You wait for him to follow Taehyung, who’s already waved goodbye, hands in his pockets as he stalks away. 

Jeongguk isn’t so quick, turning to your ground bound pupils, fingers drifting to the trace of your jaw and nudging you to greet him. You’re taken by the lack of hesitation when his lips meet yours in kiss, short and sweet, altogether unexpected. “I’ll see you later, yeah?” 

“I wouldn’t miss it,” You coo, fingers brushing his cheek gingerly, rewarded with one more peck before Taehyung is groaning in the hallway, effectively tearing Jeongguk from you to catch up. 

~*~

You’re warm, for the first time in a long time you’re warm, from your chest to your veins, head and toes, and it’s all because of Jeon Jeongguk. His departure wasn’t the last of him, the next few months full of meetings planned and spontaneous, your phone alight with too many notifications, every one taken in with the same adoring smile and your own obsessed response. 

You would stop by Hoseok’s blessing him with a coffee, happily listening to his rambling about the horrendous new flavor Jin had him and Yoongi test the other night. Across the street you could just see Jeongguk through the window, lips pulled in concentration, pen scribbling on the pad in front of him. Though it was cute, you couldn’t help but to attempt to cheer him up, his eyes immediately finding you after he’s read the little note sent to his phone. 

You would be sick with yourself if you were the one to witness the affection radiating from your expanse, but you couldn’t care less how many times Jimin fake gags or the small lecture you endure when Yoongi delivers flowers later in the day. You hold on to the feeling and you hope that it feels like this all the time. 

“What are you working on?” Namjoon steps into your office, no other reason than his own boredom swallowing him whole, much like the cushions when he collapses into your sofa. 

“Just some of Jeongguk’s sketches…” You noticed rather quickly the familiar book resting on your bedside table after your first night together, no doubt placed by Jeongguk before sleep could find him. You spent the morning getting to know his art better, so you could try to make it exactly what he wanted. You only just got around to transferring the sketches to your own notebook, hoping to have something to show him at his opening. 

“He’s really good for you. I haven’t seen you this eager about sketching in a while.” 

“You think so?” 

“What, you don’t?”

“No, I just...I don’t want you to think I’m completely insane for jumping into this so suddenly. I mean, I think it’s insane that I could be so completely sure about someone so quickly and I think the world of you, so I don’t want you to be disappointed…” 

He laughs, whole hearted laughter fills your office and you’re not positive how you should respond. Your hands are unsteady on your pen, ready for him to completely crush your soul, back to the same girl standing in his doorway all those years ago. 

“Honestly, you give me way too much credit.”

“What do you mean?”

“The night that you showed up, I was wondering how I was even gonna keep this place open. The building wasn’t the most friendly looking, most people walked right past, the outside giving them the impression that the inside was just as decrepit,” He sighs, head supported by the arm of the chair, eyes holding the ceiling in place. “When you showed up I was seconds away from telling you to get lost, then you handed me your sketches and you looked so hopeful. You were my last chance, so really I should be thanking you for being so spontaneous, especially if it means you’re happy.” 

“Wow, why didn’t you ever say anything?” 

“I didn’t want to put more pressure than you already put on yourself. Plus, it doesn’t really matter now, does it? We’re doing pretty good, and that’s what’s important.” 

The revelation is a motivation, your grip on the pencil tightening, strokes light and even on the page. Namjoon doesn’t say much more, silent inspiration while he falls into slumber, the only reason he ever finds himself meandering into your space. 

“Knock knock,” Jeongguk peers around the corner, your finer flying to your lips, the other gesturing toward Namjoon, dozing peacefully. “Sorry, does he do that a lot?” 

“Oh yeah, he pretends he wants to know what I’m up to then he’s out like a light before I’ve finished speaking.” 

“I’ll have to try it sometime—”

“Watch it,” You warn playfully, sneakily closing your notebook so he can’t see. “What’s up? I figured you would be too busy filling orders for little ole me.” 

“Never, and I want you to try this! I was thinking I could add it to the special menu. I know everyone is into the whole lemonade with boba thing which we do offer but I was trying to make a tea that’s more on the fruity side than the tea side because I know some people are put off by the tea taste, ya know?” He watches you uncomfortably closely, your face trained to be as neutral as possible while flavors explode, traveling to opposing ends of your mouth, battling it out, but ultimately left with no winner. 

“You know, I appreciate the thought and I’m sure if you work on it some more it’ll be perfect but…”

“It’s disgusting.” He finishes for you sighing in defeat, collapsing in the chair across from you. 

“No!” You round the desk, his arms ready to accept your slide into his lap. “It’s not disgusting, it’s just...not quite blended yet.” 

He takes the to-go cup, sipping his own concoction. You wonder if he tried it at all before running over here, his habit of trusting your initial judgement extremely endearing, but unnecessary. It stems only from your admittance that you weren’t the biggest tea drinker and that you’re one of those lemonade with the boba people. His mission became clear, he couldn’t stand to see you walk into his shop knowing that you’ll be leaving with sugared lemons squeezed into juice. He has to make you the perfect tea if it’s the last thing he does.

He was set on making it for the opening, but to no avail, the sign flipped, his employees brewing away, his drop here only partially out of the necessity for his favorite taste tester. “It’s disgusting,” He decides immediately, fighting the urge to spit it back into the cup. “You have to stop being so nice to me, it’s cute, but I want you to yell at me like you yell at Jimin.” 

“I don’t yell at Jimin!” 

“You yell at Jimin all the time, lovingly, but there are voices raised.” Namjoon rubs at his eyes, tugging at the shirt riding at his abdomen. “We goin for tea or what? I swear people are gonna think we’re out of business with how often we close early.” 

"Yeah, can you just give us a minute?" You try your best to be discrete, nodding toward the notebook on your desk. 

"Yeah...Jimin and I will just meet you there." He leaves you, door clicking in his wake and you turn to Jeongguk with a ready grin, eyes wide with excitement.

"Is this one of those things where I should knock everything off of your desk? If so I'm down, but this is a weird time…"

"No! I have a surprise for you." You pull his journal from it's position beneath the stacks of paper on your desk. "You left this at my place your first night over."

"I've been looking for this! I was embarrassed to tell you I lost it, but it turns out you're a klepto." He teases, taking hold of the pages. "So you decided to hold it hostage?"

"I wasn't holding it hostage, I was working on…" You lift your sketchbook, flipping to the appropriate page. "These."

They aren't complete, but you want his first impression and suddenly you understand the tea thing. It's a radically different medium, your shared art actually pending ink on his body, but you don't want to go too far only to disappoint. He leans against the desk, not speaking, just staring, expressionless.

"If you don't like them we can talk about what you want changed, I just tried to make something I thought would fit what you've already got going." 

He finally looks up, eyes glistening, your stomach doing flips. You're too afraid to ask what he's thinking, so you continue to wait, hoping he'll speak up soon and that you didn't insult him with your vision.

"I love them."

"Really? You don't have to worry about hurting my feelings, it's your body you know."

"Really, you're amazing. This is better than I could've hoped and I can't wait until it's permanent." His words are firm with sincerity, notebook laid to the side in favor of pulling you into his arms. "How am I supposed to compete? I can't even make tea for you."

"Relax, your tea is perfectly fine! I just enjoy the occasional lemonade. Come on, we'll go to the shop, you can make me whatever you want and I'll love it."

"Deal, but...I-we have a surprise for you as well."

"For me?"

"Yeah, I was talking with the guys the other day, we were talking about you..."

"You and the guys? This should be good."

"It is, I promise." He produces an envelope from his pocket, no scrawl on the outside, more mystery than you're ready for. “I was thinking about what you said that first night, about wanting to remember what it was like in the beginning.” 

“What did you do?” You tear into the envelope, fingers moving so slowly you fear the skin will catch in the thin edges. What you pull is far from what you imagined, a ticket printed blue for a week’s time. Jeongguk stares at you expectantly, waiting for some form of reaction, but you’re not sure what to say. “This is a plane ticket…” 

“Yeah, to Japan. We want you to go back and we knew you wouldn’t do it unless we planned it for you.” 

“You guys didn’t have to.” 

“We wanted to, I wanted to. The way your eyes lit up talking about that time in your life, I would do anything to give that to you again. So we want you to go to Japan, do something for you.” His lips land on your forehead, breathing you in while you process the unexpected gift. It’s more than you could ever imagine, but there’s a single string, dangling with uncertainty. You figure the only way to eliminate it is to pull full force, risk sounding ridiculous. 

“What about you?” Jeongguk’s face scrunches in confusion, the inquiry the last thing he expected. His thoughts were far from himself, not naive enough to think his mind would be focused anywhere but you while you’re gone, but never thinking it would be a reason you’re unsure about going. “I don’t mean to sound stupid, but I’d miss you too much.” 

“You can call me everyday, any time of day. I’ll be there, you don’t have to worry about me not being here waiting for you.” 

“Or...you could come?” 

“Oh, you want me to? I figured you’d want to do your own thing, not have me weighing you down.” Your arms find his waist, head resting against his chest, giggling at the prospect of Jeongguk being anything more than a comforting presence. 

“Of course I want you to, I wanna show you everything.” 

“I’ll have to figure things out with the shop, but—”

“Oh, wow I’m so selfish. Of course you can’t just drop everything to come with me, I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking.” You shake your head, silently scolding your inconsideration. Jeongguk grabs hold of your shoulders, stopping you mid step, hand halfway to smack your forehead.

“I would love to come, I just have to talk to Taehyung about it. I’m sure he wouldn't mind taking on a little more responsibility. Actually he’ll probably pack my bags for me.” 

“Are you sure?”

“Positive. I’ll probably have to catch a later flight, just to get things taken care of.” He thinks aloud. 

“I think I can manage a few days on my own.” 

“I promise I won’t be long.” 

“I’ll be waiting.” 

And now, we smile. 

[ravenvsfox]

Things Fall Apart; the Centre Cannot Hold

Summary: He keeps remembering the chafe of Ronan’s shoulder against his ribs as they got oriented in his little bed, the glisten of tears and nightwash wringing his lovely eyes, the lonely twist in his unguarded late-night voice over the phone, the one that Adam had almost liked, because it meant that he was indisputably missed. It was worse, that Ronan had been trying so hard for Adam, because it was easier to tell when he stopped.

(Adam's perspective throughout Mister Impossible, as his worry reaches a fever pitch, and the two versions of himself begin to converge)

Word Count: 9.5k

Warnings: mi spoilers, death/suicide mention

A/N: batshit middle books my beloveds. adam pov or bust 😌

Read on AO3

In high school, Gansey would very occasionally call Adam in the middle of the night.

He would speak low and fast, his panic pinched between thumb and forefinger and held at a respectable distance. Adam would smother the receiver with his palm and step outside of his family trailer, listening hard for movement at his back.

The news was always the same: Ronan Lynch was on his latest rampage or bender, exercising his dark talent for bullying his way into people’s lives and then breaking down all of their windows and doors trying to get out again.

Gansey would fret and apologize, guilty for luring Adam out of his wolf-den, guiltier for neglecting his duties as Ronan’s warden. Adam would wait tiredly on the line for Gansey’s anxiety to exhaust itself, and then dutifully join the search party.

He would step into his beaten tennis shoes and pry his bike from the fence, silencing the silvery shock of metal on metal, and avoiding the reedy whir of the spokes by holding the whole thing aloft until he reached the gravel road.

From there, he would venture out into the abandoned Henrietta streets, the crunch of his tires cutting clean through the woolly midnight silence. He often circled the perimeter of the park nearest Monmouth, stepped through the great dark portal into St. Agnes, and nipped under the old bridge, squinting into the darkness for the challenging shoulders, the oil-slick BMW gleam, the slump of a body or clatter of bottles.

This is a part of Gansey that I admire, he would think. And with equal fervour, this is a part of Gansey that I resent. This blood attachment to Ronan, who was not even attached to himself. The insomnia that seized two heads of the lopsided Cerberus that Adam, Ronan, and Gansey were all part of, a restlessness on either side of him that shook him awake over and over again.

He chased Ronan’s shadow, hating him. Hating his thoughtlessness, his privilege, his chokehold on Gansey’s interests, his purposefully and continuously ruined potential, and yet bristling with anxiety at the idea of finding him bleeding.

They hadn’t known then that he was a dreamer, but they’d felt the ear-popping pressure of his grief, glimpsed the hulking animal of his self-loathing, urged onwards by the twin spurs of Declan and Gansey, the past and the future, digging into his sides.

Adam had seen Ronan, teeth bared, hurling himself at rock bottom, and he had rubbed the sleep from his eyes and pulled him back by the collar.

Things are completely different now, but he still finds himself sleep-raw and petrified, reaching after Ronan in the dark.

He examines himself in the mirror of the communal bathroom in Thayer hall. The overhead lights are an unflattering yellow, the sink has a long dark hair stuck to its basin, and Adam’s face is gaunt and bruised with lack of sleep.

He’s losing it, a little bit.

He takes his own pulse, focusing on the faraway burble of the ley line. Everything, lately, seems far away.

As if through a stranger’s eyes, he slips from the seafoam tiling and bleach tang in Thayer’s North bathroom to the accordion door of the trailer toilet, the creaky cubicle shower, his gawky, hurt reflection in the burnt-out light. This version of Adam had to watch his best friend’s best friend escape suicide watch and get screaming drunk in public, treading mud and malicious dreams all over Monmouth manufacturing.

He can still smell the salt tang from teenaged Adam’s ocean of disdain.

Now that he loves Ronan, his irritation has only gotten sharper, more deadly. Ronan performs each perilous swan dive into the unknown, each foolhardy act of self-sacrifice, as if the people who care about him aren’t gasping spectators. It makes Adam furious.

Perhaps neither of them have changed as much as they wanted to believe. As Gillian keeps advising the crying club—with the confidence of a seasoned psychiatrist—progress isn’t linear.

He keeps remembering the chafe of Ronan’s shoulder against his ribs as they got oriented in his little bed, the glisten of tears and nightwash wringing his lovely eyes, the lonely twist in his unguarded late-night voice over the phone, the one that Adam had almost liked, because it meant that he was indisputably missed. It was worse, that Ronan had been trying so hard for Adam, because it was easier to tell when he stopped.

He slides fingers over his temples, smooths a knuckle over each eyebrow to ease the tension he always carries there. Sleep is a little knot of gristle lodged at the back of his throat; he can’t swallow it and he can’t spit it up. It never used to be this hard to put his problems to bed. He would worry the weight on his chest into small pieces, and go to sleep knowing that even the worst things about his life were organized correctly.

This time though, he’s out of sorts, divided, always busy but always spinning his wheels. He has a white-hot secret pressed to the roof of his mouth.

Every time he folds himself into bed, his subconscious helpfully reminds him that Ronan might be dead. And then a highlight reel plays in his head like an In Memoriam: Adam’s hand cupping Ronan’s nape, a barn silhouetted against a melancholy sky, a fistful of dreamt light, a dozen hard-won smiles and a hundred easy ones, a white handprint on a flushed thigh, a colourful joke to placate a brother, a kiss pressed to a dream’s forehead. All of that—gone. And Adam, at Harvard.

He highlights long patches of text in his sociology textbook, drinks a sensible amount of jack and coke at Eliot’s birthday party, declines Gansey’s calls by sending cheerful and conciliatory texts, and drifts through the library with his hand knotted in the strap of his satchel, looking for something that he can’t really articulate. He reads the same line of theory over and over and over and over, feeling like he’s scrying, like his focus isn’t his own.

He did all of this before Ronan went missing too, but now it’s a whole different class of performance. It used to be, I’m convincingly attentive, I’m sipping overpriced coffee on the way to class like a good Ivy leaguer, I’m making an impression on my professors, I’m forging friendships. Someday I will cash in these relationship tokens, and it all will have been worth it. It felt impossible that his life could be so simple and rewarding.

Now he thinks, I’m studying for finals and my boyfriend is being hunted by people whose job it is to kill him. I’m drinking a latte and the only people I’ve ever loved have left me, and I'm alone again. I’m putting my hand up in class and somewhere, Ronan’s life is changing, rapidly, dangerously, without me.

He lies to everyone, all the time, and tells himself that this life he’s building is more important than anything.

Once, as they cleared placemats and mugs full of stagnant coffee from the kitchen table, Ronan—still cobwebbed in his most recent dream—had detailed the sensation of hovering over himself afterwards. He was unable to manipulate his physical body or even really recognize it as his own, and his consciousness, detached, had its own limbs, its own intentions. He was like a parasite trying to wriggle back into its host.

Whenever Adam consults his double in a bit of glass, he imagines himself as a nimble dreamer, peering down, working to bring a fantasy to life. He can see his own outline, a slick college student with a flat, pleasant affect and a gaggle of soft-shelled friends. He plays his role impeccably well, but he can’t fit himself into it. If he passed himself in the hallway he would not stop.

Looking in the mirror now, he feels a red pang of fear, then a supercut of the ways he used to let himself love and be loved, then resentfulness hot on the heels of his worry.

His reflection withers, and he looks deliberately down at his hands. It’s a Tuesday, and he needs to sleep, or his tightly-scheduled Wednesday will be a misery. It’s a Tuesday, which means he hasn’t spoken to Ronan in—he stalls. Call me, he thinks, miserably. Just call me.

He can deal with a multitude of challenging and improbable situations if only he can see them clearly. Ronan is, for whatever reason, keeping him in the dark.

The not knowing is bad. It’s not how he functions. It’s not how they function. But instead of dwelling, he puts his back into the narrative that is now his reality: Impeccable student. Devoted friend-group. Tough break-up. Bright future.

Ronan isn’t here. Can’t ever be, physically, so far from the ley line. Adam has to be.

“Croissant, as ordered.” His gaze snaps up, connecting—not with his own image, but with clever, horn-rimmed Gillian. “They tried to foist it upon me without butter, if you can imagine that.” She deposits a crinkly brown and tan paper bag in front of him, and then two little plastic pots of butter. Adam regards the squashed shape of the bag’s contents with confusion.

It’s— “Is it Tuesday?”

“Wednesday,” Eliot corrects airily, licking jam from their thumb.

“My god, Adam. Whatever happened to your infallible circadian rhythm?” Fletcher asks. “You are the Swiss timepiece by which we measure our days.”

A terrible wave of vertigo strikes him, and he’s grateful to find himself sitting, at one of two conjoined wrought-iron tables in the courtyard near Thayer. He can feel the ley line breathing for the first time in a long time.

He must have gone to bed after his late-night breakdown in the bathroom. He must have. He hadn’t realized how exhausted he was. His hand strays to his hair. Wet. He’d woken, showered, and met his friends for breakfast, and he can barely remember it.

“Sorry,” he chokes. “Sleep deprivation is catching up to me, I think.”

“Aw, chicken,” Benjy says affectionately. “I’ve sung those end of term blues. The profs think we’re machines. Don’t even get me started on Dr. Fraundberg’s Lit Crit for assholes.”

“Whyever would we?” Eliot says. “We want to make it to class before noon.”

“Har-har. You wound me. Adam you’d better get a tissue ready, I’m about to tear up.”

“Also,” Gillian says, pointing her be-honeyed knife in Eliot’s direction. “Speak for yourself. I want to make it to class never.”

“Your presentation is going to be exceptional,” Fletcher tells her. “Your rough draft already drove me into paroxysms of jealousy. I don’t know why you’re so concerned.”

“I don’t just want to pass,” Gillian says. “I want to win.”

“Admirable,” Benjy sniffs.

“You’re being awfully quiet, Adam,” Eliot says, at length. He’s aware that they’re all trying very hard to act like they don’t notice how poorly composed he is.

“Can’t a man savour his pastry, Eli?” Fletcher rumbles.

“No, that’s fair,” Adam sighs. The four of them peer at him expectantly, eyebrows arranged into an array of benign and non-threatening shapes. “It’s possible I’m having a slight breakdown,” he says, adopting the grim hyperbole of a student for whom finals are the beginning and end of their emotional upset.

Everyone at the twin tables indulges in a bit of mild laughter.

“What a coincidence, so am I!”

“Well if it’s only slight, I’ll stow my concern.”

“Harvard or personal?”

He smiles faintly, and says, “kind of both. The personal is political, or something.”

He thinks he’s laying it on thick, but Gillian grins at him. “'Atta boy.”

Fletcher goes to take a sip of his tea, but chokes when his phone lights up with an incoming text message. “Criminy, is it eight already? Starting the day with a bang, as usual. I’ll meet you at Weld this evening, yes?” he asks, shaking out his tweed jacket and thrusting an arm through it, securing the remains of his bagel between his teeth with his other hand.

“Of course,” Adam says. Fletcher gives him a thumbs up, mouth charmingly stuffed, and sweeps away across the now bustling courtyard.

“Hey magic man,” Eliot says. “Will you do a reading for my sister tonight? The break-up with Margot is hitting her kind of hard. I’m pretty sure she just wants to be told she’ll find love again.”

Adam watches the juddering impact of Benjy kicking Eliot under the table.

He shrugs. “First come first serve, but I’ll give her the friends and family discount.”

“You’re a prince,” Eliot says, blowing him a kiss. Adam tries to imagine any of his friends from Henrietta doing such a thing, and can’t. “Come along Benjy. Bookstore or bust. They’re giving out discount computing textbook codes at sixty dollars a pop.”

A slip of paper for sixty American dollars. Adam’s head aches profoundly.

Gillian waggles her fingers at their friends as they depart, then she turns and fixes Adam with that familiar amateur therapist look.

“What?”

“Are you sleeping?” she asks bluntly.

“I’m a very good sleeper,” Adam says wryly. “Ask anyone.”

“But are you actually doing it?”

“Yes, Gillian.” Liar, liar. “Do you want me to keep a dream journal as evidence?”

“Oh, yes please.” That shark’s grin. “I’d pay to know what the fuck is going on up there.” She taps her own temple to indicate Adam's guarded mind.

He spreads his hands between them. “I’m an open book.”

She hums, only half-smiling now. “I dunno. That Southern charm. I’m never quite sure if I should trust a politeness that perfect.”

“On that note,” Adam says, standing. He’s relieved to find that he’s wearing matching socks, and his pant legs are rolled just so. There’s a tiny streak of yellow on one of his shoes, and with a jolt he realizes that it’s dream-crab guts. He presses on. “Thanks for the croissant. And the psychoanalysis. Send me the bill.”

She salutes him with her coffee cup. “You couldn’t afford me.”

He laughs, and turns, and then spends the whole walk to his 9 AM class trying to straighten all of the haywire compasses in his brain so they point due north.

His assignment is in his bag, pressed neatly into a navy blue folder. He has three classes today, a meeting with his supervisor at three, a study block set aside from four to six, then dinner, then tarot readings all evening—his phone rings. His treacherous heart leaps. Ronan.

He stops mid-stride, scrambling for his cell in the front pocket of his bag.

“Hello?”

“I—oh—Adam! I didn’t expect you to pick up. How on Earth are you?”

“Gansey.” He exhales through his nose. “I’m just on my way to class.”

“Fantastic to hear your voice. How’s—not that one, Jane, the I-90—exactly. How’s Harvard? Are you batting away job offers yet?”

“Constantly. How are your nature hikes and hippie communes? Contracted any backwoods diseases yet?”

“Charming. I’m actually in remarkably fine form, health-wise.”

“Is that a brag?”

A guffaw. “More of a curiosity. It’s actually part of the reason I’ve been trying to get in touch. Have you noticed any surges of power from the ley line lately? I mean, of course you have, but do you have any idea what’s causing them?”

He frowns, pinning his cellphone between his good ear and shoulder as he heaves open the ancient door to the physics building. “I could give you my best guess.”

A beat, and then, “I’m listening, Parrish.” Something about the way he says it makes homesickness pulse painfully in Adam’s chest.

He finds a semi-secluded stone slab bench behind an empty stairwell, and slings his belongings across it before he replies, “Dreamers.”

“Dreamers,” Gansey repeats, but it sounds like he’s saying of course! “Plural?”

“At least three.”

“Doing what?”

“I’m not one hundred percent sure yet.”

“Ronan hasn’t spoken to you,” Gansey guesses.

“Not—in a few days.”

“Is everything alright?”

He swallows, and is horrified to find tears burning at the back of his throat. There’s no pretending with Gansey. It’s why he never calls him.

“Adam,” he says quietly. “Is he in trouble?”

He struggles with his composure for several long seconds. “Possibly.”

A world-weary sigh. “I really wish you had called.”

“Yeah, well,” he says vaguely. He checks his watch. 8:23.

“So he’s playing with others. Why would Ronan want to do that?”

“I think—he’ll do anything not to feel powerless.” He understands as soon as he says it that it’s the pockmark in the windshield from which all of the damage is splintering outwards. “And people take advantage of that.”

Gansey makes a thoughtful noise, somewhere a thousand miles away, and it clicks in a lock and opens Adam’s shoulders up. Maybe he doesn’t have to be alone in this fight. How could he have forgotten careful, persistent Gansey?

“Well. He’s certainly not powerless. I almost feel back to my pre-Cabeswater self. Everything is pleasantly linear. And Blue is—lighting up.” In the background, he hears her say supercharged with relish. “I can only imagine what it’s like for full-blooded dream stuff, with all of that energy at their disposal.”

“I don’t know if I like it,” Adam says carefully. “It’s good for a while, helping all the Matthew’s of the world, and then what? Where does all of that diverted power end up? What makes dreamers qualified to harness it without their worst nightmares manifesting?”

“You’re worried about the Lace.”

The last time they spoke, Adam had told them briefly about his last scrying session, warning them to look out for the hateful, faceless thing that had pierced his cells and magnified all of his pain and fear until all he could possibly do was scream.

“I’m worried about Ronan. I know he’s in over his head, and I know he won’t believe it until it’s too late.”

“Sounds like someone I know. Don’t bite off more than you can chew with this, Adam. I know you’re enormously busy.”

It stings, a little. “I’m still going to—I’m obviously still going to make time for him. Especially when he’s—“

“Struggling. Yes. I understand perfectly.” It occurs to Adam that, unlike his well-meaning Harvard friends, he actually might. A needling murmur in the background, and then, “listen, Blue’s telling me that you should get in touch with the psychics, and Mr. Gray.”

He nods. The rhythm of problem-solving is soothing his frazzled nerves. “I’ve been considering it. I’m also pretty sure that Declan has been keeping his own tabs on things.”

“My money’s on yes,” Gansey says. Adam half-smiles. His money has been on a lot of things. “Poke around when you can. See what turns up. I’ll give Ronan a call, not that it’s ever done me much good before.”

“I’m pretty sure he ditched his phone.” He checks his watch. 8:24. It feels like it’s been much, much longer than a minute. There is so much day ahead of him.

Ordinarily, he would be compartmentalizing better than this. No feverish Gansey phone calls directly before class. No pleasure with his business. No finesse when logic will do the job just as well. But the subterranean, black-eyed Adam is still within him, tethered to the ley line and to his friends, and he wants very badly to fix this.

“Ah, Ronan,” Gansey sighs. “It’s always got to be him, doesn’t it?”

“I know,” Adam says narrowly. “If he’s not looking for trouble it’s looking for him.”

“You sound like Declan.”

Adam makes an offended noise in the back of his throat. Blue must be leaning across Gansey, because she says “that’s a new low,” almost directly into the receiver.

“I’m hanging up now,” he says flatly.

“Update me if anything changes? We’ll come home the moment things go south.”

He resists the urge to check his watch again. “Don’t cut things short on my account.”

“Well. Don’t disrupt your studies on Ronan’s. I’ve never known you to put your future on hold for anything.”

“I’m not—“ he stops. “Ronan is a part of my future.”

“Good,” Gansey says warmly. A test, then. And like most tests, there was never even a possibility that Adam wouldn’t pass.

______

It’s easy to tell when a dreamer is suffering.

As the energy from the ley line ebbs, dreamt creations judder and bolt like horses loosed suddenly from the service of a carriage, galloping towards safer pastures. If the dreamer is in more immediate peril, the dream simply folds its limbs into an agreeable shape and passes into sleep.

In the wee hours of Thursday morning, Adam lies awake in bed, dangling his hand between the wall and his bed frame, feeling along the subtle unfilled crack in the plaster. A flagpole casualty, from the day that everything stopped being enough for Ronan, and he slipped away on a dreamt current like a dark Ophelia.

He’s being dramatic.

He feels the drywall flaking, and digs his thumbnail into the split, wanting to rip the whole wall open with his fingers.

He keeps picturing Matthew’s half-lidded eyes, cloudless and blue as a wide prairie sky. The slouch of his posture, the tarnished golden head, the body briefly without a pilot.

Matthew had looked—Adam turns in bed, taking his chalky hand from the wall and fisting it in the sheets. He had looked like a faded old pillow, tucked unobtrusively into the chair by the window. He wouldn’t respond to Declan’s call, fluttering his drowsy lashes, and Adam had thought, ah. This is how I find out. His heart slumped over in his chest, dizzy with sudden grief. The tarot cards in his hands were dead leaves.

This is what happens when your life is tied to my brother’s, Declan had said, diverting his horror into scorn as he often did. The death of any one member of his family ensured the destruction of another. It had always been that way.

Matthew eventually roused, and Adam had closed his eyes and turned his face towards the ceiling until he could be normal again. He felt suddenly foolish for peddling lies to college students when magic was so obviously in the room with him.

Earlier, he had called Maura over lunch, and she vaulted right over small talk to ask him, with concern, about his loosening grip on his psychic inclinations. She’d said, “You do know that the ley line isn’t the source of your problems, right? Give yourself some credit. You can fuck things up in a completely non-mystical way.”

She pulled the Magician, reversed, and the eight of wands, and then, without further comment, passed the phone to Mr. Gray.

Unexplained weaponry, he’d reported. The Lynch brothers loosed on two separate worlds at the same time. Buttoned-up Declan for the first time unbuttoned, schmoozing with an array of dangerous and connected people, trading in secrets just as his father had. Purposeless Ronan for the first time with a purpose, wading out from the murky waters of his dreamspace and bringing the tides with him.

Bryde, the name in the corner of everyone’s mouth, joined all at once by Ronan’s and Hennessy’s.

Renegades, liberators of dreams, scorchers of earth. He could see, easily, why this would appeal to Ronan. A mission, finally. A father figure to guide his hand. A world that wanted his dreams, and wouldn’t crumple under the weight of his unusual ambition.

When they were teenagers, Aglionby was just another one of Adam’s jobs, but it was one of Ronan’s nightmares. He would go to school, a hooded bird of prey, seething with resentment and squandered ability. He longed for the Barns because of what they represented: the childlike belief that his family would never die; the possibility for creatures like him to roam free; a landscape powered by unconditional love.

Bryde, Adam knows, must be offering him the same relief. Exquisite flight, after the cage.

It’s not possible, is the thing. It’s a pipe dream. A Niall Lynch fairytale.

Foresight has never been Ronan’s strong suit. He gets it into his head that a solution is right up until the point that it falls apart in his hands. He throws himself entirely into belief. It makes him an extraordinarily loyal and trusting person. It also makes him stubborn, rash, and susceptible to manipulation.

He believes in one facet of something, and the rest follows. He can’t just take a sip—he downs the bottle.

Adam is a boy on a bicycle in November, needing to find Ronan alive so that he can hate him without feeling guilty about it. He never stops oscillating between resentment and love, reality and unreality, understanding and disappointment. He wants to be normal so that he can choose to be abnormal. Sometimes he wants the cards without the magic.

He closes his eyes and remembers a slumbering mouse against an angular cheek. He imagines Matthew like that, perpetually immobile, perpetually innocent, like a taxidermied puppy. The pieces of Ronan’s consciousness that will linger after his death, statues in a graveyard. Tamquam—tamquam—

What would Ronan be without his dreams? Here, Adam thinks. He’d be here.

He stays in bed for another wasted hour, and then stands up, disoriented, in the dimness of the room. Fletcher is snoring softly. Someone outside their cracked window is shuffling over the concrete stoop. His upstairs neighbour is playing tinkling soundtracks while he sleeps. Adam can’t be here anymore.

He plucks Fletcher’s laptop silently from its charging station, tucks his bare feet into stiff leather shoes, drags the cardigan from his desk chair, and lets himself out into the hallway. The glare from the overhead light pins him against the wall for a moment.

He shuffles half-blind down the hall and upstairs to the solarium, nearly losing one of his unlaced shoes in the stairwell in the process. The lights are blessedly shut off up in the attic, and he feels his way to the nearest of the tables hunched in the shadows. Aching with fatigue, he sits, unfolds his stolen laptop, and gets quietly to work.

He’s never had the time nor means to be truly proficient with technology, but he extracted a handful of leads from Mr. Gray, and he’s been in touch with a friend of Benjy’s—a computer science grad student and hacking hobbyist.

He chases key phrases down rabbit holes and assembles news articles, tracking Ronan’s movement by his “unexplainable” signature (code for mind-fuckery, joyful innovation, and dark humour). Adam is a practiced note-taker and serial obsesser, so it’s barely a strain to find Ronan—whom he knows better than anyone—cropping up all over the continental United States.

“What are you doing,” Adam murmurs. The sky lightens gradually to periwinkle. He has work today, but his shift doesn’t start until noon. His mouth is bone-dry, and his head feels cotton-stuffed the way it always does when he’s pushing his body to its limit.

When it’s late enough in the morning to be socially acceptable, he messages Benjy’s friend with the bare bones of what he’s looking for: a project under wraps, a lonely last name, a suppressed pattern. They correspond, remotely, until Adam is reading government files over watery coffee, wearing sweatpants, dress shoes, and a cardigan with cracked elbow patches.

He pores over it all, cross-referencing dates, and ignoring the widening sink-hole in his chest.

Industrial espionage isn’t at all Ronan’s usual brand of destruction. Highly controlled, not much up-front gratification. A little more political than Ronan usually leans. A lot more ambitious. Whatever their agenda, ley energy is flowing more easily now that it's unobstructed on such a large scale. Adam has been feeling its effects rippling all the way out to Boston, a persistent background pressure, unavoidable as a migraine.

It’s clear that the Moderators are desperate to eliminate Bryde’s party. Their reports are a comedy of close calls.

Slowly, Adam begins to understand the scope of things.

Billions of dollars in damages, manmade structures ripped from their foundations. Magical fugitives hunted by a team that specializes in murdering the targets they call Zeds. Visionary headlights pointed towards certain apocalypse. A world that is always awake, but always, always feels like it’s dreaming.

It’s pretty much exactly as he feared. Night terrors. The Lace. Beasts and legends. Adam holds his head in his hands. It’s more than what Ronan must be imagining. It’s more than Aurora waking happily in Cabeswater, powered by the swaying trees. It’s the indiscriminate waking of every incredible thing that’s ever been dreamed.

He’s struck by a wave of hopelessness that rushes all around him and tears at his hair. Ronan, dreamer of baubles that dispense music and light, cars that go very fast, and menageries of curious creatures, recruited to a cause that transmutes creation into chaos. Ronan, promising to wait, and then running full tilt at a future that can’t possibly keep Adam in it.

His dream half is going to destroy his human half, and he’ll take everybody else down with him.

If he could just see him, maybe—

His jaw creaks, teeth clenched tight against the emotional groundswell. The late morning sunshine strikes him, and he feel more like a vague, pale shape than a person. Like a dream, maybe.

Alter idem.

If Adam can’t reach Ronan, maybe the Moderators should.

He feels the weight of that awful thought burning a hole through his stomach lining. He can’t think about it. He needs to go to work.

_____

The next evening, he experiences a surge of power so acute that it nearly puts him in a coma.

It’s another Wednesday night, and another batch of his peers hitch polite smiles to his heels as he passes them by, winding his way up into the high, arched sunroom at Weld hall. They’re all wishing for magical solutions for their mundane problems, the opposite of Adam in nearly every way.

He bumps knuckles with Benjy and Eliot in turn, pulls up his chair, and knocks his last reading from Persephone’s deck, mostly out of habit. He consults his phone idly as his friends try to make pleasant conversation, holding up a finger when he finds a new batch of texts from Gansey.

John Amos power plant in WV shut down Monday

Intense. maura said she could’ve brought HER dreams to life afterwards

no word from Ronan yet? Leads from Declan? pls advise

I’ll assume no news is good news

He puts his phone in his satchel and fastens it closed. Every new scrap of information he gets feels like a stroll through Ronan’s security system at the Barns—hopelessness compounding and compounding until he staggers out the far end weeping.

He needs to focus on something productive. He nods at Benjy to start letting people inside, straightening the notebook where he usually scribbles his observations. Here, he is an adjudicator: powerful, organized, and reserved, tallying points and offering constructive critique.

His curious audience starts pouring in then, amateur wiccans and wannabe believers, aggrieved last-resorters and skeptics following friends’ recommendations. It’s a brighter collection of characters than Aglionby could ever have hoped to foster.

Gillian texts him to say that she just passed Weld and his line-up was out the door. He is a prim and unobtrusive con artist, a false prophet, and business is booming.

Eventually, a bespectacled girl who looks anywhere from five to ten years his senior sits across from him, tucking a bag armoured to the teeth with candy-coloured enamel pins between her feet.

“Hi,” she says nervously. “Anna.” She stretches her hands out in front of her, then thinks better of it and drops them into her lap.  “I’m not sure how this usually goes, so you might have to hold my hand a little bit.”

“No problem,” he says smoothly, passing his deck across the tabletop. “Just go ahead and shuffle. Concentrate on what you want to ask the cards.”

She does as directed, struggling a little to keep the papery stack in check. Not a natural born card sharp, then. He studies her neat black shirt, tucked precisely into a plaid skirt. A Marilyn mole drawn on just above the corner of her mouth. A pride flag pin he doesn’t recognize next to a cat wearing a cowboy hat, and the word “rude” in cursive.

She holds the deck fleetingly to her chest, eyes squeezed shut like a child making a birthday wish, and then plops it in the centre of the table. A card slips near the top, slightly uneven, and Adam plucks it free.

He hums thoughtfully. “Eight of cups. Okay. So you’re having some trouble with letting go.” She frowns and nods once, quick.

He lays out the rest of a simple five card spread neatly between them. A couple of stray swords, the chariot, a wand.

“It seems like things are stagnating in your personal life. Maybe your friend group used to feel like your family, but you feel like they’ve lost interest in you. And you love them, but Anna, if you’re being honest with yourself, you’re pretty sure you were done with them before they even started pulling away. Right now you’re kind of just going through the motions. A couple of years overdue to convocate, right? Everyone else moved on to greener pastures.” He taps his thumb thoughtfully against the bones of his opposite wrist. “It’s not even the loneliness that gets you. It’s the not knowing. Are you supposed to chase after them? Is there another community out there for you? There is, you know.”

He notices another card spilling loose, and he grabs it without thinking. The Magician again. He thinks, huh, caught in the coils and dust of Persephone’s overturned cards.

And then the waking world disappears.

Adam is airborne, tumbling up into the atmosphere on a geyser of ley energy, whipped by branches and light. He throws his arms out to stop himself, but he’s only a projection, so his momentum doesn’t slow.

Something—Lindenmere? The cosmos?—shows him a series of images: an upturned nose made from oil and turpentine, a coiled old tree stump, a red-haired woman grinning toothily and then exploding, a rose the colour of warm dark skin, a pale scar-split hand cradling a silky head, the animal haunch of something black, a terrible voice booming turn back—

He skitters away, panicked, and bumps into his own body. Or not his own body. A double, blinking confusedly in the bathroom mirror.

His doppelgänger turns to leave, and Adam reaches after him, through the mirror, following himself into a version of Thayer which is not Thayer. Everything is alive, in this reality. Energy sings and saws its fingers together.

It’s a memory, but it’s also the present, and it’s also a nightmare. Wake up!

Obediently, the city wakes.

He gasps, although he doesn’t have a mouth. It’s the heaving first breath of a sleeping witch, like Gwenllian turning in her grave.

Adam struggles against the current of wild power, thick and pungent as gasoline. Everything feels more intense near magical artifacts, dream stuff, supernatural fault lines, and it is with great effort that he hunts for something familiar, something heavy enough to bind him. He was unprepared for this, and although everything around him is bitingly familiar, he's lost. He wheels around and around, reaching for his most trusted tethers—Gansey, Ronan, Blue, Persephone—

Persephone.

He follows the lingering perfume of her intuition, feeling blindly for those old handholds in her tarot deck, that familiar grip, like the hilt of a trusted weapon.

And then he finds himself looking again at the girl, Anna, her fate bunched around her narrow shoulders. And then at his own empty body, a glowing card clamped between his fingers. As soon as he’s aware of looking at himself, he’s looking out of himself, and he stands up quickly, overturning his chair.

“—Adam? Jesus Christ, are you okay?”

“What on God’s green Earth was that?”

A palm between his shoulder blades.

“Don’t touch me,” he chokes.

The hand retreats. A murmur: I’ve never seen him like this.

“Is it—is it bad? Am I going to be okay? Is it bad?” Anna keeps asking, horrified.

“You’re fine,” he manages to say. “I’m sorry.” The ‘o’ in sorry comes out a little wide and swerving.

“You went blank,” Benjy says, voice high with residual panic. “For like—ten minutes. Beyond hyper-focus.”

“I thought it was a gimmick,” Eliot says. “But a ten minute gimmick? What is this, Las Vegas?”

“I got carried away. I have to,” he swallows. “I need a minute. I promise everything’s fine.”

“Do whatever you need to do,” Eliot says quickly. “But, fair warning, I’m going to ask you a hundred questions when you get back.”

“And then I’m going to ask another hundred,” Benjy says. “Magic man.”

“A riddle, inside an enigma, wrapped in a sweater vest,” Eliot muses. He can tell they’re still shaken. He’ll have to deal with that, later.

“I'll be right back,” Adam says, touching them very lightly on the shoulder as he passes. The ley line is bursting, and he feels so flushed with its vitality that it almost makes him sick.

He stumbles past them, all the way out of the building and into the street. The winter air tears at his thin shirtsleeves, nips at his sock-less ankles. He shields his eyes against the sun, watching a bird swoop low overhead. A silvery, seagull-sized thing, but with knobby legs that taper into—he squints. Hooves?

He keeps moving, propelled by the mad urge to catch the bird, to pin the wild magic down so he can understand it.

Adam walks for what feels like a long time, trying to find the source of all of this haemorrhaging power. He spots a couple of fidgety-looking students, a few more curious creatures. Somewhere, faraway, there’s music crooning, and it sounds exactly the way a hot shower feels.

He stops in the middle of Oxford street, head cocked towards the natural history museum across the way, the orderly buildings, the sparse evening foot traffic. Business as usual. All of it screaming with energy.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees a parade of scuttling creatures marching towards an invisible destination. Frowning, Adam crosses the street, chasing the peacock blue shimmer from an unfurled wing. He slows, stooping in the alley to pick one of the strange insects from the stream. He peers through a nail-sized hole in its head. Its spindly legs wave fearfully for a moment, and then it goes limp in his hand.

The ley energy punches out of him, and he sits back on his ankles, winded.

Adam gazes down at the jewelled beetle in his palm, its siblings scattered out like shell casings around his knees. Dreams, all of them. Briefly, impossibly roused in a dead city. He stands, letting the beetle drop from his hand and bounce across the concrete. He kicks them all hurriedly behind a nearby bench, mind racing. Bugs from an exhibit next door, no doubt. Dormant animals, transplanted from their habitats and pinned in place for decades.

What kind of ecoterror was wrought to bring about a flash flood of energy in a drought? How must Ronan be feeling, out there in the world, wracked with waking dreams? What unimaginable monsters were just stirring in the shadows because of him? Is Bryde one of them?

His lives are merging. The distant rumbling of thunder is overhead now, and the downpour is rolling in. There’s no way he’ll be able to keep dry.

Standing in that alleyway by himself, drained and ordinary again, he feels terribly alone.

He weighs his feelings against his logic for several agonizing minutes, standing still and watchful as a predator. He recalls the jarringly clinical accounts of Ronan's most intimate dreams, the sparsely encoded language in those government files outlining the world-ending dangers of something Adam had, for a long time, shared a bed with.

If something happens to Ronan now, it might kill Adam. If something happens because of Ronan, it might kill everybody.

Another minute, and he has his phone out and ringing.

“Hello?” Declan answers. Oddly, it’s not his usual prickly greeting. He sounds almost jovial.

Adam looks out into the darkening street, feeling like a death omen, a shadow across someone’s doorstep. “We really need to talk about Bryde.”

______

It’s the worst possible time for Declan to be withholding information from him.

Adam had graciously tipped his hand and Declan was, infuriatingly, holding back, as if this was a low grade in Ronan’s high school algebra class, and not the cataclysmic fuck-up of a powerful dreamer.

Declan, so uncannily like his brother in vulnerable moments like this, had thought of Matthew first. A world where dreams could stay awake, he’d marvelled. As if they could afford to think so small.

Once, Adam had awoken to find his arm glued to the bedspread. Ronan had dreamt a bee-less hive in the night, and it was oozing a steady stream of honey into the sheets between them.

“Score,” Ronan had said, when he’d rolled back into his body. “Sting-free. Fucking vegan.”

“What happens when we don’t want any more honey?” Adam had asked, critically. Ingesting dreams always felt like a slippery subject. “Does it shut off like a faucet?”

It didn’t. Ronan filled a dozen amber jars full, and then abandoned the hive in a dusty kiddy pool in one of the barns near the back of his family property.

A month later, Opal had crept in through a window looking for trouble, and emerged, shrieking, in a viscous flood of syrup.

Combing the mess out of Opal’s fur, her little legs slung across his lap, Ronan had complained about the magnitude of the clean-up job he would have to do, the special honey hoover he would have to create, what a waste of a dream it would be. Adam reminded him of his faucet idea.

“Too late for that, Parrish,” he’d griped.

It was their pattern. A marvel, too good to be true. Adam, the skeptic. Ronan, too in love with creation to care about consequences.

Eventually, it will all be too late.

Ronan will pursue this liberation fantasy, this golden daydream, even if it never stops oozing. Even if it makes the whole world uninhabitable.

______

That night, Adam tries to scry for the first time in months.

He gently pushes the crying club—only tenuously placated after the tarot incident—to have drinks without him, claiming stress-induced fatigue. He leaves his study notes open and blinking on the bed, lights a sad little tea light, and casts himself out into the ether.

Straining hard, he searches for the familiar contours of Ronan’s dreamspace, plucking the distant strings of the ley line and listening for the particular timbre of Ronan’s consciousness.

He doesn’t like walking this tightrope without a net, but Harvard isn’t exactly flush with psychic spotters. He keeps a delicate balance, far from his body, inching closer and closer to Ronan’s mind, the safe plateau at the end of this rope.

Eventually, he finds himself in a grey bedroom. It's full to the gills with water, there's a toy sailboat bobbing past at chest height, and storm clouds huddling nervously on the ceiling. Adam’s hair plasters instantly to his scalp.

“Ronan?” he calls, sloshing through the curiously luminous water. It starts raining harder. A familiar, curly-headed child stares at him through the darkness, eyes sharpened into silver points in the moonlight. “Ronan?” he asks again, gently this time.

A muffled sentence, a sad, crumpled expression, and then Adam is staring at a closed door.

“What—let me in! Ronan!” He pounds at the door. “Come on!” He can still feel rainwater, unnaturally warm on his neck.

A voice in his head, not Ronan, whispers, turn back.

“No,” he snaps, knocking harder. “Just let me—“ A sudden gust of wind in his sails, and he’s ejected from the dream altogether.

He pinwheels for a horrifying, weightless moment, struggling to tune back in to the feeble light from his stubby candle, and then dragging himself, hand over fist, back to his dorm room.

“Fuck, Lynch,” he says, when he has a voice. “Don’t be stupid.” He recrosses his legs, shaking off the pointless, clinging feeling of rejection.

When he tries to reach out again, searching, searching, Ronan’s expecting him. He never makes it past the threshold.

Back in his body, he knocks his candle over, relishing the controlled destruction, the spill of wax, the sizzle of the squashed wick. A fire he can actually put out.

______

The next time Adam scrys, Ronan looks like himself. Maybe a little scruffier, with what looks like a tunnel piercing on his right ear, and a rare openness to his posture. He’s lounging in a pasture up against a sleeping cow, boots up.

As Adam watches, he tips his shaved head back into its mottled hide, and the sun makes his eyelashes into lit matchsticks. He loves him very much. He’d almost forgotten.

“Don’t lock me out,” he says quickly. Ronan opens his eyes, and when he sees him he smiles instinctively.

“Adam,” he says, vaguely. And then he locks him out.

“No,” he cries. “Would you listen to me.” He feels for the fissure in space and time, the pocket where Ronan is dreaming, sweetly and inaccessibly, about the only home Adam has ever known.

Nothing gives. Nobody replies. He crawls back to Harvard, weak with misery.

In the next dream, Ronan is older, driving a boxy jeep over a foreign landscape. Rolling Irish hills, skies humming with artificial energy. A woman who can only be Jordan Hennessy, chattering in the passenger seat.

Then it’s Ronan with his head in his dead mother’s lap, stroking the downy wing of a black swan.

Then Ronan and Hennessy again, opposite one another in a sunny gallery. One of them examining an impressionist portrait no bigger than a postcard, the other examining the exit.

Then Ronan, discovering Matthew’s corpse in a dim hallway, blinking furiously at the stranger crouched over his prone body. “What did you do?” He sounds like a kid reprimanding his sibling for getting them both in trouble.

Every time Adam gets close, some defence mechanism stops him, like a firm hand against his chest, pushing him away again and again.

He doesn't know what to do except keep trying.

______

Blankly, he looks down at a sink full of tinfoil and uneasy water. In pieces, he becomes aware of his surroundings—green stalls and laminate countertops, a row of hundred-watt lightbulbs, and somebody rattling the locked doorknob.

“Adam, are you in there?” Fletcher. “We’re going to be late. It’s nearly ten. Adam?”

“Just a minute, sorry,” Adam slurs. He stares closely at his face in the mirror until he recognizes his own features. He has an exam at 10:30. He glances down at his watch. 9:52. He had been so sure that he could just drift for a few minutes, maybe catch Ronan before he woke up. That was almost an hour ago.

He drains the sink, hands shaking, cuffs getting damp. The lightbulb filaments float behind his eyelids when he blinks. He throws his satchel over his shoulder, smooths his hair up and out of his eyes, and rubs the bags under his eyes until they hurt.

When he lets himself out of the bathroom, Fletcher is directly outside, tapping a nervous rhythm on his hips. His hands fly from his body and into the air at the sight of him.

“Adam! Thank god. I’ll cancel the search party.”

“I got lost in my notes,” Adam says, as they both make for the stairs.

“Of course you did,” Fletcher says warmly. “A supremely Adam move. I just hope you’re taking care of yourself. Gillian thinks you might be—well—not spiralling, but—“

“I’m handling it.” He takes several mental paces backwards. “Uh—poorly, clearly. I’m sorry Fletcher, I didn’t mean to snap.”

Fletcher, to his credit, recovers quickly. “I can’t imagine going through my first semester of college and a break-up at the same time. You’re a stronger man than I.”

Adam rather doubts that Fletcher can imagine going through a break-up at all, but he nods conspiratorially. They hop down the last few steps and out into the chilly sunshine together.

“You’d be amazed what one can do out of necessity.”

“Too true. We all have our hidden depths, don’t we,” Fletcher says thoughtfully. For a moment, Adam considers telling him—something, looping him into this tangled web with him, but then he says, “now, chapter twenty-three wasn’t on the outline, was it? I beg you to say no. Lie, if you must.”

And Adam is a student again. He doesn’t have out of body episodes. He doesn’t carry wads of tinfoil in his trouser pockets. He doesn’t keep deadly secrets from people whom he is mostly pretending to like and understand.

They walk onwards, towards a test which Adam will rouse himself for long enough to ace. Then he will think of the next thing, and the next. Appease these school acquaintances of his. Tinker with finicky car engines. Make flash cards. Drift into the beyond using one of Fletcher’s three-wick candles from pottery barn. Text Declan, who activates Ronan’s accountability in a way that Adam does not. Call Gansey, if he can bring himself to face his disappointment.

And clear away his feelings, which keep pouring out of him like so much honey.

______

Ronan hangs up on him, and Adam holds himself in the biting wind outside the library for a very long time.

He’d thought, if he could only speak to him, that he could begin to undo Bryde’s poisonous influence. They know each other. They’ve known each other. Ronan would listen to Adam’s fears as he always does. Adam would appeal to Ronan’s heart, which tends to ache for helpless things. They would see how lost they had become without each other. Adam would be allowed back into Ronan’s dreams, and Ronan would be allowed back into Adam’s future.

Why didn’t you text back?

As if they’ve been suspended in time since Ronan’s last tamquam, and none of it—the running away, warding his dreams against Adam, abandoning his phone, trusting a complete stranger over his friends and family—had ever happened.

It’s absurd. He should have expected it. Ronan was searching for a reason to stay, and when he looked for his reflection, his second self, Adam wasn’t there. For a single moment, he wasn’t there, and now he’s paying for it.

Impatient, wrathful Ronan. Leaping from the moving vehicle because Adam was going the speed limit. Going rogue, and then calling Adam with all of these stinging accusations, like he was the one who’d been abandoned.

He thinks again of Bryde manipulating Ronan, preying on his loneliness, his love for his brothers, his fear of himself. This big bad rumour, older and crueler than the Lace itself.

And Ronan letting himself be manipulated, putting on blinders, using Adam’s brief silence as an endorsement for a glorified joyride with unthinkable global ramifications. Self-destructing because things got a little too quiet.

Adam feels hot rage taking ahold of him with its sticky fingers.

Then he thinks of Ronan saying I need to see you, his thin, frightened voice finding Adam from somewhere out there in the city, and his anger goes clammy.

There’s no way Ronan will call again. Negotiations were off as soon as Adam refused to house them both from the Moderators.

And now, without Hennessy, Ronan is the last arrow in Bryde’s quiver. He’s going to be the explosive that brings everything down. He’s going to be buried at ground zero.

If I'd replied an hour sooner, would he really have waited? If I’d gone to school closer, would I have noticed him disintegrating? If I explained that my dream isn’t what I thought it would be either, that he’s the only thing that feels real, would he have said it back to me?

After everything that’s happened, am I going to be the one who gives up on Ronan Lynch?

Everything is so fucked.

He calls Declan.

He picks up on the first ring. “Parrish—”

“He hung up on me,” they both say at the same time.

“Mother of God,” Declan moans. “Then there’s no hope. He thinks I sold him out to the Mods.”

“Did you?”

“No. I did exactly as we discussed. I negotiated for his safety. I thought—I mean, you said it yourself, Adam. Being anti-apocalypse is a pretty solid platform.”

He shakes his head. “Ronan won’t see it that way. He’s not like us. He doesn’t want to be moderated even a little bit.”

“Believe me, I know that. The way he was talking—about the world screwing them over, all of them, dreamers. That’s not the way my brother thinks. That’s all Bryde. And now he’s taken him—Christ—Christ knows where.”

“He wanted to see me,” Adam feels compelled to say. “He was trying to come here.”

“He said that? That's good,” Declan says, relieved. “Where—“

“I let him get away,” Adam says, through numb lips. “I let him go.”

______

He texts Gansey, things have gone south, and then he turns his phone on silent.

His puts his fingertips to the floorboards, a knobbly hand on either side of a scrying tableau: the leaping flame of a candle, a well-organized pile of cards, his overturned phone and discarded tie. He’s just finished crying, and he feels volatile and ill-prepared even as he ties himself to the flickering light.

His mind races through the night like a skipped stone. Vaguely, he pictures a vast body of water and a glittering mountain range, with no horizon line in-between. Darkness reflected in darkness.

“Ronan,” he calls. The dreamspace whirs and grinds its gears and won’t reply. “You know this is wrong. You know, or you wouldn't be hiding from me.”

It’s all water out here in this sublime mirror-space, but it’s also warm, like the steam rising from a hot spring. Something is moving, changing things on a chemical level.

For a moment he thinks he sees himself, a wan doppelgänger with its hands raised. But it’s not Adam. It’s Bryde. Cool, sturdy, a pale Atlas holding the dream together on his back. He recognizes him instinctively.

Adam deliberately throws his mind closer, into the terrible heart of this fire Ronan is creating. Smoke whispers and catches all around him, and it’s even harder to tell the difference between things now. No horizon, no seam, no reality, no death.

What have you done? What are you doing?

The heat is quickly becoming unbearable. Adam is stretched too thin, and the fire is fraying him, eating through each fibre of his connection to reality.

Ronan, please, I need you to stop. I’m losing my grip. Listen to me.

And then, without any warning at all, he collapses on his dorm room floor.

He hacks and retches, lungs full of phantom smoke. Everything feels very wrong. He thinks for a second that he’s blind, but it’s not his vision, it’s another, less tangible sense, it’s—

He scrambles backwards on his hands, heaving. He tries to pull himself up onto his bed, head first, then chest, but he has to stop with his face buried in the comforter.

Ronan is—he must be—he’s—

“God, no, oh my god, no, no.”

He needs to throw up. He needs to call somebody. There’s complete silence in his head.

He was slingshotted back to Cambridge, swatted back along the zipline to his body, because there was nowhere else for him to go.

He’s sure, in a very non-magical, intuitive way, that every dream in the world has just collectively collapsed. Adam staggers to his feet. There’s a smoke alarm going off, somewhere. A background hum of electricity groaning as it shuts off. A high, scared voice.

As if in a trance, he goes to the window.

There are five dead lightbulbs in the nearest row of street lamps, what looks like a sleeping child out in the middle of the square, and a woman clutching her chest and sitting slowly on a bench.

Panic is deadening his senses, crawling blackly into his mouth and nose and eyes. He thinks of Matthew sitting weakly by the window. Opal slumped over a stump in the woods. Chainsaw falling from the sky like a stone. Gansey’s Cabeswater heart decaying in his chest. Ronan, either dissolving into nightwash or felled by a Moderator’s bullet, dead, lost, or powerless.

Every morsel of magic, every innovation, every cherished friend, every sacred place, turned off like a faucet.

The world outside, drooping and disconnected, is now exactly as ordinary as Adam has been pretending it is.

The ley line is gone.

[captainscanadian]

Long Way Home | Bucky Barnes x Reader (Part 1)

MY MASTERLIST

Series Masterlist

Summary: As Dr. Barnes is about to begin his new job at Massachusetts General Hospital, he gets to work on a patient who was once involved in making medical history. 

Word Count: 1870

Pairing: Doctor!Bucky Barnes x Doctor!Reader, Doctor!Steve Rogers x Platonic!Reader

Warnings: Heart Disease, Hospital, Surgery.

A/N: Give it up for another clusterfuck from yours truly. Thanks to my dearest @dramadreamer14​ for the beta, as always. I DON’T DO TAGLISTS! Divider by @firefly-graphics​ <3

September 29, 2020 - Boston, Massachusetts 

For as long as she could remember, Dr. Y/N Y/L/N had followed a strict morning routine. She began her day with a 5 am wake up call and a cold shower to get rid of the remaining slumber, followed by her usual forty minute drive to Massachusetts General Hospital while sipping on a freshly prepared green juice. She parked at the same corner spot in the employee parking lot, and entered through the sliding double doors that led her inside of the emergency room. She always made a beeline for the cafeteria to pick up two cups of decaf, and then headed over to greet the Chief of Surgery. 

The moment she entered the Chief’s office, she was quick to realize that things had changed. What was once the office of Dr. Anthony Edward Stark now belonged to a Dr. Steven Grant Rogers. “Oh- shit. I totally forgot.” How could she forget that Tony was gone? 

Change was the only thing in life that never changed. But Tony had been the one constant in her life. A part of her refused to accept that he was gone, even though she knew that it was his time to go. It’s what he had claimed, and that wasn’t even the worst part. The worst part was having to see Steve replace him. Not that he did not deserve the position or anything, but in her mind, no one could ever replace Tony Stark. 

“Good morning to you too, Dr. Y/L/N.” Steve greeted the woman as he looked up from his emails, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he saw her enter his office with a sunken look on her face. “I’ve been expecting you.” 

“I was only gone for two days, Steve.” She let out a sigh as she walked up to his desk. “I didn’t think you would already manage to redecorate.” Not that it mattered, as it was Steve’s office now. But it was safe to say that a part of Y/N refused to accept that Tony had retired, and that Steve was the new Chief of Surgery. She had to keep repeating it in her head, hoping that her fucked up heart could eventually come to accept it. 

Steve was one of the few people at Massachusetts General Hospital who knew of Y/N’s relationship with Tony. She had been his patient long before she began working for him. Even after all those years, the two of them had shared a close bond. He knew that she might have a hard time adjusting to the fact that her beloved boss had left his post, only to be replaced so quickly. 

“I’m sorry, Y/N.” Steve frowned as he closed his laptop, eyeing the extra cup of what he assumed what decaf that she had set on his desk. “I’m sure Tony misses you as much as you miss him.” 

“No, he doesn’t.” She shook her head, laughing softly. “He’s probably glad that he’s finally gotten rid of me, if I’m being honest. He’s had to deal with me for thirty years.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“Isn’t it?” 

“Is that decaf for me?” Steve asked as he motioned towards the cup she was still holding. 

With a pout on her lips, she gave him a nod. “If you don’t mind me bringing you one every morning. Tony and I always spend our mornings having decaf and bitching about you.” 

“You and Tony bitch about me every morning?” He asked her, though he was not all that surprised by that revelation. “Did he really hate me that much?” 

“If he hated you, he wouldn’t have asked you to be Chief when he was gone. He knows you’re a good surgeon, but he’s someone who doesn’t like to be challenged unless he’s going to win.” Y/N slid the cup of decaf towards him. “You were always giving him a run for his money, bud. He preferred to get it out of his chest before he starts his day.” She shrugged. 

“Well, I’ll take the morning coffee. But as for the bitching, I’m sure our newest Chief of Cardio would be more than happy to join you in on that.” Steve remarked, cheekily. 

Oh right, how could she forget about Tony’s other replacement? Steve was running the hospital, while some other doctor was coming in to run Tony’s department. Tony had even suggested that he would also be her doctor, but Y/N was going to be the judge of that. She may not have control over who would be her boss, but at least, she could have control over who got to be her doctor. 

“Tony did say that he’s a friend of yours.” Y/N sipped her drink before looking up at Steve. “Do you think I should trust him with my life? You know, given that Tony’s the reason why I’m still alive.” 

Steve knew why Y/N was apprehensive about having someone else take over as her doctor. If she was having a hard time accepting him as her boss, he could imagine how hard it would be to replace Tony as her doctor. While cardiothoracic surgery was not his specialty, he was well aware of Y/N’s condition, and the clinical trial that had saved her life. As a doctor, he could understand the patient’s concerns about transferring to another doctor, especially after thirty years of being treated by someone like Tony. But he had to reassure her, he would trust Bucky Barnes with his life. 

“I would trust him with mine.” Steve admitted with a shrug. “You can call me biased, but Dr. Barnes is one of the most reputable heart surgeons in the country.” 

“He’s not better than Tony.” 

“No one can be better than Tony. But since he’s decided to put his scalpel down and focus on running his foundation from New York, you’re going to have to accept that I wouldn’t hire someone who did not live up to that standard.” He assured her. 

“You hired him because he’s your best friend from college.” Y/N pointed out. 

He knew that it was a call out, but he was simply going to ignore it. “I know you don’t like change, Y/N. But we want what’s best for you.”

“Well, I promised Tony that I would meet with him before I decided if I want him to be my doctor. Hopefully, he lives up to everything you’ve been saying about him.” 

“Trust me… he’s the best there is, for the hospital and for you.” 

If she only knew… 

Bucky Barnes stared out of his window as his flight was taking off, the view of New York City slowly fading away as he was leaving behind his home of almost twenty-five years. He never would have thought that he would be leaving New York like this, but he knew that he needed the change. New York had been where he had met Steve, where he had gone to college and medical school, where he had established himself a career as one of the finest heart surgeons in the country. 

As happy as he had been in New York, there was always something that seemed missing in the life that he’d had there. No matter how hard he worked or how much he had accomplished, none of those accomplishments seemed to live up to the expectation that he had for his career. It felt as though he hadn’t done the one thing that he was always meant to do, although he was unsure if he would ever be able to do just that. 

The hour ticked by as he caught up on some emails, one of them from a certain Dr. Y/N Y/L/N from Mass Gen with the subject line as ‘Patient Consult Request’. 

Dear Dr. Barnes, 

I’m aware that you will be taking over the care of a number of Dr. Stark’s patients, and that you have already received their files to begin reviewing. Due to your expertise in the matter, I have an urgent request for an in-person consult with you for one of my own patients. I have attached the relevant medical information. 

Please let me know when you would be free to meet after your arrival in Boston. 

Sincerely, 

Dr. Y/N Y/L/N

Bucky pulled up the attachment to see that this patient had been born with transposition of the great arteries, and had been operated on by Tony Stark at the age of five. He had performed an arterial switch using what would eventually become the world renown Stark procedure, which involved the switching of the pulmonary artery and the aorta to their normal positions and connecting them to the right ventricle and the left ventricle respectively. 

For a moment, he wondered if this patient was indeed the one who Stark had written about in his 1993 article about the Stark procedure. Needless to say, Bucky had been fascinated by the accounts of Stark’s clinical trial during the 90s that paved the way for many cardiothoracic surgeons like him. 

If this was the same patient, it meant that he would be working with a patient who was involved in making medical history. But as excited as he was about that, he began to worry once he read further into the file. He came across a series of test results that concluded that this patient was currently experiencing aortic valve regurgitation, followed by a note from Dr. Stark that said: 

Patient refuses aortic valve replacement. 

It was a simple aortic valve replacement, but the thought that the patient was refusing the surgery made Bucky wonder why that might be. Perhaps being operated on at the age of five and having to follow up for almost three decades now would do that to a person. He wouldn’t know, but he wasn’t going to judge the patient for refusing surgery. Needless to say, it was now his job to convince the patient to have surgery, as it was best to repair the aortic valve. Hopefully, he can do it without geeking out about Tony's article. 

And so, he wrote up a quick email to schedule the consult for this patient. 

Dear Dr. Y/L/N, 

I’ve reviewed the case, and I agree that it is urgent. I will be arriving at the hospital within the next two hours, and would be happy to meet with you as soon as I get in. Please let me know if this works for you. If so, I will come to meet you. 

James B. Barnes

It must have been a few seconds before he received a reply. 

Dear James, 

Thank you so much for getting back to me so quickly. I have no surgeries scheduled for this afternoon, so you can find me in my office. I look forward to meeting you. 

Y/N

With that, he closed his laptop and looked down at his watch rather eagerly. Only a half hour left until he would touch down in Boston, and he could not wait to get to meet Y/N. 

[dontshootmespence]

Through It All

Part 19

Summary: Now married, Spencer & Y/N navigate the D/s lifestyle. How will their relationship change?

Words: 1,003

Warnings: Special visitors!

A/N: FLOOF.

Spencer turns over and wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you flush against his back as sleep begs for you to return for just a little longer. “Don’t forget, Derek and Savannah are coming to visit today,” Spencer mumbles.

“I know,” you reply. As much as you want to go back to sleep, you’re looking forward to seeing them. The last time you saw them was just before Charlotte was born, and between babies and distance the phone was all you had to stay in touch. Spencer’s been looking forward to this for ages. “Wanna go tackle diaper and clothing changes together?”

Like zombies, you both rise from the bed and stumble into Charlotte’s nursery, but the moment you see her sitting up in her crib with an enormous smile on her face, you can’t help but wake up a little bit more. “Hello, my little flower,” Spencer says softly, picking her up and placing her on the changing table. “You sleep okay?”

Neither of you woke up during the night, so the answer must’ve been yes.

While Spencer takes care of her diaper change, you search through her mountain of clothing (She has more than you. How is this possible?) and finally find what you’re looking for - a little mint green sweatsuit with Minnie Mouse on it and Minnie ears on the hoodie. Getting her changed is actually more difficult than when she was a newborn because she has control of her limbs and basically wants them in any other area than where they need to be.

Feeding is fun though. She makes the funniest faces when she hates something and when she loves something, her eyes go wide with awe, like it’s the best thing she’s ever tasted, which is hysterical. While Spencer handles feeding, you make breakfast for you both, eating semi-leisurely before you have to handle the morning chores and get ready before Derek and Savannah arrive. Parent life means you have no idea where the hours go. Before you know it, there’s a knock at the door.

Setting Charlotte in front of a mountain of toys, you both go to greet your guests. With a baby, you cling to adult interactions like a magnet on a refrigerator.  

“Pretty boy!” Derek exclaims. “How ya doing?”

“Tired,” Spencer laughs softly. “But alive. You?”

Savannah walks in with Hank on her hip. “About the same. Expect being tired for the next, oh, 18 years at least. Right, Derek? How are you guys doing?” She asks, giving both of you a hug and kiss hello.

Conversation is easy, flowing as Hank and Charlotte play with each other in the living room. While they occupy each other, the four of you talk about work, and eventually Savannah and yourself stand against the refrigerator watching your boys reminisce about their days at the BAU. “Do you miss it?” Derek asks, peeking over the counter to make sure his little man is behaving himself.

Shaking his head, Spencer tips his second mug of coffee into his mouth. He still hasn’t woken up yet even though you’ve both been awake for hours. “I miss the team and seeing everyone every day, but I’m so glad I’ve made a different life for myself. I still teach and I consult every so often, so I get just enough while still being able to be at home.”

“Me too, man. At first I thought it was gonna drive me crazy, but now Savannah and the little man kick my ass enough.”

“You know it,” Savannah replies, slapping her husband on the shoulder as she throws her head back in laughter. “Plus, it’s just nice to have you home.”

Slipping into Spencer’s lap, you curl against him, all pretenses out the window as you lazily lounge there sans makeup and in the rattiest clothes imaginable. Silence falls when Hank starts talking to Charlotte and she starts babbling back. All four of you get wrapped up in how cute they are. “It’s nice to finally see you happy, kid.” Derek claps Spencer on the back. “You deserve it.”

“Cheers with coffee mugs?”

In unison, your mugs clink together and drink in celebration of your new lives. “Here’s to our families,” Spencer says.

--

After the four of you play with the babies for a while, with Spencer and Derek getting a little more into racing cars than Charlotte and Hank, you decide to chance going to a restaurant with a toddler and a 9.5 month old. You’re all craving Mexican and there’s a great place down the street that opened after Derek moved back to Chicago, so you decide to take them there. Just as you and Spencer and grabbing jackets out of the closet, Savannah screams out from the kitchen. “Umm, guys? Has Charlotte stood before?”

Like a cartoon, you do a double take at Spencer before the two of you rush out into the living room with your limbs hanging both in and out of your jackets. There’s Charlie, in the kitchen, right next to Savannah, standing next to a chair. “She’s standing!” Spencer smacks his hands to his head, practically ripping his hair out in excitement. Charlotte stares up and smiles. “Holy crap, you’re standing, Charlie!”

With tears in your eyes, you quickly slip your phone out of your pocket and press record, watching as Savannah takes hold of her tiny little hands and walks her toward Spencer, who’s crouching down at her level, bouncing on his heels in excitement.

“How is she so big already?” You ask, turning to Derek, who also has his phone out. “Does it just fly by like this?”

Glancing down to where Hank is still occupied with some matchbox cars, he replies fondly. “It really does. Feels like he started walking yesterday. Right?”

Savannah is too entranced with helping Charlotte over to Spencer to respond.

Derek slips on his coat and walks behind Spencer, clapping both of you on the shoulders. “She’s about to get into everything,” he chuckles. “Get ready.”

@heycasbutt @ultrarebelheart @katherineisagubler @proud-slytherin-ghost @randomwriter23 @fandom-queen67 @sixx-sic-sixx @xqueenofthecraziesx @aofay02 @groovyreid @criesinreid @jdougl-love @xreider @cringeemospntrashassbutt @prettyboyeffect @prettyboyreid @themanip @spencerreidsthings @augustgraceful @whollytaciturn @prisonreid @factualfic @jasmine-negron @snitchthewitch @ellabobella051419 @crazyforsstuff @kaatelyyynn​ @jane-dough @dreatine @bitter-post-millennial @adlerorzel-blog @hallieedrew @psychedelephantt @krisymccall996 @4ueijos @mclaujac @ray-likes-starwars @nurseemilyblog @slightlyvicked @she4567 @guesswhosback129 @princessdolan @happycreatorfangirl @fallwhisper @nyemadowell @sammy-jo1977 @sin-bin-and-tragedies @imsuperawkward @ahhahahaheehee @crispygiantsaladgarden @reputay-swift @pizzarollsfordayz @andiebeaword @timey-wimey-lovi @garbagecanfics @friedparadisetale @dereksbetaa @idontevenknow2 @holyfishloverfarm @nohemi2500 @typeshitbih @sadgirlhan @kmc217 @bigbuttsowhatuniverse @charmedfandomgal @im--blushing @dangerouspersonllamabagel @fichoe21 @yes-sir-hotchner @thefandomallrounder @mrsenos08 @walkerchick007 @letsdisneythings @winchesterqueenie @specialagentleigh @spn-wheresthepie @haileymew @bitchyoulied @geniusgub @urdicksmol @6lack6erry @slutlanna976 @downondilaudid​ @baileysb1tch @la-vie-en-amour1​ @letsdoit-tomorrow @eideticprettyboydrreid​ @lazynoodledragon​ @shybaby231 @aimzonicles97​ @grace-superpowers​ @softestlavender​ @ssa-dr-ladylock​ @drprettyboy​ @patricks-fabulous-face​ @tearosaria​ @shxdowofdarkness​ @marvels-gurl​ 

[downwiththeficness]

In the Bond-Chapter 13

Summary: Lilah often wished she’d never said yes to working with the Gecko brothers—usually while dodging gunfire. At no time was she regretting that decision more than when she’s hanging upside down from the ceiling, staring down a group of hungry culebras and one (1) extremely powerful sun god.

Word Count: ~2,600

Warnings: None

A/N: This is an AU of my Story In the Blood, which can be read here. Basically, this fic explores what would have happened if Lilah had met up with Geckos before she met Brasa.

Taglist: @symbiont13

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Lilah swung the shopping bag in one hand, the other shoving the keys into her pocket. She’d ended out keeping the SUV Brasa had lent her the week previous, claiming that she liked the ‘rental’ so much that she’d made an offer to buy it outright. It was a believable lie, Lilah had a habit of picking up and dropping off cars on a whim. Easier to keep under the radar when no one knew what make and model she drove.

The air conditioning in the bar hit her hard, goosebumps rising along her arms. It was nearly empty, as it usually was mid-afternoon. Too late for the morning crowd to stay, too early for the night crowd to meander in. The room smelled vaguely of liquor and the sun streaming in through the windows cast unfamiliar shadows over the floor.

She noticed that Kate was sitting at the bar, nursing a soda. For once, Richie was nowhere to be seen. Lilah sidled on up to her, dropped the bag on the floor as she took a seat, and signaled to bartender.

“Bourbon and coke.”

Kate smiled at her, “Isn’t it a little early to be drinking?”

This was said with a smile that could potentially be described as sly. Lilah, like Seth, didn’t exactly adhere to a strict schedule when it came to alcohol. Too many nights that turned into days that turned into diving into a bottle to forget.

“It’ll be five o’ clock in...three hours,” Lilah quipped as she took the glass from the bartender, “Close enough.”

Lilah sat with her drink for a while, enjoying the fact that there was little to no activity going on in the bar. Aside from Kate and the bartender, the room was pretty much empty. She realized that she had spent almost all of her awake hours the last few days either catching up on what had happened while she was gone or in some kind of meeting.

Seth had taken a more active role in managing the staff, and he consulted with Lilah daily about one thing or another—usually some sort of internal conflict. She’d taken to writing down some basic policies and procedures for him to reference so that he wasn’t knocking on her door in the middle of the night with questions. Despite having just come back from a three month vacation, Lilah still needed to sleep.

A question floated across that train of thought, “What’s Richie been up to?”

Kate gave a little shrug, “The usual, trying to maintain some sort of order with our nocturnal friends.”

“Oh?”

Nodding, Kate added, “Its not just Brasa’s people that are struggling to adjust. We’ve had some kickback here, too.”

To give herself a moment to think, Lilah took a slow pull from her glass, “And how is that going?”

“Well,” her voice had a soft tone of uncertainty, “They aren’t super happy that we’ve done some population control. Kind of kills the mood when we’re trying to get them to buy in to the new way of doing things.”

“I can imagine.”

Given what Lilah had seen in the cave not a few days before, she had a good idea of what Seth and Richie were facing on the other side of the fence. They offered work and beds to those who could staff the bar, but didn’t have the organization or power that Brasa seemed to have. It was lucky that Richie had such a mind that he could predict attacks with an uncanny accuracy. Otherwise, or both brothers would be dead by now.

Rolling her neck, Kate offered, “But, there are a surprising number that want to assimilate—they miss their old lives, you know?”

Lilah did know. There was still a part of her, slowly dwindling, that wanted to go back to the night she met Seth and tell him to fuck off. Everything would have been a whole lot simpler now, if she had. On the other hand, she wouldn’t have met Brasa. He’d become so critically ingrained in her everyday life that the thought of him not being there felt too strange to contemplate.

“Are you gonna talk about it now?” Kate asked without provocation. She had pushed her soda away and was fixing Lilah with a narrowed look.

Lilah blinked, “What?”

With a sigh borne out of frustration, Kate turned on her stool and faced Lilah head on, “The bond. Are you going to talk about it?”

Stunned, Lilah felt her jaw unhinge as she stared at Kate in shock. She went over her recent memories to double check that she hadn’t given it away. Lilah had kept it hidden, she was sure of it.

Kate laughed, a high, clear sound that made Lilah flinch, “Richie told me about it months ago. You can’t hide that kind of thing from other culebras. Its supposed to be obvious, for safety’s sake. Keeps them from crossing boundaries accidentally.”

Lilah continued to stare, her chest tightening as she slowly began to panic. She’d ask Brasa about how it was ‘obvious’ later, when her mind had stopped spinning. For now, she had no lie to put things to right again.

Kate noted her stricken expression and laid a gentle hand on her arm, “Its okay. I won’t tell. I just thought you might need someone to talk to. I know I did.”

Dear holy fuck, but Lilah really needed someone to talk to. All of these months and months of keeping her mouth shut had built up in a way that took an immense effort to subsume.

After another moment’s pause, Lilah blurted, “I don’t know how to handle it. Its everywhere, all the time. And… the worst part is that I don’t care. I’m still struggling to accept it, but I want to keep it.”

The dichotomy of being both ashamed and deeply satisfied by her relationship with Brasa was the thing that kept her chest tight, her shoulders hunched. It sat next to her as she tried to sleep at night. It needled her in the quiet moments between tasks. Lilah rubbed at her forehead, feeling a headache coming on.

Kate’s smile was serene, “That’s good, because if Richie’s anything to go by, Brasa wouldn’t allow you to break the bond, even if you wanted to. He’d die to keep it intact.”

Lilah’s brows came together, “What does that mean?”

“Exactly what I said. He’d do anything to keep you with him. He kind of has to, anyways.”

“What does that mean?”

Kate lifted her hand to signal the bartender, “Two of what she’s having.” Then, she turned back to Lilah, “Listen, I don’t know if its matches up exactly with how my bond with Richie is, but Brasa is the one bonded to you, not the other way around.”

Lilah looked at her blank faced. The book had definitely not put it that way. Brasa had said he was the elder, he had said that he would be expected to lead.

The bartender brought their drinks and Kate fiddled with the little straw, stirring the ice around, “You’re weaker than he is.”

Lilah sneered, “Is it that obvious?”

Kate rolled her eyes, pushing Lilah’s glass at her, “Its always the strong party’s responsibility to protect and serve the weaker. Evens the playing field when—is it fate? Whenever whatever that decides these things steps in.”

“I don’t get it,” Lilah said blandly.

Honestly, she was getting tired of feeling confused. All these shifting realities were difficult enough to track and follow. She didn’t need to feel stupid on top of it.

Giving another little shrug, Kate took their drinks from the bartender, setting one in front of Lilah, “He’s like a billion years old and a literal demigod. The bond would weaken him long term, if he didn’t build you up, if he didn’t lend you some of his power.”

This rang of familiarity, and it made Lilah’s skin tighten with awareness of how she had never put two and two together. Still, the pieces weren’t locking into place cleanly enough for her to feel like she was on steady ground.

“What the fuck does that mean?”

Swirling the amber liquid in her glass, Kate fixed her with a coy smile, “It means that a large part of his life will be spent listening to and anticipating your needs. In return, your blood will make him stronger than he ever was, or ever could be without it.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Welcome to supernatural mating practices,” Kate deadpanned. “None of it really makes any sense.”

Lilah turned the whole thing around in her mind, “So, he has to do what I say?”

“He is inclined to do as you ask, but your safety and protection is his priority, above all.”

There was something in the statement that didn’t sit well with Lilah. She was used to commanding some sense of obedience during jobs, but this was far more intimate. It felt wrong to know that she could just...ask for something, and he would do it without question.

“But,” Lilah continued, “I don’t want to order him around.”

Kate set her glass down, “I don’t doubt it. I’ve had to learn to watch my words around Richie. If I even look at something in store for more than five seconds, It’ll be waiting for me when we get home.”

Lilah thought about it. Brasa hadn’t bought her anything, that she could tell, but he had given in to her will on numerous occasions. She couldn’t believe that she hadn’t figured it out yet.

“Have you had the dreams yet?”

Lilah snapped back to attention, “Dreams?”

“Yeah,” Kate prompted, her expression taking on a little excitement, “Where you’re sharing them?”

“Uh,” Lilah drawled, embarrassed, “A little.”

Kate nodded sagely, “If the bond is stressed, you’ll have more of them.”

“Why?”

“No idea,” Kate said as she fiddled with her glass.

There was a long silence, both of them lost in their thoughts. Lilah considered how far she’d come in her bond with Brasa, and how far she still needed to go. There were so many unknowns, and she feared that her reticence would eventually lead to him leaving her. And yet...Kate had said that he couldn’t—that would lead to worse things. Lilah could handle rejection, but eternal resentment was not something she was prepared to deal with.

“What’s he like?”

Lilah looked up at the question, her brows rising, “Who?”

Kate shot her a knowing look, “Brasa.”

Lilah considered the question, her breath flowing out of her lungs in a soft sigh, “He’s accommodating.”

“And?”

Lilah felt another little wave of embarrassment well up. She wasn’t used to disclosing this kind of information, and the thought of gushing to a girlfriend about a lover made her cringe. Still, this was likely the only person in the world who could really understand what she was going through, who could put things into perspective and help her make good decisions.

“He’s...smart. So smart. Every time we talk about the business, I feel like I’m taking a master class. And, he really listens to me, wants to know my opinion on things.”

“And?”

She thought further, “He’s attractive. Sometimes I look at him and I just…”

As she trailed off, Kate nudged her, “Have you had sex yet?”

“No,” Lilah admitted, “Although we’ve made out a few times—fuck, that makes me sound like a teenager.”

Kate chuckled, lifting her glass to her mouth, “That’s what I felt like, too. Although, I was actually, like, seventeen when Richie and I met.”

This was a story that Lilah had been waiting to hear. The two of them were so diametrically opposed in personality that the match seemed unlikely. She had asked Richie just the one time about how they got together, before Kate had been rescued from Amaru. His only answer was that he ‘kidnapped her.’

“Yeah?” Lilah prodded lightly.

“Yep,” she sat the glass down, “I don’t think either of us knew what was going on. Not until much later.”

“When did you finally figure it out?”

Kate pushed her dark hair from her face, her gaze contemplative, “After Amaru—in Xibalba, actually. We had a little time to talk when we were traveling between worlds. Richie had learned a lot while we were separated.” She paused, a smile forming on her lips, “He had to do a lot of convincing, but what Amaru knew, I knew. And, she knew about bonding. Even though I put it off for a bit, I knew eventually I would have to come to terms with it.”

Lilah felt the question she wanted to ask rise, and she almost tamped it down, but her lesser instincts kicked in, “Do you regret it?”

Kate shook her head, “Richie can be a real asshole, but he loves me. And all the other things that he is, all the things that make up our relationship, they satisfy me in ways I can’t describe.”

And that was exactly how Lilah felt, when she took the time to examine the bond more closely. All the restlessness of her life settled into a soothing, temperate pace when she was with him. Her eager ideas gained focus and precision, her impulsivity checked.

“You’ve given me a lot to think about,” Lilah said as she slumped in her chair.

Kate gave her sympathetic look, “I was trying to help you unload a bit of what you’ve been carrying around.”

To be fair, Lilah did feel lighter. There was still the issue of dealing with Seth and his temper when he found out, but she found that she liked having a secret ally in all of this. It lent her a small bit of safety that she appreciated.

Lilah glanced at her, “Does anyone else know?”

Shaking her head, Kate put her finger to her lips, “Its our secret, for now. But, it’ll come out eventually. Like I said, you can’t hide this kind of thing for long.”

“I know,” Lilah admitted, “Brasa is willing to keep this under wraps for the moment, but I can tell he’s frustrated by it.”

Kate watched her absorb that for a moment, then added, “Pro tip: Sleep with him.”

Lilah said her name in almost a yelp, shocked by the directive.

“I’m not kidding,” Kate said on a laugh, “Sex and blood are cornerstones of their relationships. They’re what bind them together, like it or not. Give him those things, and he’ll settle down enough so that you can figure this out.”

Lilah thought about it, then said the thing that had kept her hiding this secret for longer than she would like, “Seth is going to hate me.”

Kate acknowledged the statement with a salute of her drink, “He might not like it. He might mope around for a few months—hell, he might take off entirely. But, he’ll be back. He just has to have his tantrum first.”

“You think so?”

“I know so.”

“How?”

Kate lifted a shoulder, “He did the same thing with Richie when he was turned. Ran off for a bit. He’ll come around. Once he realizes that being a big baby about it means that you won’t be in his life anymore.” She paused a second, then, “We’re a family, you know? All of us. And, the most important thing to Seth is family.”

“You think so?” Lilah echoed.

Kate smiled warmly, “I know so.”

[thadelightfulone]

The Firm - Epilogue

Prologue Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14

A/N: Happy Birthday to Me and this is my gift to you!

--- Two Years Later ---

"E! Come on, we need to go," LaNyah yells from in front of the full-length mirror. She is putting on her silver and black dangling earrings and smoothing out her dress. She chose an ombre maxi dress that starts as lilac at her neckline and ends in a deep purple at her feet. Her hair is pulled up in a slick top bun with a few loose curls on the sides.

Erik comes up behind her in black pants and an unbuttoned lavender dress shirt. "I think you forgot something." He looks at her through the mirror as his eyes meet her gaze. He holds her necklace in his hands, and it matches her bracelets and earrings. She holds her hand out to take it from him. "No, I got this. Stand still." Nyah is watching him through the mirror, tilting her head back as Erik drapes the necklace in front of her. Closing the clasps, he leans down and kisses her neck.

“Thank you, now go finish getting dressed.” She tries to step forward as Erik pulls her by the waist into him. “Erik, we do not have time for this.”

"You sure about that?" He continues to kiss along her jawline. Nyah closes her eyes and relaxes into his embrace. Erik grabs her hips, and LaNyah softly moans at his actions.

Pulling his hands away, she turns around, facing him, "No, we do not." She pulls his shirt together and buttons the top while fixing the collar. "You got the rest of this, right?" She pats him on the chest, "Good." Erik chuckles as she sashays away from him.

“Wow, really babygirl?" He finishes buttoning his shirt and looks at himself in the mirror. If someone had bet him money two years ago that he would be in a serious relationship, he would have double-downed and lost. But here he is, a California resident and living with his amazing girlfriend. He moved the base of his operations, and Green set him up with space in the GBI building.

Erik ended up buying the condo he stayed at when he first got to Irvine. That's where they are now. He decided to move after a year of long-distance and back & forth, traveling to visit one another. When he told LaNyah what he wanted to do, he told her that it would only happen if she moved in him. She was out of her apartment by the time his plane landed the following week.

Moving the business was the most natural part; he can work from anywhere. So, his former home office is now one of three satellite offices for his consulting company. He no longer offers personal security, but he has plenty of employees to call if needed for any job. There is only one person he wants to protect these days. He heads to the closet door to grab his jacket as Nyah comes back into the room.

“Really, E? I have been gone like five minutes, why aren’t you ready yet?”

“Sorry, I was just thinking.” Nyah was packing items into her clutch when she stops.

“You can’t think and get dressed at the same time?" She taps her watch, "Time is ticking." Erik jumps at her, swinging her around the room, causing her to laugh. "What is it, man?"

“Nothing.” He sets her down, putting his hands on her waist as she wraps her arms around his neck, “I love you.” She looks up at him and smiles.

“And I love you, too. But we gotta go. NOW!” She pecks his lips and walks back out of the room, leaving a smitten Erik behind. He will never tire of hearing that. He picks up his jacket and follows her out of the room.

Erik opens the passenger door for Nyah and gives her the presents when she is seated. He walks to his side of the car and jumps in. As he starts the car, he grabs Nyah's hand and kisses it before settling their intertwined hands on his lap. "So, why couldn't Ashley just celebrate her birthday with her husband?" LaNyah releases his grip and slaps his shoulder.

"Don't be mean. You know this is a special birthday for Ashley, and she wanted to be with friends and family tonight."

“Everyone turns 40. So, again I ask – what is the point?” Out of the corner of his eye, he can see her balling her hand into a fist. He catches it mid-air before she touches him, lowering her hand.

“True, but at least she is letting me help throw her a birthday party unlike someone I know,” she blinks and pouts at him. Erik looks at her and shakes his head. It was the only time he didn’t let her have her way. He grabs her hand again.

“Fine. Fine. But we aren’t gonna be there all night, right?” Nyah snatches her hand away as he laughs and puts his hand back on the wheel.

She looks out the window excited about heading over to Ashley’s house to celebrate her birthday with their friends. A few days ago, when they met for their weekly lunch date, Ashley shared something with her. And it has been hard as hell keeping it from everyone, let alone, Erik.

Erik. She turns to stare at his profile while he drives. It’s been about two years since they decided to take a chance on one another. And it’s been one of the best decisions she’s made. They have had a few struggles, especially since they started long-distance, but it helped each of them realize how much they meant to the other. You know that whole, 'absence makes the heart grow fonder.' She is a firm believer in that now.

Right around the time, Erik moved to Cali; she was offered a team leader position for the Accounting department. Six people now report to her about the same accounts that changed her life forever. And Stacey finally trained her on all that other system access, as well. Word has it -- they are the only two who have that kind of access for the company besides the CEO. She smiles, knowing that Alex trusts her that much.

They pull up to the house, and Erik looks over at Nyah. "Ready?" She nods, and he gets out, going to her side and opening the door. As he pulls her out, he lifts her up to him and kisses her.

“Will you stop?” She giggles at his pout, “What is with you, being so playful today?” She eyes him as he sets her back down.

“Nothing. I’m good.”

“Uh huh,” she was about to continue when they hear footsteps running towards them. “Hi sweetheart!” LaNyah bends down to pick up the little girl, smiling big and bright with her two front teeth missing. She’s Alex and Ashley’s 3-year-old foster daughter, Tiffany. She has been in their life for about 6 months now.

“Hi Nyah. Mr. Erik.” She giggles as Erik pulls on her pigtails.

“Why can’t I be Uncle E or something?” Tiffany looks up at him and shakes her head. He whispers into Nyah’s ear, “One day." She shifts Tiffany onto her hips, and she curls her tiny body around Nyah.

“Guess Mr. Erik has to take the presents in the house.” She laughs as he makes a face at her, “I seem to have my hands full.”

He pecks her cheek, “Go on. I got everything.” He watches as the two of them walk away. As he enters the house, Erik sees LaNyah talking with Stacey and Ashley while still holding onto Tiffany. He set Ashley's gift on the table and takes the wine and whiskey to the kitchen, where he finds Alex and Jai hanging around.

“Yes, thank god. I ran out of my good stuff last week." Alex rushes Erik for the bottle of whiskey, and Erik puts the wine in the fridge.

"You ok, guy? I thought family life was going great."

“It is, it is. Don’t get me wrong, but sometimes I wish we got a boy instead. You know I don’t balance more than one woman well.” Erik and Jai burst out laughing. “Not funny,” Alex replies as he pulls three glasses from the cupboard and pours them all a drink.

Erik daps up Jai, “So, how is the art world treating you?”

“Very well, man. I can’t complain.” She takes a sip of her drink, “I have a gallery opening next month. You and Nyah gotta come through.”

“She wouldn’t allow us to miss it.” He laughs into his drink.

"Who won't allow what?" Stacey asks as she and LaNyah enter the kitchen. She walks over to Jai and grabs her drink, sniffing it. She gags, "Nyah, they already started drinking the hard shit." Nyah passes Alex to go to the fridge, pulling the bottle of wine out, and Stacey nods. “So, what did we interrupt?”

Jai takes her drink back from Stacey. "I was just telling them about my show starting next month," Jai answers, wrapping her arm around her.

"Did she tell you that I was her inspiration for her latest works?" Stacey chirps, and Nyah laughs. Erik reaches behind him to get three wine glasses for her. She hands him the bottle of wine to open as well. Nyah watches the newest couple in the group.  

Stacey and Jai met at one of the Paint & Sips that they went to, Jai was the local artist of that evening’s painting. Then after months of flirting and ‘lunch’ dates, they became an item. They have been together for about a year now, and LaNyah has never seen Stacey happier.

“Aye, don’t get drunk before we eat.” Ashley walks into the kitchen without Tiffany. “I can’t believe you guys.” Nyah walks over and hands Ashley a glass of wine, “That’s better. Dinner’s ready.” She pushes everyone towards the dining room.

Around a meal of lamb chops, roasted vegetables, and various salad options, the group catches up on all new happenings since they last got together a month ago. As dinner winds down, they take their dessert and conversation to the living room. Alex brings Ashley’s gifts over while Jai and Stacey refresh drinks.

Lifting up a big gift bag, Ashley pulls out a painted tote bag, and inside is a small paint set complete with a wooden palette and various sized brushes. She looks over at Jai, "I can go get Tiffany since you want to bring gifts for her instead of the birthday girl."

Jai lifts her tumbler towards her, “Mama’s gift is still in the bag.”

Ashley digs back inside, pulling out two envelopes. She opens one card, and concert tickets fall out. She picks one up off her lap, “To see Masego and SiR? OMG, I have been waiting for him to go back on tour.” She stops, “Wait, I can’t go. What about Tiffany?”

“Mommy deserves a day out with the girls.” Stacey responds, “Besides, I am celebrating my promotion. I can’t do that without my girls.” She waves her to open the other envelope. Ashley opens it and finds a spa day package for the works.

"Well, when you put it that way. Mommy does deserve all of this." She holds the cards to her chest as they all laugh. "But, I don't get the painting tote bag."

Looking towards Stacey, “So, we couldn’t help getting her something, too.” Jai answers. “And you can never start them too young.”

“Wow. Who else has something for her?” Ashley asks. LaNyah raises her hands as Erik points to her, “Unbelievable." Everyone laughs at that. Ashley reaches for their box. She pulls out a beautifully crocheted infinity scarf in shades of pinks, reds, and browns. Ashley cracks up with laughter. “OMG, no you didn’t.”

"Yeah, I finally got around to making you that scarf," Nyah speaks up. “I think this is much better than anything I could have given you at that time.”

“Erik, how many do you have?” Alex whispers to him, and Erik shakes his head in response and sits back with his arm behind LaNyah.

“Stop that, you, too. He loves everything I have ever made for him.” Erik sips his drink, not making any eye contact with her, “Okay. I see you. Ashley, there is more in the box.” Nyah points to it.

"I see that. And actually, we have an announcement to make." Alex helps her stand up, and Ashley holds his hand before looking at everyone, “So, we have made the decision to move forward and adopt Tiffany.” The group cheers for them as Stacey and Nyah rush Ashley.

“Great, because you already know that’s my niece.”

“And we all love her to pieces.” Stacey and Nyah blurt out.

Alex accepts pats on the back from Erik and Jai. “So, does this mean I need to bring a bottle every time I see you?” Erik jokes.

“Nah, I love my girls. I wouldn’t trade them for anything in the world.” He takes a drink of whiskey, “Why do you think I hired Stacey to become the new COO. I know she will be able to handle things for the entire company while I focus on my growing family.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean.” Erik looks over at LaNyah, who shoved Ashley’s box at her. “And that’s a great look for Stacey, too. She deserves it.”    

“Open, open, open.” She begins to chant.

“OK Nyah.” Ashley pulls the final item out, and it’s a smaller version of the scarf that LaNyah made for her. She tears up immediately.

"I mean, my little sister has to be styling just like her Mommy." Nyah pulls Ashley into a big hug. All is quiet for a few moments, while the trio wipes tears from their eyes. Stacey runs to get some Kleenex.

“What is that?” Stacey yells upon return. Everyone turns to look at her trying to figure out who she is addressing. She reaches out and grabs LaNyah’s hand, “This ma’am.” She lifts her hand to show off the diamond on her right hand. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Well, well, well.” Alex looks over at Erik, who grins as he turns back to him and Jai.

"I was gonna tell you, but I just wanted to keep it to myself for a while," Nyah answers back.  

“What?” He keeps his eyes on the giggly group of women.

“So, details. How did he do it? When did he do it?” Ashley pulls Nyah over to the couch with Stacey following them.

“Congratulations, E.” Jai pats him on the back. “Guess this is turning into one big celebration.”

"He proposed last month. It was simple and sweet." Nyah smiles, thinking about that night. "That's it. There's nothing more to tell."

"Thanks Jai." Erik looks at Alex, who is still staring at him. "Man, what?" Alex just shakes his head at him.

"Come on, Nyah." Ashley snaps her fingers in her face but realizes she is staring at Erik. "I'm not surprised, but it took him long enough,” she turns speaking to Stacey.

When Erik makes eye contact with her, Nyah blows him a kiss. He grabs it from the air and puts it in his jacket pocket, near his heart. Returning to the conversation, “Nothing, I just love my girl.”

A/N/N: So, we have come to the end of Erik and LaNyah’s journey. Thank you to everyone who has come along and enjoyed the ride. It has been so much fun. 

Taglist: @killmongersaidheyauntie @muse-of-mbaku @panthergoddessbast @youreadthatright @princessstevens @nahimjustfeelingit-writes @stark-red19 @kreolemami @bidibidibombaclaat @iamrheaspeaks @missumuch1918 @simplyyamberr @cherryblossomgirl20 @ajspencer1892 @chrismarcs @loosewindmill @sydneebleu @semianta @eyeknowmywrites @alexundefined @itsjustmezari @goddessofthundathighs @guccixcucci @kissmyafropuff @gimmeface @fd-writes @jozigrrl @soufcakmistress @scrumptiouslytenaciouscrusade @shaekingshitup @localtrapgod @post-woke @theesotericqueen 

[kashimos-hajime]

immeasurable firsts | s.r.

Summary: All your firsts with Steve Rogers and all the heartbreak and happiness that comes with it.

A/N: For the writing challenge hosted by the fabulous @imhereforbvcky and the wonderful @justsomebucky. 

Dedicating this to @wxntersoldiers because I still have to write for her and I hope this’ll make up for how late I’m gonna submit it in! (I’ll get to it soon!!!!)

WARNINGS: Swearing, blood, violence, death, extreme angst but some happy stuff too.

Word Count: 11.6k Pairing: Steve Rogers x Stark-sister! Reader Prompt: The most ridiculous part of this whole situation is that I love you.

Genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist. Four easy words to describe Tony Stark.

You, on the other hand. Genius, billionaire, philanthropist all fit. Playboy? Perhaps. You prefer socialite. The paparazzi has always had their bite at you but that doesn’t mean that none of it is true.

You are Y/N Stark, younger sister of one Anthony Edward Stark, one certified pain in the ass, and one big brother. He was basically everything you had ever since your parents died. He raised you. He was your dad, and mom, and brother all at once, and you know that no one could’ve done it better. From what you know and what Tony tells you about your dad, you’re better off.

But your mom… you miss her every day.

On a full-ride to MIT just like him, you succeeded him in every way, graduating summa cum laude just like him, but while he did it when he was seventeen, you did it when you were eighteen. He always held that fact over you, but not after you mentioned that while he hacked into the Pentagon for a dare, you hacked into the Harry S. Truman building for fun. State department had a field day with that one.

As Stark Industries head of Research and Development, you occupy all of four floors and helped more than 12% to make Stark Towers the first building powered by self-sustainable clean energy, but you’d let your brother take all that credit if it meant your brother gets some with Pepper.

“Ma’am, Agent Coulson is on the line. Mr. Stark deferred him to you.” Swiping the holoscreen to close it, you look up from where you’re working on new schematics for your suit.

“Tony’s in.”

“Mr. Stark insists on refusing the call, and Agent Coulson insists on seeing him.”

Rolling your eyes, you pull up another holoscreen that linked you to the surveillance feed. Switching through the cameras, you swipe for Tony’s private elevator. You spot the agent standing outside the elevator, texting away on his phone and you turn on your mic with a smile.

“Hey, Phil,” you greet and the agent looked up, turning to the camera.

“Ms. Stark.” He gives you a little wave and you straighten up, putting your stylus away and turning off your tablet. Moving the surveillance feed to your phone, you walk to the couch you had in your office, sitting down and pulling your laptop on with you. Opening it up, you log in. “If you could ask your brother to pick up the phone, that’d be a great help.”

“You know Tony doesn’t listen to me.” Opening up the files Tony had sent you earlier, blueprints for Stark Tower and the grocery list for next week, you roll your eyes at the note at the end. ‘Pep said it’s my turn to do nothing for a whole week,’ it reads. Your fingers work away on your keyboard as you return your attention to Phil. “I’m going to disable J.A.R.V.I.S.’s protocols and give random people access to his private elevator because he’s annoyed me just now. You do whatever you want with that information.”

“Thank you. And you might need to join me, Ms. Stark.”

“Is it something important? Because my consulting hours don’t normally run this long. Also, I thought I said I didn’t want anymore S.H.I.E.L.D. assignments.” Tapping away on your keyboard, you have the elevator doors open and bypass the A.I.’s protocols.

“It’s urgent.”

“When do I ever care about that?” you retort. The call ends and you get up anyway, glaring at your phone. With a heavy sigh, you slip the device into your pocket before looking at the few holo screens you have open around the office. The levels of the reactor are stable, and you watch as they fluctuated, readjusting every once in a while.

“J.A.R.V.I.S., shut the place down. After I go see Tony, I’m heading home.”

“Of course, Ms. Stark.”

You live essentially next door to the tower, and it isn’t important for you to bring anything home, so you grab your keys and purse before leaving your office of glass doors and walls and windows. The lights turn off behind you as you jab the elevator button, ready to head up to say goodnight to Tony and see what Phil Coulson thought was so urgent.

.

The Avengers Initiative.

And they thought Tony was a good fit?

“Volatile, self-obsessed, don’t play well with others,” you recite as you read over the files in Tony’s penthouse on the top floor of Stark Towers. “If he wanted the better of the Starks, he would’ve chosen me,” you tease. Tony sighs, wiping a hand over his face and you frown. Sigh in that tone means frustration, exhaustion, and he’s feeling overwhelmed.

“What is it?” Looking to see what’s caught your brother’s attention, you swallow and get up, walking around the couch to touch the hologram of the thing that your father had found instead of a man. “The Tesseract,” you whisper, suddenly finding your mouth very dry. Blinking, you twist the hologram around before pulling back. Your father had been obsessed with the thing. Hell, he probably loved it more than he ever loved the two of you. Your brother’s pulled back, too, arms crossed as his dark gaze flickers over the other portfolios.

“Some crack team, huh,” he mutters but your eyes can’t tear away from the blue glowing cube. Your dad always talked about it — well, it and Captain America, who happened to be in one of the portfolios, but you can’t help the nagging feeling that the cube is better left in the ocean where no one can find it. After all, they wouldn’t have to drag your brother into this mess if it was.

“Tony,” you call out when your brother moves for the bar. He pulls up a bottle of scotch and silently asks if you want a drink. Shaking your head, you bite your lip and gather what nerves you have left to ask the question. “Should I be worried?”

There is no answer.

.

“Hey, how was it?” you ask when Tony returns to the Helicarrier. The suit decompresses and you smirk, arching a brow. “Get the bad guy?”

“Yeah, and a plus one. Oh, uh—” Tony turns to the other guys piling out of the Quinjet. The clanging of chains catch your attention as S.H.I.E.L.D. agents swarm the jet, escorting the prisoner out. Loki, you realize. Following him is a tall blond and an even taller blond, though the taller one follows after Loki. Thor. Had to be. Your brother gestures to the two— “the rest of the crack team. You talk to Banner, yet?”

“Not yet. They told me he was down in the lab, but I was working on my suit. I’ve a new set of schematics I wanna try out, if you have the time.”

“You only made a suit to copy me,” he teases and you nudge him playfully. “Yeah, sure. If we have time, after the world finishes it’s self-destruction, or whatever, we should take it out for a spin.”

“Thanks, Ant.” He sighs at the nickname but you squeeze his arm, watching him go. He needs to get that suit off, and you need to get that decryption implant on the motherboard. If Tony’s going into this, he isn’t going into it blind. Anyone who’s working with the Tesseract, especially an organization like S.H.I.E.L.D., wouldn’t use this for clean energy. And you’ve worked missions with them before. You know that eco-friendly energy is the last thing on their mind. Howard Stark may have wanted it for clean energy, but if an intergalactic war is being had…

You put a pin on that train of your thought as your gaze drifted back to the armory. The shorter blond nodded to you with a smile, and you put on a fresh face for Steve Rogers, World War Two Hero, actual soldier-type with a cute smile. Tilting your head, you walk up to him and stick out a hand. In your heels, you could’ve tried to be as tall as him but his presence adds two inches to his height.

“Captain Rogers, honor to meet you.”

“Steve,” he amends as he quirks an eyebrow. “And you are? Sorry, it’s been a whirlwind couple of days.”

“Y/N Stark,” you say, shaking his hand. He’s warm and his blue eyes fix on yours as you take in his features. He’s even cuter up close. “And no problem. Not everyone can spend their time as a Capsicle.”

“Your brother made the same joke,” Steve says as you begin to walk down the hall with him.

“He only got the chance because he met you first.” Heading down to the briefing room, you glance at him to find him staring back. Arching an eyebrow, you wait until he notices and a brilliant blush spreads across his cheeks, but you smirk, brushing the hair away from your face and leading him to the room where your brother is waiting.

.

After the Battle of New York — that’s what the news is calling it, you call it an inconvenience — the dust settled to reveal the true damage of it. There’s a lot of rebuilding to do, specifically the area around Stark Tower, which means a lot of money is needed to repair downtown New York. Of course, the best way to get the rich to donate money is a charity ball, and the fact that it’s able to be doubled as a celebration ball makes Tony absolutely gleeful. You, on the other hand, would rather be anywhere but here. The destruction caused in Stark Tower has given you nothing but a headache and whilst Tony and the Avengers had gone for shawarma, you’d suited up to begin lifting the rubble and seeing the true damage underneath the whole ‘saving the planet’. Which you can respect, by the way, but you didn’t want to test out the new suit by lifting up heavy concrete and wires.

Now, all you want to do head back, take an Advil, and sleep the day off. Whilst the Avengers had decided to steal the show, you never said a thing about how Tony literally flew into a fucking wormhole.

You still need to yell at him for that one. Maybe cry. And hug him. For a long time.

“You need to relax,” Tony mumble through his smile as the three of you gathered your bearings to get out of the limousine.

“You need to stop making us late,” you retort. “And wormhole, remember? You’re still in for it.”

He sends you a sheepish smile, his eyes pleading apology, but you ignore it, stepping out. Pepper holds onto Tony’s arm to get out, whilst you pick up the edges of your dress, a brilliant scarlet dress, with a slit up the side of your leg and elegantly pull yourself up.

Adjusting the gold cuff on your wrist, you grab your gold clutch and shade your eyes against the flashes. Tony and Pep are already walking through the paparazzi, up the stairs to the venue for the Avengers, the cameras snapping away. Used to it, you tuck your hair behind your ear to showcase your outfit. In scarlet and gold, you shine under the flashes.

“Ms. Stark!” one of the photographers call out and you pause, striking a small pose before continuing on. The tire screeches behind you signify another arrival and you turn with a small smile, wondering who it could be. The black car’s window slide down, revealing a star-struck Steve Rogers and he steps out, squinting against the flashing lights. Raising a hand in half a wave and half a means to block the light, the super-soldier’s gaze dart across the scene before landing on you. You extend your hand to him, smiling. He speed-walks over to you, grateful for a friendly face and he offers an arm for you to take, escorting you inside.

“I’m glad you got out safe,” you begin, tucking a curl behind you ear as he focuses on getting up to the stairs. You throw a wave to the crowd, before adding, “I was maybe a tiny bit worried about you. More so about Tony, but then I wonder why.” You pretend to tap your chin in curiosity and he chuckles.

“I’m flattered. And you’re beautiful,” he mumbles under his breath, cheeks red but you can’t tell if it’s because of you or the cameras. Smiling softly, you press your head against his shoulder for a moment before lifting it again to look at the soldier. “I dunno if anyone’s told you that yet.”

“No one that matters,” you tell him and you pause to kiss his cheek. His shy smile makes you smile wider, the endearing expression on his face causing warmth to spread through you. Cameras take snapshots of your moment and you internally sigh. There comes one of the cons of being a public figure. You have no doubt some stupid hashtag like #Rogerstark or, you don’t know, #Ironcaptain, will be trending on twitter by the night’s end. “And you look good, too. Real good.”

“Uh,” he chuckles, blushing and you laugh. “Thanks.”

“Overwhelmed, yet?” You climb the steps, using Steve’s hand to steady yourself before he opens the door for you. You hold his hand to bring him in and the pap calls after the two of you even when the door closes. If he’s gonna give the press content, you might as well have fun with it. Even if he doesn’t mean too — he’s just being the gentleman he is.

“A bit, yeah, but not by the cameras.”

You chew on the inside of your lip. You don’t know if you’re insulted or not. “By me?”

“In the best way. Gotta impress the most gorgeous woman in the room,” he promises and you hold him to that promise. “I’m sure the cameras will get worse, too. But you seem to be doing just fine,” he says and you chuckle. Patting his arm, you lead him, following the signs that say This Way or something of the variant.

“I grew up going to this kinda stuff. I’m used to it by now. But if you keep being you, the press is gonna eat you up.”

“How do you mean?”

“You’re a real gentleman, Rogers,” you sing. The foyer is filled with tons of guests, some drinking while others are eating some nuts or chips, and there’s an open door leading to the white carpet. Of course, they’re waiting for all the Avengers to go on first, and you can hear the anxious muttering of the paparazzi outside the room.

“I don’t see how that’s a bad thing.”

“Well, people like prying into other people’s lives,” you continue and he nods. His gaze darts across the room just as a server comes by with a tray of champagne. Disentangling your arm from Steve’s, you take two. “Steve, I’m just saying, the paps love to make speculations about Tony and I. Sometimes, it’s the only thing keeping them open, and a lot of people don’t like the attention, the stalkers, the fans.” Offering the champagne, you give him a forced smile. “A lot of people don’t wanna stay because of it.”

“What if I want to?”

“What?” You nearly let out a laugh but Steve looks totally serious as his gaze catches yours. They’re darker, more intense, but there’s still that sense of light to him. Like he’s having fun getting the shock out of you.

“I said, what if I wanted to stay? I’m an Avenger now. Might as well get used to it and I think we’re stuck with each other.”

You drain your champagne, blink, and then stare at him as if he’s grown a second head. “I have no illusions on being a celebrity, Y/N. I’ve had a few experiences of my own, and it may be a bit different from back then, but I know.”

“It’s a lot different, Steve.”

“Maybe not so much.” He takes your hand and the champagne, leading you to the side of the room where there are small high tables where people can stand and chat over food, and he places his full flute and your empty one on the tablecloth. “Y/N, I’m just saying, let the press eat it up. We know what we are.”

And what’s that? you wonder helplessly as he says that they should get to the carpet. Tony and Pepper have already started, and Steve visibly recoils. Looping your arm through his, you send him a reassuring smirk, if possible.

“You might have to squint, Cap,” you whisper nefariously and he sends you a roll of his eyes as you put on your celebrity face. It hides your inner turmoil well as you kill over Steve’s words. With the most handsome man in the room on your arm, you send smolder and smolder whilst the soldier tries to ease into his smiles. It’s easier once you get him laughing at your jokes, and it’s hard to imagine you’d ever dreaded going to the event at all.

.

To say you and Steve see each other over the next few years would be an understatement. Seeing as how you are in Washington occasionally, flying back and forth for work, the Triskelion is one of the few places you’d actually get excited to see once in a while. You’re actually in Washington when Steve’s called away on a mission. Sitwell’s called you in for an emergency consult. Well, he called Tony. You picked up the call. And what you came to was Nick Fury’s deathbed.

The image makes you shudder.

Suiting up, you propel yourself out of your Washington flat and fly towards the Triskelion. At night, Washington looks like any other city, breathtaking and alight with life. The Washington Monument’s glow casts its base in warm light as you fly over it, slowing down to admire your view and postpone going to the Triskelion. Ever since Steve knocked out the S.T.R.I.K.E. team in the elevator, you’ve been feeling like there had to be a reason.

Your reflection in the water is barely visible except for the glow of your repulsors, eyes, and arc reactor, and you float above it, the squirming feeling in your stomach ever growing.

Why do you have the feeling just like the one before the Battle of New York?

A number you don’t recognize calls you, but you pick up anyway, having A.N.A encrypt your location just in case as you fight off the feeling. Tony’s safe in New York — as safe as he can be fixing up the quarters for the Avengers who still drop by from time to time. Just one night of consultation, and then you’re back there with him, eating microwave dinners and working on new things.

“Hey, Y/N.”

“Steve? Where are you?” Shaking yourself, you continue on your way to the Triskelion just as his voice echoes in your ears again.

“Sam’s. And you need to listen to me.”

“Are you okay?” you ask despite yourself. You haven’t seen him since the hospital, and if you’re honest with yourself, you kinda miss him. Plus, he wasn’t looking too great when you’d left.

You hold his hand, stepping closer as he stares at Natasha’s back. The red-haired woman’s head is bowed to hide her tears and you look to Steve. His eyes stare back at you but he doesn’t truly see you as you wrap your other hand around his arm, resting your head against his shoulder. He squeezes your hand tighter. You simply close your eyes and press your cheek against his jacket as your fingers interlace. He looks down, and you raise your head to see what he’s looking at.

A silver USB lies in his hand and your eyebrows knit together when you look at the make. S.H.I.E.L.D. made. When he catches you staring, however, he shoves it back into your pocket. A silent question that he ignores lays within your eyes.

“I didn’t want to leave the hospital so soon, but consultation couldn’t wait on the pumping problem,” you continue, diving into the water surrounding the building as your suit readjusts the air pressure and you turn on your headlamps. The water before you filters out the moon as you dive deeper.

“It’s fine. I just wanted to check up with you.”

“Why? ‘Cause I’m heading underwater and the slightest malfunction of the suit could kill me?” you ask, initiating the lights in your repulsors. Steve lets out a sigh of a laugh quietly on the other end as you squint, making out the shape of the pipelines.

“You made that suit, Y/N. I know it won’t,” he replies, but he sounds tense and you make yourself redirect the conversation. Your HUD emits a gentle light as it does a preliminary scan on the pipelines.

“Thanks, Steve. So… where are you now? I mean, now that you’re on the run.”

“That’s what I’ve got to talk to you about.”

Pulling up, you frown. No leaks and the Stark Industry sustainable filter is running flawlessly. You’d installed it yourself, along with the other convertors along the lines. Turning off your mic, you raise your arm.

“A.N.A., can you run a scan? Sitwell said it was in this area, and I’m not sure if I’m being delusional.”

“Of course, Ms. Stark.” The repulsor gauntlet shoots out a grid of blue light, a bar of blue scanning the pipes as you work your way down the whole area. Resuming your call with Steve, you clear your throat.

“Sorry, Steve, what is it? Is it about why you gave Rumlow the black eye he deserves?” you joke.

“Y/N, S.H.I.E.L.D. has been compromised.” Your heart stops. Maybe you are delusional.

“What?”

“Whatever you do, don’t take another assignment from them. You need to leave D.C. now.”

“Steve, I—”

“There is an unknown object approaching your vector.” A.N.A.’s warning interrupts whatever you were going to say, and kick starts your wired brain. You twist around, all sources of light shutting off at once with a quiet whir. Letting yourself sink, you steady your breathing and turn on your night vision just as something explodes right next to you. It sends you tumbling, your head rattling in your suit as you spin in the water, trying to regain your sense of up and down.

“A.N.A., find the source!” Managing to stabilize yourself to a stop, you shake your head. Something’s trickling down your temple, and there’s a familiar ache in your arm that was closest to the blast. You still can’t hear well aside from the ringing and you strain to hear.

“Already on it.”

Y/N, what’s going on?” Steve asks but his voice crackles over the line and you wince, trying to ignore how grating it is on your ears as blue shapes are highlighted on your HUD. Submarines by the looks of it. S.H.I.E.L.D. warships armed with missiles, mines, and torpedos.

Fuck, really? In the Potomac? You have no time for questions like that, though, and with every second you waste sinking to the bottom, it’s another second feeling like the water’s going to seep into your suit and asphyxiate you. Another missile launches towards you and you swerve out of the way, letting it land in the riverbed.

“I was in Washington for a consultation on the Triskelion’s pump system,” you whisper. “Fucking great that they’re compromised now, huh?”

“Engaging boosters.” Your ankles lock together, you press your hands against your sides and look up as you propel yourself to the surface. You’re a great white beacon of light and heat now that you’ve given up all hope of defeating war subs in your mechanic armor. “Missiles fired. They’ve tracked your infrared signature, ma’am.”

“Y/N?” Steve’s voice cracks the comms again as moonbeams begin to break through. “What’s going?”

“S.H.I.E.L.D. subs are on me. Five. Shit!” A missile strikes your foot and you let out a yelp as the booster fails. Veering off, you try to get back on course. “Targeting system. They know all the weak points of this suit. Fuck! My booster’s down.” Swerving out of the way of another swarm of missiles, you run diagnostics on your failed repulsor node just as A.N.A. gives out another warning that another barrage is incoming. Your heart beats in your throat, blood dripping over and down your neck, and you try to unscramble your thoughts. S.H.I.E.L.D. is attacking you. S.H.I.E.L.D. is attacking you. Holy shit.

Tony’s going to be so pissed.

“Can you fire back?”

“It’s my repair suit. It’s not meant for battle. I didn’t think I’d get attacked by fucking S.H.I.E.L.D.!” The second barrage nearly gets you and you let out a breath of relief when they all whiz past, only for a bigger cruise missile to slam into your side. Infrared tech on a cruise missile with diamond nibs. These are war-grade, way above anyone’s pay-grade and slice through your suit like it’s soft cheese. It digs into you and you let out a terrified gasp.

It’s a small explosion, granted, but it no doubt shatters your ribs and blows something apart inside you. Ears ringing, you scream over the sound of A.N.A. giving you a status report on the suit, but over your own hoarse voice, you know that water’s surging into your suit, your ribs are shattered, and you’re probably going to die. A.N.A. quarantines the water, sealing you from the neck up as you frantically touch your wound. Your A.I. has already dispatched the emergency lock, your second skin of armor spanning over your abdomen and binding your insides together.

“Injuries?”

“Shattered ribs, multiple third-degree burns and massive internal damage.”

“Communications?” you wheeze, trying to breathe but your lungs struggle against the ribs that float around in your chest cavity as you clutch at the wound. A.N.A. had been as fast as she could, closing over the wound as soon as she detected it, but dirty, freezing river water still got in. It laps at your wounds, soothing the burns and washing through your insides simultaneously. Melting from the inside out, you suck in your scream and blink, trying to ignore the tears streaming down your face as you pray for the adrenaline to kick in.

“Offline. They’ve scrambled the frequency.”

“Unscramble it! We need to tell Steve he needs to get out of here and tell Tony what’s happening. I’ll focus on the staying alive part.” Although sobs tear at your throat and blackness dots your vision from the pain, you squint through your tears to look at the HUD. A list of systems that are offline continue to scroll down the side as the water begins to pick up, pulling and pushing you in all directions.

“Y-Y-Y/N? Can you read me? Hey!”

“Still alive, yet, Cap,” you manage to say, redirecting all energy to your one working foot. “Come on, come on.” Every movement is sending agony rushing down to your chest and it’s like the water pressure presses down into your chest. Even breathing is getting difficult as a knot forms between your lungs. Heaving for air, you begin to speed up to the surface. Water streams down the sides, bubbles popping and foam disappearing before your eyes. Suddenly, beeping begins out of left-field.

“They’re sending more cruise missiles, ma’am. Without your other repulsor node, you won’t be able to outfly them.”

“But I’m so fucking close!”

“It won’t matter, Ms. Stark. They’ve locked into your heat signature and this suit does not have the capability to lower or mask your in-suit heat output.” A.N.A.’s words make you blink and you let out a desperate sigh, your breathing coming ragged as the water closes in on you. Your vision blurs, and for a moment, your head dips forward before you snap open your eyes. “I’m sorry, Ms. Stark.” Your A.I. sounds so fucking crushed and she’s already grieving and you regret coding in emotions because you want to cry, and not because of the pain.

“It’s not your fault, A.N.A.”

Blinking, you try to calm yourself down but it’s all coming so close. Your helmet can’t protect you for long, you’re going to die, you’re going to die, you’re going to die—

“You’ll send a message to Tony? The message?” you ask and the world stops. The startling realization that you might truly die here in the Potomac slams into you and you nearly let out a scream at how fucking unfair it is. Ribbons of tears track down your face, and you compress yourself into a compact slip of armor, hoping it’ll give you that chance to outrun it, but you know that it won’t. You graduated from MIT, just like Tony. Your big brother Tony. You know the math. The beeping gets louder, gets faster.

A watery smile appears on your face, your lips trembling as it crumbles away and you openly sob. Your face is hot and you breathe in hot air, and you need to breathe. Oh, god, you’re gonna die of asphyxiation before you die of your injuries and everything’s closing in on you—

“Of course, Ms. Stark.” You take comfort in A.N.A.s voice and confirmation, trying to pull what’s left of you together.  “Thank you.” It’s just within reach, but the beeping in your ears tells you the missiles are closer. They’re hot on your trail and your faulty booster has no intention of coming back soon. Remembering your call, you swallow whatever tears you have left and ignore the ache in your throat. Everything hurts, but nothing so much as the pain one can get from knowing what they’re leaving behind. “Steve?” 

Crackling, and then a thick voice comes on and you know he’s crying too, “I’m here.”

Your eyes reflect the moon’s beams, and you can only see that beautiful full moon surrounded by so much darkness, and you wonder if this is what Tony saw up in that wormhole. The light at the end of a tunnel. You swallow, nod, and tell yourself that you can’t feel the pain anymore. The adrenaline in my body’s numbing it, you reason to yourself. I’ll die from my injuries before I can get to a hospital, so there’s no point in feeling it. The beeping becomes insistent, but you don’t look back. If you don’t look back, maybe they aren’t there.

“Ms. Stark…”

“It’s okay, A.N.A. You did your best.” Clenching your jaw, you try to make sure your next words can be made out. They need to count, you need him to hear you loud and clear, and he seems to sense this because he begins to whisper these nothings meant to make you feel better, or to stall you. You hope it’s to make to feel better. 

Because it works.

“Steve, when I die, tell Tony that… that I love him, and he deserves so many things in this world. Tell him, tell him he is the best brother I could’ve asked for, and—“

“Hey, Y/N. You’re gonna outfly those rockets. You’re the best damn pilot I know. So, stop talking like you’re gonna die.”

“Steve—“

“Y/N, it’s gonna be okay. It’ll be okay, doll, you’re gonna be just fine, and then you’ll come over to Sam’s, and we’ll be on the run together.” Steve’s voice cracks and it damn well near breaks you as the A.N.A. goes radio silent. The HUD turns off. She’s conserving energy. That can only mean one thing. “Won’t that be fun? Huh? We’ll be… what was it that was trending after the 2012 gala? That hashtag…”

You let out a noise that’s somewhere between a sob and a laugh as your eyes close. “#Ironcaptain and #Starogers were both trending,” you remind him. His voice is soft and hoarse, and exactly how you imagined him in the mornings. You’ll never get to fucking see him again. Fuck. Life. Fuck. You.

“That’s right, doll. You’re right. You’re so beautiful and smart. You’re tough as, uh, iron, and you’re always right.”

“Dork.”

“Yeah, I’m your dork, though. So, you’ve gotta make it. You’re perfect. That’s why you’ll make it, okay?” He’s in so much denial it pains you to the core and all you want to do is grab him in a hug and tell him that you’re going to die but it’ll be okay. But he’s on the other side of the city and he can’t save you this time. “That’s why I’m gonna see you again, and I’m gonna tell you so many things. So you’ve got to stay alive, alright? ‘Cause I needa tell you all about Camp Lehigh and Bucky and you’re supposed to be here with me ‘cause you’re one of my best friends and I need you, okay? It’s been like that since the beginning, Y/N. Before everything, before that gala, before we were friends. I was always the puppy trailing after you. So you can’t die.”

“Steve,” you choke out as you open your eyes again. You reach your uninjured arm for the surface. Your fingers are barely brushing the air and you can imagine the wind on your face. You might make it. “Steve, I’m scared to die.”

“You’re not gonna die, so there’s nothing to be scared of,” he tells you like it's a fact and not something that’s stopping you from turning off every repulsor node you have left. You’re so tired but your arm breaks free, and then your suit and then you’re soaring through the sky.

Flying through the air, you hear the whistle of wind and missile trail after you. You made it to the surface and for what? Here you’ll be, shot down like game anyway. Is that all live is? A game of hope and lies and deceit, just for some god out there?

If it is, when you die, you’ll tell them that you were never playing. You’ll tell whatever god who’s watching to go fuck themselves. Find someone else to play with.

“Steve,” you whisper, because you need to say it as many times as you can before you can’t anymore. “Steve, Steve, Steve, Steve, Steve.”

“I’m here. I’m right here waiting for you.”

You laugh into your next words, cheeks soaking with tears as you raise your eyes to the moon. “I’m glad that it’s you.” 

The missiles dig into your armor — legs, chest, arms in that order — and explode. You are a dying star, the last brilliant flash of light and beauty and the magnificence of the universe before you are extinguished. 

On the other side of Washington, Steve watches the orange cloud of fire and smoke consume the air around it hungrily as a lone figure drops into the water.

.

“Zola’s algorithm… is a program for choosing I.N.S.I.G.H.T.’s targets.”

“What targets?”

“You! A TV anchor in Cairo, the Undersecretary of Defense, a high school valedictorian in Iowa city.” Sitwell swallows visibly and Steve’s nails dig into his palms as he stares at the pathetic man. “Bruce Banner, Stephen Strange, anyone who's a threat to HYDRA! Now, or in the future. It’s why we killed Y/N Stark.” Blood drips down Steve’s fingers as he grabs Sitwell’s collar, hauling him to his feet.

“What did you say?”

“We… it was a confirmed hit.” Sitwell’s confession rings in Steve’s ears and he lifts him up higher, wanting him to choke.

“You say her name one more time, no one’s gonna stop you when you’re thrown off the building.” He lets the man drop to a pile on the ground. The blood from his palms mark where he’d grabbed the traitor and Steve resists the urge to kick him. Instead, he asks how Zola’s algorithm can predict the future whilst thinking of every way imaginable on how he can destroy H.Y.D.R.A., one agent at a time.

.

“Y/N wouldn’t want some priest,” Steve says, playing with Sam’s cellphone. He’d given it to him after what happened in Washington, but Steve’s never grabbed the strength to play the voicemail sent to the number not long after your last call together. The anger he had has sapped away until all that’s left is the space you used to fill with your laugh and smile. He never even got to tell you how he felt about you— “Maybe something quiet. Her stuff burned, something like that.”

“How the hell would you know what she wanted?” Tony whispers. His rage is simmering so close to the surface, so close to his breaking point, that Steve looks up. They’re gathered in the Avengers Tower, all of them for once, and Tony slams his hand on the table, head bowed. 

“Tony,” Bruce begins but he ignores him, pushing off the table and walking back towards the window of the penthouse, staring off to the skyline. “I’m sorry. You couldn’t have stopped it.”

“I could’ve. I could’ve told her not to go.”

“You couldn’t have known S.H.I.E.L.D. was compromised,” Natasha adds, although her eyes are red rimmed and there’s something croaky in her voice. Steve’s heard her cry. He knows. “None of us knew.” Tony whips around.

“You were supposed to protect her!” His words make Steve flinch more than the volume he screams it at. Steve’s blood rushes to his head in his shame, and a familiar bruise blooms in his throat. “I trusted you. You promised me you’d protect her.”

“I promised I’d try, Tony,” he whispers. “And I couldn’t. Neither could you. If you were in my position, you wouldn’t have made it in time.”

“I could’ve. I could’ve, with my suit. I could have saved her if I was in your position, because I would have had the suit!” Tipping over a wine glass and letting it smash to the floor, all but Tony flinch when he walks over the shards of broken glass. “You don’t have any idea what I could’ve done.” 

Steve falls silent. He turns on the phone screen, turns it off again, and flips it over to feel the edges where the screen protector has cracked.

“Tony,” Thor begins, speaking for the first time since he’s arrived. His dark blue eyes are storms on seas and the air around him blurs with energy. The air tastes like lightning. “Look at me.”

“I could’ve saved her,” Tony repeats.

“Look at me.” Dark eyes meet storm blue. “You could not have gone across the city, bring her out of the water, and take her to a hospital alive. Even if you did find her, she would have bled out or succumbed to her injuries.” His voice lowers as Tony’s head drops forward, tears racing down his nose and cheeks. “We all saw the suit.”

“Doesn’t mean she’s dead,” Tony whispers. He jolts himself out of Thor’s grasp and walks back to the window. “She could’ve made it out. Someone could’ve saved her.”

“Tony,” Natasha calls softly, “we need to—“

“‘We’,” the man repeats incredulously. He gives them all a sneer. Tony’s bitter smile could make hell freeze over and Steve pockets the phone, standing. “I’m sorry, there’s a ‘we’ in this situation? Who’s her brother here?”

“Tony, that isn’t fair—”

“There is no ‘we’. You all think she’s dead, but we never got a body. That’s what isn’t fair about this. You’re supposed to be her friends, her family, and you’ve just given up on her! She could still be out there. She could still be kicking and you’ve all given up on her!” Swiping a hand out to the window, he stares at them, waiting for them to agree. When they don’t, his head bows as his hands ball into fists. With a sigh, all the strength leaves him and Tony’s shoulders slump. When he looks up again, his eyes are shining wet, dark earth after a storm.

“Tony,” Steve says his name faintly, then clears his throat. Standing up, he waits for the response and gets none. He begins his way to the man who personifies all stages of grief. His throat bruised from holding in tears, he just calls his name again until Tony looks at him. “We got the suit.” Tony’s entire body crumples and he leans against the bar, eyes narrowing on the marble swirls. “She may have been your sister, but she wasn’t invincible.”

“Don’t talk about her like she’s dead!” Steve sees the swing before it makes contact and he ducks underneath, bringing Tony into a crushing hug. “She’s not dead. She’s my baby sister, she’s not dead.” Steve doesn’t say anything, but the man seems to wilt in his arms as another hand touches his shoulder. Bruce sends a tight-lipped smile before slipping between the two and hugging Tony tight. The blond pulls away.

“Thor, get the suit,” Steve whispers, turning to the god. He’s uncharacteristically quiet, nodding and uncrossing his arms to go retrieve the cargo they’d received a week ago. Maria Hill had it delivered in an unsuspecting box outside of Stark Towers, with a touch ID that only Tony Stark could bypass. Inside, the melted, burnt, broken remains of what is left of your mechanic suit. Half a gauntlet, blasted metal, shrapnel and bloodstains. That’s all they have left of you.

Tony takes out your helmet. There are ashy streaks where the explosion had damaged the metal, and there’s a huge crack up the left side of the mask until where the eye used to be. A hole is punched through, the wires poking out, and blood where something had dragged over your mask.

“J.A.R.V.I.S., connect A.N.A. to the servers.”

“Right away, sir.”

“Good morning, Mr. Stark.” A new voice echoes throughout the penthouse, a subdued female who sounds like she’s seen better days. Steve catches Tony’s weakening smile. “Is there anything you need?”

“You have the recording for… for her last day?” Bruce asks quietly.

“Mr. Stark?” A.N.A. seems to wait on Tony for confirmation and he nods.

“Go.”

The helmet lights up and Tony places it on the bar counter before heading down to the couch with the rest of them. Natasha rubs his arm, leaning on her other elbow and hiding her mouth behind a tight fist. Thor closes his eyes, listening as intently as he can. Bruce paces back and forth and Steve just waits on Tony.

When they reach your agony, your screams, your relentless sobbing for death as you sink into the Potomac, Tony tells A.N.A. to turn it off. There’ll be two funerals, they decide. The public memorial and one just for them.

.

“You dealt with my sister’s potty mouth and you yell at me about language?” Tony asks over the comms. Steve groans on the other end, and he’s surprised by how easily he can mention you. It doesn’t hurt as much. “I literally can’t get over it.”

“It just slipped out, Tony,” he replies.

“Well, I bumped into a forcefield, so I had a reason.” Tony’s senses are on high alert. The Enhanced is MIA and his eyes scan the area. 

“Keep your eyes on the prize, Tony. The sooner we get out of here, the sooner we can head home and debate about it.”

Tony pushes on the secret door, letting out a silent ‘yay’ when it gives, sliding into motion.

“We have a second enhanced. Female. Do not engage.”

Walking down the staircase, Tony’s nerves shoot. Something about this place seems off. The staircase expands as he gets to the end, leading through a dark hallway lit by the occasional lamp that looks like it hasn’t had its oil changed since the 80’s. Grimacing, Tony continues on his way. It’s enough light to let him see ahead and if he needs the suit, it’s just seconds away. The hallway opens up to reveal a huge underground laboratory, and Tony’s eyes widen, gaze drifting up as he takes in the magnitude of this room. It’s a huge construct, with metal catwalks and staircases. A Leviathan is hoisted in the air by wires and he blinks.

“Guys, I got Strucker.”

“Yeah, I’ve got… something bigger.” There are benches full of forgotten projects or ones half-done. An Iron Legion robot lays on one of them, illuminated by pale yellow.

Shit. He wants to get out of here and back to the team, but it’s too late now and he has a job to do. His eyes drift over the robot again, seeing if he’d know what they needed it for. Experimentation? Curiosity?

Parts. He can see it in the delicate way it was taken apart, by someone who knows their way around this kind of stuff. This isn’t some ten year old who’d torn it apart for the sake of curiosity. No, this is surgery.

Tearing his eyes away, he turns to look at the triple row of benches under what looks to be operating room lights. Something gold and red glimmers underneath the light but he can’t risk getting unfocused.

The blue glow of Loki’s sceptre reminds him of why he’s here, and he goes to it. Electricity crackles around it, tools and half-made but quality gadgets used to stabilize it. There are monitors reading the levels it’s giving out, fluctuating as Tony steps closer.

“Thor, I got eyes on the prize.”

“Tony?” Turning around at the sound of a voice — the voice, your voice — Tony’s eyes widen as the Leviathan jerks into motion. Letting out a scream, he flinches away, his mind reeling back to that wormhole in 2012. Panic seizes him, his lungs constricting and his heart beating in time with the pulse in his head as he turns to watch it go, flying above the rock steps occupied by some bodies.

Bodies he recognizes.

Bruce’s Hulk body twitches as the last of his fight leaves him. Spears come out and go into him at all angles and he lets out a painful whimper. Natasha’s broken arms and legs stretch and twist in awkward angles as if she’d fallen to her death and every single bone in her is shattered. A pool of blood spreads beneath her head and her eyes stare sightlessly at him. The rock ledge is slick with red, flowing down in a tiny trickle towards Clint. For a moment, Tony thinks he’s alive, and he nearly calls out his name.

Then his head dips and lolls, and Tony knows. Thor’s neck is gashed to the bone, but his blood has dried and Tony’s breath catches in his throat. The few things that can kill Thor aren’t even possible on Earth, and Tony takes a step towards him just as his gaze drops. Steve Rogers lays there, bruised and battered with a shield snapped in half.

Half of him knows this is a vision but the other half is trying to rationalize it. Whatever is messing with his head: transmittable by air, powerful enough to warp his reality, and potent enough to capitalize on pre-existing emotions. Tony jots all this down in his mind as he desperately tries to pull himself out.

Not real, not real, not—

“You could have saved us.”

“Ant? Is it really you?” Spinning around, he comes face to face with you. You look more than a little worse for wear, and he touches your face, unbelieving. Searching your face, he just sighs and kisses your forehead. “Tony, oh my god.” Letting out something between a sob and a chuckle, he rubs your cheeks with his thumbs. Your hands cup his face and you cry out, hugging him tightly.

“Y/N, you’re okay.” He takes hold of you by the shoulders, taking in your features as his fingers brush over your cheekbones. 

“Hey, Tony,” you whisper. The skin peels away underneath your eye in the shape of the crack of your mask as he touches your face, peeling like wet tissue and he lets out a shout, pushing back. The flap of skin continues to fall, tearing away your face and blood flows down the gash as your eye closes. Scarlet tears flow your cheeks. “Tony, it’s me.”

“Y/N, no….” You reach for him still, trying to understand why and Tony can only back away. You’re dressed in tattered clothes, all bloody and burned — the clothes you died in and there’s a gaping hole where your abdomen should be.

“Tony?”

“It isn’t you.” The ugly pulsing burn on your side is black and white, your arm mangled beyond repair. “Stop…”

“Tony, what’s wrong?” You run to him when he trips over the steps of the rocks and you pull him up. Blood runs down your neck, drying dark and thick. Your eye opens again. With a pitch black pupil, only a green synthetic outline stares back at him.

“You’re not real!” Flinging your arms off, he stalks past you and searches for the sceptre. “You’re dead. I buried your empty casket.” He takes in his surroundings, his back to the pile of dead heroes. If he doesn’t acknowledge it, it’ll make his mind realize it isn’t real. If he finds the sceptre, he’s out of here. It’s the sceptre messing with his mind. That’s it. Find the sceptre.

You stumble after him but he ignores you too. His heart tears in half as he ignores it and tells himself that you’re dead. He forces himself to think of that cloudy day and that empty casket. They buried your suit and your favourite books for you to read in whatever afterlife. It’s been a year. You’re dead. 

A vibrating hum catches his attention and he freezes. Closing his eyes, he tries to hone in on the sound.

“Tony, please! Look at me...” A hand clutches at his shirt and he whips around, prepares to scream for his mind to shut up. The words die before he can speak. There the sceptre is, with the monitors and stabilizers and everything. No dead bodies, no blood on his hands. But the hand is still there. A sobbing pile is at his feet and a pale hand grasps his shirt, and his breath catches when the sobbing pile cries out his name. His stomach twisted, bile crawls up his throat when he sinks to his knees, collapsing before it. His hands shake and he feels his heart steadily climb towards the spectrum of beating so fast he isn’t sure he has a heart anymore. His blood mutes his frantic thoughts, and he, lightheaded and dizzy, pulls the hands off of him. They’re shaking but he isn’t sure if it’s him or… or you.

“Tony, please look at me. Tony? Tony, it’s not a vision, right? I’m, I’m not seeing things, again? Tony?” Your voice under your breath mutters these heartbreaking things that Tony lets out a breathless laugh of pain, and he tilts your chin up to see you. It can’t be you. You, with the exploded armour and bloodstains. You, who’d died by S.H.I.E.L.D. It can’t be you. A shaky hand reaches for your chin, and he feels the hot tears dripping off your skin as he angles your head to the light. Your eyes are wide and sunken compared to the rest of your face and your lips are dried and cracked. Your hands are calloused, dirty, your fingernails chipped, your skin raw and red and blistering. It can’t be you.

But it is.

“Yeah, Y/N, it’s me.” Your eyes widen and you stare at him as if you’ve just noticed him for the first time, and you let out a loud sob, covering your hand with your mouth as he lunges into you, holding you as tight as he can. You’re so real and warm and you’re hugging him back even harder if that’s even possible as he sniffs back his tears.

If this is a dream, Tony doesn’t want to wake up.

“Tony? Tony, you found me. I told them you would, but obviously they ignored it, because you’d never stop until you did.” Tony’s heart races back to the other end of the spectrum. The not-beating side. The side riddled with guilt and grief and pain that he thought he’d moved past but here, in your earnest view, it all comes rushing back. “They, they kept me here to work on the staff, but… you found me.” You bury your face in his neck and he kisses the spot before your ear, looking at the staff with wet eyes. Blinking, he lets the tears that fall, fall freely. “I thought I was dreaming when I heard your voice. It’s been so long. Tony.”

You break down into tears as you melt into his arms, slouching all over him. He holds you up in his embrace and your knees drag over the floor as you wrap your legs around him. He pulls back and sits on his bottom, holding you in his lap like he did when you were a kid after a nightmare. You latch onto him like a koala, and he sighs, eyes closing.

“I’ve got you, sis.” Running a hand over your hair, he realizes with a pang how thin you are. You’re all bones and not a lot of meat, and your spindly fingers are grasping onto him so hard that it hurts. But pain’s good. Means it’s more likely to be real. “You’re safe now. I’ve got you. We’re gonna get you outta here. I’ve got you.”

The comm links are active as Tony buries his face in your greasy hair. You smell awful, but underneath it, you smell like you. 

“Guys, we’ve got a plus one.”

.

“Hold my hand, Steve.”

“Why?”

“Because I said so.” He nods, as if expecting your answer and you sit across from him. Reaching over, the man holds your hand across the conference room table. Tony situates himself in the corner, and you already know what’s coming. You just need to gauge Steve’s reaction when it’s presented. 

As images of every global instance of destruction flickers across the screen, you feel something within you twist harder. Washington, D.C. Steve’s grip intensifies, nearly crushing your hand until you give him a gentle squeeze in reminder.

You open the first page of the Sokovia Accords. His thumb traces soothing circles over your skin while you flip through the pages. Your cybernetic eye scans each one, gleaning the important info for you to review later before you hand it off. 

Since your return to civilization, you’ve updated and replaced the tech H.Y.D.R.A. used to keep you alive and functioning with improvements that are far more befitting of you. For one thing, your cybernetic eye they used to replace the one they gouged out has a link to the earpiece, allowing you near 24/7 access to A.N.A. For another, you’ve improved mesh camouflage. After all, the scarring around your metal abdomen is kinda unsightly for undercover operations. 

Still, this isn’t how you wanted to go back into the Avengers. After Tony’s BARF showcase at MIT and the announcement of the September Foundation Grant, you had felt the shift in Tony’s energy. From generous and giving, to guilty and heartbroken, you knew something had happened when he went to the bathroom. Still, he probably didn’t want to talk about it.

So you took the jet back to New York for an emergency Security Council meeting with Secretary Thaddeus Ross. 

Tony watches as you hand the Accords to Steve. Sam refuses to look at it, and Steve only lifts the cover to humour you. You know him. 

When Secretary Ross leaves, the rest of the Avengers follow suit soon after, but not before your brother kisses your hair and rubs your head. They all head out to see the Secretary off and then meet in one of the many lounges in the facility. All of them except Steve.

Steve pulls his hand back to open the thick book, and you swivel the chair to face him fully. He reads the first page and you watch as his expression tightens, lips pressed together, eyebrows furrowed.

“Steve,” you whisper and he looks up at you. Instantly, everything relaxes. His shoulders slide down and he even manages a small smile.

“I don’t like it so far,” he tells you. “Sacrificing our right to choose is too dangerous.” He lifts the Accords half way, scans the pages, and then lets it drop again. He rubs his hand over his face, looking older and tired.

“Well, we can set up safeguards, can’t we? Once all the publicity dies down.” You reach for his hand, and he takes hold of it again. The warmth of him soothes your nerves and he instantly begins rubbing your knuckles. Habit, you suppose.

“But what if this panel doesn’t send us where we need to go? What if they send us where we aren’t needed? Y/N, we can’t be run by some panel who doesn’t even know us.”

“I know. You know I know what happens when corruption begins to spread. I’m sure we’ll be able to have some say over this.”

“Agendas change.”

“And what if our agendas change, too?” you ask quietly. Steve’s head snaps up and you lean forward, squeezing his palm. “I’m not saying you or Tony. I know you try your best. I’m saying when we’re all gone, what happens if the Avengers are run by people who don’t have the same ideals?”

“That’s a far off possibility.”

“But it’s still a possibility.” You stand, smoothing your hands over your pants and adjusting your vest. You realize somewhere that you’re dressed exactly like your brother, but you ignore it. The two of you can’t help but be fashion icons. Walking around the table, you sit on the surface next to his hand. “I don’t like it either, so I’m not going to sign.” Not yet. “But, Tony wants to. So we’re gonna have to talk it over with the team.”

Steve leans back into his chair to look at you. “I can’t sign this, Y/N.”

“I know.” You pull him up to his feet and smile as he brushes hair away from your face. “I know, baby.” You pull him into a hug and he sighs, nuzzling into your neck. Pulling back, he sighs again and brushes his thumb over your lips as his gaze searches your face. He takes you in like he’ll never see you beside him again and you do the same, just trying to burn his face into your memory. 

“These Accords might ruin us.”

“Not if you don’t let it.”

“Tony wants to sign.” Steve lets his head drop and the hands you have on your shoulders press down. Your thumbs dig circles into his muscles.

“Not if we convince him not to.” You send him a smile and he cups your face. “We’re really lucky, Steve. Really lucky. We got a second chance. This past year has been hell for the both of us, but we got our chance.”

“At what cost is it to keep us together? I can’t just pretend I agree with this. If I see a situation pointed south, I can’t just ignore it.”

“I know, baby. Tony knows it too.” Your hands run down his chest and your fingers tangle together. “This is our family. Just, remember that.”

“I know.” Leaning over, he kisses your cheek, although you yearn for it somewhere else, and pulls away to go to the lounge with the Accords. You sit there on the table, alone, watching him go, with that feeling in your heart just like the one in 2012.

Just like the one in Washington.

.

“Take one more step, and I’ll be sending your brains to Wilson.”

Steve freezes. The words, tossed so poisonously against his back, make him stop and he swallows through his bruised throat. He doesn’t want to look at you. He can’t look at you after what he’d done. Rhodey shattered, Tony somewhere trying to fix the mess he made. But he couldn’t regret choosing Bucky. Still, he just wanted to make sure you were okay but you’d woken up and grabbed your gun as quick as you could, standing despite the ringing that must’ve been going on in your head.

“You don’t walk away when I’m talking to you, Captain.” 

“I’m sorry, Y/N.” Without the shield, he almost feels naked under your piercing glare. He knows that if looks could kill, it wouldn’t have mattered if he had vibranium between you two. “You know what you mean to me.” The gun cocks and he hears the safety switch off. Your finger rests over the trigger.

“Secretary Ross charged me with finding you. Tony asked me to bring you in peacefully,” you whispers. Your unsaid words hang in the air instead. Not more than Bucky. Never more than Bucky. Bucky who killed my parents.

Bucky who didn’t know what he was doing.

But he killed them.

And Steve knew.

After Secretary Ross assigned you with bringing back the fugitives, you’d refused at first. 

“I don’t work for organizations like yours,” you said.

“Y/N, if you don’t go, we don’t know how many people will get hurt when they get in his way,” Tony said. 

“I’m only going for you,” you said.

You knew Steve wouldn’t let his team rot on the Raft for so long. It was only a matter of time before he came to rescue them, and that was where you came in. You know his mind, and it almost kills you, knowing that in every circumstance, he would’ve always chosen Bucky over you. 

Steve was always the better hand-to-hand combatant between the two of you, but Natasha had taught you some new moves before she’d gone and disappeared without a trace, too. You had him pinned underneath you, and a part of you knows that he’d only let you win because he didn’t want to hurt you. Before, it used to be funny. You used to spar, and you’d pin him down, or he’d scoop you up in a hug. Before, it used to be fun and flirty, and you two would make smoothies after. At least, before everything that had happened.

No such kindness is in you now.

It wasn’t in Sam either. The man had knocked you out with a fire extinguisher, leading to their escape.

Until now.

Steve had dragged you to the little skipper he’d used to sneak onto the Raft, scared out of his mind for the concussion you now sported. But it didn’t matter. Despite the dots nearly blacking out your vision, you know if you pull, it’d hit Steve and come out between the eyes.

“Rhodey’s paralyzed,” you grit out, your jaw clenched so hard you’re sure your teeth will break, “because of you. How could you do this to him? To Tony? Especially after what happened last year? Tony… Tony’s heartbroken. You know that? He’s heartbroken.”

So are you. Steve knows how to read between your lines, even if some of ‘em are metal instead of flesh.

“Then, are you gonna do it?” Steve asks quietly. Golden light streams into the dark room, illuminating his broad shoulders and sifting through his hair, and you wonder if everyone else is asleep. That’s the only reason you can think of that’ll make him see you now. He’s always held these secrets. It’s a fucking shame you’re one of them.

It’s a fucking shame he hid the most important one from you. It almost makes you wonder if he ever felt anything for you at all. Life has been shitting on you.

Squinting your eyes, you try to ignore the blossoming pain in your head as you shake your thoughts away. He doesn’t even look at you. Coward.

“I want to,” you tell him, finger just barely pushing the trigger. You know how much pressure it takes to fire a gun “I really, really want to.” You half-laugh, half-cry, because of the pain in your heart and head. Who’s the coward now? “I didn’t know what to do.”

“I know.” Steve turns to you then, his normally-bright blue eyes hooded by the shadows of the rocking ship. You put the gun down, and it’s almost as if all the strength leaves you then, too. “I never wanted you to pick between Tony and I.”

“Why, because I’d pick Tony?” You sit back down on your bed again, and Steve shoves his hands in his pockets. Walking over, he angles his head to the spot beside you and you nod, reaching over to turn on the lamp. “Well, you’d pick Bucky so, I guess it’s even.”

“Y/N,” he begins but you hold up a hand as your eyes close. 

“Save it, Rogers. It doesn’t matter.” Your teeth clench together and the muscles in your jaw twitches as your eyebrows push down. All you’re trying to do is not cry at the thought of leaving him here on this ship. Taking a shaky breath, you blow it out as Steve puts a hand on yours. Your fingers slot together and you lean towards him until your head is on your shoulder. He tilts his head to press his cheek into your hair and your fingers play together as your other hand brushes over his calloused skin, broken along his knuckles where he’d punch your brother. “None of it matters.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. Something wet slides into your hair and you feel it drip down your skin. Placing your hand atop his, you swallow and tell yourself to get it together.

“The most ridiculous part of this whole situation is that I love you,” you tell him because there might never be a chance to tell him again. “Your best friend killed my parents. You beat up my brother and he’s back in New York, bruised and battered and heartbroken, and I’m here.” You raise your head and he turns to look at you. Searching his eyes, you find nothing but grief. He pulls away his hand. “I’m here, instead of there with him.” You laugh because it’s all so stupid and ridiculous. “I’m really here, fraternizing with the enemy.”

This is never how you imagined you would tell Steve you loved him. Never. The first time you tell him you love him is the day it’s over. Fucking poetic, isn’t it. 

“I’m fraternizing with the enemy,” you repeat. Steve’s your enemy. Steve. Your stupid dork is now the enemy of 117 countries and you. The realization slams into you like things you can’t name. Your eyes flicker close and a few tears slip out but you manage to suck the rest in. Steve lets out an exhausted sigh and it feels like you’re both bone-tired this days.

“Y/N, I never wanted this for you. I just wanted to keep you safe.” His hand rises up to touch your face but then he seems to think better of it and lets it drop again. You miss the warm, rough feel of him already and he’s not even gone yet. “If the U.N. did what H.Y.D.R.A. did—”

“I know. I…” You sigh, looking down at the slight space between the two of you. How easy it would be to close it if it were a different time. “It was never a choice between you and Tony. It was a choice between Tony and what I believed in, and I believe in you, Steve. I believe that organizations like S.H.I.E.L.D., like the World Security Council, like some U.N. security panel, can’t be trusted.”

“Then, why? You know what organizations can do. You know that agendas change.”

“We’ve already lost so much. We’ve had too many casualties.” You cup his face, smile bitterly, try to make a joke out of it that you know won’t land. “I was one of them.”

“You can’t say that,” Steve says, turning his face away and you swallow the knot in your throat. 

“Why not? It’s true.” The most horrible thing you’ve ever seen lays within Steve’s eyes in that moment but you move on. “The Accords are still gonna pass whether you’re there or not. It’s a matter of safety, now,” you whisper and his gaze darts to you. His eyes ask a silent question and you dread the answer. “I’m gonna sign. I need to do my job, Steve, even if it means working for some higher power. There’s no other way.”

“So you’ve picked a side.” The distance between you is immeasurably wide, and you wonder how such a huge distance can be fit in such a tiny space.

“Yeah,” you whisper, “I’ve picked a side.” Steve’s face twitches and you take in his sculpted lips and cheeks, his blue eyes that reflect the lamplight and warm golden hair. “Steve, all that matters is we know what we are.” 2012 feels so long ago but it makes you feel younger when Steve tries to smile. Then, he looks down and you have a feeling he can’t even look at you.

At first, you think it’s because you disgust him. It’s not the first time you’ve thought such a thing, but then you realize. He’s terrified of watching you fall out of love with him.

How much you want to tell him that it isn’t possible. But you don’t. You can’t say a thing.

“But you’ve chosen a side,” he replies quietly, almost accusatory if you didn’t know him better. You close your eyes for a moment at his words, and then you turn away. The light is blinding in the hallway, but it’s better than looking at the heartache in Steve’s face. Tears slip down your cheeks as you stand and take the gun.

“You chose yours first.”

Tags: @teawithbucky @jcc04220 @shenala​ @dulharpa

[thorne93]

Unforeseen Chasm (Part26)

Prompt: Two sisters fall for men that are absolute enemies. The love they have could tear all of them apart, or it could bring them together.

Word Count:3140

Warnings: Language

Note: This is by far the longest thing I’ve ever written (including my novels). It’s a collaboration with the amazing @mrs-dragneel-stark-solo​​. It started as a funny “What if…?” and it evolved and got huge. This took two years to write. We are both proud and happy and we hope you enjoy it. It follows from Thor 1 to Endgame in the MCU. Some of the timelines may be off in order to fit certain people, and some characters may show up earlier or in different ways than they have in the movie. But for the most part, it follows the MCU. It also has a bit of crossover with some other Marvel characters throughout the story.

Masterlist for Unforeseen Chasm

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

The following morning you couldn’t wait to talk to Shannon so you opened up the tablet, clicked the video chat app, and chose your only contact. For some people, one contact might seem lonely, but for you, that one contact was all you needed. 

She accepted the call and her stunning face lit up the window as you pulled your coffee close to your lips. 

“Morning, Y/N,” she greeted, pouring her own coffee, a tired look on her face. 

“Morning, hun.” You waved to her. “Any big plans for the day?” you wondered. 

“Kinda,” she answered after swallowing some coffee. 

You perked an eyebrow up. “Oh? I’m intrigued. What’s on the agenda?”

“Hoping to finish creating that surprise for you two,” she informed. 

You frowned at her, confused. “I thought the tablet was my surprise?” 

She smiled widely and giggled. “Nope, that’s for us to chat. But there’s this research I’ve been doing for a few months now but still no result. I feel like I’m missing something.” 

“What research?” you blurted out, not able to resist asking.

“It’s got to do with the genetic mutation in identical twins,” she informed. “Here. If you go to your office, you can project my notes and data from the camera that’s set up there. Just double tap the screen when you get there.”

You nodded and took your coffee and tablet to the office in the adjoining room, while she sent the files down to your cell. 

“Everything is there. I’m just having trouble identifying how it is that one of the two ends up with a mutation while the other doesn’t,” she commented, sounding frustrated. 

“Have you listened to Bach?” you asked, knowing that every time she listened to him, it jogged her mind. 

She stared at you through the tablet and deadpanned, “What do you think?” 

You laughed and held your hands up “Okay, okay. Fraternal or maternal twins? Raised in the same environment? What are Tony’s thoughts? Banner’s? They have a lot of experience with mutation… Did you call Charles?”

“Depends on the case. I have a few sets that are paternal and some there is a turn off, but they have the opposite effect with the mutations from each side. Tony doesn’t know. He is not really aware of what happened. Banner… he can help with just a small amount. The thing with the experience on mutation is that you know Bruce and becoming the Hulk but there’s not much you can get out of it because even his own studies have led to very little.” She began to read in her ledgers. “Speaking of, I’m actually I’m going to contact Charles later today. Hopefully he’s not that busy, and neither is Logan, and they can probably run some tests, figure out some stuff. Probably hit the ring to see what triggers some of my powers.”

Your face fell a little bit, remembering how you used to visit Charles with her. It made you miss him and all of the X-Men… “Oh, are your powers… bad? I mean.. Like, you haven’t consulted Charles in a long time,” you noted. 

She glanced over to the screen, noticing the change in your tone. 

“If you don’t want to tell me, that’s fine. It’s not really any of my business if you powers aren’t going quite right,” you stated, laughing somewhat nervously, a pang of guilt hitting your gut. 

“Don’t worry, Y/N. It’s not that they’re bad. It’s just… they’re changing. I used to take people’s powers temporarily, but now, I can store them. And the shapeshifting and the flying. I’m rapidly mutating and I’m not sure what’s causing it…”

You nodded, listening to her, worried for her, and angry that you were locked in a cell with no way to help her. 

“Y/N… do you remember that one kid at the mansion who would feed off people's emotions and it became what he felt?” she asked, looking at you, hoping you remembered. 

Sadly, you didn’t, so you shook your head. “No, who was that?” 

“I can’t remember his name, but he had bumped into me one of those few times I went to train. And it seems I absorbed some of his powers and that what might be messing me up. It used to be very subtle, but now… now I can hardly get through an emotional event without it draining on me. Like when Steve had to carry me out,” she reminded. 

“You think it’s damaging you,” you said, summarizing for her. 

“I think it is,” she agreed. “If it’s emotionally strong, positive or negative, I just… The fight I had with Tony?”

“Yeah?” 

“I was so mad at what he was saying I hadn’t realized my weather powers had triggered and mixed with the laser beams I took from Cyclops and it mixed with your purple energy and things were thrown at Tony when I yelled at him. Thankfully one of his suits was there or I might have hurt him.”

You muttered, “I know what that’s like.” 

Shannon stopped what she was doing and put down her pen, giving you her full attention. “What do you mean you know what it’s like?” A moment later she added, “If you’re comfortable telling me, that is.”

“Ever since Thanos put this--” You showed your purple dark energy and then made it disappear “--inside me, it’s turned me into someone else… I was so angry all the time, at everything. It’s much better now, but I still get so much rage.” You looked up at the camera, facing her. “So I know what it’s like to not quite know what’s happening to your body… To have this… power… but it destroys you.” 

“It does. I’ve noticed I can’t keep up during training with Nat. Both of us being a part of the Red Room, we’ve kept to training like they taught us, but I’m just not as fast as I used to be.” She shrugged and looked a bit sullen. “It’s all still here,” she noted, pointing at her head with her pen. “It’s just that this is giving me trouble.” She closed her eyes, and then opened them, revealing  milky red eyes with purple swirls. 

“I can’t imagine how hard it is for you,” you commented. “To hold all those powers and finding out how to use them and keep them in check.”

“At least it hasn’t taken over… yet,” she remarked, staring down at her hands. 

“It won’t. You’re too strong for that,” you assured. 

Shannon smiled a small bit, glancing up to look at you through the screen, trying to find solace in your words. 

“I was hoping to see if I can get you out of there so that you can come with me to the mansion and we can both figure out what’s going on with our powers?” She sighed and reminded, “Of course, I’ll have to talk to Fury about it.” A groan escaped her just thinking about it, and you smiled slightly, remembering how much she did not like negotiating with the SHIELD director. 

Your face list up a million degrees. “You would really see about that?” 

“Of course. I want us to be able to get the help we need. We shouldn’t have to suffer at the hands of these powers.”

“I’m sort of public enemy number one. Not sure the world is ready for me to be out…” A deep frown followed your statement that didn’t go unnoticed by your friend. 

She lifted an eyebrow. “Well… technically, the world doesn’t know it was you. You know Charles, he’d probably help get you to the mansion without being seen, just to help you.”

A sly smile played on your lips. “Are you suggesting Nightcrawler break me out?” you teased. 

Shannon couldn’t help but start laughing jovially at your comment. “He’d probably have a blast getting out of there! That kid loves scaring Tony.”

You were so overwhelmed with the prospect of getting out, even if it was just for a few hours, that you had almost forgot about your fellow cellmate. Saness colored your face and tone. “I don’t know if I should Leave Loki though… That doesn’t seem… fair that I should get a day pass…” You glanced back toward your bedroom, a guilty look on your face. 

Shannon understood where you were coming from, so she offered, “I mean, it’s only if you want to. Besides, it’s not like we’re going out to shop. It’s to help you progress and reinstate yourself to the world.”

You bit your lip, noticing the wording. Reinstate yourself to the world… Right.. Because you were in prison. 

“Not to make that sound like you’re a felon!” she loudly corrected, turning back to the screen with a look of embarrassment. 

You waved it off. It wasn’t her fault you were in the situation you were in. 

“Let me talk to Loki?” you requested with raised eyebrows. “But I would love to see everyone again, and figure out how to get… this side of me out.” 

“Of course! Take whatever time you need. I’m not sure when I’ll be able to contact Charles, so let me know whenever you’ve made a decision.”

“I will. Thank you, Shannon. In the meantime, do you have anything physics related I can study? I am going bonkers down here…” You paused for a moment, before asking, “Does Tony mind you talking to me? Or sharing data? I mean, he’s still pissed at me… right?” 

This time, it was her turn to wave you off. “Forget Tony, he’s my problem, not yours.” She looked at you and smiled. “I could get you whatever Jane’s left unfinished? There are a few new things she got here.” She pointed to a stack of files on the nearby desk. 

“Please, send me anything, otherwise this gold mine is going to rot,” you joked, pointing to your head. 

“Well we can’t have that now, can we?” She giggled before talking to JARVIS. “JARVIS, send whatever files are in our system from Jane’s recent studies down to Y/N’s office.”

“Right away, Ms. Shannon. Is there anything else?”

“Let me know when Fury will be coming by the Tower or the complex, please?” 

“Yes, Ms. Shannon.”

“The files should be ready for you to look through, now. I’ll make sure any new data gets sent to you too.” Meanwhile, she was nodding her head while looking at the holographic data in front of her, swiping it to and fro. 

“I’ll let you get back to your work,” you offered, trying to hide the sadness in your voice. But her work and research was more important than keeping a prisoner like you company. 

She hummed. “Hmm? Oh, yeah, sorry. I just have a deadline for this and--”

“Shan, it’s fine,” you assured genuinely with a soft smile. 

She seemed to be relieved by your words. “Okay, I’ll talk to you later, okay? Don’t forget to talk to Loki and let me know?”

“I’ll let you know by the end of the day.”

“Thanks. Talk to you soon.”

The call ended. 

But no part of you could even be sad, for this had been the best gift you’d gotten in some time. Other than being allowed to share a cell with Loki, this was the next best thing.

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

Loki was still asleep during your conversation with Shannon, but when he woke up and you made him a nice brunch, you decided to dive right into the touchy subject of you getting a day pass, and not him. 

“Uh, Loki,” you started as he ate his meal. 

“Yes, darling?” he asked, glancing up to you. 

You wrung your hands, knowing how this sounded. That you would be leaving Loki behind, that you were gaining freedom and he wasn’t. That you were not, in fact, equals, as you had said you’d been. As you always tried to prove to him. 

“Shannon.. She has an idea…”

“Is it an idea to break out of this?” he asked, pointing around with his eyes. 

“Well… actually… kind of.” 

He peered at you with a curious frown. 

“I told her about my powers, about how the thing Thanos pout in me is dark and it wears on me…” 

“Yes?” 

“Well… she’s going to Charles Xavier to get her powers looked at. It seems she has a mutation that’s causing her issues… And she said she might be able to get me a pass to sort of… go with her,” you informed nervously. You were so worried Loki would simply see this as a way of you gaining freedom, while he stayed behind. Or that you were somehow distancing yourself from him. 

“So you would get to leave?” he clarified. 

“Yes. She’s going to talk to Fury, and see if it’s even possible. It’s more like a trip to the doctor. I’ll be going to see if he can do anything about the power not being so…”

“Evil?” 

Your gaze slid to his as you nodded.

“My love, if you need to go, go. It will be nice for at least one of us to leave this cell, even if it’s just for a day.”

“Really?” you asked, hope swelling inside you.

“Yes, of course. Go, do whatever you need. I’ll be here when you get back,” he said with a sly smile and you couldn’t help but round the kitchen island and hug him tightly. 

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

As Shannon closed down her work and research for the day, she stepped out of the lab, somewhat exhausted, but simultaneously refreshed. It was amazing how just talking to you had lifted her spirit so much. She had only made it a few steps when Tony came up and greeted her. 

“Hey, babe. Mind walking with me?’ he asked.

“Ugh, Tony, I’m so tired... I think I just want to go sit and read for a little bit,” she said, hoping she wouldn’t offend him. 

“That’s fine, I just thought we could have a quick bite together?” he wondered, his eyebrows perched up,wanting to guilt her in with his innocent, irresistible look. 

She rolled her eyes and smiled. “Alright, alright. Yeah, let’s go grab a bite. What did you have in mind?” she asked as he led her down the hall toward the kitchen and dining area. 

As soon as the two of them rounded the corner, she was greeted with the Avengers and some other colleagues from around the tower. The people she’d hidden herself away from for the last several days.

“Surprise!” the group yelled. 

“What’s all this?” she asked, befuddled, a warm grin on her face. 

“We noticed you looked a little down,” Clint noted. 

“And you just got back,” Bruce added. 

“So they thought it would be nice to have a little welcome home dinner. Nothing fancy, just… the tower isn’t the same without you, babe,” Tony said, his arm wrapped around her shoulders.

“Oh, you shouldn’t have,” she said with a humble, sweet smile. 

“Nonsense!” Steve objected as Tony let go of her and Steve’s arm replaced it. “You deserve it. We all missed you.” 

“Well, thank you, all of you. I missed you too.”

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

Sometime later that evening, you called Shannon on the video chat. The AI found her closest device and opened up, displaying where she was. 

“Hey, Sha--” Was all you got out before you saw what was going on around her. It appeared to be a small party. Shannon had a drink in her hand, as did all the Avengers and a few other people you didn’t recognize. She was laughing and hitting Nat’s arm, while Tony and Clint were smiling and talking. Bruce seemed to be having a good time with the strangers, talking. 

At first, you were happy, a smile pulling at your lips, but just as you were about to join in, you realized -- you couldn’t. You couldn’t open your mouth and tell a joke, you couldn’t say anything to anyone… Because you were locked away, several floors below them, paying for your crime. Even if you did try to blend in, even if you did try to get anyone’s attention, you would be met with a resounding “fuck off”. Who knew what kind of pandemonium would’ve erupted if they knew you were contacting them. 

With a sad sigh, you swiped over to the texting app and sent Shannon a text, telling her that you were good to go.

You switched back to the video app, where Shannon pulled out her phone, smiled at it, typed a quick response, and pocketed it again. 

“Sounds good. I’ll talk to Fury,” she sent back.

Your face fell and you were about to close the app when you noticed Steve Rogers was looking at you. It seemed he had just glanced up. Your eyes met but you didn’t have it in you to try and smile to be polite. Steve gazed at you, and if you weren’t mistaken, you saw… sympathy in his eyes, in his slight frown. He gave you a tiny nod, and you returned it before your gaze dropped. 

Unable to bear the sadness, and downright pity for yourself, you closed the video app. Steve looked away, feeling sorry for you, but tried to get back to the party. 

Sulking, you closed the tablet and left it on the coffee table to get up and go to bed. 

Loki peered up at you from his magazine, a worried frown etched into his stunning features. “Darling?” 

“Hmm?” you hummed.

“Is everything alright? I thought you were going to call Shannon?” 

You turned slowly to face him. “Uh, I did. She was busy so… I'll catch up with her tomorrow,” you said, hoping to hide your disappointment. 

“Are you sure? You seem upset,” he commented as he stood and came over to you, putting his hands on your arms. 

“I’m fine,” you lied. 

He peered down at you with peculiarity. “If you’re not fine, you know you can tell me. If you don’t want to talk about it, I’ll understand.”

You smiled up at him, loving that you could tell him anything. “Alright, that’s fair. I'm not fine, but I don’t feel like talking about it.” 

He smiled. “There we are.” He kissed your forehead. “I’m here if you need me.”

“I know,” you assured before leaning up to kiss him earnestly, but quickly. “Thank you. I just want to go to bed for now. I’ll let you know if I feel like talking.”

“Goodnight, darling. I’ll be in shortly,” he promised with warmth. He let go of you and you nodded slightly before heading to bed and curling up in your bed. The bed you lived in for the last several months… the bed you would probably live the rest of your life in. 

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

Tag List: @essie1876​ @magpiegirl80​ @letsgetfuckingsuperwholocked​ @iamwarrenspeace​ @marvel-imagines-yes-please​ @superwholocked527 @missinstantgratification​ @thejemersoninferno​ @rda1989​ @munlis​ @thefridgeismybestie​​ @bubblyanarocks3​​ @igiveupicantthinkofausername​​ @kaliforniacoastalteens​ @feelmyroarrrr​​ @kaelingoat​ @friendlyneighbourhoodweirdo​​ @damalseer​​ @heyitscam99​​ @yknott81​​ @sorryimacrapwriter​​ @glitterquadricorn​​ @xxqueenofisolationxx @little-dis-kaalista-pythonissama @bittersweetunicorm​​ @alyssaj23​​ @sea040561​​ @princess76179​​ @thisismysecrethappyplace​​ @sarahp879​​ @malfoysqueen14​​ @ellallheart​​ @breezy1415​​ @marvelmayo​​ @random-fluffy-pink-unicorn @cocosierra94 @hardcollectionworldtrash @capsmuscles @marvelloushamilton

@paintballkid711​

Loki: @lostinspace33​​ @ultrarebelheart​​ @lenawiinchester​​ @esoltis280​​ @tngrayson​​ @wangdeasang​​ @harrymewmew @jayfantasyatyourservice​​

UC:

@lokis-high-priestess​

[awkwardlittlepringle]

Queer ‘n Crazy

CHAPTER 2

Hello fellow Fanders! This is the second chapter of Queer ‘n Crazy, and thank you so so so much for reading this! I appreciate it a lot. 😄 Also, does anyone know how to tag people? Or link things accurately? I have no clue how this website works. 

Blurb thing : To say Virgil Black hasn’t had the easiest life would be an understatement. Considering all he’s been through, it’s no surprise that he has a few mental illnesses. But that doesn’t mean he appreciates being thrown into some government experiment, even if he does have a gorgeous roommate.

Previous Chapter / Next Chapter

Warnings : Mentions of an abusive family, OCD, depression and anxiety disorders, self deprecating thoughts.

.................

Virgil re-adjusted the backpack strap on his shoulder as he stared out the car window, biting his lip.

He'd been to the school before, on the orientation and moving days. However, his roommate had not been present on moving day. When he asked the receptionist about this, she said he'd arranged to move a different day. Meaning, that out of almost everyone in the school, he was the only one who had not been acquainted with his roommate.

"Are you alright, Virgil?" He nodded, turning to Mike, who was in the drivers seat. The car approached the campus, and Mike found a parking not too far from the dorms. Fidgeting, Virgil consulted the leaflet that he had clenched in his hand. A map of the institute.

His anxiety had caused several scenarios to run through Virgil's head concerning this day and needless to say, hardly any comforted him. But as Janice had reminded him about ten times that morning, "If you want to leave, just give us a call." Virgil looked at the map.

His dormitory, a building called Draconis, was a five minute walk from the parking lot. All of the dormitories were arranged in a pentagon, around a courtyard commons.

Virgil stepped out of the car to feel a light breeze ruffle his hair. Despite himself, he smiled. He'd seen the campus before, and there was no denying that it was beautiful.

Maple trees were planted around a the brick-lined sidewalk. A large reception blocked Virgil's view, but he could still see a slither of a large college-style campus, with small gardens and fountains. A few other students were getting out of cars, and like Virgil, all of them held a small suitcase or duffel bag.

"Goodbye, Virgil." said Mike, stepping out of the car himself to Virgil a hug. Virgil hugged back, ignoring the voice in his head that said the other students would judge him because of it. Mike stepped back into the car, and a stab of worry hit Virgil. What if he was an outcast here, too?

Just to give himself something to do, Virgil glanced at the map in his hand once more. He knew what he had to do, go to the reception and get a key, and then go to his dorm. Simple. But there were people in the reception. Chances are it was full of people waiting to get their dorm keys. Still, to prevent himself from looking like an idiot, Virgil willed his feet into motion. He was tempted to put on his headphones, but he didn't want to risk bumping into anyone.

He walked to the reception, and joined the line of about nine students, all queuing up to receive their room key. Most were accompanied by their roommates, chatting uncomfortably. Virgil fiddled with the strings of his hoodie and kept his gaze fixed on his feet to avoid the non-existent gazes he was sure were plaguing him.

He shuffled up to the desk, mumbled out his name and room number, and received a small silver key in return. He shuffled out the back door, grateful for the cool air that grazed his skin. shoving his hands into his pockets, he strode down the stone pathways that lined the school following signs for the dorms.

Six minutes later he was standing in a carpeted hallway in front of a door numbered 145. Virgil glanced at his key before slotting it into the lock. A small click quelled the thoughts running through his brain, and he entered the apartment-like complex.

He walked inside, taking in the carpeted room in front of him.

Two double beds were placed into either corner, laid with white sheets, a grey quilt and a navy and green tartan comforter each. A side table stood next to each bed, and at the foot of the bed, a desk. Not bad. There were two wardrobes as well, one of which was laying open, clothing hung neatly inside. Virgil's mouth dried up as he stepped into the room, his suitcase trailing behind him.

Upon closer inspection, Virgil realised that a navy suitcase was leaning neatly against the foot of the bed on the right, so Virgil moved toward the bed on the left. He placed his suitcase on top of the comforter, and opened it. He glanced at the comforter, his nose wrinkling up. It was ugly.

Instead he drew out a fuzzy purple blanket, laying it on top of the comforter, and turned to the side-table. He opened up the drawers and placed in the few items he had left over from moving day. He'd just finished the task before what he assumed was the bathroom door opened.

Out stepped a teen who looked like he had a metal rod instead of a spine. Immaculate posture, a sharp jawline, neatly styled hair and a black shirt and tie, dubbed him the most formal teenager Virgil had met by a mile. But somehow, he managed to pull it off.

He closed the door gently before stepping away from it. Then he turned around and Virgil felt the his breath being snatched away.

He had the most gorgeous eyes Virgil had ever seen. The were a curious dark blue, almost like navy mixed with a storm-cloud grey. But strangely enough, he could spot a small hazel streak near the edge of his irises. They had a depth that Virgil couldn't fathom, like they held the secrets of the universe underneath their captivating metallic pigment.

"Virgil Grant, I assume?" Virgil felt his cheeks heat up as the stranger cocked his head to the side, surveying Virgil. He'd noticed Virgil had been staring. "U-Uh, yeah. I'm Virgil." he said lamely, wincing at the sound of his voice. God he was pathetic. However, the stranger just smiled.

"My name is Logan Rouge, pleasure to make your acquaintance." Despite being a bit thrown off by his manner of speech, Virgil shook Logan's outstretched hand. "So you're my roommate." said Virgil, his eyes darting around Logan's profile. "Yes, it appears so." said Logan, smiling gently. He then moved to sit down on his bed. "So, what are you here for?"

"Depressive anxiety and PTSD. Y'know, just being a burden in general." Virgil fell back into his own bed with a tired smile. "You?"

"OCD and depression, mainly OCD though. Both are under control." Logan surveyed him with interest. "So that's how they're playing it. Odd." he murmured. Virgil glanced at him confused. "Huh?" "This building, Draconis, is inhabited by people with different types of anxiety." began Logan. "I assumed that people with the same syndromes would room together, although some triggers may be shared. But their putting people with different disorders in different dorms." His eyebrows furrowed. "It's strange. What if the triggers clash? That wouldn't end well." Virgil shrugged.

"You don't know if it's like that for everyone, so far you only know about our disorders, right?" Logan hummed. "I suppose." The two lapsed into silence. While Virgil knew he had no reason to be, he couldn't help but feel a bit awkward.

"Anyway," said Logan breaking the silence. "Any triggers I should be aware of?" Virgil looked at him surprised. No one had asked him that before, they usually waited to find out when he panicked.

"Um..." Began Virgil, taken aback. "I don't particularly like yelling, or closed spaces," Logan hummed, his eyebrows crinkling adorably. "How about comfort objects?" "Just my hoodie. What about you? Any triggers?" said Virgil.

"Not yet, but I would prefer it if you don't touch my things," said Logan, a bit embarrassed. "I know it's odd but I do need a couple of weeks to figure out what arrangements don't upset me."

"Not a problem, Lo." Logan froze, looking at Virgil. Oh shit, he hates him now, doesn't he. Stupid mouth giving stupid nicknames without asking the per-

"Lo..." he mused, a small smile slipping onto his face. "I like it." Virgil let out a small chuckle, marvelling the boy in front of him. He'd never gotten along with someone this easily before, it was kinda creeping him out.

"How come you ended up here, anyway? You seem to be doing alright." said Virgil sitting up. Logan sighed. "My parents can't be bothered dealing with my disorder. We were never really close, but I suppose the OCD really set them off. They can't understand why arrangements would upset me. But I can't blame them, I don't really get it either." Virgil shot him a sympathetic smile.

"You've got crappy parents too, huh?" Logan's mouth quirked up slightly. "Yes. How about parents stay out of casual conversation, would that be suitable?" Virgil nodded at his stoic faced acquaintance. "Deal."

"We should probably head to the auditorium, we wouldn't want to miss the speech." said Logan standing up. "I trust that you have a map?" Virgil nodded, pulling the brochure out of his pocket. "How'd you know?" "You seem like the type to overthink everything." he said fixing his tie.Virgil smirked.

"You got me there."

..............

TAG THING I’M SORRY I DON’T KNOW HOW TO DO THIS PROPERLY.

@someone-idk-is-here

[mrs-dragneel-stark-solo]

Unforseen Chasm (part 26)

Part 26 of Unforseen Chasm

Prompt: Two sisters fall for men that are absolute enemies. The love they have could tear all of them apart, or it could bring them together. Word Count: 3140 Warnings: Note: This is by far the longest thing I’ve ever written (including my other fic series). first major Collab with my best friend @thorne93 what was first a simple “what if” moment turned into a two year writing session and I’ve never been more prouder of myself than when i started my first series. goes through most of the MCU plots there are some changes to accommodate for what we wanted and there is a bit of a crossover between the MCU and other characters. I hope you guys enjoy reading this just as much as I enjoyed writing it.

The following morning you couldn’t wait to talk to Shannon so you opened up the tablet, clicked the video chat app, and chose your only contact. For some people, one contact might seem lonely, but for you, that one contact was all you needed. 

She accepted the call and her stunning face lit up the window as you pulled your coffee close to your lips. 

“Morning, Y/N,” she greeted, pouring her own coffee, a tired look on her face. 

“Morning, hun.” You waved to her. “Any big plans for the day?” you wondered. 

“Kinda,” she answered after swallowing some coffee. 

You perked an eyebrow up. “Oh? I’m intrigued. What’s on the agenda?”

“Hoping to finish creating that surprise for you two,” she informed. 

You frowned at her, confused. “I thought the tablet was my surprise?” 

She smiled widely and giggled. “Nope, that’s for us to chat. But there’s this research I’ve been doing for a few months now but still no result. I feel like I’m missing something.” 

“What research?” you blurted out, not able to resist asking. 

“It’s got to do with the genetic mutation in identical twins,” she informed. “Here. If you go to your office, you can project my notes and data from the camera that’s set up there. Just double tap the screen when you get there.”

You nodded and took your coffee and tablet to the office in the adjoining room, while she sent the files down to your cell. 

“Everything is there. I’m just having trouble identifying how it is that one of the two ends up with a mutation while the other doesn’t,” she commented, sounding frustrated. 

“Have you listened to Bach?” you asked, knowing that every time she listened to him, it jogged her mind. 

She stared at you through the tablet and deadpanned, “What do you think?” 

You laughed and held your hands up “Okay, okay. Fraternal or maternal twins? Raised in the same environment? What are Tony’s thoughts? Banner’s? They have a lot of experience with mutation… Did you call Charles?”

“Depends on the case. I have a few sets that are paternal and some there is a turn off, but they have the opposite effect with the mutations from each side. Tony doesn’t know. He is not really aware of what happened. Banner… he can help with just a small amount. The thing with the experience on mutation is that you know Bruce and becoming the Hulk but there’s not much you can get out of it because even his own studies have led to very little.” She began to read in her ledgers. “Speaking of, I’m actually I’m going to contact Charles later today. Hopefully he’s not that busy, and neither is Logan, and they can probably run some tests, figure out some stuff. Probably hit the ring to see what triggers some of my powers.”

Your face fell a little bit, remembering how you used to visit Charles with her. It made you miss him and all of the X-Men… “Oh, are your powers… bad? I mean.. Like, you haven’t consulted Charles in a long time,” you noted. 

She glanced over to the screen, noticing the change in your tone. 

“If you don’t want to tell me, that’s fine. It’s not really any of my business if you powers aren’t going quite right,” you stated, laughing somewhat nervously, a pang of guilt hitting your gut. 

“Don’t worry, Y/N. It’s not that they’re bad. It’s just… they’re changing. I used to take people’s powers temporarily, but now, I can store them. And the shapeshifting and the flying. I’m rapidly mutating and I’m not sure what’s causing it…”

You nodded, listening to her, worried for her, and angry that you were locked in a cell with no way to help her. 

“Y/N… do you remember that one kid at the mansion who would feed off people's emotions and it became what he felt?” she asked, looking at you, hoping you remembered. 

Sadly, you didn’t, so you shook your head. “No, who was that?” 

“I can’t remember his name, but he had bumped into me one of those few times I went to train. And it seems I absorbed some of his powers and that what might be messing me up. It used to be very subtle, but now… now I can hardly get through an emotional event without it draining on me. Like when Steve had to carry me out,” she reminded. 

“You think it’s damaging you,” you said, summarizing for her. 

“I think it is,” she agreed. “If it’s emotionally strong, positive or negative, I just… The fight I had with Tony?”

“Yeah?” 

“I was so mad at what he was saying I hadn’t realized my weather powers had triggered and mixed with the laser beams I took from Cyclops and it mixed with your purple energy and things were thrown at Tony when I yelled at him. Thankfully one of his suits was there or I might have hurt him.”

You muttered, “I know what that’s like.” 

Shannon stopped what she was doing and put down her pen, giving you her full attention. “What do you mean you know what it’s like?” A moment later she added, “If you’re comfortable telling me, that is.”

“Ever since Thanos put this--” You showed your purple dark energy and then made it disappear “--inside me, it’s turned me into someone else… I was so angry all the time, at everything. It’s much better now, but I still get so much rage.” You looked up at the camera, facing her. “So I know what it’s like to not quite know what’s happening to your body… To have this… power… but it destroys you.” 

“It does. I’ve noticed I can’t keep up during training with Nat. Both of us being a part of the Red Room, we’ve kept to training like they taught us, but I’m just not as fast as I used to be.” She shrugged and looked a bit sullen. “It’s all still here,” she noted, pointing at her head with her pen. “It’s just that this is giving me trouble.” She closed her eyes, and then opened them, revealing  milky red eyes with purple swirls. 

“I can’t imagine how hard it is for you,” you commented. “To hold all those powers and finding out how to use them and keep them in check.”

“At least it hasn’t taken over… yet,” she remarked, staring down at her hands. 

“It won’t. You’re too strong for that,” you assured. 

Shannon smiled a small bit, glancing up to look at you through the screen, trying to find solace in your words. 

“I was hoping to see if I can get you out of there so that you can come with me to the mansion and we can both figure out what’s going on with our powers?” She sighed and reminded, “Of course, I’ll have to talk to Fury about it.” A groan escaped her just thinking about it, and you smiled slightly, remembering how much she did not like negotiating with the SHIELD director. 

Your face list up a million degrees. “You would really see about that?” 

“Of course. I want us to be able to get the help we need. We shouldn’t have to suffer at the hands of these powers.”

“I’m sort of public enemy number one. Not sure the world is ready for me to be out…” A deep frown followed your statement that didn’t go unnoticed by your friend. 

She lifted an eyebrow. “Well… technically, the world doesn’t know it was you. You know Charles, he’d probably help get you to the mansion without being seen, just to help you.”

A sly smile played on your lips. “Are you suggesting Nightcrawler break me out?” you teased. 

Shannon couldn’t help but start laughing jovially at your comment. “He’d probably have a blast getting out of there! That kid loves scaring Tony.”

You were so overwhelmed with the prospect of getting out, even if it was just for a few hours, that you had almost forgot about your fellow cellmate. Saness colored your face and tone. “I don’t know if I should Leave Loki though… That doesn’t seem… fair that I should get a day pass…” You glanced back toward your bedroom, a guilty look on your face. 

Shannon understood where you were coming from, so she offered, “I mean, it’s only if you want to. Besides, it’s not like we’re going out to shop. It’s to help you progress and reinstate yourself to the world.”

You bit your lip, noticing the wording. Reinstate yourself to the world… Right.. Because you were in prison. 

“Not to make that sound like you’re a felon!” she loudly corrected, turning back to the screen with a look of embarrassment. 

You waved it off. It wasn’t her fault you were in the situation you were in. 

“Let me talk to Loki?” you requested with raised eyebrows. “But I would love to see everyone again, and figure out how to get… this side of me out.” 

“Of course! Take whatever time you need. I’m not sure when I’ll be able to contact Charles, so let me know whenever you’ve made a decision.”

“I will. Thank you, Shannon. In the meantime, do you have anything physics related I can study? I am going bonkers down here…” You paused for a moment, before asking, “Does Tony mind you talking to me? Or sharing data? I mean, he’s still pissed at me… right?” 

This time, it was her turn to wave you off. “Forget Tony, he’s my problem, not yours.” She looked at you and smiled. “I could get you whatever Jane’s left unfinished? There are a few new things she got here.” She pointed to a stack of files on the nearby desk. 

“Please, send me anything, otherwise this gold mine is going to rot,” you joked, pointing to your head. 

“Well we can’t have that now, can we?” She giggled before talking to JARVIS. “JARVIS, send whatever files are in our system from Jane’s recent studies down to Y/N’s office.”

“Right away, Ms. Shannon. Is there anything else?”

“Let me know when Fury will be coming by the Tower or the complex, please?” 

“Yes, Ms. Shannon.”

“The files should be ready for you to look through, now. I’ll make sure any new data gets sent to you too.” Meanwhile, she was nodding her head while looking at the holographic data in front of her, swiping it to and fro. 

“I’ll let you get back to your work,” you offered, trying to hide the sadness in your voice. But her work and research was more important than keeping a prisoner like you company. 

She hummed. “Hmm? Oh, yeah, sorry. I just have a deadline for this and--”

“Shan, it’s fine,” you assured genuinely with a soft smile. 

She seemed to be relieved by your words. “Okay, I’ll talk to you later, okay? Don’t forget to talk to Loki and let me know?”

“I’ll let you know by the end of the day.”

“Thanks. Talk to you soon.”

The call ended. 

But no part of you could even be sad, for this had been the best gift you’d gotten in some time. Other than being allowed to share a cell with Loki, this was the next best thing.

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

Loki was still asleep during your conversation with Shannon, but when he woke up and you made him a nice brunch, you decided to dive right into the touchy subject of you getting a day pass, and not him. 

“Uh, Loki,” you started as he ate his meal. 

“Yes, darling?” he asked, glancing up to you. 

You wrung your hands, knowing how this sounded. That you would be leaving Loki behind, that you were gaining freedom and he wasn’t. That you were not, in fact, equals, as you had said you’d been. As you always tried to prove to him. 

“Shannon.. She has an idea…”

“Is it an idea to break out of this?” he asked, pointing around with his eyes. 

“Well… actually… kind of.” 

He peered at you with a curious frown. 

“I told her about my powers, about how the thing Thanos pout in me is dark and it wears on me…” 

“Yes?” 

“Well… she’s going to Charles Xavier to get her powers looked at. It seems she has a mutation that’s causing her issues… And she said she might be able to get me a pass to sort of… go with her,” you informed nervously. You were so worried Loki would simply see this as a way of you gaining freedom, while he stayed behind. Or that you were somehow distancing yourself from him. 

“So you would get to leave?” he clarified. 

“Yes. She’s going to talk to Fury, and see if it’s even possible. It’s more like a trip to the doctor. I’ll be going to see if he can do anything about the power not being so…”

“Evil?” 

Your gaze slid to his as you nodded.

“My love, if you need to go, go. It will be nice for at least one of us to leave this cell, even if it’s just for a day.”

“Really?” you asked, hope swelling inside you.

“Yes, of course. Go, do whatever you need. I’ll be here when you get back,” he said with a sly smile and you couldn’t help but round the kitchen island and hug him tightly. 

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

As Shannon closed down her work and research for the day, she stepped out of the lab, somewhat exhausted, but simultaneously refreshed. It was amazing how just talking to you had lifted her spirit so much. She had only made it a few steps when Tony came up and greeted her. 

“Hey, babe. Mind walking with me?’ he asked.

“Ugh, Tony, I’m so tired... I think I just want to go sit and read for a little bit,” she said, hoping she wouldn’t offend him. 

“That’s fine, I just thought we could have a quick bite together?” he wondered, his eyebrows perched up,wanting to guilt her in with his innocent, irresistible look. 

She rolled her eyes and smiled. “Alright, alright. Yeah, let’s go grab a bite. What did you have in mind?” she asked as he led her down the hall toward the kitchen and dining area. 

As soon as the two of them rounded the corner, she was greeted with the Avengers and some other colleagues from around the tower. The people she’d hidden herself away from for the last several days.

“Surprise!” the group yelled. 

“What’s all this?” she asked, befuddled, a warm grin on her face. 

“We noticed you looked a little down,” Clint noted. 

“And you just got back,” Bruce added. 

“So they thought it would be nice to have a little welcome home dinner. Nothing fancy, just… the tower isn’t the same without you, babe,” Tony said, his arm wrapped around her shoulders.

“Oh, you shouldn’t have,” she said with a humble, sweet smile. 

“Nonsense!” Steve objected as Tony let go of her and Steve’s arm replaced it. “You deserve it. We all missed you.” 

“Well, thank you, all of you. I missed you too.”

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

Sometime later that evening, you called Shannon on the video chat. The AI found her closest device and opened up, displaying where she was. 

“Hey, Sha--” Was all you got out before you saw what was going on around her. It appeared to be a small party. Shannon had a drink in her hand, as did all the Avengers and a few other people you didn’t recognize. She was laughing and hitting Nat’s arm, while Tony and Clint were smiling and talking. Bruce seemed to be having a good time with the strangers, talking. 

At first, you were happy, a smile pulling at your lips, but just as you were about to join in, you realized -- you couldn’t. You couldn’t open your mouth and tell a joke, you couldn’t say anything to anyone… Because you were locked away, several floors below them, paying for your crime. Even if you did try to blend in, even if you did try to get anyone’s attention, you would be met with a resounding “fuck off”. Who knew what kind of pandemonium would’ve erupted if they knew you were contacting them. 

With a sad sigh, you swiped over to the texting app and sent Shannon a text, telling her that you were good to go.

You switched back to the video app, where Shannon pulled out her phone, smiled at it, typed a quick response, and pocketed it again. 

“Sounds good. I’ll talk to Fury,” she sent back.

Your face fell and you were about to close the app when you noticed Steve Rogers was looking at you. It seemed he had just glanced up. Your eyes met but you didn’t have it in you to try and smile to be polite. Steve gazed at you, and if you weren’t mistaken, you saw… sympathy in his eyes, in his slight frown. He gave you a tiny nod, and you returned it before your gaze dropped. 

Unable to bear the sadness, and downright pity for yourself, you closed the video app. Steve looked away, feeling sorry for you, but tried to get back to the party. 

Sulking, you closed the tablet and left it on the coffee table to get up and go to bed. 

Loki peered up at you from his magazine, a worried frown etched into his stunning features. “Darling?” 

“Hmm?” you hummed.

“Is everything alright? I thought you were going to call Shannon?” 

You turned slowly to face him. “Uh, I did. She was busy so… I'll catch up with her tomorrow,” you said, hoping to hide your disappointment. 

“Are you sure? You seem upset,” he commented as he stood and came over to you, putting his hands on your arms. 

“I’m fine,” you lied. 

He peered down at you with peculiarity. “If you’re not fine, you know you can tell me. If you don’t want to talk about it, I’ll understand.”

You smiled up at him, loving that you could tell him anything. “Alright, that’s fair. I'm not fine, but I don’t feel like talking about it.” 

He smiled. “There we are.” He kissed your forehead. “I’m here if you need me.”

“I know,” you assured before leaning up to kiss him earnestly, but quickly. “Thank you. I just want to go to bed for now. I’ll let you know if I feel like talking.”

“Goodnight, darling. I’ll be in shortly,” he promised with warmth. He let go of you and you nodded slightly before heading to bed and curling up in your bed. The bed you lived in for the last several months… the bed you would probably live the rest of your life in. 

Unforseen Chasm Tag list- @reigningqueenofwords @oldfreakything @weclassygirl @adefectivedetective​

@dontbetooobvious

Tag list- @cas-you-assbutt-dean-needs-you @winchester-writes @winchesterenthusiast​ ​ @deansdirtylittlesecretsblog​   @sammysbuttcheek​​ @misz-adrii​ @sandlee44​ @womanxofletters​ @natsuccs​ @childishhoebinoo​ @expecteddifferent​ @girl-next-door-writes​ @fanaticfanfiction​ @dakotapaigelove​ @sassy-spn-knight-of-hell​

[knjoodles]

suits and unintended consequences; taejin series | 01

pairing: businessman!seokjin x uberdriver!taehyung, student!taehyung

genre: fluff, slight angst

word count: 1.2K

a/n: inspired by a taxi ride in sf | next chapter is way longer

lowercase intended

01 | 02

seokjin was a busy man.

as coo of bighit entertainment, what did you expect?

his life consisted of two things, and two things only: his job and everything else. most of his time consisted of extensive hours at his desk, long after his colleagues had retired home. the rest of it was spent taking a break or caring for his pets.

he missed spending time with friends and family. work was life, work was papers, work was money. 

work was everything.

bighit sent him to a lavish hotel for a conference. it was in daegu, which was quite the trip for him. though he'd traveled further, to america even, this was the first time he really felt away from home. 

his conference was to take place in some office bighit was trying to make a deal with. seokjin couldn't have cared less. 

as he thumbed the button for the ground floor, he began to wonder if he'd lost he love for his job he used to have. everything felt gray and uneventful. it grew tiring.

he found his thoughts a little ironic, considering he's going to a conference this second.

he shook his thoughts and stepped into the lobby to find an uber. gripping his leather computer bag, he pushed open the gold and glass doors that bade goodbye hotel guests and stood outside, waiting for his uber at their agreed meeting spot. growing bored because of the small wait, he decided to study the profile of his uber driver. 

'kim taehyung. five stars.'

'"wonderful boy! great to talk to. he made my nephew laugh a lot." - park sooyoung'

'"chatty and fun! very smart as well." - yoo kihyun'

'"he's hot and he smells good" - park yaebin' 

seokjin’s head shot up at the sound of a car pulling up in front of him. he shoved his phone into his coat pocket as taehyung rolled down his window and leaned over. "hello! are you kim seokjin?” 

whoever park yaebin was, calling him attractive was an understatement.

"i am! nice to meet you." seokjin confirmed, leaning back to check the license plate before opening the door and sat in the front passenger seat.

"is it alright if i put my computer bag here?" he placed his bag underneath the dashboard where his feet were. 

"of course! anything's fine." taehyung grinned and began to drive. a couple seconds of silence passed before taehyung eyed seokjin, asking, "a suit, huh? do you work for yeoksuk?"

"i actually have a conference with their financial sector for a partnership!" seokjin beamed, strapping himself and placing his hands on his lap. "i work for bighit."

"bighit? you mean the company behind txt?" taehyung gaped, smiling in wonder. "you work for the bighit? ah, you guys have done such a great job with txt. i love how they spread our culture to the west. aren’t they grammy nominated? wow! “ he gushed.

“they are!” seokjin chuckled at his driver’s sudden interest. "im bighit's coo, actually. i work more up top; i oversee all of the business bighit is has and needs to complete, so i don't see them that often. when i do, they're all very courteous and sweet. they're actually exactly how they act on camera, more or less." 

"it must be hard. i wanted to be an idol, but i decided to major in economics with a minor in the arts."

“economics, huh? where do you want to work?" 

taehyung grinned shyly. "i want to work for yeoksuk. that's why i sounded so excited when i asked you." seokjin swore he saw a light pink spread across taehyung's cheeks, but it may have just been the lighting.

"it's good that you're going into business. it's fun!" seokjin lied through his teeth. “do you know what you want to do?”

"consultant. similar to what you’re doing actually; i want to help the company’s prospects. i looked at yeoksuk’s job description, and since i have a minor in arts, i’ll be eligible for assisting groups themselves too!” taehyung’s cheerful tone and bouncy aura almost distract seokjin from the feeling of dread in the back of his mind due to his conference. he couldn’t help but smile at taehyung's enthusiasm. it was infectious, and his negative emotions melted away with the thin blanket of frost covering the edges of the car windows.

“where do you go to college?” seokjin questioned. seokjin was curious for the first time in eleven months. 

“i go to yedae university. i'm a sophomore!” taehyung beamed with pride. it was as if taehyung’s confidence and self love was pouring itself into seokjin. the boy basically radiated happiness.

“yedae? i graduated from there five years ago!” seokjin exclaimed. “best of the best, huh? entertainment companies basically thirst for yedae alumni. you must be a smart and capable kid.”

“thank you, sir.” now seokjin was certain: taehyung’s cheeks were definitely pink. “but you’re only 27—the youngest coo bighit has hired to this day! that’s incredible!” 

“that’s not important,” seokjin chuckled at taehyung’s innocent exclamation. “bighit chose me for my merit and hard work! and just judging from how courteous and social you are right now, i’d say that you’d get similar treatment.”

taehyung turned to him with his mouth hanging open and his eyes like saucers. "really? are you sure? that's so amazing to hear from someone like you, i can't believe it! you know, i..."

seokjin stopped listening and fixtated his gaze to the man siting next to him. his eyes were beautiful; they were his face’s defining factor. they were unique: one of his eyes has a double eyelid and the other a monolid with a mole in the inner corner. as seokjin studied the younger boy, he realized his eyes weren’t just brown— it was a spectrum of brown. a mixture of mocha, and umber, and walnut, and coffee and pecan. his skin looked like coffee and honey under the sun peeking in behind the buildings facing him. he knew he shouldn’t have, but seokjin could help but to flicker his eyes quickly to admire his lips. “… excuse me, sir?”

“i… im sorry? i didn’t get that,” seokjin’s eyes grew as he stuttered. he scolded himself for openly checking out someone right in front of him. was it obvious? he could’ve been staring for hours!

taehyung giggled. “we’re here!” taehyung flicked his finger so that seokjin could see that, to his dismay, they were there. “that’ll be 31,933 won. thank you for letting me drive you here! hopefully, next time, it’ll be me who’s making deals in there.” taehyung winked and laughed along with seokjin. trying to stall, seokjin slowly exited the car and managed to pretend to fumble with his wallet a couple times before paying him. “i hope i see you again while you’re here. im almost always in this general area anyway, request me if you find me!” 

seokjin nodded with a smile of delight. “always.”

“i'm sorry?”

“always? i meant any time.” seokjin stammered. “thank you for your service!”

“and thank you for your time.” taehyung gave seokjin one last confident grin before waving his hand and driving away into traffic. seokjin kept an eye on his car until the mass of rush hour prevented him from seeing taehyung’s license plate. 

he felt giddy for the first time in forever, and he thoroughly enjoyed it.

[magicalsalamander]

The Firefly that Guards the Fox VII

Pairing: BTS Taehyung  ⇆ Reader

Genre: Hybrid | Lawyer | Murder Mystery| Fluff | Angst | Smut [Epilogue] |

Words: 6.9K

Warnings: Overall story rated mature; Explicit themes, action/ violence, bloodshed, death of minor characters.

Summary: His mother and father weren’t supposed to fall in love. They weren’t supposed to find a mate in one another.

They weren’t supposed to.

After losing his father years ago, Taehyung vows to find and avenge the injustice his family has gone through. You were childhood friends with Taehyung. The four of you Taehyung, Hoseok, your older brother and you were inseparable. You were torn apart from Taehyung, your fox who’ve you’ve always vowed to protect and be with, without a warning. He called you Firefly, you called him Tae-Tae the fox. Was your fate supposed to end there in the past with your childhood?

A/N: Orig post date: 01|11|18; Updated intro 12|12|19. Part of the KLF Universe.

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Her giggles were infectious as I splashed water at her. She was relentless though, fighting back with waves back at me. I wrapped my arms around her waist and spun her eliciting a scream of happiness. “I got you firefly!” She smacked my arm, “put me down Tae!” I shook her in my arms taunting her further, “Tae! Stop!” The anger behind her tone didn’t hold any value, she didn’t really want me to put her down. However, she reached over and pinched my ears between her nails. I let go of her with a yelp. She splashed carelessly into the knee-deep water and stuck both thumbs in her ears wiggling her fingers finishing her move by sticking out her tongue. A squeal then a laugh drummed out as I run to chased her. I latched onto her falling backwards letting gravity take over. I submerged us both into the water with a splash.

I didn’t come up from the water; the girl in my arms faded as I twisted and turned to lie on my back. I felt lint balls from the fabric under my fingers, a mix between knotting suede and a thin mattress. I blinked back to a clearing light. I woke up to my mom putting my backpack together in our basement home. “Honey, please get up you’re going to be late!” I tossed the blanket over me walking only a few steps over to my mother. The room smelled of pungent, stale, reheated coffee and concrete dust. His mother turned to him with her everlasting smile. Her hair was a vibrant color and her ears a habanero orange. She handed me my backpack, “hurry along now.” I took the bag and ran towards the door letting the blinding morning light in.

He pushed through the metal exit door stumbling onto the side walk. He was giggling like a boy in elementary school. He hung onto a woman, who giggled mindlessly and hiccupped from over drinking. Her face blurred every time he looked her over. It was certain he didn’t want to take her home, none of his dates ever made it there.

He stumbled through the parking lot pulling her into the backseats of his car. Their lips and teeth knocked in passion. The heat from their bodies and tension fogged up the windows. She grinded against his crotch, rubbing him in the right way. He trailed his hand up her thigh slipping under her ‘barely considered a dress’ dress. She left his lips, kissing sloppily down his jaw, sucking generously on his neck. She had no true trajectory, she just wanted him. He leaned his head back looking through the back window of the borrowed car of his friend. The street lamp directly above his car was so bright. He squinted tight and everything faded to black.

One squint and a blink through the haziness you pried your eyes open, greeted by a white ceiling. The noises of the room sounded distance, but within moments they cleared and beeped into normalcy. With the strength of a thousand newtons, you turned your head away from the bright fluorescent lighting towards the EKG monitor and other medical devices. The streamline of my heart and other saturations ran consistently. Your eyes bounced along with the inflections of your heart rate. You groaned as you turned back attempting to right yourself. The pressure on your wrist excited every nerve and was an instant reminder that everything wasn’t alright. A lightning bolt shot up from your left false ribs shorting your breath. Your vision blurred shortly with the electricity flowing through each vessel finding a point of interest around your temples. Things weren’t alright. The plastic tubing attached to you creaked and made a racket creating their own orchestra number.

Your napping brother stumbled from his seat in the corner of the room. He shot out of his seat finding a spot next to you on the bed in a less than graceful manner. He adjusted your IV pole and the tubing making sure he wouldn’t pull anything. He laid you back down searching you over with worry in his eyes, “God, I was so worried about you. Do you know how terrified I was hearing you were in an accident? My baby.” He mumbled on about his woes, but I couldn’t help but crack a smile at him. You didn’t know how you looked, but from his reaction you could guess it was bad. Your smile turned into a laugh at the end of his speech. He still called you a baby even though you were at the prime age of twenty-seven. You weakly maneuvered your bruised hand and stitched arm carefully not to twist your throbbing wrist, “how long have I been out?” Your brother took your hand delicately in both of his, encapsulating it in tender warmth. His calloused fingers grazed over your bruises like he was tracing roads in a map, “a few days, I took time off. Mom and Dad couldn’t make it up to the city.” You groaned, “you told them?” He nodded, “they said they were sorry, but that if you were in my care they could rest easy.” You smiled at him in short delay, the nausea was coming back. When the haze cleared you took in your brother, he was still in his uniform; a distinct sore standing out from the hospital’s dreadful, white walls. He really must’ve rushed here.

A warning knock sounded at the door and then a nurse strolled in the room. “I heard the monitors come back. Welcome back to the world, Ms. Y/L/N.” She looked at your brother and a faint pink dust coated her cheeks. You shook your intertwined hands slightly and wiggled your eyebrows at your brother in an all-knowing smirk. He glares at you momentarily mouthing out, “stop it, not now.” You rolled your eyes at the bachelor, but he politely left your side giving room for the nurse to work in. She checked all over your vitals and monitored receipts form the machines, “everything seems to be fine, a doctor will be in shortly to consult further with you. Are you in any pain currently?” You wanted to shake your head, but that would be a mistake, “I’m sore. My head and side are tender.” She nodded her head, “we’ll give you some more morphine for the meantime, I’ll be back with the doctor.” She picked up her chart and walks toward the exit, but you called out to her, “Where is the man I came in with? Where is Kim Taehyung? Is he alright?” Your brother did a double take, squinting at you while he took a seat next to your bed again. The nurse looked down at her chart then back to you, “I’m sorry miss, I don’t know. I’m sure the doctor will, please ask him then.” She slid the door close, leaving you with more anxiety than before.

Your brother tangled your hands again bringing your attention back to him. Your breathing became rougher and you winced with every short breath. “Calm down Y/N. Taehyung? Do you mean the fox hybrid from back home Taehyung?” You nodded slowly at the pace of a calm grandmother, ”yes…but it’s a long story. I’ll tell you everything soon, I need to know if he’s okay first.” Your brother smoothed over your hair smoothing out the knots, “that’s a promise Y/N.”

Through the same door the nurse returned with a doctor, who looked by far more than exhausted you did, “Hello Ms. Y/L/N.” He went over a routine checkup repeating steps the nurse took earlier, then stood at the edge of your bed flipping through the charts. “Ms. Y/L/N, in your X-ray we found two broken ribs on your left. They didn’t penetrate anything vital but remain stationary for the time being. It will take at least six weeks for them to fully heal. We did an CT scan and MRI just for assurance for anything major, but luckily you have a mild-concussion. That won’t take long to heal, however, you will experience some of the residual effects for a while. We will admit you for ten days and when that is up you will be assessed again to make sure you’re alright to leave. Any questions?” Honestly, he spoke so fast and it was heavy with information most flew over your head; so you turned to your brother for affirmation that he caught it all. He laughed and nodded, “I got all that Y/N. Don’t worry.” You turned back to the doctor, “is Kim Taehyung okay? The man I came in with?”

The doctor looked you over assessing your charts once more and with a huff in his words, “he’s currently in a coma.” Your heart sunk, feeling the thin strings of your heart being pulled to their limits. “He was induced into it. The injuries aren’t severe, but as a precaution to the head injury we’re giving him time to rest.” The harp player in your heart plucked softer, but they still tested your limits. You didn’t have enough in you to cry, but the thoughts were painful enough.  In last comfort the doctor could offer, “you’ve been through a lot Ms. Y/L/N. We will do everything in our power to make sure you and Mr. Kim are okay.” The doctor offered you and your brother one last polite bow, then left.

In attempts to ease your mind, your brother spoke about his recent deployment. He went on and on and at the end of each sentence he reminded you how much he missed you. His stories faded into a lull hitting its end, so you started your own. Regressing back into his attentive way, he listened intently like a mother would, but with a face of a stern solider. He clutched onto your hand in intervals of softening and squeezing with each new bit of information. It wasn’t angry, but sweet and patient. You left out some details of the Taehyungs dad, no matter how close you were, there were legalities on the line. He rubbed his thumb over your hand while you come up to date. “You’re truly a strong person Y/N, are you sure you’re my baby sister?” I pouted my lips together holding back the laughter, but it erupted full force. It was easier to laugh, than cry. He still chooses to joke after I revealed a secret to him, only he would do such a thing. It hurts, it hurts so bad to laugh.

My heart rate went through the roof, and a distraught nurse swung into the room. Her forehead was sweaty, probably from running a mini marathon to the room, and panted out, “miss, what’s wrong?” Your brother stood at attention, “I’m sorry, there’s nothing wrong.” She clutched her chest waving to us both, “no, okay—that’s good to know. Excuse me then.” Attempting to catch your breath you nudged your brother as the nurse turned around leaving the room, “go, go chase her. She’s interested in you. Don’t let this chance go to waste.” A blush crossed his face, the first time you’ve ever seen it, so you nudged him further, “I want to sleep. Go home for the night. I’m fine, I’m in good hands. Come back rested.” He looked from the door to you contemplating, but you assured him you truly wanted to sleep. He smiled down at you and saluted, “good night Y/N. I’ll be back tomorrow.” You raised your right arm and saluted him back, “go get her tiger.”

You’re weren’t allowed out of your bed for a few days. Your brother argued with you daily that he should stay the night, but you convince him that staying at home would be better. It puts less pressure on you and you get to sleep easy knowing he’s resting well. On the fourth night you make your way out of the room wobbling down the hall with your IV pole. You steadied the IV bag and hung onto the tubing with every cautious step towards Taehyung’s room. Your hospital gown didn’t give you must protection against the strong AC. You counted the rooms, until the chrome numbers 45730 reflected against the fluorescent lights. You held your breath, feeling a throbbing pulse in your neck and wrist, it was a reminder you were alive. You shoved the pole first, then yourself towards the sliver of a window on the door. Searching the small room, that looked just like yours, your eyes rested on the back of a hunched over woman.

You knocked softly on the door, just enough for the woman to hear. She didn’t respond initially, so you kept knocking. She turned around in her stool and walked towards the door. Tears built up in the corners of your eyes, but you wiped the buds before they trailed any further. You stepped back away from the door as the door slide open. His mother expected the nurse, “nothing has changed since the last time you came in.” She lifted her face revealing darkened circles and reddened eyes. Her face softened up when she saw you. She stepped out into the hallway closing the door behind her, “Y/N, I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” The once composed woman became a blubbering mess as she brought you into a hug. You winced and hissed at the pressure, she released you almost immediately. Wiping away tears she pleaded, “oh, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” She truly was lost. You brought her into another hug this time, “he’s going to be okay Mom.” You didn’t know if that was for yourself or her. She looked you over again and again grazing her fingers gently over any blatantly obvious bandages. “I’m fine Mom. I have a minor concussion and fractured ribs, but they said it shouldn’t inhibit me too much.”

Instead of my words bringing her comfort, her frown depended into her smile lines. “Thank you. Thank you for being with Tae. I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you.” She cupped your face rechecking everything over again. “You saved him.” You bit back and swallowed the knot in your throat. “It’s really nothing Mom.” She wanted to argue back, but she held her tongue. “Do you want to see Tae?” You nodded cautiously, and Mom helped move you into the room.

The first thing you noticed was his peaceful expression. The monitors read out steadily but in a low frequency. The bandages wrapped around his head and arms concealed the healing wounds. You turned to Mom as she grabbed your hand, “I’m sorry I couldn’t do more Mom.” She clutched your hand, “no, you did enough Y/N. If it wasn’t for you Tae wouldn’t be here.” She helped steady you into one of the chairs beside Tae. You watched the soft fall and rises his chest. This madness has to stop.

The rest of the night went by with small chatter between you and Mom. She gossiped about her neighbors and how expensive it was to buy milk, anything to keep conversation going. She wore herself out and dozed off with her head bobbing back and forth. You attempted to get up without bothering her, but her ears were still sensitive. “Where are you going?” You pointed to your low IV bag, “I have to get back to my room. I’ll stop by again tomorrow, I’ll even bring my brother, you remember him, right?” Her face lit up slightly, “yes, I do. The kindest boy for miles. I’ll walk you back to your room.” She walked with you making the most of the small distance between the rooms. You reminded her that you were okay as she checked over you for the millionth time. You held back the nausea and pain, she had more than enough to worry about. You finally shooed her away when you were back in bed and a nurse came to check on you for a nightly routine visit.

Poking and prodding woke you up the next morning, when your nurse went through her routine. She was a rosy red and you connected that to the same rosy red on the solider across the room. You just woke up, but anyone could see the hearts in the air. This situation may be damming, but at least one good thing came out of it. “Everything is fine. Your healing is on track with our predictions. With the way things are going you may get to leave early.” The nurse bowed her way out of the room and your brother served you breakfast. You asked how he was doing, your situation was obvious.

After he watched you eat, you told him you wanted to go see Mrs. Kim and Tae. He wanted you to rest more, but with your persistence he walked you to the room. You gripped onto his arm, while he dragged your IV pole. Once you were stable, your brother knocked softly on the door in three rasp. The soft call of his mother allowed us in. Mom embraced your brother without an inkling of a greeting. She was overjoyed to see him, mumbling the same way when she first saw you. They lead you to sit first, then Mom wouldn’t let your brother go.

He recounted everything he could while catching glimpses at Taehyung. She was so impressed by his achievements in the military, “my son has really grown up!” Your brother blushed madly, a bit taken aback by the extent of her compliments. She asked you, “Is it okay if I steal your brother and go to the cafeteria for some food? I haven’t eaten yet. Will you be okay?” You nodded and even jokingly,” please take him.” He glared at you, but you shrugged the best you could more with your right side. She smiled dipping out of the room to recount even more with her estranged son.

You sat next to the bed and took Taehyung’s condition in. His breathing was shallow and the bruises on his face were deep. You looked down at your fist, saddened that you couldn’t do more for Taehyung at the moment. You sat in silence listening to the rhythmic beeping of his heart monitor. You slowly raised your hand to bring it to wrap around his. You spoke softly, “Tae Tae, remember that time I fought off those boys and saved you. We even got ice cream afterwards. I think back to a lot of the times we shared together. Those were my happiest moments of my life. I haven’t been the same since you left. I was so shocked to see you. You’ve grown up and turned into such an amazing person. It’s also great that you turned out to be pretty handsome.” Pausing in your monologue to laugh at how sappy you were being, “I really missed you Tae.”

I plead into the phone, “Uncle please…don’t hang up! I need you to tell me what happened!” The man on the other end of the line begged back, “I really don’t know what happened afterwards. Look, I’ll talk to you later okay?” I spoke into the phone with more force, “Uncle, don’t hang up. I need to know what happened to my father!” The line went dead, all he was left with the dial tone.

The ringing faded into a familiar voice. “Tae, Taehyung, Tae!” The child he once looked at wasn’t young anymore, she was a beautiful woman that sat across from me. She rested her head on her hand watching me intently. I rambled on, “they didn’t think that a hybrid could be educated enough or—or,” raising his voice,” have the logic enough to think on a human level!” I could see the conflict in her eyes the way she watched me as I let emotions spill.  She spoke back to me, but I only caught every other word, “I think back…happiest moments of my life…I missed you Tae.” She began fading again. I stood up in a rush pushing the chair to the floor behind me. I lunged towards her, but she dissipated, and I fell into darkness.

Suddenly Taehyung gasped air violently into his lungs deeply, mumbling out words. In his mind he yelled out, but in reality it was a jumble of incomprehensible words. His pupils retracted like a cat hissing, the light was sudden and painful. You shifted closer to his bed taking his hand in yours, “Tae, it’s okay, calm down Tae.” His eyes relaxed and squeezed your hand in relief. This was real. He croaked out, “Y/N? Where am I?” He tried to sit up but you stopped him, “don’t get up, I’ll call the nurse and your mom.” You stood to reach to press the button to call the nurse, but he stopped you grabbing onto your wrist. “What happened Y/N? Explain things to me first?”

Hesitating on the thought you sat back down and told him everything you could remember. You mentioned the man with the black mask and hat, but you couldn’t elaborate any further. He listened patiently and then followed up groggily, “and you? Are you okay? Are you in pain?” Answering honestly, “I have a few fractured ribs and a minor concussion. It’s not serious. The medicine dulls the pain, and I’ll be out of her soon.” He winced when his expression turned sour, “I’m glad you’re okay.” Your hand stopped mid reach for the button again. This whole time he’s been nothing but uptight and mean towards you. The old Taehyung was peeking through the hard exterior of a mask he put on. You titled your head, “I’m glad you woke up Tae.”

You buzzed in the nurse and his mom came back with your brother shortly. It was another reunion all over. The atmosphere was so nice. His mom, Tae, your brother and you were laughing and chatting like it was an afternoon back at their house on their low platform hanging out.

You spent more time in Taehyung’s room than your own. Mom was peeling fruits for you both, when a knock sounded at the door. Taehyung sat in his bed nibbling on slices of apples, “come in.” Two familiar faces peeked around the corner, the teen was a bit reluctant, but he brightened up when he saw you. “Mrs. Miller?” David came up next to you, “Ms. Y/L/N, are you okay? Tell me who did this to you!” You giggled at his protective agenda. Taehyung eyed the kid, “hey settle down kid. She’s stronger than any man.” You side eyed Taehyung, it was hard to know if that was a compliment or something back handed. He cheekily smirked at you. Mrs. Kim greeted the woman and offered her a seat next to you. She looked you up and down and took your hand in hers, “Ms. Y/L/N. I’m sorry this happened to you. Will you be okay?” She held her voice strong despite the shakiness behind it. David placed a hand on your shoulder. I reassured them with a nod. Mrs. Miller cleared her throat, “I’ve decided to go ahead with the appeal. After I heard what happened to you, I don’t think I can sit back anymore.” You righted yourself too fast agitating your tender ribs, “wait, really? Are you sure Mrs. Miller?” Her eyes glistened with tears splaying her fingers out in a fan across her breast bone. Her ears stood at attention, “yes, they need to be stopped.” Mrs. Kim set down her plate rounding around the bed smoothing a hand over the back of the woman. You turned to Taehyung who was staring at you. Adoration filled his eyes as the window light filtered in his eyes. David distracted you by telling you all about what he was doing in school and how he visits that sandwich stand often now that the auntie gives him discounts now.

But of course, nothing good last for long.

You were sitting facing the door listening to the banter go back and forth. A flash of black burned past the rectangle window. It was a blimp, but it was enough to notice something out of the corner of your eye. Your brother was so busy telling them a story that no one else noticed. The shadow passed by once more and stared at you for a moment. You recognized the face, or at least those same eyes. They walked away when you locked eyes. You dropped the fruit piece you were nibbling on onto your lap. Your nostrils flared, you couldn’t let him to get away again, not after he hurt Tae. “Hey, uhm, I’m going to pick up a sweater from my room. I’m a little cold. I’ll be right back.” Your brother broke conversation, “I’ll come with you.” You insisted, “no, no, I’m fine it’s only a few doors down anyways.” He glared at you, but yours won out on him. Tae whined out, “Y/N, let your brother go with you.” You turned your glare to Tae, “I need to do things on my own. I’m almost a 100% better now anyways.”

You slid out to the empty hallway and saw the tall figure walking down and turned at the end of the corridor. You speed walked following as fast as you could with your obnoxious pole. You paused before you rounded the corner, peering over the edge into the empty hallway. You stepped out into the open and frantically moving towards the other end. You were certain he walked this way. A calloused hand emerged from the darkness and clasped around your mouth. His other hand reached for your forearm and ripped out your IV. You screamed under his palm, the warm feeling blood and solution ran down your arm. He sucked you into the dark and drug you through the exit doorway into a cement stairwell.

He forced you up against the wall with his thick forearm blocking your airway. From the impact alone, it was disorienting your vision blacken briefly. When you opened your eyes immediately afterwards, black dots danced in your eyes. You could feel the stiches on your arm ripping, but most importantly your broken ribs felt like razors in your chest. You grasped the arm that was on your neck and dug your nails deep into his skin. This man had every intention to kill you.

You took a good look at him this time, a freckle dotted under his right eye and one eyebrow was partially missing. He must also still be recovering from the accident. With that in mind you removed one of your claws shimming in between the both of you, and dug your thumb into the guys eye. The squishy texture sent goosebumps along your skin, but you didn’t stop until he let up on your throat. He stepped away from you hunching over cradling his eyes.

You caught your breath but didn’t waste time and lunged towards him. You started kicking, beating him to pin him to the floor. He looked up at you with one eye and you screamed, “Who are you? Who sent you?” He didn’t respond knocking you off with a punch across the face. The adrenaline was running through your veins and you were angrier than ever. You kicked him in the stomach and rolled him over to be under you again. You landed a few hits but gained traction and punted you off. He stumbled onto his feet making his way down the staircase.

You weren’t going to let him go without an answer.

You clutched your side sliding on the cement floor but followed him. You sped down the flight of stairs but crashed straight into the wall. Your vision faded to black momentarily and the acid was building up in your throat. You felt like throwing up with a sudden rush of nausea. You panted in a cold sweat as you heard the footsteps of the man get farther and farther and eventually the door to the parking garage open. The silence filled you. You were in so much pain that only silent screams left you.

Your brother watched the clock. It’s been taking longer than it should have for you to grab a sweater. He stood up and went out to check up on you. Tae’s mom insisted on going instead, but he said, “I’m a special agent, Mom. I think I can handle wrestling a sweater.” The hallway was empty no grubby girl with an IV pole in sight. He made his way down to your room, but he opened it to an equally empty space. The private bathroom in the room was unoccupied as well. Goosebumps formed over his flesh, every sense honed into. He just felt it his baby sister was in danger.

He went back into the hallway and down the opposite direction. He looked up and down the halls of the ward for you. As he turned the corner out of a inner hallway he noticed the reflection of a fallen IV pole sticking out the hall. He ran towards it and the clear it got; the IV bag and tubing was leaking solution on the floor. There were specks of all sizes of blood that trailed into a metal exit door.

He slammed open the door with his shoulder. He looked around only to take a second look down the stairwell to see you breathing rapidly with blood soaking your gown. “Y/N!” He skipped every other step and made his way to you. “What happened?” He pulled your head up to look at him, but you could barely keep your eyes open. He picked you up in his arms and raced back up the stairs. He ran down the hall yelling for help. All staff in the hall that wasn’t immediately occupied approached him. They directed him to take you back into your room.

Tae’s mom heard the commotion in the hallway and opened the door to look outside. Her jaw dropped as she saw you in your brother’s arms with your arms limply swinging. She covered her mouth with his hand and yelled, “Y/N!” Taehyung sat up from his bed and stumbled his way behind his mother supporting himself with one arm on the wall. His other arm was in a sling, but he peered over and saw you. His heart dropped seeing you almost lifeless in your brother’s arm. Your brother sped by with a whole medical team trailing towards your room. His mother turned to him and said, “Tae, you shouldn’t be out of bed!” Her voice was unstable as she tried to scold him. She was equally as worried. He tried pushing past her to go to you, but his nurse stopped him. “Sir, she’s going to be taken care of, please return to your bed.” He looked at his mother and struggled back into bed. He knew he couldn’t do anything at the moment. He threw a pillow across the room, he felt truly helpless.

It took the medical staff an hour to stabilize you, but you came back to life. The security in the hospital escalated. Taehyung, in his decrepit state, stayed by your side guarding your room with your brother. The cops, along with Jungkook, questioned both Taehyung and you on the previous accident and today’s accident. As upset as it made Jungkook, he told us they weren’t able to recover anything from the accident. The site was clean. You sighed in relief internally, luckily you had back up documents at the office, credit cards were replaceable, so the only loss was time. Someone was sweeping things under the rug, someone very close to us.

A four days later you were discharged from the hospital, but Taehyung already left since hybrids heal faster. He wasn’t a hundred percent, but he was able to do basic things again without being supervised. He stayed with his mom, not wanting to burden Jimin and Hoseok, since they were busy prepping for the upcoming tour. It was weird living back with his mom, but he realized how much he missed it when she would cook meals for him. Your brother took you back home and was on guard 24/7. You assured him that he shouldn’t worry and it was rare for a criminal to come back for a third attempt. The punk would be stupid to attack again so soon. Your brother requested further time off to take care of you. The workaholic in you kept up with the office by working from home. You kept in contact with Taehyung, updating what little you found out.

A week later, when you weren’t constantly nauseous and could breath normally, you made it back to the office. Your brother couldn’t take off any more time to insist for you to stay home. You took the bus to work and walked in your second home. The receptionist came up to you and hugged you, “I’ve missed you. I’m so glad you’re back. Mr. Kim has been living in his office and the courthouses. He’s trying to catch up on all the cases he’s been behind on. The other lawyers didn’t want to take on his work.” With a scowl you made your way to your desk, greeted by your team. Kibum held onto you, but Krystal peeled him off to get her shy turn at a hug. Once they let you go you left for Tae’s office. You knocked on Taehyung’s door and he answered curtly; he was back to his normal self. You stepped in, also stepping back into your professional attitude as well, you closed the door and called to him. “Mr. Kim, I have the documents and cases you asked for.” He looked up and took them. You looked around noticing the multitude of coffee cups and pillow and blanket on the couch. You looked at him and spoke, “Mr. Kim have you been staying here.” He hummed in response not breaking his concentration on work.

He must’ve let the words go in and out his ears. You knocked on his desk making the tired fox look up at you. “Tae, why are you over working yourself?” Like a melting candle, his scrunched expression softened. The fox whined outstretching his hand towards you. You laughed at his cute antics. You walked around his desk and the suffering fox rested his head on your stomach. He wrapped his arm around your waist clutching to the back of your blazer. He nuzzled his head and in the best way you knew how to comfort him, you combed your fingers through his hair. It was greasy and matted, “how long have you been here?” He mumbled a number into you, truly it didn’t matter, he needed to go home. “Tae, go home. We can take care of it here. I’ve done enough work at home, we will be fine.” An audible growl left him as he pulled away, “no. I have so much to finish.” You brought both of his cheeks into your hands and he brought his to rest at your sides. “We will win, but we’re not going to win if the hero can’t fight his own needs. Go home Taehyung.”

He pulled you into his lap and nuzzled his face into your neck. He traced the edge of his nose up and down your jaw. “Just give me a moment with you. I missed you.” I almost lost you, he spoke internally to himself. You allowed him the time he needed, because you needed this too. You wiped away at his dark circles hoping they would go, but they only got deeper when he smiled. After many back and forth of “five more minutes”, Tae finally went home.

He gripped the frame in his hand, petting over the wooden edges as if it was a cat. From a rumble to a catastrophic roar, he fast balled the memory across the room. The two attendants in the room remained motionless standing at attention with their hands behind their back. His perfectly gelled hair strung out of place as he steadied himself with two open palms on his desk. The rumbling anger of his heart beat fast in his ears. He could feel his instincts brimming. He fought against the memory, but they just clawed at him. Flashes of his mother smiling at him calling him his familiar name, “Bo, my love.” Then flashes of documents, “Sexual Assault and Rape Report.” The print flashed by faster in his mind the more he struggled against it, “hybrid…victim of random circumstance…child was carried to term.” He scratched the surface of his desk leaving imprints and curls of iron in its remain. A sergeant spoke with hesitation, “Sir, we can’t dig Yates out of this one. He was caught with too many witness.” The police chief smoothed back his fallen hair breathing and seething through his teeth. “Get him out!” He paced around the room manically, “it’s all that foxes fault. It’s because of him and his…god forsaken family!”

“It’s been a chaotic drop in the stocks industry ever since Yates arrest. His lawyers spoke out claiming his innocence, and they will pursue any charges full on. Yates was released this morning on bail.” The stream switched to a video of Yates being wheelchaired out of prison. His face was covered by a mask protecting him from the numerous flashes coming from the hungry photographers. The same anchor voices over the video, but you stopped paying attention to her voice. You watched the footage of Yates play his game.

The door of the break room opened followed by the clanking of the coffee pot kissing another mug. Taehyung stirred his cup of coffee until it was appropriate to taste. He picked up his cup and stood shoulder to shoulder next to you. Ever since the accident, you’ve spent more time together. It was more like he was never too far from you, always within his peripheral. The new warmth didn’t distract you from reading the dialogue as the woman chatters on about useless details. You didn’t bother turning to him, “want to go home?” His ears twitched choking on his coffee doing a double take at the insinuation, “what?” You looked over at him brushing his loose bangs behind his human ears, “you’ve caught up on all the other cases, let’s go back to the countryside and find the shelter your parents were at.” Taehyung ran over his schedule in his head brushing his tail on the back of your thigh, “I can only take off this weekend. We can go Friday and come back Sunday night. We’ll be back by Monday.” You nodded, “I’ll bring some work with me too then, we’ll make it a work weekend.” His ear flattened, he wanted to spend time with you as well, not just work the whole time.

Taehyung came by to pick you up bright and early Friday morning. The drive will take two hours but who’s to say about traffic. You wanted to rub your eyes to cast away the sleep, but you already had light makeup on. The handsome fox stepped out of his car with aviators on, but he’s dressed casually wearing jeans and a white button up. You looked down at yourself with the same idea of casual wear being jeans and a white shirt. You joked before greeting him, “should I go change? Were matching.” He laughed taking in the resemblance, “no I think it’ll help me keep track of you.” You scoffed at his jester but forgave him instantly. You truly didn’t want to walk all the way back up the flight of stairs. Like a gentleman, he took your luggage for you placing it in the trunk. You set your messenger bag with your laptop and files on the passenger seat floor and find yourself situating in the seat.

In the first half of the drive you called your parents, wanting to stop by for a short visit, but they were busy. They said they would leave some goodies by the door for us and call again before we would leave. The second half was just chatter over the radio, there wasn’t a dull moment with Tae. You found out more about him. The same comfort and ease we shared as kids came back like there wasn’t a gap in time. The closer we got to our hometown, the chattier Tae became.

We walked down the familiar dirt road, instead this time we were unfamiliar. The air still smelled clean and the acres of farmland around us still bared fruit and vegetation. The trenches we created in the road from our back and forth journeys have filled back up and the road was flat. Taehyung parked away purposely because we thought the road wouldn’t be suitable for vehicles. You watched Tae’s tail flick like a hungry flame behind him. His lip was red from his teeth gnawing at the flesh, making the bud of his lower lip plump to its maximum. You thinned your own and laced your fingers in his bigger hand. Instantly, his hand encased yours and you ran your thumb over his knuckles. You slowed before you came around the bend in the road, “do you want to take another lap around the road?” He squeezed your hand bringing it up to his cheek then his nose for a moment. You flinched a little at his hot breath on the back of your hand. A hot blush was creeping up your neck turning your ears carmine. If this was going to comfort him, you could yield.

“No, let’s go.” He pulled you with him but kept his pace slow and even. Around the corner stood the weathered white house. It stood up against time, as if it was patiently waiting for us to come back to it. The grass in the yard was over grown, the paint on the walls chipped and the windows had at least three inches worth of dust. It was still home. Taehyung smiled towards you, “I was worried I wouldn’t remember this place, but one look and it’s all there.” You couldn’t help returning the expression, so you beamed back at him, “welcome home Tae.”

The picket fence was rusty, but it swung open with a creak and squeak from the unused metal hinges. He switched our hands, making sure he held onto you some way, and fished for the house key his mother handed to him. The key turned in the lock, but it took a grunt and a shove of a shoulder to turn and open.

A cloud of dust fell on you both. You coughed and waved away the dust stepping in after Tae. The house looked untouched. An open crayon box sat on the coffee table and an unfinished drawing next to it. You took Tae’s hand again patting it with your other, “let’s search around and clean it up before it gets dark.” You tested the light switches flicking them and after a few attempts they lit, but they faded not too long after. “We’re going to have to work fast.” You followed Taehyung around the house going through every room. The house was stuck in a time warp of twenty years ago. The furniture and style of the home was outdated. Taehyung’s ears twitched occasionally when he would pick up things, but he would set them back down. He saved his parent’s room for last. He opened the door to a messy room. The closet doors and drawers were open with clothes strung everywhere. Empty picture frames splayed across the bed. Even though you knew exactly what happened, it was hard looking at the mess. She really was in a hurry the day they left. You traced your fingers over the frame picking it to place it back next to the bed side table. Pick up the pieces, and eventually you’ll see the puzzle. You turned back to the stoic fox, his eyes were busy taking everything in. He said nothing the whole time we went through the house.

You came up behind him, gliding your hands through the gap between his arms and sides clutching him tight. “Are you okay?” He removed your hands turning you in his embrace. He brought you into his chest nuzzling against your hair. You were the only familiar scent in this home, everything else felt foreign to him, even if he remembered these walls. The only memories coming back was the one he shared with you and the rest of the fireflies. He spoke into your hair, “thank you for coming with me.” You smoothed your hand up and down his back, “before you thank me, let’s get things done.” He nodded into your hair taking in your scent as much as he could before you go to work. The blush has expanded past your ears for sure.

You set your phone up on the kitchen counter and connected it to Bluetooth and put on cleaning music. Taehyung twitched a brow to you watching your corny dance moves. You swayed to the beat as you tied up your hair into a messy bun. You mouthed along with the lyrics and obnoxiously pointed to him. He hunched over laughing, but soon joined you in a small dance in the living room. With a few beats you bumped the side of yours his hip with his, eliciting giggles out of you both. The house felt alive again. Your parents lent you cleaning supplies, along with some other goodies they left outside their door for you to pick up. You felt like Cinderella sweeping across the floor as Taehyung opened the windows letting light in. Taehyung left momentarily and parked out front bringing our luggage inside. You kept cleaning and by the time the sun set, you were content with the kitchen, living room and one room being cleaned out.

Taehyung was outside cleaning the patio, while you cleaned up the aftermath of tonight’s dinner, two cups of ramen. You cut up some fruit for dessert that your mom gave you earlier. You carried the plate out the door waiting for Taehyung to lay the matt over the low platform. The wood was old and splintering, but with a little love it would come back to life. Taehyung set the latten in the center of the matt and tapped the empty spot next to him.

You adjusted yourself on the soft cloth. Taehyung let the tranquility take over. He laid on his back crossing his forearms to a makeshift pillow under his head, “I haven’t been this relaxed in a while.” In his head he counted the stars but lost track after the twentieth when all the lights in the sky clustered too close together. You bit into an apple savoring the sweet crunch. You looked towards the tree line recounting the many times you’ve played there, where the stream you played in was bone dry. The place you meet Tae. “Tae, do you remember the first day we met?” He hummed in question not hearing you the first time. “do you remember how we met?” Tae inhaled a deep breath leaving it in a heavy sigh, “I really don’t remember it well, but I do remember the night where I told everyone what the stars were. Kids really do believe everything.” I laughed handing him an apple slice, “yeah, we may have been kids, but…it helped me through a lot of times.”

He glanced over to you watching your expression. Because of specs on the lantern, the orange light displayed a disco ball effect on her; like fireflies dancing on her skin. The perk of her nose, the flutter of her lashes, the petals that were her lips all hypnotized him. Her hair was a mess, fly-a-ways sticking out of her messy ponytail, but she looked perfect. The perfect combination of calmness and calamity. He traced the contours of her face with his eyes, mapping out things he’s never had much chance to do before. He wanted…no…needed her to want him too.

With all the experience of partying and dating he had, nothing could compare to the confidence he chalked up now. “You know, Y/N, if you get too comfortable with me, I think I should have you call me Mr. Kim again.”

The soft atmosphere broke, you couldn’t help laughing and hard. It was hilarious now thinking back to Taehyung, you meant Mr. Kim, the stern lawyer in his almighty office. He feigned being upset with your taunting, so he sat up. “What’s so funny Y/N?” A cheeky smile bloomed on his lips as he inched closer. You fell on your back laughing, “sorry Mr. Stern-Lawyer, I guess I am forgetting.” He swooped in tickling your sides violently. You could hardly breath and tears were brimming in your eyes. You placed your hands on his chest pushing him away, “Tae, stop! I can’t—I can’t breathe!” He rested both hands by head giggling to himself as he loomed over you.

Once you could open your eyes clearly enough, the fox above you was staring at you with something else in his eyes. Something you’ve never seen in them before.

He studied your face carefully, he watched your pupils expand and contract. He could hear your heartbeat in his ears. Your lips were parted glossy like dewy petals. You swallowed hard, the position was making your mouth dry. You spoke out breathily, “Tae—.” He dipped down brushing your noses together, you could feel the peach fuzz of his chin rubbing against yours. He nudged your noses together causing you to arch your head back. He watched your lips move with his name on them. His elbows caved down and caged you in even further bringing your hands to your chest. His body heat radiated to yours. A low content purr grumbled in his throat as his tail stiffened. He whispered your name against your lips, before he pecked lightly. The heat from him started a fire in your stomach. He came back for more, kissing you soft but hard each time. Your hands slid up cupping his neck and cheek tangling in his hair, anything to bring him further into the kiss. You could feel the rumbles of his purr from your hand on his neck.

You had to pull away for a breath of air, but he couldn’t wait long, so he began peppering kissing around your face. Once on each eye, each cheek, your forehead, then nose appreciating all of you. I had to, “Mr. Kim, this isn’t appropriate office behavior.” He kissed you again, and again seconds melted into minutes. He took your breath away.

He pulled away from your bruising lips looking you directly in the eyes, “I’ve made up my mind, don’t call me that…ever….” I slapped his chest laughing, he was insufferable. He pecked my lips one more before he flopped on his back sighing in relief. You didn’t quite catch what he said, but it sounded similar to the word, “mine.” His. The both of you were flushed, but you were especially nervous to look at him. He laced his fingers with yours and his tail tickled your thigh. The music playing from your phone filled the atmosphere with lyrics, even though they weren’t our own, they said everything for us.

Under the fireflies, this moment was more than perfect.

You cleared out some space in the living room and laid out your sleeping bags. We couldn’t trust any of the mattresses. We eyed eachother blushing occasionally thinking back to the kiss before. You crawled into your sleeping back, letting him turn off the lantern. The fireflies were dancing in your stomach. You fell asleep and somewhere through the night the bags came together, and our hands intertwined. It was admittedly the best sleep he’s ever had.

In the early hours of the morning you’re at the kitchen table typing away at your laptop and Taehyung rested his head on your shoulder reading the open webpage. “We should head out soon.” He nodded passing you a quick breakfast, more ramen. Within thirty minutes you were on the road, we drove forty-five minutes to get there. “Riverwood County Shelter,” the words read out boldly on the sign in their lawn before Taehyung turned into the parking lot of the dreadful looking building. The town was nice, but there was something off. Maybe it was the clear bias towards this place? No, it felt too quiet.

You looked over to Tae before you went inside, “if you want me to go inside I can, you can wait in the car.” He shook his head, “no, I want to see the place my parents grew up.” Taehyung held open the door for you, immediately leading into a receptionist lobby. A woman with glasses hanging low on her nose sat behind the curved desk. She typed away at her computer and slowly blinked up towards us. She did not want to be here, that was for sure. Taehyung approached the desk, “Hello, we’re from—.” You stepped harshly on Taehyung’s toe. A huff left him along with a deep grunt, he side eyed you full of questions. You took over conversation, “hello, were looking for a…baby to adopt. I can’t have children of my own and I always wanted to have a child with my husband.” You wrapped Taehyung’s hand in yours and brought his hand up to your lips. You pretended to blink away tears. The woman at the receptionist desk blinked back at you slowly. Taehyung seemed to catch on halfway, “My wife and I really want a fox hybrid. Something that would look like me, maybe.” The woman began typing shortly then stood up, “let me get the file and ask my manager if they’re letting people observe today. I’ll be right back.” She picked up an empty clipboard and pen disappearing down a nearby hallway.

You waited for her footsteps to fade before you rounded the desk taking her seat. Taehyung harshly whispered, “what are you doing Y/N?” You brushed hair off your shoulder, “hush, be on the lookout. Warn me if she’s coming back.” You jammed the USB into the monitor and went to town on their database. His eyes were working a thousand miles per hours, “when did you bring that?” You raised your brow at him, “there’s a lot you don’t know about me Tae.” A smirk crossed his face cheekily leaning on the table, “a man should know his wife.”

You willed away the blush crossing your cheeks and searched through their outdated system. You transferred the files of employees from twenty years ago, hoping it would give some intel about the people who knew his parents. You pulled out your phone bringing up the two long numbers that his mother gave you. Their ID numbers. A young photo of his mother popped up and in big read letters above the biographic information read, “MISSING.” You searched for his father’s data, but your fingers stopped typing on the keyboard when footsteps approached in the hall.

Taehyung winked at you, “leave it to me, honey.” He walked towards the receptionist, “you were able to convince your manager, right? My wife…she’s really been upset with the whole infertile thing. I can’t live with the anger anymore or the tears.” He spewed out the first things that came to his mind, using his years of practice as a lawyer to spin a believable story. Your fingers flew across the keys. You unplugged the USB and shoved it into your pocket tucking it deep. You closed all the documents back to what it originally was and stood leaning against the desk attempting to look distressed. “Dear, you know what I don’t want to look today. I don’t think I can handle it.” Taehyung came running up to your side, “but honey.” You held up your hand twisting your face up as if you were going to cry, “no…I can’t.” You pushed through the doors to hear a belated sorry towards the receptionist from Tae. You both got in the car and drove away.

Back at home you pulled out your laptop again and plugged in the USB immediately. Taehyung sat next to you watching the new information load in multitude of files. You passed him the laptop allowing him to go over the info first. He put on his glasses reading the information intently. When he scrolled past a photo of his father he stayed on it studying the face. “I honestly don’t remember his face besides the one in the photo. He was gone a lot as a kid. He looks so much like I do here.” You leaned into his side resting your chin on his shoulder, “look he has the same freckle on his nose like you.” You booped his nose right on the freckle. He rubbed his nose, “I guess we really do look alike.”

He opened file after file, you ended up working longer than expected. You missed the timing to go over to your parents for dinner. You opted to make a small meal, something besides ramen. You were prepping when he called you back over to the laptop. “Hon—Y/N, look tell me you see what I see?” The image of the man before you was familiar, but without his signature trademark. Under the security guard’s employee archive, was the face of a brutish man, but he lacked the scars on his face. As you leaned in forward your hand almost slipped and missed the table, “isn’t that the police chief? Police chief Archer...Robert Archer?”

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Copyright 2018 © by magicalsalamander. All right reserved.

[j-diamond]

I have you? (Zsasz x Reader)

This goes out to @miss-androgony  I am so sorry it took so long, but part 1 is done, and I’m already half way through with part 2.

   “Just this once.” You say following him. You were teens and as a teen you are supposed to try and figure out what you’re meant to do. That’s what you were doing, sort of…

  You lived in a family of three, your mother, your brother, and you. You were the most mature, and basically held the family together, even though you were but sixteen. Your mother didn’t really appreciate you and you would’ve left as soon as you could, were it not for your brother. You adored your brother, as did your mother- really the only thing you had in common. You wanted to give him a better life ever since his birth. He, having been bullied, grew up with a tough life. Seeing that made you hurt, because even though it didn’t look like it, you knew exactly how he felt. So you grew up fast, that way he never had to.

   “So what are we doing?” You ask him as you follow him through alleyways.    “You said you needed money. Right y/n/n?” He asks, stopping,    “Yes. But what of it V?” You ask him, confused.

   This was your friend Victor Zsasz. You had grown up together, and basically were inseparable. You met him in 4th grade, under the school stairs. He had been crying, he’d lost all his hair. ALL of it. No eyebrows, lashes, no hair anywhere. You’d been going there because that’s where you went when it all got a bit too much, ever since then you guys have been friends. Zsasz grew up to be daring, you well, you became a bit of a heart breaker. After puberty, you’d grew to be very beautiful. Boys fell for you just for your looks and that disgusted you because they didn’t like you, for you, the beautiful person inside. Zsasz constantly made fun of you because of it.

  “Now here me out?” He says as he holds your hands.   “V…” you say wearily,   “We need you. You’re a straight shot.” He says slowly.   “You don’t mean killing…” You say suspiciously.   “I do. But only if you want to.”

  You said yes. Both of you basically grew up to be the most feared people in Gotham. Victor Zsasz, the city renowned hit man, and Y/n L/n, also known as The Siren, The Spider, The Charmer and The Seducer, a female who preyed on people, charming both men and women alike, right before she kills them. Even though all of Gotham knew you were the most dangerous people there, they still did not fear you as though they should. And instead of doing something about it, you did nothing. For that’s the way you loved it.

   “One of Maroni’s men?” You asked looking at Falcone, he shakes his head,    “Yes, he has stolen some of my stocks, and I believe Maroni knows but is doing nothing about it. So you’re going to have to kill him in the most obvious way so that it does not look like it was us. Okay?” You and Victor exchange glances,    “Yes boss.” He says slyly, this was going to be fun. You both turn and leave and as soon as you close the door you both are dashing. The sound of laughter and shoes continually pounding on the ground filled the hallways and anyone who heard the sound already knew; you had a new target. They all cleared the way, giving you a clean exit.

  “I should probably take this.” You say as you pull out your five, toothed blade, i’ve been dying to try this out.” He looks at you, smirking,   “I’d rather not.”   “And I’d rather not- no I am not going to be your zsaszette.”   “Fine.”   As you both walk the halls, of his diner, which also doubled as his lair, you heard a familiar voice. You motioned to Victor to go the other way, as if you wanted him to search the other rooms, but in reality you just didn’t want him to know what you were up to. You had a tenday of shooting and not caring, because you hated liars and traitors, so to you it didn’t matter who they were, they would most likely die.   “Falcone doesn’t know i’m here.”   “Good. Cause babe if-”   “Don’t call me babe.” A voice says roughly. It was females, but it was deep, meaning they were angry. Which could only mean one thing. You frowned looking at your knife,   “Looks like I won’t be able to use this,” you whisper looking at you blade, then smirking, “but I can use this.” you say looking at the machine gun outside the door. So you do what some consider to be your best, and you aim low just below the shins, and shoot. You continue to shoot until the bullets are gone. Once they are you dash, finding Zsasz having basically mauled the target you frowned.   “You weren’t here.” he said bluntly   “Doesn’t matter. We gotta run.”   “Y/N/N… What did you do?” He asks hesitantly, you look at him and but hear the sound of shuffling feet,   “Doesn’t matter. V, we gotta run.” You say grabbing his arm, pulling him as you ran.

  “Mooney’s place was shot up yesterday,” Falcone says interrupting you and Victor’s relaxation time. You stood up, only to be pulled back down onto his lap.   “So?” Victor asks as he starts playing with your hair. You frown, you didn’t like people playing ni your hair, or was it you didn’t like sitting on his lap?   “I need you to-”   “We don’t do body guards.” Victor says not looking up from your hair. You turn around and look at him,   “V.” He pauses, and sighs,   “Fine.” He says as you both get up, “Let’s go protect the damn fish.” You smile, holding back a laugh. You know he and fish weren’t on so great of terms, and hell, you hated her also, but you just had to see if you were right.

  “Why hello. What do we have here?” A female voice rings out as you and Victor are coming in from the skylight. He smiles, one of his ‘cut the bullshit’ smiles. She limps over to you two with open arms, and you reluctantly hug her. As you hug her you look around, examining it.    “So this place was shot up?” You ask as she lets go of you.    “Yes actually. Luckily Butch here was able to stop them.” She says motioning to the  beast of a man.    “Yeah, once I got out there, I beat them to a pulp.”    “Is that why you’re limping?” You ask Fish, and she looks at you briefly,    “You noticed. Yes indeed it is. I was on stage looking at the overview of the room when the shots started, I covered. Sadly not in time enough to not have been shot.” She says as she shows the bullet wound in her shin.    “Must’ve been using nylon 66’s.” you say lying.    “Yes I believe so.” She says and you smirk inwardly. You caught the lying bitch.    “Well Zsasz and I will figure out who, and kill them, by order of Falcone. Mind if we investigate. No? Good.” you say without letting her answer and motion for Victor to follow you. You lift things up and down, pulling out your gun stepping around to get a picture of things, all while pretending you care.    “You’re actually taking this seriously?” Victor asks,    “Of course not. I already know who shot her and the place.” You say continuing to pretend like you were investigating.    “Really?” he asks intrigued,    “Yep.” you say popping the p, “You remember yesterday?”    “Yea…”    “Well I shot up the Maroni’s office at shin level.” You say pointing at the stage, “then I left.”    “So you shot up his office without consulting me?”    “I had to catch the traitor.” you say turning around and looking at the floor, “And I did. I used a machine gun, and clearly that’s a bullet wound for a machine gun, but she’s saying it’s a 66. Which is false.” He looks at you in awe, he couldn’t help himself he lo-    “Sorry i’m late Fish. I had to make sure that the ride was prepared.” a voice says. You know that voice, but it couldn’t be… right?    “It’s okay Penguin. I have some people for you to meet. They’re well know, so you must remember them.” She beckons you two over and you follow lost in thought behind Victor, confused as to why you knew that voice, “This is Gotham’s most feared hitman.” He shoots a gun as always, “And this is Gotham’s very own Siren.” You smirk as you turn around to meet who she was interesting you to, but as soon as you saw him you froze. And the moment his eyes met yours he followed suit.

   “I’m sorry V.” You say over the phone, “I can’t stay anymore.”    “But isn’t this a good thing?” He says stammering, “I mean now you don’t have to hide.”    “You don’t understand,” you zipping up the suitcase, “I did this so that he wouldn’t have to, but now that he’s tied up in it I’ve no reason to continue.”    “Yes you do.” he says quietly, You pick up your suitcase and open the door to your room.    “What? Why would I possibly continue to do this?”   “Me.” he says almost inaudible. You briefly stare at the phone in shock   “What? V… I mean?”   “Y/N/N. I-” But before he could finish you found yourself ending the call. Oswald was back. You had to leave now. Closing the door, you looked at the fire escape. You leave your phone on the bed and before you jump out the door opens, with Oswald tumbling in. The look on his face pains you so much, that you almost stay, but you wouldn’t, you couldn’t.

   “I’m sorry Ozzy.” you say, jumping out the window.