#nothing is provided besides they are destined to be enemies because of their titles as sub-zero and scorpion

[ntaras]

kuai liang and bi-han are such parallels of kitana and mileena in the way their siblinghood is presented: bad vs good. but it's purely bad vs. good and barley has any nuance provided

[cacoetheswriting]

champagne problems, ch.13

Chapter Thirteen: Happiness is a butterfly: An impromptu “bachelorette” leads to more than you expected. A/N: chapter is titled after this song if you want to listen while reading. Word Count: 1.7k Warnings: swearing, brief talk of heartbreak & breakup/s, alcohol consumption, intoxication, angst, and finally a bit of fluff !!

series masterlist

A/N: i can’t believe after this chapter, there is only two left!! from the bottom of my heart, thank you to everyone that’s been reading / liking / commenting / reblogging - it genuinely means the world to me!

-

Loud chatter mixed with drunken laughter carried through the bar, creating the perfect Saturday night atmosphere. The various raucous discussions were accompanied by old jukebox melodies, fighting a battle of who can make more noise - man or machine.

The space carried a stench of sweat, cigarette smoke and spilled drink. While listening to Penelope’s incoherent ramblings, you took a mental note of needing to throw the clothes you were currently wearing into the wash the second you got home. If you were sober enough to do so, that is.

“Okay, okay-” Emily began, still laughing at whatever it was Penelope had just said. “Personally, I think a more important question is who wants another drink?” She glanced between the group of girls who all lifted their empty glasses into the air, cheering loudly.

It was a pretty unanimous decision to still throw you a bachelorette party. The BAU ladies wanted a night out and you were happy to provide them with an excuse - primarily because the months have quickly passed into May and you figured it was finally time to stop wallowing in self-pity.

Penelope invested in a fake engagement ring; “No-one will know the difference and this way we can get free drinks.”. She also arrived with a bag of typical bachelorette knickknacks from the dollar store, plastic tiaras, and bright pink sashays - a ‘BRIDE’ one for you, ‘MAID OF HONOUR’ for herself, and ‘BRIDESMAID’ for the remaining ladies.

When the night started you honestly felt quite silly celebrating something that was no longer happening. You felt like a fraud. Fooling all of these people into thinking you were happy and about to embark on the best journey of your life, when the reality couldn't have been more different.

You were utterly alone and pathetically in love with someone who, you were convinced, didn't love you back.

Penelope volunteered to help Emily with getting the drinks while Tara took the time to go and freshen up in the bathroom.

“Sooo... are you still thinking about leaving the bureau?” JJ asked, sliding into the now empty spot beside you. She placed an elbow on the table to prop her head up as she waited for you to answer.

Her question caught you off guard. Taking the last sip of your current margarita, you furrowed your brows together. “What? I don’t even... what?” 

JJ didn't answer. Instead, she let out a relieved laugh. “I knew Spence was playing with me. And I told him, I told him there was no way, absolutely no wayyy you would ever leave, or even consider leaving.”

“Spencer?” You probed, hopping to make some sense of what she ways saying.

JJ nodded her head, her hand clearly struggling to hold it up. “He came by, gosh... this was shortly after your breakup with Ethan? And he let lit slip that the surgeon had come by his place and told him you were leaving the BAU...” Her voice faded out when she noticed the perplexed look on your face. Even in her inebriated state she could tell you had no idea Ethan and Spencer ever spoke alone. 

“Shit, did I say something wrong?”

“No, I-I... I don't think so? I’m just... confused.” And as the words escaped your lips, a sudden urge overcame you. If it wasn't for the alcohol cursing through your veins right now, perhaps you would have left it alone. Perhaps the feeling would have passed. Instead, however, you sprung up on your feet and hastily grabbed your handbag.

“I have to go.”

JJ immediately sat up. “Go? Go where?”

But you didn’t want to get into it now. No, you had much more pressing matters at hand - at least your drunken mind thought so. You decided to leave the explaining to Penelope and Tara, who reappeared at the table with Emily and a new set of cocktails. You shot them both a knowing look, and before either of them got a chance to protest, you hurried in the direction of the exit.

The ride to your destination was a blur - partially due to your heavy intoxication, and partially due to the adrenaline you were now experiencing. You weren't even sure how you managed to hail a taxi or how the driver understood the address through your muddled breaths. You were simply glad they did.

Your whole body was shaking. You still weren't entirely sure whether what you were doing was a good idea, but it seemed like there was no other option as JJ’s words rang in your ears - “... the surgeon had come by his place and told him you were leaving the BAU...”. What did she mean by that? When did this conversation even happen? You had so many questions circling your brain, you could only hope they'd get answered once you arrived where you were heading.

Once the car stopped and you paid your fair, you managed to exit the vehicle in one piece and stumble, fairly elegantly, to the front door of the apartment block. The stairs proved to be the real enemy of the night as your legs failed to coordinate with the wooden steps. But once you reached your goal, the struggle of getting here didn't seem as important anymore.

With your hand formed into a lousy fist, you knocked and knocked and knocked until the door swung open.

“When was Ethan here?” You asked, not willing to waste any more time.

Spencer stared at you completely dumbfounded. He blinked, unsure at first whether you were really here or if his mind was playing tricks. Truthfully, he’s imagined this happening many times in the last few months - you finding out the truth behind that night. Especially with the context of your voicemail still lingering in the air every time he saw you.

“Fuck.” You breathed, one hand rockily landing on Spencer’s chest. He instantly reached to grab you and hold safely you up in position. Completely unfazed by your sudden closeness, with your free hand, you brought your knee to your back and you loosened the strap of your heel.

Spencer watched you silently, the overpowering whiff of your perfume mixed with alcohol hitting him like a brick. He quickly took note of the plastic tiara in your hair and the sash wrapped around your rather loose outfit. All that went through his head in that moment was how happy he was you got here safe and sound.

“Do you need me to drive you home? Or, ehm, or call you a cab?” Spencer raised a brow as you regained your wobbly stance, your hand still clinging to his sweatshirt as if it was your only lifeline. Which judging by your... condition, it surely was.

You scoffed, unintentionally blowing your loose strands of your hair away from your face. “Don’t be a jerk, don’t call me a taxi.”

The handsome doctor smirked. “A jerk?”

You nodded. “And do not think for a ss-second, you’re getting away with answering my question.”

“I had a feeling you would say that.”

Spencer carefully led you inside the confide of his apartment. With one arm wrapped tightly around your waist, he closed the door behind and guided you toward the couch. You plopped down with a gentle bounce and he couldn't help but chuckle.

“Let me get you some water.” He offered, but you grabbed his arm and using all of the strength you could muster, you pulled him down next to you.

“Answer my question first.” You mumbled while placing your hands on his cheeks and gaping into his hazel eyes. Gosh, he had such pretty eyes.

Spencer swallowed before licking his lips. Your proximity should be making him nervous, but he felt nothing of the sort. Instead, he found himself shuffling in closer.

“Please, Spencer... I need to know.” The plea was gratuitous because deep down you already knew the answer. You just needed him to confirm your suspicions.

As the tears started to form in your eyes, the brunette doctor sighed deeply. Now was his only chance to set the record straight. He might not get another one, in fact he knew if he let you leave tonight without telling you what really happened he'd lose you permanently. Even as a friend.

Now or never, he thought, then proceed to explain.

And you listened. You listened patiently and attentively, letting the waterfall of tears escape and trail mascara down your face. His words were slowly sobering you up. Everything was starting to become clear once again.

Spencer always loved you. He never stopped loving you. He never wanted to end things, he simply did what he thought was the right thing to do. The right thing for you because your happiness was more important to him than his own. He still loved you. He loved you.

By the time Spencer was finished, the alcohol had completely faded from your system. Your arms instantly draped around his neck, and you fell into his comforting embrace. Attaching yourself like a magnet. His hand landed at the back of your head, fingers tangling in your hair. Basking in your warmth. He whispered apologies into your ear, repeating over and over again that he will never let you go again.

You believed him.

When you finally pulled away, the tears had stopped falling. Using his thumb, Spencer gently wiped the lone droplets that remained on your face. There were so many things he wanted to tell you, so many things he wanted to do with you, but at least now he knew he didn't have to rush. The chase was over.

His fingertips traced along your jawline before settling on your chin. The two of you gazed into each other’s eyes, because in this moment you were the only people to exist. The only people to matter.

“Can I kiss you?”

A smile circled your features. “As if you have to ask.”

His mouth brushed against yours with tenderness and care. You melted into him completely, glad he was taking his time because the first touch of his lips on your sent a jolt down your spine. One hand slid from your chin up your cheek, cupping your face, while his other hand graciously moved up and down your arm.

Your lips parted from shocking overwhelming sensation in your body. You hadn't realised just how much you missed his touch, not until his hand traveled from your arm to your neck. His fingertips brushing across, not quite landing in any particular place, as his tongue eagerly slid into your mouth.

Conveyed in his kiss were over a million loving thoughts and conversations previously left unspoken. The pent up tension, built up over the occurrences of these last few months, suddenly exploded. In the moment, in this kiss, you were both your pure selves.

He was yours, and you were his.

Forever.

Do you want me or do you not? I heard one thing, now I'm hearing another

-

A/N: as always i’d love to hear your feedback! if you would like to be added to a taglist, please let me know. thank you for your continuous support. with love, mal. x

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story taglist: @girloncorneliastreet, @haylaansmi, @rexorangecouny, @l0ve-0f-my-life, @obsssedwithjustaboutanything, @aperrywilliams, @sassy-hades, @rainsong01, @reverdevivre, @dracomikaelson, @softieekayy, @lunaofcrows, @andrewhoezierbyrne​, @blameitonthenight21, @lyl-26, @do-yr-research, @nazifa94, @stepsofthefbi, @chatterbug2-0, @calm-and-doctor, @halseysunset, @ellesgreenaway, @chipot-lol​

tags not working: @radtwinkie

[crime-bot]

Unfinished(?) pt. 2 of All My Braincells Have Gone With The Wind. It's best recieved if you read it with no expectations

I woke up, and by lord, was the sun shining. Like. It was shining so bloody bright that I could barely see, so I kept my eyes closed. Despite my heroic blindness, I could still hear, smell, and feel. Top ten things I felt while sleeping on an air mattress in the middle of a river; number 7 will ASTOUND you!

… wait a second.

"FIEND-!"

I punched the offending air mattress until it popped, and I fell into the river, terrifying the salmon once more. Poor salmon… I pity their existence…

"Oh, poor things… but I see you were able to sleep with your worst enemy after all"

I turned to them and stood up in the river, which was easy, considering it was just three feet deep.

"Huh?"

My ghost accomplice floated up to me and carried me out of the river in their ghost arms.

"The salmon, my dear. They were working so hard all night, and you spooked them."

"Oh… but you don't understand! I was on my worst enemy!"

They set me down before floating close to the ground in front of my and asking, "but didn't they provide you with rest for an entire night?"

I looked back to the carcass of the air mattress as it floated along the river. "Well… yeah…."

"Also," they continued, "Didn't it keep you safe when you were most vulnerable?"

"... I think you're right… but… that's /not/ when I'm most vulnerable!"

This was true. One night, while I was sleeping in a tree, a wild wolf climbed up to me, and I punched it in the face before it was able to caress my /own/ face.

"I don't care."

"You don't?"

"Not yet." The ghost floated up to a tree and picked an apple off of one of its branches. "You still have much to learn. Here," they tossed the apple to me, which I caught and took a bite out of. Thank goodness it wasn't a crab apple.

"But then what do I have to do?"

They seemed to think for a moment before answering with, "I'll teach you. It'll take time, but eventually you'll be able to live up to the title of 'The Fantabulous Air Balloon'."

The ghost approached me and gently took my hand. "Come with me."

I, clueless as always, went with them as they led me through the forest by the hand. We passed many things; trees, giant mushrooms, stone giants, until we reached a cliff.

"This," they said as they let go of my hand, "is where we'll train"

I, still in a stupor and currently looking at the view from the cliff, uttered, "really?"

"Really. -Here!" They threw a staff at me, and I just barely caught it. "For now, since it's the most readily available, you'll learn how to fight with this."

"Oh /boy/! What does it do?!" said I, as I held up and studied the staff.

"Nothing, besides exist for now. What, did you think it'd have some sort of crazy ability?"

"Yeah, actually."

"Well, it doesn't. Honestly I can't believe you'd think such a thing. A staff like that having any sort of ability-- impossible."

"Impossible…" I stared down at the staff as they spoke. Impossible. Are there more things in this world that are impossible? What if… what if it's impossible for me to master the air? -Or, even worse, maybe it's impossible for me to gain any sort of care from anyone. Maybe I'm destined t-

"Alright, alright, don't get your knickers in a twist. Just because I said someone was impossible doesn't mean what I said is true."

I looked up from the staff. "It doesn't?"

"N.. no." They seemed to look a bit shy, right then. I wondered why.

"-Anyways. You need to get better at fighting," they possessed a tree and made it move rather menacingly, and a voice came from within a knot hole near one of its branches. "So, I'm going to ask you to attack me."

"SIR YES SIR!" I yelled and barrelled towards the tree with my pole, and lept into the air to give it a good whack. … too bad it knocked me into the ground before I could do that.

"You're going to have to try a different approach, Fantabulous."

I, having just been flung into the ground by a tree, didn't respond any further than "... fgk"

[vampiresuns]

The Art Of Keeping Your Enemies Close

A guide by Aelius Anatole Tyrell, Master of Whispers, and Tyrik Lannister, the new Hand of the King — A fanfic for @starryskylullaby​‘s ASOIAF AU.

Tyrik is @apothecaryremedies​‘s. Thank you so much for figuring out this with me, and lending me your boy for this bit.

i. King’s Landing

He came to the Capital to oversee some affairs of an alliance between Casterly Rock and the Crown — mostly about grain and similar resources. It’s good to be in good terms with it, for one must be strategic when positioning oneself and one’s House up the ranks. Besides, one never knows when they may need new faces around.

It’s all going quite well, the King seems to be indulging him, even if Lord Tyrik noticed his mind seemed to often wander somewhere else, the negotiations mostly conducted by Lord Valerius Rambton, Hand of the King. Still, he’s present enough, speaking of generosity and deals, and how Tyrik is making a good call and the Targaryens will not forget his alliances. Tyrik had been expecting this.

“Your Grace,” Lord Valerius said abruptly, “do you mind if I consult Aelius over a couple of things first?” He turns to Tyrik. “Nothing to do with your House, of course, I am only in wanting of corroborating a situation with other providing Houses.”

“I don’t see why not,” Lucerys replied, and Valerius asked a page to go bring Lord Tyrell.

Lucerys snorts, clearly amused. “Have you ever had the pleasure of meeting the Highgarden snake? He’s such a weird man.”

“No— I don’t think I have.”

“Lucerys...” Valerius warned, speaking at the same time as Tyrik.

Wherever destination the King wished to reach with his comment was never met, as the arrival of the Master of Whisperers is announced. He was rather short, for a man, with hair as long as a woman’s and blonde as the wheat near Casterly Rock. Tyrik thinks the only thing about his face that truly suggests he’s a Tyrell is how obviously pretty he is, along with the brown eyes.

He was being truthful when he said he had never met him, which didn’t mean he hadn’t heard about him. Tyrik had heard plenty about him, from his political linings before he came to King’s Landing to a garland of other rumours. All of them equally possible, all of them equally impossible.

“Cousin,” Anatole greeted Valerius with a smile, “Your Grace, and Lord Tyrik Lannister, am I correct?”

“You are.”

“Aelius Anatole Tyrell, Master of Whispers of the Crown. It is a pleasure to finally meet the newly appointed Lord of Casterly Rock.”

That’s when it had all begun.

After the meeting, Lord Tyrell had insisted to him on calling him either Aelius or  Anatole, rather than by any titles, and had walked with him through the Red Keep. The conversation was seemingly inane. It happened again when the King had a banquet and a dance to play host of Lord Tyrik. He’d caught him saying hello to the Queen, and Lord Tyrik felt in the meeting room again. It was the little things Anatole did: you thought you saw something of him, and you chased after it, only to find yourself in an endless labyrinth of smoke and mirrors. You starred at your reflection, who raised an eyebrow at you, as if saying: do you really think you’ll catch him? Really?

It wasn’t that he was bigger than the King, or more relevant than the Hand. He was not, and Tyrik did not think he thought the Spymaster to be presumptuous  — no, that is not the way he would describe him. Tyrik would describe him as unreachable and seemingly omnipresent. Unreachable because when they conversed, he had not replied a single slightly more personal question Tyrik had asked, who didn’t even realise he was not being replied. Omnipresent because he seemed to know more about you than you would ever know about him.

It was a taunt, and Lord Tyrik didn’t like it.

(“So, what do you think of him?” Valerius asked.

“What I think of him is irrelevant, dear Cousin,” Anatole replied with a smile. “What matters is what I know of him.”

Valerius smirked. “You bastard.”)

ii. The War

Anatole was perfectly aware that if they didn’’t win, if Astaeria didn’t end up in the Iron Throne (or doesn’t manage a treaty with Lucerys) this civil war will end with him dead. If Lucerys won, he would forgive Astaeria, clearly; while the quality of the love he has for her could be disputed, he did love her, that accounted for a fact to anyone who knew him enough.

He may as well have Valerius forgiven, or he could have him face better consequences than the usual ones attached to treason — Lucerys is about power, it’s the only thing for him. Forgiving someone accused for treason could be a sign of weakness, yes, but it could also be a strategic move. A way to keep people on a leash.

Besides, Anatole was aware that deep down, Lucerys was too a being of sentiment. Sentiment which did not extend to him.

It had nothing to do with being particularly liked or disliked by the King. They managed, they found a way for their working relationsip to go as smoothly as possible — it relied in the King knowing Anatole would come to him with cold hard facts, sound strategies, and honest words. At the end of the day, Anatole might not tell Lucerys everything, but he never lied to Lucerys.

However, he hasn’t been his friend for years — they weren’t friends at all; he wasn’t his wife, and he had the kind of position you either had on your side, or removed. No second chances. Specially when he had poked Lucerys one too many times during different treatings with how having him apprehended, and trialed for treason, now will only be detrimental in the end.

He was about to leave Lucerys camp when Lord Tyrik spoke to him: “Would you mind walking with me, Lord Anatole?” 

Anatole squintted at him.

“If this is a game, I would much rather you let me go,” Anatole replied, as politely as he could.

“It’s only a walk,” Lord Tyrik sayid, looking more irritated than he sounded.

Anatole delayed his reply on purposefully. Eventually, he replied: “On one condition.”

“State your terms.”

“You’ll have to frank with me. I can tell when people are lying to me, and I think it is quite useless for us to lie.”

“Is that te opinion you have of me?” Tyrik shot back.

“My opinion of you is irrelevant,” Anatole replied, looking at his nails as he walked. “What matters is what I know about you.”

“And what do you know about me?” Tyrik said with derision.

So this was how it was? If Tyrik wanted a challenge, a challenge he would get. Anatole was seething at his tone, but he was not going to let him know.

He said: “I know you’re silver tongued, overly greedy and dance around your opinion, I know about a series of connections and potential plans you have for your House, as well as your true reasons for stepping up as Hand of The King. I know it is likely your circumventing ways have not worked with Lucerys, who usually does as he pleases. Am I wrong?”

The rest of their conversation is charged, both of them on edge. Tyrik had changed, or his disposition had, since the first time they met. Most of what he knew about him he knew due to his spies, talking to him only confirmed it. He was ambitious, headstrong, unconcerned with the opinions of others and all too concerned about it at the same time — it all depended on whether he came out of situations with the upper hand.

Anatole didn’t need anyone telling him at the end of the day he’s fighting Tyrik. The next move to execute in the chess game of his life was against the new Hand.

Anatole doesn’t lose.

Something Tyrik had said made him cock his head in his direction and stop walking all together, as he felt that bubbling sensation that came with finding where did the last piece of the puzzle fitted. The was the chess move he was talking about, and he had just moved to check.

“You’re unsure,” Anatole said, making Lord Tyrik stop and turn, as he hadn’t realised Anatole had stopped walking. “You don’t know if Lucerys will win this, and the more he is reminded his original allies, so to speak, are not on his side, the more unsure of fighting a full fight he becomes.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You want Lucerys to win. No, not just to win, to win swimmingly, and you realise you don’t think you can do it. You know what you want but you do not know how to get it.”

“Tell me, Lord Tyrik,” Anatole continued, “what part of the Country do you plan to claim for yourself when all of this is done?”

“You sound too judgamental for someone who clearly has no scruples.”

“At least my mind stays with the goal on sight, not like yours. Why do you look surprised? I knew exactly the kind of man you were when you first met you in King’s Landing. Rancidly aristocratic, arrogant, proud, silver tongued. Time has only proved me right.”

“A lion does not concern himself with the opinion of sheep—”

“Ah,” Anatole interrupts him, “but you know I am not one of those.”

“You should learnt to watch your tongue,” Tyrik hissed at him. “I’m not the one who’s dangerously close to being aprehended for treason. You are on enemy grounds after all.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

To Anatole’s surprise, Tyrik smirks. “It’s your lonineless.”

“What?”

“That is your weakness. If you lose, you will die, and you will be left with nothing, and no one. The Queen has the King, even Lord Rambton has the King. Who do you have? You have your brain, and your spies. Tell me Spymaster? Will your filthy little commoners save you from dragonfyre? Roses do not belong in a war.”

Anatole opened his mouth to speak again, but Tyrik kept talking. “Is it lonely? To be in the constant company of your brain while everyone else goes to bed with their wives or their whores? Or would you rather go to bed with the husbands? Is that why you’re so good at your job? Because if you do not fashion yourself to me omnipresent, you will have to admit you’re always everybody’s option, and never anyone’s choice?”

Anatole’s mouth tasted bitter, as he forced himself to breathe steadily. He did not show weakness in front of others, he hadn’t done in all of his career as a politician, and he was not about to start now.

“That’s a curious thing to point out for a man who was called to be Hand because no one else was available. At least when Lucerys appointed me for the small council, I was the first choice.”

iii. The Battle

Lord Tyrik was aware of the perils and consequences of war; it made him a decent fighter, and made up for him being an unseasoned one. Lord Tyrell was as much of a challenge in battle as he was out of it.

Anatole spoke first. “You know this is useless.”

He attack, Tyrik blocked.

“You know as well as I do,” he continued, “we want to take each other down.”

“Aren’t you observant, Lord Tyrell,” Lord Tyrik said, panting.

“But not like this,” Anatole replied.

“You’re letting me go.”

“We are letting each other go,” Anatole moved his sword disarming him. Instead of taking his chance, he lowered his in a non threatening move. “Why waste your strength on me like this, when we both know this is not how we want to outdo the other."

Lord Tyrik smirks. “You were always too clever. You haven’t won this yet.”

“Neither have you.”

They part ways before they could think better of it. Whatever this war made of them, this is not the way one of them won whatever game they had subsumed themselves into.

Theirs was always a war of wit and ambition, more than one of swords.

[wannawritefast]

The Crown of Brooklyn

A/N: Hey! I have recently become obsessed with the mobster!AU. And I haven’t written for our beloved Cap in a while. So I did a thing. I hope you like my thing. I certainly like this thing. I’m tagging @caplansteverogers cuz I love her and she inspired me to write this! Feedback is appreciated and, once again, requests are OPEN. xoxo, Echo

Warnings: Death (including death of a single mother of a young girl), blood, violence, alcohol use, mentions of sexual harassment and rape, attempted roofie

You grew up amongst crime. Your father was involved in a mob in Brooklyn and your mother worked as a spy for them. Your parents would have been more surprised if you didn’t enter into the life of crime in Brooklyn than if you had.

Unfortunately, they died when you were in your teens but it came with the territory and you easily made peace with the fact that they had died doing what they chose to do. And you made easier peace with the fact that you wanted in.

Somehow you infiltrated the mob that had taken out your parents and investigated their deaths. But rather than take out the boss you became family of sorts to him.

He never had children and always wanted kids of his own (something about scaring any possible wives away with revealing his job). He held you close as he got old. He doted on you as if you were his own daughter and you were the little princess of the mob. When he passed away he passed his job to you: his only child and the young queen of one of the most powerful mobs in Brooklyn.

As you rose to power you evolved the mob into something different, something unprecedented; you focused your mob on the women. You cleaned out the plague of oppression in strip clubs still keeping them standing but actually taking care of your workers and recutting their pay to be fair. The strippers enjoyed their jobs but not the harassment that came with it.

You swapped out your heist squad with inconspicuous girls. Overall you found that they just did the jobs better.

You didn’t kill the men or condemn any of your girls that wanted to pursue relationships. But any men that continued to treat you or your girls like garbage after fair warning to change their ways were taken out immediately.

Your numbers grew quickly. Women on the streets of Brooklyn were terrific allies. You became a guardian angel of sorts to the women that had been taken advantage of, harassed, and violated. Even though Brooklyn was high in crime, the numbers for rape, sexual harassment, and domestic abuse went down and the perpetrators were dealt with seemingly overnight. Even when you left Brooklyn to travel, your destination was cleansed of their sexual assault perpetrators. Your reputation traveled around the world as much as you did and you became influential.

The archetype that women were catty and two-faced was only true in movies as far as your experience was concerned. You took care of your girls and they helped you in many more ways than you could have possibly imagined. Who knew girl positivity and togetherness could be so powerful?

Your team was built of the most boss women you had ever possibly met. As it turned out you had assembled the best weapons engineers, self defense trainers, and hackers the city had seen and it was all underneath everyone’s noses because you were girls. And they were your girls. The mutual dependency made everyone close and your sisterhood type of bond rivaled that of sororities. Let’s just say Elle Woods would be proud.

Under the moniker of Juno, the queen of the Roman gods, you made it a point to learn hand-to-hand combat (anything with a blade became your new favorite) and trained those in your care. Soon enough, grown men cried in fear of the women they so commonly threw aside in their pursuits of power. Bitches had never been so feared in all of Brooklyn.

The Bitches specialized in diamonds. Your black market sales made incredible amounts of money and you made sure that your girls were paid before you were. Your new weapons became something that the other gangs sought after and, in exchange for providing arms, they offered protection and backup when jobs needed to get done.

The gangs of the world soon had a soft spot for The Bitches and the scariest mob bosses took you under their wings. You joined them for family dinners and to much of them you were like an adoptive daughter or sister. They understood that you didn't get involved in bad blood feuds between the other gangs but saw you as family nonetheless. Enemies were powerful but nothing beats the power of friends. Naturally it came as no surprise when your gang became the most successful in all of Brooklyn.

Well… Steve Rogers and his goons wouldn’t agree with that. But who gives a fuck about him?

The two of you hated each other. Although you never dared attack the other, it was abundantly clear that you were oil and water. You didn’t mix. Something about power-crazed mob leaders that had equally large egos and self-assurance in their abilities. You never interacted with him and you liked it that way.

Your assistant pinged your BlueTooth earpiece in the middle of a meeting. “Juno, we have a situation.”

With your codename ringing in your ear (in case your lines were tapped), you raised your manicured finger to the businessmen in the room, demanding a moment. “Can it wait?”

She took a deep breath. “Not really…”

“Why?” You asked suspiciously.

“It’s Rogers…”

“Fuck him,” you said, with no hesitation and returned to speaking to your audience again.

“He’s here.”

You paused. That made you stop in your tracks. Your skin prickled and blood boiled at the mere sound of his name. “He’s here? Why the fuck is he here?” You spat. The people around the table all jumped.

“It’s one of our girls.”

Oh hell to the no… Without a second thought you slammed the projector remote into the table and shattered it. A part of the glass table rained down with it as you stalked for the door.

“Meeting dismissed,” you growled as you threw open the door and it banged against the wall. The hinges snapped off the threshold. “I have a dead motherfucker to deal with.”

You smoothed your white jacket and pencil skirt and cracked your neck as you unholstered your vintage pistol.

Your assistant met you down the hallway. Victoria was your temper control, thank god for that.

Seeing your warpath, she immediately slowed you. “It wasn’t him or any of his men.”

It sated you a little bit but you were still fuming. He knew better than to just show up uninvited, unannounced. What kind of bullshit was this? “Then who’s responsible?”

“I didn’t tell you who was taken out…”

“Doesn’t matter. Whoever did it is going to pay with their life.” With that, you pushed past her and into the room where Rogers and his boys presumably were. You couldn’t believe that he thought he could just waltz in here on your turf as if he owned the place. You shoved the door open and were met with four men all looking at you, two out of the three startled.

“Well, hello to you too,” James prompted. Your eyes immediately landed on Steve, the bastard. He only blinked casually at your storming.

“Shut it, Barnes!” You snarled. “Start talking Rogers. Why the fuck are you here?”

Your rival mob boss stared you down cooly. Two alpha personalities in one room created a volatile environment. Especially with Steve motherfucking Rogers. “Cursing isn’t becoming of a lady,” he mocked.

“Well, it's a good thing that I’m not a lady, Rogers. I’m your worst nightmare.” You got in his face, the white of your suit contrasting the volatility of your temper.

“I’m the King. I’m your worst nightmare.” He got in your face right back and stared you down right back with his light blue eyes that contrasted his pitch black suit.

“Yeah, you’re both nightmares. Get a room some other time,” your jaw dropped as your head snapped to one of his cronies… Sam. “Meanwhile we have a real problem.”

You bristled a bit and you weren’t sure if the wave of heat that washed over you was embarrassment or anger but you brushed it aside. “Please! Steve wishes he could.” You glanced at the boss standing next to you. He narrowed his eyes at you. “That’s not important right now though.” Taking a deep breath, you prepared yourself for the damage and nodded at Victoria to fill you in.

“There were two bodies discovered at 3 AM this morning at our docks. One of them was a Rogers cronie… a man known as Phillip.” Steve gulped beside you as Victoria continued. “The second was one of our own… Cleo.”

Your heart dropped at the announcement but you took a deep breath. “What were they fighting over?”

Victoria shook her head. “They weren’t fighting.” You cocked an eyebrow. “They were sniped. In fact, our intel tells us that the cron- uh- Phillip was planning on proposing later that evening… to Cleo.”

You needed to sit down. Cleo had disclosed to you that she was dating someone new. Someone who actually loved her… and her daughter. Her daughter… She didn’t tell you he was a Rogers goon. You felt sick to your stomach.

“Her daughter is with a social worker. I sent Florence over there already to get her situated in the meantime and I… um… I have custody papers when you’re ready to look over them and-”

You cut her off with a motion of your hand. That was a matter you would take care of later. “Any word from our private investigator?”

“Actually,” Sam interjected, “we sent in our P.I. as well… And there’s reason to believe that there’s a new mob in Brooklyn and they want your titles.”

“‘Titles?’ What do you mean ‘titles?’” You interrupted Sam.

“We mean they want you and Steve…” He drew a line with his finger across his neck.

“We don’t… We aren’t working together. Does this new gang have any brains whatsoever? Do they know that we’re not allied?”

“Yeah.” James spoke this time. “They just don’t care. And they’re getting bolder.”

Steve crossed his arms and spoke. “They took out one of our artifact ships last week. It was leaving our harbor on the way to pick some up and they exploded it. 150 meters from the docks. It was a power play.”

You took a deep breath. “What does this mean for us?” You asked. “Why do I care? For all I know this is a ploy by you to take me out.”

“Y/n,” he addressed you, softer than usual. Steve always called you by Juno when he did talk to you. This was serious. “There were two bullets… in each.”

You gulped. One would have been a coincidence. Two… was not an accident. Especially if Phillip was sniped. “You’re sure it's the new gang?”

“They signed off on the deaths. They took credit for it,” Sam interjected.

“I wouldn’t be asking for help unless there was a real threat here…” Steve turned to you, his face dead serious. “In fact, you’d probably be the last person I went to in conflict. They want my crown and power and will do anything to get it. Including take down threats, like you and me. I will not let them tread on innocent bystanders and pull civilians into the crossfire.”

His eyes held a certain plea. You hadn’t seen any expression close to this one cross his features. Ever. Although you would rather be arrested than help Steve under normal circumstances, this was not normal. And deep down you knew that you needed his help just as much as he needed yours, if the speculations about the new gang were to be believed. No matter how much either of you would want to deny that you needed help at all.

“Fine,” you agreed, “I’ll help.” A smirk pulled on the corner of Steve’s mouth. You pulled the whiskey in the glass vial off the alcohol shelf in the room and, after taking a swig, you poured it into five glasses. You maintained eye contact as you offered a glass to the mob boss standing in front of you.

“If your men or their families don’t feel safe, I can set them up a space. Just say the word.” Everyone in the room now had their glass. Victoria merely held hers respectfully but didn’t drink. She was never any fun. But Steve downed it in one go and returned the glass to you to be refilled. “It’s nothing Juno can’t do. But there’s something you should know, Steve.”

You refilled it generously. “I wear the crown here. Not you…”

“I hope you know, Steve, that this doesn’t mean I trust you.” You were seated in the booth of one of Steve’s restaurants: a swanky joint with invite access only. Tonight it was empty except for you, Steve, and the “up and coming” mob boss who was running late.

You smoothed your long red dress and subconsciously ran your fingers over your garter knife holster, just in case. Tapping your painted fingernails on the white-clothed table you took a sip of the red wine offered to you. The diamond necklace perched on your collar bones was a comforting weight but still did little to calm the small bout of anxiety in your system.

“I know it doesn’t. I still don’t trust you either.” Steve unbuttoned and rolled the botSteves of his shirt sleeves. He adjusted his red handkerchief. The two of you truly hadn’t intended on matching. It just happened. “God, he was supposed to be here fifteen minutes ago…”

“Steve,” you started. He turned toward you and for a moment you realized how nice he looked. Only for a moment. “If I die tonight, the hit is going on your head.”

“You’re not going to die,” Steve grabbed his whiskey and took a sip as he reclined back and crossed an ankle over his knee. “It’ll be fine.”

You scoffed as you pulled your pocket mirror out of your clutch, which conveniently had bullets in it, and were reminded of the 1930’s style mini-pistol securely lodged in the middle of your chest. With the mirror flicked open you dabbed at your lipstick delicately with your finger.

“You look good. I have no idea what you’re fussing over.” Steve commented as he lightly scratched his nose. Was that a compliment? Your eyes shot to him in shock.

“Did Steve Rogers, the second best mob boss in Brooklyn, just compliment me?” You hovered a hand over your red lips in exaggerated surprise.

He rolled his eyes at you and was about to respond when the door to the dining room was thrown open. Steve and yourself stared at the swaggering young man who strode to your table.

“Sorry I’m late,” he breathed, but there was no apology in his tone whatsoever. “Traffic.” He snapped his fingers at one of the waiters and ordered vodka. The young man briefly sized you up by running his eyes unabashedly up and down your frame before turning to face Steve. What a pig…  “So what seems to be the issue? I was invited here by the esteemed Steven Rogers with no explanation. I’m not complaining, by any means. But I do think you called me here for a reason,” his eyes landed on you again. “The eye candy is incredible by the way. How much is she?” He leaned forward with a smirk. Your jaw dropped in disbelief. Who did he think he was?

“She’s not for sale, asshole,” Steve asserted. He had his eyes narrowed at the little shit. The blood roared in your ears as the man’s vodka was set on the table. Your temper was no longer amiable. There was blood in the water now and you and Steve were honing in on your prey like you had a thousand times before.

You patted one of Steve’s clenched fists that was resting on the table. “Don’t worry, Steve. I’ve got this…” Your fingers wrapped around your wine glass and brought it to your matching lips. “Darling, you wish you could afford me.”

The man chuckled darkly as he ran a hand through his hair. “Ah, I see. No, don’t worry. I can respect an arrangement. Hey, sweetheart, tell your-”

“I’m not a messenger,” you sipped your wine. “And Steve and I have no arrangement. But I’ll tell you what can be arranged: a bounty on your head… or a hit. Your choice really.”

The man leaned forward threateningly. “I’m sorry but are you in any position to be making threats, whore?”

You blinked slowly and ever so slightly pulled down the top left side of your dress to reveal a tattoo of a minimalist crown: your unmistakable emblem of power. His reaction went from anger to lust to nervousness in mere seconds. The man gulped harshly as he downed his vodka and strained to keep his eyes challenging. You pulled the fabric back up and tapped Steve’s hand again. “I’ll let you cut back in, Steve.”

It was your turn to lean back once Steve took the reins. As he leaned forward you saw the amused sideways smile he had directed at you before it turned bloodthirsty. Something about watching it happen caused you to stir a little.

“You should really think about who you threaten before you do it. But you won’t have to worry about that anymore.” Steve poured himself more whiskey.

“Why-why is that?” The man stammered as his hands found his lap. This guy thought we wouldn’t retaliate…

“Because you’re going to shut down your sorry charade, pack your things, and leave Brooklyn.” Steve stared the man down. “And never come back.”

A waiter set down a tiramisu in front of you, Steve, and this sad excuse for a gang boss looking like he was going to wet himself.

You decided to speak up again. You stuck your fork in the rich slab of custard, coffee, and pastry. “Did you think you could take out my best programmer, yank her daughter away from her only stability in life, and not deal with the wrath of her aunties, one of which is Juno, the Mob Queen of Brooklyn?”

“I-I have a-uh-a sniper.” The man stuttered. He was grabbing for straws.

“I’m sorry,” Steve piped up. He stretched his arm closest to you out and laid it on the rim of the booth. “But are you in any position to be making threats, you son of a bitch?”

You chuckled at Steve’s response. “You’ve got two options: my way or Steve’s. Which one would you prefer?” You swirled the dark liquid in its glass.

“The latter.”

You nodded in agreement. “I thought so.”

The scoop of tiramisu on your fork tasted delicious. You watched the man in front of you wear regret on his face. This man was not cut out for the mob life. He wore his emotions too outwardly. You were doing him a favor really.

“Did you honestly think that you could threaten the two most powerful people in Brooklyn and get away with it?” Steve asked as he began eating the dessert in front of him.

The man only stared at his dessert contemplatively. You went back to your clutch to check your phone. But before the screen could even turn on, there was a clatter at the table in front of you.

You, startled by the sudden commotion, looked back up. The man’s hand was hovering over your wine glass with a tiny vial clutched in his fingers. A roofie bottle. Steve had one hand wrapped around the man’s wrist and the other had a gun pressed against the man’s temple. Steve was staring the man down, a deadly look in his blue eyes.

You couldn’t stop yourself from shaking with rage. In one swift motion you pulled your pistol out of your dress and stood up, knocking the table over. It toppled to the side noisily and the sound of utensils, plates, and glasses hitting the tile floor echoed through the empty room.

You pointed the gun at his forehead and a humorless laugh escaped your lungs. “You motherfucker… Looks like we’re doing this my way. Any last words?”

The man looked at you like he was a man with nothing to lose: the most dangerous look in the world. “You’re a bitch,” he spat. Quicker than a blink he drew a knife from his jacket and stabbed it into your outer thigh.

You screamed in pain and your leg began to give out for a few seconds. You supported yourself before nodding in agreement. “Yeah, I am.” And with those words you fired your gun.

The man slumped lifelessly in the booth and rolled to the side onto the floor. You dropped your pistol to the booth and fell back into the seat. You stared at the knife protruding from your leg with a wince.

Steve stepped over the legs of the fallen table and got to the other side of you. Your head was now thrown back against the rim of the booth, trying to manage the sharp pain running up and down your right leg. Maybe if you didn’t look at it it wouldn’t hurt as bad.

“Are you ok? Can you walk?” His voice sounded. Your eyes were clenched shut in pain.

“I have a knife in my leg, Steve… What do you think?” You brought your neck back up. There was a knife in your leg. The only thought going through your head is that it would be a good idea if the knife was removed. You reached your hand to grab the handle. But Steve’s hand grabbed yours to stop it.

“You’re not thinking right. Don’t touch the knife or you’ll lose more blood,” You nodded in agreement. That made more sense you supposed. He yelled for his guard to call one of his medical cars. His guard raced off noting the urgency of the situation. “You need to lie down. Come on. Let’s get you to the floor.”

You nodded through the nausea and lightheadedness that was seizing you and helped Steve help you to the black tile floor. Keeping your leg as still as possible, you used the rest of your body to slide off the booth.

“It’s gonna be a few minutes,” Steve remarked softly. You were laying on the ground now and your vision was starting to sparkle a little bit. “Let me get you more comfortable.”

Steve was remaining calm as he took off his jacket and threw it over your torso. He began unbuttoning his dress shirt leaving him in a wife beater. His dress shirt was quickly rolled up and stuck underneath your head. You closed your eyes and took deep breaths, not daring to look at your thigh.

“Steve?” You inquired. You could feel yourself slipping out of consciousness.

“Yeah?”

“Can you take off my heels please?”

“Yeah…” You felt the shoes get pulled off your feet but any pleasure that it may have provided was overpowered by the agonizing pain in your leg.

“Steve. I think I’m going to pass out.” You warned. Your hand latched on Steve’s. His opened to accommodate yours. It felt nice.

“You’ve gotta stay awake or… I’ll… I’ll take your crown.” He offered. His tone wasn’t serious but you appreciated the effort.

“If I wasn’t able to wear the crown,” you opened your eyes to look at him. His blue eyes looked into yours with something that looked strange… Worry, maybe? That couldn’t be right. Your mind was playing tricks on you. “I’d be more than happy for you to wear it.”

You felt your eyes roll to the back of your head and you blacked out.

You woke up in an unfamiliar room. It was a bedroom with typical furnishings but it had hospital equipment next to you instead of a nightstand. You stared up at the canopy draping over the top of the bed for a few seconds.

The silkiness of the sheets felt smooth against your skin. Remembering what happened before you went unconscious, you gingerly hovered your hand over your leg from above the covers.

“And Juno lives,” a voice sounded from the doorway. Footsteps moved along the carpeted floor and they stopped at your bedside. You turned your head and saw Steve standing with his hands in his pockets.

You groaned groggily. “Are my girls ok?”

Steve smiled at your question. It wasn’t a vicious smile but a kind one. One you hadn’t seen him wear before. Your heart didn’t skip a beat… did it? “You got stabbed with a knife in the thigh, passed out, had to get stitches (which I ever so graciously covered for you) and you’re asking if someone else is ok?”

You shrugged… it’s all you had the energy for. “Well, are they?”

He chuckled and shook his head at you. Maybe the nurse needed to look at your cardiac vitals too… “They’re as good as when you left them. You need to rest.”

“I can’t rest. I have to-,” you attempted to sit yourself up. Steve only put his hand out to stop your shoulder when it reached his palm. It felt like he had pushed you full force back into the mattress. “I have to lie down… For a while.”

“Is there anything you need that I can bring you?” He crossed his arms over his chest as he peered down at you.

“My pistol, my phone, and three shots of tequila.” You listed earnestly. “Please.”

“I can get you one of the those,” he responded before leaving the room.

You whispered to yourself. “Please be the tequila…” He sauntered back in with your phone and you reached for it longingly. You figured you would just have to settle for next best.

It touched your fingers and you unlocked it immediately to dial Victoria. But before you could touch ‘call’ Victoria herself appeared in the doorway.

“Oh thank God you’re alright!” She rushed into the room and hugged you tight. “I thought you had been taken out when Steve called and said you’d been stabbed.” He called them personally?

“Well, unfortunately for Steve, this bitch is still alive and kicking.” You winked at Victoria playfully and turned your gaze to Steve briefly. “Sorry, darling, you can’t get rid of me that easily,” you joked.

“Damn,” he cursed exaggeratedly. His eyes glistened humorously. “I can not believe you foiled my elaborate plan.”

You shifted the tone of the conversation and forced yourself to sit up, a little stronger than when you had woken up. “I suppose I’ve overstayed my welcome.” You yanked the blankets off your torso and shifted to move off of the bed.

You finally saw your leg since you had been ever so rudely stabbed in the leg. There were bandages wrapped from the base of your hip to the top of your knee. Your thigh was officially sans knife. The small use of your muscles sent a hot shockwave of pain through your leg and up to your lower back. Your expression soured instantaneously as you took deep breaths and steeled yourself to stand. Nausea welled up and punched you in the gut but you weren’t going to let a tummy ache stop you.

Victoria and Steve alike rushed forward to force you back to laying down. “What are you doing,” Victoria scolded, “Your leg isn’t even close to being healed.”

“You’re going to hurt yourself. Lie down, Y/n.” Steve ordered you. You knew he was probably right but the dominant part of your ego didn’t take orders from anyone, especially Steve. Defiantly and weakly, albeit, you pushed him to the side with the back of your hand and stood to your feet.

Or at least tried to. Steve had been right. The moment your injured leg was standing was the moment your knee buckled and you started to fall to the floor.

Your hands scrambled for the closest thing to hold onto to stop the impact. Your fingers wrapped around the IV stand but it wasn’t enough. Fortunately for you, Steve had better reflexes and caught you as you continued to fall. He swiftly grabbed your torso and secured you from falling further. With his calloused hands on your waist and your hands on his muscled biceps you stepped backwards and sat back down.

“Why didn’t you listen to me?” He asked as he pulled away slowly, uncertain if you still required his assistance.

You rolled your eyes at him. “Does this face look like it follows orders?” He cocked a challenging eyebrow at you. “The answer is no, Steven. I don’t follow orders. Besides you don’t want me here. We’re rivals. Remember?”

“Yes, I do remember. But I do also remember you getting stabbed in the fucking thigh in front of me. In my restaurant. While carrying out a plan of my volition. I am responsible for you getting injured. You need to heal and you are going to stay here to do that.” Steve had his hands on his hips.

“I have my own doctors, Steve. I can heal at my headquarters. I have power here too.” You leaned forward with as much dignity as you could muster.

He clutched his forehead in frustration. If nothing else you were glad that you were still able to piss him off while minorly incapacitated. “This isn’t about power, Y/n. This is about you being hurt. And I don’t think Victoria’ll let you leave here until you’re healed if I ensured your safety. Which I do.”

Your head snapped to Victoria who looked conflicted. She visibly squirmed at the equally scrutinizing looks you and Steve were giving her. “He has a point, Juno. Us moving you would do more harm than good.” You could practically feel Steve’s infuriating and victorious smirk. “Joan and I can handle it. We can send you documents and you can sign them on your tablet and send them back to us.”

“Victoria…” You started. This was NOT happening.

“It’s better that you get a break any way. God knows you need it.” She fiddled with her nails. Then she began to move for the door. “Getrestandfeelbetterbye!”

“Victoria!” And she ran out of the room shutting the door behind her. You were gaping like a fish.

She just… She just left you.

Alone.

At your rival’s headquarters.

While you were at a physical disadvantage.

You slowly turned your head back to the man standing in front of you. “Told you,” he chided.

“There’s no need to gloat, asshole,” you glared at him. “I hate you,” you mumbled.

“No, you don’t. Not anymore. You’re just angry.” He took a deep breath. “What kind of entertainment do you like? TV, movies, card games…” Steve suggested.

“You know what would be great?” You clapped your hands together in faux enthusiasm. “If you located the nearest cliff and took a long walk right off of it!”

He winced apathetically. “Sorry, doll, no can do.”

“Don’t patronize me.” You moved to lie down and tried to use your muscles to pull your hurt leg back over onto the mattress. But they either didn’t want to comply or they clawed at your nerve endings violently.

Steve’s hand found the underside of your partially bandaged knee and lifted it gently onto the bed. You weren’t sure whether to thank him or snap at him. “I still don’t like you, Rogers,” you jabbed as you crossed your arms over your chest and stared at the shut door to the room that seemed to mock you. “But I do like Netflix.”

“Really? You tell me you hate me and expect me to give you something after that?”

“Yes.”

“No. That’s not how this works. I’ll help you get healed but if you’re going to be rude then I don’t think I should help you pass the time.”

“Are you seriously wagering with a cripple right now?” You asked incredulously.

“Yes.” God, you wanted to rip his pretty eyes out of their sockets!

“Fine,” you growled. With gritted teeth you apologized. “Thank you for treating me and…” Your voice trailed off into a murmur, “I’m sorry for being difficult.”

“What was that?” He asked obnoxiously with a hand to his ear. This asshole.

“I’m sorry for being difficult.” You enunciated venomously. You pressed your lips together and crossed your arms as you stared at the wall rather than him.

“Now… was that so hard?” Steve’s voice was maddeningly smooth and his blue eyes glittered tantalizingly.

“No. It wasn’t actually.” You spat.

“Good. Then you’ll have no problem doing it again in the inevitable future.” Your anger began to bubble like lava.

“Can I have my Netflix now?” He raised a brow. “Please.”

“Why yes you can!” He over enthusiastically responded. Steve produced a remote from his suit pocket and pressed a button. An LED TV began to slowly lower from a slot in the dark ceiling.

“You’re lucky I don’t have my pistol, jerkwad. I would’ve shot the ballsiness right off of you.”

“I bet,” he agreed amiably as pressed more buttons on the remote nonchalantly.

You huffed a deep breath. “Dammit, Steve. You’re supposed to respond to me with witty repartee. You’re not being any fun.”

“Mmhmm.” The screen was open on the Netflix main screen and he tossed you the remote. Steve dragged a lounge chair to the side of your bed and reclined in it. Suit and all. “What are we watching?” He prompted.

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. “What?”

“Did I stutter? I asked ‘what are we watching,’” He answered matter-of-factly.

“Why? Don’t you have your mob to run?” Your brows were furrowed.

“I’m the mob boss. I can do whatever the fuck I want. And I want to watch something.” Even though you couldn’t quite argue with his logic your jaw was dropped and you didn’t move. He huffed and snatched the remote out of your hand. “I’ll choose then.” He clicked on the arrows and settled on a crime tv show.

You were still staring at him. He was contentedly facing the screen. He turned to face you, his blue eyes looking into yours. A stray blonde curl fell out of his gelled do. It was endearing. “What are you looking at?”

You shook your head and faced the screen. “Nothing. Absolutely nothing…”

The two of you simultaneously inhaled and exhaled a deep breath.

Halfway between episode 3 and 4 and making jokes about the the criminals, you fell asleep. It was exhausting, what could you say… You had gotten stabbed not even 24 hours before.

Steve hadn’t noticed you had fallen asleep initially. He thought you were ignoring one of his comments. It wasn’t uncommon. When you hadn’t responded after a few repetitions, he opened his mouth to give a biting remark and expected you to respond in like fashion.

But when he looked over at you, head lolled against the pillows, hair askew, and mouth slightly ajar, something weird happened.

Steve smiled to himself.

Not because of how vulnerable you looked (maybe that was part of it) or even because there was a little bit of drool seeping onto the pillow but because one of the most vicious and vengeful and ruthless people he knew slept looking like an angel. There were bags under your eyes and there were spots of imperfections on your skin. He couldn’t tell if it was despite them or because of them but he thought you looked… dare he say… well, beautiful.

He looked away. It felt oddly intimate watching you sleep if only for a few seconds. A little bit of an invasion of privacy. Steve gently readjusted your awkwardly flayed arms and pulled the covers up to your shoulders, careful not to wake you. He stood silently from his chair and walked noiselessly to the door. As he closed it shut, Steve took one more peek at you.

You only scrunched your nose momentarily in your sleep. Deadly, he thought.

But in that moment, Steve knew that he was completely, irreversibly and undeniably fucked.

The following days and weeks were nice. Startlingly nice. Every morning Steve dropped off a coffee for you and checked on you, if only for a few minutes. And every night, after he was done with his work for the day, you fell asleep watching that horrid crime show on Netflix with Steve. Like clockwork.

For meals, he would help you limp down to the dining room when you were finally able to move out of bed rest. He would visit you on his breaks. It didn’t matter if you were engaging in conversation with him. Steve would still sit in the room while you were communicating with Joan and Victoria. It wasn’t invasive at all… It was nice just to have his presence in your room.

You weren’t sure when the two of you began helping the other problem solve but the two of you were certain that you should have brainstormed together earlier. Neither of you were willing to admit, however, that the fault was with your pride… What? Steve’s ego couldn’t even fit through the door sometimes.

But you guessed you could say, at the very least, that you were on friendly terms now…

“Joan,” you switched your phone from one ear to the other when Steve poked his head into the threshold and rapped on the wood with that signature smirk on his face. You smiled at him reflexively and waved him in. “No, I agree we’ve given him plenty of time to pay. You have my stamp of approval to send in the Valkyries….”

Steve meandered into the room and fell back into his recliner. Joan’s tinny voice sounded on the other end. “Will do…” The sound of a keyboard typing filled the silence for a few seconds. “Your order is in.”

“Great! Let me know how that goes. I want a mission report emailed over immediately after …Oh! Is Phoebe there?” You asked hopefully.

“One moment…” The sound of Joan calling Phoebe to the phone was faint but still exciting for you.

“Hi, Anthie Juno.” The voice of Cleo’s three-year-old came on the line. Your heart warmed instantaneously.

“Hi, darling! How was school today?” You asked enthusiastically.

“It was fun! I went on- I went on the swings!” Her little voice informed you excitedly.

“Oh my goodness! Did you go so high?”

“I did, Anthie Juno. I was like a bood!” She giggled as she finished her semi-mispronounced sentence and the sheer adorableness that you imagined was happening on the other side of the line made you hold your chest.

“I bet you were,” you were beaming through your words. “I miss you so so much, Bee.”

She giggled again, at her nickname this time. “I miss you too. When can, when can I see you?”

You glanced over at Steve. He was smiling in your direction and your heart jumped a little bit. There was no doubt he could hear Phoebe speaking. The little girl practically yelled in the speakers whenever she was on the phone.

“I don’t know, Bee…” You wanted to see her but you didn’t want to overstep your bounds with Steve. He had already been so helpful. You almost felt indebted to him.

Steve spoke up. “She can come tomorrow if she wants…” He sat up in his seat.

Your eyebrows shot up. You put your hand over the microphone. “Are you serious?”

He nodded nonchalantly. “Absolutely…”

Your spirits soared. “How does tomorrow sound?”

The squealing on the other side of the line was answer enough. “Ok! Ok…” You could practically hear the gears turning in her little brain. “I’ll- I’ll see you tomowow! I love you! Bye!” The moment before Phoebe hung up you heard the beginning of Joan calling to her.

You chuckled and shook your head as you put your phone down next to you. “I’ll have you know, Steve. She is very excited to come over tomorrow.”

The smile on his face matched yours and his eyes crinkled. “I certainly hope so. I’d miss you if I hadn’t seen you in that long.”

“Steven, no one could ever get tired of this face.” You framed your face with your hands comically.

He jokingly winced to himself as he stood from his spot. “I don’t know about that.” Steve offered his hand when he arrived at your bedside.

You dropped your jaw dramatically and swung your legs over the side of the bed and took his hands. Making sure that you were standing securely on your uninjured leg, you placed a light amount of pressure on your stabbed leg. You could only stand on the ball of your foot before it began to hurt.

He, almost instinctively, wrapped your arm over his suit-clad, muscled shoulders. You hobbled through the bedroom on your way to dinner with Steve supporting you at your side.

“You know…” You pressed your hand against the wall of the hallway to hold yourself up as you addressed Steve. “You’ve been so nice to me that I feel like you’re buttering me up for something.” You were only half joking.

“The King of Brooklyn? Butter you up?” You rolled your eyes at his self-proclamation. He looked at you from the corner of his eyes, slowing his pace to allow you to strengthen your muscle a little bit. “Now where would you get an idea like that?” Steve resupported you, this time with one hand on your waist and the other grasping your outstretched hand.

You just glanced at him from the corners of your eyes as you continued to limp to the dining room.

“I am not buttering you up, Y/n,” he corrected. “If I wanted something from you, I’d tell you. Honestly. Like how much your hair needs a brushing.”

Your jaw dropped as you scoffed at him. “Well, I don’t exactly have the materials to look presentable, Steven. I don’t need to spend much time like you do but I do need the proper instruments.”

It was part of your banter to roast each other.

“I can send someone to the store to pick up some stuff for you?” Steve suggested.

You smiled at him gratefully as you continued to limp along. “That’s alright… I can have Joan send some stuff over when she drops off Phoebe tomorrow.”

“You’re sure?” He asked.

You nodded assuredly. “I owe you big time, Rogers. Seriously, thank you.”

He only shook his head and smiled at the floor… bashfully? “You don’t need to thank me. I was being decent.”

“Steve, mobsters aren’t decent. I know a handful of bosses who, if I were their enemy, would have let me bleed out or took me out while I was down.” He looked up at you once again and you, in turn, looked straight ahead as you paced yourself down the hallway. “So, yes. I do owe you, Rogers. I owe you and then some. When you figure out how I can make it up to you, let me know and I’ll be there. Anytime.”

He smiled genuinely at you. “Anytime?”

“Anytime,” You confirmed without hesitation.

He chuckled to himself and your heart lifted a little bit. Just a little.

After a few moments of silence, Steve spoke up again. “I know how you can make it up to me.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he took a deep breath. “Dinner.”

“‘Dinner’?” You were confused. “Is that a code for something that I’m not aware of or-”

“It’s code for,” he lowered his voice, “I want to take you out to dinner after your leg is healed because I like you, Y/n.”

You halted in your tracks as your heart did a tap routine. He liked you? You had had your suspicions but there was no way you could have been absolutely certain until now.

“What if I said no?” You inquired. You weren’t serious. You definitely wanted to go on a date with him but you made it a point to see how a man would react to rejection before pursuing a relationship with him. Just because you really liked him didn’t mean he was exempt.

“I’d be disappointed but I’d respect your ‘no.’ You’re busy and you’d have your reasons, I’m sure.” He shrugged and aided you as you continued to limp to dinner.

“And if I said yes?” You prompted.

A goofy smile graced his features again. “Then I’d be excited and plan the best damn dinner you’ve ever had.”

“That’s quite the claim, Rogers.” You teased with raised eyebrows.

“You can see if it has any merit if you decide to go to dinner with me.” He smirked at you cheekily.

A sideways smile of your own moved your cheeks. “It seems like I’ll just have to.”

“It’s a date then.” He declared. You pretended not to see the kick in his step as the two of walked to the dining room. Steve supported you as you trekked to the dining room, his hands holding yours.

You supposed that’s how it was always meant to be: the two of you working hand in hand.

After all, you knew the value of a good relationship with others…

Especially one with your future husband.

[imsarabum]

Tomorrow, Today // Im Jaebum + Park Jinyoung

Pairing: Jaebum x Jinyoung

Genre: Fluff, Oneshot

Summary; {Based on JJProjects upcoming title-track and concept images}, Jaebum and Jinyoung escape to the country-side together; reflecting on their lives, and their feelings for each other.

No sooner had Jaebum revved the engine of his pick-up truck that had certainly seen better days, both he and Jinyoung could already feel the foreign sensation of freedom.

They knew they had to get away; to drive as far as they could from their hectic lives and escape to a place where they could be alone together. Far from the eyes of their peers and enemies alike; just the two of them, the way they always longed for it to be but could never show it properly. Even if it was just for a few hours, the two men could happily sink into the worn down seats of the truck – knowing that if only for a while, they could just be who they were, with each other.

Neither of them reached to turn on the radio. The rattling hum from the engine and the gentle ambience from the dark 4am roads seemed more than comforting. As Jaebum focused on the almost mountainous terrain of the roads – forever declining and inclining along their journey, Jinyoung found himself barely able to remove his stare from his lovers face as he sat in the passenger’s seat. The same face he had known for over five years – the only face he wanted to see day after day. The face that belonged to a man of few silent, mumbled words; but Jinyoung would have had him no other way than the person he was, and the person he had grown into.

“Jinyoung?” Jaebum’s hushed voice filled the silence, as gentle as rose petals falling to the ground.

“Hm?” Jinyoung blinked thrice, shaking himself from an almost hypnotic stare as he raised his eyebrows.

“You’re doing it again”

Both men chuckled, with Jinyoung knowing that Jaebum knew he had been staring at him for the longest time. Jinyoung lowered his eyes to his lap, feeling red-cheeked and rosy eared at being caught once again for admiring the one thing he loved so fiercely in the world.

“…I didn’t say you should stop” Jaebum teased, once again making Jinyoung grin like a Cheshire cat. “I like it when you stare at me” he added, flicking his eyes over to Jinyoung momentarily – so coy and delicate in his demeanour that only added to the list of reasons Jinyoung could never resist him.

“Really? Well, how come I never catch you staring at me?” Jinyoung tilted his head rather playfully, watching a smirk unfold on Jaebum’s face.

“Oh – I do stare. But it’s usually whenever you’re not aware. Like when you’re sleeping – or when you’re so engrossed in your work that you wouldn’t notice if I walked in with no clothes on and began dancing” Jaebum said as soberly as a judge – which just made it even more comical to Jinyoung at the mere thought of it alone.

“…you stare at me when I’m sleeping? You’re not some kind of freak are you?” Jinyoung reached over to tuck a stray piece of Jaebum’s shaggy hair behind his ear, doting on the many earrings that he frequently donned.

“If I am, I’m the kind of freak you like”

Once again, Jinyoung found himself smiling as if tomorrow didn’t exist – feeling as if a hoard of butterflies had been set free inside his stomach. “You always know what to say, you always know how to make me smile, even when we’re both feeling the burdens of our lives so intensely” he thought silently, to himself.

The rest of the journey was spent in silence. Even when they reached their destination of a small, remote lakeside; both men never uttered a word as Jaebum pulled up the handbrake and switched the engine off. Itching to stretch his legs, Jinyoung opened the truck door and let his lungs fill themselves with the natural air of the country-side. Intrigued, Jaebum watched him from behind the wheel of the truck, noticing how ethereal Jinyoung looked in his white shirt and blue jeans with the tall trees and lake in the backdrop that surrounded them both.

“What is it about you that keeps me here?” Jaebum wondered to himself as Jinyoung reached his arms up to stretch, allowing Jaebum a familiar view of the bottom of his stomach as his shirt rode up ever-so-slightly. Shortly after meeting Jinyoung all those years ago, Jaebum knew that a life without Jinyoung would be a life that wasn’t worth anything to him. And the fact that he still thought that meant more than a million words Jaebum could ever use to describe his true feelings.

Jaebum quickly hopped out of the driver’s seat, taking a moment to admire the serenity of the lake in front of him before pulling himself up and sitting down in the back-space of his beaten up pick-up truck. He sat with his back against the window, before looking down at his watch to see that the time now read 6:40am.

“Jinyoung, come here” he called out, knowing that they had precious little time to spend together.

“You look pretty comfortable there” Jinyoung walked towards the truck, seeing Jaebum sitting there with a space between his thighs that was perfectly fit for only one person.

“I could try convincing you…or you could come and see for yourself~” Jaebum patted the bottom of his stomach – his voice being a mixture of playful and serious as Jinyoung rolled his eyes and chuckled to himself gingerly. Without a moment’s thought, Jinyoung threw his leg over the edge of the truck and climbed in beside Jaebum – nestling himself between the elder’s legs; being able to feel the warm, soft firmness of Jaebum’s chest as Jinyoung rested his back against it.

“Put your head back~” Jaebum whispered whilst he simultaneously snaked both his arms around Jinyoung’s mid-drift, enveloping him in an unperturbed, cosy embrace with the early morning sky above them both. Jinyoung let his head fall back into the crook of Jaebum’s neck – their eyes meeting and locking like a bulls-eye target.

“I…I’m glad we came here. I think…I think it’s what we both needed” Jinyoung spoke softly; placing a gentle grip around Jaebum’s wrist as he felt his lovers lips graze the tip of his ear. Jaebum offered a mumbling hum in response to Jinyoung’s words, feeling content and at ease – despite knowing that soon, they would both have to return to the madness of their usual, daily lives.

“We need to do this more often. Just you and I” Jaebum said as he pressed his cheek to Jinyoung’s forehead. When Jaebum looked back on his life, he often thought about the struggles that came with his youth – his adolescence to be precise; how arrogant and stubborn his 18 year old self was. Now being a matured 23 year old man with the world at his feet, he was glad he could reflect on these times with a smile upon his face as he held the most important thing to him in his arms. In many ways, Jinyoung felt the same, humbled by his own beginnings and hopeful for the future; wherever it took him, it didn’t matter. So long as Jaebum was by his side.

And with that, Jaebum’s lips found their way on top of Jinyoung’s – inviting him to the pillowy-softness of his kiss. Jinyoung closed his eyes as his mouth moulded against Jaebum’s, forever letting him set the pace as if it had always been written in stone. Jaebum could think of nothing else as the gentle sound of their kisses filled the air around them; his grip softening and tightening around Jinyoung’s body as he held on to him endlessly. Jinyoung let a soft mewl pass his lips every so often – sounds that Jaebum had found himself addicted to, listening to them as if they were his favourite song on repeat. The moment, as short as it was, was nothing less than the true definition of perfect. Just the two of them, away from the harsh reality that was their lives; but it was their moment, one of many private, secret moments they treasured so deeply in their hearts.

Breaking the kiss, Jaebum intertwined his fingers with Jinyoung’s as the two men relaxed once again – both of them looking up to the sky as the sun found it’s place just above the trees in the distance.

“When should we go back?” Jinyoung asked.

“…tomorrow? Today? Actually…let’s not think about that for now.” Jaebum looked down at Jinyoung once again, wanting to just enjoy the short time they had together.

Jinyoung let out a deep sigh – one filled with a certain kind of contentment and fullness that only Jaebum could ever provide him. “Tomorrow, today…it doesn’t matter. As long as I’m with you, everything else will fall into place.”

Jaebum smiled as he looked back up to the sky, feeling as if he could really take flight and soar to the heavens above with the amount of happiness he felt in that moment.

“You’re not going all cheesy on me now, are you – Park Jinyoung?” Jaebum teased as he pressed a single, chaste kiss to Jinyoung’s head.

Jinyoung chuckled, closing his eyes as he let himself sink further in to Jaebum’s chest behind him, “You act as if you hate cheesiness; but your façade doesn’t fool me in the slightest – Im Jaebum.”

Nothing could have stopped the smile that made its way on to Jaebum’s face as it did just then. “You know me better than I know myself. Maybe that’s what keeps me here. Because it’s why I love you.”

Even though they both knew that soon enough, they would have to get back on the road to return to the life they both loved and loathed for a range of different reasons – it didn’t bother either of them in the slightest. For as Jinyoung had mentioned, Jaebum shared the same feelings of not caring about anything else; as long as they had each other, everything would be just fine.

“Let’s stay here for as long as we can” Jinyoung whispered.

“Sounds like a good idea to me.” Jaebum replied.