#only god can judge me and candy cigarettes | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

amyscascadingtabs · 3 years

Text

don’t want to keep secrets just to keep you [chapter 1]

“Actually, I want to add one more rule.” “Yeah?” Jake leans back in his chair, crossing his arms behind his head and flexing his biceps through the green shirt with a smug grin. “You’re not allowed to fall in love with me.” "Won't be a problem."

Amy Santiago doesn't date cops. Jake Peralta's sworn never to date a lawyer again. When a couple of drinks and the returning of a borrowed shirt ends with the two of them in bed together, Amy decides to take control of the situation the best way she knows how: a comprehensive set of rules. There's just one little thing she hadn't anticipated – Jake Peralta is full of surprises.

Written for the B99 Summer 2021 Fic Exchange.

AO3 link // playlist

My contribution to this year’s fic exchange, for @fezzle! @b99fandomevents 💛

1. i never saw you coming (and i’ll never be the same)

He gets out of the car, and before Amy can gather the courage to shout after him, he’s disappeared from her sight.

She leans her forehead against the steering wheel, squeezing her fist and punching it in frustration. It doesn’t feel better, just makes her hand hurt. Amy pretends that’s what’s making her eyes tear up, and not the thought that she just screwed up her chances of ever seeing Jake Peralta again.

five months earlier.

The cop is five minutes late entering the courtroom, and Amy vows to dislike him from that point onward.

What's worse is that he doesn't seem ashamed. He simply gives Judge Stewart an apologetic grin, runs a hand through his already messy hair, and sits down on the bench next to the sergeant Amy recognizes as Terry Jeffords. Amy gives him a polite faked smile to tell him she's noted this presence and she's going to win this case, but the cop doesn't seem to notice the toxicity in her facial expression, because she gets another wide grin back. Judging from the colorful marks on his teeth, it looks like he had candy for breakfast – could it be gummy bears? Either way, Amy's respect for the man sinks even lower.

At least she won't have to worry about him, she tells herself. She already knows this case is about to be a win.

That is until it turns out this man has a reply for everything. She’d been certain the evidence against her client was circumstantial at best, nowhere near enough to get him convicted on, and the notes she’d gone through from the initial police questioning had lacked significant information. It had been nothing short of sloppy, and she’d entered the courthouse this morning filled with glowing confidence. That same confidence is now seeping away, dripping onto the polished floors of the courtroom in exchange for heated frustration as it turns out the detective – Jake Peralta, she learns – was present at the scene earlier than Amy had gathered, and from the vantage point he had, saw her client running from the corner store at full speed.

“Would you say it’s possible my client was running for a different reason?” She asks, staring coldly into the detective’s eyes as she speaks. “Such as exercising, perhaps?”

“Well, he was carrying a huge green backpack, identical to the one he was wearing when my partner Charles caught him ten minutes later. So, no,” he says, meeting her look with a smug smile of his own. “I would say that’s unlikely.”

“But not impossible?”

“Considering we also found the stolen goods in that same backpack, I’d say the chance is pretty solid it was him.”

“The bags couldn’t have been switched? Or, as my client claims, the goods couldn’t have been dropped in there by someone who wanted to get rid of them?”

“With all due respect,” says Jake Peralta, and the self-assuredness in his voice is enough for her to know the case is lost. “The streets were more crowded than a Taylor Swift concert, your honor. Someone would have seen something.”

It’s late Friday afternoon by the time Amy returns to the office of Newsom & Associates, but there’s still plenty of her coworkers left to watch as she throws her briefcase on top of the chair before closing the door to her office and digging out her pack of shame cigarettes from the bottom drawer of her desk. The only window in the room opens out to a back alley with trash cans and forgotten bikes, which is a drab view most of the time but comes in handy for secret shame-smoking. She closes her eyes and leans back against the wall, trying to savor the first inhale. She hates the habit and always tells herself she’s going to quit soon, but at times when work stresses her out like this, there’s no better fix. It’s all Jake Peralta’s fault, anyway. He’d waved at her when they’d left the courtroom, looking genuinely pleased to see her, and that had only worsened her frustration. It’s one thing being defeated – it’s worse when the winner acts like it wasn’t even a big deal.

“You should stop that.” The sound of Rosa’s voice appearing in the doorway to Amy’s office causes her to inhale too much smoke, coughing and tearing up as she hurries to extinguish the cigarette butt on the windowsill. “It’s gross.”

“I needed it,” Amy coughs again before drying her eyes with the sleeve of her blazer. “You should’ve been there. That fucking detective ruined my defense.”

“So? It happens. Doesn’t make you a bad lawyer. Stop pitying yourself.”

“You’re just saying that because you win nearly all your cases,” Amy mumbles. “And everyone’s terrified of you.”

Rosa does a little shrug, but Amy thinks she can spot the hint of a smile on her lips. She can’t be certain, though. Rosa almost never smiles, but that’s not nearly the most terrifying thing about her. She also rides her motorcycle to court and wears leather jackets and skin-tight black jeans to trials, and somehow no one's ever dared to police her on it. Amy once asked her out of curiosity if putting on a blazer would really hurt that much, and the stare she got back told her she’d be a fool to make that mistake again.

“Either way, it's not that. It was that cop who ruined everything. I mean, he showed up late, for god’s sake, with candy in his teeth and a wrinkled suit! But he somehow had an answer and explanation for everything,” Amy snorts. “And he smiled the whole time like he’d already won. And he referenced Taylor Swift! During the trial! Who does that?”

Rosa lets out a laugh. “You're a Swift hater? God, please don't tell me you took Kanye’s side too.”

“I didn't – that's beside the point!”

“Which is?”

“That he has zero respect for the sacred rules of a courtroom, and gets away with it all because of that super-charm smile.”

“Yeah, you mentioned the smile. Twice.”

“It was just so…” She clenches her fist until her red nails press into her palm to the point of pain, then releases it. “It's fine. I’ll win my next case, and there are lots of cops in New York. I probably won't ever see him again.”

Amy can barely hide her frustration in court the next week when she hears the doors open and looks up from the papers she was sorting, only to see Jake Peralta for the second time in her life. He’s on time today, which she supposes is progress, but there are stains on his shirt that seem to be coming from the can of orange soda he’s holding in his hand. She wonders if it's his breakfast. If that's his diet, he looks surprisingly fit in a grey suit for it.

He grins again when he sees her, raising his hand in a lazy wave. Amy gives him a forced smile, then returns to her papers. She’ll have to make sure to win this time.

But despite her confidence and very best efforts, she loses to Jake Peralta yet another time.

And another.

It's not that she's suddenly magically unlucky, because she still manages to win several other cases, but every time Jake Peralta shows up to testify, without fault, Amy loses.

It infuriates her.

The worst part is that Jake seems oblivious to her anger. He smiles at her every time they leave the courtroom, even though she returns them with little to no genuineness at all. She once spots him doing a childish victory gesture outside the courthouse, but he never once takes the opportunity to brag about his win to her face.

Aside from his surprisingly good manners when it comes to bragging, though, he's a mess. There's always some kind of stain on his shirt or his cheek that he seems unaware of, his ways of describing things involve one too many pop culture references for Amy’s liking, and she starts preparing to meet him every time a detective is five minutes late. She wonders if no one's ever told him how one is supposed to behave in a courtroom, but he’s usually accompanied by the precinct’s sergeant, so that seems unlikely. The more likely option, Amy figures, is that he just doesn't seem to find it that important; especially considering he seems to get away with it every single time.

She swears it's all because of that stupid infectious smile.

It pleases Amy to no end when she learns that Jake Peralta is going to be the witness in one of the strongest cases she’s had in a long while. The client was clearly acting in self-defense, she has a witness of her own who can testify to that, and although she knows that nothing is for certain until the verdict falls, she’s got a good feeling about this one. Finally, the day has come for Jake Peralta to watch her win.

At first, the state attorney’s case seems solid. Jake is assisted by a short, round-faced man with dark brown hair and an expression that looks like he’s seconds away from apologizing for taking up everyone’s time, but his suit is matched and perfectly straight and he gets right to the point without any odd references, so Amy still earns a fair amount of respect for detective Charles Boyle. He and Jake had entered the subway car after hearing about a fight taking place, and stepped on just in time to watch her client aim a closed-fist punch at the face of the man on top of him. It’s clear and convincing, but Amy knows that after the recess, it will be her time to shine. She loves these moments, when it’s obvious the other side thinks they have it in the bag but she knows something they don’t, and they have no idea what’s coming. She knows trials are about justice and not personal victories – but she’s only human. Winning is always a thrill.

She’s thinking about how she’s going to be celebrating her win later this evening when Jake Peralta bumps into her at the coffee shop neighboring the courthouse. As in, literally bumps into her, with his elbow when he hurries forward to grab a plastic cup with whipped cream and so much caramel syrup on top of the coffee that Amy pities his dentist.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry… wait, it's you!” He shines up as if he’d just seen a past good friend, and Amy’s once more taken aback by how polite he is. A lot of cops she meets during trials either tend to make fun of her profession or glare bitterly at her from a distance, but Jake's doing neither. He even reaches out his free hand to shake hers, so she accepts. “Jake Peralta – wow, you have a very firm handshake.”

“I took a seminar. Amy Santiago.”

“Where?” He asks, but she ignores him and moves forward in line to order her coffee with milk.

“Nothing for your client? Wow. I’d expected you to have better manners than that, Santiago.”

“I offered, but he wanted to spend recess with his partner for moral support. See?” She raises a brow at him. “I do have manners.”

There's that smile again, up close this time, and Amy's relieved when the barista hands her the coffee so she can hide the involuntary blush in her cheeks. She never noticed he had dimples before.

“So, how are you feeling about the rest of the trial, then? Ready to go defend the guilty guy?”

“Innocent until proven guilty, Peralta. Famously one of the most sacred principles in the American justice system. And I was born ready.”

“And lose. The whole question was, are you ready to go defend the guilty guy and lose, and you said you were born that way.” Jake grins in a way that makes him look like an overgrown mischievous school kid. Maybe not that far off, Amy thinks.

“Twist my words all you want, I am winning this case.” She hesitates for a moment, noticing Jake's detective partner looking at the two of them from a table in the corner of the room. Not normally something she'd be that creeped out by, if it hadn't been for the fact that the man isn’t tearing his eyes away from them, and he looks weirdly overjoyed. “Uhm, is detective Boyle okay? He's staring at us pretty intensely.”

“Huh? Oh yeah, he has… an eye condition.” Jake turns around and mouths something that looks to be BOYLE, and the man rolls his eyes before stalking away. “Ignore him. Anyway… so what do you think about the judge?”

Amy's about to launch into a description of her good experience with judge Myers when someone brushes past her with their iced coffee in a hurry, losing control of the plastic cup. The unsecured lid wobbles, and before Amy realizes what’s about to happen, cold coffee splashes onto her earlier pristine white blouse. “Fuck!” She reaches for a bunch of paper napkins and tries to dab the worst away with them, but the milky coffee is already seeping through the fabric and leaving an obvious stain that her blazer can’t hide.

“What a jerk,” Jake mutters, glaring in the direction of where the stranger disappeared.

“Never mind that! I don’t have another shirt! I can’t go into a courtroom looking like this! Unlike you, I actually care about whether my clothes have giant stains on them!”

“First of all, rude, and second of all, they’re not giant.”

“I don’t care. I’m screwed. Fuck, I don’t have time to run back home before the trial starts – I guess I could call Rosa –”

“Hey, hey.” Jake holds up his hands as if trying to calm her down, which only makes Amy more frustrated. “I know this is kind of crazy, but, I have a shirt in my car that I was planning to return to my ex. But emphasis on ex, so…” He shrugs. “You could borrow it?”

Amy considers her options. On the one hand, she figures there’s about an eighty percent chance that whatever Jake has in his car also has some kind of mysterious stain on it, but on the other hand, she took the subway today and there's no way she’ll make it to her apartment and back before the court is back in session. Asking for a longer recess is an option, but making everyone wait simply because she needs a change of clothes makes her too uncomfortable to even consider.

“Fine,” she relents. “Where's your car?”

Jake's car turns out to be an old Mustang, which Amy can tell even from her strictly limited car-knowledge is pretty impressive, but she doesn't understand how he can find anything in there. The backseat is a mess of empty orange soda bottles, a couple of frisbees, candy wrappers, what looks to be cartoons and old CDs, and the cup holders have shaving foam next to another can of orange soda. She's equally surprised and impressed when he pulls out a clean, dark blue charmeuse blouse. Whoever Jake's ex-girlfriend was, she seems to have both taste and money.

“You're totally saving my day today,” she says as he gives it to her. “You really didn't have to.”

“Prove that cops aren't all bad?” Amy rolls her eyes, and Jake laughs. “Just kidding. You have to give it back, though.”

“As soon as I’ve washed it. Wait, we have to be able to get in touch.” She digs in the inside pocket of her briefcase and pulls out two of her business cards. “I’m assuming you don't have any, so write your number on the back of that one.”

“Rude, but correct.” He scribbles down something on one of the cards before giving it back. “I’ll see you up there, then… Amy Santiago.”

Something about the way he says her name, slowly and with perfect pronunciation, makes her want to hear it again. She hurries back into the building and toward the bathrooms, hopefully before he can tell that she's blushing.

“The defense may call the next witness.”

“The defense calls Elinor Simons.” Amy can feel everyone's eyes on her as well as the witness as a young girl, no more than eighteen, walks up to the stand. She's pale, but she looks determined, and Amy gives her a comforting smile as she swears the oath.

Elinor’s voice trembles at her first words, but Amy keeps steady eye contact with her, and soon she’s speaking louder and less hesitant. She had been on her way to her friend’s house when she entered the same subway car as the two young men, and had overheard the two of them fighting over something. Sitting only a few seats away from them in the near-empty car, she’d noticed the defendant looking scared, and out of curiosity, had turned off her music. She’d heard the man who’d later gotten attacked – Mr. Lorentz – scream that the defendant was an asshole, and then she’d seen him push him to the floor, much unlike the way the prosecution had described a course of events in which both men had slipped. It had scared her, so she’d gotten up to walk away, but before she could move she’d seen Mr. Lorentz leaning down.

“It looked like he was about to hit the defendant,” she says without wavering, and Amy can see a few of the jury members nodding in understanding. “And even if they were about the same size, Mr. Lorentz looked really strong. The defendant tried, but it seemed to me like he was unable to get up. I remember thinking this wasn’t going to end well, so I headed for the end of the car before they noticed me.”

“And you’re sure of what you saw?”

“Completely sure. I only found out later that the defendant was a cousin of my sister’s boyfriend, which is how I learned about the trial.”

Amy nods and clasps her hands together, trying to assume a confident stance as she keeps her eyes focused on the witness stand. “Elinor, in the position he was in, do you believe that the defendant would have been scared?”

“I think anyone would have been.”

“So the punch witnesses watched the defendant throw, could it have been in self-defense?”

“Yes. Yes, I think so.”

Amy smiles. “Thank you. No further questions.”

The prosecution’s closing arguments are short and precise, sticking entirely to the part of the events that took part after the police walked in. The district attorney, a balding man in his fifties, as good as overlooks Elinor’s testimony in favor of focusing in on detailed descriptions of the headaches Mr. Lorentz had experienced after the event, and that alone is enough to make Amy’s blood boil; but instead she just sits there, waiting with a polite smile on her lips.

Finally, the other attorney sits down, and the judge nods at Amy to stand up. During her very first trials, this moment used to freak her out – everyone’s eyes on her and waiting expectantly – but with time she’s come to love this. It reminds her of the thrill of getting the last word in a heated fight with her siblings when she was younger, only now, she doesn’t have to shout to be heard. Everyone’s already listening.

“Your Honor, ladies and gentlemen of the jury: it’s correct that the defendant hit Mr. Lorentz on that train. He admits to doing so himself.” Amy nods to the young man sitting next to her, fidgeting nervously with the cuffs on his shirt. “But there is one key aspect which the prosecution has so conveniently chosen to ignore, and that is the events which led up to Mr. Petersen’s actions. A background which he not only has explained clearly himself, but which is also backed up by Ms. Simmons’ testimony.” She gestures with her hand to Elinor.

“You see, Mr. Petersen wasn’t acting unprovoked. When the incident happened, he had been pushed to the floor, and like both my client and the witness described, he was unable to get up. Mr. Lorentz himself admits to practicing weightlifting; he’s not a weak man, and in the moment, he was clearly upset with the defendant. As Ms. Simmons put it… “ She takes a break to gather the attention of everyone in the room. “Anyone in that position would have been terrified.”

“Under New York Law, Penal Law paragraph thirty-five point fifteen, a person is justified in using physical force against another, when that person is under the reasonable belief that the physical force is necessary to defend the person from what they reasonably believe to be the illegal imminent use of force or the illegal use of force. Mr. Petersen was stuck, and under the reasonable belief that Mr. Lorentz could hurt him unless he managed to free himself. He acted in self-defense, which I remind you that the prosecution has not been able to disprove. In fact, the case against Mr. Petersen cannot be proved against reasonable doubt, which means that you must find him… not guilty.”

From the other side of the room, she swears she can feel Jake’s eyes on her. When she looks up, she sees him mouthing nice job.

“What did you say he looked like, now again? Except for crazy hot and adorable?” Kylie takes another sip of her mojito, spying over the crowded bar.

“Okay, I said neither of those things.”

Kylie shrugs. “Didn’t have to.”

“Ugh. Whatever. Brown hair, brown eyes, medium height, I guess kind of a bigger nose… and I don’t know what he wears outside of court, but there was a leather jacket in the front seat of his car, so maybe that?” She strains her neck to try and see through the Friday night crowd. She’s never been to this particular Brooklyn bar before, but Jake had suggested it when Amy asked about a good place to give him back the shirt, and she’d figured after a long week, she might as well treat herself to a couple of after-work drinks with a friend. After being asked about the so-called mystery hottie five times, though, she’s starting to regret bringing Kylie along.

“Mm, that’s like, all the guys in here… oh, wait, that one’s waving to you!” Kylie points to a figure near the door, elbowing Amy in the side and causing her to nearly choke on her wine. She’s still coughing when Jake walks up to them, trying to offer him a smile while drying her eyes. Jake looks politely confused, but shakes Kylie’s hand in the meantime.

“I’ll leave you two alone,” she says with a meaning wink to Amy before sliding off the leather barstool, leaving it for Jake. “Have a good night!”

“Ignore her.” Amy sighs. “Sorry, I…”

“No, no worries,” Jake says, and the honest care in his expression makes her feel oddly warm. “You okay?”

“Yeah, sorry.” She waves a dismissive hand and picks up the dry-cleaning bag hanging on the back of her chair. “Well, here’s the shirt. Thank you for the loan. Or thank your ex, I suppose.”

“Dry-cleaned, really? You truly are type A.”

“What about it?”

“Nothing, it makes sense.” He nods to the glass in her hand. “Celebrating Tuesday’s win?”

“Something like that. It was Monday, though,” she can’t stop herself from correcting him. “I don’t get a lot of time off. Gotta make the best out of it.”

“Yeah, me neither. Do you mind if I join you for another drink? Or maybe you should do water, in case you choke again?”

Something about the way he poses it like a challenge makes her take the glass, put it to her lips, and swallow the rest of the wine in one gulp. “I think I can handle it.”

They pay for their own drinks, because whatever this meeting is, it’s definitely not a date, and it makes Amy relieved that Jake doesn’t seem to think so either.

“A toast,” he suggests. “To your win this week. I gotta give it to you, those closing statements were solid.”

“To justice,” Amy says, and they raise their beer bottles in unison. “And my win. Finally.”

“Yeah, what has it been, like, five wins for me?”

“Four, but dream on, Peralta.”

Jake laughs. The dimples in his cheeks become even more prominent when he laughs, Amy notes. “Have you always been this intense about winning cases, then? Or is it something that comes with law school? Like there’s a class in being petty about this stuff?”

You’re intense too, she thinks, but doesn’t say it out loud. “Maybe. I have seven brothers, and I was the only girl. I got pretty good at winning fights using other things than physical strength when I was a kid. Actually, sometimes physical strength, too.”

“I feel like you could beat someone up if you wanted to. You could surprise them.”

“Oh, I could most definitely beat someone up if I wanted to. But I stuck to arguing. I got good at it. And I always had good grades, so I ended up at Columbia, and I’ve never really regretted it.” She takes a swig of her beer. “Not even when cops call me the devil.”

“I wouldn’t call you the devil,” Jake says. “I mean, do I think you lack a bit of a moral compass? Probably. But each to their own.”

She leans her head a little bit to the side, eyeing him closely. “Why do you think that?”

“Well, you have to defend people that you know did awful things, right? Doesn’t that make you feel sick sometimes?”

“I don’t have to defend their actions. Most times, it’s not even about that. It’s about making sure the trial is fair, the evidence is sufficient and their rights are respected, so that if there’s a conviction, it’s actually beyond any reasonable doubt. I like to believe most people are better than their worst moments. I see it as my job to make sure they’re treated that way.”

“Huh.” Jake nods slowly. “Guess I never thought of it that way.”

“Plus,” she winks, “someone’s gotta hold you guys accountable, right?”

“Fine.” He shakes his head. “Hey, did you say you went to Columbia? My captain’s husband teaches law there. Did you ever have a Kevin Cozner?”

“No way! Your captain is Raymond Holt?” She’s speaking way too loudly, she can tell from the way other people are glancing at her, but Jake looks entertained. “Sorry, it’s just – Professor Cozner was my favorite constitutional law teacher. I still send him and Raymond Christmas cards every year!”

“That doesn’t surprise me in the slightest.” Jake grins. “But, how weird is that? Almost like the universe is bringing us together or something.”

Amy thinks that it’s not that weird, since Kevin must teach hundreds of students every year that g on to become lawyers, but she kind of wants to keep seeing that smile on Jake’s face forever, so she nods. “So weird.”

They order another drink, plus some chips and nuts when Jake realizes he forgot to eat dinner, and move to another table in the back of the room. Amy’s surprised how comfortable she feels in his presence. It’s like she can’t wipe the smile off her face but doesn’t want to, and with time and a little more alcohol, jokes that she barely would have noticed on any other day become laugh-out-loud funny. It feels natural, even though she’s not sure how, and she tries not to glance at the clock on the wall when he doesn’t either. She’s got work to do tomorrow and she can’t stay out forever, but she doesn’t want to be reminded that this evening has to end at some point.

“So what made you become a cop, then?” She asks when she realizes she’s the only one who’s shared her origin story tonight. “Childhood superhero dreams?”

Jake shines up like he’s been waiting for the question all night. “Oh, that’s easy. Die Hard.”

“Really?”

“For sure. Actually, my mom said I was always good at protecting people, so I ended up doing it for a job. But I think that’s bullshit. It was definitely Die Hard.”

“I’ve never seen it,” Amy confesses, and Jake stares at her like she just insulted his entire being. “But if you want a cop movie, my top three’s Training Day, Lethal Weapon, and Fargo.”

“Wrong, wrong, and wrong! How can you not have seen Die Hard? It’s classic, man!”

“I just never did! How many lawyer movies have you seen, then?”

“Uhm…” Jake squints. “Charles made me watch Legally Blonde once? It was pretty good, honestly.”

“Well, duh, that movie is a cinematic masterpiece and a feminist work of art. How feminist is Die Hard, from a scale of one to ten?”

“Hey! Holly Gennaro does plenty of cool stuff throughout the movies! You’re just going to have to watch them yourself.”

“I can almost guarantee you I won’t.”

“Fine, but you’re missing out.” He grabs a couple of peanuts from the jar between them, throwing them in the air and catching them in his mouth. “Cool trick, right?”

Amy raises an eyebrow. “Is this what you do at work all day?”

“I did teach myself that during stakeouts, but no. Whatever. Throw me another one.” She does, and he catches it again, this time almost sliding off the barstool in the process. She laughs a bubbling laugh as he does it another time. “Now you.”

“Fine. Try me.” The peanut flies through the air between them, and she tries to dive for it, but it just ends up landing at her feet. “Okay, another one.” She misses that one too. “Okay, there must be something wrong with these nuts.”

“Title of your sextape.”

“Title of my what?”

“Nevermind.” Jake laughs. “You just need some practice. Maybe at work? It could liven up a trial.”

“Nuh-uh, don’t need practice. Just need a better tactic.” Without thinking, she grabs a handful of them this time, throwing them in the air. This time, she catches a few of them in her mouth, while the rest end up spread over the couch and floor. “The key is volume!”

“Yeah, and the bartender is looking at you like he wants to kill you, so maybe don’t do it again or we’ll get thrown out.”

“It’s fine, I’m a lawyer.”

“That phrase works well to get out of trouble?”

“If you know what you’re doing. We could order more drinks to keep him happy?”

“Shots?”

“I’m down if you’re down.”

Jake orders a Kamikaze shot for each of them, and as she reaches forward to take the second glass, her hand brushes against the top of his for a moment longer than necessary, resting there. It’s warm, and it feels calloused but somehow soft at the same time. They look at each other, his light brown eyes staring into hers, and she feels instantly hyper-aware that they’re around far, far, too many people.

She lets go of his hand, taking the shot and swallowing it before anyone can notice what’s happening. It smells like sour hand sanitizer and burns going down, and she laughs at Jake’s grimace when he drinks his.

“God, every time.” He shakes his head and runs a hand through his hair. “Hey, I know this is crazy, but… do you maybe want to get out of here? We could have another drink at my place… watch Die Hard… whatever.”

“Mm, yeah. Maybe I should check that the shirt gets back to your place properly?”

“Shirt? What shirt? Oh, right, fuck, the shirt!” Jake spins in place, rushing back to the table where they were just sat. “Shit, I probably spilled beer on it, Sophia’s going to be pissed now...”

“It’s still in the bag, smartass.” Amy shows him. “Ta-da. Shirt’s still clean. Comes in handy being type A sometimes, huh?”

Jake sighs. “I know you're making fun of me, but I could seriously kiss you right now.”

Maybe it’s the four drinks, maybe it’s the thrill that comes with how rarely she does this, or maybe it’s just sheer and wild impulse, but Amy finds herself whispering,

“Maybe we should get out of here, then.”

Amy learns a lot of things that night.

She learns that Jake Peralta is a seriously good kisser, tasting faintly of orange soda beneath the alcohol and salt, and that being pressed against his front door with his hands protecting her head strikes the perfect balance between feeling adventurous and safe. She learns that he’s never really quiet, soft moans and sighs filling the room in the breaks between their kisses, but that the sound only makes her want more.

She learns that he wears even more layers than her. Beneath the leather jacket and hoodie is a checkered blue flannel that has way too many buttons for her liking right now, and she curses her slight tipsiness while working at them one by one. When she's finally done, Jake pulls the grey t-shirt over his head, and she barely has time to pause to admire how he somehow can look fit despite that catastrophic diet, or the curls on his chest that are begging for her to run her fingers through them, before he's asking “my turn?”. She learns that Jake Peralta is impatient, that his hands work fast on the buttons of her cerise shirt, and that he gets adorably confused when he can't find the button on her suit pants.

“It's on the side,” she tells him and shows him the zipper, and then they're both giggling until she kisses him like that and it's back on again.

She learns that his hands feel good, sliding slowly up the sides of her stomach and back and rubbing against her shoulder blades. She unclasps the white t-shirt bra for him, smiling to herself as he swallows quickly.

“God, you’re hot,” he whispers, and the soft bites he trails down her chest and stomach make her feel that way, too.

They move to his bed, leaving a trail of clothes behind them, and then she’s underneath him and breathing hard as his mouth moves lower, closer. The anticipation of it all is driving her mad, but then he looks up at her and asks “okay?” with the most sincere and caring expression, and Amy’s had very, very few one-night-stands in her life, but she’s certainly never had one like this.

“Okay,” she nods, and there’s that familiar grin again, but this time it makes her feel warm in a very specific place.

She learns that Jake Peralta can do a whole lot more with his mouth than talking people’s ears off. His breath ghosts over her through her underwear at first, warming her up even though it’s barely even necessary, and then he’s finally pulling down the black material and helping her kick them off. His tongue is careful at first, just tasting her as if to gauge her expression, but then she nods at him to continue and the next second, her head is thrown back as she lets out a gasp.

She learns that he likes it when she pulls his hair. At first, her hands are just lightly tangling in it for practicality, but then she holds on tighter as a means of control when her legs begin to tense up and the familiar pressure is starting to rise. She’s raising her hips slightly only to lower them again, helping him get her there, and the curls of his hair are just begging to be pulled.

“Do that again,” he pauses to say, so she tugs his hair harder and he straight-up moans.

She learns that he can make her scream, which she wasn’t expecting, and she rocks through the euphoric waves and pants and practically melts into the bed as she comes down from it.

“That good?” He winks, and she wants to roll her eyes, but he did just make her come harder than she remembers doing in a long time, so she kisses the smile off of him instead, tasting her arousal on his lips.

She learns that he's respectful and a gentleman, telling her that they can stop this here if she'd rather, but she doesn’t want to, and they don’t. He has to rifle through the drawer in his bedside table for a while before he finds a condom – maybe he doesn’t do this as often as she’d thought, maybe it’s another sign of his poor organization skills, but he finds one soon enough so she’s not sure she cares – and then it’s a little bit of a blur, but she rolls it on him with precise strokes and lowers herself on top of him and oh my god.

She learns that when he looks at her, when he touches her, it makes her feel powerful and special all at once. He plays with her boobs as she sets the pace, his thumbs rolling against her nipples in a way she didn’t realize she liked, and she picks up her rhythm, clenching around him and leaning back on his raised thighs.

She learns just how enjoyable it is to watch him fall apart underneath her. His pace stutters and he curses, groaning a confession of how close he is, and she could almost come again from watching him alone but she brings two fingers to her clit and touches herself anyway. He finishes before her, spilling out inside the condom with a moan that she can only imitate, collapsing against his chest as she brings herself to orgasm again right after him.

When they're done learning, they collapse together in his bed. For a moment, Amy considers turning around and calling a cab home, because that would be the most responsible thing to do, but then Jake throws an arm around her to pull her closer, and after all, she's still a little tipsy.

What harm could it possibly do, anyway?

Sharp, unforgiving morning light wakes Amy up before her alarm the next morning. She must have forgotten to close the blinds last night, she thinks, and rolls over on the other side so the light doesn't hurt her eyes. She expects the usual greeting of a sea of pillows, and has to stop herself from letting out a yelp of surprise when instead, she's hit with a wall of Jake sleeping with his back to her. A vague memory of them falling asleep like this hits her. He’d wanted to be the little spoon, she remembers.

At first, knowing that intimate fact about him makes her feel proud. Then it makes her panic.

She jumps out of bed, throwing off her part of the comforter in search of her clothes. She finds her underwear and bra together with her shirt, trying to dress as quietly as possible, quick before Jake wakes up and discovers that she's half-naked in his apartment and they have to have a very, very awkward talk –

“Amy? What are you doing?”

Too late.

She freezes on the spot, chewing on her lip as she fumbles for an explanation. Jake’s eyes rake over her with curiosity, which somehow feels a lot more exposing today than it did last night, and it's making her lose track of her words. His bed head curls and disoriented smile is decidedly not helping her focus.

“We slept together last night,” she manages.

Jake’s smile grows wider and prouder as he sits up fully in bed. Amy blushes as she notices the shadow of two hickeys way too close to his neck to be professional.

“Yeah, I was there.”

“Very funny.” She sees her pants thrown across the back of a massage chair and quickly reaches for them. “But this… You know this can’t be a thing, right? Just so we're on the same page about it.”

Jake frowns. “What do you mean with a thing?”

“This – us – we can't date, Jake. I know that. You know that.”

He’s silent for a moment before he fakes a shudder. “Yeah, yeah, no. I’ve dated lawyers before. Never ends well.”

“You have?” The reveal surprises her. “It doesn't matter. This can’t happen.”

“I know.”

“Good,” she exhales. “I’m just going to find my clothes, then, and then I’m going to leave.”

“Hey, wait.” He twists his hands together, bringing them to his chin with a smile. “This is going to sound weird, but… even if nothing can happen between us, I’m still glad we had sex last night.”

The confession takes her by surprise, and Amy wonders again if she just doesn't know anything about one-night-stands. Sleep together, have fun, sneak out in the morning before anything can go deeper – isn't that how it's supposed to go? If so, she's majorly failing, because she can't stop herself from giving him another shy smile in return.

“Me too. Just because, we were like… really good at it.”

“Stupid good!” Jake exclaims. “It makes no sense!”

“We still can't date, though,” she reminds him. “So how do we work this out?”

“Well, it sort of looked like you were planning to just leave, and I’m not going to stop you if that's your choice, but… there is one more option.”

“What are you thinking?”

“We could be friends with benefits,” he shrugs. “None of the commitment, none of the weird incompatibilities between a cop and a lawyer, just us and some stupid good sex.”

“Friends with benefits? Do the kids really say that, still?”

“I’m saying you could consider it.”

Amy's first instinct is to protest, to say absolutely not and leave on the spot. Her relationship history may not contain that many names, but at least they’ve all been fairly straightforward and conventional. She's never done something like this before, and the mere idea of jumping into something so unknown with someone like Jake scares her shitless.

Then again, she's also never been with someone like Jake. Yesterday hadn't been a date, but it had still been better than all the awkward dinners and half-hearted walks she's been at since she broke up with Teddy a year ago. And the sex – well, she'd be lying if she said she wasn't already thinking of doing that again.

“There would need to be rules,” she says.

“Sure, we can come up with some.”

“I’ll write a contract.”

“We need a contract?”

“Yeah,” she decides. “If this is going to work, we need a comprehensive set of rules, and they need to be written down, because I don't trust you not to adjust them in your head last minute.”

“How am I attracted to you? But, fine.”

Amy shakes her head, closing the last button on the shirt that had been left unbuttoned until now. “So… I’ll put together a draft and bring it over tonight? Your place?”

Jake gapes at her for a moment like he can't believe what he hears, but then he nods. “I’m free.”

“Cool. I’ll see you tonight, then.” With that, she pulls on her socks and shoes, leaving before she can freak out again.

“Cool, cool,” she hears just before closing the door. “Friends with benefits. Cool, cool, cool, cool… cool.”

#b99fandomevents #b99 summer 2021 fic exchange #my writing #b99 #peraltiago #jake x amy #b99 fic #b99 fanfiction #jake x amy fanfiction #peraltiago fanfiction #MY FIRST AU PLEASE ENJOY #three more parts to come hahah but i'm only going to post one before the deadline #read on ao3 if you want line breaks since tumblr has ruined those

61 notes · View notes

whump-town · 4 years

Text

“It’s a Date”

@random-ravings this is for you... I know you asked for a full blown date night but for some reason I am unable to do it to the fullest. I also don’t know enough about romantic get away but I do hope this suffices

“Do you trust me?”

She’s not sure what level of insanity she must have been on the other night to think that her slip up at JJ’s wedding would be forgotten by her anal rentenive boss. Low and behold, here he sits in her drive-way trying to coerce her into his black jeep with the promise of a get away looming ahead of them. Of course, the details of said adventure are hidden behind the dark shades covering his soft eyes but his warm smile is pulling her in. Despite the cold knife of trust issues reminding her that he’s only being nice because he feels bad for her.

Not because of the way he’d held her as they danced. Or the spark that her touches sends down his spine, leaving him shuddering and reaching for more. As if she’s a cigarette to place between his teeth and draw a healthy pull off of. She’s the kindest person he knows and no matter how much distance he puts between them he craves her like nicotine in his lungs.

He always comes back wanting more.

Behind her own sunglasses, she sizes up his jeep. It’s not really what she was expecting but when is Aaron Hotchner ever predictable? Picking up the suitcase at her ankles, she shakes her head finally coming to answer the question he’d proposed upon placing the car in park. An inquiry on trust. She trusts him with her life-- with her heart-- but she doesn’t risk the reaction the truth has. “About as far as I can throw you,” she grumbles with an eye-roll and a smirk she can’t contain.

The soft chuckle that leaves his mouth has her head jerking, frowning at the sound she hasn’t heard enough of to consider he’d made it. Her reaction only makes the smile on his face grow and she stands for a loaded second just basking in the warmth that placing that smile on his face gives her. She has to shake her head to pull her thoughts back to the problem at hand-- Hotch and whatever trick he has up his sleeve.

“So,” she tosses her bag in the back beside one that’s identical to her own. Out of habit, she bites her tongue instead of observing that ‘great minds think alike’. If Reid were here he’d conclude ‘fools seldom differ’. Hotch might not come to that same conclusion but it’s too late to tell. “Where are we going?”

Hotch takes a moment to respond. He puts the car into reverse, pulling out of her driveway in a swift but solid motion. It’s easy to forget that Hotch really is a good driver-- even if he spends a lot of government hours bashing the cars he’s driving into UNSUBs. He has a lack of regard when it comes to his own life.

She wonders why.

“We’re on vacation time,” comes his answer, a strange crooked, care-free nature to the smile he flashes her way. There’s something youthful about it. She imagines he used to be like this all time. Quick with a joke and lighthearted before the job weighed him down.

She nods, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth to worry at it. He hasn’t told her much about the excursions besides to dress for the weather and to bring a nice outfit for a fancy dinner. The amount of things that could mean worries her more than she’d like to admit.

He catches sight of the anxious frown she settles on his dash and decides that the gig is up. Besides, how much fun can his plans be if she’s not equally as excited? He clears his throat, “there’s this B&B that JJ always gushes about--”

Emily’s eyes light up, “The Monty House?”

He chuckles at her clear excitement. Her voice had gone up, softening considerably like the way Jack might shout-out when offered a bowl of ice cream before bed. If he’d known it would be this easy to make her happy he might have done this silly little trip a long time ago.

Actually, that is a lie. His nerves have been wracked for the better part of the last week since he made the reservation. There’s no way he could have done this without the prompting of both her ‘It’s a date’ and the dance they shared at JJ’s wedding.

Admittedly, he can be a bit of a coward but his heart is pretty damaged. He’s not sure he can handle Emily stomping on it.

Judging from the smile lighting up her face though, heart stomping isn’t on the agenda. In fact, she could kiss him.

“Yeah.” His shoulders relax as the tension leaves his body in the nervous chuckle he lets out. His hands get some blood back as his grip on the wheel loosens, his poor knuckles returning to a fleshy tone instead of bone white. “The-The Monty House,” it feels good to have that off his chest. “The whole weekend.” Of course, he won’t tell her everything he has planned. No point in spoiling the whole weekend.

He finds himself smiling. How does she do that to him? Twist his stomach in knots with her silence and then have him smiling so hard his face hurts the next second.

“Does that mean we’re stopping for road snacks?”

There are few instances when they drive to crime scenes but on occasion a crime only warrants sending two agents. It’s no secret that on those particular occasions, he prefers going with Emily. She’s comfortable in their joined silence unlike Reid who anxiously fills it. There’s no pressure to talk about his personal life like with Dave who’s endless lines of question never seem to stop.

With Emily there is just… ease.

And snacks. Lots of snacks.

“Check the glove compartment,” he says with a smile. He knew she’d need refreshments even for a simple two and a half-hour road trip. He knows a lot about her actually.

She raises an eyebrow and, sure enough, she finds his glove compartment filled with snacks. There’s a red gatorade along with the SweetTart Ropes, Sunchips, and Peanut Butter & Jelly sandwich. It’s the kind of thing that looks like a thoughtless addition. Red gatorade is a straightforward go to drink but she knows it’s more than that. It’s the only gatorade she likes and he knows that.

Just like he knows her favorite chips are Sunchips and that she thinks PB&Js are a timeless classic.

“Aaron Hotchner,” she smiles at the little collection of snacks in her lap. “You’re the sweetest man I have ever met.”

Hotch feels his face get impossible hot, despite the cool air coming in through the window beside his head. He can’t look at her because he knows she’ll see the blush and the last thing he needs is giving her that power. Not when he’s got a whole weekend to spend with her and countless opportunities to bring up him blushing like a schoolgirl over a compliment. He clears his throat, “uhm, thank you.”

Fifteen minutes in and she’s already getting the better of him… good God how are the next two hours going to pan out?

“Good God!”

Her sudden outburst causes him to jump in his seat. The car doesn’t jerk or accelerate but he’s good and jostled from the comfort he’d settled in. He looks over at her, eyebrows going up as he realizes she’s looking at him. “What?”

Oh.

She looks smacked with worry, the kind that he knows isn’t going to go away easily. “When was the last time you slept?”

There’s always the option to play dumb but from his experiance attempting to pull one over on Dave-- it’s very unbecoming. He can always tell the truth but that’s about as good of an idea as leveling his loaded service weapon to his temple. He could meet her half-way. Exclude all bits involving Beth-- that she’d broken up with him after JJ’s wedding. Something she’d been thinking about doing anyways but after seeing him with Emily there were things she, evidently, couldn’t avoid.

But he’s still got to explain how that was nearly a week ago.

He clears his throat, pulling his sunglasses back into place-- hiding the evidence. “Uhm,” he’s really bad at buying himself time and each second that passes means another moment she’s going to weigh whatever lie he comes up with. So he settles for a truth, just not all of it. “You’re not the only one who’s had a bad week.”

There’s a soft moment of contemplative silence shared between them as Emily considers exactly what that means. It sounds straightforward enough but Hotch is admitting to something being wrong and that’s not as simple as one plus one is two.

“Do you…” she licks her lips, unsure of exactly what it is she should do. She knows what he would say to her but the giving and taking of their relationship hasn’t been set up. “Do you want to talk about it?”

He grimaces at that offer but he realizes that’s unfair of him. He’s asked her to admit to him when she needs help. To her credit, she has on multiple occasions. So, it’s wrong to ask that of her and then put up his walls. This is no easier for her than it is for him.

“You wanna make another deal?” she asks. She reaches over and pokes him in the side with one of her candies, smiling when she bites into it. He raises an eyebrow at her, shaking his head. No matter how much time he spends with her… she never ceases to confuse and exasperate him. Even now, chewing on candy and trying to pry into his mind. “If I have to tell you when I’m having a bad day, you have to tell me.”

He grunts, raising his eyebrows but turning his attention to the road. He hates that idea. He can’t and won’t lie about that but is that not the same ultimatum he gave her? The instances are fundamentally different-- the trauma she was reeling from was fresh in all of their minds and he could be a sympathetic ear to that. Especially, if hearing about the worst parts of her day granted her a longer stay with them.

With him.

Now, it’s a little different. The things he needs to tell her about are a lot more personal. It’s not about the connection of Foyet and Doyle-- the sheer thought of which sends a cold chill down his back. Now if she wanted to talk about that he would still be adamant but, at least, it would be helpful.

“Aaron?”

He snaps away from his thoughts, having worked up a slight cold sweat from the directions of his thoughts. He shouldn’t be thinking about Foyet. That won’t help anyone. With a shake of his head he stutters a confirmation to her idea. “Uh-Yeah, s-sure.”

His eyes are on the road but he’s about a million miles away. He just keeps thinking about Foyet.

Emily’s not sure what to do.

Hotch is her friend. In many aspects, her best friend and as jouveline as those words are often made to sound she means it in the most sincere way. She trusts him with her life and beyond that, in ways that she’s not yet encountered. She means that when she comes to a crossroads in her life he is always there.

Just like now, as she grapples with the decision to leave for London or stay. He’s her right-hand man and… now, she’s uncertain as to how she should repay that.

Of how she can.

It feels like an endless pit separating them. She starts there.

He’s driving with his left hand, leaving the right to rest limply in his lap while the other’s knuckles turn white with the tension his whole body is failing to hide. Silently, she reaches over and nudges his forearm with her hand. He scowls down at her hand, confused but he caves and moves his it.

He huffs a little when she takes his hand. Surprised more than anything else. The only hand he’s held in years is Jack’s and, even now, Jack’s getting too big for that.

“I do mean it,” she says, giving his fingers a tentative squeeze. “You’ve heard all my stories. You know all my drama…” She smiles, just thinking about it. “I think I can handle what little drama Aaron Hotchner encounters in his day to day life.”

He chuckles at that. It’s a good point. His life isn’t chocked full of twists and turns. Jack has some interesting moments-- mostly his bully turned best friend Paul. She already knows about that though. That leaves nothing really. What’s he so afraid of?

“Alright,” he relents, returning her gentle squeeze. He clears his throat, “but can we talk about it later? After--”

She cuts him off, “we can talk about it whenever you feel comfortable.”

Something in his chest settles and he relaxes. He doesn’t notice until several minutes later but he doesn’t pull his hand away from hers.

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

They were supposed to get two rooms but that’s too much to ask for and they end up in a room with two twin size mattresses an arms length away. Neither are that worried with the proximity. As far as sleeping arrangements go, this is still better than about 90% of the hotels they’ve stayed in over the years.

The problem is what might haunt them at night.

The last thing Emily wants is to wake Hotch up in the middle of the night thrashing like a heathen possessed but the freaking devil because her subconscious loves to taunt her with Ian Doyle.

Talk about making things awkward between them.

It doesn’t seem to bother Hotch though. The first thing he does upon putting their bags at the ends of their beds is collapse onto a bed. He doesn’t move for a solid five minutes, just lays on his stomach, face down. She’s starting to worry about him-- hoping he’s just managed to fall asleep and not dead-- when he groans and sits back up.

He runs a hand through his bedhead and Emily has to look away-- damn, that shouldn’t be as hot as it is.

“You up for anything on this itinerary?”

She can’t turn around because she's very aware of the fact that he’s standing right behind her. He offers her the booklet and she takes it, unable to breathe until he takes a step back. She can hear the sound his five o’clock shadow makes as he scratches at his chin and-- good God give her a freaking break her heart can’t take this.

“Uhm,” she keeps her eyes trained on the paper but for the life of her she can’t focus on the words. She just keeps thinking about the fact that Aaron Hotchner is about a foot away looking drowsy and soft. He looks like he’s dead on his feet. “Why don’t we just get dinner and go to bed early?”

As much as he wants to just agree with her and call it a night-- he’s adamant that she actually wants that. “Are you sure?”

She nods, “yeah. You’re tired--”

He stands, shaking his head. “No,” he tells her. “We’re here so that you can relax. I can handle whatever it is that you want to do.” He takes the booklet back, flipping through it and looking down the list. He scowls in concentration and she finds it endearing but also hardheadily aggravating.

“Hotch, I mean it.”

He finds one and points at it, asking, “how about a massage?”

She rolls her eyes. “Aaron,” she says, folding the booklet up despite his light attempts to tell her no. “I just want to eat some dinner and go to bed.”

He deflates a little… he wants her to have a fun time and he feels like she’s giving that up because of him.

“I mean it.” She starts to pull at her hair, raking her fingers through her thick hair to work it into a ponytail. “Besides,” she says, “JJ said they have a killer grilled cheese and I’ve been dying to find out if that’s true.”

That he believes.

So they have grilled cheese in the room, passing small talk back and forth. Emily finds Jurassic Park on the TV and at nine thirty when he turns his bedside light off, he reassures she’s fine to leave her own. Even if it makes her feel pretty silly that she’s managed to get herself worked up over a PG-13 movie from the 90s.

She is fighting her own fitful sleep when she hears the soft sound he makes from the other bed. Everytime she closes her eyes Ian Doyle is right there. Blood seeps between his teeth and, this time, Hotch is there too. Ian draws a knife close to Hotch’s throat, it’s bared for easy access by the tight grip Ian has on Hotch’s hair.

She wakes just as the blade draws blood.

Judging from pained grunt Hotch lets out, her demons aren’t the only ones coming out tonight.

“Hotch?” She’s not entirely sure what she should do. Hotch’s hearing has been on the mend for the better part of five years. It’s not his strongest sense-- they’d all found better ways to his attention than calling out his name but right now waving a hand at him or throwing a piece of crumpled paper isn’t going to get the job done.

“Hotch!”

She stumbles back as he sits bolt upright, his breathing ragged. For a moment, she sits stunned on her bed. Watching as he looks down at the comforter across his legs, unable to place where he is. She can hear his breathing become more distressed, a wheezing groan tearing from his mouth as he raises his head to look around.

“Hotch?”

His left hand comes up to his chest, clenching his t-shirt tight in his fist. He’s steadily working himself up.

She stands up, calling his name softly again and frowning when he doesn't look at her. “Aaron,” she hesitates just a step from the bed. He looks up just as she stops, tears streaming down his face, and she can’t bear the sight. “Oh, sweetie.” She climbs into his bed and pulls him into a hug. He shakes in her arms and her heart breaks for him.

He always stops and checks up on her but… what has he been hiding from them to let things get this bad?

“So, we’ve both been having some bad days.” She buries her face into his shoulder, breathing in the steady and warm scent of Hotch. She’s unable to pick apart the distinct parts of the way he smells. There’s aftershave and deodorant but also laundry detergent and… he smells the way home does. Distinct and safe. She’d know him if she were blind and deaf and scared out of her mind.

Aaron.

He leans into her touch but the way she holds him isn’t making it easier to breathe. Her fingers spread out on his neck, working against the way his hair grows to scratch as his scalp. He feels himself melting into her and in return, she does the same.

They’re just a puddle of humans. Welded together. Neither is able to escape the hold of either. She’s practically sitting in his lap and, in return, he’s wrapped a leg around her back.

“Why weren’t you sleeping?” he asks, voice muffled by her shirt. He’s settled back down, able to pull in a steady stream of oxygen. It doesn't get caught in his throat. What it’s doing is letting the exhaustion creep back into his bones. He’s too weary to rest.

Emily pauses just long enough to realize that there’s no way he’s going to believe her if she says anything besides the truth. At the same time… “Who said I wasn’t,” she whispers, wincing at just how much her voice betrays her. She moves and presses her face into his shoulder, squeezing her eyes tight with the false hope he’ll let it go.

She can feel the way he tenses, regardless of the fact that he doesn’t believe her.

There’s still a small inkling in the back of his mind that says-- you woke her up.

“Nightmares,” she finally answers. His fingers spread across her back, thumb trailing spine. “Doyle--” she hates the way he tenses at the mention of the other man’s name. She’d done everything to protect them and all she’d done was hurt them worse. She certainly made things worse for him. Forced him to lie to the only family he has to protect her-- a woman who lied about her career and entered his team to blackmail him.

But he eases after a moment. He rubs his hand up her back, offering her the same comfort she’d extended.

She sinks into his chest. “Doyle was going to kill you,” she whispers. Her tears run hot and he can feel through his shirt.

He presses a kiss to her hairline. He holds her to him, shaking his head. “It’s alright now,” he promises, throat thick. He’s painfully reminded of his own dreams. Waking up and having to scrub his hands in the sink to reassure himself that his subconscious has just been very unkind. That her blood is not caked under his nails.

That she’s home.

Sleeping.

Alive.

He wonders how many cadets the two of them could scare away. Tell a room full of kids-- that’s what she was when she was scouted out of college-- that taking that oath means more than they’re currently able to give. It’s the nine stab wounds on his chest. It’s talking serial killers down from suicide even when as they stand to realize the world would be a better place if they through with it. It’s demons that you can never really get away from.

“Can we just…” she wants to ask him to just hold her. To spend the night like this. She loses her nerve. Swallowing thickly around the tightness in her throat, she leans back from his shoulder. There’s only an inch of space between their faces. Her hands reach for him on it’s own accord, her thumb tracing his jawline.

“Emily,” he whispers, his eyes moving back and forth between hers. Unable to figure out what he should do.

She looks down at his lips, her cheeks burning.

“I-I don’t want you to do anything you might regret,” he manages, eyes giving away the vulnerability behind the statement.

She kisses him. It’s a hungry, desperate kiss that he leans into. “Something like that?” she asks a moment later.

He nods, unable to find words.

“Can we just lay here,” she asks. “Will you just hold me?”

He nods, can’t trust his voice.

She trusts him though. She falls asleep in his arms.

He lays there for the longest time. Her head is tucked under his chin and, even in her sleep, she’s holding his hand.

The ceiling turns.

His anxiety is creeping up but each time he gets to the point of hyperventilation she moves a little in her sleep.

She doesn't know what she’s getting herself into.

She’s not going to love him.

Not for long.

“Aaron?” She blinks and pulls the blanket up to their chins. “Go to sleep.”

#criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #hotchniss #hotly #aaron hotchner #emily prentiss

89 notes · View notes

19tozier · 4 years

Text

lookalike pt. two (bill denbrough)

part two of this imagine

warnings: angst, swearing, but a hopeful ending!

[losers&reader are 17/18 in this]

bill denbrough, you have found, is not an easy person to love. loving him is the hardest thing you’ve ever done.

it burns inside of you, burrowing into your heart and into your stomach until you feel hollow with it. sometimes, you want nothing more than to scrape yourself free from it, but you don’t think you could; it would destroy you as well. but loving bill the way that you do is going to destroy you, too.

you’ve been avoiding him even harder after your fight, coldly ignoring his every attempt to talk to you or even look at you. you thought you’d have to avoid the other losers at times, too, but they’ve made it clear that they understand. you don’t know how they found out, but you know they know what bill said. and you know they’re upset about it. they’re almost as angry as you are.

and god, are you angry. you have to force yourself not to think about what bill said or else your rage will choke you, thick and cloying and hot in your throat. at inopportune times, his words will play through your mind, and your blood begins to boil.

however, your life hasn’t changed much. you were already avoiding bill to begin with, so not seeing him at all hasn’t really done anything. you still go on dates with jacob, trying not to feel guilty when you look at his smile, and you hang out with the losers whenever you are certain bill won’t be there. there’s a hole in your life and your heart where he should be but slowly, you think you are beginning to grow numb to that absence.

of course that’s when it comes crashing down around you.

foolishly, you had been certain jacob had been none the wiser to the tension inside you. you’d never told him that you had stopped being friends with bill, after all, and you’d even brought the losers along to meet jacob on one of your movie dates. you had thought that things were as perfect as they could get between you two.

he’s already leaning against your locker when the final bell rings one day, fidgeting with the straps of his backpack. he doesn’t return your smile when you greet him, nor does he go to wrap you up in a hug the way that he usually does. instead, he sighs and looks down at his shoes.

“can we talk?” he asks you quietly, his eyes sliding to where richie and eddie are waiting for both of you a few steps down the hall. “alone?”

you swallow, a cold feeling settling in the pit of your stomach. you wave the boys on, trying to smile as reassuringly as possible when they both look concerned. judging by the look richie gives you, it’s shaky at best and downright worrying at worst.

you follow jacob outside, your heart rate spiking even more when he leads you to the place where you and bill had your fight just a few short weeks ago. seemingly oblivious to your anxiety, he sits on the wall where bill had waited for you, and hesitantly, you sit beside him. the few inches between you feel as cavernous as miles.

for a long moment, neither of you talk. you stare down at the sidewalk, your palms sweating against your thighs. you’re about to bite the bullet and ask what’s wrong when jacob murmurs, “i think we need to break up.”

your heart freezes inside your chest. it sits there, colder than you’ve ever been, spreading numb out through your veins as you shakily whisper, “what?”

jacob doesn’t look at you. “i think we need to break up,” he repeats, slightly louder and slightly stronger.

part of you had known this was coming, and that part had honestly been waiting for it to happen. but that part is not the majority, and you are so blindsided that your lips tremble enough that you almost can’t talk. “but... why?”

he sighs, and finally he meets your gaze. he looks sad and resigned, a frown curling the edges of his mouth, but there is something in the set of his shoulders that looks lighter. more free. “we don’t like each other the same way,” he whispers. “and i think i’ve always known that, but i don’t think i can stay with it anymore.”

every word he says spears into your heart. you feel almost sick with guilt and desperation. “jacob, i do like you, i don’t understand—“

“not in the same way,” he interrupts, gently but firmly. “i really like you, (y/n), but you’ve always had feelings for someone else. and that’s okay, really. it’s not your fault. but it’s not fair to either of us.”

the tears you have been trying to suppress finally make themselves known, trickling slowly down your cheeks. you make no move to wipe them away. “how did you know?”

he smiles, soft and small and sad. “i have eyes, y’know,” he murmurs to you. you don’t deserve his kindness, especially now. “it didn’t take a genius to figure out.”

your heart is unthawing, only for fractures to spread through the ice. you can feel it breaking in your chest, slowly but surely with every word he says. “i really do like you,” you rasp. you want to grab his hand but you don’t think you’ll be allowed. “i need you to know that. and i never, ever cheated on you.”

jacob blows out a breath, tilting his head back to stare at the sky. “i do know that, (y/n). i know you like me and i know you’d never hurt me like that. but it’s not really enough, is it?”

he doesn’t say it to be an accusation but you feel it like it is one. your heart splits jaggedly in two. “no,” you whisper. “it’s not.”

you are both silent for several minutes. the bustle of your classmates leaving school for the day continues around you, all of them oblivious to the turmoil inside you. no one has even glanced at you or jacob, even if you feel like there is a neon sign pointing directly to your conversation. lookie here, folks, karma always comes to collect its debt!

“can we still be friends?” your voice is small. your fingers are twisted together in your lap hard enough that they ache. “i don’t want to completely lose you from my life, jake.”

jacob sighs, shaking his head slightly. “i don’t know,” he admits. “i don’t want to lose you either but i think it would hurt too much to just be your friend right now.” he pauses, then gently reaches to bump your shoulder with his own. he gives you a watery smile. “maybe eventually, though.”

there is a note of finality in his words. this is the ending you had been building towards from the moment it all began, and you had been foolish to think otherwise. you had already lost bill, and now you were losing jacob as well.

he gives you a nod, trying to smile again, and then he stands up and walks away. he doesn’t look back.

almost as soon as he’s left, you feel two other people sit down, one on either side of you. you can’t see through the tears blurring your vision but you know that it’s eddie and richie, come to try and comfort you. you don’t say anything, just turn your head into eddie’s shoulder and let yourself cry. they don’t ask, but you hope they understand anyways. you wouldn’t be able to explain if they didn’t.

***

it takes you a little while, but eventually, things start to get better.

the other losers are the best friends you really could’ve ever asked for. bev helps you talk all your feelings out and cry all you want to; stan and mike help you study and keep you from noticing all of your extra free time; ben brings you sweet little gifts, flowers and chocolate and candy, to make you smile on days you don’t feel like doing so; eddie and richie make you laugh with their antics and hug you whenever you need it.

but there’s still that hole left behind where bill was, the one that you desperately try not to think about.

you still haven’t talked to him. you know he knows that you and jacob broke up, because it feels like your entire school knows by now, but you don’t know if you’re ready to face that. you’re still so angry with him but you also miss your best friend.

you’re sitting in between eddie and stan one day at lunch, giggling at something mike said, when richie leans across the table and whispers, “come outside with me?”

he’s flicking his pack of cigarettes in his hand, and even though you don’t smoke you’d never pass up the opportunity to hang out with your favorite trashmouth. you pat stan’s shoulder, ruffle eddie’s hair, and follow richie out the huge double doors.

there’s already someone sitting against the wall in richie’s usual smoking spot, and you turn to say something to richie only to notice richie’s disappeared. you swing around wildly to look for him, and that’s when you realize the person sitting against the wall is bill.

you are struck with sudden deja vu for the day of your fight. you hope this doesn’t destroy you more.

he offers you a small smile, patting the concrete next to him. “c-can w-we talk?”

your heart races at the sound of his voice but you force yourself to keep your face blank. you carefully sit beside him, leaving several inches between your thighs. you don’t look at him at all.

he sighs, his hands balling into fists in his lap. “d-don’t b-be m-m-mad at r-richie. i a-asked h-him to b-b-bring you o-out h-here.”

“why?” your voice is cold and impassive, and you watch him flinch out of the corner of your eye.

he swallows. “s-so i c-could a-apologize t-to y-y-you.”

it makes your heart race for an entirely different reason. you almost crack and turn to look at him, maybe to see how sincere he is, but you’re scared that doing so will make you forget why you’re angry. already, the feeling is melting away at having him by your side again. “i’m listening.”

almost as if a dam has been broken, he tilts his shoulders to face you. his words come out choppy and fast, his stutter infinitely worse than you’ve ever heard it. “i-i-i-i’m s-s-so-oh suh-suh-suh-sor-ry. i-i-i-i wuh-was s-s-s-stupid a-a-and m-m-m-m-m—f-f-fuck—“

without your conscious effort, your hand shoots out to wrap around his wrist. both of you freeze, staring down at the point of contact. you want to pull it away and take it back but something inside of you has unlocked at the feeling of his skin against yours.

“calm down,” you murmur, still staring down at your hand. “it’s just me.”

bill draws in a ragged breath, his shoulders trembling with the force of it. his wrist flexes within your grip but he doesn’t pull away. “i-i-i’m s-s-sorry,” he whispers, now slightly calmer. “i-i’m s-s-so s-s-sorry, (y/n). i-i s-shouldn’t h-h-have s-s-s-said t-that. a-any o-of i-i-it.”

you nod, slowly. “so why did you?” you ask, your voice low. “because that hurt, bill. i was so fucking mad at you. i am so fucking mad at you.”

he makes a wounded noise, deep in his throat, and the hand still in your grasp curls into a fist. “y-y-you s-s-should b-be,” he croaks. “i-i w-was a d-dick. i-it d-doesn’t e-e-excuse it, b-but i-i w-w-was... i w-was j-j-jealous.”

it’s not really news to you, since bill had admitted he liked you in the same breath he used to tell you to break up with jacob, but it still makes your blood thrum through your veins. he’s right, it’s no excuse at all, and your anger will likely simmer inside of you for a while to come, but the worst of it is disappearing.

you sigh, finally turning your head to look at him. he’s already looking back, his eyes wide and sad, his expression destroyed. you let go of his wrist but don’t move away from him.

“why didn’t you apologize sooner?” you ask quietly.

he shrugs, giving you a small smile. “i-i d-didn’t th-think y-you w-w-wanted to h-h-hear f-from m-me.”

he’s not wrong; you probably would’ve punched him if he’d talked to you sooner. you nod, looking down at your lap. “i’m still mad at you,” you repeat. “that was fucked up, bill. you just expected me to break up with jacob because you asked me to. you realize how awful that is, right?”

bill blows out a long sigh, nodding his head. “s-stan n-n-nearly k-killed m-me f-f-for i-it,” he admits. “i-i th-th-thought b-ben a-a-actually w-would.” he pauses, and then says, again, “i-i’m s-s-sorry, (y/n).”

you turn to look at him again; he still hasn’t looked away from you. “i don’t know how to forgive you for that,” you confess quietly.

his expression turns anguished, but he doesn’t look surprised. he bites his lip, tucking his chin down into his chest. “c-can w-we s-s-start o-over? i-i-i d-don’t m-mean f-f-forgetting w-w-what i-i d-did. i-i j-just w-w-want t-to e-earn y-y-your t-trust b-b-back.”

it sounds too easy, but as you look at him, you’re shocked by the longing inside of you. you want your best friend back, you want to go back to the days where it was you and bill against the world. and if this is how you’ll get there, then you’ll absolutely take it, if it means you get to have him again.

you swallow and smile, shakily. “yeah, bill,” you breathe. “i’d like that.”

he smiles back at you before he sticks his hand out between you. as you stare down at it in confusion, he nudges your shoulder with his own. “h-hi, i-i’m b-b-bill.”

it makes something warm curl in your chest. you throw your head back and laugh, hearing him laugh along with you. you take his hand in yours, shaking it fondly. “i’m (y/n),” you grin.

maybe that day didn’t ruin anything at all, you think, as he offers you a hand up and holds the door open for both of you to go back to lunch. maybe there wasn’t actually any bomb and you and bill will eventually be okay.

as you rejoin the losers, as you watch stan bully bill relentlessly, as bill smiles at you shyly across the table, you are certain you will be.

#bill denbrough #bill denbrough imagine #bill denbrough x reader #bill denbrough x you #the losers club #the losers club x reader #the losers club imagine #it (2017)#it (2019)#it (movie)#it movie #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #stan uris #ben hanscom #mike hanlon #beverly marsh #my writing

54 notes · View notes

bizlybebo · 2 months

Note

I WANT TK LOSTEN TO AJJ BUT DONT KNOA WHETE TO START BECAUSE NEW MUSIC IS OVWRWHELMONG AN I AM INDECISIVE DO YO7 HAVE ANY SUGGESTIONS

OHHH HELLOOO !!!! HEHEHEHEH I LOVE AJJ SO FUCKKNG MUCH YOU CAME TO THE RIGHT GUY

their most popular album (and for good reason) is People Who Can Eat People Are The Luckiest People In The World”. it’s got some iconic tracks you’ve probably heard before like Brave as a Noun and Bad Bad Things ^__^. my personal favorites are Personal Space Invader, Rejoice, No More Tears, and. yknow what basically the entire thing. if you never listen to another AJJ album at least listen to this one cause it’s just so good

and THEN there’s a whole array of other albums that are all individually amazing. my older favorites are Knife Man + Candy Cigarettes, Capguns, Issue Problems! and Such (< yes that’s all one album title).

i’m also currently being fucked up by Only God Can Judge Me and More. absolute banger

honorable mentions are The Bible 2, Cant Maintain, and Rompilation !!!!

their newer albums are also insanely good too. Good Luck Everybody is probably one of my favorite albums of all time even if i don’t listen to it often.

Disposable Everything (+ Disposable Everything Else) came out in 2023 (DEE in 2024) and it’s also got some bangers. i haven’t gotten through the entire thing yet but I Wanna Be Your Dog 2 goes INSANELY hard.

TLDR: don’t get overwhelmed. just start off w/people who can eat people and see how you feel from there ^__^

#vixen rambles #vixen answers #GHRRRAGGH i love folk/folk punk man

6 notes · View notes

theprincesslibrary · 3 years

Text

#4: Baleful - Close your eyes

Warning: violence, past trauma, mention of abuse, mention of rape, domestic abuse, blood, torture

He’s waking up.

He doesn’t remember much. He was coming home after a night out, drunk and alone, the girls weren’t receptive to his charms. And then nothing. Just darkness and a violent pain at the back of his skull. He’s fully awake now, though his reality looks like a nightmare. His reflection is staring at him from the ceiling, eyes wide from fear. He is strapped to an operating table, naked, unable to move. He doesn't understand why he's here.

I’d feel bad for him if I didn’t know any better. But I do.

I know what he did to his wife, to his previous girlfriends. I know what type of monster he is. But I’m worse. The saw in my hand is itching to cut, but I can’t start yet. Everything must be done to perfection. So I step out of the shadows and move closer, tape his eyelids open, so he can't close his eyes. Putting that mirror on the ceiling was a real pain in the ass, it’d be a shame if all that work went to waste. I wouldn’t want him to miss the show.

*****

When Thancred reaches the scene everything looks like it did for the previous murders: they still don't have the crime scene, just the dumping area. A godforsaken place where nobody cares what you do or say: welcome to Ul'dah's low town, where the jewel city doesn't shine so brightly. Here only the rule of the three wise monkeys applies: see nothing, hear nothing, and above all shut the fuck up. The perfect place to get rid of a body.

These corpses are not your typical murder victim though: no crime of passion, no hit-and-run. Everything is clean. It’s the third case of the type to end up on his desk, and it's a fucking nightmare. Let’s be clear, the modus operandi is dirty as fuck: shallow cuts all over the body, severed limbs, head cut off… all of that ante mortem, a fucking slaughter. But the scene is fucking spotless, perfectly ordered like a freaking Mog Station warehouse. They don't really have a corpse, more of a human puzzle: the organs and the head sit in separate jars, the limbs are all wrapped up mummy style, personal belongings in a cardboard box... And the cherry on top: not a single witness.

That’s when Thacred's expertise comes to play. See, a regular cop would harass the lab, call them every 5 minutes, pressure them day and night… be a pain in the as. But not detective Thancred Waters. Nah. He has his way of doing things. He lets the lab rats alone, especially with a scene like that which is as much of a nightmare for them as it is for him. If puzzle number 3 is like its friends, CSI can’t do much for him right now, they need to unpack all that shit, literally. So he leaves them the fuck alone, they’re happy, and when they have something conclusive they call their favorite detective: how far one can go by not being an asshole is astonishing.

Instead, Thancred likes to interrogate people. Relatives, of course, that’s police work 101, but he pays extra attention to the little monkeys on the streets: the guy no one notices sitting in the corner, the drug dealer in his vintage car, the homeless lady who sleeps here at night. He just knows how to make them talk. It must be his lucky day because he saw his favorite monkey when he arrived at the scene. It would be rude not to check on his old friend, although “friend” might be a bit of a stretch. He met Theodric in Limsa Lominsa, back when he was still a street urchin, stealing purses from unsuspecting passersby. They were in the same band of petty thieves, followed the same path, except one day Thancred targeted Louisoix Leveilleur. Instead of turning him in, the man saw his potential, and took him under his wing. His life changed that day. Theodric wasn’t so lucky. He got involved with the wrong crowd, took the wrong drug, and ended up here, in one of Ul’dah’s worst neighborhoods where not even the refugees dare to come.

Yeah, not really friends, and considering what he's about to do to him, it's better that way.

*****

Thancred’s fists hurt from punching Theodric’s ugly face, he needs a break from all that “friendly catching up”. He reaches for a cig and lights it up. Gods, how he loves the taste of tar… finally some stale air to help him breathe. He spares a look to the little monkey slouched against the tainted wall of a shabby restaurant. His face is covered in blood, but he’s not talking. He hates when they stay quiet, he’ll just have to be more explicit.

“You know Theo, I can call you Theo, right? You know… it’s the weekend for me too. As you can imagine that I have other things to do besides fucking up your hideous face. I'm not asking you to share every tiny detail of your sad existence, I’m not your therapist. I’m not even asking for the name of your dealer. Just tell me who the fuck threw away the mummy. That would make me incredibly happy, I’d be able to go home, have a nice bath, you know, normal people shit.”

Thancred takes another puff from his cigarette and looks down at the man who was once his partner in crime. It’s almost like staring at a twisted version of himself, at the man he would have become without Louisoix. Six months ago, he might have gone easy on Theodric, might have tried to help him out. Six months ago, he would have been the man Louisoix wanted him to be, but that guy died in Lahabrea’s basement. All those months of sequestration and torture did a number on him, fucked him up so bad, his soul died back there. Now he's just this empty shell, pretending to be alive out of spite. Just to say “look at me now, I’m still there”. But he's not, not really.

He draws the last puff from his cigarette and crouches next to Theodric, his face on the same level as the junkie's. The little monkey has one open eye, just one, the other is too fucked up. There’s fear in that one eye, but he’s still not talking. Thancred gets his cig close to Theodric’s good eye, so he can understand what’s going to happen next. He likes to let people understand the rest on their own, it stimulates communication.

“You might think I hate you Theo, but I don’t. I don’t give two flying fucks about you. But you see, my shrink told me I had to externalize my rage. When you don't talk to me, it pisses me off, so I have to externalize. On your face. You’re not a bad guy, a little drug here, a little dealing there, it’s not that bad. I’m a whiskey guy myself so really who am I to judge? Just tell me who threw this corpse, so I can calm the fuck down. I don’t need to externalize as much and we both go on our merry ways.”

Thancred punctuates his question by crushing his cigarette's butt on Theo’s arm. His screams echo in the empty street so loudly dogs start to howl, not that anyone cares. Noone would come to his aid, not in this part of town, not when a cop is the one making him scream like a pig. The wise monkey rule reigns supreme. But now he’s in enough pain for Thancred to believe whatever he’s gonna say next.

“Fuck Waters, I swear I don't know anything. You know me, I'm not that brave, if I knew anything I’d be singing like a fucking canary right now. Please let me go, I promise if I hear something I'll tell you. I swear Waters.”

*****

Theodric looks sincere.

It pisses him off, cause now he’s gonna have to resort to a more classic approach and act like a regular cop: talk to the wife and relatives. He hates to act like a regular cop, hates to talk to the wives. He doesn’t know how to deal with crying people. He used to be good at people skills, he’s not anymore.

He needs a drink.

He ends up at the Quicksand like always. It’s a second house for all sorts of human trash: bikers, dealers, pimps, him...

Thancred likes the atmosphere, and the barmaid, Lya. Lya is good. It sounds dumb, but she is. She smiles all the time and listens to everyone’s bullshit without judging. She’s pretty too, beautiful even. When she smiles it's a bit like a breeze blowing over a field of poppy, it shakes him to the core. It shakes up any guy. They all want to throw themselves in her arms and let her lull them to sleep as a mother would. She could turn the most vicious wolf into an obedient little lamb with just one smile. All the guys here come for her: the alcohol tastes like piss, the food is barely decent when it’s not expired, and the walls grow mold. But she's here. They all want her, but no one touches her. She’s broken, they all know that. They might be a bunch of heartless assholes, but they have principles. And Lya is off-limits. Her last boyfriend used to beat her up to a pulp, she still has a scar running down the side of her face. It doesn't take away from her beauty, but it drives him mad with rage.

One night he was taking a piss behind the bar – mind you the alley’s hygiene is better than the loo inside – he saw the guy slap her, and felt the irrepressible urge to externalize his rage on the asshole’s face, so he did. Repeatedly, until he was the one lying on the ground, pissing himself. They’ve been friends ever since. She listens to his stupid jokes, gives him the best food, stops pouring drinks when she thinks he’s too drunk and smiles at him. She smiles so brightly he feels like a little boy in a candy store, hopeful and fearless.

She looks out of place in this dirty joint full of heartless assholes, like a porcelain doll forgotten in a construction site, but she’s one of them: damaged. They don’t want to break her, they can all see the cracks in her porcelain skin, so no one touches her. They just pretend, pretend they have a chance, pretend they’re good enough for her. They even play this game where the last guy standing can ask her out. They drink until they either pass out or leave, and only one guy is left. The winner never asks her out, but still, they come every night to drink and dream.

*****

I always start with small incisions, quick and superficial. It stings just a little, but not too much. The most important thing is not the pain or the screaming, it’s the fear, the anticipation. It’s a wholesome experience: he gets to feel, see, and smell all of it. People often forget to mention the smell, iron and urea, blood and piss. The mix elicits a primal reaction: run, it says, run. But he can’t.

*****

It’s Monday and Thancred has an appointment with the third victim’s wife. She looks vaguely familiar, must be from the file or the guy’s belongings. The murderer never bothered to hide his victim's identity. Hell, they even leave a special box for passports and other personal stuff. So yeah, she looks familiar, but he’s been in Ul’dah for a while, so it’s not a surprise. What he can’t stand is the way she's fidgeting on her chair.

Thancred doesn’t like when the witness fidgets because a regular cop would think ‘hum, that’s suspicious'. Thancred tried being a regular cop once, wasn’t for him, so he stopped, started being an asshole instead with some instinct sprinkled on top, it was a wholesale price. Still, the fidgeting is annoying. And she still looks familiar, more than she should from just a file picture. Thancred can’t put his finger on it. Maybe he fucked her once. He was kind of a womanizer before his life went to shit, before Lahabrea. It doesn’t explain why she’s so nervous, or why she keeps nervously rubbing her arms. Nor does it explain the five layers of clothes. It’s at least 35° out, and she’s out in the sun with a freaking turtleneck. The outrageous makeup has to be the icing on the cake.

And that’s when it hits him. He knows her, but not from the file, or a one-night stand. She’s from Lya’s support group for battered women. That’s why she’s nervous. Not because he’s her former lover, not even because he’s a cop, but because he’s a man. That’s why number 3’s dead: he was trash like the rest.

"Excuse me for a few minutes."

Thancred gets up and exits the room, leaving the widow alone. He spots Minfilia across the room and strides towards her.

"Hey Min, I'm gonna need you to take this one."

"Why?", she teases, "finally found a widow impervious to your charms?"

"Pretty sure our so-called victim wasn't the loving husband he owed to be."

Understanding flashes on her face, she drops the file she was reading on her desk and follows him to the interrogation room. Relief washes over the widow’s face when she sees Minfilia.

“This is my colleague, Detective Warde. She’s going to take it from here.”

Then he’s out again, leaving the two women alone. He goes to his desk while Min does her thing, and looks for the victim’s name in the database. He doesn’t need to watch Min do her work, he trusts her to get the answers they need. The petite blonde has great people skills, and she’s one of the good ones. She's so good, it's hard not to hate her. He doesn't though, never did, never will.

She’s one of the few friends he has left, one of the few people to put up with his bullshit after Lahabrea's "incident". He loves her like the little sister he never had, and more than anything he respects her. She's a good friend and a good cop, something this city sorely lacks. Rhabdan runs a tight ship as chief of police, but there's always a few bad apples in the bunch, not Min though. She's one of the good ones, not some disillusioned asshole like him. It's hard to be hopeful in a city like Ul'dah where being rich means one can escape any form of responsibility. Like number 3 here. His wife's medical record is a testament to his behavior: bruised face, broken ribs, even lacerations. It's a miracle the woman is still alive. But her in-laws are rich, and influential: Lolorito's people. That's why Thancred is not so sure he wants to catch the killer, not when they're doing what he's not free to do himself.

When Minfilia is done with the interrogation, she motions for him to join her in the break room. She confirms what Thancred already knows: the guy was an asshole.

He needs a fucking drink.

*****

First I remove his dick, not like he’s gonna need it anymore. I do this slowly, very slowly. I want him to suffer. This is also what the mirror on the ceiling is for, and the tape on the eyelids, no escape. He must see everything and especially hear everything, the slightest tear of his flesh, the sound of his blood dripping on the sanitized tiles, the scalpel cutting his flesh, my slow breathing. The shock of emasculation makes him pass out. It’s okay, we have all the time. I cauterize his wound, I don't want him to bleed out and die. Not yet.

*****

Another corpse: emasculated, dismembered, and wrapped up like his buddies.

Thancred lights another cigarette and crouches down in front of the jar containing the head. He knows this face, he broke that nose: Lya's ex. Suddenly the crime scene doesn't seem ugly anymore, it shines with glitter and shit. It makes him happy to see that stupid face in a jar, means he won't be a problem for Lya anymore. He's also the second "victim" who likes to take out his anger on women, there has to be something there. Thancred needs to take another look at the first three victims, they can't be all that clean.

He ponders whether he should tell Lya about this. Would that make her happy? It might make her feel better, safer. "By the way, the asshole who used to beat you up is dead, a serial killer took care of it."

Yeah. Maybe he needed to work on his speech.

It’s just him and the old Bernie now, playing that secret game of theirs. The old man sends him a dirty look before finally getting up. Thancred wins tonight, and he plans on taking her out for real, not just in his head. It's a lucky day after all, maybe she'll say yes.

The bar is empty that time around. ‘Good’ he thinks, 'Her smiles will all be mine.'

She’s smiling more than usual, she looks happy even, so he decides not to say anything. She smiles, but she’s seldom happy, no point in ruining the mood. The asshole will be just as dead tomorrow. So he sits at the bar to be closer to her, and drinks while he tells her stupid nonsense. One drink, then a second, and finally a whole bottle.

*****

He waking up again, and we’re back in business. Killing a man isn’t easy work, but a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do. My mom used to tell me: “When things get hard, just put them in different boxes and deal with them one at a time.” So I do just that: I cut him into small pieces, wrap them up, put them in nice little jars.

First his right arm, the one he used to slap his women. I cut just below the elbow, he screams like a piglet being bled out. Then his left arm, all the way up to the shoulder, his legs, and finally his head.

*****

He wakes up to an empty room. Of course, she’s not here, why would she? She’s in his fantasy, not in his reality. It was such a vivid dream, it left him hard and wanting. He buries his face in the sheets, and he can almost smell her. As if dreams could leave a scent behind. Fucking morning wood. He needs release and a shower, but first, he wants a smoke.

He dreams of Lya that night.

She's riding him like a fierce amazon, her breasts moving to the rhythm of their bodies. Everything about her is erotic, her hungry gaze, her mischievous smile. That smile excites him as much as it soothes him. Fuck, he doesn't want to get out of this dream, but his alarm rings, and the dream is gone.

He walks to the kitchen naked, he lives alone and doesn’t give a fuck about flashing his neighbors. She’s standing in his kitchen, a coffee mug in hand. She’s wearing one of his shirts; it’s a bit too big for her, but too short to be decent. She’s so fucking beautiful wearing his clothes, if he wasn’t hard before, he certainly is now. And then he remembers everything.

She kissed him outside the restaurant, he wouldn’t have dared, but she kissed him. They ended up at his place. They made love on his couch, in the shower, in his bed. He didn’t fuck her, no, he worshiped her: kissed every inch of her skin, licked every freckle. He prayed to her body like a mad man, as much as he could, as much as she let him.

She said yes.

All the alcohol made his brain soft and mushy, but he remembers now. He helped her close the bar, and they went to that new place near his precinct. The one that stays open until 3 am. They talked, he told her he was a cop, she said she knew. It was written in the way he moved, in the way others moved around him. They talked all night long, and she smiled. Gods, that freaking smile got him good. They talked so much, they got kicked out.

He must look like a fucking idiot now, with that surprised look on his face and his hard cock because she bursts out laughing. A laugh that explodes like fireworks and ricochets against the walls of his apartment, leaving notes of bright colors everywhere. It's crazy how beautiful she is when she laughs. He wants her, needs her.

He strides towards her, lifts her off the floor, and drops her off her gently on the kitchen table. He doesn’t want to break her, doesn’t want to worsen the cracks in her porcelain skin. Then he makes love to her, in the middle of his kitchen, with the blinds open for the world to see. Because he can, because she wants him as much as he wants her.

*****

His instinct about the victims being trash was right.

After some heavy digging in the first two victims’ past, he finds what he needs. Victim number one’s a serial rapist: used to slip roofies in women’s drink, raped them, and filmed the whole thing, threatening to release the tapes if they tried to report him. Not that they would, the guy was filthy rich, another one of Ul’dah’s “cream of the crop”, these women knew they didn’t have a chance to see justice. If it wasn’t for his “barely legal” deep dive in the guy’s personal belongings - he might have stolen his computer after breaking into his parents’ house - Thancred wouldn’t even know about it.

Victim number 2 was no better, he had a long history of domestic violence and child abuse, but no open case, not even a complaint. Now adding number 3 and Lya’s ex to the list… these guys all deserved to die like pigs. He should say it, should even think like that, but he does. He doesn’t even want to catch the culprit, for all he cares they should be free to rid the city of these predators. Should even get paid for doing public service.

Looking at the so-called victim’s file drives him mad with rage. He wants to drink, but more than anything he needs to see Lya; He can even pretend to do police work while he’s at it. She knows at least one of the women, she’s a victim herself, maybe she knows more.

The Quicksand is packed. He has to share her smile and his time, it annoys him, but it's okay. Tonight she will be his, and his alone. He sits at the bar, she smiles at him, and he’s not mad anymore. He orders whiskey, then another, and another. After the third glass, the rush finally dies down, and they can talk. He tells her about his investigation, and tells her about her ex. She's a little shaken up, but it's okay, she is strong.

He shows her pictures of the victims, not the one from the autopsy, he’s not that stupid, pretty pictures with happy smiles and perfect lives. Moments of happiness he knows to be fake. He asks her if she knows the victims or their wives, through her support group, or by word of mouth. She nods. She knows the wives of 2 and 3, she talks to them often. She recognizes the last victim, of course, he was her monster.

Thancred’s curious to know what she thinks about all this, that’s the cop in him, but he’s also worried about how it’ll affect her.

“I don't know… well I do. I know I shouldn't be happy, but I am,” she admits. “I'm a little less afraid.”

He hates that she feels guilty.

“I’m glad he’s dead,” he states, hoping she’ll feel relieved that those words are coming from him. “Now, I know he won’t prowl you around anymore.”

She smiles softly, and he has the urge to make love to her on the bar, in front of everyone. But he won’t, Lya is a goddess, not a girl who gets fucked in a bar. He’s going to buy her flowers, and maybe a nice bottle of wine. He might even light some candles to set the mood, then he’s gonna make love to her, again and again until they both pass out in blissful exhaustion.

*****

I dispose of his body in one of the city’s garbage dumps. It’s the perfect place to get rid of a body. And this open sky trash dump is perfect for me: exactly what this trash deserves. The people who live here all look dead, the only thing that sets them apart from my guy is the steady movement of their hearts. That, and the fact that they’re all in one piece, for the most part.

*****

Reports come back on Lya’s ex.

Toxicology’s clean, no head trauma either, he wasn’t drugged or incapacitated like the others. He might have known his assailant. The rest of the report looks similar at first glance, cuts all over the body, severed limbs, emasculation, beheading. It’s the same MO but somehow it feels messier: the body shows hesitation marks, the cuts are deeper, meant to hurt... it feels more personal, like an act of revenge.

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

*****

He opens up his flat’s door and practically runs towards the kitchen. He needs a drink before seeing Lya. It can’t be her, when she smiles the ground shakes, she turns wolves into lambs. She’s so small, with soft porcelain skin, tiny hands… It can’t be her, yet his guts tell him otherwise.

He’s halfway in the kitchen when he spots her. She’s waiting for him, his backup gun in those tiny hands of hers. When he dreamt of coming home to her that’s not what he had in mind.

She’s smiling at him, a sad little smile because she doesn’t want to kill him, not really. He might be an asshole but he doesn’t hurt women. Maybe she likes him too. She’s crying now, tears rolling down her beautiful face. It’s stupid but he still wants to throw himself in her arms. It’s stupid because she’s going to kill him.

She’s gonna try anyway.

*****

Gunshots echo in the room, followed by the loud thud of a lifeless body hitting the ground.

#FFxivWrite2021 #FFxivWrite #ffxiv fanfiction #FFxiv #my writing #Thancred Waters #wolcred #wolnpc

1 note · View note

hobbledhobbit · 4 years

Text

Paint and Patience

Another part of the tales of the Institute Green. This one following the Illustrator, Ms. Steam. .

A puff of smoke dissipated after swirling and distorting the stars it hovered in front of.

"Fear is strange. Was there any reason not to have it that you can be certain of?"

"For myself?"

"No, of course not." The pale man made a vague gesture into the building from their spot on the balcony. "Their fear."

He took another deep drag, awaiting her answer.

"All mortals have fear, Mr. Pale. The end always looms like the back cover."

He contemplated, letting his gaze take in the curvy and soft form of his coworker. She liked her candy striper outfit most of all and it let the inviting roundness of her form offer refuge in the form of a vast change in scenery from the black iron and gold speckled dark wood of their world.

"That's what I had figured too. But the fear is on all aspects. They love, there's fear; they succeed, there's fear; they give up...you get the idea."

Ms. Steam gave an amused hum before turning to him fully. "They are yellow. Maybe it's not the fear that gives you pause when dealing with them?"

Ms. Steam took the spent cigarette out of his hand and flicked it over the railing. He had a nasty habit of burning the filter when he was lost in thought. The smell was never pleasant.

Mr. Pale was slender and ordinary, his overall countenance being somewhat "beige", though his eyes held a sharp intelligence and his tongue a wicked wit.

Ms. Steam liked talking to the scrivener, he was always agitated over their charges and the conditions in which they were formed. The illustrator had an idea that it may be his only way to show his caring side for anything.

"I believe you're right," he finally said, "I am more enraged by those who live without that...I guess it would be more a concern for the welfare of others than fear…"

"Compassion?"

"Compassion! Yes, thank you. Those that lack compassion for others and make grand swathes of suffering. They hold my ire."

"Had one recently that's got you in this tizzy?"

"No. It'll be later this evening. I would feel bile rising in my throat if I had the capability. I taste the lies and excuses on my tongue and moving through my fingertips to take the last vestiges of their existence to print."

His voice grew ever darker, as he mimicked typing on his typewriter, his hands looking suddenly more large and sharp, his plain face gaining sharp edges and wider eyes, his teeth sharpening and slowly multiplying.

"Sickening, wretched filth!" He gurgled out.

Ms. Steam shrugged, unbothered. "We are only the record keepers. No need to grow attached."

He cleared his throat and fixed his appearance, brushing his blond hair back and suddenly looking more to his normal human-like form.

"We aren't machines, Ms. Steam. Every monster we document can feed our own monstrous nature, teach us our own excuses for screwing over other lives."

"What do you suppose we do for it then? Become judges for life forms that are under our care?"

"Teachers. I think the Evil need to be taught a lesson. We should make an example."

Ms. Steam waited for Mr. Pale to continue, but it was obvious from the way his eyes darted around in his head that the idea was still cooking.

She pat his head and made him look her in the eye.

"When you figure it out, set it up. I'm in thorough need of distraction. But for now, we must tend to our duties."

He gave a small nod and a tight lipped smile. It was no secret that he disliked his job, but he was the best at it.

She took her leave, walking in from the cold of outside to the warm hallway. Her shoes were almost silent upon the hard wood. The reflection of the candy striper outfit was blurred for a moment in the polished floor before it showed Ms. Steam in a plain, floral, flowy dress. She used the key around her neck to unlock her office door and step in.

The yellow glow of the human soul took a moment to take shape. Young and small.

"Sorry for being late," she smiled, "Are you ready for your portrait?"

The 'studio' was large. The ceiling was high and vaulted, the floor had many different colors and textures that one couldn't tell if it was made of dirt, marble, wood, or any of the other things floors are usually made of. There looked to be all sorts of settings along the long wall. Beaches to mansions, forests to kitchenettes, mountains to dumpsters.

The girl looked to be a little younger than a teenager. Short dark hair and brown eyes, sun-kissed skin and a strong jaw. She was in night clothes and looked overwhelmed, looking around from her seat on a fainting chair.

Ms. Steam went to her large desk and picked up some materials. She loaded a small tray with chalk pastels and paint.

"Take your time," she said to the girl, then paused giving her an understanding and patient look. "Tell me what you think is happening. This fear will go away soon, I promise."

"He killed Mom. I went to go hide my little sisters, but I guess he killed me too." She started to cry in earnest. "They're probably so scared. I don't know what to do! There's nothing I can do! I'm dead!"

She sobbed and screamed her dismay while Ms. Steam set up the easel near a beach setting.

"Angels are supposed to help the innocent!" The girl accused from her seat. She smacked her bare feet against the ground and stomped over to Ms. Steam. "You're supposed to protect us and God's supposed to deliver us from evil!"

"Deliver you where?" Ms. Steam turned to the girl, eyebrow slightly raised. She felt it wouldn't be the best option to tell the girl she wasn't an angel.

The girl's righteous fury was snuffed out by the calm of the question. She looked lost and on the verge of more tears.

"I-I don't know. If you're good, evil isn't supposed to happen to you." She sniffled, "And you're supposed to get rewarded for being good."

Ms. Steam sat on a stool to look the girl in the eye and wipe her tears with her skirt.

"I'm sorry, little one. The universe doesn't do good or evil. That's a human thing. Kind or cruel are choices people make."

Ms. Steam offered a hug to the child, who was falling apart again in tears. She accepted the hug, was wrapped in strong arms, and felt light as a cloud.

"The nightmare is over. I know it's scary to not know what comes next. But even your choices mattered so much at the end."

The girl was hiccupping through her sobs, clinging tightly to Ms. Steam. "They're so-s-so little and he's gonna hurt them!"

Ms. Steam rocked her lightly and pet her hair. "I know...what if I brought them here? Would you feel better knowing where they are? They would probably like to know where you are too."

Fear stabbed through the girl and she looked at Ms. Steam. "He killed them too?!"

"Long ago already. They're in my queue."

"What's going to happen?"

"I'm going to paint your picture of what you want to be remembered forever as. You're a good older sister. Brave, just, and with so much love in your heart that your last moments were thinking of nothing but protecting others. Rewards aren't in my job description, but I think that I could work one up for you."

"Holly!" Called two little voices from the fainting couch.

The girl turned and let go of Ms. Steam, running to the two blonde children running towards her in their pajamas.

"Katie! Kathy!" She called to the twins, hugging them tight to her and hurrying her face in their disheveled blonde curls. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry!"

"Sorry for what?" asked Kathy.

"Why are you sad?" asked Katie.

Before Holly could answer, they both noticed the beach and dragged Holly towards it.

Holly noticed that they were all in their bathing suits, and the studio had faded away entirely-there was only the beach then. She saw Ms. Steam still standing there, starting to work on the canvas in front of her. She gave Holly a wink before going back to her work.

Holly looked at her sisters who were already splashing in the water and got to playing with them. They built sand castles and played in the water together. The sun didn't bother any of them much, and they felt full and content.

Ms. Steam stepped back from her work, looking at the picture of Holly pulling her sisters through the water as the little ones kicked up a spray behind them.

The twins looked caught in a moment of trust and fun as Holly tried to teach them to swim.

The studio had phased back to its normal state, the girls now residing as the artwork. Ms.Steam added a single small cloud in the distance as her signature and bowed low at the piece.

"Thank you for the opportunity," she said.

When she stood back up, the canvas had a frame of glittering gold. She took it and wrapped it in plain brown paper before placing it in an adjacent room for delivery.

Ms. Steam dealt more with children and those that didn't have a command over their language. She found that younger children were more accepting of their fates than older ones. Responsibility and shame hadn't really had a chance to stick in yet and make them second guess everything.

She went about putting away her supplies and let out a sigh. She placed the last brush behind her ear and exited her studio. So long as her things weren’t all in place, the next soul wouldn’t show up.

The door she approached was labeled “Mr. Slow: Security” on a gold plaque. She knocked and entered, finding the large form of her colleague sitting at his desk, shining his shoes. He looked up boredly, eyes crinkling at the side once he recognized his visitor.

“Ms. Steam. What an unexpected and fun surprise. What brings you to my office?” His voice was deep and had an edge of threat to it. Unfortunately for Mr. Slow, she had taken the centuries to become immune to his specific charm.

“Mischief brings me here, Bacchus. Do you intend on participating or trying to subdue?” She leaned on the doorway, pushing her hair behind an ear. “I do so hate to lose out on the fun because someone had to distract you.”

Mr. Slow sat up and put his hands on his desk. “So long as the mischief isn’t brought to these halls, there’s no reason for us to tussle. I do have a feeling that I will be having to teach Mr. Pale a lesson later today, but that won’t likely interfere.”

This was met with an amused hum. She covered her mouth to feign hiding a smile, “I am starting to think Bartleby likes your teaching method. You boys and your roughhousing.”

Mr. Slow went back to shining his shoes, “I’ve been informed, Ms. Steam. Go back to your room. The day isn’t out yet, no matter how many clients you put in a single frame. Only the frame counts.”

“Pushy,” she teased, straightening herself out. “I’ll see you at the diner afterwards, Mr. Slow.”

The door closed, leaving Mr. Slow alone. He leaned back in his chair and thought about the conversation he had overheard on the balcony during his rounds. Redirecting fear could be a fun way to spend an afternoon.

#inkwell writes #Institute Green #Afterlife and those who work the shifts #Ms. Steam #Mr. Pale #Mr. Slow

6 notes · View notes

hopesbarnes · 5 years

Text

Wildest Dreams

Based on the song Wildest Dreams by Taylor Swift.

Summary: Everyone said he was a bad guy, that he broke hearts. But maybe they were wrong about him.

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Warnings: Curse words, SMUT, angst, fluff

A/N: I should be working on the two series I have right now, but I was inspired and this happened...

Everybody gave warnings. Said he broke hearts and left girls dizzy and confused. Your sister recited stories heard around town.

“I heard he got Dot pregnant, that’s why she left,” she stated over ice cream when he was spotted getting off his bike one day. He looked like the stereotypical bad guy. Leather jacket and ripped oil-stained jeans. Hair sticking up in every which direction, and a smirk on his lips.

“Based on what?” you asked snippily.

“Someone saw them in a car together headed out of town, and nobody saw her since then,” she replied half paying attention. You licked your ice cream and ignored her gossip. It was never anything real, just silly rumors that the girls spread.

She started another round of bullshit tales but having enough you announced you were going on a walk. Throwing out the finished ice cream, you secured your purse and walked around the building towards the park a mile or two away. Around the back of the building, he was in view again, a cigarette in hand and a phone in the other.

“Did ya do it on purpose?” you asked before pausing to recognize the words were spoken aloud.

“Do what?” He asked laughing. Realizing a hole was dug you continued on.

“This!” you said motioning to him. “The whole stereotype looks, it’s almost as if you’re asking for those rumors to be spread.” He was hysterical now. His laugh filled the entire alleyway and giggles fell from your lips in response.

“I guess I am a stereotype! Never really looked at it that way. The bike I just like, put it together myself. I wear the jacket as protection when I’m riding.” he said.

“Mechanic huh? That explains the oil on your jeans. The smoking though, I bet you did that to keep up with the image?”

“Definitely. Been wanting to stop, but how will they know I’m the bad boy without it.” A smile crept across your face at the joke.

“I’m Y/N.”

“Bucky,” he responded returning the smile.

“I was going to the park, wanna join?”

“Sure,” he replied stubbing out the smoke and following. “Ya know,” he said. “You look exactly like the stereotypical good girl the bad boy corrupts,” he stated motioning towards your outfit. Dressed in skinny jeans and a pink sweater with a collar sticking out paired with light pink vans it was true.

“Who’s to say I’m not already corrupted and just hiding it?” you asked walking beside him. He smiled and looked down and followed along to the park. The first of many dates.

He said, "Let's get out of this town

Drive out of this city, away from the crowds"

I thought, "Heaven can't help me now"

Nothing lasts forever

But this is gonna take me down

It only took a month for the whole town to catch on to the relationship. Every outing had someone whispering or pointing with snide comments. It didn’t matter that the ‘bad boy’ volunteered at the animal shelter. Or that he took his little sister to play dates. Or even that he had only been with one girl before you, a girl he didn’t get pregnant. A girl he helped go to rehab.

All anyone saw was his image, and from that, they gave him the reputation of a drug runner who slept with countless girls and ditched them the next day. Everyone thought he was ruining you, and it would end in hurt.

The talking was beginning to get to you, and he could tell. Anxiety across your face at the diner and barely talking on the phone that night. He decided a day away from the small town would help. He borrowed his friend’s SUV and drove to your house early the next day, with his little sister Becca in back. He texted announcing his arrival.

“Hey!” you greeted outside. A quick kiss was shared before greeting his sister. “Hey to you too miss Becca,” she said hi and unbuckled to give a hug.

“I know this place is getting to you, so Becs and I decided we’d go to the drive-in movie theater two towns over. Spend a day exploring and watching a movie tonight,” he said nervously.

“Thank you! I’d love to spend a day with my Barnes!” you exclaimed putting your bag in the back and climbing in the front. The drive took an hour and you and Becca talked about school. You loved Bucky’s little sister as your own and saw a lot of yourself in her. She was fierce and ignored what everyone said about her brother.

After arriving in the town, the three of you went to Brunch and ordered a mix of pancakes, eggs, bacon, and fruit to share. After eating you braided Becca’s hair and went window shopping. A few things were bought for the three of you, and things for your sister and mom along with Ms. Barnes.

Eventually, it was time for the movie and everyone piled into the back that was filled with blankets and pillows. Bucky bought popcorn and soda and agreed to watch the new Disney movie you and Becs begged to see.

As the movie went on, with you snuggled against your boyfriend your mind drifted. You hoped this relationship lasted. But even if it didn’t you knew it was worth whatever heartbreak you’d face.

He's so tall and handsome as hell

He's so bad, but he does it so well

I can see the end as it begins

My one condition is

A few more months passed, and with every day you grew more confident in yourself. Wearing the clothes you always wanted, and bright lipsticks. No longer staying quiet when things bothered you. You felt alive. It was all thanks to Bucky. He encouraged self-expression and encompassed you in compassion.

But it was getting hard. The whispers continued and the rumors were horrible.

“I heard he forces her to wear those outfits.”

“She’s only with him because nobody else wanted her.”

“He’ll get bored with her eventually.”

It was horrible. No matter how hard you tried to ignore them, their words filled your head and they would never understand him the way you did. Your sister kept questioning your decision to be with him, and it felt like the world turned against you. The fair had come to town and Bucky suggested a date. It was your favorite thing to do in Fall, and finally, there was someone to share it with.

He picked you up on the motorcycle, which had quickly become one of your favorite things. Starting with the rides you bolted, him barely keeping up. Clinging to him on the Tilt-A-Whirl and giggling as the Scrambler whipped around, it was so much fun. You went on a few more rides before going to the Ferris Wheel. Kissing at the top and it felt like you were in a teen rom-com movie. It was perfect. But like all things, something got in the way.

You couldn’t decide between funnel cake or cotton candy and Bucky suggested to get both. You split up to get the treats and got in line for the funnel cake. A woman a few years older stood in front of you. She turned to see you then looked forward again. She did it again before speaking.

“I can help if you need. You don’t have to stay with him,” she said calmly.

“What?” you asked confused. Was she talking to you?

“You don’t need to stay in a bad relationship. I know it’s hard being on your own. But you don’t have to rely on him,” she continued.

“Why- what? I’m in a great relationship. I don’t wanna leave him. He makes me happy,” you said starting to get irritated.

“I just want to help. Nobody deserves an abusive relationship,” she said reaching out to put her hand on your shoulder.

You flinched back, “Please don’t touch me. I don’t know you. I’m not in an abusive relationship, I don’t know where you heard that but it isn’t true.”

Deciding it wasn’t worth the snack you left the line and bolted for a place to cry without anyone seeing. Everyone in this town judged your relationship and that was hard enough. But now they thought he was hurting you? It was ridiculous.

You found a tree a few feet away that was hidden and slumped down. All the stares and snickers finally got to you. The tears started falling, and you let out everything you have been holding in these past months. You had makeup running down your face, and dirt-stained your clothes but you couldn’t seem to care.

It took Bucky 15 minutes to find you. He looked frantic, eyes panicked holding long-forgotten baby blue cotton candy.

“I-uh went to meet you and you were gone. I freaked. Are you crying? Fuck. What’s wrong baby girl?” He said rushing to sit beside you. You choked out what happened and leaned your head against his chest.

“Fucking hell, I can’t believe she said that. I hate this town so much,” he whispered rubbing your hand. You leaned closer to him, not knowing how much longer you could take the gossip.

Say you'll remember me

Standing in a nice dress

Staring at the sunset, babe

Red lips and rosy cheeks

Say you'll see me again

Even if it's just in your

Wildest dreams, ah-aah, haa

Two more months passed. You stopped going out to crowded places for dates. It just wasn’t worth it. Your phone chimed pulling you from your thoughts.

Bucky: Wear a nice dress, meet outside in an hour.

You looked at your phone confused, but abided and dressed in a flowy maxi dress. You put on red lipstick and finished getting ready. Before long you got a text telling you he was here.

Bucky was dressed in a button-down, his hair slicked back and he was grinning against the SUV he borrowed again. You’ve never seen him this nice, he looked absolutely sinful like this. You smiled to yourself, knowing he was all yours.

“You look… wow,” he said stunned. “I have so many words but none of them are appropriate.”

You giggled, “You’re one to talk! Who knew you could clean up so nice.” He smiled and shook his head bashfully.

“C’mon. God a good date to take my girl on,” he said proudly. He opened up the passenger door for you and you climbed in. Immediately, you went to change the music. He playfully pushed your hand away when he got in.

Anytime music was on it became a game. Him wanting something like AC/DC, and you wanting something more like Lana Del Rey. There were a few rounds of back and forth, but he eventually gave in and handed over the AUX cord. You leaned over, kissed his cheek and put on “Blue Jeans”. He laced his hand in yours and you sang along to the song.

You drove for some time before reaching a cliff-like area that overlooked the town. It was late afternoon, and he reached into the trunk and pulled out a blanket and basket.

“We deserve a fancy picnic, and this way it’s just us,” he said shyly.

“I love it,” you said kissing him.

The picnic went perfectly, and it was nice to be wrapped in a Bucky bubble for some time. But you knew it had to end eventually. Nothing good lasts.

As the sun set, you turned to him.

“If this burns to the ground. If they end up splitting us apart promise me one thing,” you said somberly.

“We’re not going to break up, not now. Not later,” he said stubbornly.

“Bucky,” you pleaded.

“Fine.”

“Remember me like this, dressed pretty and in love with you. With sunset in the background, and my lipstick smeared from your kisses.”

“You love me?” he said barely whispering.

“Yes, you goof. Now kiss me, my love.”

I said, "No one has to know what we do"

His hands are in my hair, his clothes are in my room

And his voice is a familiar sound

Nothing lasts forever

But this is gettin' good now

Despite being together for 8 months, you still hadn’t been together. Your last boyfriend tried to pressure you and it gave you a bad taste in your mouth when you even thought of sex. So you decided to wait. Wait until you found a guy who loved you for you, not who they wanted you to be. And you found him. He’d been a saint. Never brought up going further, and always asked when he put his hands on your legs or waist. He was the epitome of a gentleman, and you knew you wanted it to be him.

You had spent the day babysitting Becs with him. Watching Disney movies, making blanket forts, and baking a lopsided cake. It felt so domestic, and you could see it now. Years later with mini versions of him running around and a wedding ring on your finger.

You were back in his apartment now, and you told him you wanted him. He asked a thousand times if you were sure before moving you into his lap.

“Baby I love you, and if you want to stop at any time just let me know,” he whispered against your skin.

“Bucky, dear. Lovely boy. Stop trying to get me to stop, I want you. Just touch me for Christ’s sake!” you whined and moved his hands to your waist. He laughed, and the sound filled the room and crowded your head. God, you could get used to it.

He stood up and you wrapped your legs around his body. He guided you to his room and put you down long enough to remove his shirt and yours.

“Fuck you’re hot.” he groaned. “Know I should probably call you beautiful and compare you to a flower, but all’s I got is that.” Before you could giggle he had his lips pressed against your neck and a moan slipped out. He slipped his arms around your back and undid your bra, letting it fall to the floor. He took his time mapping out your skin and placing kisses across your chest.

You undid his jeans and pushed them down with shaky hands, and he helped steady them when you took your skirt off too. You slipped your panties down, leaving only his boxers separating you.

He moved you onto the bed and kissed down your body. He nipped gently at your thigh and parted them. You grabbed a hold of his hair and he looked up at you and winked. Before you could process that he had licked you where you needed it most. A moan fell from your lips and he continued the motion a few times. Then he added a finger and sucked on your clit making you see stars. Before long you came, feeling weightless in his arms and he smiled at the sight of you coming undone on his tongue.

“That was the best thing I have ever seen. Hope you’re cool with me doing that like all the time,” he said meeting your lips in a passionate kiss.

“Not gonna complain about that,” you answered.

You tugged his boxers down and he grabbed a condom from the night table and put in on. He aligned your bodies and wordlessly asked if you were ready. When you nodded he slowly pushed in, and you felt every vein and inch of him. It was a stretch, but an inviting one. He stilled and peppered kisses across your skin once he was fully inside you.

“Baby,” you moaned. “Move.”

He wasted no time following your request and started to thrust in at a slow steady movement. You kissed him breathlessly and cherished the feeling of having him completely. It felt right having him with you, no matter what anyone thought. He made you feel complete and loved for the first time.

His breaths got shorter and he let out a deep moan letting you know he was close. You were right behind him and felt another orgasm approaching. Then as if in sync with one another, you both tipped over the edge at the same time and collapsed on the bed in a symphony of pants.

“That was amazing,” you said breathlessly.

“Agreed, now snuggle with me,” he said and pulled you close.

You'll see me in hindsight, tangled up with you all night

Burnin' it down

Someday when you leave me, I'd bet these memories

Follow you around

“Isn’t it time you find a real job and forget this silly dream?” Your mother said one day when you got home from your job at the coffee shop. It didn’t pay much, but it did give experience. You wanted to open your own store. It was a pipe dream, but it was your pipe dream. Your mother would rather you work for her at her accounting firm.

“It is a real job. I enjoy it quite a lot.” You countered.

“Between that job and that troublesome boy you’re going nowhere in life y/n! You dress like a hooker and stay out late all the time. He’s a bad influence on you, and you need to be more like your sister.” It always came down to her, even though she was a gossip she was married and a housewife.

“Leave Bucky out of this! I’m sorry I don’t want to be a Stepford Wife like her.” you huffed. “I’ll be back later I need some air.”

With that, you rushed out of the house and drove towards the auto shop Bucky managed. He would be at work right now, but you didn’t even care. Just being close to him would be enough for now.

When you got there he was fixing an engine in a beat-up car. His eyes lit up when he saw you and he patted his hands on his jeans before pulling you in for a hug.

“Baby girl, what’s wrong?” he said seeing your tear-filled eyes.

“Just my mom. It’s nothing. I just needed to see you, remind me of the only good thing in this town.”

“I gotta work on this car, but I have lunch in an hour. You can wait in my office if you want. Or just pull up a chair and watch me work?”

You nodded and pulled up a chair near the toolbox. You watched him work and listened to his rock music, and before long he was finishing up and ordering Chinese food for lunch. Over lunch, he spoke.

“We could leave.”

“What?” you asked confused.

“We could go. Find a new town, you could open a cafe and I could find a shop to run. I got a friend in New York, bet he’d give me a job.”

“We can’t leave. Our lives are here, your family is here! I’ve never left, I wouldn’t know anyone.”

He frowned for a second, “Ma’s been wanting to move for some time. We’re both miserable here. It would be a fresh start, we deserve one.”

You thought it over, leaving would be good. This place made you feel worthless.

“Okay,” you answered him.

“Okay!” he exclaimed. He dropped his fork and rounded the table to spin you around.

“Let’s start our lives together,” you said finally hopeful for the future.

“Let’s do it,” he said in agreement.

#bucky x reader #marvel #bucky barnes #bucky x reader smut #bucky x reader fluff #wildest dreams #song fic

309 notes · View notes

stanskzseungmin · 5 years

Text

SCB ~ Shifting Tides

Mafia! + Gangster! AU

Gangster! Changbin x F! Gangster! Reader x Mentioned! Woojin x Mentioned! Chan x Mentioned! Lee Know

Genre: Angst

Trigger Warnings: Drugs, Alcohol, Non Graphic Sexual Content, Slightly Graphic Depictions of Violence, Death, Rape, Self Harm, Kidnapping, Torture

Word Count: 8.5k

A/N: #NotProofread #WeDyingLikeMEN

A/N 2: Also kinda slow burn, because I’m not good at pacing lmao.

A/N 3: Title kinda doesn’t relate, but if you know, you know. I can’t wait for the next season.

A/N 4 (I’ll shut up after this dw): I did not like how it turned out because I hella rushed the ending. I wanted to get this beefy boy done and over with so… sorry if it wasn’t that great.

In life, there are limits. There are boundaries, fine lines that should never be crossed. But in a selfish world, the selfish succeeds. They thrive within the blurred lines that have been smudged and smeared to a gray area between black and white. However, is black and white really so different? Is it simply one is good and one is bad?

The color black can produce feelings of emptiness, gloom, sadness and rebellion. The color black is also affiliated with animosity, malicious intent and evil. Black can also symbolize fear or the unknown. In mainstream media, the bad guy is usually depicted donning black clothing and the good guy is in white. But is white as virtuous as it seems?

White is a visually loud color. It is hard to miss. White can be blinding and can cause headaches. It is also affiliated with coldness and loneliness. White could also be an emotional detachment or a complete cleansing and purge.

But what they both have in common, is to never judge a book by its cover.

It was a typical Friday night for you. Dark nights, crowded rooms packed with people, blaring music and flashing lights. You were feeling particularly randy that night. Boosted with liquid confidence, you adjust your wayyyy too short body hugging white dress. The dress seemed to hang dangerously low on your bust and is riding high up your thighs, leaving your rack on full display and your undergarment is barely peeking out. Your dress was riddled with many gems, rhinestones and glitter that almost made it appear as if you were glowing under the many lights of the bustling club.

Giggling to yourself, you drank the amber color liquid from your glass. You hummed pleasantly from the strong sweet rambunctious flavor and the light burning down your throat. Your head was swimming from the light buzz you were feeling as you let yourself go on the dancefloor raising your glass.

It was one of those nights where you could feel the pent up frustration residing over you like an elephant keeping you pinned down under its large foot. You needed release and what’s a better way to release pent up stress other than sex? As you were swaying your hips sensually to the flow of the song, your eyes were searching for a physically attractive man that could make you forget the maladies of your past week. Your heart swelled with pride from the several men eyeing you like a piece of candy with their bottom lip captured between their teeth. You recognized a select few, but you were sworn to only affiliating yourself to each man once. Commitment wasn’t your style, you had too much to lose. You’d rather let whatever drunken feelings dissipate by morning’s light.

You recognized a cute faced honey brown haired male. He sat in a booth by himself with distant eyes that glanced at different points of interests of the club. You couldn’t remember his name, Woo.. Woo-something, not that you cared enough to remember. Sex with him was pleasantly surprising. You were expecting a bashful innocent boy judging from his face, but he was a sex god that packed quite a punch below the belt. Your eyes nearly rolled out of your sockets seeing him in all his glory. He really fucked you dumb with his magnum dick.

Another person you recognized was a guy with crispy blond hair. Black seemed to be a natural color for him; the dark leather complimented his pale skin perfectly. You couldn’t really put a finger on anything remotely close to his name. You only remember the thick Australian accent he had. His doesn’t compare to the size of the first, but him being vocal in bed made up for it. He wasn’t much of a moaner, more of a power trip dirty talker. His accent made it all the more worth it. You could still hear his sultry “Babygirl” being whispered in your ear and it sent chills down your spine.

The last guy you recognized was the blue haired performer on the club stage. He wore a skimpy outfit: a long sleeved crop top and a matching black booty shorts. The way he danced around that pole was so fluid, you wondered if he even had any bones. You only remembered his name because of how dumb it was. What kind of name was Lee Know anyway? Initially, you absolutely refused to moan out his dumb name, but how he used his stick when he dicked you down was jaw dropping. It’s probably because of his damn dancer hips.

You were currently being courted by this much older guy who reeks of alcohol, but you had a much higher standard. Your eyes caught a glimpse of this dark guy. He sat next to the Aussie. His body was facing you on the stool. His legs were wide open practically inviting you in between them, but his upper body was twisted and turned to face the same direction as the Aussie who was sitting with his back facing towards you. You rebuffed the older man who had his hands on your hips and is licking your neck, walking out of his grasp without sparing him a second glance. You stood in between the man dressed in full black’s legs and leaned forward, resting your hands on his thighs making sure to show off your rack. The male quickly whipped his upper body to face you with wide eyes.

“Damn, babygirl,” the Aussie noticed your presence as well and gave a quick slap on your ass.

“Not tonight, baby boy,” you smirked with your eyes still glued to the handsome man before you.

The Aussie huffed as turned away taking another swig of his drink. You eyed the man before you. His dark hair was delicately tucked under his black cap. He wore a tight black tee that accentuates his broad and tone chest. He also had a leather jacket slung over one of his legs.

“Do you have a weapons license? Because look at these guns,” you chuckled feeling his broad muscles on his thick arms.

The man scoffed with a small smile obviously amused by your attempts at flirting.

“Not bad,” he smirked. Your ears buzzed hearing his raspy and rough voice. “You’re not so bad yourself.” Changbin chuckled reaching behind and roughly grabbed your thighs and pulled you onto his lap. You teased him a bit by grinding your clothed heat against his thigh.

“So your place or mine, handsome?” you inquired, biting your lip and running a finger along his fly.

“Mine, it’s closer,” he whispered kissing along your neck.

You hummed in delight. “Shall we be off then?”

Changbin nodded softly, putting his hands on your hips and lifted you up slowly. He slapped the Aussie’s shoulder to signify that he was leaving. In an act of chivalry, he led you out of the bustling club with a hand on the small of your back and pushing away any drunk guys who’s trying to grab at you. Once you both were outside and the door closed behind you. The loud music transitioned to muffled noise. You shivered when you felt the cool breeze. It seemed as if a storm was coming in. Changbin then decadently draped his leather jacket over your exposed shoulders.

“So chivalry isn’t dead,” you chuckled.

“I’m not as bad as I look,” Changbin smirked outstretching an arm, pointing the direction of his apartment.

“I haven’t seen you around. You new to this area?”

“No, I actually frequent the club every week. You’re there every time,” Changbin chuckled, pulling out a cigarette and placing it within his lips. He offered the box to you with a cig protruding out.

“And you’ve done nothing about it? I’m not that alluring to you?” you smirked accepting his cigarette and placing it between your lips as well. You both leaned forward so the ends touch. Changbin covered the connection with his hand as he lit both cigs simultaneously.

He took one long drag of the cig and exhaling out the smoke. “I don’t take advantage of women.”

“How quaint.”

Once the doors have closed, all bets were off. Changbin has pinned you against his door as lips are met in a heated kiss with clashing teeth. You immediately shrugged off your (his) jacket, letting the leather material fall to the floor. Your hands flew to his belt and began loosening the material as he hiked up your already too short dress to get full access to your bottom.

“Are you gonna lead me to a bed or are you going to fuck me on this doorway, handsome?” you smirked, pulling away momentarily to catch a breath. He let out a guttural growl before hoisting you in his arms with his hands supporting your knees.

You both collapsed on the sheets as he pulled up the cover to drape over both your sweaty bodies.

“I never did catch your name,” he turned to face you, resting his head in his hand.

“Y/N,” you spoke out. “What about you, handsome?”

“SpearB,” he spoke out pridefully.

“Oh, so you’re CB97’s guy?” you smirked looking deep into his eyes.

His expression fell as his gaze darkened.

“You…know about us?” Changbin growled out threateningly.

“Only by name, it’s nice to put a face to it though,” you giggled patting his cheek softly. You sat up, swinging your legs off the edge of the bed and stood up, exposing your naked back in all of its glory to him. You bent down to slide on your party dress.

“Well, I shall be off. Thanks for the wild night, B,” you winked at him and tossed him your lace panty. He effortlessly caught it with his free hand. “A gift for you.”

Needless to say, you’ve caught Changbin’s attention. You were a total enigma that he desperately wanted to solve. It was icing on the cake that you were easy on the eyes as well.

“Chan hyung, do you think you can find out who that girl is?” Changbin asked leaning over Chan’s shoulder.

“Who do you think I am? CB97 is the best hacker in the underground,” Chan chuckled running his fingers through his blond hair and taking a long drag of his blunt. “Was she a good fuck?”

Changbin chuckled, “you had her before. How could you hold back this valuable information?”

“I never knew you were interested! Here, I got her,” Chan gestured Changbin to gaze at his laptop screen.

“Ally or enemy?” Changbin’s lips quirked upward gazing at the stunning picture of you.

“Amicable,” Chan clarified.

Changbin hummed in response. “I want her. There’s something about her that’s so alluring. She’s like a puzzle box that I desperately want to solve.”

“Careful, mate. Every lovely rose has its own thorns,” Chan warned.

“It’ll be fine. She has no fixed affiliation with a specific gang, she could join ours as my girl,” Changbin smirked, the air filled with his hubris.

“Alright. It seems her day cover is a barista job at Yellow Wood Cafe. You can take bus 4419 there.”

It had been almost 2 months since you last saw Changbin. Of course you knew who he was. His actual name, his face and who he was affiliated with, but that doesn’t necessarily mean you saw him around. CB97 was a true mystery though. As far as you knew, he was never seen in public and several other gangs and mafias in the area tried to gather as much info on the man, but couldn’t even get a face, not even a name.

You pulled your long hair into a high ponytail as you tie on your apron over your modest white dress shirt and black pencil skirt. It was early morning and you were the only one running the morning shift. Your coworkers would usually trickle in one by one about an hour to half before noon. There was also not that many customers, just the usual regulars. The second you see them walk in, you would get straight to work fixing up their drinks. As you served an elderly man his coffee, the hanging door bell rang as you were pouring the elderly man milk in his coffee.

“Welcome to Yellow Wood Caf…e,” you trailed off seeing the man standing in the doorway. His dark locks was slicked up exposing his forehead and showed off his intricate face. He wore clothing similar to what he had on when you saw him in the club: tight black shirt tucked into his dark jeans with fingerless leather gloves. The only thing different is that he was a very loose and worn black cotton vest. With his smirking face, it was Seo “SpearB” Changbin himself.

“For one,” he stated with his sultry voice.

“Anywhere you like,” you smiled with a plastic smile as you gestured to all the empty seats. You followed him to a corner table in the sun as he sat down in the wooden chair. You placed a menu on the table in front of him.

“No need,” he waved at the menu. “I just want coffee as dark as my soul.”

“So coffee with extra cream and sugar and a hefty amount of milk?”

Changbin spluttered choking on his saliva. “I am dark.”

“Sure,” you smirked as you walked away to pour a glass of dark coffee.

You delicately placed the glass cup before him as you took the seat in front of him.

“Why are you here?” you frowned.

“What’s wrong with going to a cafe for coffee?” he smiled innocently.

“I don’t think you’re here for coffee,” you crossed your arms at his remark.

“I don’t know what you mean,” he responded coyly.

“Of course not,” you remarked sarcastically.

“Alright, you got me,” he brought up his hands up in surrender. “I’m just here for the barista.”

“No,” you stated with finality as you left your seat.

Changbin however didn’t let that phase him. Everyday that week, Changbin frequented your cafe, coming in at the same time, ordering the same drink and sitting in the same corner table. Every single time, he wore black clothing. If you didn’t know better, you would assume he wore the exact same clothing every single time.

“You’re not going to give up, aren’t you?” you snapped, pouring him his drink.

“Please, just join my bed and lay by my side,” Changbin smirked darkly.

You huffed. “Straight to the point, huh? Fine. I’ll meet you at your apartment tonight.”

Changbin internally cheered and threw up an imaginary fist in victory. His heart and stomach did flips within him, but externally, he was calm and collected as he took another sip of his coffee.

As promised, you did show up to his apartment late at night. It was around 10 when you finally arrived. Changbin sat around anxious twiddling his thumbs fearing that you had stood him up. In reality, you were caught up in work because the café was understaffed. A few of your coworkers were feverish and never showed. You showed up still in uniform.

By the time you and Changbin had gone a couple of rounds, it was well past midnight and a storm was brewing. Lightning flashed as rain lightly pattered the window.

“Why don’t you stay the night?” Changbin offered. “A storm looks as if it’s going to come in.”

You sighed sitting up on his bed. Changbin tossed you one of his hoodies that was discarded on the ground.

“Your hoodie smells like shit,” you laughed sliding it over your naked body. You weren’t necessarily lying. The material reeked of alcohol, drugs and sex.

Changbin snorted sliding on a pair of black boxers.

“Might as well. I’ve already broken many rules staying here,” you sighed jumping back on his bed.

“What do you mean?” Changbin asked.

“I don’t sleep with guys twice and look at us now going for round 2.”

“I’m flattered. Settling with just one dick isn’t your style?” Changbin chuckled.

“Commitment isn’t my style. I don’t want to catch feelings,” you frowned looking off to the side, unable to face him.

“Why is that?” Changbin asked concerned. His voice was laced with worry and his tone suggested that he was genuinely interested. You internally rolled your eyes at your thoughts.

“You could only be betrayed if you trust. You could only be heartbroken if you love. To experience pain, you had to feel. I don’t want to go through that again…” you trailed off.

“Is this why you’re not tied with any gangs?” Changbin asked softly.

“Yes. I don’t trust people. They always end up leaving one way or another or using me.”

“I won’t leave you,” Changbin blurted out without thinking. You glared at the man after hearing his words. Even though Changbin hadn’t meant to say it, he meant it. He genuinely wanted to get to know you better.

“How can I trust you? You’re just a gangster at the end of the day,” you spat.

“Have you ever heard the saying ‘there is more honor among thieves than diplomats?’” Changbin started. “You and I both know that it holds water.”

You scoffed. He wasn’t technically wrong. Many of the gangs run on social solidarity and a sense of a brotherhood. Many people thrive on the fact that you can do stuff with your “brothers”: drink with your brothers, do drugs with your brothers, etc. It’s a way of escaping life. You, however, favor the physical relationships that would disappear by morning’s light. You let out a loud groan, thinking long and hard about Changbin’s proposal.

“Many people have hurt you. I won’t be one of them. I refuse to be a statistic.”

You stared deep within Changbin’s soul through his eyes. He seemed unphased and determined against your steel will. Not wanting to deal with his determination, you changed the subject.

“A drink isn’t going to cut it. You got any drugs?” You swung your legs over the edge of the bed as you waltzed out of his room with Changbin following suit.

“Uhh.. yea. What are you hoping for?” Changbin asked pulling out ziplock bags of drugs and setting it on the table before you. “I have a fair bit of weed and a few that will definitely fuck you up.”

“You don’t really seem like the type to do drugs,” you chuckled.

“I’m not. Just mainly weed and only then, I don’t do it much. You’re not the type to do drugs either.”

“Got me there. I’m actually planning to grab and go,” you jested lightheartedly, eliciting a laugh from him.

“Wow [by 3RACHA]. Going to make some bank off of drugs that’s not even yours. Shady.”

You laughed wholeheartedly in return.

“So,” you started off.

“So?” Changbin called off heading towards his mini fridge and grabbing two beers, handing one towards you.

“So you’ve gotten your gain. What is mine?” you asked with a hint of mischievousness laced in your voice, taking a small sip of your beer.

“You know this all underground stuff with gangs, killings, alcohol, drugs and shit. You can’t leave once you’re caught up with this shit. It just… takes control of your life. Your life isn’t yours anymore. Ya feel me?”

“Yea… I feel you,” you nodded. “Is this why you’ve never given out your actual name?”

“It’s sacred to me. It’s the only part of me I have left.”

Being alone in these sorts of dealings is way less than ideal, especially when you’re basically flying solo. You had no gang to watch over you and no family or friends to rely on. A price to pay in order to protect yourself. You would rather die alone, than die heartbroken.

Your day job did little to support you. You never would’ve predicted you would even end up in the life you’re in now. You felt pressured by the world, ready to give up. You found a way to relieve those built up tensions by many many one night stands. However, this has caused you a bit of trouble since you unintentionally riled up underground crime lords who are spoiled rotten that they can not take no for an answer and stuck with the “if I can’t have you, no one can” kind of schtick. So you learned to survive and bounce around various protections but without actually getting involved.

You were currently commissioned by one of the resident local gangs who needed your aid to ensure a highly important deal is a success. You were never told the details, just that it had to be passed. All you were told is that you were to meet up with your client's… client and trade the briefcase you’re provided with with theirs with the instructions to never look inside either of the briefcases. Your payment? Protection from those who want you gone before, during and after the deal. Afterwards, you would basically be set free as vulnerable as a deer caught in headlights until you find another job to do.

You fiddled with the hem of your black skin tight leather dress as another finger twisted and curled a strand of your hair. The briefcase was rested snugly by your feet as you leaned your body against the wall.

“Y/N?” a voice whispered out to you in the shadows.

“SpearB? Are you… the client?"

"No… I’m the messenger. I didn’t think you were one of them,” Changbin set down his briefcase and crossed his arms.

“I’m the same as you, a messenger as well. I was hired to make sure this…whatever this is, is a success.”

“… I see.” Changbin paused. “You don’t need to do this you know? Hopping from job to job. One day you’re going to run into a gang who will see your job hopping as disloyalty. And you know what happens to people who are disloyal. You could come with us, with me.”

“I already said no, SpearB. I only agreed to try out…whatever we are. Don’t make this any harder for me and give me your damn briefcase!” You outreached your hand suggesting Changbin to just hand over his briefcase.

He sighed. “On one condition.”

“What?” you growled out.

“Do jobs for CB97.”

“Sure, I’m going to do jobs for an enigma,” you grumbled reaching for the briefcase with Changbin lifting it above his head out of your reach.

“Please,” Changbin whispered softly.

“Fine,” you gave in after a pause and handed him your briefcase and he handed you his.

“You’re going to go back to your client right? Let me come with you,” Changbin walked forward and grasping your wrist gently.

“No-”

“Please, I know who your guy is. He’s dangerous. I’m just a messenger, he probably won’t know who I am,” Changbin pressed. “I promised I wouldn’t leave you.”

You let out a loud defeated sigh.

“You were followed?” your client, growled out eyeing the dark male behind you.

“Hakuna your-tatas, babe. He’s with me,” you rolled your eyes, scoffing softly before proceeding to place your (Changbin’s) briefcase on the table.

“But you work alone…” your client eyed you warily, and carefully grabbed a hold of the briefcase with high precaution.

“You seem to know me. Clearly not well enough,” you waltzed over to Changbin with a slight swagger to your hips and grabbed his lower jaw. Your fingers pressed into the soft flesh of his cheeks and squishing them up. You chuckled internally at Changbin’s expression when you did that.

“He’s my baby boy, my boy toy. Surely, a pimp like you can understand,” you responded cheekily, yet carefully trying not to rile up your client. “Look at him being a good boy. Standing there silent, waiting for mommy to finish her job."

You squished his cheeks even more until his lips scrunched up into an expression similar to a fish. You got up to your toes and gave him a light kiss to his lips. Needless to say, the glare Changbin shot towards you was priceless.

"Rigghhhttttt….” your client coughed out, feeling slightly awkward about the situation. He turned the briefcase towards him and began undoing the clasps. You slowly closed the gap between you and the client. You leaned forward slowly, the sounds of distress from your leather dress due to the stretch broke through the silence. Your pressed your palms onto the cool metal of the table and slowly spread your arms. Your client glanced up at you and down to your exposed cleavage. While he was distracted, Changbin circled around the room slowly, pretending to seem interested to the many dust unsettling from the ceiling. You eyed Changbin curiously. You confused glare burned through him. You were sure Changbin could feel your gaze boring into him due to him stiffing up momentarily.

“I did what you asked. I got your pretty briefcase. May I get going now? I promised my baby boy there a wild night,” you smirked, wanting nothing more to do with this man. You only cared about your payment for rent.

Your client snapped out of his daze of ogling over your cleavage. He cleared his throat and regained his composure.

“Of course, if this deal actually went through. You would get your payment,” he replied, carefully unclasping the briefcase. You hummed pleasantly in relief from him finally getting to the point.

“What the fuck?” your client seethed.

“Is something the matter, hand-” you were cut off by your client grasping your neck harshly. His large fingers wrapped around the delicate flesh most likely leaving bruises as he cut off your air supply.

“You bitch,” he spat at you. Flecks of saliva flew to your face as you attempted to pry his hand off of you. “You gave me a false briefcase, didn’t you. This shit is empty-”

“Let her go.” A soft click of a gun echoed through the air. Your client’s eyes widened at the realization that a gun was pressed to the back of his head. He slowly released your neck and raised his arms up. You stumbled backwards hacking and gasping for air.

“What?” your client’s voice was breathless. “Who?-”

“SpearB. Ring a bell? She didn’t swap your damn case. It was empty to begin with. Her orders were only to swap the case and bring it back and to never look at the contents.”

Your gaze darkened at Changbin’s words as you raised your head to glare at him. How did he know what your actual orders was?

Feeling a pair of eyes burning through him, Changbin glanced at you with an apologetic look.

“B? What the fuck?” You gritted out through clenched teeth.

A hesitation. A moment of weakness. That was all the client needed. Changbin eased up slightly to apologize. The client easily grabbed ahold of Changbin’s armed hand and twisted it behind his back trying wretch the weapon out of his hand. With hands quicker than the eye, the tables were quickly turned and it is now Changbin at gunpoint with his own gun.

“SpearB? So you’re part of 3RACHA? I didn’t think 3RACHA cared about anyone other than yourselves? Only using everyone to benefit yourselves. Like that little lady over there-”

A shot. A singular shot rang out that had Changbin jumping in shock wide eyed. Ugly screams echoed throughout the small walls as red dripped down to the floor, splashing onto Changbin as well. The client quickly cowered back into the corner, dropping the gun in the process. His hands flew up to cup his now missing lower jaw, the mandible bouncing pathetically on the ground in between Changbin’s feet.

“Holy. Shit.” Changbin exasperated jumping away from the bloody jaw. He looked up to you shocked, yet in awe wielding a S&W revolver, a thin wispy smoke came from the barrel.

You quickly pointed your gun at Changbin who brought his hands up in surprise.

“Don’t shoot,” Changbin stated calmly yet alarmed.

“Get out, B,” he nodded, bending down to grab his gun quickly and headed towards the door.

“After you,” he gestured to the door politely.

The client’s howls of pain can be heard echoing down the alleyway once the door has been opened. Changbin quickly shut him up with a singular bullet in between his eyes and closing the door behind him.

The second the door closes, you swung your leg backwards at an arn in an attempt to roundhouse kick him. Changbin reacts by blocking the hit with his forearm. His other hand instinctively grabbed at your ankle. You attempted to catch you balance by shifting your weight from your other foot to your palms pressing against the cold asphalt.

“Nice moves,” Changbin smirked, letting out a sultry chuckle. You huffed in annoyance.

“I was wondering where did you manage to hide that big boy?” He asked referring to the gun.

“Ever heard of a prison purse?” you retorted.

“Jesus Christ, that was a lot of heat woman.”

“So?”

Changbin backed off with both hands in the air, dropping your leg in the process.

“Whatever,” you growled crawling forwards to jump back on your feet. “How did you know what’s my mission?”

“My mission was to basically off the guy, but you’ve already got that covered,” Changbin crossed his arms ignoring your question.

“So you were using me?”

“No I-” he tried to interject, but you didn’t give him the chance.

“Just save it, B,” you stormed off, feeling betrayed and used.

It’s been a week after that incident. The both of you end up in the same club you’ve met, but never again frequented afterwards. On opposite sides of the club, you were drinking and partying on the dance floor, grinding on random men trying to ease the heavy feeling in your heart. Changbin was at the bar chugging down cup after cup of the hard liquor with a blunt between two fingers. Your mind was swimming in alcohol, but the only thing you can think of was how much you fucking missed Changbin and seeing his back turned to you at the bar only emphasized those feelings.

You slumped down next to him on the stool and he turned to look at you with wide eyes. You noticed the blunt in his hands and frowned and a pang of pain bubbled in your chest.

“I thought you didn’t do drugs…” you whispered out.

“It’s just weed,” Changbin scoffed.

You both turned away from each other, both suddenly finding their glass cups very interesting.

“I’m sorry,” the pair confessed simultaneously.

“Wait what?” Changbin breathed out looking at you bewildered.

“Why are you sorry?” You squeaked out, surprised.

“For using you…” Changbin confesses looking down and slumping his shoulders. “It wasn’t that I meant to use you, it was just the cards I was dealt. I hadn’t expected you to be the man’s hired bargainer. I was under the impression that he would show up himself due to the utmost importance of this trade.”

“Yes… I completely understand that. It wasn’t your fault, you were just doing your job. That’s why I wanted to apologize… I was being unfair to you…” you trailed off. “I missed you, Changbin-”

You tried to stop yourself, but it was already too late. The damage was done. Changbin visibly stiffened up. His drunken brain sobered up to the sound of his own name.

“W-Wait, B,” you stammered.

Suddenly, it is as if the world disappeared around Changbin. The blaring music and bass faded away to muffles in his ears. His heartbeat echoed loudly in his ears. He felt small and helpless. Alone in this dark world with a singular light shining directly at him.

“B?” you whimpered out, your fingers grazing his muscles lightly. “SpearB… I- I didn’t mean-”

Changbin swiftly backhands you without a second thought. Your eyes were wide as your head turned from the force of the impact. Your cheek was red and stinging but it was nothing compared to guilt eating away at your soul. He then storms off, leaving a heartbroken you behind.

“Han!” Changbin called out to his junior. Changbin’s booming voice tearing through the club bass made his junior jump and choke on the smoke from the bong he was ripping. “Give me some of the heavy shit.”

Han coughed, trying to catch his breath. “Are you sure, hyung? I thought you didn’t do drugs?”

“I just need to get blasted right now,” Changbin eyed the various items on the table: several bags of probably meth and cocaine as well as several syringes of heroin plus the bong sitting on his lap.

“I gave you a blunt earlier?”

“For fuck’s sake, Jisung, just give me some crack cocaine or some shit.” Changbin snapped sitting opposite of Han in the booth, and pulling out a credit card. Jisung sighed and slid a ziplock bag filled with white powder in front of him. Changbin grabbed a hold of the plastic and dumped a generous amount directly on the table. He used his credit card to separate the powder into several lines.

“You got a bill?”

“What happened to all your money?” his junior going at it again with his bong.

“I drank it,” Changbin replied seriously.

“I don’t think you should be doing drugs with alcohol.”

“I don’t need a lecture, Han,” Changbin grumbled leaning forward, plugging up a nostril, snorting up a line. Changbin sighed in content. A euphoric feeling washed over his body, turning his brain into putty.

Everybody in this club probably have done drugs at least once, mainly weed, but it’s a drug nonetheless. Some kept at it. His junior, Han “J.One” Jisung, has prob hit every one at least once. Some didn’t like how the after effects outweighed the euphoric effects and dropped it entirely like his senior, Bang “CB97” Chan. But besides this, everyone has their drug, the drug that will just click and consume their entire body and soul.

Unfortunately for Changbin. It was cocaine. His alcohol intake hastened effects of the drug and he found the feeling to be addicting and euphoric. He felt as if he was on Cloud 9 and in heaven.

And he couldn’t stop.

“Hey,” a voice called out. “Hey!”

You jolted awake at the hand shaking your shoulder gently. You winced at the pounding headache you had. You looked up recognizing the pale man with crispy blond hair.

“Sorry to wake you up, but do you know where SpearB is?” he asked. You can pick out his ear candy Australian accent.

Right. You remember where you were. You tried to find Changbin after he stormed off at the club after him giving you a nasty blow on your cheek, but to no success. You lost him within the crowd of clubbers and there were too many men trying to lay their hands on you. So you went to his apartment and fell asleep at his door waiting for his return.

“Is SpearB not with you?” the blond asked.

“N-no?” you stuttered. “He never came home?”

“Shit,” the blond breathed out, running a hand through his hair. “That was not the answer I wanted to hear.”

“What is it…?” You tried to remember the Aussie’s name, but nothing came to mind.

“CB97,” he responded, leaning against the wall and throwing his head back. His skull bounced off the wall lightly as he stuffed his hands in his pockets. You gasped, eyeing the blond in front of you.

CB97? THE CB97? An enigma in the underground and one of the most powerful men to top it off? And you’ve slept with him and then you’ve slept with one of his guys and deeply hurt him. Your mouth gaped open as all that ran in your mind was that you were thoroughly fucked and not by a dick.

“Relax. I have no quarrel with you,” he responded, smiling softly to show that he has no ill intentions. What he said next made your racing heart drop straight down to your stomach.

“SpearB is missing.”

Changbin awoke in a cold sweat. His head was throbbing. Everything felt cold. He felt cold, yet his body was burning up. Sweat was running down his temples and his back in streams causing his shirt to stick to his skin uncomfortably. Changbin was sobbing, tears were running down his face. It felt as if there were a million fire ants crawling beneath his skin, nipping and gnawing at his flesh as the symptoms of withdrawal hit him hard and fast.

Changbin squirmed and thrashed only to quickly realize that he was in a chair with his arms and legs bound and chained at the wrists and ankles. His heart was hammering in his chest not necessarily from the fear of being bound and imprisoned, more so from the side effects of his withdrawals as he screwed his eyes shut.

“Good morning, sunshine,” a voice called out. Changbin peeked at the figure in front of him. He was stood in the dark with a singular hanging light over Changbin. Changbin could barely make out the blurry figure; all he got was that he was dressed in all black with a hood, mask and sunglasses.

“What do you want?” Changbin rasped out, his throat was dry and it felt like he was swallowing pins and needles when he swallowed in attempt to moisturize his throat.

“You should know what I’m looking for,” the man chuckled. “Tell me who are the rest of 3RACHA.”

“No.” Changbin responded firmly without hesitation. A loud crack ran through the air not even a second later. Changbin’s head was thrown to the side, eyes wide and a split cheek.

“I’d suggest you make this easier on yourself and just give me the names,” the man growled sliding on black latex gloves.

It’s been a daze. Changbin had no idea how much time has passed. His face was battered and bruised and blood was running down his nose in streams staining his lips and teeth red as he has a constant metallic taste on his lips. He’s currently sitting in isolation alone in the dark with the light off. The room was soundproof with no windows so Changbin hadn’t the slightest what is going on outside or even where he was. His entire body was burning up and trembling profusely from his drug withdrawals and his stomach constricted painfully yearning for food.

Soon a door opened and the familiar man walked in closing the door behind him.

“Care to talk now?”

“No,” the man’s response was a swift kick to Changbin’s torso causing him to double forward to cough and wheeze.

“So, how was it in isolation? Are you thirsty? Does your back hurt from being slouched over for too long?”

Changbin could only merely glare.

“Here, let me help.”

The man carefully unbounded the straps on Changbin’s wrists and ankles and proceeded to drag him out by his forearm. He didn’t take him very far, just the next room over. The next room was as bare as the one he was in, save for a singular table in the center along with hanging LED lights that were currently off.

“Get on,” the man commanded. Changbin reluctantly complied due to the piercing pain in his legs. Changbin lied flat on the cool metal table as the man strapped him down once more.

“Aren’t I so generous? You must be tired sitting in the dark all day long,” his tone was apathetic as he turned to leave and flicked the light switch on. Changbin winced at the harsh light shining directly to his face as he screwed his eyes shut. Suddenly, he heard a rattling of a chain and the sound of a metal trap door opening. Before he can fully comprehend what was happening, his nose and mouth were suddenly flooded with water. Changbin gasped and sputtered after the first wave. Before he could fully recover, a second wave came in and it kept coming.

“Do you want to talk now?” the man’s voice played through an intercom.

“Fuck. You.”

“Wrong answer.”

Changbin got waterboarded once more.

“I gotta say. You’re pretty impressive. Your resilience and determination would be awe inspiring if not annoying,” the man started, forcing a taser into Changbin’s chest. Changbin was now strapped back to his original chair after the man failed at breaking him with the use of waterboarding.

“Since you don’t want to talk about the other members of 3RACHA. Let’s talk about you,” the man started, walking circles around Changbin.

“You’ve always been on your own. Taking control of your own life. Never bowing down to anyone or anything, but somehow the great SpearB was managed to be tamed and now you’re under the command of CB97. CB97,” the man chuckled speaking out that code name. “CB97. Ever the enigma. Managed to strap down one of the finest underground hitman, SpearB and one other. So much influence and power, yet no one can touch him. Not even a name or a face have come to light.”

Changbin eyed the man with pure hatred and disgust.

“But it seems CB97 isn’t the way to go here. How about that girl who has no affiliation in the underground?”

Changbin’s breath hitched. The man smiled wickedly. “Jackpot.”

“How long has it been since he’s been missing?” you asked pacing back and forth in the dark room.

“A little over a week now. J.One is out there hustling for as much info as he can get,” CB97 informed. “A part of me was hoping he just went away for a little while and then reappear.”

“It’s all my fault,” you blurted out. “I always end up sleeping my way into a fucked up position.”

“I’m not blaming you and neither would SpearB.”

“What makes you say that for certain?”

“Because he loves you.”

Howls of pain ripped through Changbin’s throat, his throat now as red and raw and the pulsating flesh on his fingers.

“Did you really think she cared for you?” the man growled, wrenching off another fingernail with pliers.

“You don’t know anything about her,” Changbin growled out.

“Probably not, but she knows you. Seo Changbin is it not?”

“How did you-”

“What do you think?” the man smirked, turning away and pulling out an unknown syringe, giving it a light press and flicking it to get rid of oxygen bubbles.

“No. Not-” Changbin was cut off by the man injecting the strange liquid into his arm.

“Seo Changbin. August 11, 1999.”

“Shut up! Shut up!” Changbin’s vision was getting blurry as his head was turning to mush.

“Do you still believe that that girl is innocent? She only does what she does to benefit herself. Why do you think she has no affiliations? Why do you think she’s been keeping the fact that she knows your real name from you?”

Changbin’s head slumped forward in defeat.

“Now… tell me their names or I can bring her to you so you can watch her break.”

“You can’t be serious, Changbin? Even now you refuse to speak even with that drug I’ve injected and a knife deeply embedded in your thigh?”

“Go fuck yourself,” Changbin spat his blood at the man.

“I’ve had enough of you!”

“How ironic,” Changbin chuckled. “You’re trying to break me, but you’re the one breaking.”

Changbin couldn’t see the man’s face, but he could imagine the scowl he’s wearing and dilated eyes. The man growled and pulled out the knife. Changbin bit his lip hard enough to draw blood. He wouldn’t give his captor the final satisfaction of hearing his cry. The man brought the blade to Changbin’s neck, prompting him to bring his head up to glare at the man.

Before the man could do any damage, a muffled explosion went off in the background. The room shook slightly as dust unsettled from the ceiling. The door was busted open and in comes in CB97 and J.One, both wielding guns.

“Y/N,” CB97 called out. “SpearB out of here. We’ll take care of this mess.”

You appeared behind pair, nodding softly and rushed towards Changbin who passed out. His body finally shutting down after seeing the familiar faces, knowing that he was being saved.

Changbin wakes up some time later. His lips were chapped as he panted for air through his dry throat. Changbin’s eyes were bloodshot and heavy bags decorated his eyes. His head snapped up feeling a light pressure on his thigh.

“How are you feeling, B?” you asked softly, bandaging up his thigh.

“You.”

“B?-”

“Did you think you can take advantage of me? Just use me for your own benefit?”

“SpearB, please-”

Changbin cut you off by flipping both your positions.

“What’s wrong? You take advantage of men by sleeping with them and seducing them? Look, I’m in just my boxers.”

“SpearB, stop. You were drugged, just go to sleep and we’ll talk-”

Changbin shut you up with a harsh slap.

“Talk? Just like how you talked to that guy who kidnapped me?” Changbin growled pulling your shorts and panties in one fell swoop.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you tried placing a hand on his chest to get him to slow down. Changbin very quickly pinned both your wrists above your head with a single hand, the other running up your (his) hoodie raking his fingers over your bare flesh.

“Quiet and take it.”

You bit the inside of your cheek to obey him. You let out a shaky exhale when you felt a sharp pressure from down below. You winced once he began snapping his hips against yours without giving you any time to adjust.

“Did you really think you could take advantage of me like that? How does it feel now when the shoes on the other foot?”

“No, please. Just listen- Aah!” he cut you off with a particularly hard thrust. “P-please, that’s not how I truly feel about you. I meant what I said back at the club.”

“Yeah? Then how do you feel?” he growled out.

“I would die for you.”

“Then perish.” Changbin’s eyes darkened as it bored into your soul. He pulled out of your throbbing heat as it pulsated lightly with pain. His sharp gaze looked at you expectantly as you sat up and curl into yourself feeling so exposed and little under his gaze.

You gasp out, nodding solemnly. You delicately pulled out a pocket knife from your discarded shorts you kept on you for self defense. You start just below your jawbone to the left and began slicing, blood is pouring out as the stainless steel blade sliced through skin, flesh and muscle like butter. The sight of the brilliant red liquid spewing out sobers up Changbin a bit. Changbin stops her by grabbing her wrist preventing further damage.

“Why did you stop me?” you seethed, tears pouring down your face.

“Because I didn’t think you were actually going to do it!” He snaps, gritting his teeth together. His breath fanned over your face, his eyes red and bloodshot.

“Let me go, Changbin,” you sniffled, forgetting why you were in this position in the first place.

The sound of his name escaping your lips fueled the burning rage within him. Memories of the club played through his mind like a broken record. The breathy sound of his name escaping your lips mixed in with the loud blaring bass of the club and the chatter of the surrounding clubbers. He finally realized the humiliation of having that last thing he held sacred been outed to the world, leaving him feeling small and vulnerable like a deer caught in the headlights.

“Shut up. Shut up. SHUT UP,” he shouts like a mantra. “Don’t say that name like you OWN ME!”

You tried to back up and crawl away, but the throbbing pain in your nether regions and your putty legs made it difficult.

“B… SpearB, I’m sorry,” you sobbed out.

“JUST SHUT UP!” He very quickly overpowered you and bringing you down flush to the ground with his weight.

“Just shut your whore mouth!” At this point, all Changbin saw was red. His large hands quickly wrapped around your small neck. Tears were dripping from his ducts, the droplets landing on your cheeks. You gasped and gurgled as you clawed his wrists to get him to let go. Crimson red began dotting at his wrists from where your nails broke skin as it slowly rolled down and joined the crimson fluid that was gushing through his fingers from your neck.

“Just shut up,” he sniffled, his voice cracking and breaking at the last word. Your eyes were blown out as tears free flowed down your temples soaking you messed locks. Drool was also dribbling out of the corner of your mouth.

Suddenly black dots began appearing within both your visions for you from oxygen deprivation and for changbin from the side effects finally kicking in. Darkness finally enveloped the pair and Changbin slumped over your body as the light from your eyes faded and you took your final breath.

Daybreak broke, CB97 and J.One found their way into Changbin’s apartment.

CB97 very quickly notices a very naked Changbin and a semi naked you on the floor. He quickly rushed forward pulling Changbin off of you and attempted to shake him awake. J.One carefully pulled down the material of your (Changbin’s) hoodie to cover yourself and pressed his fingers against your neck hoping to find a pulse. He looked up at CB97 and shook his head.

Changbin wakes up in a slight daze, trying to get a footing of what happened last night. His head was throbbing as he blinked multiple times trying to get rid of the blurriness. What was discerning to him was how he could not for the life of him remember anything that happened after he passed out in that chair. Soon his vision focused on the blank stare of your body beside him.

“Y/N?” he whispered out.

“Y/n? Y/N!” he struggled out of CB97’s grip and shoved J.One aside, sending his junior flying backwards straight on his ass.

Changbin tries waking Y/N up by shaking her shoulders vigorously but to no avail. Quickly Changbin pressed an ear to her chest.

“She isn’t breathing!” Changbin sobbed. “Save her!”

CB97 and J.One attempt to pry him off you.

“Changbin stop! She’s gone.”

Changbin got out of their grip and rush over to you, cradling you softly in his arms as if you were made of glass.

“I’m sorry. I’m so so sorry Y/N…”

All CB97 and J.One could do was watch their friend in pity.

#stray kids #skz #stray kids angst #seo changbin #stray kids smut #kinda but not really #3RACHA #SpearB #CB97 #J.One #Bang Chan #Kim Woojin #Lee Know #stray kids imagines #stray kids x reader

165 notes · View notes