#tw description of physical assault

[morganski-19]

I Don't Know Which Way's Home

Chapter 15: Visitors

ao3 link, Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14

cw: minor descriptions of violence/physicall assault

Present Day, March 1987

“When are you going to move in,” Sarah asks over the phone.

“Next week, I think. I should get the keys in a few days and then we’ll take some time to get some basic furniture. Then we should be all good.”

Steve was excited for the move. Excited to get out of this house to something he owns. Something he can make his own. A place where he can walk through the door and see himself on the walls. In the furniture. Where it feels like home.

Not just a large house where most of the lights are never on. Suffocating anyone who lives in it.

It’ll be an adjustment. But he’s willing to do it. Ready to do it. He’s been stuck in the same loop for so long, he ready to break it.

“Any word from your parents?”

Steve still feels bad about that. If things went the way he wanted them to, Julie would never have to endure his parents. Over the phone or in person. Knowing her, she’d probably want to sit behind him in court. She’d see them there. But wouldn’t be dealing with him. That’s his job, not hers. Not anyone’s.

He’s been dealing with his parents for his entire life. He’s used to it. Knows how to shut up and say the right things just so the issue is dropped. Most of the time. Sometimes he fights back. Stands up for himself. Just to get knocked back down to the lowest peg possible. But he tries.

Now, it’s a totally different ballgame. They can’t knock him down again, not really. He’s stronger than he was back then. Older. More mature. Has a sense of his own self worth and how it doesn’t revolve around their opinions. They never cared enough to stay, why should he care about their words.

“Uh yeah. They got the papers, last I heard from the courthouse is that they got the response letter. It wasn’t pretty.”

“Well, that was to be expected. Anything else?”

Steve hesitates. “Yeah, um. I sort of got kicked out.”

“What?”

“Yeah, my dad said he wanted me gone. That if I thought I was going to get anything from them anymore I was wrong and can’t keep living here rent free. But they haven’t, like, sent a cop or anything to make sure I’m gone. So, it’s fine. I’m handling it.”

“That’s only because you have an in with the Chief, Steve,” Sarah says sternly. He can picture the frustration on her face. “When did they tell you this?”

“Two weeks ago.”

Sarah swears under her breath. “You’re cutting it close here, Steve.”

“I know,” he says before she can continue. “I know I am. But we’re so close to getting out. Most of our stuff is out of the house except for essentials, and I have people on standby incase they come home. I’m not going into this blind. I know how they are.”

“The minute they show up, the minute that this backup plan gets put into place, you call me immediately.”

Steve knows that Sarah’s just planning for the worst possible outcome. That it’s better to plan for things that might never happen than to scramble for a solution. He doesn’t want to think of the worst. Deep down, there’s a strong feeling that it’s actually going to happen.

Because he does know them. He knows how they will want to fight. They don’t want to do it at all. Threats have gotten them out of trouble before, it shouldn’t be any different now. Only Steve wasn’t giving up. Giving in. He separated himself from them enough that their words don’t mean shit anymore.

At least that’s how he’ll act. In court, he’ll tell the judge the truth, not caring what their going to say as a rebuttal. The way they’ll tear him down as much as they can. It won’t affect him then, but Steve has no way of knowing how it will affect him behind closed doors.

Despite everything, someone deep inside him craves for their approval. Their attention. That person has been getting satisfaction knowing that he’s getting it somehow. The same person that threw large parties just to get the cops called. Just to see if they would show up again. Give him a phone call. Steve wants to ignore that part of him, but it’s there.

That same part of him will probably cry when this is all over. Knowing that his parents are done with him forever. That they think the worst of him. Their opinion shouldn’t matter. It still does sometimes.

“I promise I will,” Steve assures.

“Good.” Sarah hangs up without another word.

Steve’s relationship with his parents has always been complicated. He knew that. Everyone knew that. There was a small hope that if he just acted right, did all the right things, the relationship would become less complicated. Less strained. He’d be their son the way other sons were. Not just a trophy to sit on a shelf, but something more. It never became that, no matter how hard he tried.

So he stopped trying, and look where he is now.

. . .

Julie was putting her plate in the sink when a car pulled into the driveway. Steve’s head turned to the door, wondering who it is. He never does that. People come and go here all the time, normally Eddie since he has a car. Robin if she gets him to pick her up on the way.

But Steve never turns his head when it’s them. Like he has some sort of sixth sense when it comes to random people showing up at his door. Always knowing who it is before he sees them. This is different.

Still, Julie doesn’t pay much thought on it. It’s probably just one of them. Or maybe one of the kids had their parents drive them over. It’s nothing.

Until they hear the garage door start to open. No one ever uses the garage.

Steve’s body tightens. Standing straighter that he normally does.  He abandons his dish in the sink, walking toward the door leading to the garage. On attention. Waiting for something to pounce.

She’s never seen him like this before.

When he returns to the kitchen, there’s a frightened look in his eye. One that immediately makers her heart start to pound faster. It can’t be that bad. What can scare him into looking like this? Spine tied up with a string. Stance ready to start running. Afraid. He’s so afraid.

His mouth opens to say something as a car door slams. A rage filled voice traveling across the house. Enough that she can place who’s it is, even after only hearing it once. Steve’s fear matches in her eyes.

“Steve, who’s here?” Her voice waivers.

Without saying a word, Steve gently grabs her arm and brings her to the sliding door. “You can’t be here right now. They can’t know you’re here.”

“Steve,” she asks again.

He slides the door open, the evening air making her shiver. “The Byers house isn’t that far through the woods. You remember going there for Christmas Eve, right? Go straight about thirty feet, then make a right and keep walking.”

“Steve.”

The door starts to open, and the voices fill the other room. Steve’s eyes dart towards the sound before landing back on her. Only making her more scared.

“I’ll be there within an hour with the rest of our stuff. But it will be worse if they see you’re here. I don’t want them to hurt you.”

“Steve,” she pleads for him to slow down.

“You got it. Go to the loose fence behind the pool house and then walk straight a little bit. Then make a right and keep going. You’ll see their house after a while. Take this.” He reaches for the walkie on the kitchen table. Messing with the dial. “When you get to the woods, call for a code red. It won’t go to everyone, just to them. I’ll be there when I can.”

Before Julie can say anything else, Steve pushes her out the door and shuts it behind her. Sliding the lock into place.

Heavy breaths fill her lungs, burning slightly with the chilled air. She looks at Steve though the glass. Face frantically asking for an explanation. Trying to convince her the one she has is wrong. They can’t be here right now.

“Go, please,” Steve mouths through the glass. Terrified.

Julie turns. Walking to the pool house. Finding the loose panels of the fence and pulls them to the side. The same way she would do when she would sneak into this backyard. When she lived in that other house and would do anything not to be there.

Steve’s instructions replay in her mind. Walk straight for a bit, about thirty feet. Maybe more. The turn right and keep walking until you see the house. Call for a code red. Julie looks at the walkie in her hand before she presses the button. Seeing how her hand in shaking.

“Copy,” a man’s voice comes through the speaker. Julie unable to place it right now. “I’ll wait outside for you. If you don’t see the porch light, look for the flashlight. Call again if you get lost.”

Julie turns to the house again. The light click on in Steve’s room. He shouldn’t be much longer. There’s not much else to grab. He should be right after her.

She thinks about waiting. But she already called. They’ll get worried if she doesn’t show up.

Her mind can’t stop racing as she walks. Sun setting slowly as it becomes harder to see the ground. Squinting to make sure she doesn’t trip on a root or branch.

Did Steve’s parents really show up? Just unannounced. That part wasn’t as surprising when she thought about it. They seemed like the people to do that. Steve mentioned that they might come home. She didn’t believe it then. She barely believed it now.

He was right. They showed up at the worst possible time. Give it another week and they would have been out of there anyway. But no, they just had to show up today.

The rage of Steve’s father’s voice rings in her head. The threats on the phone call finding their way back to her mind. What would they do when they saw he was still there? He wanted the two of them gone, that didn’t happen. Not yet. It was happening, but something told Julie that wouldn’t matter. In their heads, Steve disobeyed them. Again.

. . .

Steve watches Julie round the pool house before he turns away. Knowing that she’s going to a safe place, that no matter what the Byers’ will take care of her. His safety, he’s not so sure about. Anger fills his dad fast, and it’s already bubbling over with the sight of the Beemer still sitting in the driveway. Or the fact that there’s lights on in the house.

He’s about to see his parents for the first time in two years. And he’s terrified.

Everything slows down like one of the horror movie scenes. Where the footsteps thump down the hall while the protagonist just stands and waits like an idiot. Waiting for it to strike. They don’t seem like such idiots anymore. Steve knows how feet can feel glued to the floor, but it has a whole new meaning now.

His back is straight, chest puffed out in a way that makes him look bigger than he is. Anything to make him more menacing than his father’s glare. Or fist. Or whatever is coming his way as his father finds his way to the kitchen.

For the first time in two years, Steve looks at his father’s face. Disgusted how much it looks like his. A constant reminder of where he comes from, no matter how hard he tries. Rage filled eyes meet Steve’s, waiting for him to make the first move. All he does is cross his arms, clench his jaw. Trap his father in a glare. He’s not speaking until he has to.

“Steven,” his mother breaks the silence. “We were not expecting you.”

She always tried to keep the peace between them. To try and keep in his father’s rage. It rarely worked. But she tried. It was the one thing Steve commended her for. Deep down, he felt bad for her. Trapped in an unhappy marriage having to follow after Richard just to make sure he didn’t cheat. But that still meant leaving him, and she didn’t call enough for him to forgive for that.

“No, we were not,” Richard finally speaks, voice tense. “What are you still doing here?” Considering you are no longer welcome in this house, that is.

His father can’t even speak his name. Steve debates walking past right up to his room. Filling the last tote bag before doing the same with the rest of Julie’s stuff. Walking out without an explanation. His father raises his eyebrow with a tilt to his head. Awaiting an explanation.

Instead, Steve decides to gloat. “I’m actually just waiting for the keys to my house. Didn’t want the neighbors to think you left your son to sleep in his car. That wouldn’t be so nice to the reputation, wouldn’t it, dad.” He continues to glare at his father, not backing down.

His father lets out a condescending laugh. “If you were so concerned about reputation, then we wouldn’t have to go to court. Would we, Steven? Instead, you think that you deserve some kind of justice. After all we’ve done for you.”

It’s Steve’s turn to laugh. “What did you do for me exactly?”

“Put a roof over your head, make sure there was money to put food on the table. Give you a car, clothes, expensive gifts. See you through high school, pay for your sports equipment. Everything you have is because we gave it to you.” Richard’s voice raises, almost yelling. Almost.

Steve resists a flinch when the last word booms through the room. Instead of saying another word, he side-steps his parents, heading upstairs. Flicking on the light in his room, stuffing as much of his stuff into a tote bag. His room already looks bare except for the sheet and the stupid car poster on his wall.

His mother appears in his doorway moments later, a more silent argument ready to be said. Until she sees the walls. “You painted?” she gasped.

“I did. Hope you don’t mind. I won’t be here much longer anyway. You can turn it back into what it was.”

A sickened smile forms on his mother’s face. “You never told me you wanted to change your room. We could have done it together.”

Meaning that she could have changed it while he watched. Hating how it would have turned out no matter what the product was. His mother never listened to him anyway.

“Well, you were never here long enough to change it, so I just did it myself.” He smiles to himself when his mother’s smile twitches. Knowing that his words stung.

The tote bag gets slung over his shoulder as he pushes past her. Leaving her to look at her ruined masterpiece as he packs up Julie’s room. Pulling out the tote bag she has underneath her bed and putting away the few essentials that she had left. Taking out another to shove her clothes into.

His mother gasps as she sees the paint over these walls as well. This room in particular being her favorite guest room. “What have you done?”

“Painted. Like I said.” He continues to fill the second tote bag.

Richard finds his way up the stairs, done waiting for Steve. Eyes landing on the desk where the picture of Julie and her mother rests. Steve grabs it before he can, gently placing it in the tote bag. Throwing some clothes around it so it doesn’t break.

“Has someone been living in here?” his father asks, not willing to admit he recognized the woman in the picture.

Steve takes a deep breath. “Oh no one special. Just your daughter.”

His parents stiffen at the same time. Bringing a sly smile to Steve’s face.

“I don’t have a daughter,” his mother says with feigned confidence. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I wasn’t talking to you. I was talking to him.” He meets his father’s eyes again. “I was talking about Julie.”

As fast the smile formed of Steve’s face, it’s smacked off. Cheek stinging with the contact of his father’s hand. His mother gasps, scolding her husband. Knowing nothing would stop him from doing it again. Steve grabs the desk chair, using it to balance him as he gets his bearings. Waits for the ringing in his ear to calm down, for the breath to return to his lungs.

“You are never to speak that name again,” Richard commands. “She is nothing.”

“Julie is not nothing.” Steve manages to stand, only to have to grip the chair again when Richard’s fist makes contact again. Lip darting out to taste the blood coming from his split lip. A short laugh escapes as he stands, planting his feet stronger this time. “You really thought I’d never figure out about her.”

“You think you are so tough, don’t you, Steven. Changing your room, getting a job, housing someone you don’t know. All of that you could do because of me. All of that you are going to lose. What will come of you when you don’t have us paying for everything anymore? When you can’t come crawling back to us when life gets hard.”

Steve manages to stand again. Plants his feet the way he’s learned to. Treating his father like every other monster he’s faced. Wishing that there was a bat in his hand to twirl around. Make a show of protecting himself.

He doesn’t need it this time. Richard might pretend to be strong and menacing, but he’s just a person. Who got a few good hits in because Steve wasn’t prepared for them. He is now.

“You would know something about housing someone you don’t know. You’ve been housing me for twenty years.”

Richard’s arm raises again, but Steve was ready for it this time. Catching his wrist before it can contact Steve’s face. It surprises the both of them, but Steve doesn’t let his guard down. His eyes dart to his mother, who hides just barely behind Richard. Laura was never one for confrontation, and now he’s something more than just her son. Now he’s a threat.

“I am more than what you think I am. I changed my room because I never liked the old one. Because I should feel welcome in my childhood home. I got the job because if my hard work, not because of my name. I gave Julie a home because she is my sister, that is a fact. And because her and I have something in common. Our father knows nothing about us.”

“Let go of me, Steven.” For the first time, Richard is the one with fear in his eyes.

“Are you going to hit me again?” Steve tightens his grip.

Richard shakes his head. “No, no I’m not. Don’t do anything rash here, Steven.”

Steve lets go of Richard’s wrist with a swing, letting it slam back into him. “I go by Steve, but you both always ignored that anyway. I’m not some kid you get to push around anymore, no matter how hard you’ll try. You might think I’m stupid for staying here after you told me to get out, you might think what I’m doing is pointless. But I’m not doing all of this for me anymore, I’m doing it for me and for Julie. Because while you thought she was just something you could pay to never think about again, you missed out on a pretty great kid.”

He takes a deep breath. “But I guess you’re used to that. You missed out on the kid you kept around. Even if you weren’t here to see me grow up. I hope it all was worth it. It was a lot of hell for me.”

Steve grabs the tote bags, slinging one over each shoulder and the other in his hand. Taking a moment to realize that this is the last time he’ll ever set foot in this house. It’ll no longer be his home. It should be sadder than it is. There were many good memories among the bad that happened here. But he feels a weight lift off his shoulders. It’s not over yet, but he’s free of one of his chains.

“You going to let me leave? Not like you want me here anyway.”

Neither of them moves. Not ready to admit they lost.

“Where are you going to go?” Laura asks like she cares. She might, but it was too little too late at this point.

“You don’t get to know that.”

Laura lowers her head in a nod, accepting. Steve pushes his way past them and down the stairs. Finding his keys.

Richard follows him down, not willing to give up. “Don’t think you can have the car, we paid for that. It’s ours.”

Steve laughs, undoing a keychain Robin made him from the ring. “I know, was just getting this off.” He tosses Richard the keys. “There you go. House key is on there too, so you won’t have to bother about me coming back.”

He grabs his flashlight from the hall closet before opening the door. Sparing one last look at his parents, to find anything that shows remorse. All he sees is Richard’s hard stare and Laura’s sorry eyes. Nothing calling him to stay.

So he leaves.

. . .

Julie was lucky she didn’t get lost. She followed the directions and, after a while, saw the porch light. The last bit of sunlight helps her get the rest of the way there. Illuminating the path just slightly so she doesn’t trip.

“Hey,” a voice says from beside her, making her jump. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.”

Julie turns to see the Chief holding a flashlight, the light pointing towards her. “I think you would have even if I knew you were there.”

“Come on, let’s get you inside. It’s getting cold out here.” Hopper steps in front of her, leading her the rest of the way.

Joyce is waiting for them in the house. Getting up from the couch when they open the door. “You’ve been out there for a while. I was getting worried. Oh honey, you’re shaking, are you cold?”

Julie looks down at her hands, seeing them shake. She doesn’t feel cold. More in shock than anything. Afraid of something she’s never really experienced. Only hearing his voice once over the phone. That was enough to spark fear. Not for her, but for Steve.

It was all she could think about when she was walking. What Steve was going to face when his parents saw that he wasn’t there. If they saw what they did to their rooms. If they saw her.

She agreed it was probably best that she wasn’t there. It would have probably made it all ten times worse. But leaving Steve alone in that house, with them. It felt like a bad idea.

He can take care of himself, she knew that. That didn’t stop her from feeling like she should be there. Be a barrier to stop them from hurting him. In whatever way they were going to. Maybe if there was a witness, he could leave without a fight.

“Julie, sweetie, are you ok?” Joyce’s warm voice breaks through her thoughts.

Julie tries to say something, but nothing comes out. It hits her all at once how scared she was for him.

“What time is it?” she asks.

Joyce checks the clock in the living room. “Just about seven thirty, why?”

Julie left a little after seven. So, assuming Steve left right after her, he should be here soon. And if he left a bit later, he should be here by eight. That’s if nothing went wrong. If they didn’t get into an argument. Or he didn’t get lost.

“He said he’d get here within the hour. So by eight. If nothing happened. Do you think something will happen?” Her voice can’t help but shake.

Joyce makes a face that is supposed to help but doesn’t. Full of sympathy, but one of no answers. “I’m not sure. But whatever it is, he’ll be fine. I know he will.”

“And if he isn’t?” Julie keeps seeing the small person that Steve becomes when he talks to his father. How the light drains out of him, and he becomes a shell of the person he is. His father isn’t even in person and can do that. What will happen when he is in person?

“He will be,” Joyce assures. “How about you come in, sit down. Can I get you anything? Water, hot chocolate?”

Julie lets herself be led to the living room. “Water would be nice.”

“Alright. El here if you want to see her, have someone to sit with.”

“Yeah, yes. I would like that.”

Joyce smiles at her. “Ok, I’ll go get her for you. Jim.” She nods her head toward the kitchen before heading down the hall.

Hopper brings her a glass of water, which she takes. Taking a sip before setting it on the table, seeing how her hands still shake. Joyce comes back down the hall motioning for Hopper to join her in the kitchen. Leaving Julie alone in the living room. Until El comes to sit next to her.

“Joyce told me about what happened,” she says softly. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“He used to hit my mom,” Julie blurts out. “He used to hit my mom when they were together, and she made him angry. Steve made him angry. I know he did. He called the house last week and, and kicked us out. And we didn’t leave yet, because we couldn’t. Steve doesn’t get the keys for a few more days. What if he hits Steve, too?”

El’s hands find hers, holding them together to calm the shaking. Julie turns her head to meet El’s eyes. Seeing an expression that feigns strength but fear still rests in her eyes. She’s scared for Steve too.

“I have known Steve for longer that you have. I know how strong he is, how brave he is. He will be ok. I promise.” There’s a certainty in her words.

Somehow, Julie believes her. “Ok. Ok, yeah. Yeah. He’ll be ok.”

“Would you like a hug?”

Julie nods. Her breath starting to even out again, the adrenaline keeping her tears at bay failing.

El opens her arms and leans forward to give Julie a hug. Julie takes it with a choked sob, tears starting to fall. El pats her back awkwardly, not quite sure what to do but it’s helping. With a few deep breaths, Julie’s able to pull herself together. Pulling away from El to wipe the tears from her eyes. She won’t be ok until Steve shows up, but she’s better. For now.

“Thanks, that helped.”

El smiles. “Good. Do you want to watch something while we wait? Keep your mind off of it?”

“Yeah, sure.”

El clicks on the tv, finding a channel with some reruns that Julie doesn’t pay attention to. Her mind is still on Steve. Knowing that the there’s no sunlight left to guide the way, and he has no walkie to let her know when she’s coming. Yet she still grips the one resting in her lap. Hoping by some miracle she hears Steve’s voice through the staticky connection and knows he’s ok.

But nothing comes through. The only noise filling the house is the tv, and the not so silent whispering between Joyce and the Chief in the kitchen. After a while, Hopper heads back outside with the flashlight, walkie stuffed in his jacket pocket. He’s going to look for Steve.

It feels like forever before there’s a knock at the door. Making Julie sit up straighter. Joyce emerges from the kitchen to open it. A very winded Steve behind the door, tote bags slung over his shoulder and flashlight in hand.

“Sorry I’m late,” he apologizes while catching his breath. “I had to go the long way.”

Joyce ushers him in. Steve barely gets a chance to put the bags down before Julie’s on her feet and pulling him into a hug.

“You’re ok.”

“Yeah, I’m ok. Did you get here ok, I know I kind of freaked you out.”

Julie lets go. “Freaked me out. Steve, you terrified the shit out of me. After the phone call last week and the little I knew about him I,” she pauses when she sees his split lip. “He hit you?”

Steve touches his lip. “Yeah, he, uh, he did. But I’m ok. I’ve had far worse than this.”

“You say that like it makes it ok. It doesn’t.”

He looks down with a shake of his head. “I know it doesn’t.”

“He really hit you because you didn’t leave.” Julie can’t seem to wrap her head around the idea. But then, she would never hit someone for any reason. Let alone that.

Steve clears his throat. “Sort of. Why don’t you go sit with El for a bit, I have to talk to Joyce for a second.”

She gives him a confused look, knowing he didn’t answer her question fully. But she still goes to sit on the couch again. Him and Joyce go to the kitchen, speaking in whispers. Something tells her that reason he was attacked was because of her.

. . .

Joyce uses her walkie to let Hopper know that Steve is at the house. She gets him a glass of water and makes him sit down, looking at his lip.

“It’s really not that bad. You and I both know this is the least beat up I’ve ever been after a fight.”

She sits down in the chair across from him. “You should listen to Julie. That still doesn’t make it ok.”

He looks down at his hands. “I know. Just easier to think of it that way. Out of all the things he’s done, he’s never hit me before.”

Hopper comes into the kitchen, sitting down next to Joyce. “You ok, kid?”

Steve shakes his head. “I will be, just need a second. Thanks for making sure she got here. Making sure she was safe. I didn’t know what would happen if he saw her there. Just knowing that she was there at all was the reason why,” he can’t finish the sentence.

“Of course. You both can stay here as long as you need to,” Joyce offers.

“Thanks, I appreciate it.”

Hopper crosses his arms. “You could press charges if you wanted, make your case a little stronger.”

“It’s my word against his, and my mom will never speak out against him.” She never did before, why would it change now. “Can I use your phone, I need to make some calls.”

Joyce nods and Steve heads to the phone in the hall. Pulling out Sarah’s number from his pocket. Dialing it with a deep breath. She wouldn’t be happy with this.

She wasn’t. Cursing Steve through the phone with an “I told you so”. But grateful that Julie is safe, grateful that he is too. She gives him a day before she’ll say anything. Give him time to make it look like Julie was just at an extended sleepover. For them to move. He thanks her just before she hangs up.

Robin is next. Takes a second to make sure he’s ok before cursing out his dad. Offering to go over there herself and give him a piece of her mind. He tells her it’s a bad idea, she disagrees, but still says she will keep it all for when she sees him in court. That way there will be witnesses. She makes sure he’s ok, offers to come over. Steve assures that he’s fine and will talk to her again in the morning.

The last person is Eddie. Steve already knows how he’ll react, but still hopes he won’t freak out that much.

“Where are you right now?” he asks after Steve fills him in.

“The Byers. It was the closest place that was safe.”

“I’ll be there soon.”

Steve holds the phone closer to his mouth. “Eds, really. You don’t have to come over.”

“Like hell I don’t.” Eddie hangs up before Steve can protest anymore.

He’d be lying if he said that he didn’t want to see Eddie right now. That if knowing that his boyfriend was willing to drop everything just to be there with him right now didn’t bring him comfort. Part of him didn’t want Eddie to see him like this, though. Fragile, partially homeless. Taken a few hits to the face.

As if Eddie hasn’t seen Steve beat up before. Pretty much all of Hawkins has, it’s a reoccurring event. But those times were different. It was because of his own idiocy or protecting someone. This was at the hands of someone that already caused him more pain than he should have gone through. He didn’t know how to admit that he got hit for no reason.

He heads back to the kitchen, tells them that Eddie’s coming over. They don’t say much, but have a knowing look in their eye. One that scares the hell out of him, but makes him feel seen at the same time. Steve could be himself in this house. Around these people. It wasn’t even his, and it felt more like home than he’s ever known.

“I never asked if you were ok,” Steve says as he sits down next to Julie. “Are you?”

Julie shrugs. “As ok as I can be I guess.”

“Sounds about right.”

“Did he hit you because of me?” Julie asks after a pause.

Steve would do anything to lie to her right now. To dart around the question and make up some excuse. Knowing her, she would see right through it. She didn’t need him lying to add to tonight. But would it be better for her to know the truth?

There’s a knock at the door before Steve can try to answer. He thinks it’s for the best. Enough has happened for one night.

He stands when Joyce opens the door. Almost getting pushed out of the way when Eddie sees Steve in the living room. They meet in a hug, Steve feeling more relieved that he thought he would.

“Those jackasses couldn’t have waited a few more days before they finally came home. They had to do it while you were still there.”

Steve huffs out a laugh. “Yeah well, they never had the best timing.”

Eddie notices the cut on his lip when he pulls back from the hug. Eyes filling with anger. “I’m actually going to get arrested for murder this time.”

“Eds, it’s really not that bad.”

“Not that bad.” Eddie’s voice raises. “Not that bad, Steve. You have a fucking split lip. Your eye is puffy.”

Steve tries to calm Eddie down, still conscious of the people around them. Trying not to make it look too revealing. “It could be worse.”

He sees Joyce say something to the girls that gets them to leave and head down the hall. Leaving him and Eddie alone in the living room.

“How hard did he hit you? Can you hear me alright? What about your vision, nothing’s blurry. You can still see fine?” Eddie clocks when they leave, grabbing Steve’s head with both his hands, assessing the damage.

Steve tries to pull Eddie’s hands away, make this less of a big deal. “I can hear and see fine. He didn’t hit me hard enough to do anything. I’ve had worse, it’s the least concerning thing that’s happened in the last few hours.”

“Your father, a grown man, assaulted you. His son. And you think there are more concerning things that happened in the last few hours.” Eddie’s face falls. “Just because you’re an adult when he hit you doesn’t make it better.”

“I know that,” he admits. Starting to feel the weight of everything finally sink in. “I just don’t know how to process it all right now. Tonight’s been a lot and I just need a minute, a day, I don’t know. Something. I just can’t think about that right now.”

“Ok,” Eddie says softly. “Ok. Then we won’t talk about it anymore. When every you’re ready. Does it hurt though, do you need ice or anything? Last thing, I promise.”

Steve shakes his head. “No, no. It’s ok. I’m ok right now.”

Eddie nods. Kissing Steve before pulling him into another hug.

Just when Steve gets his life together, it all falls apart again. Or at least feels like it. In just a few days, the pieces will be put back into place. His life will get back on schedule. His schedule. Where he can move into a house that he bought, with his own money. To a job that he got, by himself. And life that has nothing to do with his last name.

Even if the court date is a few months away, and he’ll have to see his parents again. But after that, he’ll never have to interact with them again. He will be permanently free.

Right now. He’s trying to hold it all together. Making his brain slow down to give himself a minute to breath. Before the crushing reality of all that just happened presses down on his chest. And they’ll take hold of his mind again. Just for a little while, then he’ll break free again.

Joyce insists they stay the night. Explaining how Julie is already set up in El’s room, and how the two of them can take the pull-out couch. Just like that, with no explanation needed. Or excuses. Maybe Steve could tell everyone about them soon.

It’s still early when everyone goes to bed. Just wanting the day to be over, even if they’re not tired. But the comfort of darkness lets Eddie scoot closer, hold Steve a little tighter. Make him feel put together even though he’s slowly starting to fall apart.

Tomorrow is a new day. With plenty of problems to be solved and conversations to be had. Telling the rest of the group to stay clear of his old house and change his contact information with a few people. Try to get the keys a few days earlier.

Tonight is meant for sleep. To float around and exist without anything pressing his mind. Wrapped up in his boyfriend’s arms and feel comfort for a brief moment. Until his looks in the mirror again and see the healing cut on his lip, and the slight bruise on his cheek. Almost fall apart all over again until he pulls himself back together. Each time a little weaker than the last until he finally breaks.

It’s so easy to fall back into old habits. To bottle everything up for the sake of other. For the sake of himself. Steve really can’t process everything right now. It would sting more that it already does. So, it gets pushed away. Until he’s ready to face it again.

He only hopes that time will be sooner than most. So he doesn’t blow up at someone that’s undeserving. Saying something he can’t take back.

But right now, he doesn’t need to think about that. Right now he needs to sleep.

Tag list(let me know if you want to be added or removed): @homoerotictangerine, @mugloversonly, @thesuninyaface, @imyelenasexual, @anaibis, @ilovecupcakesandtea, @brainsteddielyrotted, @jackiemonroe5512, @eddie-munsons-missing-nipple, @goodolefashionedloverboi, @cinnamon-mushroomabomination, @lolawonsstuff, @writingandmushroomdragons, @stevesbipanic, @sierra-violet, @steddie-as-they-go, @dauntlessdiva, @mousedetective, @the-daydreamer-in-the-corner, @zombiethingy, @connected-dots-st-reblogger, @that-agender-from-pluto, @allyricas, @cheddartreets, @devondespresso, @crypticcorvidinacottage, @queenie-ofthe-void @chronicpainstevetruther, @cheddartreets, @theupsidedownrealestateagent, @acidbubblegummie, @sirsnacksalot, @l0st-strawberry, @helpimstuckposting, @strawberry-starss, @freddykicksasses, @italianwhore1, @i-threw-my-name-out-the-window, @rageagainsttheapathy, @nuggies4life, @ape31, @whimsicalwitchm, @chrissycunninghamfanblog, @michellegilligan, @hippielittlemetalhead, @bridget-malfoy-stilinski-hale, @jaytriesstuff, @confused-stripes, @faeb1tch42069, @marklee-blackmore, @hel-spawn, @genderless-spoon, @mamafaithful, @estrellami-1, @starryeyedpoet17 @i-amthepizzaman, @lilpomelito @melonmochi

[selfaware-bungou-stray-dogs]

*TW*

Hello!!! I absolutely love platonic yanderes with teenage reader so can I ask for a fic where the teen!reader is basically a traumatized being. They have experienced hell throughout their life from mental abuse to physical abuse. Like I mean, they have gotten in many dangerous situations which ended up with police involved (kidnapped, assaulted, murder attempt). Ofc the reader never really did anything wrong, they were just an innocent child till everything went downhill. They don't have any family members left leading them to stay at an orphanage. Anddd you could say the orphanage people aren't the nicest. And their mental health has become so fucked up that they had attempted suicide.

You don't have to do this if ur uncomfortable ofc. Sorry about how triggering the request might be

On the roof

Self-Aware! Platonic! BSD Cast x GN! Teen! Traumatized! Reader

Description: You are on the rooftop in the middle of the night.

Trigger warning: Suicide attempt. Abuse. Child abuse. Kidnapping. Assault. Attempted murder.

List of Suicide hotline numbers can be found here and here.

Warning: One swear word. English is my second language.

__________________________________

You silently opened the door, that leads to the roof of an orphanage. With your phone in hand, you take a few steps forward.

The door closed behind you.

You just stand here. You were silent.

You were here. You wanted to end this.

You sighed and looked around.

Should you just... Go to the edge and jump? It's not like someone would care about you.

You didn't bother with the last note.

No one would care about the reason.

You will simply become a name in documents.

You just wanted to be heard.

You mindlessly looked at your phone.

Should you take it with you?

Or left it here, so someone else would use it?

Your gaze stopped at the "BSD Mayoi Inu Kaikitan" icon. Will the new owner delete it? Or will continue your progress?

You tapped on the icon. You didn't leave a note.

Yet, you "talked" to BSD Characters so often, that it seems right, to let them hear your last words.

Your reasons.

You opened the Main Menu and choose 'Meeting Hall' option.

The picture of ADA Office appeared. And Chibis of all BSD Characters appeared.

This new option was cute. You liked petting chibis.

All chibis 'looked' at you.

And you finally spoke.

"Mom was strange..."

________

Your mom was strange.

She smelled funny. Like water everyone told you not to drink.

Sometimes, she stared at you. Stared for a long time.

And there were rules.

1. Don't cry.

2. Don't annoy mom.

3. You eat last.

4. If you stayed past curfew, you will sleep outside.

5. Don't tell anyone about your home life.

At least, she let you play outside as much as you want. Mom liked, when you were away from home.

*******

You were five, when you got kidnapped.

That night, you wake up to get some water.

Mom saw you.

In her eyes, you broke a rule.

You were sleeping outside.

One moment you were trying to get comfortable under the porch.

Next moment a man in a mask was dragging you in a van.

Three days.

You were in a dark, scary place for three days.

On a third day you heard two men talking.

"What do you mean, that mother didn't realize, that kid were missing?!"

_____

"Still... Mom paid the ransom. Kidnappers left me. It takes three more days for police to find me..."

____

You were standing near a police officer. And your mom finally arrived to the police station to collect you.

You walked to her, your head was low.

She hit you.

You screamed.

You collapsed on the floor, and your mother bent over you. She hissed and pushed you in the side with her feet.

"Are you satisfied, brat? Get up and go pack your belongings, we’re moving to a shed."

"You should treat your kid more kindly..." the officer grumbled. Your mother squealed.

"Kindly?! This brat had ruined my whole life!” Your mom was mad. She screamed like a fury, jumped in place and gave cowering you blow after blow. You didn’t try to dodge. You just trembled, curled up into a ball.

"Hubby ran away as soon as he gets it inside me! But dear relatives didn’t let me throw it away. They didn’t let me give it to an orphanage! They said that I need to raise this child! They stood up for a little bastard! But now, when I need to pay debt, they are nowhere to be found! They say I play cards too much! I'm just unlucky! Things are not going my way! The house is mortgaged! I poured all my savings into the last card game and won! I would pay off all my debts! And because of this thing, I now have to live in a shed! What will I tell my family now?! What will others say about me?!"

Officer heard enough.

The CPS were called.

_______

"... They were trying to find my father... Until then, grandmother and grandfather agreed to took me in..."

_______

You were six.

Your grandfather sat on the opposite side of the table.

Your textbook and notebook were laying on the table before you.

And your grandfather was talking.

"I finished checking your homework. As I expected, you are a little idiot. A stupid, worthless waste of space. You have made few stupid mistakes. You wrote numbers in a wrong order.

Grandfather opened your notebook. A red paste was covering the page.

2 + 1 = 3 1 + 2 = 3

3 + 1 = 4. 1 + 3 = 4

"So..." Grandfather take a ruler.

"Give me your hand. It will be ten hits for every wrong number."

________

"...it took two year to find my father. He had a family. And I... I was a child from affair. They never let me live it down... For years"

_______

You were nine.

The blow, when it came, took all of your air out of your lungs. You would have fallen if not for your two... "siblings" holding you.

"It feels good, giving a good beating to a dirtbag, right?"

The next hit was in your left eye. You managed to close it in time.

But it will be swollen.

You felt hot breath on your face.

"Your hair is too good for a bastard child."

Your sister brought the scissors up to your hair.

Snip, snip, snip. Cutting right alongside the scalp, sending your hair like leaves swirling to the ground.

Then scissors were plunged into your stomach.

"Die, child of a dirty whore."

______

"...Police was called. They were arrested. But I remained with father and his wife..."

_____

You were twelve.

You were going food shopping. Big bags were heavy, you were tried.

You still need to clean up the house and make dinner.

When you were attacked, because someone tied to rob you, you didn't even care.

You only knew, that, you will be beaten again for being late. And for losing food.

You were long past gone. There were no point in carrying about yourself.

~~~~~~

You were thirteen.

Your father, his wife and you were going to the funeral.

Your father's uncle died.

Now he only has his wife and kids. And you.

He noticed your gaze in a reflection.

He yelled at you for staring.

And he crashed.

You spent three hours in a broken car.

You were the only survivor.

_______

"... I was sent to an orphanage. I am too old to have any chance to be adopted. And I wasn't the only one, who had no chance to have a family..."

______

You tasted dirt and blood. An old rug was thrown over your head, to make it harder for you to fight back.

Someone pressed a knee on the back of your neck and held your face against the ground.

A kick in the side made you roll on your back.

Another person began to push down on your neck with an arm.

You began to struggle, thrashing about with your legs and beating them against the floor, but it was no good.

There were other kids around—at least a dozen of them. One of them would do something. One of them was sure to see that things were taking too far. Your vision began to go fuzzy.

Caretakers saved you only because the noise didn't let them watch TV.

________

"I couldn't take it anymore. I... thank you... Thank you for making me happy... For being the only happy thing in my life."

You finished talking and put your phone on the ground. You stand up and walked towards the edge.

You heard a loud noise. You turned around.

BSD Characters were standing behind you. Real.

And you were still standing near the edge. You were silent. Nikolai lift his overcoat and put his hand into the portal.

His head reappeared near you. You jumped away. Now you were even closer to the edge.

"No... I... I don't want to... Don't come closer..." whispered you. You took another step. You were almost here.

"[Y/N], if you go back, I will give you a hug!"

You froze and turned around.

Kenji Miyazawa made a step forward. He opened his arms, offering a hug.

"I promise, I will give you a hug. Come here... You really need a hug."

You trembled. You moved towards Kenji.

Step. After step. After step.

Kenji was standing here. Offering a hug.

You launched yourself forward, wrapping your arms around Kenji. He immediately hugged you back.

You cried. For the first time in years.

In a few minutes, you were in a middle of a large group hug.

________

You are fifteen.

You are living with your family.

You still have a long path to recovery.

And you are not alone.

BSD Cast will stay with you.

And will make sure, that you will never be hurt again.

[luveline]

if you are taking suggestions, I would love to see a steve zombie!AU blurb!!

for you my love, steve zombie au — the college collapse and the fallout afterwards. fem!reader, 5k words tw for zombie apocalypse typical violence and gore, cuts/bruises, mentioned extreme violence/death, mentioned sexual assault (implied to have been attempted, no graphic description), hurt/comfort

You can hear people crying from the quad. 

You don't blame them if they look anything like you right now. Your hands are crusted with blood, your knees more cut than skin. Evidence of the dead marrs the floor, and evidence of the living stains the walls, black gore streaks across the linoleum and bullet holes like inverted stars in the walls, backlit by the bonfire lit in the centre of the quad.

There hasn't been a shot in hours. Still, you hide, and still, you bite your tongue to stop from crying. Crying isn't going to help. 

A familiar sound echoes from the east. A geek, the undead monsters that haunt what's left of the world, groans and sputters somewhere you can't see. Your skin crawls —sounds bound off of the tiled floor and walls, and in the dark you fail to pinpoint the exact origin. The smell of carrion is pervasive. You can't stay here. When the sun rises, you'll be plainly visible to foe rather than friend; raiders and geeks are waiting for morning to find you and whoever else survived. You have no choices, no weapons, nothing more than the clothes on your back. 

By now, the dormitory that you called your bedroom will have been seized, your meagre possessions gone. Each precious gift, every book and blanket. You'll never get to see it again. All those memories–

You bite your tongue again. The pain doesn't count for much. You're already in agony. Your lungs ache from screaming, from running harder than you've ever run, and you've been cut from head to toe by shards of glass. You're in the worst state you've ever been in minus one risky head injury, but you're far from hopeless. 

You've prepared for this. You know what you need to do. You'll do more than crawl across glass if it means you can reach the rendezvous point by morning. 

Taking quick, terrified breaths, you bounce to your feet and hold out an arm. It's a bad strategy. If you get bit, you can't fix it. You don't have a knife, and if you did you don't have the nerve to amputate yourself. But your choices are to lead via hand or face, and hand seems wiser. You step over slippery tile in your ill-fitting shoes until you find a wall, your panting echoed back at you. 

The sobbing has stopped. An eerie quiet takes its place. Something bad has happened. 

Something bad already happened. Something is over. 

You freeze when you hear chuckling. It's quiet but unquestionable. 

Who could laugh? After seeing the carnage of the cafeteria? The bodies lining the east gate? 

The pitch blackness wanes the closer you get to the door. A rogue tear races down your cheek as you squint against the flickering firelight. There's a herd of men standing at the pit of the quad, warming their hands with the spoils of the lives of the hundred who found shelter here. You hide your body behind the wall, the glass door of the gym you'd been secluded in stuck half open. They likely hadn't meant to, but the raiders tripped the electricity, and it hasn't come back on since. It likely won't come on ever again. 

You squeeze through the door, so afraid of being out in the open that it makes you physically retch. 

You rag your body through the door and wince at the deep gouges it feels like it leaves behind. Your knees don't want to bend, they're so shredded, but you've no choice but to sprint to the side of the gym, and then the fallen gates, and the treeline behind it. 

You step over the heavy metal gates that once protected you slowly. Each grind of fence into the asphalt below feels like a siren call. 

The only light is the orange flicker of the fire cast between the trees like grabbing fingers. You step in the shadows, flinching at every snapping branch under your feet, every dry leaf. You don't look back —you can't. You're terrified of what you'll see. 

Please, you think, over and over, a prayer if there's ever been one, please, please. You're so afraid of not getting what you're asking for that you can't finish the sentence. Your head is a loop of pleading, begging, offers to someone who isn't listening. 

I'll never complain. I will never wonder why. I won't cry, or ache, or so much as sigh. So please. 

It happened at dinner. The entire community, what felt like every member of The College gathered in one place for 'thanksgiving dinner'. There was thanks to be said, sure, but nothing that aligned with the original celebration. Thank you for a place to call home. Thank you for the meal. Thank you for a safe haven. Thank you for– 

But a shot rang outside. 

Heads bobbed. Adults and children alike shifted at the cafeteria tables to try and see which of the patrolling gate guards had needed to fire. 

It was like rain after that. Pop pop pop. 

You grip the present like a bouy and hold on tight. You can't think about what happened while you're still in it. The fear will paralyse you. 

Your shoe steps onto something soft. You look down though you don't want to, and it's too dark now to make it out. You bend at the waist and let out an involuntary whine at the pain that lances up your abdomen. 

It's a blanket. You don't think it's one of yours, though you had so many you can't be sure. It's green and rough and the best protection on offer. You wrap it around your shoulders and keep walking. 

You know where you are only because it has been drilled into you so thoroughly. 

I'll meet you at the bottom of the hill… Do you remember, we ate vegetable soup and dumplings cold? It was the best meal we'd had in months. 

"Oh, fuck," you say, losing the strength in your legs. You grasp at the rough trunk of a tree and gasp for air. You can't breathe, you can't think. "Fuck." 

Your sniffling whispers are lost in the wind. 

"I don't think I can do this," you mouth. 

I promise I'll meet you there. 

"I can't." 

But you have to. You can see it all laid out in front of you. Eating sour cherries on the floor, bare-legged and brimming with love, his hand on your straggly knee. His hand on your back, guiding you through doorways and under tree branches. His hand on your cheek, your shoulder, your thigh. 

His hand in yours, a hundred miles of highway behind you. Pulling you along. 

You walk for what feels like hours but can't be so long. Your shoes are doing more harm than good, blisters like pebbles on your heels and toes. You step out of them and carry them down the hill, grass sharp under the soles of your feet. The socks you wear are threadbare. 

You hadn't realised you'd have to do this, and that was a mistake. You could've been prepared for this; you should've been carrying a knife in your belt everywhere you went, and you never should've left yourself open to the elements. How many jackets do you have under your bed? 

The convenience store beckons like a beacon. The night is heavy but the moonlight strives to lead you, and you follow it to the white walls one exhausted step at a time. 

You circle the building. 

There's no one waiting for you. He isn't where he promised. 

You try to open the door but can't find the strength. Everything hurts more than anything has ever hurt before. Your hands are immobile now, your shoes falling to the concrete beneath with a dull thump. One springs away too far to reach. 

You sit down against the back of the convenience store, drained of everything you have. If he isn't here, he's dead. If he's dead, you might as well die. He was everything, and he's gone. 

You fall asleep sitting up against the wall, face smashed to your shoulder. Let whatever comes across you first finish you off while you sleep… 

There's a pressure around you. You wake in a struggle, still too tired to move, to flail, completely encompassed. Your first thought is that you've died, but the pressure tightens, and you feel all your hurt reawaken. 

"I know, baby," Steve murmurs. You must've made a sound. "I know. It's okay. I got you." 

You really have died if he's here. 

You grab limply at his back, trying to pull him away so you can see his face. It's a geek chewing through the juncture of your neck, and whoever's looking down on you feels sorry enough to let you see him before you go. It's a raider, tying you up and hanging you from a pike, the ropes constricting your blood flow. It's not Steve. 

"What fucking happened to you?" he asks, his voice shaking. "What happened? Did someone–" 

"Steve," a familiar voice says, "come on, man, she can't understand you." 

Steve pulls away from you and it's him, his face, his pale cheeks and almond brown eyes, one ringed in a purple wine stain, the white bisected by an ominous red. 

"What…" Your mouth won't cooperate. A cold hand grabs your face. It can't be Steve's, his hands are always so warm. Water is tipped into your mouth, the majority of which runs down your neck to your clavicle. 

"Do you have, um, do you have that bottle of malt still?" Steve asks. 

"She'll pass out–" 

"Maybe that's best," Steve says. 

"Not if she doesn't wake up again." 

"She's gonna turn septic, no doubt. I have to go back, I can get antibiotics." 

"You can't go back, are you stupid?" 

You groan, their words rushing in one ear and out the other, indecipherable from the whooshing that feels like it's originating behind your eyes. 

"Y/N," Steve says gently, "can you understand me, honey? Do you know what I'm saying to you? Can you nod?" 

You nod as best as you can. 

Steve puts a hand on your shoulder and squeezes gingerly. "I'm going to make everything better, I promise. I promise." 

You try to say sorry, you should be really fucking sorry, he has to save you all over again, but the only thing that wants to come out is shattered breath. 

Things are spotty after that. You have the sense of being moved flat on your back and dragged. It's not pretty, the distinct memory of a hand over your mouth, and then, when your bearings are coming back, you remember that you'd been screaming. 

You have your head in someone's lap. You don't fall asleep or wake up, it's like you're treading water and your head's been under. Now you're breaking the surface, and it's to the tender touch of a fingertip climbing up and down your nose bridge. 

Something crackles. It takes you right back to the bonfire in the quad, is it the bonfire? You try to lift your head and the person holding you startles. 

"No, stay still," Steve says gently. 

"Steve?" 

"Who else?" He says, still gentle but a hint of his usual derision peaking through. "Do you let other guys treat you this way?" 

"Steve," you mumble, tears pricking your waterline. 

He can't hug you from the way he's laid you out, but he leans over slightly as though he's shielding you from the grey above. You try to turn your neck and find the white hot pain a quick deterrent. 

"Look at you. Fuck, look at you," he says. 

You cry a little, unsure if you can speak. Tears sting an abrasion beside your eye. 

"Don't upset her, Steve," says a girl's voice. Your heart skips a beat as Robin Buckley comes into view, lip split and without a jacket but otherwise unscathed. "Hey, Y/N. Don't worry, you're not stuck solely with him." 

You laugh, but you're crying so you cough, and pain zips up and down your arms and legs. 

Robin kneels down beside you and hugs you lightly. Her hair, scraped back into a pony tail, tickles your cheek. 

"I love you, I'm so glad you're okay," she says. 

"Me too," you mumble. 

Robin pulls back and smiles at you. "You gotta eat something, killer." 

"I don't really think she can move, Robs," Steve says quietly. 

"She won't be able to if she doesn't eat." 

Steve sighs and helps you up painstakingly slowly, his hands under your armpits. He sits forward rather than pulling you back, supporting you like a Steve-shaped chair.

You realise for the first time since you woke up that you're inside, rather than outside. 

And there are lots of survivors. 

Jonathan and his mom are standing across the room. Jonathan has two little kids in his arms, and you're so shocked you actually try to ask about it. "Did he have babies while I was out?" you croak. 

Steve hums near your ear. "He saved nearly all of the kids all by himself… Most of their parents are dead. I think he feels responsible." 

"Most of them?" you ask. 

"Yeah." 

Lots of survivors doesn't mean all. It doesn't even mean the majority. The College had almost four hundred people living in it. This room houses what couldn't be more than a fifth of them, and there's at least a dozen children. You don't say it aloud, but you feel it thick in the air like an electric charge. 

This is not good. 

"Don't worry," Steve says, hands crossing over your stomach. "Please, honey, just– just think about yourself for now." 

"I can't believe it." 

He shushes you. 

"Steve, all those people…" 

"I know." 

You use him as impromptu furniture and Robin returns with a can of peaches and a fork. She loves you enough to feed you. It makes you want to cry again. 

You're relieved to be far away from what happened, but there's a feeling of unreality that won't cease. You keep looking at the corners of the room like the light will dim and the blood caked to your hands will reappear. Someone wiped them clean while you slept and bandaged them with care. 

You feel sick after the peaches. 

"Throw up if you gotta," Steve says mildly, his nose resting against the back of your head. 

You fall asleep again. 

When you wake up, it's night. You feel stronger than you had as soon as your eyes open, digging your elbows into the blanket tucked beneath you and hiking up to look around. Steve's asleep to your left, his hand screwed in the bedraggled fabric of your shirt, and Robin's asleep to your right, her hand touching your elbow. 

A woman you couldn't name from the back sits in front of the door. The muzzle of a long gun sticks out over her shoulder. 

The room isn't big enough for this many sleeping bodies, and so the group sleep toe to toe and hip to hip. The only people with blankets are the children and the badly injured. You have two. You have no idea how Steve managed it, one under you and one over your legs. 

Or, you don't think you know how he managed it until you slide the blanket down and realise you aren't wearing any pants. Underwear that aren't yours have been pulled up your thighs and cinched with an elastic band. 

Poor lovely Steve. He always does the gross stuff. 

You pull the blanket back up for the sake of decency and swallow. You swallow again. You're thirsty and in an insane amount of pain, the intensity increasing the longer that you think about it. You don't want to wake him, but you know it's what he'd want, and he's saved your life for the millionth time, so. He should get what he wants. 

You try to be sweet. You can barely breathe, your chest hurts that badly. 

"Stevie," you whisper, tugging his fingers from your shirt and squeezing them imploringly. "Stevie, please, are you awake?" 

It's Robin who rouses. 

"He–" She yawns and her jaw clicks. "He might not wake up, I made him take a quarter of an oxycontin." 

"Yeah? What for?" 

"He wrecked his knee, and he made it worse carrying you up the stairs here." Robin scratches her eyes with her hands. "Not that it's your fault, it's not your fault. Just what happened." 

"Oh." You pull Steve's hand to your lips and kiss it. Wincing, you turn onto your side to face Robin, pulling his slack arm over your tummy. He doesn't hug you closer in his sleep, and it feels wrong. "I know you look after him 'cos he's yours, too, but thanks." 

She smiles, her cheek appling against the hand she's using as a pillow. 

"Do you want a quarter of an oxycontin?" Robin asks. 

"No, you should save it." 

"I know you need it. It's not all superficial. Jonathan's mom gave you stitches, did you see?" 

"Everything sort of throbs right now." 

She pulls a half of a pill from her pocket and apologises that you have to bite it in half. She can't give you the full half because this is the full capacity of painkillers and she's lucky she has that. 

"It's okay," you say, accepting the water she offers. 

"I really don't know what we're gonna do, Y/N." 

"I don't even know what happened, I… don't even think I want to know. I remember the beginning." The gunfire and the shattering windows. The shouting. "I don't remember where you went." 

"We didn't know where you went." 

"Sorry. I don't know." 

"It honestly might be better if you don't remember any of it," Robin whispers wryly. "I wish I didn't." 

You grab her hand with your free one, pretzelled between her and Steve. "I'm sorry, Robs." 

"Me too. But we'll be okay. We're together."

"Do you want to talk about it?" 

Robin blows a curl of her hair from her face. She looks young, sun tanned and freckled as she is, and scared, which isn't her style. She acts like nothing ever gets to her. It's a privilege to be let in. 

"I was terrified that you were dead," Robin whispers. "And then I thought me and Steve were gonna die anyways, and he got into a fist fight with a geek and Dustin almost died." She stops abruptly. 

"Is that how he got the black eye? From a geek?" you ask. 

"No. There was a man," she says, "trying to pin me down. I don't know what he… Steve pulled him off of me." 

You rub the back of her hand with your thumb. "He hurt you?" you ask, eyes burning with heat. Angry and sad tears at the same time. 

"Nah, Steve saved me. He's good at that." 

"I'm so sorry."

"I'm sorry. You really don't get how bad you look, I shouldn't be telling you anything. You need," —her voice takes on a saccharine but not ingenuine pep— "to get better, and to worry about yourself. I'll be surprised if you ever walk again."

"Really?" The oxycontin must be working (if a quarter even works), 'cos you're not nearly as disenfranchised by this possibility as you should be. 

"No. But think about how much that would suck and this is almost the winning situation." 

"Sorry, Buckley, I swear I'd laugh…"  

"But everything sucks."

"Yeah." 

You have one hand full of Robin's cold fingers and another woven between Steve's warm ones. You have two whole blankets, you're mostly fed, and there's a lady guarding you with a gun bigger than your head. You can rest easy, if only for an hour. 

Robin falls asleep gradually, quiet snores growing louder by the by. 

You try to sleep, but every time you close your eyes you can see shapes like bodies standing over you, or hear a disembodied groan as it echoes in the shower room. You regretfully remove your hand from Robin's and turn back to Steve. There's a twinge in your thigh as you that reminds you about Joyce's stitches. You wonder how many there were. It feels like a lot when it pulls. 

You put you hand on Steve's cheek. Thinking you might cry and actually crying are surprisingly far apart. He deserves to have some tears shed for him, your poor boy, defending his friends, hurting himself, almost losing you, losing his home, and watching the community he loves die all in one night. He deserves so much more than he gets. 

"I love you," you say under your breath. 

The mantra. Please, please, please, let him be waiting for me. 

— 

Your hand is like a hummingbird in Steve's, twitching twitching twitching. He rubs the back of your hand and tries not to wake you. The pain you're in now while sleeping will feel a thousand times worse when you wake, and he has nothing to give you for it. 

He woke up to your fingers twined in his. You must've done it in the night. 

Robin's sleeping curled up next to you, his two favourite people in the whole world getting a well-needed break from the horror of it. Horror doesn't even feel like the right word, it doesn't encapsulate the grimness of your situation. There's no potable water, barely any food, and a lot of months to feed. Steve knows they need as many people out looking for resources as they can get so they can move on, and they need to do it fast, before someone comes looking to pick off the rest of them, but he just can't do it. He can't leave your side. 

He tries to think about how he got separated from you and every time it's like a kick to the chest. He looked to his left in the bloodshed and you just weren't there anymore. 

Things got messy in between. 

When he finally had the choice he tried to backtrack, and Chris and Robin had to forcibly drag him to shelter. 

He told you and Robin the same thing, meet me at the store, though thankfully Robin hadn't been out of sight for longer than a minute, and he'd been able to protect her. He wasn't the only one to pick a familiar place. A small crowd of people had been waiting inside the convenience store, a gun aimed at the door.

He'd wanted to go back for you. He would've if he could stand, his knee a twisting hot pain, an agony —he tried anyway. 

They stayed like that, kids hiding behind the shelves, the adults at the door like a barricade, waiting for a sign as to what to do. Waiting to be put down like animals by the monsters who invaded the community, geek and human alike. 

There was a thump by the door. Steve realises now that it must've been you, but they'd been convinced it was a geek, and so nobody stood. It had his nerves aflame, because what if you were huddled somewhere unable to move? What kind of boyfriend, what kind of partner, would leave you vulnerable? He'd rather put himself in moral peril trying to save you than leave you to that fate. So he stood on his fucked leg and he eased open the door, Christopher beside him because he's a good man, and together they stepped into the dusk. 

Steve did not have to look very far for you. You'd been laid out against the wall like you'd been thrown there. 

He collapsed to his knees as soon as he realised it was you, scared to touch you, your clothes more blood than fabric and your eyes scrunched closed in pain. 

"Holy shit," Christopher said.

Astute. Steve felt for your pulse, found it fast despite your state of unconsciousness. A wound on your leg was weeping furiously, and Steve ripped off the bottom of his shirt bare-handed to wrap it up. 

He hugged you even though it would do nothing. It was selfishly all for him. 

Steve had thought for a moment, Fuck, I cannot keep doing this. The level of adrenaline, the sharp spike of fear thinking he might have lost you. I can't keep doing this. 

But he can, and he will. 

They carried what food they could with them to the block of apartments they're currently taking shelter in, but Steve had carried you with help, and so he hadn't managed to grab anything at all. He relies solely on the charity of the community to feed you today, and he promises he'll make it up. 

"Y/N," Steve says, a can of soup in hand, not knowing if waking you is the right thing to do, but his hand on your shoulder anyways, "wake up, I have something for you." 

You mumble into the floor. 

He hums. He could heat the soup up. He'd need to go outside, which would be exhausting, and he'd have to start a fire, but they'll be starting one soon enough to boil water while the sky is still dark enough to hide the smoke. Maybe he can call in a favour. 

He limps over to Joyce. She's been great since the attack, considering what happened to Hopper. 

"Hey, honey," she says. "What are you upto?" 

"Can I be a total dunce and ask you for a favour?" 

Joyce takes his can of soup. He limps back to your side and looks you over for a while, peeling back your blanket to check that the big cut on your thigh and the tens on your knees aren't visibly infected. He's been given a tube of antiseptic and applied it to you generously, but he worries it won't be enough. Your legs are fucked, really fucked, cuts and bruises on every inch of skin. He has no idea how it happened and you haven't been lucid enough to ask.

He tucks the blanket back around your legs to ensure some privacy and moves onto your arms. He thinks you must've fallen onto debris, if the scratches near the base of your forearms are any indication. 

He puts your arm down gently and his eyes flick to your face. You're looking at him. 

"Oh, hi," he says, breathless with relief. 

"Hi Stevie." 

"Hi." He covers his eyes with his hands. 

"Steve…" You murmur, your fingers ghosting his elbow, stretched as far as you can reach from your position. "Baby, please."

He scrubs his eyes until they burn but successfully pushes away any waterworks. 

"You have to stop doing this to me," he says, practically begs, nodding with each word like it might drive the sentiment home. 

"I'm sorry." You sit up, clasping his elbow. "Really sorry." 

Steve exhales until he's completely empty of breath. "God, I know. It's not your fault." 

"Hey, Steve, stop using my mom like a catering service," Jonathan says suddenly, interrupting your moody conversation.

He's holding a camping bowl with a rag underneath it, pretending to be more pissed than he is. He smiles down at you. "Hey, how are you?" 

"I'm fine." 

"Well, eat up. Get better. I need friends that aren't fourteen years old or Steve," he jokes, lowering the soup into your lap. "I'm glad you're okay." 

"Thanks, Jonathan." 

He smiles and leaves, accosted by little kids as he goes.

Steve puts his hand under the soup despite the rag, worried you'll burn yourself. You protest, and Steve's actually happy to hear it. It means you're feeling more like yourself. 

"Are you sharing with me?" you ask. 

"If that's what you want." 

"Yes, that's what I want."

Steve lets you have the soup dumplings, hot and sweet, the best part. He doesn't bother eating even one. You take turns drinking from the corner of the camping tin, thigh to thigh, Steve guiding it to your lips whenever you look ready for another sip. 

It's actually him that cries, to his surprise. He thought for sure he'd hold it together, but he's just so grateful that you're here and in one admittedly battered piece, eating soup and warm against him, they start of their own accord. You rest your head wonkily on his shoulder, seemingly unaware. He tries not to sniffle.

"I love you," you whisper, dropping your hand on his thigh. 

He puts his cheek on your head. His tears seep into your hair. "I love you too." 

"Are you crying?" you ask, sounding heartbroken as you turn to him. Your eyes widen in shock. "What's wrong? Is it your knee?" 

It's not his knee. It couldn't be further from it. 

"We lost everything," he says, everything coming out in a rushing whisper, "I don't know what to do. I don't know how to take care of you anymore. You almost died, again."

"I didn't almost die, I was tired," you say gently. "I wouldn't have died." 

"That doesn't mean I can still do this." 

"Steve, I'm not asking you to do anything. I know I was hard work–" 

"No–" 

"But this time it's different. I'm not saying you don't look after me, I'm not even saying you won't have to again, but I don't need a bodyguard this time around. And we aren't alone. You're not alone. I need you to be my– to be mine. That's it." You put your hand on his cheek. It's heavy, rough, but you try to be kind and he knows it. You're uncoordinated, stroking under his eye. "I'm sorry, Steve, I am, I'm so sorry, please don't–" 

His turn to interrupt a ridiculous notion. "Please don't what?" he asks, not unkindly. You take your hand back. Your face crumples, your head dipped toward your shoulder. "Don't what? You think I'm going somewhere, really?" 

"Please don't blame yourself for everything," you say. 

It's not even that. He isn't blaming himself. He isn't blaming you. He's just mind-numbingly terrified to be back on the road.

"We're together," you say, nearly shy. "Isn't that okay for now?" 

"...That's the only thing that's okay," he says. 

He scrubs his face with his hand, scratching through his limp hair. He rolls his shoulders, and, after a deep breath, he takes your hand and pulls himself together. 

Steve doesn't know what to say, and he suspects you're facing a similar dilemma. 

"Don't get it twisted," he says eventually, his voice rough with earnestness, "you're the only thing that matters to me. But…" What do you say? After all those people have died? When your sweetheart can't stand, she's so cut up? All to get back to you and nothing good promised? "I wanted more than this for us." 

We had more than this.  

"This is the world now," you say, tired. 

"Remember that phrase? 'I'll give you the world'? I'd say that to you, but I don't think you want it," he says, trying to lighten the impossibly heavy mood. 

You laugh under your breath. "I do, though. I want it with you, handsome, so just… don't give up yet. Okay?" 

"I'm not giving up." 

"Thank you." 

Steve wraps an arm around your shoulders. "Don't say thanks, you don't even have to ask me for that." 

He rests his face against yours, mouth to your temple, his eyes slipping closed. He doesn't have it in him to unpack everything that's happened. Maybe he never will. 

But he has his girl. 

—-

ty for reading! requests for this au are open so let me know what you wanna see if you’d like to<3

[imfoive]

The Youngest Son - Chapter 5

Minho x Reader (fem.) Genre: non-idol au!, Suspense, Angst, Romance, Mature Warnings: tw-descriptions of overdose, mentions of drugs, cursing, death, physical assault, somewhat proofread WC: 4.6k A/N: A longer part! Feedback is always welcome, enjoy! ── MASTERLIST

Synopsis: The youngest son of the Lee family was stubborn, he was arrogant, he was conniving. Hiding it all behind the mask of a calm and collected man, the youngest son was a master at mind games. Playing a dangerous game where trust is a luxury and betrayal lurks around every corner. He had sworn once, to not let family ties or any feelings hold him back. Yet, against all odds, she had him completely wrapped around her fingers, and he had no desire to break free.

Missed a chapter? - Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4

CHAPTER 5 ────────────────────

Lee Jihoon, the fourth son of the Lee family, had always done his best to dodge his responsibilities. But as time went on, the weight of those responsibilities caught up with him, leaving him cornered and unable to live as he pleased. 

At thirty years old, he found himself bowing to his younger brother, Minho. 

Jihoon had once been a bully, taunting Minho, pushing him around, and following the example set by his older siblings. Yet, despite the years that had passed, he still struggled to understand why they had treated Minho so poorly. Minho might have been a consequence of their father’s mistakes, but Jihoon wondered why he, along with his older siblings, had been so unkind. But having spent years away from his family, Jihoon’s perspectives had diverged. He’d avoided their narrow-minded views and had come to see Minho in a different light. Now, he genuinely believed that Minho deserved the respect he had earned.

But despite it all, even though Jihoon had been working under Minho for a year, they weren’t particularly close. The constant comparisons between them only served to emphasize Jihoon’s shortcomings in the eyes of others. Whispers about the brothers echoed through the office.

   “He’s older, but his younger brother is an executive?”

   “V.P. Lee is always cleaning up after his brothers.”

Despite the gossip, Jihoon had grown accustomed to it. The scrutiny was nothing new. But, there was one thing the two brothers had in common.

Lee Jihoon hated L Corp.

Then there was the eldest of the three brothers, Joohyeon. 

Once favored by their father, Joohyeon had fallen from grace after a series of failures. His latest misstep was so severe that it prompted a swift and harsh decision, his position as Vice President was bestowed to Lee Minho and he was suddenly sent off to Japan.

Joohyeon had always been the pride of his parents, overshadowed only by his older cousin Jungshin, who had shown exceptional promise from a young age. Being the second child in the Lee household meant Joohyeon was constantly compared to his cousin. But Jihoon’s carefree nature and disinterest in academics inadvertently made Joohyeon stand out in a positive light. He was always thankful for the kid’s naivety. Jihoon would cause trouble, and Joohyeon would try to diminish the anger in his parents. Like a good son. 

And he was a good son for a while.

When Lee Minho was brought into the household, Joohyeon was old enough to understand the implications of being illegitimate. He absorbed his mother’s prejudices and mirrored her behavior, smiling at Minho in public while harboring resentment behind closed doors.

Lee Joohyeon had long prided himself on being the dutiful son, always striving to please his parents even though he consistently came second to Lee Jungshin. 

However, Joohyeon failed to recognize Minho and his capabilities. 

Over time, Minho’s ascent was swift but discreet, the older brother failed to notice that the youngest of the brothers came for his place. And quickly took over.

When Chairman Lee first compared Minho to Joohyeon, he was bewildered but brushed it off. Then came a second time, and a third and then persisted. 

Lee Minho was smarter than him, Lee Minho was better than him.

Lee Minho was a scapegoat for his dimwit older brother. 

He was the dimwit older brother.

Then came the incident last year that made him fall. Fall hard.

Those damn messages.

Initially, they were merely taunting and annoying, which Joohyeon brushed off without much concern. However, the messages soon escalated in intensity and became very specific. They began to delve into Joohyeon’s past misdeeds, his personal failures, his inadequacies. Whoever was sending these messages seemed to have intimate knowledge of his life, causing Joohyeon to become increasingly cautious and jittery.

The thirty-two year old found himself under constant stress, plagued by nightmares and a sense of unease. He was always on edge, as the messages continued to haunt him, revealing secrets he had hoped to keep buried.

Joohyeon’s cousins would mock him, joking that he couldn’t handle the workload and accusing him of trying too hard. Their taunts cut deep, echoing the criticisms he received from the mysterious sender of the threatening texts. He would scrutinize their smug expressions, wondering if one of them could be the messenger behind the unsettling messages. And when Joohyeon attempted to trace the origins of the threatening messages, he encountered a frustrating pattern. The messages always originated from different locations, as if the sender anticipated his every move.

So he turned to his youngest brother.

Lee Minho was the one who always managed to get these kinds of tasks done. They only thought about the youngest son when they needed something. 

Of course, Minho happily obliged.

When the youngest began his investigation, the frequency of the threatening messages noticeably dwindled over the course of a few weeks. It seemed as though the sender had grown cautious. Of course, since Minho was on his hunt. Joohyeon let his guard down. 

A dimwit indeed.

During one of Grandfather Lee’s elaborate family dinners, which he insisted on hosting every time he returned from a trip, Minho seized an opportunity to pull Joohyeon aside.

   “The messages are coming from L Corp. Headquarters.” Minho disclosed quietly.

Joohyeon blinked in surprise, caught off guard by the revelation. Before he could inquire further, dinner resumed, drawing their attention back to the bustling dining room.

Everyone seemed to be there, everyone except Jungshin.

But only a few minutes later, the eldest grandson walked through the dining room entrance, smiling.

   “Apologies Grandfather, I had to send an important message.”

   “At least you’re here.” The old man nodded approvingly, his gaze shifting to Jihoon, who was reluctantly present with his eyes fixed on his cellphone.

Jihoon’s mother nudges her younger son, who rolls his eyes and sets his phone down.

Everyone engages in their own little conversation.

Joohyeon’s phone dinged.

As his eyes scanned the bright screen, his world seemed to freeze. A chill ran down his spine as he read the message

Why did you do it?

And this time, the sender wasn’t anonymous. It wasn’t an unknown number that went dead when he tried to call back. No, this time there was a name attached to the sender. Joohyeon’s stomach churned, a feeling of nausea rising within him.

The boisterous laughter from Jungshin snapped him back to reality. Joohyeon blinked, feeling dazed as he glanced around at each family member seated in the room before his gaze froze back onto his screen.

   “Have you heard about Y/N Park and rumors of her American boyfriend?” Jungshin stated loudly, his gaze was fixed pointedly on Minho, clearly aiming to elicit a reaction.

Minho remained composed, recognizing Jungshin’s attempt to provoke him. With a calm demeanor, he shifted the conversation away easily, like he had always done.

   “I see my brother is more interested in gossip than business. Have you begun preparing for the conference this weekend?” Minho replied evenly, a polite smile spreading across his face as he lifted his gaze from his food.

The smirk on Jungshin’s face quickly vanished, replaced by a hint of anger as he leaned forward, ready to retort. However, his mother intervened, gripping his hand firmly to silence him.

   “There’s no reason for us to talk about the Parks or Y/N, is there? She’s no longer engaged into this family, nor is she on good terms with Minho. Isn’t that right, Minho?” Jungshin’s mom interjected firmly.

Grandfather Lee cleared his throat, prompting his older daughter-in-law to sit back and compose herself.

   “The business deal we had with the Parks was only hindered briefly. Any sane businessman won’t just shelve a forty billion dollar project.” Mooyoung stated matter-of-factly, continuing to eat his food.

Jungshin laughs, leaning in “Since the contents of the project are all out in the open now. My fam—Our family, should find another way to make personal ties with the Parks again.”

He quickly corrects his sentence for insinuating that there were two families within the Lee family. Although it was a true statement. There were two families. The older son and the younger sons of Chairman Lee. It was supposed to be kept unsaid.

Grandfather Lee continued eating, showing disinterest in the business discussions his grandsons were initiating.

   “And what exactly are you thinking?” Minho’s mother asked, one brow raising curiously.

   “Like it was planned from the beginning. But this time, we’ll choose someone who can correctly do his part.” 

Jookshin finally perks into their conversation.

   “Who here is a good option? Jihoon who would rather jump off a cliff, Minho who ruined his relations with Y/N, or Joohyeon, who looks like he’s not even in this world?” She directed her glance towards Joohyeon, seated at the end of the table, still engrossed in his phone.

   “Me.” Jungshin’s laughter filled the room.

For the first time that night, Minho’s usually composed demeanor darkened with a hint of displeasure.

   “Brother, don’t you think you’re a little too old?” Jihoon finally chimed in, showing interest in their ongoing conversation.

   “Why? I’m not divorced, I’m the eldest son, and I actually have a good reputation.” Jungshin retorted confidently

   “Does Y/N mind an eleven year age difference?” Someone asks, and all eyes are on Minho.

The youngest in the room glances at every single face, then looks at Joohyeon, who had long disassociated, and his grandfather who continued eating as if he was all by himself.

Minho clears his throat, placing his fork and knife down.

   “Miss Park doesn’t have a preference when it comes to age. As long as you give her the attention she craves. But…she particularly fancies handsome men.” He glances.

There is silence in the room after Minho stops speaking. Jihoon snorts, stifling back a laugh.

   “I guess even our eldest brother doesn’t make the cut then huh?” He cackles, his father glares at him and he quickly covers his mouth, chuckling silently.

It was true, Jungshin had lots of attributes, but when it came to looks, he fell behind all his brothers. 

   “Plastic surgery can’t be passed through genetics son.” Jihoon’s mother comments, an indirect jab at her sister-in-law, a former beauty pageant contestant. 

   “Father, what do you think?” Mooyoung asks his father.

Chairman Lee gets the final attention from his family.

“Mooyoung, Doyoung. I think I called you all here for family dinner. Not the discussion of business marriage.” He simply states, not looking up from his almost complete dinner. 

Both his sons straighten in their seats, sharing uneasy glances.

   “I’m going to go rest.” He states, placing down his utensils.

The sound of the chair being pushed against the floor, brings Joohyeon back to a dinner he completely zoned out of. Seeing his grandfather exit, he quickly stands as well.

“Sorry, I have something important to tend to.” He glances at Minho, signaling him to follow.

And like that three people are gone from the dinner table.

   “Why does he look so spooked?” Jookshin comments, getting back to her food.

Jungshin’s phone buzzes and he excuses himself as well.

Entering the living room, Minho found his brother staring wide-eyed at his phone, on the brink of a panic attack. The older brother’s shock was evident, his hands trembling as he finally handed over the device to Minho. The screen was filled with threatening texts and screenshots.

   “Brother, just exactly what—”

Before Minho could finish, the sound of Jungshin’s snickers echoed from the hallway. The eldest brother, stepped into the room, his eyes still fixed on his phone. Seeing Jungshin’s amused expression, laughing with his phone in his hand, Joohyeon makes his own connections and completely loses it.

   “It’s you isn’t it?” Joohyeon growled, his voice a mix of anger and disbelief. Without waiting for a response, he lunged at his older cousin, tackling him to the ground.

The loud bangs from the living room echoed into the dining hall, drawing everyone’s attention. For a moment, they exchanged puzzled looks before rushing to the scene. In the living room, Minho and the servants struggled to keep the older Lee brothers from attacking each other.

   “What the hell is going on?!” Lee Mooyoung shouted, his voice filled with frustration. 

The fighting brothers froze, their eyes shifting to Jungshin’s father and the rest of the family gathered at the entrance.

   “Father, this idiot has gone crazy. He attacked me like a rabid dog.” Joohyeon spat, bloodied and enraged, glared back at Joohyeon as he struggled to his feet, wiping the blood from his nose.

The rabid dog in question fell silent, staring at the dark carpet he was on, slowly he sat up and pushed back his hair. His face was decorated nicely with signs of his fight.

Minho also stood back, hands behind him as well.

Their father studied them both, his anger palpable.

   “You two, follow me to my study. Now!” He commanded, his voice brooking no argument.

Jungshin, still fuming, interjected. “What about what he did to me, Uncle?”

   “I’ll deal with it.” Doyoung muttered, cutting off any further protest from the eldest.

Before Jungshin could push the matter, his own father silenced him with a stern look.

Upon entering their father’s study, the sharp crack of a slap echoed through the room, striking the already frantic and wounded Joohyeon. Minho froze by the closed study door, standing rigidly as he had been back in the living room.

   “Have you gone mad?!” Their father bellowed, his voice filled with fury.

He glared at Joohyeon, who was holding his cheek with both hands, his face a mask of pain and humiliation. Doyoung’s anger shifted as he approached Minho, grabbing his jaw to inspect a red gash on his face, evidence of his involvement in the altercation.

   “And you’ve managed to get your younger brother involved in it as well.” Doyoung continued, his eyes scrutinizing Minho’s injury.

Joohyeon’s face hardened with resentment. Despite his own injuries being more severe, their father’s concern was clearly focused on Minho’s minor scratch. No matter how much Joohyeon needed Minho’s assistance, he could never bring himself to like him.

   “Why did he do that? Is he drunk?” Their father demanded, his tone sharp and accusatory. 

The question wasn’t directed at the hysterical Joohyeon, but rather at Minho. The youngest son glanced between the men, hesitant to speak, waiting for his brother to give him a sign.

   “Don’t look at him!” Doyoung snapped.

Minho looks down, nodding.

   “Brother has been receiving some malicious messages lately.” Minho began. “He wanted me to find out who was behind them.” 

He glanced at Joohyeon, who was still looking at the floor, his hand pressed to his cheek. 

   “I haven’t identified the culprit yet, but the messages seem to originate from our company. Joohyeon might have suspected Brother Jungshin was behind it, which is why—”

   “You fool!” Their father cut him off, his voice dripping with frustration, head snapped to glare at Joohyeon. 

   “How can you just point out a culprit without concrete evidence? Don’t you have even that much common sense?” The father’s anger was undiminished. 

   “You could have waited for Minho to find the evidence before taking such reckless action, especially in front of the family. You’re lucky your grandfather wasn’t here.”

Lee Doyoung pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to think through how to address his children’s missteps. But still, his gaze softened as he considered Joohyeon’s distressed state.

   “What were the contents of the messages?” He asked, directing his question at Joohyeon, who remained silent. Seeing which, only fueled Doyoung’s anger further. 

   “You, tell me what those damn messages were about!” He demanded, turning to Minho, whose confused expression indicated he had little information.

   “I… don’t know the exact contents but they are threatening and taunting. As if they knew a dark secret.” Minho glanced at Joohyeon, who was now clenching his fists tightly, his body trembling with a mix of frustration and fear.

Doyoung’s gaze softened with concern as he looked at his guilty son. Sensing something was amiss.

   “Minho, you can go now. Take care of your face. You need to be presentable for the conference this weekend.” He instructed, his eyes never leaving Joohyeon, who looked on the verge of breaking down.

As Minho exited, the study door clicked shut behind him. Silence lingered for a brief moment before Doyoung’s voice cut through the quiet.

   “Show me the messages.”

Joohyeon’s hands shook as he retrieved his cell phone from his jacket pocket. Doyoung took it, his eyes widening in shock as he scrolled through the threatening messages and screenshots. His expression shifted to one of profound concern and worry.

   “J-Joohyeon, just what have you done?”

Joohyeon’s face contorted as he cried, suddenly grasping his father’s wrists. He broke down, his composure shattering as his face scrunched up in a mix of desperation and fear. The phone slipped from Doyoung’s hand and fell to the floor with a loud thud, its screen darkening as it lay there, forgotten.

   “Father. I…I killed Jae.” He cried.

Minho walked out of the Main Residence, his hands casually tucked into his pockets, he glanced at his watch, noting the time as he descended the stairs toward his car, parked nearby. A faint smirk played on his lips, a sense of satisfaction evident in his demeanor.

   “The next message should’ve been sent by now.” He muttered to himself, his smirk widening.

Just then, Joohyeon’s phone, forgotten on the ground of his father’s study, dinged with the arrival of a new message.

It was from “Jae”.

Brother, why did you kill me?

   “You bastard, just what did you do!?” Doyoung was upset, the backhanded slap had Joohyeon tumbling backwards onto his father’s desk, his already beat-up face bruising even more.

   “I didn’t mean to father!” He gets on his knees, grabbing his father’s legs.

   “Please father save me. I made a mistake. I just wanted to find out about the secret deal like you wanted. I was doing as you tasked me to. I didn’t mean to kill him.” He cries hysterically.

His father grabs him by the collar, pulling his back up.

   “Minho was able to find out about that damn deal. And he didn’t have to kill anyone.” He mutters, pushing his son back. 

The old man runs his hand through his hair, trying to figure out what could be done. He was pissed and extremely upset but he didn’t want his son to be punished.  

   “I’ll have Minho deal with the messenger. You have to lie low for a while, go abroad. I’ll give the V.P. position to Minho.” His father states, mind still wracking.

Hearing about his position being taken away from him, the older son’s head shoots up.

   “No father, you can’t. Not to Minho.”

His father glares at him, pushing him back onto the desk.

   “You have no say anymore. Keep quiet and listen to me if you don’t want to end up paying for your crimes.

Minho replayed the video again. And again it showed Joohyeon and Jae, the night the younger man died. It took him a year, but the youngest Lee was able to retrieve the footage from the compromised Yacht CCTV.

It’s the same video evidence of an already high Jae lounging over his lines of cocaine. Joohyeon shoots him up with more drugs, once. Twice. Three times.

The footage clearly shows the shock that Jae’s body goes through, figure spazzing, Joohyeon freaking out.

Foaming at the mouth, Jae falls still. 

And the older cousin is frozen. He gets close, nudging him, shaking him. The older man checks for a pulse, immediately falling back in shock after realizing that his younger cousin was dead. He moves his body back and glances around, then looks up, spotting the CCTV in the corner. He approaches it. And the screen goes jittery.

Minho rewinds. Screenshotting again.

The incident had stripped the older brother of his title.

Joohyeon was sent abroad. And coincidentally Minho had “dealt” with the messenger, getting rid of the evidence. The youngest son was promoted, and Lee Jihoon has suddenly become a member of his team. 

What a combination those two made.

The stoic younger brother who smiled politely when appropriate and the messy older brother who goofed around whenever he could.

Although, everyone still wondered exactly what made Jihoon come back to assist in L Corp. when he hated it so much.

Summers faded into winters, and time marched on relentlessly for Lee Minho. Despite the passage of seasons, he remained steadfast in his pursuit of success.

Promotions came, and he took on ambitious projects, solidifying his reputation as the “youngest prodigy” at the company. His cousins were jealous, uncle and aunt hating him a little more every passing day. His mother still despised him, his brothers barely spoke to him. His grandfather continued to dote on him. But Minho always returned to an empty and dark apartment. 

He lacked friends and acquaintances, choosing instead to immerse himself fully in his work. 

If Lee Minho claimed he didn’t miss Y/N’s presence by his side, he would be lying. Sometimes, as he entered the familiar apartment complex, he harbored a fleeting hope that around the next corner, he would find her leaning against his door, just as she always used to, patiently waiting for him.

But she wasn’t.

She was in New York. And had been for the past two years. 

And despite Lee Minho’s desire to stay under the radar and avoid unnecessary attention, his continuous excellence in his career made it impossible to escape the spotlight. As he climbed higher in his professional life, the inevitable admiration and attention from others became overwhelming. And suddenly he found himself at an age where the topic of marriage seemed to buzz around him in whispers.

Young ladies sought his attention eagerly, drawn by his success and status. They would throw themselves at him, hoping to capture his interest and secure a future with a man of his caliber. However, Minho’s lack of reciprocation and genuine disinterest proved to be a significant barrier. It was a repeating cycle, women intrigued by his achievements would initially pursue him ardently, only to grow tired of his reserved demeanor and lack of enthusiasm.

That’s how that morning ended.

The granddaughter of one of Chairman Lee’s fishing buddies had left their breakfast abruptly, clearly disheartened. She hadn’t even waited for their drinks to cool. Lee Minho stared down at his steaming coffee, thoughts swirling in his mind.

In moments like these, he couldn’t help but reflect on his younger self from Australia.

That Minho possessed a drive for revenge and destruction. A boldness and sincerity that seemed to have faded over the years.

That Minho would’ve listened to his grandfather’s guidance. He would have pursued this girl earnestly, made her fall for him and perhaps even propose marriage. He would’ve gotten a closer step to his goals. 

But the Minho of today was different. 

He was accustomed to wearing masks, and likely would have kept that mask on even if he married this girl, and suddenly the thought of it made him frown.

The one person Lee Minho didn’t need to put on a facade for was across the world.

He laughed at himself, reaching for his drink.

The next time Minho heard about Y/N was when he had gone to New York for an overseas meeting, a year and some months after his promotion. Jihoon was with him and they were staying at one of The Rose Hotels, at the lobby Jihoon had looked around and asked Minho.

   “Did you know Y/N is staying in the penthouse of this location?” 

Minho signs at the reception for check-in, looking at Jihoon at the mention of her name.

   “She’s always promoting this location through her socials.” He leans back onto the top of the reception desk, waiting for his room key.

   “Do you want to grab dinner with her? I can call her.” The older brother brings out his phone, and Minho thanks the receptionist behind the counter, taking their key-cards.

   “I don’t want to. Have fun.” He responded blankly, sticking Jihoon’s room card into the chest pocket of his jacket, before walking away.

Jihoon sighed, shaking his head at his boring brother.

   “The rumors were true then. They definitely aren’t friends anymore huh?” The older brother speaks to himself. 

And Minho doesn’t hear about her from others again. 

Six more months, and Y/N was officially gone for two and a half years. Though news of her return in a week was going around. It doesn’t take long for the whispers to reach the workaholic executive’s ears. Though he doesn’t show any reaction to the news, any signs of interest in her or her return, his heart beating rapidly says otherwise. 

Minho couldn’t wait to see her.

Two days before Y/N Park’s return was Minho’s birthday. Despite the obligatory wishes from his team and messages flooding in, the day felt mundane and unremarkable to him. Birthdays had lost their sparkle long ago, becoming instead a reminder of his father's infidelity and the ensuing family discord.

Around his birthday, his mother’s disapproving remarks seemed sharper, his aunt and cousins’ disdain more palpable. It was a time when Minho felt the weight of his family’s judgment more acutely.

It was around his birthday that he wanted to ruin even more than he did the day before.

But Minho had not always spent his birthdays alone. From the age of sixteen to twenty-five, Y/N had been a constant presence by his side. Whether she was dragging him reluctantly to events or surprising him with unexpected visits, she had always managed to bring a touch of brightness to his otherwise somber birthday celebrations. Her absence now only amplified the emptiness he felt on this day.

Ha.

He chuckled wryly to himself as he parked his car in the apartment complex lot.

Minho walked into his apartment, exchanging his shoes for house slippers. His eyes froze on the pair of black heels neatly placed next to his own shoes on the shelf. The distant strains of The Birthday Song played on a piano instrumental, drifted to him from the living room. 

Cautiously, he took a few steps down the corridor, his mind racing.

He froze at the entrance, jacket in hand, his eyes locking onto the figure twirling gracefully in his living room.

There she was, Y/N.

She wore nothing but a men’s dress shirt, an image both familiar and unexpected.

   “~Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday my Minho. Happy Birthday to you!~” Y/N sang, her voice filling the room with a mix of familiarity and surprise.

She paused her twirling and approached Minho, her arms snaking around his neck to pull him closer, a wide smile on her lips as she enjoyed his surprise.

   “What-when did you arrive?” Minho managed to ask, his voice a mix of surprise and delight, his lips curling into a surprised smile as he processed her sudden presence in his living room.

He glanced around the room, taking in the loosely decorated birthday decor. The balloons by the window, fairy lights twinkling, and a birthday cake with a candle waiting to be lit and blown out.

Clearly taken aback, Minho’s surprise prompted Y/N to giggle, eyes sparkling with amusement. A finger rested on his chin before she playfully flicked, eliciting a low chuckle from him. A genuine, cheesy grin that he couldn’t control taking over his stunned expression.

   “Did you miss me, Lee Minho?”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ to be continued.

── ask to be tagged! - @minh0scat, @qwonyoung23

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hollow // chrollo lucilfer

tw ⇢ graphic descriptions of physical violence, torture and mutilation, psychological abuse/mind-break, implied sexual content, obsessive/delusional behavior, reader is catatonic, depictions of bodily deterioration/decay

wc ⇢ 4.9k

The rhythmic dripping of water echoed hollowly down the dimly lit hallway, each drop hitting the stained floor with a soft plop. Chrollo's footsteps were cautious, familiar with every creak of the warped wooden boards beneath his feet. His gaze traced the peeling jungle green wallpaper, faded and curling away from the walls in long strips. Small holes pitted the popcorn ceiling above, remnants of who knew what past damage.

It was an all too familiar sight - this decaying hallway that he had walked thousands of times before. The musty, dank odor of rot and mold hung thick in the air, assaulting his senses in a way he had long since grown accustomed to. Chrollo could have mapped every discolored water stain, every flake of crumbling plaster from memory alone. His eyes lingered on the dark, rust-colored splatters streaking the wallpaper - unmistakable bloodstains that raised no alarm.

His hand trailed along the flaking paint as he approached the last door on the left, the bedroom. The door stuck briefly when he tried the tarnished knob, requiring Chrollo to lean his weight into it before it gave way with a groan of protesting hinges. As it slowly swung inward, his lips curled into a small, practiced smile.

"Good evening, my darling."

Chrollo's smooth voice seemed to caress the stagnant air as he stepped over the threshold. In the shadows of the dimly lit room, your silhouette was motionless, a solitary figure framed by the broken panes of the drafty window. You didn't so much as twitch at the sound of his voice, your distant gaze fixed through the grime-streaked glass.

Closing the door behind him with a soft click, Chrollo followed your line of sight beyond the confines of the cracked, spider-webbed window panes. The same stark view opened up before him - a dead tree, its twisted, gnarled branches reached up in blackened claws towards the perpetually overcast sky. The rusting black metal fence lined the property, separating the derelict house from the decaying remains of its abandoned neighbor.

Your eyes seemed almost unseeing, pupils trained on some invisible point far beyond the gloomy view. As if you could pierce past the decrepit scenery to something only you could perceive. The distant, glazed look was one Chrollo recognized.

With a soft huff of amusement, he stepped up behind you, his hands sliding along your upper arms before gently grasping your biceps. His fingers caressed your cool skin as he pulled you back, away from the broken window and the dead world beyond its panes.

With a tender grip, Chrollo eased you backwards, guiding your motionless form away from the shattered window. You offered no resistance, your limbs pliant, feet dragging slightly as he maneuvered you across the stripped bare floor.

The weathered bedframe groaned when he nudged you down to sit on the sagging mattress. Dust motes swirled lazily in the pale slivers of light slicing through the gaps in the curtains. Chrollo knelt before you, his movements slow and practiced as his eyes raked over your features.

Your face was a porcelain mask, devoid of any emotion or flicker of awareness. Eyes dull and unfocused, the usual warm depth you once regarded him with had long since turned glassy and distant. It was as if you had retreated so deeply inwards, tucking that spark of life away where he could no longer reach you.

A melancholic fondness played across Chrollo's expression. With deft fingers, he reached up to tuck a stray lock of lank hair behind your ear. The strands felt coarse, dirty - a reflection of your deteriorating state that he chose to ignore. His palm cupped your cheek, calloused thumb brushing the hollow beneath your eye.

You didn't lean into his touch or blink at the contact. No minute reactions registered on your vacant features. But still, Chrollo leaned in close, lips brushing feather-light against the throb of your pulse point. He lingered there, feeling the faint flutter of your heartbeat against his mouth before peppering a trail of whisper-soft kisses along the elegant column of your throat.

Each press of his lips was unbearably tender, an intimacy he reserved only for you. But you remained unmoving, unseeing, disassociated from the present as a thousand-yard stare bored through him. With a resigned sigh, Chrollo rested his forehead against your bony shoulder, curling himself around your petrified form like a wilted plant seeking warmth from the sun.

Chrollo's lips brushed reverently over the pale skin of your knuckles, tracing the delicate bones of your motionless hand. Each gossamer kiss was featherlight, almost worshipful in its tenderness. He found himself sinking into the memories evoked by your touch, letting the present recede.

His mind drifted back years, to the first time he had laid eyes on you. That crisp autumn day when you had quite literally fallen into his world...

The towering shelves of ancient tomes seemed to stretch endlessly in every direction of the library's echoing halls. A reverent hush blanketed the cavernous space as Chrollo trailed his fingers along the gilded spines, searching...

There. His hand stilled on the tooled leather binding, the familiar title raising a faint smile. As he slid the thick volume free, a voice suddenly piped up from his elbow.

"Ah, one of the great paradoxes. Interesting choice."

Chrollo went still, sidelong gaze catching on the petite figure who had materialized beside him without a sound. You didn't so much as glance up from examining the book's cover with an appraising look.

"Though I always found his theories on the duality of truth to be rather paradoxical in themselves." You tsked softly, plucking the book from his grip to flip it open. "Take this passage for instance..."

Slender fingers skimmed down the aged pages to tap at a paragraph of dense text. Looking up at him through the fan of your lashes, your lips quirked in a half-smile. "He spends multiple chapters expounding on the inherent contradiction of subjective experience muddling objective reality. But then doesn't he fall into that same trap himself by attempting to define an absolute truth?"

Chrollo found himself caught in the spark of wry intelligence glinting in your stare. You presented the mild critique with such matter-of-fact certainty, unburdened by pretense. It was...refreshing. And more than a little intriguing.

"An insightful observation." His voice was neutral, but something about your easy confidence piqued his interest. "You're well-versed on the subject matter."

"Oh, I've practically lived in the philosophy section since I was a kid." You waved your free hand in a careless gesture, as if dismissing the notion of erudition as commonplace. "My coping mechanism for insufferable questions has always been to counter with even more insufferable questions."

There was a teasing lilt to your smile then, homr truths offered with a self-effacing humor. Chrollo couldn't resist the curve tugging at his own mouth in response. You hadn't cowered from his scrutiny or blustered with feigned modesty. Instead, you simply met his gaze with composure and clever irreverence.

Yes...you were shaping up to be a captivating anomaly in Chrollo's experience. One he found himself abruptly keen to unravel.

Extending his hand in an unhurried motion, he re-claimed the book from your grasp - though made no move to extricate himself from your proximity.

"I'm Chrollo Lucilfer."

The memory dissolved like smoke on the wind, and Chrollo found himself abruptly drawn back to the present. His mouth was still brushing over the bony ridge of your knuckles, lips whispering across your motionless hand.

He pulled back slightly, dark eyes roving over your vacant features. The life and clever spark that had so captivated him that very first day was utterly extinguished. Your gaze remained glassy and distant, as if staring inward at some unreachable abyss that had swallowed your brilliant essence.

For a long moment, Chrollo simply studied your hollowed visage, taking in the sallow tinge to your skin and the sharp jut of cheekbones. Your wrists protruded like delicate bird bones from where they lolled in his grasp - a cruel facsimile of the vibrancy you had once exuded. And yet...not a flicker of remorse or guilt flickered across his expression.

If anything, there was a strange tenderness limning his stare, suffusing the pad of his thumb as he stroked along the raised veins of your forearm. His other hand smoothed stray strands of lank hair away from your brow in an almost doting caress before he leaned in closer.

"Do you remember, my love?" His voice was low, hushed with the weight of recollection. "The day we first met in that musty library, surrounded by the books you adored with so much passion?"

Chrollo's lips brushed your temple, callused fingers curling around your nape as though to tether you to his words. To draw you out from the depths you had retreated within.

"You were a paradox unto yourself then - keen and irreverent, brilliant yet disarmingly self-effacing. A rare mind unbound by the pretenses I had grown accustomed to." His mouth trailed lower, warm exhale ghosting your cool cheek. "You captivated me from that very first quip."

His nose nuzzled along the sharp line of your jaw before he nestled into the crook of your neck. Tension coiled in the lean muscles of his shoulders and back, yet Chrollo did not loosen his embrace. Instead, he coiled himself more tightly around your unresponsive form, clinging to the impassive shell of what had once been his greatest obsession.

"I knew then that I had to unravel the enigma you presented. To unlock those complexities lacing your mind and make you wholly, utterly mine..." A tremor rippled through his voice, baring the faintest hint of strain beneath its veneer of devotion. "And so I did, didn't I? Through my own particular...persuasions."

Chrollo fell silent then, simply breathing you in - the lingering hint of your natural scent still clinging to your pallid skin despite the omnipresent reek of decay and mold shrouding this place. His haven, his sanctum where he could revel in the spoils of his conquest. No matter that the light had long since dimmed behind your eyes.

For though your corporeal form had withered, the essence of who you were remained eternally preserved - a prized butterfly trapped in amber, yours to study and revel in at his leisure. You may have drifted irrevocably out of reach, but at least here in this sanctum, your brilliant mind would never escape his grasp.

The silence stretched, weighted with half-remembered moments replaying in the recesses of Chrollo's mind. His cheek nestled into the curve of your neck and shoulder as snapshots of your earlier encounters together began flickering through his thoughts.

One particular scene coalesced, vibrant and stark…

The bustling cafe was alive with the rich aromas of espresso and freshly baked pastries mingling in the air. Chrollo's gaze cut briefly over the clusters of students and professionals huddled around the tiny tables before settling again on you.

Even seated across from him amidst the crowded atmosphere, you seemed completely at ease - blissfully unbothered by the cacophony of clinking dishes and murmured conversations surrounding you on all sides. With one leg crossed over the other, you lounged back in your chair, slender fingers wrapped around the ceramic mug cradled before you.

The soft furrow of concentration furrowing your brow was the only indication of your focus as you pored over the battered paperback novel propped open before you. Sunlight gilded the flyaway wisps of hair framing your face, casting deep crevices in the hollows beneath your high cheekbones. For a suspended moment, you looked almost ethereal - the embodiment of a tragic gothic heroine plucked from the very pages before you.

Chrollo found his stare snagging on the elegant drape of your throat, tracing the faint throb of your pulse fluttering beneath the surface before dropping to follow the enticing vee of cleavage peeking from your blouse...

You must have sensed his heated regard. Without even glancing up, your lips twitched in a knowing smirk as you reached for your mug. Bringing it to your lips, you took an unhurried sip - holding the scalding liquid on your tongue for a calculated beat before swallowing with a soft hum of contentment.

Only then did you finally lift your eyes to meet Chrollo's hooded gaze from beneath the fan of sooty lashes. "Something on your mind?" The deceptively innocent query was undercut by the simmering spark of challenge glinting in your stare. "Or are you just enjoying the view?"

The shameless quip and utter lack of self-consciousness should not have been so utterly enthralling. And yet...Chrollo could practically taste the thrill sparking down his spine at the bold implications lacing your tone. You somehow managed to come across as both deliciously inappropriate yet well-bred in the very same breath.

Unable to resist leaning into the tease, Chrollo allowed the barest of smiles to ghost over his lips as he mirrored your casual pose - elbows braced on the table's surface, chin resting atop steepled fingertips.

"Perhaps a bit of both," he mused in that low, dangerously warm timbre. "I do so enjoy seeing that wit of yours in action..."

His gaze was all too knowing as it dropped momentarily to your mouth. "Among other things."

The words hung in the air, rife with unspoken suggestion and subtle challenge. You regarded him evenly, holding his stare without a hint of the flustered demurring he typically encountered. For a protracted beat, the charged silence stretched taut between you as the clamor of the cafe faded to mere white noise.

Then, eyes glinting with newfound determination, you slowly reached for the bundle of pages resting abandoned on the tabletop beside Chrollo's arm. Never breaking that heated eye contact, you brushed your knuckles deliberately, intentionally, along the taut cords of his wrist before claiming the sheaf of looseleaf papers.

Lips still curved in that private, enigmatic smile, you reopened your novel - effectively ignoring or accepting his suggestive flirtation in one fell swoop as the embodiment of effortless poise.

It was subtle, masterful even in its nonchalance. And abruptly, Chrollo found himself well and truly enraptured by the delicious paradox of barbed wit and refined composure that you presented...

The memory ebbed away, siphoning back into the recesses of Chrollo's consciousness until all that remained was your pliant form coiled against him on the sagging mattress. He nuzzled deeper into the juncture of your throat and shoulder, chasing the lingering remnants of your essence still clinging to your pallid skin.

"Do you recall that afternoon, my love?" His words were a rumbling murmur against your nape. "How you matched me tease for tease without ever losing that practiced decorum society expected of you?"

A wistful sort of yearning bled into his tone, tempering the ravenous edge. "You were diabolical - all coy propriety deftly wielded to entice with just the faintest indecencies lurking beneath. Like some Wildean libertine in another skin..."

Chrollo's free hand curled into a fist where it rested on the mattress beside your hip, as if to anchor himself. There was a fevered sort of hunger simmering in his voice now, trembling with the weight of rapturous recollection.

"I knew then that I could never be content until I'd unraveled those contradicting layers shrouding your core - no matter how far into the abyss I had to descend in pursuit."

The arm bracketed around your waist cinched tighter, knotting you flush against his chest. It should have been suffocating, possessive...Yet Chrollo somehow imbued the crushing embrace with an unsettling sort of devotion. He was fastening you to him with that same ravenous ardor as one might clutch a cherished, half-coveted treasure.

His thumb traced the sharp ridge of your collarbone over...and over...and over again. "And you let me plunge into those depths so willingly - your brilliant mind falling open around me until I could see...everything."

A shudder rippled through his lean frame, momentary loss of control swiftly reined in. When his sable gaze finally lifted, there was a peculiar desperation simmering behind the usual impassivity.

"Don't you see, my love? This..." One calloused hand slid up to frame your face with infinite care, thumb caressing your lax cheek. "This hollowed essence is what you were truly meant for. An exquisite lapse of mortal confines into something sublime..."

Chrollo leaned in then, parted lips a scant breath from yours as he searched your vacant stare for any resurgence of vibrant awareness.

"You are perfection..."

The scenes continued unspooling through Chrollo's mind, each recollection seeming to unfurl within the dimness of the bedroom. Another fragment soon took shape...

Amber liquor sloshed over the rim of the heavy glass tumbler as you tipped it back, downing the harsh burn in one defiant swallow. A harsh grimace twisted your features before smoothing into a morose blankness once more.

It was well past midnight, but the dimly lit bar showed no signs of thinning out. If anything, the press of bodies seemed thicker - a sea of desperation and vice-fueled oblivion swelling with each passing hour. Chrollo slipped through the throngs like a wraith, his sable gaze cutting through the smoky haze as it snagged on your lone, hunched figure at the far end of the polished oak counter.

Even amidst the drunken revelry, you seemed utterly cocooned in your own world of misery. One dainty hand painted crimson nails over smeared trails of mascara streaking your cheeks like inky rivulets. Yet you were oblivious to the ruined cosmetics - focus zeroed inward as you gestured blindly for another refill with your other hand.

Something very much like concern flickered through Chrollo's expression as he watched the bartender dutifully splash more amber poison into your upturned glass. Before he could reconsider, his strides had already eaten up the distance between you.

Distractedly, you swiped the fresh drink towards you - only to freeze when his fingertips materialized around your wrist, stilling its trajectory. Your bewildered gaze snapped up, all blurred crimson rims and swollen lids as you blinked at him in open confusion.

"Chrollo...?" His name slipped out garbled, thick, like you couldn't quite recognize him through the alcohol-soaked haze fogging your brain. Still, there was a reluctant ember of lucidity flickering in those depths. "Wha...?"

"Easy there." His tone was infused with a carefully modulated gentleness as he extricated the tumbler from your tenuous grasp. "I think you've had more than enough for one night."

For a suspended beat, you could only gape at him in wordless bewilderment - as if you couldn't quite comprehend that he was even real. Then all at once, your fragile composure simply...crumbled. A strangled sound, somewhere between a hiccup and a sob, gurgled up from your chest to clog your throat.

You were crying in earnest, shoulders quaking with the force of your abject despair before Chrollo could even parse your reaction. Instinct overrode reason as he sank into the stool beside you, one hand settling over the sharp jut of your shoulderblade while the other curled soothingly around the nape of your neck.

"Shh...just breathe, darling." His words were hushed, lulling as he pulled you against the solid line of his side. "Whatever has you in this state, tell me. Let me help."

Babbled, hiccuping gasps tumbled from your parted lips as you curled into the hollow of his shoulder and throat. You reeked of sour booze and salt, yet Chrollo did not recoil from your distress. Instead, he stroked the sensitive hairs at your nape in an anchoring rhythm, waiting patiently for the torrent of misery to ebb enough for intelligible speech to win out.

"He...he was with her! With that vapid little t-tart from his office!" The confession emerged in a wretched outburst, fraught with venom and betrayal. "After everything, he still...he was sleeping with her behind my back!"

Ah. So that was the root of this maudlin display - infidelity. Chrollo's lips pressed into a grim line as the pieces slotted into place. Of course some base, undeserving wretch would be foolish enough to wrong you so egregiously. To discard a brilliant mind like a banal plaything when they could scarcely begin to comprehend the depths of your worth...

His palm trailed in soothing strokes down the tense ridge of your spine as you heaved another juddering sob against the lapel of his coat. "Shhh...we'll make him regret the day he took you for granted, darling. We'll make this all go away, for tonight at least."

The rumbling murmur was laced with a conviction bordering on zealotry. Chrollo was utterly undone by your naked anguish - mired in both protective tenderness and dark contemplation over just how he might erase this slight. For you were meant for so much more than these kind of vulgar pains, this reductive mortal torment...

You reeled back slightly, eyes glassy and rimmed with clumped mascara as your brow knitted in confusion. But then Chrollo brushed the pad of his thumb along the swell of your lower lip - just a whisper of contact yet somehow searing with intensity. The hitch of your breath and instinctive part of your mouth was all the answer he needed.

Neither of you could rightly say who instigated the first crush of lips in that moment. It was needy and desperate, a frantic meshing of mouths tinged with the bitter fuel of anguish and something darker still. Chrollo's hand cradled the back of your skull as he angled closer, tongue lancing past your parted lips to taste the remnants of liquor and salt on your own.

There would be no gentle coaxing on this night. Only a frenzied tearing away of hurt and betrayal before the wounds could fester into something more insidious. A shedding of mortal flesh to reveal the brilliant essence burning beneath as you yielded into his possessive embrace...

The fragment drew to a hazy close, the visceral urgency of that encounter still pounding in Chrollo's veins. His grip tightened almost imperceptibly where his hands cradled your face and waist. Remembering the pure desperation fueling your surrender that night - how you had clung to him as the only tether left in the maelstrom. How he had claimed you wholly unto himself in the throes of solace and unraveling...

"Mine," he rasped against the seam of your lips, savoring the phantom memory of how pliant and undone you had been for him in that moment. If only for a handful of searing hours before the mortal coils began reweaving around your brilliant spirit once more.

But he would eternally relish that glimpse behind the veil, where your unbound essence had shone through unto him alone. The start of his fervent devotion to keep that flame tended, no matter how deeply he had to delve to stoke its radiant spark.

The memories began to scatter like ashes on the wind as Chrollo pulled back just enough to drink in the devastation he had wrought. His thumbs traced the sharp blades of your cheekbones, reverent despite the mottled bruises and lacerations maring your once unblemished skin.

Chrollo's grip tightened possessively as he vividly recalled that fateful night when he had first tasted the intoxicating depths of your psyche. Even as you had fallen apart in anguish over your unfaithful lover, there was an incandescent fire that drew Chrollo to you like a moth to the flame.

He had meant to simply provide a brief respite - a single night of forgetting your mortal turmoils as he indulged in the radiant essence you unconsciously exuded. But from the first crush of your pliant lips against his own, Chrollo found himself utterly enraptured. Each desperate roll of your hips and keening cry spilling from your throat only stoked his covetous obsession.

You had been so gloriously undone in those feverish hours - defenses obliterated, self discarded like a shed skin as you surrendered your entire being to the oblivion he offered. And in doing so, you had revealed the scintillating truth burning at your core. An existential fire, brilliant and rapturous...yet simultaneously fragile within its corporeal confines.

Chrollo's body was rigid now as he curled around your vacant form, conscious mind awash in the recollected sensations. The salty musk of your spent passions...the litany of ethereal sounds he had drawn from your kiss-bruised lips...the exquisite rapture of joining his essences with yours in those scorching instants of coalescence.

It should have been enough. One soul-searing glimpse into the untrammeled truth of your existence before allowing you to resettle behind your mortal veneers as societal dictates demanded. But even as he held your utterly spent form in the aftermath, body humming with satiated contentment, Chrollo recognized the obsession had taken insidious root.

He could never be complete until he had experienced the full unbridled depths of that prismatic flame he had witnessed refracting through your fragmented psyche. No matter how far he was required to descend in stripping away the superfluous layers masking your truest self from view.

Which was why, in the end, such...radical measures had been required to liberate you.

Chrollo's stare bored into your vacant eyes as if seeking any residual spark still banked behind that thousand-yard emptiness. His mouth brushed your cooling temple with something akin to devotion as the memories of your systematic unraveling played out in his mind's eye.

The isolation...the escalating torments he had ceremonially unleashed to flay both psyche and flesh from your core essence...the rapturous fervour of witnessing your final fracture into this transcendent, pristine stillness.

"You are the ultimate absolution," he murmured, clutching your husk closer. "My luminous ossuary - shedding at last your ill-fitting bodily accessories to reveal the immaculate truth shining beneath."

His lips brushed your slack, parted mouth, savoring the liberation of having reduced you at last to this perfect, unbound state. Preserved forever as the concentrated epiphany he had coveted from that first, searing taste of you drowned in mortal anguish so long ago.

"Mine," Chrollo rasped with heated finality. "You are mine, now and for all eternity to come..."

Chrollo cradled your deteriorated form against him, that flickering obsession still burning bright in his breast even as he drank in the full extent of devastation he had wrought upon you. For a fleeting moment, something almost like guilt sparked behind his impassive mask.

The once vibrant, brilliant essence he had fallen rapture to now lay utterly unmade. Your eyes stared back at him, unblinking and devoid of the soulful spark that had first ensnared him so completely. Just...empty. A hollowed vessel in the wake of shattering your very spirit to reach that primal truth buried beneath.

Chrollo's thumb traced the sharp jut of your cheekbone, calloused pad catching on the ridges of mottled bruises and lacerations peppering your ashen flesh. He had been the architect of this ruination - methodically flaying away every layer of identity and reservation until only the naked essence remained. A scorched earth approach in pursuit of cradling that luminous fire unbridled at last from the confines of your corporeal self.

But surely even this devastation was a brutal form of preservation? Eliminating every potential tether that might restrain you from the transcendental state of pure, unfettered being he had laid bare...

His grasp convulsed minutely, fingertips pressing almost bruisingly into the fragile dips of your body. Perfection, he tried to reaffirm. This was the apotheosis of preserving your immaculate truth in stasis. The self-aware cosmos distilled to its most sublime....

And yet...

The briefest flicker of uncertainty lanced through Chrollo's stare as he studied the desolation reflecting back at him. For the span of a solitary indrawn breath, his convictions seemed to teeter on the precipice of horrified doubt. The full magnitude of what he had unmade you into crashing against the uncompromising fervor of his beliefs like a sanity-shattering wave.

Then your lips parted with the barest sigh, the slightest tongue movement giving audible shape to a single rasping exhalation. A phantom whisper seeming to give voice to the oblivion reflecting from the depths of your vacant stare.

"Chrollo..."

The tenuous moment fractured. Whatever fissure of trepidation that had pried open an instant before was abruptly extinguished by the guttering embers of Chrollo's dedication. His palm cupped the sharp hinge of your jaw as his brow creased in a minute frown of reproach.

"Shh...no more," he soothed in a hushed murmur. "Your essence has transcended such temporal limits at last."

With agonizing tenderness, Chrollo brushed the faintest whisper of a kiss across your placid lips. There was no response from your end - no flutter of lashes or instinctive reaction. Just the weighty stillness of a mind and spirit severed completely from any lingering mortal confines.

Chrollo pulled back a bare fraction, his sable stare glittering with something like reverence as he studied the husk before him. The fate he had meticulously crafted for you in pursuit of undoing every superficial strand barring his unfettered view of the unfurling truth laid bare at last.

And in that moment, a twisted sort of absolution seemed to settle over his expression. This bleak squalor was both sanctum and crematorium - the smoldering aftermath in which your indelible imprint had been forged into existence eternal. No matter the state of the vessel's decay, your essence would endure, preserved forever in the chilling serenity Chrollo's morbid dedication had produced.

As for the systematic dismantling and agonies required to unmake you to this degree...? All such atrocious steps were hallowed by the certainty still burning in Chrollo's conviction as he cradled your emptied husk with the covetous desperation of an obsessive widower. The indelible truth of your being had ultimately been preserved in a state of perfect, pristine deliverance.

And whether that ultimately amounted to an abhorrent defilement or the most sacred of consecrations....Only Chrollo could rightly bear witness to the full breadth of that existential paradox now.

[railingsofsorrow]

Countdown

[s.reid x reader]

summary: Blood and wine were indistinguishable. You couldn't move, you couldn't breathe, the world was giving up on you (or was it the other way around?). You had to keep fighting. If there's one thing you are sure of is that they would find you. He would find you. You just didn't know how much longer you could take until then.

pairing: s.reid x f!reader

w.c: 6.7K

warnings/content: mentions of freud regarding complex mother/son relationships; tw!aggravated assault; tw!coercion caused by substance use; tw!mentions of child abuse, physical and emotional abuse; very tw!graphic violence be aware; tw!blood; tw!descriptions of injuries and scars; cursing; tw!suicide ideation; mentions of hallucinations, tw!abduction and tw!death of a relative; heavy descriptions of losing sense of time; crying; cm usual stuff; poor analysis of a profile cause I'm no aaron hotchner; in resume there's angst; mc cannot get a break. (tell me if I forgot anything plz)

A/N: oof that's a lot of trigger warnings. if you don't feel comfortable, feel free to leave, this isn't a light fic, quite the opposite. mc goes through a LOT. btw do you like wine? I do. (no pun intended) enjoy the reading!

navi

masterpost

follower celebration

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“Suffering is a terrible fire;

it either purifies

or destroys.”

[Oscar Wilde]

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

According to Sigmund Freud, there’s a theory called “the Oedipus complex”. It happens when the child develops a sexual attraction to the opposite-sex parent, meaning that they wish to replace his father to possess his mother, from whom he craves affection. 

Spencer’s voice rang through your head as you observed your surroundings. Your hands weren’t tied anymore but the red marks around your wrists made you feel as if the ropes were still there.

There are five stages in this condition, the fifth being the hardest to overcome, but not impossible. However, when the Oedipus complex is not resolved it could lead to an unhealthy attachment towards the opposite-sex parent in adulthood, besides the commitment issues and trouble involving same-sex rivalry. 

You also recalled the Doctor detailing statistics about the topic, wildly gesticulating with his hands. But your head was fuzzy and you didn’t know whether your memories were true or if you were making them up anymore. Just as a means to bring you some type of comfort in that endless torture.

He was drugging you. 

Paul Knox, the UnSub, was a white male in his mid-forties. Lived alone for most of his life, except for when he married Martha Moore; they stayed together for one year before the marriage ended. Paul worked on a construction site and was described by his coworkers as quiet, “always kept to himself”, and responsible. He always made sure his task of the day was completed before he went home. 

His past wasn’t the easiest one. And it seemed as if he couldn’t get away from it. Paul spent his entire childhood being abused by both of his parents, his father, a strict man, sexually abused his wife, who would later take out her anger on her son, by wrapping a belt around his neck and squeezing it until he passed out — This was the signature behavior they found on the crime scenes. 

Victimology told you and the team something as clear as day: every woman he murdered was a surrogate to his mother. 

And you concluded you had pissed him off enough for him to abduct you and keep you the same way he was keeping his victims. 

When you woke up, the only thing you could see was blood.  

Blood whenever you stepped.  

On your hands. 

On your arms.  

On your lips.  

You could even taste the metallic liquid. And that made you terrified. Not more terrified – of course – than being locked up in a place for god-knows-how-long without a sense of reality. There was a physical fight hours before—or was it days? You couldn't know, time was different where you were. You had a slight chance of speculating if it was day or night due to the minimum crack on one of the walls. Your pinky would fit if anything.  

You succeeded in breaking a plate of food he had brought at the back of his head; which barely confused the man as you attempted to sprint towards the door. Well, You did try. Right as you reached the gate, he yanked your hair back and knocked you out on a solid surface.  

When you woke up, the first thought that crossed your mind was I'm dead. 

You weren’t. 

Thankfully, you had just passed out. Again.  

Letting out a painful breath, you forced your eyes to stay open. You had to keep trying, you weren’t about to let him win that easily. Before your team found you — if they hadn’t already — you had to buy yourself some time. Once his obsession exceeds its peak, you wouldn't stand a chance.

The sound of another shard of glass clicking against the floor disturbed that deafening silence. Although, no more than actually taking a piece of glass out of your flesh.  

You moaned in pain when it was finally out. Maybe being shot would hurt less because I'd blackout. But this hurts like a bitch.

Your breathing was unsteady and you were hyperventilating. There were at least five breathing exercises running through your head as you surveyed the room, looking for a way out. You had been placed in another corner. It was still the same room, but you were seeing it from another angle. This time you could walk; barely, but still. You refused to look at your feet with the trail of blood it left as you walked. 

Focus. You need to find a way out.  

You're a profiler. Profile him.  

Forty-five.  

White male.  

Abandonment issues caused by his mother leaving him at the age of nine years old. 

Each victim was a surrogate to his mother; he kept them for two days and then wrapped a belt around their throats to slash it postmortem. That's his M.O.

You had none of the victim characteristics. You were only unfortunate to be in the right place at the wrong time. 

Emily and you were sent to investigate the supposed location the UnSub took his victims to; an old apartment downtown. However, he was onto you as soon as you entered the place. In a moment of distraction, you had been swiped with a chloroform wipe before Emily could blink.  

What a cliché way to abduct someone.

On the first day, he covered your mouth with a dirty blanket but kept your hands and feet tied up tightly around a chair. You complied with everything he said, claiming you understood him and that he was so much better than his mother. Wrong move. At the mere mention of her, the guy completely lost it. 

You could still feel the slap that made your head turn. No doubt his fingers were marked on your cheek.   

Then, radio silence. Your brain worked wildly as you started to analyze your surroundings with undivided attention. There were two dark shelves a few meters away from you and a few boxes scattered around. The room was extremely dark, no windows, and carried a bitter smell. The floor was a blur to you, you didn't know were you were stepping.

Countless bottles on the shelves. It almost reminded you of—

Wait.

There was barely any light in the room, only through that tiny hole in the wall. You assumed it was around evening because of where the angle the shadow was reflecting upon. 

1978. Read on the bottle.  

This is a wine bottle.  

I'm in a wine cellar.

Your happiness was short-lived as your vision blurred, causing you to stumble back slightly. 

The bottle slipped from your fingers.  

Your mind goes into wildfire when your feet stepped onto something sharp and, immediately, the familiar sensation of it deepening into your skin. You never realized your body was falling, the only thing you could actually grasp onto was the pain, the agony you felt. Your screams echoed through the walls, then your tears joined as a company.

Blood and wine were indistinguishable. 

Your vision begins to gloss over, dark spots covering your eyes from reality. It would be only a matter of time until you drifted off again. Was it sad to say that the sensation was becoming familiar? It shouldn't be. You should be fighting for survival.

But your legs had pieces of glass sticking out and your left hand throbbed from an open wound from another piece you had pulled out. 

You heaved a shaky exhale, grunting as you tried to step back from the broken bottle. Daring to take a look at your legs was the last you did before the door creaked open, a bitter smile spreading on your dry lips. 

“Shit.”

✫・゜・。✫・゜・。

The BAU’s technical analyst typed fast on her computer, her eyes quickly swapping between each screen. She was checking into possible locations Paul Knox could've taken his victims, excluding where the last body was found. His M.O. changed drastically from one night to the other, which meant he was escalating. And angry, extremely angry — Garcia couldn’t imagine something else after hearing the news you had been taken. 

“As if this couldn’t get any more creepy…” The blonde mumbled under her breath, eyes scanning over her newfound footage. It was a big house, colonial style colored with a pastel yellow on its walls. The picture showed the Knox’s posing for the camera; mother, son, and husband. Left to right. Something irked her in that image and that’s why she hadn’t dwelled on it when they were looking for the prime suspects’ background. His first home wasn’t relevant, he didn't take his victims there. 

They had been so wrong. 

Her server picked up on a distinct signal. One that shouldn't be there in such an old building. 

“He films it. Everything.” Emily handled five of the eighteen tapes they found in the UnSub’s apartment. Derek shook his head as he saw many names written on each of them.

“There’re eighteen here.” You frowned, counting for the third time. “It’s supposed to be seventeen. We found seventeen bodies.”

“We haven’t found the last one yet.” 

And this is how you disappeared from their radar. The eighteenth woman was not found and you were abducted from right under their noses the night after you figured he kept souvenirs from his victims. Necklaces, earrings and those awful recordings. 

When Penelope succeeded in hacking into the system, a camera was functioning properly. Just one. The place was dark, but the camera provided a poor lightening and from that, her breath caught in her throat. 

“Oh, my god.” The technical analyst covered her mouth in astonishment. There you were, on her computer screen. There was no doubt. She's worked with you in the same environment for nearly five years. You were friends, coworkers, partners in crime. She knew you. And that was breaking her heart.

You were thrown over the floor against a shelf, your head lolling to the side as if you were too weak to lift it. “No, no, no,” Garcia exclaimed, tears trailing down her cheeks and ruining her make-up. The floor was damp with something and she can't even imagine what it was. 

“Garcia?” Hotch's voice spoke through their connected microphone. “What is it?”  

She had completely forgotten she was in a connected call. 

The team was in the round table room, trying to figure out your whereabouts with the help of the clues they had until now. Which were minimal. They were very behind in the UnSub's game.  

Garcia's gasp made everyone quit their work, to simply stare at the machine anxiously and wait for the woman's next words.  

“We have to find her. Now!” Nothing else can stand out through the line like Penelope's frantic fingers typing fast.

Derek is the first to ask for clarification, “Baby girl, give us something. What happened?”  

By now, everyone was on the edge of their seats with the tension. 

The line pauses, and before anyone could complain, Penelope interjects in a weak voice, “Come to my cave. You need to see this.”  

Once they arrive in Penelope's office, the sight is more than they expected. Way more.  

The door opened and a figure walked into the dark room. They all watched with bated breath as Paul Knox crouched down to your weak body, drawing a hand to run through your cheek. 

“That son of a—”

“What is that?” Spencer cut Derek off, eyes glued to the man's pocket, something was sticking out of it. His mind works faster than any other, the likelihood of the team having a breakthrough during a case because of his inputs is huge and he's quite proud of that — even though Spencer doesn't give himself much credit. 

He feels the dumbest in the room right now. 

Not only did he lose you the night you were taken but he couldn't find you. The geographical profile was redone five times by him, he analyzed every detail over and over again, his brain was on fire. But he failed. He failed. How could he do that when you needed him the most? Where was his knowledge and IQ of 187 when he needed it?

Penelope turned off the screen on an impulse, earning discontent reactions from everyone else. She didn't answer them as lots of things started popping up on the other computer screen. 

“Garcia.” Spencer presses, jaw clenched. He was really trying to not yell at the technical analyst to find a location fucking faster or else instead of a living agent they would find a body to bury.  

No. No, that wouldn't happen. That couldn't happen.

“I'm trying!” 

“Try harder!” He yelled, causing every eye to give him impressed looks. Spencer Reid doesn’t scream, he doesn’t raise his voice, he doesn’t lose his cool. But he had never seen you in a pool of your own blood in an unknown place as a hostage before. He had never been so powerless. “He's gonna do something!” He reasoned his outburst with the team. How weren't they desperately losing their minds? Was this what they were like when he had been kidnapped by Tobias Hankel? Extremely collected and calm, just like in any other case? “Are we just going to sit here and watch? This is Y/N!”

The sound of the footage suddenly burst through the cave, causing everyone to freeze up. 

“Stop. No, n— what is that? Get the fuck away from me— No!”

“Oh, my god,” Emily mumbles with a hand over her mouth. They weren’t able to see the footage, but hearing your screams was just as painful.

“Reid,” Hotch warned, knowing how hard this was being on him. He shouldn't stay there, it would only make things worse, as much as it pained Aaron what was happening — he was your friend before he was your boss — the situation required him to be the levelheaded one. He couldn't jeopardize your safety because of emotions. “Go take a walk.”

“No.” was Spencer's reply. Before he could snap at anyone else and make the tension in the room increase, a hand squeezed his shoulder.  

“C'mon, kid.” Derek tugged his forearm.

“I'm not going anywhere—” 

“Yes, yes, you are.” Derek sends him a pointed look, pushing him out of the room “C'mon, let's take a walk. Being like this isn't gonna help us find her.”

“Look,” JJ points to the moving image, Penelope had turned it back on due to Hotch’s request. They were too close to figure out your location and they needed to grasp every detail of wherever that room was. “It’s that a… needle?” That can’t be happening. Not again. JJ flinched back as the syringe was pressed against your neck and your cries started to quieten up. She had seen that film before, it was just a continuous nightmare by now. Spencer’s limp body flashed through her mind, a terrible flashback. Now, you. It wasn’t fair. Hotch took her out of her inner turmoil to say they had found her location. Emily was already out of the room.

“Find our girl. Please, find her.” Penelope gave her a pleading look, her glasses were smeared with tears.

Jenifer didn’t need to be told twice.

✫・゜・。✫・゜・。

Next time you woke up you saw metal bars. There was a steady dripping sound resonating around. You didn't know where it came from, your senses were compromised by your dizziness; sometimes it was distant, sometimes it was right by your side. 

Plink. Plink. Plink.

Plink. Plink. Plink.

Always three times then a pause. 

Paul had put you in a cage. That much was clear, the quadrangle shape along with the metal bars. You could barely stretch out your legs all the way due to the limited space. 

Something stirred in your sight and you realized you weren't alone in the room. He's still here.

Where are your instincts? Where are the tactics you use to save someone almost every day? And why aren't you making use of them right now?

The dripping stopped. 

Something creaked and your face was being touched. Feeling the familiar reaction of a panic attack approaching, you tried to regulate your breath. This was not the time. You thought. But again, have you had control over anything over these past few days?  

“Don't cry. I won't hurt you.”

When you got out of the high of whatever substance he had injected into your system, you winced at the numbness in your left foot. You moved your limbs around, attempting to sit down. He had cleaned you up. You were in different clothes, too. And the blood was gone. 

He touched me.

Hetouchedmehetouchedmehetouchedmehetouchedm—

Stay focused.  

“13…11…9…7.” You started counting in the odd-numbered pattern you learnt calms you down. “5…3…1…13— What is—” a red light in a corner of the room glinted at you. “Are you recording me?” You exhaled harshly, squinting your eyes. No, that wasn't the dizziness. The red light was probably there the whole time, but it remained unnoticeable. A wave of drowsiness almost knocks you out again but instead, you squeeze your nails against your tight to prevent sleeping — pain was better than the unknown. You didn't know what he did when you were out of it, though you had an idea just a minute ago. “You enjoy your souvenirs, don't you? Sick bastard!”  

You're losing your temper, control yourself. 

I can't.

I need to get out of here. I need to GET OUT.

“Let me out.” You whispered to nothing. 

What takes you to a breaking point? Being held captive by a sociopath maniac or not knowing what to do to escape it? 

All of your qualifications went down the drain. Suddenly you didn't have a PhD in Biopsychology.

Survival mode originally evolved to help us handle threats and situations that activate our stress-response systems. When the alternative does not involve escape or fighting, we are wired to freeze, a state of hyperarousal. 

It's always better to go ahead with the instructions, otherwise, you might touch a rough spot and their only response will be to eliminate their target. 

Your friends’ voices rang through your brain as if they were supposed to help you somehow. 

The walls were closing in, rationality was out of the picture.

“Let me out of here, please!”

“Stop screaming. No one will hear.” 

You turned towards the door, jaw clenching. You weren't just weak, you were angry. That shouldn't be happening to you, you were just at the wrong place at the wrong time and he took advantage of that. 

“They will catch you.” You spat out. “You don't have a chance once they find you, Paul.”

He nodded, crouching down in front of the cage, hands gripping the sidebars. “I'm aware of that.”

That made you freeze. 

So it was an all-or-nothing situation? If your probability of getting out of that alive was slim, now it was just ridiculous.

“You need to learn a lesson.” He said, unlocking the cage and crawling in. As much as you tucked yourself in the corner, he was still able to touch you, he was still able to be desperately close. “Beautiful, beautiful, Daisy... Why'd you hurt me like that?”  

Daisy. 

Daisy…

“Daisy... I did everything you asked me too. Why'd you leave me with him? The bad man? Why?”

The bad man.  

Daisy and Caleb Knox, those were Paul’s parents. 

At the age of nine Daisy left Paul to Caleb's care and ran away. She was never found.

It's always better to go ahead with the instructions. Play into his fantasy. 

“I'm— I'm sorry,” you croaked out, testing the waters.  

“Are you really?”  

“He made...” Taking a deep breath You felt your tongue heavy and your head spin. You would pass out any minute. How much longer would you handle without food? You can't remember the last time you ate. “... he made me— do that. I wanted to protect you. I did. But he didn't— he didn't let me,” your breath was shallow and you felt yourself floating.   

Stay awake.  

“Liar.” He mumbled after a while. “Liar!” You didn't expect the slap when it came. The force made you stumble back, pressing your eyes and groaning in pain. “How can you keep lying to me after all these years? You slut! I was alone! With him!”  

“I understand,” you replied, shakily, licking your lips as the copper taste filled your tastebuds. “But— but you love me. Don't you?” Opening your eyes, you realized he was a little farther than you expected. His eyes stared right into your soul with a kind of regret and disgust you had never seen. “You were always a good kid, Paul... Would never hurt your mom. Because you're good. Aren't you?”  

A lot of things were at stake there. your life, mostly. If you as much as stepped into his anger then you would be done for.  

In a blink of an eye he was in front of you again, “I am. I-I I am, mom.” Mom. That's good. He's falling for it. You could save your vomit for later. 

Then, you saw the belt. The same one he uses on the victims for the final kill. 

Death wasn't a thing to be afraid of. It's simply another part of life. Or, for the believers, eternal life.  

You have never been scared of death in your twenty-five years of living. Not when the situation was related to you, at least. Which was completely different if someone on your team got injured badly, let alone your boyfriend. You didn't know what it was that whenever you were in danger's ways, no fear would kick in, only the nice feeling of adrenaline running through your veins.  

However, this wasn't like most cases. You knew this one would break you to the core. You would never be the same after that. If you even get the chance to say after this case. Spencer had this experience. He had been abducted and tortured by Tobias Hankel; you've seen how the trauma affected him till this day.  

You wondered if Spencer thought if he would get out alive. You wondered if, at some point in that cabin in the woods, he contemplated death as an alternative. Because God knew you were considering it.  

✫・゜・。✫・゜・。

Aaron Hotchner marched forward to the backyard of the Knox Mansion as Derek Morgan went in through the backdoor. Spencer Reid and Jennifer Jereau were ordered to enter through the front door.

The two-story manor carried a sense of luxury, although the smell was of something rotten from years back.  

It was clear that the inheritance Paul Knox gained from his father had vanished as it had come. The house was almost in ruins, the strong smell of mold all around the walls immediately hit the newcomers. Derek and Aaron met inside close to the living room.  

“It's all clear around the kitchen, Rossi,” Derek said, looking around and studying his surroundings. He quickly covered his nose when the smell reached his nostrils. “What is that smell?!”  

“I don't know,” Rossi replied, kicking a knocked-over chair. “ There's been a struggle.” 

Derek nodded, pointing towards a line of blood leading to the kitchen. It ended there.

“We're running out of time.” Spencer walked in the kitchen with JJ on his trail. “This is useless. She won't be up here. The camera Garcia hacked showed a dark room and it pointed to a door. Possibly the only way in and out.”

JJ nodded in affirmation, shoulders tensing. “Maybe a basement? There's no guest house, right?”

“There's a basement outside.” Rossi clarified. “Hotch is searching there. JJ and Reid search the second floor, Morgan and Prentiss you take the attic. I'll check that ridiculously big greenhouse outside.”  

“It's not a basement,” Spencer said, cursing under his breath. Everyone stared at him confusedly. “That was not a basement. It—It looks like one. It's supposed to look like one but didn't you see the bottles and the shelves in the footage? And the liquid when she—” he sucked in a breath. “That's a wine cellar.” He concluded. How couldn't he have seen it before? It was being thrown at his face.

✫・゜・。✫・゜・。

Hotch stepped towards the wood doors, drawing out his gun to tear apart the locket.

He tried as much as he could not to make a sound as he walked down the basement doors. If the smell in the house was bad, down there was suffocating.

“Paul, Paul listen to me! I'm sorry that I left, I'm sorry!” 

He halted, surveying the area carefully. It was dark, but his weapon light helped him have a grip on his surroundings. That had definitely been your voice. 

“Is Carina here?” 

There was a pause.

Carina Grace. One of the missing girls, probably the eighteenth victim of Paul Knox.

“You told me I wasn't alone before, is she here, too, Paul?” 

That was a bold move. Hotch knew what you were doing, despite the situation you were still doing your job, but this wouldn't end well.

“You have never been alone.”

Your crying out made him approach fast as he followed the sound. That place could fool anyone by the sight of it before you entered. The wood doors made it look like a small corner, but Hotch could see it as a masked labyrinth. 

He kept aiming his gun ahead, entering a room of what he supposed was a wine cellar. Slow and steady steps guided by his instincts; his eyes surveyed every corner of the room until three tall shelves came into sight— and a shadow reflected by the sunlight that entered the only small window in the room.  

His eyes narrowed when he saw it move and the silhouette of a gun was pressed to its hand. Hotch swiftly hid behind a near concrete pillar just as the man shot twice in the previous direction he had been in.  

Idiot. Aaron mentally cursed, eyeing the only part of the room he hadn't checked yet, behind the shelves.  

He saw a glimpse of metal. The UnSub was armed. 

“Found her badge and bullet proof vest up here, Hotch.” JJ's voice rang through the radio. Loud enough for only Aaron to hear, thankfully. “The perimeters are being checked but I don't think—” He could hear the strain in her voice.

“The wine cellar isn't clear, yet.” Hotch said with his tone contained, eyes glued to the UnSub's shadow. He hasn't moved. What was this asshole planning to do? “He's here. Block all exits.”  

“What about her?” 

“She's here, too,” Hotch replied to Reid, squinting at the moving silhouette.

“You're in the basement, aren't you?” He breathed out at the sound of Emily's voice. 

“Yes.” 

“I'll meet you there.”

“There's another body here and he's armed.” Be careful. 

Emily spoke to someone else and then he tuned everything out. 

✫・゜・。✫・゜・。

“Spencer!” JJ tried to pull him back but he yanked his arm out of her reach, sprinting towards the backyard. “Would you calm down? You can't barge in like this!” She hissed in frustration. 

He turned back and said through gritted-teeth. “If it were Will, would you be calm?”

She blinked at him, opening and closing her mouth in shock. “I—”

“You know how I feel, you've been there, so why do you keep asking me to calm down?” Spencer spat out. 

JJ silently approached him by the entrance, swallowing the guilt her whole body was drowning in. “I'm sorry. I'm just trying to make you think, alright? Spence, she needs all of us. She needs you, so we need to think straight. Our goal is to get her out.” Alive.

“Do you think we can?”

He asked softly, voice small. 

She squeezed his shoulder and widened the basement opening. “Yes, we can.” She stepped in, turning to him before he could enter. “Don't step away from me. We don't split up, ever, deal?” 

That was something she always said whenever they were paired up in a situation like that. And that's when Spencer noticed that what he suffered didn't just affect him, but everyone else around him. 

“Okay.”

✫・゜・。✫・゜・。

Hotch had finally caught sight of you. He could see your frame in a corner of the wall, the sunlight didn't help him visualize anything, it was too minimal. He didn't know whether you were awake or— he couldn't see. “Paul, do you think your mother would be proud of that behavior? Killing women? Hurting them?” He needed to get closer and for that, he had to get inside his mind.

“You don't understand,” Paul said calmly. Hotch hears beneath that contained tone, he was a walking time bomb. But they were on countdown before your location was even found, the team knew who Paul was, they knew how he escalated in the last weeks, and they knew his weak spot, too. 

“You're right,” Hotch said, craning his neck to the side when he saw your voice. More like a whimper. Low, discreet, but there. You were alive. And he intended on keeping that way. “I don't understand. I didn't go through what you did. I was not left in a house by someone that's supposed to care for me. I was not left to a parent that never loved me.”

Silence. 

“Paul. She deserves everything you did to her. Every beating. Every truth spat out on her face. Every day locked up here. She was supposed to be a good mother back then, why is she trying now, after all.”

“She never loved me.”

Bingo.

“Is that what you think?”

There was shuffling around and then a gun was pointing directly at him, but Hotch had a shelf to cover behind. Paul was finally in his aim, vulnerable. Not yet.

“Do you think people change, Agent?” Paul asked him, cocking the gun at him mockingly. He then looked back at you, tongue moving across his lips slowly. “I don't think so. That's why I didn't kill her. Yet.” 

You said something else but Hotch couldn't hear. He wasn't close enough. You weren't safe yet. Not yet.

The clock was ticking. 

“For some people, death is just another way out.” 

Everything happened so fast his mind didn't grasp it until it happened. 

He heard a click. Then the sound of gunfire exploded through the wine cellar. 

Paul Knox was on the floor, his head had two gunshot wounds on the forehead and blood leaked through it. Eyes wide open. He didn't see it coming. 

Quick and effective. 

A perfect aim to kill. 

He thought it would be Emily at the entrance, gun pointing right at Paul's head. He's seen her frustration at herself for losing you that day, it was a matter of time until she snapped. 

But he was met with Spencer Reid barging into the wine cellar instead. A stunned JJ frozen at the entrance.

Reid's movements carried no hesitation as he dashed towards the body, snatched the keys out of his pockets and stepped back to unlock the cage you were in. 

It was foolish to check if he was still alive. Two shots to the head -  that was the outcome Hotch didn't want. Paul Knox was supposed to go to jail for the rest of his life. Because of the victims he terrorized, because of the days he stole from one of his own that she would never get back. 

“We found Carina.” Derek told him as they watched you being pulled into the ambulance. He didn't need to be told that they only found her body. Carina Grace had been missing for a month. “Same way as the other girls.”

“Safe to say he won't be dreaming about hurting anyone else.” Rossi made the comment as a body bag was transferred out of the wine cellar.

Hotch glanced towards Reid, who had just entered the ambulance by your side. 

He would lecture him later. The only thing that mattered now was that you were safe. 

✫・゜・。✫・゜・。

When you fluttered your eyes open, you quickly shut them again. The lights were strong and forceful. Light. Was this the sunlight? Had he dumped your body somewhere? Were you finally dead and this was your spirit floating over what was left of you?

You hadn't felt that cool air in days. It almost felt like air-conditioning. A soft fabric wrinkled between your fingers and your leg… you could move it. You could feel it. There was no numbness.

“Take a deep breath. It's okay, you're safe.”

You're hallucinating. Because what you were hearing didn't make any sense. It couldn't be. Your head was searching for ways to bring your relief. That's the only reasonable answer. 

Reasonable. What about this situation is reasonable?

“You're safe,” He repeated. 

You forced your eyelids open, despite the bothersome whiteness. The first thing you saw was Spencer, his honey brown eyes with heavy bags of sleepless nights around them, his soft smile that threatened to spill the sadness hanging over him. 

You could touch his hand. 

But the calm doesn't last for long. 

“You're not here.” You snatched your fingers away. 

This is not real. I'm dreaming again.

Hurt flashed through his eyes. “I am.”

“That's not you.”

“That's me, sweetheart. This is real, we got you out—”

“No!” 

He flinched back, watching as the heart monitor went off. A group of nurses entered the room to check the commotion; it took five people to hold you down. He never saw you like that. That's anger, that pain. He'd never seen it in your eyes. JJ had to pull him out of the room otherwise he would stay there, frozen. 

You weren't seeing him. 

He provoked that nervous breakdown. 

“Stop. Hey, don't do this,” he could feel air entering his lungs but his chest hurt. “Spencer, this isn't—”

“Don't.” He said shortly, shaking his head. “I shouldn't have…” He stared at his hands as if they had committed a crime, trying to blink away his tears. 

“This isn't your fault, Spence.”

“I should've figured it out sooner.” He said, burying his head between his hands. “I do it all the time. Why couldn't I do it now, why couldn't I find her sooner?” 

Sobs racked through his body and he felt arms wrapping around him some sort of comfort. He didn't feel it. He wanted you. He wanted to make you feel better, he didn't need to be taken care of. He didn't deserve it. 

“It wasn't your fault,” JJ repeated, tightening her hold on him. “We were all in this. And she's fine now. She's safe.”

“She'll never be fine again.” He mumbled through her shirt. It physically pained him to see you like this, as if your mind was playing you. The worst was that he knew what that felt like. He wished he didn't. Actually, he wished that it was him instead. He'd go through it all again just to spare you of that trauma. That haunting pain that would follow you and make you doubt everything. 

He didn’t mean that he didn’t want you to be fine, of course, he wanted it. That kind of trauma, however, doesn’t just let you go, it’s like a shadow looming over you, a tall ghost. 

I should've found her sooner. He couldn't stop thinking that. I should've found her sooner.

An hour passed and nobody moved from the waiting room. They were anxious and on edge waiting for an update. Penelope had drifted off on Derek's shoulder a few minutes ago, Emily had bitten all of her cuticles as much as Rossi reprimanded her on it, Hotch would leave and come back with coffee refills and JJ had left a while ago to speak to Will and her kids. As for Spencer, he was just there. Not mentally, just physically. 

He needed to see you okay to function again.

“She'll need you.” He snapped around to Hotch's voice. At some point, his feet reached the end of the hall, a cup of water in his hands. He wasn't even thirsty. “She'll need you when she wakes up. More than anyone else.” His boss added. 

Spencer knew what he meant by that. It wasn't just in the literal sense. 

“I know.” He responded.

“Then you need to be there.”

Get a grip on yourself. 

“I will.” Spencer swallowed hard, looking up at him. “I will.” He repeated, throwing the cup on the trash can and taking a deep breath. Hotch squeezed his shoulder reassuringly on his way back. 

When the doctor called him back to the room, you were already awake. 

✫・゜・。✫・゜・。

“Spencer?”  

You croaked out, blinking multiple times to undo the blurred image of the long-haired genius. 

“Hi,” he replied, lowering to the seat beside your bed. You oversaw his movements carefully. He looked shaken up but he mustered one of those smiles you were done for from the first day you walked in the Bureau.

“Can you tell me something?” You requested, clearing your throat. You didn’t trust your senses, but it sounded and looked like your boyfriend. Your mind couldn’t play sturdy tricks like that, could it? 

Outsretching your arm long enough to reach him, you nudged his hand. He pulled the chair closer and intertwined your fingers. That was the first time you felt warmth in days.

“What about?” 

“Something only you would know.”

Bring me back to reality.

He sighed, lifting your palm to his cheek. “You hate the color gray,” his eyes locked into yours as he recalled your words from a few months ago when you had revealed this to him. “It was your brother's favorite color. He wore it all the time. When he died, you could never look at anything gray because it would remind you of him.”

You stayed quiet. 

“You hate when people keep telling you to wear your hair down because it looks pretty. You know it does, but you feel uncomfortable with the strands touching your neck. You love sunlight the same amount you love cloudy days – not thunderstorms, you’re scared of those. Especially lightning.” You let out a tearful chuckle to which he grinned. “You have a tattoo on the inner side of your left thigh, it's the page number and the line order of your favorite Norwegian Wood edition, your favorite book. You had a secret obsession with the theme from that animated movie…” his voice trailed off, a crease between his brows. 

“You mean Let it go from Frozen?”

Spencer’s lips twisted in a pout, “Sorry if I don’t know that much about pop culture.”

“You’re hopeless at it, Spence.”

“I’m not that bad.” He rolled his eyes, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “How are you feeling?” He asked, eyes softening. You traced the tip of his nose, eyes scanning his features so you’d cement it to your brain.

“Better,” you replied. It was the truth. He nodded, brushing a strand behind your ear gently. “Thank you.” 

Spencer lifted his chin to glimpse at you, disappointment draping over his gaze. “I didn’t do anything.” Disappointment at himself. The failure that he was during the case when you needed him the most. You furrowed your brows at the tear trailing down his cheek, drying it with your thumb. Reaching for his arms, you waited until he adjusted enough at the edge of your bed so you could rest your head on his chest. His heartbeat rang through your ears like a long-awaited tune.

“I know you did, Spencer. All of you did. Hey,” you tapped his chin so he could meet your eyes. “I'm here, aren't I?”

He frowned. “You almost weren't.”

“But I am,” you insisted. Your gaze darkened and you shifted on the bed causing the thin blanket to fall off one of your legs. You were all bandaged up, literally. “You know, I… I lost track of time. After the first two days I nearly went crazy. I knew you'd find me but I— I—”

“You don't have to talk about it if you're not ready.” Spencer reassured you softly. He saw the way you stared at your legs, it was the scars beneath the bandages that you were seeing. And the ones beyond your body. “I love you,” he mumbled against your hair, caressing your arms and cradling you into his hold. “We got you out. You're safe now, alright? I promise.”

You resigned with a long breath, burying your face in his shoulder. That heaviness brewing over your thoughts vanished under his touch, wrapping safety around you instead. 

“I love you too, Spencer.” You said, curling into his side. Now that you knew you were safe, you could feel the exhaustion weighing down your eyelids. “Can you stay?” 

He hummed, tucking his chin above your head and shifting on the bed for a better position. It wasn't the most comfortable setting and you two would probably — certainly — wake up with your backs hurting. But Spencer would do anything for you.

“I won't go anywhere, don't worry.”

That was what comfort felt like. You weren't dreaming. That was real. 

The nightmare was finally over. 

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“Isn’t it funny how day by day

nothing changes,

but when you look back,

everything is different. ”

[C.S. Lewis]

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

sources used: [1]; [2]; [3]

taglist: @lilyviolets

[dean-winchester-is-a-warrior]

Two Heroes, No Capes

Summary: Y/N is in trouble, and she knows just who to call for help.

Warnings/Explicit 18+: TW descriptions of a physical assault, mugging, violence implied, injuries, fear and shock, some discussion regarding sexual assault (no sexual assault takes place, or is described, but I want to be extra careful of people's triggers.)

Pairings: No romantic pairing. Jensen Ackles x teen!reader, Jared Padalecki x teen!reader

Word Count: 1,686

A/N: I got a request from the dear @kayyay1219 :

Ok so I’ve been in a J2xteen!reader phases for a while and I can’t help but want another one. So, I was thinking that the reader was out in the city by herself and she gets assaulted by a group of guys and she calls Jared and Jensen for help. So they come to her rescue and they see how bad her injuries are and they take her home and help her clean up.

So, this was what I came up with. I'm so sorry this took SO long to get to you hon! I hope you think it was worth the wait. ❤️

A/N 2: As always, this story is about a Jensen and Jared from a different part of the multiverse and doesn't reflect anything to do with their real life. This is a complete and utter work of fiction. 😊

The beautiful dividers below and at the bottom were created by @saradika

The fear was still pumping in her veins, the relentless throb making the newly formed bruises hurt a little more. Y/N raised her hand, and brushed her fingertips across the gash above her eyebrow. When she pulled her hand away and saw the blood dripping from her fingers, her panic increased.

A rational, calming voice floated into her wildly careening mind, speaking softly, deep and soothing.

It's okay, princess, head wounds bleed a lot, it's probably not as bad as it seems. 

She nodded absently to the voice and tried to take an inventory of what was hurting. Her head was pounding, a result of being punched in the face twice, no doubt, but she’d also smacked the back of it on the concrete when they'd pushed her backwards.

Probably a concussion, the voice told her. 

Her ankle was badly sprained, she knew, from when she'd tried to sprint away from them and lost her footing in one of the cracks criss-crossing the alley. Her body felt like one big bruise from where their fists had pummeled her as she struggled against them. She’d struggled, but they won - holding her down and taking her purse, her jewelry, and her new, expensive leather jacket. She breathed deeply and then grimaced in pain; she also thought she might have a broken rib.

Okay, princess, the voice said quietly, reassuringly, time to call for help.

Suddenly it was obvious to Y/N that the calm, caring voice in her head belonged to Jensen. Of course. She'd call the boys. One of them would likely be free to come help her. 

She dialed Jensen's number, glad the thieves hadn't taken her phone from her jeans pocket. It was a shitty old thing, they probably hadn't thought it was worth the bother. 

It rang twice before he picked up. 

"Hey, darlin'. Need a ride into work? I know night shoots suck." He asked, a smile in his voice. 

"No…don’t need a ride." Her voice was a croak, as tears and fear clogged it. Jensen heard immediately.

"Baby? What's wrong?"

"I need…I had…something happened. These guys, they jumped me…I didn’t notice them. I need someone to…I need help."

She heard Jensen's voice move away from the phone slightly as he called out.

"Jared! It's Y/N, she's hurt, come on!"

He spoke into the receiver again. "Hey, baby, everything's okay now." She actually smiled slightly; his voice was exactly as it had sounded in her head 

"Just tell us where you are, and we'll be there right away."

“I’m in the…the alley beside my building.” She looked down at herself and the dirt and blood that stained the white tank top and jeans she wore. “I’m bleeding, and they…they wrecked my shirt, they tore it.”

Jensen’s voice became softer. “It’s okay, Y/N, we're in the car now. We’re less than 5 minutes away. Jared’s calling the police; do you need an ambulance?”

Y/N shook her head before realizing that Jensen couldn’t hear her head shake. “No.” She said.

Her teeth began to chatter and her whole body began to vibrate as shock took over. “I don’t want…don’t wanna go to the hospital. I’m…I just want to go home. I can’t…I don’t think I can walk on my own, my ankle is…and my head’s…I’m kinda dizzy.”

“No, sweetheart, don’t try to move on your own. We’re so close now.” As he said it, Y/N could hear the screech of tires a block away as Jensen’s pickup truck squealed around the corner of her street and headed towards her block. 

She heard doors open and slam shut, and seconds later, Jensen and Jared loomed large, solid and reassuring at the entrance to the alleyway, silhouetted against the streetlights behind them. She sighed first, and then started crying.

They were here; she was safe.

They ran towards where she sat in the middle of the alley, skidding to a stop beside her and crouching down. The light in the alley was terrible, but Jensen did a quick sweep with his hands to see if anything seemed broken, while Jared held her gently, allowing her tears to seep into his t-shirt.

Seemingly reassured that there were no broken bones, Jensen scooped her up and carried her to her apartment. When they finally had her settled on her couch, with the lights shining bright overhead, she watched the fury bloom on their faces as they got their first good look at her injuries. 

“Who did this to you?” Jared asked as he sat down beside her and took her hand in his.

Jensen answered, his voice chillingly cold.. “Dead men. Dead men did this.” 

Jared shook his head. “Jensen.” He said warningly. “That’s not helping.”

Jensen’s jaw clenched and unclenched several times before he took a deep breath. “You’re right. Killing them can wait.” 

He walked away and returned a half minute later with a first aid kit and a cold cloth. He ran the cloth incredibly gently across her forehead and cheeks, and the coolness felt wonderful against her throbbing skin. They both spoke softly and reassuringly, and Y/N just let their words flow into her, and calm her racing heart and shaking limbs.

As the boys took turns using the first aid kit to tend to the cuts and bruises across her face, Jared seemed like he was working up to saying something. Finally he looked at Jensen and shook his head. In their usual silent communication, Jared seemed to be passing the conversation to Jensen. Y/N was curious what they were trying to say, so she finally just grabbed Jared’s hand where he was cleaning the particularly deep gash above her eyebrow.

“What is it?” She asked, worried her injuries were more dangerous than she’d thought. Maybe she should go to the hospital.

Jensen answered; he was on his knees in front of where she sat on the couch, but he still had to duck his head a bit, to be able to look her in the eye as he spoke.

“Baby, you said…earlier…” 

He took a breath, and tried again. “Sweetheart, you know nothing you say will change how much we love you, and we’ll…we’ll do whatever you need us to do.”

Y/N nodded; she did know that. From the moment she’d shown up on the set of Supernatural, the boys had taken her underwing like protective fathers, and even welcomed her into their homes happily, treating her as simply another member of their busy, beautiful families. They were the protectors and champions she’d always wanted, but had never been lucky enough to have. She trusted them and their love for her completely.

“So…” Jensen continued. “You said that, when I was talking to you before, you said that there was a group of people. They were guys?”

Y/N nodded.

“And you said…” Jensen gritted his teeth again harshly. “You said that they’d…ruined your shirt…tore it? Baby.” He pulled her shirt together where it was torn at the neck. “Baby, did they…hurt you?” At first Y/N was confused. Of course they hurt her, she was bruised and bleeding. But then she heard the way he put emphasis on the word “hurt”, and realized what kind of hurt he meant. 

She turned red, and shook her head quickly, looking at her lap and ignoring the way her skull ached. “No. I mean…no, they didn’t…didn’t hurt anything that won’t heal. They tore my shirt when they were grabbing and ripping at my necklace.”

Her eyes went wide and then filled with tears as she turned to Jared. “The necklace you got me for Christmas. They took it.”

“Oh, darlin’, don’t worry. I’ll buy you a new one, I promise.” Jared said as he pulled her head gently against his shoulder. 

Just then a knock came to the door. For the next half hour Jared and Jensen sat beside her as she gave a tearful accounting of the whole incident to the police officers who crowded into her small living room. They acted like twin pillars of strength, helping her through, and lending her their bravery when she needed it. 

Finally, the police left, advising that she go to the hospital because of her head injuries. The boys agreed and then, when she said again that she really didn’t want to go, they insisted.

Finally she caved, and within the hour she was admitted for observation at St. Francis Memorial. The boys stayed with her all night. Y/N dozed from time to time, but the nurses came in regularly to wake her up and ask her simple questions like where she was born or how to spell her name, just to make sure her concussion wasn’t getting worse. 

Whenever Y/N was awake, the boys would regale her with stories from when they were kids, stories from set, stories about their own kids. She had to keep telling them not to make her laugh so much - she had bruised ribs. 

When the morning came, and the doctors were satisfied with her test results and with the results of the CT Scan they’d done the night before, she was discharged and the boys took her home. By the time she got there, she was exhausted beyond belief. So, they simply tucked her up in her bed, and then pulled up chairs to sit beside her.

“You guys don’t have to stay.” She said with a deep yawn. “You must be exhausted too.”

They both raised their feet onto the bed beside her and leaned back in the chairs. “Yeah,” Jensen answered, “but we’re good here.”

Y/N considered arguing against their overprotectiveness, but admitted to herself that she needed it right now. So, she simply smiled at them, and snuggled deeper into her soft pillows and cozy blanket.

“Love you guys.” She said sleepily. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it kiddo.” They said together. 

Love it when they talk at the same time, she thought to herself with a smile as she drifted off to a peaceful sleep, knowing she was completely safe, with her heroes so nearby.

1 - Jensen RPF + Any/All characters Jensen plays. @lyarr24 @deans-spinster-witch @impalaslytherin @maggiegirl17 @akshi8278 @candy-coated-misery0731 @deanswaywardgirl @slytherinlyn314 @globetrotter28 @jensensgirl @perpetualabsurdity @tristanrosspada-ackles @djs8891 @muhahaha303 @kayyay1219 @emily-winchester @recoveringpastaaddict @maximumkillshot @mimaria420 @sacriceria @envyaurora95 @lacilou @jc-winchester @spnwoman @mimi-luvzyu

3 - Any/All Fics (regardless of fandom/character.) @kazsrm67 @sexyvixen7 @alexxavicry @nancymcl @spalady26

4 - Everything (includes fan vid/DOOL edits as well) @unabashed-lover-of-fictional-men @maliburenee @supernatural4life2022 @spn730015 @kickingitwithkirk @waywardbaby @foxyjwls007 @deanwanddamons @deandreamernp @deanwithscissors @myloversgone @snowlovespie @leigh70 @all-alone-he-turns-to-stone @charred-angelwings @hopefuldreamers-world @jensensgotyoudean @thoughts-and-funnies @magssteenkamp @princessmisery666 @eevvvaa @mishkatelwarriorgoddess @waynes-multiverse @mrsjenniferwinchester @bernasaurus @jensenslady79 @courtn92 @avanatural @ellie-andthemachine @this-is-me19 @roseblue373 @katbratsupernaturalwhore @fanfic-n-tabulous

[devnmon]

save who you can save // t.s.

A prequel to Long Long Time, detailing the first time the two met.

pairing: smuggler!reader x tess servopolous slowburn

Summary: One of your smuggling deals goes wrong– almost deathly wrong. A stranger decides you're worth saving.

word count: 11k

warnings: descriptions of several injuries, reader gets beaten up, non-sexual nudity, tw for random guys in the qz, physical assault, mentions of blood, death, drugs, and typical tlouverse violence... reader is mid 20's, tess is early 40's, tess gives reader stitches (but it's ok they're unconscious), mentions of tess's past, tess and joel aren't a thing in this, but he is an asshole for the better part of the fic [lowkey enemies to friends w/ joel]. pining (a lot of mutual pining oh my god guys.) also pls don't come at me for inaccurate qz stuff, this is fanfic. nonbinary pronouns used the reader is afab! also this fic starts in readers pov and ends in tess's and i just realized that so don't hate me for it! xx

a/n: happy valentines day GAY PEOPLE. this is for you guys. and all the tess fic lovers. here is my prequel of Long Long Time that i wrote a little over a year ago when tlou hbo came out. i pour my heart into each and every fic i write. this is my child, be kind with her. i hope you all enjoy and don't forget to reblog to support your favorite creators!!

That day she found you, beaten and bloody with several injuries, was the day she had quite genuinely saved your life.

You never should’ve made this deal. 

Becoming a smuggler required more skill, more cunning –more than you had. Somehow, you’ve ended up right where you never thought you’d be: on the sour end of an unstable client. 

You knew your stock wasn’t as satisfying as the client demanded, but the amount of ration cards seemed too good to be true. It happened to be– regrettably you’d been a fool to try and weasel out of the deal without repercussions. Nothing was ever that easy in this world. 

The first thing you felt was the end of a very sharp knife pressing into your back. Then you heard his voice in your ear, speaking punctually. 

“Where do you think you’re going? Nobody gets past me. Not even you. I let you think you’re good at sneaking around. But I see everything.” 

Your breath hitched as his grip pulled you backwards into the alley. Once you turned away from the main road, you were met with another man, one you knew accompanied another man you dealt with often. He was dressed the same, and had that classic sketchy-guy look that told you exactly who’d approached you this hostile. 

It was a particularly unstable client, one you hesitated to continue business with due to his poor self-control. He was a junkie through and through, just a man too weak to settle into this world, needing a constant escape. You had unfortunately promised him a supply you didn’t have, and things escalated too far soon after. 

There was no reason to call for help either; it would be that easy for him to rat you out to FEDRA for selling pills. Even if those same soldiers were frequent customers of yours. Your voice had gone hoarse and the cut on your lip swelled enough to make it hard to speak. 

You couldn’t decide what was worse, the fact that you never saw this coming, or that nobody would be coming to your rescue. 

Crack. 

Your shoulder was slammed into the wall with enough force that you toppled to the floor. Followed by multiple kicks to the stomach and sides, with not even a second’s notice. Your lunch felt closer to coming up with every rough kick of their boots into your torso. 

The amount of stock wasn’t nearly as close to what the client demanded, but his ration cards seemed too good to be true. To be fair, you weren’t cut out to be a smuggler; you were a fool to try and weasel out of the deal without repercussions. It was never that easy in this world. 

Your knuckles scraped against the blacktop like sandpaper while attempting to stand, painted crimson while your skin ripped. When your vision went double, then triple, squeezing your eyes shut alleviated the pain for just a moment. 

Other than the blood you felt gushing from your hands, the throbbing in your head and torso made it difficult to move without immense pain. Weakened by several blows to the stomach, your legs finally gave out. Your ankle twisted the wrong way as you fell, while your palm caught on a sharp piece of rock, scraping it enough to burn. You were damned if you tried to yell for help.

You huff a breath, before a sharp pain stopped you short, coughing up blood that pooled in your chest. On all fours like a dog you were, with the two men standing above you muttering to themselves. 

Mercy, they called this having mercy on you. 

Some form of laceration cut deep enough to drip red hot blood down your forehead, and there was no doubt you had several more covering your body by the way everything burned. It dripped down your face and made everything blurry. 

Coughing hoarsely, you somehow found the strength to pull yourself off from the prone position, finding a wall to sit up against. Each time you moved, it felt as if your body was getting ripped apart. Your bones felt like glass, your skin like paper. Blood gushed from a slash on your arm, and your stomach had taken one too many blows to pull yourself to your feet. 

How the fuck did this happen?

You had been traveling through the QZ during late afternoon, around the central hob of trading. In the midst of the zone's chaos, you ducked into an alley as a shortcut, which was your first mistake. Minutes later, you had been roughly attacked from behind, and thrown against the wall with one motion.

“You got our pills, bitch?” Two sets of feet pointed toward you while weakened. 

“I need more time,” you breathed, convincing yourself more so than the man in front of you, “My dealer’s stingy with his supply. I can get it out of him, though. Soon.”  Your arms raised at your sides, knowing how many people secretly carried knives around the QZ. There was no way you were taking that chance. 

A pair of hands grabbed the collar of your shirt, lifting you up so you could hear them clearly. 

“We want the rest of our pills. And a pack of cigs. End of the day tomorrow. Or you’re all the way dead. You hear me?” 

The other man approached, unsheathing his blade and immediately pressed it to your cheek, standing not even a foot from your body. His blade was forced onto your skin so hard that it drew blood, and you called out in pain. 

“End of day tomorrow. The usual spot.” The one holding your collar said pointedly. 

A fast nod of your head paired with the incessant throbbing of his words within your mind had you struggling to comprehend anything. He released your collar, which resulted in you toppling onto the ground once more. The blood you coughed up afterwards stained your shirt, wiping it away with the sleeve of your flannel. 

You’d survived the chaos of outbreak day, almost running yourself into the ground trying to escape everything. That was the day you knew this would be a life of running, until you arrived in Boston. 

You weren’t sure about the Quarantine Zone at first. But then you saw a bed and pillow to sleep on every night. No more camouflaging yourself in the backseat of a car or suffering drastic temperatures and hoping you wake up not frozen to death the next day. 

To be fair, you tried to sign up for work shifts, but manual labor was never for you– especially not when it was shoveling shit, or transferring corpses to burn in fire pits. That kind of work was not how you intended to live out the rest of your life. 

That was when you landed on smuggling, since people had to be desperate for some kind of relief after taking orders from soldier douchebags all day. You probably would’ve been better off in the academy, not taking shit from a weasel of a dealer whose name you forgot, but whose ponytail you remembered. You’d gone from risking your life every day in the open world, dodging the swarms of runners underground to being forced into risking your life trying to make the junkies and downright miserable people of the QZ happy. 

Now, you’ve accepted that you were going to slowly bleed to death in this alley. Part of you wanted to resist, but the idea of not having to deal with anything like this ever again. It would just be that much easier to close your eyes and succumb. 

You whimpered at the pain running through your leg, a patch of maroon seeping through your jeans. Too weak to put pressure on any of your own wounds, you let your eyes close in defeat. The voice at the back of your head protested, wanting you to get up and fight for your life. But you just couldn’t. 

Eventually the air got cooler which you noted meant the sun had gone down, and you were in and out of consciousness. Warily, you opened your one good eye, spotting the patch of blood that had spread further from the gash on your leg. The sight made you queasy, so you closed your eye again and went back to unconsciousness for a while. It was the lone way everything stopped hurting, and bliss once you floated into it. 

“Psst. You alive?” The words rang sharp in your head with an ache so bad you couldn’t focus. The nudge at your foot woke you a bit, pulling you to consciousness slightly. No reply earned you a slightly harder kick to the leg, which shot another stinging pain up your leg. You groaned and your body moved a bit. 

Is someone there? 

Footsteps crunched against the blacktop, getting slightly louder. 

Fuck, please don’t hurt me, please, please.. 

“I’m just gonna check your pulse, so if you can hear me, don’t freak out.” Your head moved an inch weakly, unsure about this person being so close to you. A low groan of discomfort came from your chest, alerting the woman you were conscious. 

“Hey, hey. I’m not going to hurt you. Just needed to know if you were alive.” The voice was low, and it sounded feminine through the ringing in your ear. 

“H-help… me…” You managed to speak, your mouth and tongue tasting like iron. 

The woman went silent for a moment, taking a look over the state of your injuries. 

“You’re pretty fucked up, honey. God, what piece of shit did this to you?” She picked up on the multiple gashes on your body, staining your clothes, and your shoulder was visibly out of place. 

You decided to open your eyes to see who was crouched next to you. It was no use, your vision was still spinning from earlier. Sharp pains drummed against your head and obscured your ability to see. The one sole thing you could make out was someone with long, light colored hair and a dark pink shirt, but you kept looking around to see if your vision would come back. 

“Shit. I’ve gotta get you out of here. Just- just hold on. Name’s Tess, what’s yours?” You picked up on her moving about, unzipping what you assumed was her pack. 

You mumbled again, still unable to speak clearly. 

“Right, dumb question. So, I’ve gotta stop your bleeding, and your shoulder looks dislocated. I can only do one of those things right now, and then we can get you someplace safe. That means I’m gonna have to put pressure on your leg. Okay?” Her words came out matter-of-factly, and she seemed like a true survivor of this world. 

You begin to protest, moving slightly away from her and moaning with distrust. 

“Look, I promise, I will get you out of here. But I can’t have you leaving a blood trail through the streets. Alright?” She asked, and you hesitated for a moment, but nodded slightly. 

“Okay, this is going to hurt, but I need you to keep it quiet so it doesn’t attract soldiers. Can you do that?” 

Immediately, you shook your head no, and you heard the woman mumble to herself while she shuffled through her bag.

“Here, bite down on this. It’s a clean rag, and I promise that if you scream, it’ll be a hell of a lot quieter than if you didn’t have it.” She raised the rag up to your lips and waited for you to open your mouth. Somehow you trusted her to let her put it in. If this were some other old injury, you wouldn’t be giving an inch. But you happened to be on the brink of death right now, and you realized she’s probably saving your life. 

“I’m gonna put pressure on your cut now.” You heard her rearrange herself to be crouched over on the other side of you. With both her hands, she pressed down firmly on your wound. The stinging pain that died down earlier came right back when her hands made contact. She noticed your wound gushing through the first bandage in her hand. You groaned loudly into the cloth, grateful for its existence. 

“I know it hurts…” The woman spoke again, “Just hang in there. I’m gonna wrap your wound, and then once we’re safe, I can stitch it up.” 

You begin to protest, borderline trusting the woman in front of you. Then you realized, she was the only one here. 

"Look, I need to get you out of here. Need to get us out of here. Soldiers are gonna be swarming the streets all night, and it's almost sundown. I can take you to my place, and I’ll have a better chance to take care of you there. I know you probably don’t trust me, but it's the least I can do."

Considering the current situation, you didn’t have much of a choice. 

“Do what you… h-have to..” you muttered weakly. 

The pressure on your wound had lightened, while one of her hands rested on it as she used the other to grab for her bag again. She met your eye level for a moment, glancing up to survey your state. She went back to wrap some gauze around your thigh, tying it tighter than you would’ve liked, even though you knew it would help your wound begin to heal. 

“Okay, I think the bleeding stopped. You poor thing, let’s get you out of here.” You watched her zip up her pack and shrug it onto her back, while grabbing yours with her other hand. 

“It’s probably gonna hurt a lot if you try to stand, but we gotta get you up one way or another.” You felt her at your side, slipping your left arm around her shoulder. She had already noticed the sharp inhales you were taking upon moving from your spot. 

“Here, lean on me. I’ll carry you. Just keep breathing, honey.” 

The minute she began to lift you was when you knew something was really wrong with your other arm. It tingled all over and your shoulder ached something awful. 

“‘M t-tryin’– it hurts…” had been uttered under your breath with another whine of sharp pain as your body moved with hers. 

“I know. Shhh, Shh. Hey, Just put one foot in front of the other. You’ve got this.” Something about her voice was calming you, and it almost made up for all the pain. The two of you begin walking, slowly at first, testing out your strength for the journey. It took a minute of tripping over your own feet to steady yourself. 

“Promise we’re gonna get you fixed up, brand new.” She muttered under her breath, low enough so other people nearby didn’t hear. 

Somehow her words kept you going, limp after limp. Tess made sure you knew when you had to take a step up or down, and kept you going the whole time. 

“Yeah, you got it. We’re halfway there. Keep it up, doin’ great.” Her words reverberated in your head with an echo. You couldn’t see where you were stepping for the majority, but you trusted her to guide you. Another few minutes of walking had your body much more worn out than normal. Once she stopped at the side of a building, her arm went to push the door open.

“Here we are.” Tess kicked it shut behind you two, and balanced you against her body. The interior was warm on your skin, but somehow your body still shivered to its core. Inside, you could hear people shifting around, but the sounds blended together amongst your attempt to stay upright. 

“I’m s-so cold…” 

The strength in your body was draining with every step you took; you were ready to collapse. 

“I know, but you gotta keep your eyes open a little longer. We need to get you up these stairs. Then we’re home free.” 

You didn’t protest as she brought you closer, inching up each step carefully in order to not strain yourself. Your legs ached with every step, persevering to make it all the way.

The last step up the top stair drained the last of your stamina, evident by the way your fingers throbbed with each beat of your heart. You were out of it more intensely than when you had been outside. Your whole body was sensitive with some form of pain you couldn’t quite pinpoint. 

Tess led you down the short hallway, stopping in front of her door. She fumbled with her keys, although the jingling chain sounded more like glass breaking in your head. The door flew open, and she brought you inside, tossing your pack to the side while tossing her keys in another direction. 

“Alright, let’s set you down on the couch. Should be more comfortable than the damn ground.” Tess scoffed as she brought you over, keeping an eye on your limp. She turned you to the right, your bad arm on the outside of the couch as you were lowered down onto the cushions. When your feet were finally off the ground and your back rested against the pillows, it made a world of a difference. 

“Fuck… I’m so tired. Everything hurts.” You stifled a groan, but Tess saw how much pain you were in. Your eyes scrunched together every time you tried to move and there were multiple patches of blood seeping through your shirt. 

“I know. But I can’t leave your shoulder the way it is.” 

“My shoulder?” You hadn’t the slightest idea what she was talking about, your arms felt fine. 

No, it’s definitely the shock you’re in. 

“It’s dislocated. Pretty swollen already, you must be in shock. And I already told you that I’d have to pop it back in. Before we left, you don’t remember?” 

“No…” You mumbled, trying to recall; your memory was so groggy; you couldn’t remember half the day. 

“Shit, you probably have a concussion too.” Tess reached to the back of her jeans, pulling out the same rag as before. “But I’ve gotta set your shoulder before it’s permanently damaged. It’s probably been way too long already.” 

“How d’you know all this? Were you a doctor or something? Before?” Tess turned to face you, and you were able to focus on the features of her face for a moment. Her eyes were a light hazel color, and you could see little strands of grey peeking through her light brown hair. 

“Or something… I did a lot to survive after the outbreak. Learned a lot more to survive the hard times.” Her words trailed off, and she went to grab something from another part of the room. Tess had collected an old shirt of hers, and came back over to you. 

“Okay, so… I’m not good with pain clearly. Hope you still have that rag. Cause I’m gonna yell… or pass out. Either way, it’s gonna hurt a shit ton, and I’m gonna need it.” 

Without a doubt, Tess pulled the rag from her back pocket for you. 

“Got it right here. Kept it out of my pack cause I knew you’d need it again. This is gonna hurt a lot more than just some pressure on your cut.” She began tying the t-shirt together in a specific way, but you weren’t sure what she was doing with it. 

“Shit. I know… I know. Just do it.” You groaned, feeling a slight tingling sensation in your left hand shooting upwards to your shoulder. 

Tess set the now tied shirt onto the floor, as she kneeled down next to you. With one hand, she held the rag up to your mouth, and you bit down on it. Among the various other pains in your body, your shoulder was the worst of all. Taking a few deep breaths to calm yourself enough, Tess met your eye once she had leaned down in front of you. 

“Ready?”

Wordlessly, you nodded your head. You were trying to keep calm, but the shock was wearing off and your pain came flooding back. One of Tess’s hands grasped your forearm, though you could barely feel her grip. 

“Okay. One, two…” 

Crack went your shoulder back into its socket with one swift motion. Just as she thought, you went groaning into the rag once again. Tess took her hands away and grabbed the makeshift sling she had tied together earlier. 

“Does that feel better?” She asked, watching you spit out the rag. You took another deep breath in and out, surveying the current feeling in your arm. 

“Yeah.” You weren’t sure if you believed it yourself, but for now you decided to. “Pain’s still there, but it definitely feels different. Better than before.”

“Good. Here, you’ve gotta wear your arm in this sling while it heals.” Tess lifted the tied up sling over your head, and it slipped on easily on once she had it situated the right way. 

“Could I get those pills now? The idea of any kind of grace from the amount of pain I was just in sounds like a dream.” You tried to laugh, but a cough came up instead. 

“Yeah. I’ve got Oxy, Hydro, Morphine…” She trailed off, not even knowing if you knew what she was talking about. 

“Honestly, whatever you think will be best. I honestly don’t know anything about dosages very well, and I trust you. Besides, I just wanna knock out for the night. I’m fucking exhausted.” Your words slurred a bit, due to your swollen lip, but Tess heard you well enough. 

“Alright, I’ll be right back.” 

Instead of trying to keep your eyes open, you shut them again in an attempt to alleviate the pain in your head, but it pounded nonstop. You listened to Tess’s boots on the wooden floor walking around to ground yourself. A couple minutes later, she returned to where you lay on the couch. 

You peeked your eyes open, and she’d crouched down with two pills in one hand and a cup of water in the other. 

“Got you water to wash it down with, if you want.” Her cupped hand held two of the white pills and you raised your good arm to grab them. Patient as she was, you moved slowly. 

There was no indication of any burdensome look on her face, which was odd– no one had ever been this kind to you before. You didn’t know how to feel about it. 

Slipping the pills between your lips, you grabbed for the cup of water. It began to slip out of your hand the minute Tess loosened her grip.

“Here, let me. You’re gonna be really weak for a while, so just close your eyes and relax.” She said, to which she brought the cup to your lips with no hesitation. 

“Now, while those pills kick in, I’ll see what I can do for your gashes and other injuries. All I want you to focus on is getting some sleep. You’re safe. I promise.” She touched your hand softly, then stood up and walked off to leave you space to rest. 

Once you closed your eyes, you felt the exhaustion wash over you, though it finally felt good to rest again. A few minutes passed, and the groggy effect of the pills began to set in. You were out in no time. 

In the meantime, Tess darted back and forth gathering supplies to fix you up; she’d sterilized a needle and thread to stitch up your leg, and took the last of her ace bandages out from her pack to use for your ankle. She grabbed the bottle of whiskey on the countertop, and brought what she needed over to you, couchside. 

Before Tess took the needle and thread between her fingers, she cut away the area of denim that was ripped from your gash.

“Sorry, kid. I’ll get you some new pants.” To be fair, those jeans of yours were filthy with dirt and muck stains you’d never be able to wash out. Not to mention the blood that spread had well enough to become a large patch. She attempted to wipe up the dried viscera around your cut best she could, dabbing with the alcohol lightly to sanitize it. She’d counted on you being unconscious from the pills to start stitching up your gash. Hands steady, she looped the needle and thread through your cut, pulling it closed with each tie. 

Though it wasn’t the most ideal situation for something like this, Tess had the experience. Stitching up cut after cut on the road for god knows how long, trying to keep moving forward, but somehow someone always got hurt. People kept dying, or turning– and that wasn’t even the worst part. Upon making it to Boston, she learned what it was to be calm under situations like this. To become cold. It got the best of her, more often than not; any idea of the old her was lost to dreams of the world before. She never looked back, never slowed down, never took even a moment for herself. Her routine was based strictly around finding the best way to get by in the QZ. The constant eye of FEDRA’s guards and firefly bombings were enough, let alone the mile-long lines for rations that were barely ever in. It was too much to subject herself to being controlled by an invasive military, especially after all she’d done to survive. Each person Tess left behind etched a sliver of her humanity off, chipping away the heartfulness she once carried with pride. 

Save who you can save, the last words whispered to her by someone that sacrificed themselves so she could make it to Boston. Everything blurred together sometime after getting admitted into the city; by then, she’d worn down that kind version of herself into the ground. Possibly that same place where she heard those words before. Quickly, she gained a reputation with Joel by her side in the smuggling business of the zone. It paid well– better than hard labor all day for a cruel amount of flimsy ration cards, just to repeat the same thing over the next day. There was a respectable line Tess drew between the things she’d done in the name of survival, and things she strongly disliked doing. 

Tess’s time in the QZ had only reinforced that rigid outer shell of hers, confident the softer, weaker person inside her was left behind for good.

She’d almost made it through the day without finding any trouble, but her path through the streets was detoured by FEDRA vehicles and it happened to be the quickest route back to her place. Tess’s steps were quick, aiming to make a b-line straight back. 

Then her eyes caught the image of your thoroughly beaten self, and attempted to shut down the itch in the back of her throat she couldn’t quite scratch. 

Just keep walking, she’d told herself. But her subconscious knew better. Then those words echoed lightly through her head. 

Tess, save who you can save…

“Shit…” 

She thought she’d forgotten them all. But time never does. Those poor souls lost to hordes of runners, clickers, stalkers– each one shoved down so deep inside, and the outside shell of her was simple glass. 

Keep walking, just keep walking…. No–

She truly tried to keep going, but each step gnawed into her further. Remembrance of the ones she’d lost shattered the glass holding her back, and glued her feet to the ground in place. A quick curse had Tess looking back over her right shoulder, catching a glimpse of your unmoving body. She’d figured if this were a trap, others would’ve already surrounded her. 

A deep sigh came from her exhale of a tightly held breath; her heart pounding against the inside of her chest, as if something about to burst. Any second thought of moving further had vanished, her feet pivoting against the concrete, toward the stagnant body lying soundless against the brick wall. 

Darkness swallowed every corner of that alley; Tess was fortunate to even have seen you at all. 

It wasn’t often she found herself stopping for anyone that needed help, let alone in the QZ. Underneath the swollen and crimson stained injuries, she saw a young individual subdued and unconscious from their injuries. That was the moment she’d called out to you. 

Tess shook those pre-Boston nightmares from her mind, putting all of her focus onto fixing up your ankle. With the discoloration of bruises that covered your ankle, it baffled her how you were even able to trek as far as you had gone. Her eyebrows furrowed relentlessly, each one of your injuries more surprising than the last. 

“Jesus, kid. What the hell did you get yourself into?” She muttered to herself, before grabbing the roll of bandages from her pack. Tess was so focused on getting your ankle wrapped, that she hadn’t heard the creak of the wooden floor from behind her. 

“Tess… what’re you doin’?” 

Unbothered by the voice, her hands kept working. Though, she knew she’d woken her roommate from his slumber. Joel Miller hadn’t thought this was what he’d be seeing at almost two in the morning. 

“Wrapping an ankle, the hell do you think I’m doing?” 

“Tess. who the fuck is this?” By the tone of his voice, she knew he was pissed. She dare not poke the bear this late. 

“It’s uh… well, no. I don’t know. They couldn’t speak when I found them.” She’d finished securing the bandage around your ankle, and placed it back down on the couch.

“Do you even know their name?” Joel stepped towards Tess, his brow furrowed. 

“Joel… they were lying beat up and bloody in an alley. I wasn’t gonna take the chance and leave them there to die.” She reached for the other pillow on the couch, and placed it delicately for your ankle to rest on. 

“Well, did you even check their pack for weapons?” 

Tess huffed a breath, and stood up straight, turning to the man. 

“I was a little preoccupied making sure they weren’t bleeding out. Besides, they didn’t have any on their body. But if you insist…”

She took the moment now to move towards your pack she’d thrown into a corner earlier, taking out a notebook, some ration cards, and a couple bags of pills. 

“What the fuck? Tess, this could be a setup.” Joel muttered, the tone of his voice unsettled by the situation. 

“What? No. No fucking way, Joel. I’m telling you, they would’ve died out there if it wasn’t for me.” 

“You’ve gotta stop tryin’ to save people that ain’t worth it. That’s how we’re still alive, why we’re here and the dead ain’t.” 

“No, I don’t believe you. They’re unconscious and didn’t even see you, by the way. I think you’re fine.” Tess shook her head while she spoke. 

“Well, it’s our business that goes to shit if you’re wrong.” Joel spat, beginning to walk back to his door. 

“I don’t really give a shit. Not tonight. What I do care about is making sure this person stays alive. I couldn’t care less about distributing pills to junkies.” 

She did care about the smuggling, just not as much as she did about keeping you alive for the night. 

“Yeah, whatever.” 

His door shut and locked, leaving Tess alone with you for the night. She collected herself after that conversation, preparing anything she might need throughout the night to treat you. Just in case. 

Her muscles finally relaxed the minute she’d sat down in a chair adjacent to her couch. While she draped a blanket over her legs, Tess took one last look at you, studying your rising chest and calm features. 

You’re gonna be alright. 

Beams of sunlight painted the walls with a glowing warmth, cast across the older woman’s skin. Morning broke early, waking Tess before either of the habitants that resided in the Boston apartment. She’d always been a light sleeper, despite that it was loud most hours in the walls of the QZ. Living in Detroit her whole life had certainly accustomed her to it. 

Her hazel eyes opened against the light, finding themselves staring upwards at the ceiling. Tess had woken up several times throughout the night, which had become a normal occurrence for her. Events from last night flashed through her mind as she rose from her slumber. Her slumped position resulted with an uncomfortable spot in her neck from the chair she’d been in all night. Tess sat up as best she could, grasping the nape of her neck for comfort. No matter how many times she tried to get rid of the pain, nothing relieved her. Defeated by the lack of sleep, she rose from the chair and looked over at you still asleep on the couch. 

Rays of sunlight happened to catch right over your face, peeking through the blinds as they awoke you from rest. Yesterday had become a blur quicker than light. 

Where am I? What happened to me? It hurts everywhere…

You shifted lightly with a groan, eyes still closed. A headache pinged at the sides of your temples, and you took a sharp breath out of reflex. You weren’t able to move your body freely; exhaustion had drained you enough. Out of the blue, you heard a female voice echoing in your ears. Your one good eye opened, and it took a minute to adjust to the light, along with any blurriness. 

“Hey, you with me?” Her voice called out to you, unintelligible at first, but once you focused on the words more, you understood. 

“Where… where am I?” You mumbled, attempting to lift yourself up. You didn’t know what was worse; not knowing where you were, or not being able to lift your body normally. 

“Don’t try to sit up. You’re safe, but you’re too weak to sit up right now. I saved you last night, patched you up. Remember? My name’s Tess.” 

“Not really…” you sighed, accepting your weakened state. 

Tess knew it would take more than just one night to gain your trust; she also knew Joel wouldn’t be as patient. She crouched down by the side of the couch where you were, getting closer to make sure you heard her. 

“So, I pulled you out of that alley last night, patched you up and kept you safe the past twelve hours. I think that warrants me your name.” 

Your eyes glanced over her figure, the image of Tess still fuzzy. Considering all the factors, and the fact that you were still alive, you gave in and told her your name. Tess nodded contently and spoke again.

“Well, you probably have a concussion. But I cleaned and bandaged up everything else I could. Your left arm was dislocated, but I popped it back in last night. That’s why it’s in the sling. Don’t try to move it much, it’ll take a while to heal. As for your ankle, it’s twisted pretty bad. Bruised, too. You’re gonna be off your feet for a while.” Surveying the bumps and bruises you’d received, she set other supplies to the side on the floor.

You glanced down at your body, pulling back the blanket over your legs to find your stained jeans and the stitched up gash, with other bandaging around your ankle. 

“You saved me? And bandaged me up?” You speak clearly for the first time, and Tess stopped in her movement. 

“Yeah. You’re lucky to be alive. I wasn’t gonna let you die out there.” 

“What..” you swallowed, “What happened to me?” 

“From the looks of it, you were on the bad side of a shitty deal gone wrong. Like I said, you’re lucky to be alive.” Her tone was calm, and impressive to see in a situation that was anything but. 

“You went through my pack?” 

“I found you in an alley. Almost dead. Can you blame me?” 

“Guess not…” you said, sighing and trying to sit up. With one arm in a sling, you were having trouble moving without anything hurting. The pills were wearing off little by little as time passed. 

“Yeah, I wouldn’t do that. You’re gonna be couch bound for a while.” 

“What? No way. I need to… I have business and shit I need to get done–” 

“Don’t play coy. We know you’re a smuggler.” She shoved her hands in her pockets, pacing in small circles. 

“Well, you went through my bag. It doesn’t take a genius to figure that out. Wait, did you say we?” 

Before Tess could respond, a gray haired man emerged from behind her, jutting into the conversation. 

“You’re real cocky for someone that almost ended up dead from one of your clients. For all I know, this whole thing is a setup for you to rob us, kill us, or somethin’ else. But I ain’t gonna take that chance. Not now, not ever. Are we clear?” His southern accent came out as he spoke, and it wasn’t often you heard a voice like his among the Boston streets. It was intimidating enough; you didn’t trust him. 

“Yeah– okay, dude. Jesus, I don’t even know who you are. I didn’t know you guys were smugglers!” your voice strained while you lift your arm to gesture. 

“Joel, I was the one that brought them here. Like you said, this is on me. And I’ve got it. Walk it off, Texas.” 

The man named Joel walked backwards, dark eyes trained on you until the moment he turned around and left. He shut the front door in haste. 

“Is he always that tense?” You ask, taking a deep breath. 

“No. It’s not every day I bring anyone back to this apartment. Let alone someone who looked half dead, like yourself. No offense.” 

“Yeah… Why did you save me, by the way? You could’ve just left me there. But you didn’t.” 

“I told you… I wasn’t going to let you die. I thought you were dead at first, but I took the chance and saved your damn life. Is that what you wanna hear?” Your vision was still a little blurry, but you could focus on the woman’s features much more easily up close. You finally made out the face of your savior, Tess was a woman with light brown hair, longer than her shoulders but not too long. Her eyes were green, and there were lines on her face from time passing. With her stern voice, you wouldn’t know her face would look as calm. 

“Well, thank you.” You admitted, half ashamed you even thought about staying there to die in the first place. 

“You’re welcome.” 

Just as the silence settled, your body became aware of every injury you’d received. A sound of discomfort slipped past your lips, furrowing your eyebrows together. 

“Are you in pain? What hurts?” Tess began looking over the stitches she’d done the night before. 

With a groan, you replied, “Everything…” 

“Alright, I can give you a couple more pills for the pain. Uh wait– do you need to use the bathroom? I assume it’s been a while…” 

“Oh, yeah. I think in my near death I’d been.. You know, going without the ability to control it.” 

“Right… Well, I can get you a clean pair of clothes, but it won’t do any good if you’re wearing your own body fluids. Do you– would you like a bath?” 

Immediately insecure, you realized how filthy you must’ve become, spending most of yesterday soaked in your own blood and urine. Quickly, you nodded while looking down, shame washing over you. 

“Okay, Joel’s not gonna be back for a few hours. I can spare you some new clothes and underwear, but your boots I can just clean off later. I’ll re-wrap your injuries after, too. For now, we’ve gotta get you cleaned up.” 

She lifted you from the couch dutifully and slung you over her shoulder to head towards the bathroom. Tess recognized your sounds of discomfort, a string of sharp breaths and muffled groans you thought she didn’t hear. 

“Almost there. Here we go.” Her hip pushed the door open, sitting you on the chair next to the tub. Once the water was on and flowing, Tess found the right temperature and began filling the tub. She made her way back to you, and began to untie your boots, placing them off to the side. She took off your button down shirt, which revealed more black and blue bruising across your back and shoulder. You hissed a breath as she pulled the sleeve down off your left arm. Before moving further, Tess looked toward you with kind eyes. 

“It’s okay. Don’t feel ashamed. It’s just hard now. But you’ll be alright… Can I continue?” Her hand rested on your good shoulder patiently. You nodded silently, realizing the intimacy of the situation and looked down at the floor. 

Slowly, cautiously, and gently, she undressed you while the tub filled beside you both. Not only was your body covered in bruises and scrapes, but dried blood and other viscera had caked on a few layers. The bandages from last night were discarded to the side, fresh ones in the other room for when you were clean. She saw your reaction as you entered the water, your face contorted in both pain and pleasure while you sat. The warmth of the liquid against your torso was another level of soothing, flooding your skin with goosebumps and washing off some of the dried blood upon submerging yourself into the tub. Tess grabbed a washcloth and bar of soap, lathering it up before wiping it across your back. 

“I don’t know how to thank you. This is…” 

“You don’t have to say anything. And you don’t have to thank me. Please– please don’t thank me.” Tess knew this wouldn’t make up for the numerous people she’d left behind– left to die so she could persevere ahead. But all she had to do was goddamn try. 

A comfortable silence settled between the two of you, sighing while she kept cleaning off your body. Her hands were soft against your skin, sending shivers up your spine. Though she was doing something as intimate as washing you, it didn’t bother you as much as it would have on any other occasion. She carefully avoided running over your scrapes and other open wounds, yet still washing them lightly with the soap and water. Before long, the water had become a dark brown color from how much had washed off of you. Tess began to drain the tub, keeping the faucet running as it drained. 

“Mind if I wash your hair?” 

It was just a simple question, but it sparked your anxiety a bit more than when she undressed you earlier. 

“Uh.. sure.” 

Tess washed out the tub with a bucket while you sat in it. She lathered some shampoo between her palms, rubbing it across your scalp with gentle fingers. 

You couldn’t deny, Tess’s hands were calloused and rough, but they felt like heaven against your scalp. Rubbing the pads of her fingers into your head was somehow better than all the times you’d done it yourself. Eyebrows furrowed against the sensation, and you groaned lowly. You somehow alerted Tess, wondering if she’d pressed too firmly on your head. 

“What happened? Does it hurt? Sorry if I’m going too hard–”

“No, it’s great. Keep going.” You breathed. 

“Okay..” she chuckled a bit before continuing, then used the bucket to wash the rest out from your locks before applying conditioner. One of her hands grabbed the brush on the floor, slowly untangling the mess of knots in your hair. The warm water calmed you like nothing you’d experienced before, at least not since after the world fell. Appreciation flowed through you, and the comfortable silence reinforced that all the more. It was a safe feeling, one you shared with this kind, and beautiful woman. She’d washed the leftover soap and conditioner off your body, and began to towel dry your skin in a gentle manner. 

“Here, wrap yourself in this. I’ll be right back with the clothes.” Quick footsteps brought her to the pile of clothes she’d attained over the months on the run. She’d returned to the bathroom with a few things in hand, and approached you. Carefully, she stood you from the tub and stepped back onto the floor while wiping the remaining water droplets off your back. 

“Thanks..” you shivered a bit against the cold air, wanting to be clothed and back under the thick blanket. The socks she slipped over your feet helped warm you, while carefully slipping on the rest of her clothes. Tess even brought a spare sports bra for you to borrow for the time being. Something about the way she moved so calmly, spoke with such a soothing voice that made this whole situation seem lighter. On any other day, you’d be stressing about finding the right pills for a client or risking your life outside the walls. Her soft movements sparked something inside you with a new kind of warmth, and it almost atoned for everything you’d been through the past 12 hours. 

Once you were dressed, Tess towel dried your hair and began to tie up another sling for your arm. 

“When you’re back on the couch, I’m gonna put some ice on your ankle. It’ll help with the swelling and probably some of the pain.” You nodded silently, taken back constantly by her kindness. 

“If you’re in pain, I could give you another dose of pain meds. But it depends on if you want to eat something beforehand. It’s been since yesterday since you ate anything, probably for the both of us. I can fix you something to eat, though.” 

“Oh, uh, sure.” You weren’t completely sure what you were doing here still, your mind foggy from the night before. The way your injuries burned and ached against one another had you aching for some kind of relief– any kind at this point. How you got yourself here, you weren’t sure of either. 

Not much later, Tess came over with something suitable for you to eat, before giving you a couple more pills for the pain. Again you fell drowsy from the pain medication, resting the day away. With you resting calmly on the couch, Tess did her best to stay awake until Joel returned, running on less than five hours of sleep. It felt like ages before he came through the apartment door once again. 

“Hey, can you… keep an eye on them, please… I barely got any shuteye last night.” 

“I just got back–” 

“Joel, please.”

“Fine.” 

“Don’t hurt them, Miller. Seriously. Or I’ll hurt you.” She mumbled under her breath, trudging to the door. 

“I’ve got it. Just go.” 

With that, Tess collapsed on her mattress, not even bothering to pull the sheet over her, before drifting off to sleep the minute her eyelids fluttered shut. 

On the couch, you woke to a silent morning; no movement could be heard amongst the apartment. Your eyelids fluttered open, turning your head to look for Tess; instead you were met with the dark eyes of Joel Miller. His figure sat across from you, adjusting the gun in his hand so you could see it well. 

“You try anything funny, you get a bullet.” Joel raised his hand to gesture with the weapon. He noticed the bags under your eyes were dark and sunken in, making you appear more dead than alive at the moment, despite all the bandages. 

“You wouldn’t shoot me here. It’d be too loud and soldiers would be here quicker than light.” You rasped, coughing lightly from your dry throat. 

“Wanna bet?” He leaned in with a menacing glare. You kept eye contact with him as he began to stand, the intimidation not making a dent in you. It was enough to make Joel second guess his opinion of you for a moment. 

“Joel, stand down.” Tess called from the other side of the room. You called her name from the couch, and she quickly replied. 

“I’m here. Do you need anything?” She came into eyesight now, her hair pulled back in a ponytail and casually wearing a sweatshirt. Tess gave Joel a look, motioning for him to leave the room. 

“Yeah. I need to get out of here and home.” Your eyes watched the older man get up, watching as Tess approached, “My client’s probably freaking the fuck out and wreaking havoc across the QZ looking for me.” 

“About that…” She strolled over to where you were, taking a seat, “You need to tell me who did this to you.”

“What? N-No… I can’t. He’s my client. I can deal with him.” You shot up in your seat, groaning slightly. 

“Oh right. Like that worked out so well last time?” Joel spoke, walking away. Your eyebrows furrowed in annoyance at what Tess was suggesting.

“Trust me, kid. You’ll thank me later.” She added. 

“I’m already thanking you later. I’ll probably be owing you for the rest of my life.” 

“No, kid–” 

“Don’t call me kid. I’m grown. I can take care of myself.” 

“Okay, you’re gonna have to prove it, then. You still need time to heal.” Tess insisted you lay down again, but her words flew in one ear and out the other.

“I need to not be couch bound and sleeping through the day! I need to have a life, some kind of life in this shit hole of a city! Don’t you get it?” Your voice was rising, straining against the irritation. 

“I do, trust me. I do. It’s why we got into that business, too. But hun, you didn’t deserve what happened to you. I hope you know that. Now, I’d like to know…” She leaned in closer, lowering her voice to look you in the eye. 

“Let it go. It doesn’t matter!” 

“Yes it does. Who did this to you?” Her voice spoke pointedly, holding strong eye contact with you. Your eyes closed for a second, throwing your head back with a sigh. 

“His info is on the third page in my notebook. You’ll know it’s him cause his orders take up almost the whole fucking page.” You pinched the bridge of your nose as Tess stepped toward your pack, rummaging through it until she found the notepad. Pocketing it, she walked over to Joel’s door, ajar, and spoke. 

“Texas, make our guest something to eat. I have some business to attend to.” She turned toward the door, exiting the apartment with your notebook in hand. 

“Wait, Tess!” 

Your voice fell on deaf ears; she was already down the hallway and gone. Once the man emerged from his bedroom, you shared a plain look as he made his way to the kitchen. Before reaching for the cupboard doors, he grabbed the bottle of amber liquor and poured some into a glass. 

“Pour me a glass of that, please.” 

“Are you even old enough?” 

“Are you kidding? I’m 25. Now can you pour me a damn drink already?” 

Silently, Joel rolled his eyes and poured some into a glass for you. It was his peace offering before he went back to find something for you to eat. You ended up sharing some soup and crackers with Joel for dinner, awaiting the older woman’s return afterwards.

An hour or two passed before Tess made her way back. You were resting on the couch when the door opened. She took a sharp breath in upon entering, and let the door slam behind her louder than usual. It gained your attention and Joel’s, looking toward the door. You heard her hiss a breath, while she shook out her fist. 

“Shit, Tess. What did you do?” She walked further into the apartment, the light glimmering against the fresh blood across her lip. 

“Took care of that client of yours.” She muffled a groan, stretching out her fist while her knuckles bled. 

“Did you kill him? The fuck–” You began to try and stand on your good foot, but stumbled before you could get any closer to her. 

“What? No, I didn’t kill him. Just taught him a lesson. That smug fucker. I don’t know why you did business with him. He’s a bad junkie. You never do business with a bad junkie.” She sat down near you again, noticing the empty whiskey glass nearby on the floor. 

“He was my most frequent customer. Shady as hell, if I’m honest, he kinda scared me. That’s how I knew it was him when I got attacked. 

“That’s naïve of you. Why would you ever do something that risky by yourself?” 

“I… didn’t have anyone else who was willing to risk their lives sneaking around the QZ. So I said fuck it.” 

“Well, I still think you’re a dumbass. You’re just lucky you’re staying out of the smuggling market for a while.” 

“No, I told you I can’t. I need to–” 

“You need to rest and heal. I swear to god, if I hear one more word about you getting on your feet before you’re a hundred percent, I swear I’ll chain you to the couch.” 

“Jesus, fine. I won’t go back out there. Throw my entire business away just to wait till these injuries kill me in the middle of the night, I guess.” 

“Hey, you’re gonna be fine. The only reason I’m being an asshole about this is because I want you to survive. I didn’t pull you off the street to let you go back to that shitty situation.” Her words were honest, even if you didn’t believe them. 

“Well, thanks. I guess.” 

“Yeah, don’t mention it.” She shrugged your thanks off and went about her business. 

The future weeks proved to be the longest haul you thought you’d ever been in. It consisted of a lot of reading, sleeping, and wishing you could be on your feet. You ended up asking Tess to take a trip to your place and retrieve some of your things; you were tired of having to put her out of her own clothes to wear. Plus it would just be more comfortable for you. Tess checked your injuries daily, reapplying bandages and cleaning on a steady schedule. She would not let you die from infections after doing all she could to save your life that night. 

The two older individuals went about their days more regularly once you were out of the woods with all of your injuries. Tess helped you to and from the table so you could join them for meals, otherwise spending the day rereading old books and magazines while trying to find other things to do than just sit around and rot. You were grateful for Tess saving your life, but this healing process was a bitch. 

 Standing wasn’t as easy as you thought it would be, especially having been off your feet for days on end. Much less the blood loss you’d experienced, it was humbling to not be able to get around on your own. Slowly as the first week passed, Tess helped you get back on your feet bit by bit. You had enough strength after another week to stand on your own.

One day, the smuggling duo was planning a run while surveying a map they’d drawn up. You nonchalantly watched, sitting in a chair neary. They hadn’t noticed you, until you mentioned a route they hadn’t heard of, and her attention turned to you, impressed with your knowledge and jotted the trail down for later. 

“Wait, question. Do you guys know Robert?” Your arms crossed over your chest. 

Both Joel and Tess turned towards you now, their eyes widened and faces grim. 

“Why?” Joel asked with a stern voice. 

“He’s one of the guys that uses that route. At least, his guys do. So be careful.” 

“You’re telling me you used to run with Robert?” 

“Only for a little. Seemed like he wanted more than just business… with me. But I got out of there before it was too late.” Tess scoffed, a smirk forming on her face. 

“Tell you what. You wanna keep smuggling, you join us when you’re fully healed.” 

Joel turned to her, but she shot him a look and turned back to the map silently. 

“You’re sure?” You asked, sitting up. 

“I’m sure. Not gonna let you put yourself in danger again when you could have us at your side.” She looked back down at the map and continued jotting in her notes. 

“Okay, cool.” You smiled to yourself, thinking Tess didn’t see, but she glanced up for a moment after she heard your words. She noticed the eagerness in your eyes and felt her heart skip a beat. 

So, it wasn’t all for nothing, you thought. 

You weren’t given a second chance to live just to lose what got you through the days and weeks on your own. This gave you another opportunity to survive with individuals by your side; you wouldn’t be alone anymore. 

Caring came far too easy for Tess. She'd seem cold on the outside, and sure, she was a reserved person. But to see you so overjoyed about being able to continue smuggling, she couldn’t help but have a little warm feeling in her chest. 

She thought the first time would be the only time a spark would flicker inside her. But then you were laughing at something idiotic one night, and she felt it again. The tensions between you and Joel had broken– finally. For the first time in a while, Tess saw multiple things looking up: you were recovering on a steady pace, and on an even better note, becoming a friend to her. She read you books, mostly classics from what she’d traded for. Ultimately grateful, you listened intently to every word she read, while trying to not fall asleep from her soothing voice. 

Under all the scratches and bruises, Tess saw your kindness and personality reveal with everyday that passed. She became privy to the way you saw the world with a gentle hand, reinforcing that spark in her chest. Yet that same spark came with guilt; she knew it wasn’t fair to fall for you after all you’d been through. She wasn’t sure if you’d ever trust someone like that again. So that spark was only kept as embers, in a lockbox on a very high, very dusty shelf in her mind. 

Another week of healing went by, and you were finally able to stop wearing your arm in a sling. You spent the day traveling back to your place to grab some things you’d need for the next few days. Tess insisted you stay in the apartment with her and Joel while you healed. You hadn’t been home since the day you were attacked, other than the days Tess was kind enough to retrieve some things for you. 

As of present day, you had gained the ability to walk on your ankle back after almost a month of being off it. The first thought in your head the morning of was that a trip outside the walls of the apartment. You also knew others might want to pay you a visit if you returned back by yourself, which is when you mentioned the idea to Tess. 

“Yeah, you’re definitely not going alone. I’ll come with. When do we leave?” 

“Right now.” You grinned at her with content before you went to grab your pack. 

The two of you flew down the steps and out the door, Tess following behind you with caution. Your first step into the outside air was something you missed within almost a month of being indoors. While it wasn’t exactly sunny, the cool air was refreshing against your skin and differed greatly from the apartment. 

“Don’t run off now.” the older woman muttered, shutting the door behind her. Just from the way you moved, Tess could tell you were in need of something like this. You looked around at the same old streets of the QZ like it was something completely new. She felt lucky to be the one seeing this part of you, the healed and healthy part. 

“C’mon, I’ll lead the way.” You turned back to her, noticing her hazel eyes trained in your direction, then shifted to the path in front of you. A few minutes of walking passed, and you’d picked up some pairs of eyes looking your way from people on the surrounding streets. It was more of a side eye glance than a stare, but still you noticed it. After being terrified to leave the four walls of the apartment, being perceived was a bit more intimidating than you thought it’d be. You slowed your steps, letting Tess catch up with you. 

“Um, Tess?” You mumbled, glancing back towards her. 

“What’s up?” 

“All these people keep staring...” 

Tess surveyed the area before noticing something you hadn’t, and she chuckled. 

“They’re not looking at you, they’re staring at me.” You did a quick glance back and forth, fidgeting with your fingers nervously. 

“Are you sure?” 

“I’m sure. Let’s keep going.” You turned back after nodding to her, hiding the tiny smile that snuck its way onto your lips. It was almost like walking with a scary dog at your side, except said scary dog was the taller woman trailing behind you. 

From the way multiple pairs of eyes shot in her direction, some glazed over, some didn’t notice as you passed by. Other pairs of eyes widened as they fell on the figure of the woman behind you. You don’t know how she’s done it, but Tess Servopolous has the Boston QZ wrapped around her finger. It seemed everyone–including Joel Miller himself– had themselves under her spell. They did whatever she wanted the moment she asked. There was no second guessing her, and when she said to do something, you were damn well to do it. You learned the hard way during your healing process, stubborn and complaining that you couldn’t get around on your own. 

One night when you were bickering, she’d tried to convince you that you weren’t ready to try and walk on your bad ankle yet. Stubborn and impatient, you kept talking back to her. 

“Don’t even try to get up.” 

You’d been overstressing yourself about getting back on your feet, so as to find another way to keep smuggling. 

“Watch me.” You had hoisted yourself off the couch halfway, then used the last of your stamina to pull yourself the rest of the way up. The first step you took was with your good foot, but the minute you stepped with the other, you groaned and stumbled from the pain, landing on the ground. 

“I told you…” Tess was at your side before you could attempt to move yourself back to the couch.

Gentle and slow, her hands around your body were familiar as if you’d known them to be the hands of a long time lover. They were just Tess’s hands, but to you, they couldn’t hurt or kill any more than they could wash over your injuries with a soft touch. When you got a better look at her for the first time, you saw the kindness in her eyes, and her heart in the actions she took towards you. 

Common human decency was to take care of someone injured or sick, but you felt something different in the way she tended to you. It was in the way she used her hand to lift up your chin to check how your cuts were healing. Especially when she inspected the one on your lip for a bit too long, claiming it was healing fast and that you shouldn’t try to open it again. All you could hear when she spoke was your own heart beating in your ears, lost in the hazel of her eyes. She’d even found you a cane, but you paid it no mind and kept letting her help you instead.

“I’d hate to feel like a burden…” 

“It’s alright, I don’t mind taking care of you.” A warmth flushed through your cheeks when her words hit your ears. 

You could tell somewhere deep down, Tess used to care for people as easy as breathing. From the way she knew so much about patching others up, she wanted to keep people going, no matter the circumstances, you knew she cared much more than she showed. 

Being on your feet again, outside those same bland apartment walls brought a new feeling you weren’t able to identify. It was different not walking alone for once in the streets, always having to glance over your shoulder just in case. Now when you looked over your shoulder, you saw Tess, and you hoped she’d stay in your life for longer than just when you were healing from your injuries. She meant too much to you to just forget about after she’d been by your side the whole time. 

The route to your apartment wasn’t far from where Tess lived, and you were there within no time. It was a bit overwhelming once you came up to the door, fidgeting with the keyring until it clicked into the lock. 

“Well, here we are.” You opened the door, stepping into the stale air of your place. Things were as you’d left them, with a few odds and ends out of order from when Tess had stopped by for some of your toiletries. All your knickknacks were scattered about, some across the countertops and any spare surface you could find. Some, if not most, were collected on the road, and others were from your home when you first fled. 

“Nice place you got here.” 

“You should know, being the only person to be here besides me in the past few weeks.” you chuckle, shoving your keys back in your jeans pocket. They actually happened to be Tess’s, but you couldn’t tell the difference anymore. She didn’t mind either.

She’d been contemplating a lot on the walk over, worried about what might happen when you were fully healed. Tess knew there was a problem when her heart warmed at the sight of you sleeping peacefully on the couch, then remembered what you’d been through and wanted to burn the whole QZ down. 

It was almost gone when you started to heal, until she couldn’t sleep thinking about what could happen to you when you went back out there. A wave of restlessness washed over her, and it’d been very hard to accept the fact that you could end up right back where she found you. 

“Guess you’re right.” Tess muttered, stepping into the cool air of the apartment. 

“I’ll be a minute, gonna grab some clothes and then we can head back.” You spoke, her eyes trailing down your back as you walked into the other room. Silently, she moved about the main room, her eyes catching all the different little objects around the space. Tess didn’t know how you had time to collect all these different things– from shells to rocks to other small toys and charms that lay about– there was no shortage of oddities. Before she knew it, she was standing in front of your open bedroom door. Timidly, she peeked inside to see you rustling through a few drawers and shoving clothes into a backpack. 

“Nice… room. Cozy.” You glanced up at her for a moment while folding the clothes to put in your bag. 

“Thanks, I tried to make it as home-y as possible. Makes up for the whole quarantine zone thing.” 

“I get it.” Tess chewed the inside of her lip nervously, stepping into the room slightly, leaning one of her arms against the doorframe.

“Do you? That place of yours is barely decorated.” You snarked, trying to cover up how aware you were of how domestic she looked standing in your bedroom doorway. She was perfect with the light beams of sunlight peeking over her shoulder. 

“Guess stuff like that doesn’t really matter to me.” 

But she wanted it to matter; she wanted it to matter to her so desperately. For you, she’d do anything– put up with whatever you threw at her, because she cared. There wasn’t a way to tell when Tess noticed this fire burning inside her, lit aflame by your out righteousness. 

She pined to see reminders of you every day when she wakes up. To see you when she opened her eyes in the morning. You’d simply been indented into her mind, and refused to give way. 

“Y’know, you’re still welcome at my place after you get back on your feet. Seriously. My place is yours.” Tess took a step into your room nervously. 

“Oh, well thanks. That means a lot. I mean… I’m really grateful for everything you’ve done for me. It’s not like we won’t see each other ever again. I’ll probably spend most nights at your place when we start working together.” 

I would never want to stop coming around you either way… 

On the instance of becoming friends with the woman who saved your life, it occurred to you quite rapidly that the feelings you had for her weren’t just appreciation. It shouldn’t have been that easy to realize you wanted her… to be entranced with her in a way so distracting. Some days you weren’t sure if you were actually feeling better on account of listening to every groove of her voice streak through your mind with no return. You could hardly believe she was standing in your apartment as of today, let alone sharing a space so intimate as your bedroom. 

“Besides… It's your apartment. You must both want your respective space back.” 

Tess sighed, masking the pit in her stomach when she thought about you on your own again. God forbid you ended up right where she found you; that would be a gut wrenching nightmare. It was already hard enough seeing you beaten up and barely hanging on to life. To even ponder the idea that it could happen again? She’d take absolutely no chances. 

Getting protective when you’ve known them for three weeks, Tess? Pretty weak to let someone in while you couldn’t protect the rest of them.

“Even when you do start working with us, you’ll be right between me and Joel. That way you’ll always have one of us on your six, watching your back. We’ll have your back.” She started with a small smile, while simultaneously ignoring the voice in her head. You met her eye and nodded with a smile, zipping your bag shut. 

“Very considerate of you, Tess. But if you don’t teach me how to hold my own, I’ll start practicing on Joel.” You slung your bag across your shoulder, watching as Tess followed you out. 

“Oh, I’ll definitely teach you. Joel will just have to be fine with being the dummy.” She followed with a chuckle, taking another look at the interior of your bedroom like she would never see it again. 

“Well, don’t worry. I’ll still be on your couch tonight.” You said, before walking out the door and locking it behind Tess. 

The only epiphany Tess had that day was that she never wanted you to leave. Never wanted to lose sight of you, never wanted to be without you, could never even imagine losing you. Tess had stuffed all those warm feelings down in a tight little box that sat on a dusty shelf in the back of her mind. When she would revisit the idea of actually having a chance with you, she was unsure. But she’d do her damndest in the meantime to shove away those pesky butterflies in her stomach. 

It would be a long, long time before she revisited that box again. 

a/n: i linked it at the top but i will link it here as well, this is a prequel to another one of my fics called long long time. You can find that fic here and all my other tess fics here!

[somberjoon]

METANOIA [8]

✩ pairing: wolf hybrid nj x cheetah hybrid reader (f) - eventual ot7 x reader

✩ genre: soul-searching , romance🔞 , found-family , healing , angst , happy ending

✩ word count: 8.8k

✩ chapter warnings: uncertainty in behavior and emotions , anxiety , TW // panic attack with nightmare description of assault / sa (this is not explicit or detailed at all but talks of the suffocating feeling of touch) an asterisk * at the start and end of the section that includes this. inclusion of minor wound (bruises and small cuts) description. lots of feelies and talking this ch.

✩ summary: She doesn't know. There is so much about her and her cheetah that she hasn't had the privilege to understand. Unknown backgrounds and unknown emotions clash with feelings of want- hopes of being herself unapologetically. Namjoon seems to be someone that can help her- but can the rest of his pack truly be what she has wanted and needed?

✩ cover: me

ch.1 , ch.2 , ch.3 , ch.4 , ch.5 , ch.6 , ch.7 , ch.8 , ch.9

✩ disclaimer: i can't predict what anyone will think, but please understand that some important topics that need discussing as a pack in these circumstances are left out on purpose. If you can't figure it out now then it'll be a nice surprise lol.

Namjoon

The rush to put on better clothing for the chill of night goes by in hushed words from Seokjin and a now awake Hoseok. 

“You’re not being detained are you?” 

“No, they don’t have a warrant or anything. Whatever happened, it was probably Maria or Y/N herself that mentioned me and they just want information about events.” 

“Namjoon I don’t like this.” Hoseok spills. 

“I know, something doesn’t feel right- but I need answers and I at least have my job under my belt to know what my rights are. I’ll be okay.”

“Let Seokjin go with you.” Hoseok still pushes. 

“I don’t want to put him in that situation-”

“Can you hurry up?” Seokjin seems to manifest in conversation, dressed and ready to go. “Of course I’m going with you.” 

With Hoseok’s extra encouragement to bring the oldest of their pack with him, Namjoon and Seokjin leave in their own car, driving towards an unknown fate.

 At this time, the bustle of a police station is nonexistent. It’s an eerie feeling being searched and taken back to a room in…silence, really. The silence also makes him wonder where Y/N is, as he hasn’t even gotten a scent of her here. The passive woman that leads him to the room is the one that ends up asking him the questions. 

“We apologize for the timing that the officers showed up at your house. After finally getting some information from Y/N it had already been 7 hours of silence from her. I can’t give many details right this second, but after we get some more information I can let you know.” 

“Of course. Is she still here at the station?” 

“No, she actually didn’t even come here originally. She’d been in the hospital for some injuries.” 

  Somehow, his heart sinks deeper into the pit of his body and his stomach makes its way towards his throat. 

“Is she- is she okay?”

“Okay is a…hard word to use. Physically, she doesn’t have any long-lasting injuries, but mentally-” She doesn’t even need to finish for Namjoon to understand. It wouldn’t be any better if she was only hurt physically somehow, but knowing that whatever this was is just another huge blow to her mental health is sickening. 

“What do you need to know?” Namjoon asks, trying to get to the point but still keeping his composure.

“We have information that yesterday at approximately 12:00PM Y/N and you can be put in the same place. I was seeing if you could give us a rundown from the time you two met for the day to the time she got home.” 

Namjoon knows no specific words or details will be given to him just to see if the information matches both Y/N’s and Maria’s or Richard’s. So, he tells it honestly- the truth.

“I picked her up around 12PM, she had a class at the hospital that she wanted to attend and I was the one available to Y/N that could take her. So, I picked her up and she didn’t seem to like the outfit she was wearing- she wears comfortable clothing but, she just seems- not sure about what to wear to certain functions or events. Before the class, we had time to stop by a small clothing shop, just one in the strip mall. We picked out an outfit and she got to the class in time, which was at 1:15PM and lasted about an hour.”

“Do you know what kind of class this was?”

“Sexual Development class, a free one that- I think her doctor recommended it.” 

“Okay, continue with the events please.”

“During the class she had forgotten her phone, so I stayed outside the hospital, thus we were able to leave right away and go to my pack’s home for a visit. We, Y/N and I, had been trying to plan a visit to my pack home because of the growing friendships between me and her and another one of my pack members. She was anxious about it because she doesn’t really like meeting new people, she doesn’t trust easily, especially men. But, she blended in well, and because everyone was welcome with each other, it was a good visit. The cheetahs hung out, then we had dinner and then she seemed tired so I offered to take her home around 7PM.”

“Did Y/N show any odd behavior before you took her home?” 

“To be honest, she seemed reluctant to have me leave her home alone. I’m not sure if Richard was home at that time or anything, but I- I should’ve checked before I left. She didn’t say anything though, she didn’t ask me to stay or tell me if she was uncomfortable being alone.” Namjoon stops to bring himself back together, the thoughts of what could’ve happened fight their way to the front. His regret is immense at the moment, even when he doesn’t know what exactly happened. 

“Did you see anyone outside of her home? And, you said you didn’t know if Richard was home, but were there any signs that anyone else was there?” 

Red alarms immediately go off in his head. Because- no. He didn’t make sure, but-

“I stayed at that house, parked in the driveway for 15 minutes after she told me she was okay and locked the door. I wanted to make sure that she didn’t change her mind or-” this woman is a hybrid, she should understand if he says this. “I just felt like something was wrong, and I’ve known enough of her to see when she’s uncomfortable or when she doesn’t want to say something. I should’ve made sure she was okay.”

“Luckily, Y/N is safe now. And I can see that the storylines do add up. Your words were the last ones we needed. But, later on your pack could be asked to testify if the judge decides this isn’t a clean cut case.”

“Can you tell me? What happened?”

“If you guys are close, and if she trusts you as much as I think she does- she’d probably want you to know from her.”

-

Unlike the police station, the hospital has more people in it now that Sunday morning has started. Seokjin accompanies Namjoon now that he can, already heading towards the room with Maria’s approval to the front desk that he could be a visitor. To be honest, he feels entirely too invasive in the moment, but his worry isn’t only bubbling but ready to boil over at not making sure Y/N is alive and not on her damn deathbed. 

It’s easy to spot the room from a distance, as Richard sits in one of the hallway chairs with his elbows on his knees in a bent position. Obviously, he is in an uncommunicative mood- even as Namjoon passes by him, he says nothing. Instead, he looks through the glass of the door to see Maria sitting on one of the visitor benches in the room, looking at the hospital bed that’s blocked from him by a curtain. With his presence, Maria looks to the door to find him without him having to knock. She hurries to meet them outside with the door shut behind her.

“I’m so glad to see you.” Maria says with such relief, wrapping him in an unfamiliarly tight hug. Without a second to think, she’s giving Seokjin one as well. “She’s not verbal at the moment. To be honest, she’s only been verbal to give her statement to the police.” She looks into the window even if she can’t see Y/N from it. 

“I don’t want to make her uncomfortable being here-” It’s all Namjoon can think now that he’s actually here. He was really only her friend and someone that was with her only some hours of the day. “I just wanted to see how she was doing and-” He can’t just leave. God, no matter how out of place he feels being here, he can’t leave her right now. 

“Namjoon. You’re the only person she’s asked about.” 

“What? Why?” 

“She didn’t want to even mention you guys to the police. But, that would’ve been even more suspicious. So, she obviously told her whole story and- she asked if I could ‘let her know when Namjoon is questioned’. I’m guessing she was preparing for another devastating blow, because I told her this morning and she just broke down again.”

Of course she didn’t want any of them involved, just to keep them out of it, she’s willing to lie. 

“I think you should see her.” Maria says when Namjoon doesn’t respond. He looks to Seokjin in question, his hyung already knowing why. But, Seokjin only gives him a few reassuring nods and squeeze to his upper arm. 

The door shutting behind him finalizes the choice he made. He could turn back, he could leave knowing that Maria is here for her. But, just last night he thought the same thing- and it didn’t work out then. The pull towards her is too strong. 

Rounding the curtain gives him a view that’s a lot easier to process than he imagined. She’s curled up on her side with only her bun peeking out of the top of the blanket. She’s so small, even with her gaining weight and eating well- she’s still so small. His light steps don’t seem to stir her and he really doesn’t want to startle her, so his best shot is waiting, observing. 

A cushioned chair sits conveniently in front of the resting Y/N, Namjoon sits with light movements. He can finally see her eyes above the blanket covering her. Even like this he can already see a small healing cut next to her eye near her temple. He wants to know every part of her that was hurt- he wants to magically heal her of the wounds she was given, mentally and physically. 

It doesn’t take long for Namjoon to see Y/N take a few tentative sniffs above her blanket, eyes shooting open to land on Namjoon’s. 

Tears. It’s as if they were waiting to fall no matter what. He watches devastatingly with nothing to do. No sign of approval of his touch or words, no utter of his name- just tears. This was the final blow for him as well it seems. He can only say one thing. 

“I’m sorry.” He whispers, leaning closer to leave him less than a foot away from her. “I’m so so sorry.” Tears prick his own eyes, his wolf begging to touch, to soothe. His restraints are wearing thin as they just stare at each other. He has no queue to touch her, he has to wait and hope that she reaches out or just stays silent in her needs. He doesn’t even know if that’s what she needs, but he hopes she does. He hopes that he could be comforting for her, be here for her and calm her in some way. 

“I’m so sorry I left you there.” That's all he can say. Even more tears fall from her silently, begging for something. He’ll just need to pry like he usually does, he’ll do it forever if he needs to. 

“Is there something I can do for you?” 

“What if I hurt you?” It’s the quietest mumble of a question, somehow sounding clear despite her tears and the barrier of the blanket. 

“You won’t hurt me.” Namjoon says without even thinking, voice staying at a whisper. “What do you need? Do you need something from me?” He tries not to beg, but really anyone could hear it in his voice.

“I can’t.” 

“Can’t what?” Even without a response he’ll keep trying. He won’t make the same mistake. “Let me help you.” 

It's not an immediate response, but Y/N slowly reveals herself. Her blanket is pushed back to show simple clothing the hospital most definitely provided. He doesn’t mean to look, but the hospital shorts show purple bruises that randomly spot the top of her thighs. They're large- he tries to push away the thought of them looking like hands. 

She's asking in her movements as she slides closer to him, her legs dangling over the side of the bed now. He pays attention to her eyes, only her eyes as his peripheral catches more cuts and bruises that he's sure she doesn't want him to see. 

"Whatever you need." He says at her pause in movement. He takes the chance of guessing what she needs, opening his arms in an inviting gesture. 

Her silent tears turn to sobs just as her hand reaches out and takes a hold of Namjoon's extended hand. He closes his grip like it's a life line just as she does to him.

With slower movements than he'd like for himself but enough for her to not hurt herself more, she's finally showing what she wants. Climbing into his lap, legs bracketed around his thighs and body pressed into his finally. Finally she's in his arms- his own arms locked tight around her to keep her there. Her wet face and hurried breaths are pushed into his neck, as close as she can get. Finally, her tail wraps around him instead of squeezed around herself.

"I got you. I'm so sorry." He says over and over again like a mantra. 

-

Seokjin

He doesn't mind waiting for Namjoon, but the company isn’t the best. To be fair, he finally got some time in silence as Maria takes a phone call, but it's still a hospital- hospitals are never comforting.

"I know, yes I understand we'll have to come in and discuss- that's the protocol!?" 

Maria's frustrating outburst is more than enough to cause a few heads to whip her way. and this landing on Seokjin just a few chairs away. 

"Okay. Well, I don’t know when we’ll both be able to come in, maybe later today or tomorrow. Can I just call you back when we are able to come in?”

“Thank you, bye.”  She finishes her call and turns to sit right next to Richard who Seokjin really isn't comfortable sitting next to. Even if there is a spacer seat. Despite their whispered conversation, he can hear it. 

“The protocol for her case is immediate re-homing.” She whispers in a heartbreaking tone. “We could fight for her later on, but as of right now our house is deemed unsafe for her- for any future cases that may need a home.” 

With the pain in her voice, Richard is still silent. Seokjin almost wants to shake the man into some fucking sense. But, that’s only his instincts talking- he still has no idea what the story is. And now, he’s thinking about where Y/N will go. 

Somehow he already knows. 

-

Namjoon

Usually with Y/N attached to him, it’s hard to think properly. But now, with her safely in his arms, he’s thinking more and more about how to keep it this way. Despite that, dread fills him at the thoughts around the organization- he knows that Y/N can’t stay in that house, no matter what it was, she was hospitalized and there is police involvement. There is no way she’ll be able to stay in that house. He doesn’t even know if Y/N knows that yet. 

She had just gotten into a situation that was helping her and she finally had support that was pushing her towards a healthy life and healthy relationships. He couldn’t rid her of the friends she made when she loses a home as well. 

-

To be honest, Namjoon has no idea how long it has been since he's sat here, but Y/N has fallen asleep a while ago and Seokjin hasn't even tried to get a hold of him. 

Knowing that he needs to at least talk to Seokjin, Namjoon makes the hard decision to stand and gently detach Y/N from him. In her sleep she unapologetically reaches for him with greedy hands, unlike what she does in her waking state. He can't help but smile despite where they are and the unanswered things that happened. 

Slipping out to see Seokjin is a breath of fresh air he didn't realize he needed. He'd spend all day and night making sure she was comfortable, but it's still exhausting seeing someone you care about in such shambles. He'll be strong for her no matter what- and he'll be lucky to have others there for him. 

"How is she?" Seokjin's tired voice asks just across from her room door in the visitor seats. 

“She doesn’t want to talk- she doesn’t have any serious injuries. But she was comfortable with me, so that’s a start.” Namjoon says as he sits just next to Seokjin. “Where did they go?” He motions to the empty chairs that once held Maria and Richard. 

“They went to grab breakfast from the cafeteria.” Seokjin checks his phone just as he answers. “Taehyung has been begging me to let him come sit outside her room. I wish I felt comfortable with him coming, but I think it’d be bad if we had too many people here right now.” Namjoon knows that if Taehyung came then Jimin would want to come, and if Jimin came then Hoseok would feel obligated to come and keep watch over them. He can’t have that many people here right now. 

“It’s a good call, especially because we don’t know exactly what she needs or wants at the moment.” The silence stretches between them as if they’re both waiting to have this impending conversation. All it takes is one look to Seokjin for the fox to know exactly what he wants to say. 

“I heard Maria talking to Richard about the organization and what happens next, Namjoon. I already know what you’re going to say.” 

“It’s not immediate, especially not when she’s in the hospital, but-”

“But, this is not a conversation we should be having with just the two of us.” 

“You know I need you to know first right now, I need to know if this is something that would be possible.” 

“You would make it possible- I know you too well. I’ll let you figure out what you want to say, and what you need to tell the others. But- I’m on your side.” Seokjin gives him a light shoulder bump that lightens the mood just the slightest. 

“I didn’t hide anything from you or the pack.” Namjoon says suddenly, knowing that if he says to the pack what he wants to say, he wants his hyung to know that it wasn’t a long-awaited bomb-drop. “Anything I want to say when we talk to them, it’s not something I- I would never wait to say it in a time like this.”

“I know. I guess that was something I talked to Taehyung about and not you.” Namjoon gives him a questioning look. “Before I called you yesterday inviting Y/N, I talked to Taehyung about my worries. I let my fears get the best of me in times that I should have put Taehyung and you first. I don’t mind if you or him, or anyone, meets another person. We can’t control that- obviously, I mean we have a pack of seven. But, I will support you no matter what. I will take care of her as well, just as another part of the family.” 

“You’re making me emotional at the worst time.” Namjoon lets out a nervous laugh at the realization that his feelings aren’t just settled into his skin anymore. His feelings for Y/N aren’t just an afterthought when he’s around her- it’s now something that will be out into the universe to fuck him over. “I just want us all to be comfortable- and I just want her to have a home. That’s all she needs right now, I want to be that for her.”

Seokjin looks at him with something akin to pride. Namjoon tries to catch it for as long as possible. 

“If she’s okay with that, I will help you make that happen.” Seokjin says. 

-

Y/N

*

It feels like she’s suffocating- just as it did last night. Just as it felt when his hands were around her neck- on her legs, on her stomach, on her. All she can see is black, but there is the feeling of him here- a feeling of those few times when they tried to take advantage of her with no roof over her head and nowhere to flee to. They always gripped on tight, underestimating the strength her cheetah gives her. It’s not usually enough strength to completely fight them off, but it’s always enough to have enough time to run as far as she can. 

The darkness is pushing on her chest- just after having a dreamless sleep, a resting sleep- trying to pry things from her she would never give them. They don’t deserve it, it’s not for them. It gets harder and harder for her to breathe. In this darkness, she doesn’t even have anything to fight off, there’s no way out- there’s nothing she can do. 

“Y/N.”

‘No, leave me alone. Please.’

“Y/N.” 

‘Please. Please don’t touch me.’

“Y/N!”

Suddenly there is an actual hand on her arm. She was asleep and he had time to touch her when she couldn’t stop him. 

Her eyes shoot open to bright hospital lights, trying to move as quickly as she can to get away from the arm that touches her- trying to crawl up the bed and see who it is this time. 

Namjoon.

“It’s okay, you’re okay, you were just having a nightmare.” His hands are in the air defensively. It’s just him and she’s fine but- why can’t she breathe? God, why can she still feel him on her. She can feel the weight of him on her chest, pressing all the air from her. 

“Y/N you need to breathe slowly. You’re going to make yourself pass out. Breathe in through your nose and out your mouth.” 

She’s trying. She doesn’t want to feel like this, she doesn’t want to be unconscious and vulnerable again. 

“Can I touch you? Can I help you?” 

Her response doesn’t leave her lips like she wants it, not when she’s gulping down air like this. Instead she’s scooting closer, trying to find relief in him again. She needs it, no matter how much she doesn’t want to rely on him. 

  His arms are immediately going to work. One slips behind her neck to find that magical muscle, the other pushes her frizzy curls from her face to pet at her hair with soothing words. 

“In through your nose and out your mouth. Just focus on this feeling. Focus on my voice. Give yourself something to pinpoint.” 

She can barely listen to him, but the feeling of him against her neck is hypersensitive. It seems his touch always is no matter how simple it is. It’s the only thing she can seem to focus on, her lungs filling at a rate that is less and less painful. 

*

“There you go. Look at me.” 

She does look up at him now that it hurts less to breathe. She's terrified she'll see pity, though with how everything has always gone for her, sometimes she wants it- craves attention even if it's with an aching heart and empty promises. This time she only sees her Namjoon. The wolf with kind eyes and an even kinder soul. He's looking down at her with such cherish that it completely distracts her from the panic that was eating her up.  

"Good. Do you feel better?" He wipes at her face, picking up wet stains that she didn’t even realize were there- but thanks to the scratch near her eye, the skin is sensitive. He's not even grossed out about how she looks or the things she can’t get a hold on yet. He’s so gentle no matter what she’s given him, no matter what he sees himself. 

“Yeah.” She gets out with a hoarse voice.  “I’m sorry.” She whispers after hearing her own voice. 

“Don’t be sorry, it was a nightmare- we all have nightmares.” That she can’t change, she’ll always have them. 

“I’m sorry you had to take care of me.” She specifies, looking away from him and not wanting to see that caring look on his face anymore. She doesn’t get far when the hand from her neck slides up to direct her face back to him. 

“I would not be here if I didn’t want to- I always want to care for you, no matter how it looks. Even if you need something small- something useless- it’s you so I’ll take care of it.” 

She can’t bear him saying this now. Y/N has believed him before, somehow a man has whittled his way into her mind and heart in ways she’d never thought was possible. But, him saying it as she looks like this and reacts like this- after she’s done something horrible- is unbearable. 

“Okay.” Is all she can say with a teary-eyed nod. If she looks at him any longer she’ll cry more than she has in the last couple days, so she turns away, and he finally lets her. 

“Are you hungry? Thirsty?” He asks, changing the subject, doing her a favor without knowing. 

“There’s some water in the minifridge.” She replies slowly. Everything is still cloudy and annoying, but Namjoon never asked for irritation, so she'll be nice for now. He grabs one of the chilled water bottles and opens it for her with a satisfying click before handing it to her within seconds. 

“Are you hungry? Maria left some food for you, she’s waiting outside if you need her.” 

“I’m okay for now, just tired.” She says meekly. She looks up to find him assessing her with a gaze that seems a little too invasive. She can’t help but tell him more upon seeing the look. “I haven’t been able to sleep- with the nightmares.” She admits. 

“You seemed okay until I left you, I’m sorry. I needed to check in with Seokjin-hyung without letting him into the room.” 

“It’s not your fault.” 

Instead of any more easy conversation that they usually have, there’s silence that only seems to grow at what has been unsaid. They’re in a damn hospital for crying out loud. Namjoon literally got questioned by the police and she won’t feel safe for a long time. It’s all waiting to be spilled right here in this uncomfortable bed in the most uncomfortable room. 

“Did they tell you what happened?” 

“I should go and let Maria come in.”

They both speak at the same time. 

“What?” Y/N asks first, voice a little high in wanting. Why would he just leave suddenly? 

“Oh, no they didn’t tell me. I didn’t know if you’d want to so I did ask but, after some clarity of realizing that you’re okay, I just want to wait until you tell me as much as you want to give.” 

His response is like whiplash after his announcement of leaving, so instead she keeps the conversation on one topic. 

“I don’t want to tell you until I’m out of here. I hate it here.” She admits. Anything is better than the drabby shelters she’s been in and out of- and definitely better than the dried-up bridges she’d sleep under. But, this place always feels so cold and unwelcoming. It reminds her of her first visit to the hospital and seeing doctors for the first time. It was so invasive despite being needed- even if she was thankful, it was all so fast. 

“Whenever you want.” Is all he says in a voice that proves he’s just tip-toeing. 

“Why did you want to leave?” She finally asks. 

“Maria said you weren’t being verbal with her, so I just thought maybe you wanted to talk to her, especially because you haven’t seen her for a few hours. I just want you to be comfortable.” 

She could never get mad at him- she probably could in the right circumstance- so she just gives him a sigh that gives in to whatever he says. He’s right in a sense anyways. 

“Yeah I should talk to her, you should get back home to your pack anyways. I’m sure they’re worried about you.” She answers with honesty. She can’t keep him here away from them just because she doesn’t feel safe yet. Even if the only place she has felt safe is in his arms, she can’t burden him with that. 

“I’ll go let them know-”

“Just Maria.” She says far too quickly. 

“Okay, just Maria. I’ll see you later, yeah?” 

“Yeah.”

He leaves with an air to him that was far more tentative than earlier. Where did it go wrong? What line did they cross that has them both walking on eggshells? It always feels so fine with him, airy and refreshing in a way that allows her to finally breathe and have no worries in the world. Why is it that it changes so quickly sometimes? What is being left unsaid that she’s too inexperienced or immature to realize? 

“Hey sweetie.” Maria comes in with the normal softness she had even before this happened. But this time, Y/N can tell that she’s been crying. Her eyes look tired, red-rimmed, and far too down-turned to just be a caring stare. 

“Hi.” 

“How are you feeling?” She asks, causing Y/N to place the blanket back over her body to stop the chill of the room from finding her unprepared. 

“I’m okay.” 

“That’s good.” She sits in the same chair Namjoon did when he first came to see her. Again, an edge of tentativeness creeps into her mannerisms. He hands fidget in her lap and her eyes begin to water again. Y/N immediately pushes forward at the sight. 

“I didn’t think it’d come to this. Ya’know I thought I could make a safe space for you. One where you’d never have to worry about getting hurt.” Her lip wobbles in a way that has Y/N’s own eyes watering up in response. “I’m so sorry this happened. I’m so sorry I wasn’t there to protect you.” It’s inevitable when flashes of last night creep into her mind. She closes her eyes, pushing them down and down until later when she can fight them on her own. 

“It’s not your fault.” 

“I will take the blame, if it helps to take some of the blow.” 

“That’s not fair, you know that’s not fair.” Y/N almost pleads. 

“I knew there would be more consequences, if not directly made in my direction, definitely in yours when the organization paired us together. I mean- I knew there’d be legal proceedings that I’d have to handle that I really would do anything to get us out of, but I know they’d be hard on you. So, when the organization called earlier-”

Her choked sob that she swallows to keep going on has Y/N panicking now. Thankfully, it’s not enough to cause her the same panic as before, but it’s definitely enough to have her sitting up straighter, her ears perked and tail wrapped into an unbearably tight hold. 

“The hospitalization mixed with the police involvement isn’t taken lightly- as it shouldn’t be- but the organization has protocols in place. With our case, there will definitely be a rehoming done.” 

Y/N really didn’t know what exactly the protocol would be, other than the very few more common occurrences that the organization workers informed her of incase she needed to report them without the homeowners knowing. The shock of how quickly everything is moving has her completely blocking out Maria. She can’t comprehend just how awful it would be to transition to a new home in a time like this. She can’t fathom how Maria feels and- to be horribly honest- she’s worried about how Maria and Richard will cope with whatever it is they are exactly going to go through. Despite what she feels for Richard, she can’t help but feel like this was her fault. 

-

Namjoon

Stepping into the house after everything this morning is like walking into quicksand. The feeling of being pulled farther and farther into some irreversible thing is sickening. Not because of the unavoidable situation, but because of how many things could go wrong now. 

Taehyung is on him in seconds, trying his best to scent and pry answers out with pleading eyes and whimpers. 

“Let’s get everyone together and talk, so I only have to have this conversation once.” 

Luckily everyone is home, with some that have work schedules on the weekend- such as Yoongi who coaches kiddie basketball and had two early games this morning- it is hard to have everyone together before noon. But somehow it’s happened and he’s extremely lucky to see his pack all in one place. The events of today have made him so eager to make sure his pack is safe and home. Even if they all watch him with different levels of questioning eyes, he’d rather they be safe and expectant than not here at all. 

“So far, legally, it seems to be a clean case- though I still have no idea what exactly happened.” He’s speaking before he even realizes it, standing in front of everyone sitting and standing in the living room. 

“Y/N is…okay. She’s not comfortable in the hospital so she doesn’t want to tell me yet, but she’s just- she’s hurt yes. She’s bruised and scratched in ways that will heal, but it’s really just her mental state that can’t be healed measurably.” 

Namjoon seems to pause for no other reason than anxiety. He really didn’t think about this enough, this conversation in this circumstance. They’re all so patient as they wait, even Taehyung who has to be squeezed between Jimin and Hoseok to sit still. 

“When I introduced Y/N, it wasn’t with ulterior motives other than to help her build relationships. Yes, I was also interested in a friendship with her before this- that and the opportunity for Taehyung and her to have each other for their cheetahs was all I wanted. But, I have to be honest with myself. And with you all.” 

He gets a reassuring squeeze of his hand from Seokjin that makes him take a deep breath he didn’t know he needed. It’s never been him that brought up another potential pack member. It’s always one of his sociable mates that seem to be glued to someone or have a certain glow when they get home after a one-off encounter. He’s never minded it, he even welcomed it as long as they were a good fit for his home and all the people he cared about. But now, it feels like rejection is imminent. 

“Y/N is someone that unexpectedly made me feel so warm. Even if I was away from her, I always wished that she was thinking of me the way she thought of me and it’s- embarrassing honestly. Because I had just met her, and I wanted to get to know her faster than I thought was possible. I didn't want to say it in this context, I didn't want it to feel rushed and unprepared because I really do care about you guys and your opinions more than anything, but I also really care about her- in a way that feels filled with potential." 

"Hyung." Jimin suddenly speaks up, catching Namjoon's attention immediately. 

"I don't mind- I don't think any of us mind that you found someone you're interested in. I think it's obvious we enjoy having a big family- and Y/N was so sweet. But…this only feels rushed because it sounds like you have something else to propose." Jimin says while a few others in the pack nod at his addition. Namjoon can only give a heavy sigh before proceeding. 

"I'm sorry this happened this way- I will do it another time. When things hopefully work out or fall apart. I promise I'll come back to this. But, the most important part to discuss is- because of this incident, Y/N will need to be rehomed as soon as she's out of the hospital and ready. Until then she'd be in a shelter that's far too cramped."

"Namjoon, are you saying that someone we met once is to be rehomed with us?" Yoongi asks, using a tone that proves this conversation is not going to go as smoothly as planned.  

"I'm not stating or implying it's underway. It's something I am suggesting that we talk about the possibility that our home is a safe place that she needs until she can get her feet on the ground or wherever it takes us. But, for now, a safe home."

"I want her here." Taehyung states without looking at any of the others.

"I'd love to hear more thoughts." Namjoon almost pleads. 

"Is she even going to feel safe here?" Hoseok asks, looking wearily at the pack around him.

"I still have to talk to her after this, but I want her to at least have options. Her here, safe in this house, would be the best for her- other than that I'll have to figure it out if you guys aren't comfortable."

"She's really nice, and I felt okay around her. I know you guys make me feel safe. I want her to have that as well." Jungkook speaks up, seeming to have an overall effect on the group. Reminding everyone that they've done this before. 

They've taken Jungkook in when the shelter kicked him out and in his attempts to flee he ended up hiding in their backyard as a bunny, nibbling on Seokjin's plants to get some type of food. He wouldn't shift for weeks, and it had Taehyung so perplexed by the little bunny's tolerance for lack of skin to skin contact. 

"If we all agree, how would we care for her? She's not going to feel safe automatically, and she's going to need care that we aren't familiar with yet." Yoongi says logically.

"I work from home and will take full responsibility for her. I just want everyone to feel comfortable with her and for her to have a place to heal and keep her relationships. I want everyone to be okay with that before going through."

There's a thoughtful silence, before Seokjin speaks, starting the final decisions. 

"I will help Namjoon take care of her, I enjoyed her company and I think that it's best to help others when we're so closely presented the opportunity to- no matter what it leads to."

"I still think the same. She'll be safe here, it's what's best, especially since she's a cheetah." Jungkook agrees again.

"I want her here." Taehyung plainly says again.

"I think her safety at the moment would be best, and Namjoon's judgment is the reason he's the pack leader. I trust you, Joonie-hyung." Jimin adds.

"I agree, and she was sweet and seemed like she needed us to bring her out of her shell, I think she could thrive with hybrids." Hoseok joins. 

Everyone seems to turn and look at Yoongi at the same time, knowing that his disapproval changes the whole situation. Namjoon would come up with something else if he didn't want her to stay with them, he's okay with that as long as he can provide something for her. 

"I trust you Joon-ah, I told you I don't think you'd ever hurt us. You know I'm just protective of our peace. As long as we can deal with everything as a pack, not just you and her with her needs and changes in behavior- I'm down. We are a pack, we act like one, even if she's not an official member yet." 

Namjoon holds onto that 'yet', all the agreements, and the hope he has that Y/N takes this home into consideration.

-

Y/N

“Alright miss L/N, I’ll be your attorney in any possible cases that may be opened for testimonies and questioning. At the moment, there is enough evidence for detectives and a judge to have a tight self-defense case- but Leonord’s wife could sue for a few reasons and that is her choice, so in those cases I will be defending you free of charge through the re-homing organization. Sounds good so far?” 

The lady is quite nice, despite having to sit in the most uncomfortable chair and being in another bright room. Y/N is just happy to have information on everything when it seems no one wanted to tell her anything. She’s still getting flashbacks to last night, to how similar it was to those other times- the only difference being the confidence she was able to obtain having healthy relationships and a roof to live under. 

“Sounds good. But- I have a question.” 

“Of course.” 

“Do you know anything about the re-homing situation?” 

“Legally, the organization has to immediately extract you from the home you were in where the incident happened. Even if this was a random incident, or if there was a happenstance that was not the homeowner’s fault or cause- the organization has to deem that home unsafe and thus wants to keep the hybrid’s wellbeing in mind above all.” 

“Don’t people have to know about what I did when getting information to home me?” The lady gives her a flash of pity at that, immediately causing Y/N’s stomach to drop. 

“Yes, the potential homes will need to know why you are being re-homed with as much information as legally available. But, you case is not-” 

She cuts her off after she gets her answer, zoned out to think about all the ways she would be perceived in a time like this. She wouldn’t be re-homed. She’d end up in another shelter that has hybrids packed in like prison cells. She’d have to figure out who is safe and who’s not based solely on looks and conversations she’d rather not have at all. 

“Miss L/N?” The attorney says, finally pulling Y/N’s attention onto her again. 

“Sorry, I’m listening.” 

“I have questioning records containing a Kim Namjoon? You know him personally, correct?” 

“Yeah, he’s from the organization, we’re…friends. I was visiting him and his pack yesterday before I was driven home and-” She stops, knowing that the attorney knows everything already. 

“I work with him, through the law firm. He’s in charge of hybrid cases in our offices, specifically for hybrid shelters.” 

“Okay.” 

“I would talk to him about information in the re-homing process.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“I think he’ll have more information for you that will help you in the process.” She gives her a small smile that she can’t even figure out in the context. 

“Sure.” Is all she can say, confused and temples pounding from everything I’ve had to process in the past 24 hours. 

-

‘Wanna have dinner together?’ 

Y/N stares at the confusing text from Namjoon. He does remember that she’s in the hospital, right? The fleeting thought of Namjoon sending this to another girl has reeling into more thoughts that make the first one not so fleeting. Just to make sure he’s not insane right now, she answers. 

‘Yeah.’ 

It takes no time for her hospital room door to open and Namjoon to already be waltzing in with a bag of goodies she can’t pinpoint but can smell. And god, do they smell good. By the time he's up close and opening the bag she can't help but pinpoint her focus on the food he's pulling out rather than whatever he's saying. He finishes opening the containers with a little wave of his hands and pride on his face.

"Seokjin made everything, it's still warm since he just made it, but I thought I'd share it with you." 

"What if I had said no?"

"I would've left the food and went on my way after checking up on you. Either way you're fed and I'm happy."

"I'm starting to see how much you and Taehyung have in common." Y/N states, giving him a small smile that in turn stops Namjoon in his tracks for some reason. 

"Yeah, we, uh, we were the first of the pack. We found each other in a shelter." Namjoon says, taking his container of perfectly portioned foods and starts to eat. 

"Oh, really?"

"Yeah, it was only a few years ago that I finally got out of there thanks to the organization. There's a lot more to talk about, but, yeah we were the first."

"The organization? You were-"

"A case? Yeah. I was in a shelter for a year, the longest they kept predators like me. The organization puts money into those in the shelters that are about to be kicked out to fend for themselves. I got lucky, extremely lucky. I met Taehyung in there and promised him I’d be back no matter what. I worked to push away all my hate for humans and what they’d done to those like me- I worked alongside them and was able to carve a place for myself in society. It took me almost exactly a year, but Taehyung is a year younger than me so I was able to get to him in time. Well, perfect timing- because his time as a predator was also up and instead of having to pay a large sum to a shelter that definitely didn’t deserve it I was able to just show up on the day he was released by them with nothing provided for his survival. I had my own little apartment by then and was able to afford to regularly donate to the organization. I scored an amazing job with lots of training, and with Taehyung’s help I was able to shut down that shelter and rehome all those inside of it. Sadly, a lot went to the organization’s shelters. But, they’re the best bet they have, really. They got the care they needed there, nonetheless.” 

Hearing Namjoon’s story for the first time clicks things into place that seemingly weren’t as snuggly fit in as she thought they were. His kindness towards her no matter how she acted towards him, the amount of time and effort he put into volunteering and thus her, and the amount of truth behind his words when he voices his thoughts and concerns for her. It all finally presses into the crevices that were ready to fall apart in time of being disappointed. It’s as if a glowing hue of blue settles around him as she stares at him, watching him eat, watching him move. It’s odd to feel this way about someone, when she never had the luxury to even ‘like’ a person before. Now, she feels something deep in her gut- something that wants her to memorize every piece of him, every little breath and quirk of his features. 

“What’s that look for?” Namjoon asks with an amused smile, pulling her out of the trance. But, it’s not a trance when that safe aura sticks to him even when she’s paying attention to the mundane current happenings. 

“I don’t know.” She says honestly- she has no clue what it all means. But how awful would it feel if it ended? “You’re just, admirable.” 

“I just wanted to do my best for him and myself.”

“That’s hard for a lot of people.” She says, mostly referring to herself. 

“Nah, people just don’t give themselves enough credit. We’re all here just trying to live and search for something fulfilling.” Namjoon shoots back. 

“Yeah. I guess.” Her heart clenches at his words. Fulfilling. Whatever she has with him could just be fulfilling, thus it’s a reason for her to keep trying.

“Namjoon.” She tries to get his attention. He only looks up at her in question. 

“I met an attorney. One that mentioned she works with you.” She stirs around her still uneaten rice and veggies to get some courage to go on. “She told me to ask about the rehoming situation? Do you know why?” 

His look alone is enough to tell her he does, but he doesn’t immediately say anything. 

“I, uh, yeah-” he sets down his bowl of food before going on, preparing himself for something that she’s suddenly scared to find out. “I contacted her earlier today. That’s honestly, probably, why she got to talk to you so quickly. I kinda- Well I kinda asked her what the process would be like to suggest a home for you that isn’t on the official list, but is home to a volunteer.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“I don’t know if there’s any perfect way to suggest this, but- I knew about the protocol the organization has in place for something like this, and I knew you would need to be rehomed. I’m in a position where I could- help.” He pauses before finishing. “Well, we could, my pack.” 

“Namjoon.” She can’t get anything else out. 

“I talked to them after leaving this morning. I just needed to discuss it and make sure that this was something that they were all okay with, and we are a large family so it needs to be well-conversed. They all are okay with it, and I know it’s going to take a ton of effort and planning and consideration on my part- I’m not taking this lightly at all. That’s the only reason I contacted her so fast, I just wanted to make sure that this was something that could be done before even bringing it up to you. I don’t want to ever give you false hope or feel like you can’t trust me or what I say- so I’ve really thought about it and all the guys have as well. We could share our home with you if you’d like. I’d like you to be a part of it.”

She can’t tell if it’s a feeling of instant relief, so quickly having left her body that she’s nauseous- or she’s just nauseous in general over the thought of her actually having this option. It could also be the fact that Namjoon truly cares with his whole being, it feels like. Living with his damn pack after a police investigation done on her that had him questioned. Living with his pack after meeting them once and sharing little awkward conversations. Living with his pack of seven guys that all seem to be totally okay with it. It’s the first that drives her the most mad. 

“You don’t even know what I did.” 

“You said you didn’t want to tell me right now. I respect that- and I trust you, Y/N.”

“Why? Why would they all agree and why-” She can’t even comprehend the consideration they’re taking. 

“In the most basic way possible- we are hybrids that have been in shit positions before, they all vary and they all have their own story to tell, but we care about each other no matter what. We know what it’s like to not have anyone, or to finally find someone and try to lock onto them to keep safe and protected. It’s the animal in us that needs to form a pack, and that isn’t something as simple as human words can tell. It feels right- having you around.” 

If he tells it in that way- animal instincts and such- it makes more sense. But it still doesn’t excuse the human part of her that did what it did. Hell, she’s sure her cheetah played a large role in what she did. Right now, though, she wants to hold onto this hope, and she wants to have something that isn’t just temporary or pity-filled. This is the best choice she has, being safe in the pack home, with Namjoon and Taehyung especially. She’ll have a chance to learn more about her cheetah more often and she can finally learn about other hybrids. If anything, Namjoon will hear what she did and will decide against keeping her there, and then she can figure it out. But for now, she has a chance to be safe. That’s all she wants right now. 

“I have another deal to make.” 

“Lemme hear it.” 

“If I accept and you hear what I’ve done and you change your mind afterwards-” Namjoon looks as if he’ll speak but she gives him a pointed look. “If you change your mind, then I will find an alternative through the system and deal with my own consequences accordingly. If I accept and you hear what I’ve done but feel as though it doesn’t change your comfort, then I will need something to do. I can’t live with you for free as someone who’s not a part of the pack. Whatever you decide that fits my schedule, I will help around the house.” 

“As pack leader-” Namjoon holds out his hand for her to grab onto, his warmth immediate and addicting. “You have a deal.”

[morganski-19]

I Don't Know Which Way's Home

Chapter 19: Nightmares

ao3 link, Part 1, Part 18

tw: minor descriptions of physical assault, PTSD panic attack, car crashes, and emetophobia (very minor description)

Present Day, June 1986

It’s been three weeks since the court ruled in Steve’s favor, and he still doesn’t quite believe it. Doesn’t believe it when his lawyer calls to tell him that the payment will be coming to him soon. Doesn’t believe it when that money gets transferred to him. When he pays his lawyer and it’s all over.

Steve doesn’t have to fight with them anymore. Have to think about them anymore. They have absolutely no power over him whatsoever.

He doesn’t know what to do with that really.

All his life, he’s been playing the part designed for him. Done what other people wanted, doing things for himself later. In secret. Now that most of it was out, the pressure gone, he doesn’t know what to do anymore.

Steve gets up to go to a job that he didn’t want in the first place. Really only got because his dad wanted him to get a part time job as punishment for not getting into college. Following Robin after the mall blew up. It was all just stops on a train that he was given the ticket to.

Now he switched trains on his own accord. Went in a different direction. One that he chose because he wanted it. Sounded like a life he wanted to live. Sounded like there were other passengers on the train that might get off at the same destination. Want to spend time with him as they traveled. Get to know him. Maybe even love him.

And that’s what happened. He still doesn’t know how, or why. What to do with it. But he’s learning to.

If anyone were to ask him what he was going to do with this life he has now, with the winnings, he wouldn’t know. He doesn’t know what he wants to do tomorrow let alone in the next five years. The picture he has in his head looks the same as it is now. Happy with everyone he loves around him, looking exactly the same.

But that’s not what��s going to happen.

The kids are going to grow up, change, go off to school. Julie will too, leaving his house empty again. Robin will eventually go to a school that can give her more than a community college can. People in the town will continue to outgrow it.

While Steve continues to stay in the same spot forever. Rooted in the same place that hurt him so much. The same place that helped him grow into someone he’s actually proud of. Showed him the life he could have if he was just brave enough to go and catch it.

Now that he has it, it’s all he’s ever wanted. He’s not ready to let it go quite yet.

“Do you think you could teach me how to drive?” Julie asks Steve over dinner.

Steve freezes in shock, head shooting up to look at her. “Yeah, sure, I guess.”

He’s known her less than a year but the question still makes him feel so old. Feeling like he watched her grow up as she went through so many changes. So many emotions. Slowly formed into the person she is now right in front of him.

“Cool.” Julie says, going back to her dinner.

Steve wonders how long she’s been wanting to learn how to drive. She’s been able to for over a year now, just never got around to it. With the nature of her mother’s accident, he wasn’t sure when she would want to ever learn. If she would want to.

“Is there a reason you wanted to learn?” He asks, trying to sound nonchalant.

Julie shrugs. “Just haven’t yet. And I’ve been thinking about maybe getting a part time job, saving to try and get a car of my own before I go to college. I know it’s still a year away, but cars are expensive and minimum wage is shit.”

College. Something he knew was coming but was hoping it could be a little farther away. He wonders if this is how every parent feels. Wishing their kid would just stay in one place for a little while longer and stop growing. Stop changing. So they don’t have to change with them.

He’s not a parent. Not yet, and not for a long while. But he can’t help but feel some sort of protective instinct over these kids that changed his life. Want to look out for them in every situation, make sure that nothing ever hurts them. He knows that’s not how life is supposed to go. Kids are supposed to make mistakes and learn from them. That’s the way it went for him, so it’s the way it will go for them.

He just didn’t want it to.

“I don’t know why you’re so worked up about this,” Robin comments while unboxing the newest releases. “We all knew this day would come someday.”

Steve sighs, leaning on the door of the stock room. “I just wanted that someday to take longer to actually get here. It’s like the last few years went by so fast and got so muddled in my mind that I forgot time kept moving.”

“I get that. But,” she places the last tape on the cart and turns to him, “just because the kids are getting older, doesn’t mean that they’re leaving.”

They are in a way, though. Even though he knows that won’t be permanent. That they won’t forget about him the way other people have, it still makes the anxiety trapped in his chest start to rise. The instinct to hold on tight and never let go so much stronger.

“This town is too small for them. We both know that. They are going to go do amazing things, while I’m still here doing the same mediocre things I always do.” He holds the door open for her as she rolls the cart through.

“Have you ever thought about doing other things?”

Steve pauses in front of the cart, making Robin run into him. “What?”

“You’re acting like you can’t do other things. If you hate what you’re doing right now, try something different. No one’s forcing you to do the same thing you were doing yesterday.”

She pivots the cart to move around him, leaving him with thoughts he’s honestly been scared to think about.

Steve’s made a routine for himself. Go to work, pick up the kids, drive them around, go home. Live a life that he enjoys and work a job that he kind of hates. Follow his best friend wherever she goes because he’ll love whatever it is.

Was it what he thought he’d be doing with his life, no. Is it something he wanted to do the rest of his life? He doesn’t want to answer that question. The rest of his life was uncertain for the longest time. Each year testing the strength of his body and his mind. Making it feel like tomorrow was some bright future he may never get to see.

It was easy to get so stuck in the present when the future seemed like it would never come. Now that it is, Steve is scared to figure out what it is. What it means for him.  

“Look,” Robin continues, knowing exactly how he’s feeling. “I’m not saying you have to pick what you want to do right now. Or tomorrow, or the day after that. I’m just saying that if you really hate doing this,” she waves towards the shelves, “then you can start thinking about what you would want to do instead. There is still so much time for you to figure it all out.”

Time is something Steve’s learning how to deal with. But Robin’s right. Maybe it’s finally the right moment to think about what he can do with it.

. . .

“That is so exciting,” El exclaims when Julie tells her that Steve is going to teach her how to drive. “You will be the first one of us to learn how to drive.”

“Well, that’s actually Max,” Lucas corrects. “She learned how to drive a while ago.”

“Yeah poorly,” Mike adds. “And only in a parking lot.”

Max rolls her eyes. “I drove in the street that one time.”

“And almost got us killed.”

“Scared Steve shitless.” Dustin laughs.

“Scared all of us shitless.”

“Not me,” Lucas defends. I wasn’t scared.”

Dustin snorts. “So that wasn’t your high-pitched scream then?”

Lucas kicks him under the table.

El turns to Max. “When did you drive?”

Max motions for El to get closer and whispers it into her ear. Just another reminder that Julie has no idea what they are talking about. Another inside joke that she’ll never understand. El takes a second to be shocked before bursting out into giggles.

When the bell rings, Max stops Julie before she can walk away. “Hey, could you help me bring my stuff to my next class. El has a test today so she can’t do it.”

Julie shrugs. “Yeah, sure.”

She picks up Max’s backpack and carries it in front of her. Following after Max as she yells at the groups of seniors who like to stand in the hallway and block everyone’s path.

“So, you and El have gotten pretty close, yeah?” Max asks way too casually than she should for such a loaded question. And in the middle of the hallway.

“I mean we’re friends, right,” Julie tries to play it cool. Especially since to El, this is all they are.

Max stops, turning her chair to Julie and giving her a look that tell her to cut the shit. “That’s not what I meant.”

“I don’t really want to talk about this here.”

She barely wants to talk about it at all. The hatred for herself slowly turning into guilt that churns her stomach each time she looks at El. Knowing that she’s feeling something that she shouldn’t. Almost asking El for something that she can’t give. Wishing that this feeling could go away and they could just go back to being normal friends. Without all this complicated shit.

“That’s fair.” Max resumes rolling down the hallway, stopping in front of her classroom and reaching out to take the bag from Julie. “Your house after school then?”

“You’re not going to let this go, are you?” Julie wishes she would.

“El’s my best friend. Of course I’m not.”

The school day ends, and they go over to her house. She sits next to Max in her room like it’s some interrogation. Waiting for her to be the first to speak. Not wanting to share too much too fast.

“You know, El’s probably going to be pissed when she figures out that we hung out without her,” Max finally breaks the silence.

Julie huffs out a laugh. “Yeah, probably.”

The thing about actually having a crush, Julie realizes, is that it’s so special to have one. Like a little secret that she and only a few other people know. This special little feeling that, at the end of the day, brings her so much joy to have. Even though it’s terrifying. It’s a good terrifying.

“I was really happy when El became friends with you so fast,” Max continues. “I love the guys, but she needed someone else who knew how to take it down a notch. Someone calmer. Someone like you.”

Her lips can’t help but turn into a soft smile. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Max nods. “I think we all needed that too. Life has been crazy the last few years and it’s been nice to have someone to remind us that life doesn’t always have to be tied to that. Especially for El.”

“What do you mean?”

Max takes a deep breath, shifting the pillow behind her. “There’s a lot that I can’t tell you, and there’s stuff that I don’t even really know. None of us do. She wouldn’t tell us all of it. But you know how El is adopted right?”

Julie nods.

“I, uh, don’t know how much of this she wanted me to tell you. Just that she didn’t want to do it herself so bear with me here. Before she was adopted, El was in a really bad home. If that’s what you could even call it. And a lot of really terrible things happened there that none of us like to talk about. She escaped from there one night and eventually got adopted by Hopper.”

Julie remembers that night she stayed at the Byers after they got kicked out of the house. How she told El about the fourth of July when the mall burnt down, and she saw all those people walking to their death. The face El made after she said it. Looking determined as all hell and older than she needed to be. Like a switch in her mind flipped and she was a totally different person than Julie knew her to be.

How horrible her life must have been to take the joy out of her face so fast. To turn defense mode on in a way that made her look like a soldier.

“That’s terrible,” are the only words Julie can think to say.

Max nods, looking down at her hands. “Yeah, it is. This is the same place, same people, that are responsible for a lot of the bad things that happened in this town. They worked at the Hawkins lab.”

“Shit,” Julie sighs, leaning back against her wall.

“Yeah, shit.”

The room fills with silence.

“Why are you telling me all of this now?”

“Because I’ve never seen El open up to a person as fast as she has with you. It took a long time for her to open up to me, and sure there were other things in the way that stopped that, but I’m talking right as we became friends. We were close, but not you guys close.”

Julie can’t imagine Max and El being different from the way they are now. The soft interactions full of a trust that looked so natural. Like they had been friends for a lifetime, fully comfortable around one another.

“And I’m starting to notice, and please tell me if this is out of line, that you might be thinking about El differently than I think about El.”

Julie wonders if this is the time where it isn’t taken well. That someone tells her that this is the worst thing that she could do. Having a crush on a friend could break relationships. She didn’t want to break this one.

“I do,” she finally says to Max. Ready for the berating to start.

Instead, Max nods with resignation. “I think El does too.”

The room starts to buzz as Julie’s heart starts to pick up. “What?”

“She hasn’t, like, told me anything. And she’s probably going to hate me for telling you this at all. But I want to protect her and protect you too and this weird waiting period is really awkward for me, and I’d rather just get to the point where I’m third wheeling.”

“I’m sorry,” Julie interrupts her, still trying to wrap her head around the idea that there’s a possibility that El might like her back. “You think El likes me?”

Max raises her eyebrow. “Have you seen the way she’s been acting around you? Complimenting you every day, clipping your hair back, giggling at literally every joke you say. No offense but that’s a little excessive, your jokes aren’t always that funny.”

Moments start to replay in Julie’s mind. Having been so focused on the way she’s been acting, that she didn’t even notice the way El’s behavior around her changed. How she interacted with Julie just different enough from the rest of the group for it to be significant. For it to be special.

She remembers shrinking in on herself when she knew El was looking at her for longer than she should. Thinking that it was because Julie was making her feel uncomfortable. Never because she could have been doing the same thing Julie has been doing this whole time. Admiring in secret.

“I didn’t notice.”

Max groans. “Of course you didn’t. Neither of you did. It’s like Will and Mike not realizing that they’re into each other. Do you know how frustrating it is to know that your friends like each other but they’re too stupid to do anything about it.”

“Oh my god, you noticed the Will and Mike thing too, I thought that was just me.”

“Don’t try and change the subject. You like El, and I think El likes you. What are you going to do about it?”

Julie winces. “Is nothing an option?”

Max grabs Julie’s arm. “You are driving me crazy. Ask her out or some shit.”

“What if it doesn’t work out?” Julie says, full of fear. “What if I mess up and then I lose all of you guys. I already feel like an outsider sometimes when you guys start talking about the things I don’t know about. I’m the friend that everyone would be ok to lose if this doesn’t work out.”

A few beats pass before Max starts to speak. “Ok, one, you are not the friend that everyone would be ok to lose. You have integrated yourself into the group more than you think you have. Second, you are so focused on a relationship that you haven’t even started yet. Life’s too short to have regret for the steps you didn’t take. Believe me, I know.”

Max wraps her arms around her leg, shifting it to a better position. Inadvertently reminding Julie of the things that have happened the past few years. The events she was just a bystander to, never fully experiencing what happened. When they did, somehow. She still wished she kind of knew.

But maybe Max was right. Maybe Julie could take the risk. Ask El on a date. Hope that it would work out, and that she wouldn’t regret it later. What would she regret more? Asking, or forever wondering how it would have turned out had she not.

. . .

July 1987

The room is blurry as Steve comes into consciousness. The bright lights giving him a headache, and the taste of copper resting on is tongue. His one eye can’t open that well, almost swollen shut. His wrists burn against rope as he twists them. Trying to get them apart.

His good eye blinks, focusing on a pair of black boots in front of him. Raising his head, he meets the scowling face of the Russian officer. Hearing words spoken in a language he doesn’t understand to the other man in the room.

“Ah, he’s awake,” The Russian slurs in English. Stepping forward and looking down at Steve. Menacing.

“Let me go,” Steve begs. “I don’t know anything.”

The officer grabs his hair, pulling his head back to look at him. Steve’s tempted to spit in his face.

“I am only going to ask you this again. Who do you work for?”

Steve can’t help but let out a sad laugh. Knowing he won’t be awake for much longer. “I already told you. I work at Scoops.”

The ringing in his ears starts when his cheek burns. Vision blurring again. He straightens his head, panting to try and get the air back into his lungs. Only for it to leave as the officer hits him again. Always the right side of his head. It hurts so much it’s almost numb.

“No, no, no,” Steve pleads as the officer winds up again. Blood pooling in his mouth with the next collision. He spits on the group. “I work at Scoops,” he screams with as much breath he can muster.

The world goes dark again.

Steve wakes with a scream. The surroundings not matching that of his cell. A weight around his torso preventing him from getting up. He rips the blankets off of him, pulling the weight off and throwing it away. Cursing as his feet can’t kick off the sheets. Can’t get free.

Tears are streaming down his face as he struggles. His hands free. The rope burn stinging his skin. His torso itches like crazy. Like small little bites stabbing into his skin. He needs to find Robin. Needs to see if she’s ok.

“Steve,” a voice says to him. How do they know his same? Did he tell it to them? What are they going to do to him now.

He still struggles with the blanket, finally pulling his feet free. Attempting to get off the bed and search for anything as a weapon. This place isn’t the cell he was in before. They must have moved him when he was knocked out.

“Steve,” the voice says again. Sitting up on the bed and starting to move towards him.

Steve flinches from the touch, raising his fists. Ready to strike them first this time. His heart is beating in his ears, the constant ringing in his right only amplified. Adrenaline pumping through his veins.

He needs to get out of here.

A light clicks on. Illuminating the room he’s in. It doesn’t look like a cell. It looks like a bedroom. Have they constructed this just to give him a false sense of security?”

“It was just a dream, Steve.” The man gets out of the bed, taking a cautious step towards Steve. Hands outstretched to block any punches Steve might throw.

Steve wasn’t the threat here. He was just trying to protect himself.

“Can you tell me three things you notice about this room?” The man cautiously spins them around, clicking on another lamp in the room.

The bare walls reflect the light, the soft yellow so different from the blaring white. The walls a tan instead of white or grey. It looks so familiar, but Steve’s mind is so confused. The tears continue to stream down his face as he tries to figure out where he is.

“I work at Scoops,” Steve stutters.

“I know you do.” The man replies quickly. “I believe you.”

More tears. Steve’s hands lower. They know now. Does that mean he’s free to go?

“Tell me three things you see,” he repeats. So soft it makes Steve want to crumble.

“A bed,” he whispers. “A nightstand. A lamp.”

The man takes another step forward. Coming into more clarity. Brown curls fall onto his shoulders. He looks nothing like the Russians.

“Good. Anything else?”

“There’s a picture on the nightstand. The bed has blue sheets. There’s a poster on the wall.”

Eddie places a gentle hand on Steve’s shoulder, he flinches before leaning into it. Closing his eyes and trying to focus on the touch. Letting it ground him.

There’s a knock on the door. Steve’s eyes fly open again as he whips his head to look. Heartbeat increasing again.

“Take a seat, sweetheart, I’ll get it.”

Steve freezes, unable to move. He’s directed toward the bed, somehow, he sits down. Knuckles clenched into white.

“Are you guys ok,” he hears a soft voice say. “I heard screaming.”

Eddie doesn’t open the door more than a small crack. “Yeah, we’re fine. I got this, you can go back to bed.”

The door shuts with a small click. Eddie returning to Steve. Sits next to him as the adrenaline fades. Leaving his body exhausted and his mind still searching for explanations.

“Can you tell me what year it is, Steve?”

He shakes his head.

“It’s July second, 1987. You survived them, Steve. Everyone did.”

A sob escapes his throat. His body collapsing into himself. Curling up as the energy releases. He’s wrapped into a hug and pulled further into the bed. Being protected while he falls apart.

Steve wakes up again a few hours later. Gets out of bed and into a routine. Takes a shower, gets dressed, makes himself breakfast. Goes through the motions of a normal morning.

The front door closes quietly. Eddie and Robin coming into the house. Sitting with Steve at the table.

“I took Julie to school, that’s why I wasn’t here,” Eddie explains. “I told Robin what happened.”

Robin looks down at the table, biting at her lip. “Tomorrow marks two year since-.”

Steve looks at his coffee. “Yeah, I know.”

“I can’t believe it’s been that long. It feels so close yet a lifetime away.”

“It was like I was back there. Even when I woke up.” Steve takes a deep breath. “I thought it was going to be better this year.”

Robin’s hand finds his, her fingers shaking. “Me too.”

They find themselves curled up on the couch for the rest of the day. Eddie there just to make sure they’re both ok. The house quiet except for the low volume on the tv. Lights off so they don’t flicker. Robin’s fingers pressed into Steve’s wrist to feel his pulse. His arm holding her close, proving that she’s there.

They made it out of there. They’re both alive. He wishes that their minds would stop trying to tell them otherwise.

. . .

Julie walks into a dark house. Steve and Robin asleep on the couch with Eddie awkwardly sitting next to them. Looking out of place. She wants to ask about what she heard last night. How she heard the screams from across the hall.

Eddie gets up when he notices her. Motions for her to meet him in Steve’s bedroom. Shuts the door gently behind them before turning on the light.

“You probably have a few questions about last night.”

Julie nods. “Is he ok?”

Eddie runs a hand down his face. “Physically, yeah, he’s fine. But other than that, he will be. This week is an anniversary of something for him. He was reminded of that last night.”

“The mall fire,” Julie fills in. “I know that they were there that night.”

“Do you know why?”

Julie shakes her head. No one would tell her more when she asked.

Eddie nods, crossing his arms and swaying on the balls of his feet. “I’m not sure if I’m allowed to tell you what happened. I don’t even know the full of it.”

She thought Steve told him everything. “It was bad, wasn’t it?”

“Yes. It’s the reason Steve can’t hear well in his right ear anymore. And the reason he gets really bad PTSD attacks. Like the one he had last night.”

“And that’s why,” she tilts her head to the door. Knowing that Steve and Robin tangled together in the living room.

“She was there too.” Eddie looks at the door. Pain painting his face. “A part of me wishes I knew what really happened to them so I could help. But they already relive this pain more than they should, they don’t need to do it again just to fill me in.”

Julie pauses before asking the question that’s been on her mind since the first time she heard screams through the walls. Wonders if there’s a part of her that really wants to know. Or if this is just morbid curiosity. But there were memories of her own that haunt her. Placing her back into moments of her life with things left unexplained.

She cares about these people. It hurts to know that they are in pain. And if she could help, know how to help them through the panic or PTSD attacks, she thinks it’s important enough to know.

“Do you think you could tell me what you know,” she asks softly. “Or at least what you do to help calm him down. I think it would be good for me to be prepared in case it happens and you or Robin aren’t here.”

Eddie presses his lips together. “I’ll do the second one, not the first. As much as he doesn’t want to talk about it, it’s not my story to tell.”

“That’s fair.”

Eddie tells her what he does to calm Steve down when it gets really bad. How with the panic attacks, it’s good to count with him while he breaths. And if he’s willing, grab his hands to help ground him. Tell him about what’s in the room. How it’s different than the pictures in his mind. More things kind of all based on that.

Julie takes it all in, making a mental list in her mind, hoping she doesn’t forget it. Hoping that if it ever happens, she won’t mess it up. Saddened by the fact that this is Steve’s reality.

. . .

A few days pass since Steve’s reality morphed with his nightmares. The date crossed out on his calendar far enough away that it’s finally starting to sink in. Steve made it out of there two years ago. Yet it still affects him like it was yesterday.

Just like back then, life moves on. He goes to work and comes home. Gets weird thinking of the future, and what that means for him. How each milestone will pass, the anniversary of dates coming and going. Affecting him in more ways than he realizes. Until he’s waking in a cold sweat and his body is transported back into his past selves. Some fucked up time travel.

His mind stays fixated on that night. How long it took for his brain to recognize Eddie’s face. To differentiate the safety of his home with the danger of his interrogation cell. How dangerous it could have been.

Eddie told him that Julie has asked about it. How he didn’t say anything, but did tell her ways to help him through an attack. It’s something he never thought of before. Out of all the possibilities that run through his mind, the thought of her being present for one of the attacks never crossed. He never thought she would be there for one of them.

But she almost was. If Eddie hadn’t been there, it would have been Steve opening the door. He didn’t want her to see him like that. He didn’t want the monsters in his head to meld her into something she wasn’t.

She wasn’t a part of this life, he wanted to keep it that way. But Steve has never really gotten what he wished for. It was time to tell her the parts he could.

No one wants to hear about the truth. They don’t want to know the dangers that rest beneath their feet. Blissfully ignorant and wanting to stay that way. Ignorance, however, can hurt sometimes. He didn’t want it to hurt her.

When Julie gets home from school, Steve asks her to sit in the kitchen. Takes the seat across from her and starts to lay out everything. How this conversation can’t leave the room, and she’s never to let anyone know that he told her this.

“This is about Starcourt, isn’t it?” She asks somewhere in the middle of his warnings. “Why all those people walked straight to their death.”

“How did you know about that?” Steve knew that people must have seen it, but it was kept out of the news.

Julie tells him about the night she went looking for her mom. How she got caught in the crowd of people walking toward the mall. Saw the names of people she knew flicker on the tv screen the next morning.

Steve tells her more than he should. About how Will going missing five years ago was a catalyst to so much more. How he got roped into everything. Skipping the bit in the middle for the most part, focusing on how Max came into it all. Then gets to the Russians.

Tells her the story of an innocent mystery turned terrifying nightmare. The interrogation that thankfully didn’t end in his death. Fireworks that crashed into the monster the size of a building and crashing a car into a possessed maniac. All of it ending in burning red, leaving the survivors to cope with their loss.

She’s taking it better than he thought she would. And he hasn’t even said everything yet. Just barely gets to spring break before Julie is pulling him into a hug. Until he realizes the wetness of his cheeks.

“I’m so sorry,” she chokes. “I am so sorry you had to live through that.”

He doesn’t finish telling her everything. It’s probably a good thing. The NDA’s aren’t as loose as the ones from a few years ago. And it’s better for her to process this and maybe learn the rest later. If she wants to. If he wants to explain it all again.

. . .

“Alright, now turn on the blinker and slowly hit the gas again,” Steve instructs as Julie sits at a stop sign. No one else around.

It’s been a few weeks since she’s started learning how to drive. Slowly easing into it in random parking lots while no one is there. Learning where all the signals were, and basic traffic laws. Most of it was review, but she didn’t mind the practice.

She pushes on the gas, jerking the car into motion. Pulling away from the parking lot and onto the street. For the first time. Julie is driving on the road.

“Ok, good. Just try not to hit the gas so hard next time.”

Steve’s been an ok teacher. Patient for the most part but gets frustrated when he can’t explain something properly. But he hasn’t gotten angry at her yet. Carefully corrects her but makes sure she knows that she’s doing ok. That she’s starting to get this right.

Julie pulses the gas. Learning how to keep the speed of the road. Overcorrecting when she gets too close to the yellow lines. The overcorrecting again when she gets close to tree line.

It’s scary driving something so large. So powerful. Hearing how the engine revs each time she pushes her foot down too hard. Feeling the pull of the seatbelt against her chest as she hits the breaks too fast.

But she’s getting it. Adjusting herself as she gets used to the feel of the petals beneath her feet. Loosens her body as she gets more comfortable gripping the steering wheel. As she gets used to the size of the car and the way it moves.

“Great. You’re doing really great, Julie. How about we turn here and-.”

A deer jumps in front of the car.

Julie slams on the breaks as she swerves close to the trees. The car coming mere inches from the trunk. Her arms shaking as they grip the wheel.

It all can happen so fast.

Steve unbuckles his seatbelt, turning towards her. “Julie, take a breath ok.”

One wrong move and the hood of the car would be curved around the tree. The airbag would be in her face.

“Just take a breath, we’re ok.”

What if her foot had slipped as she pushed down on the breaks? What if her hands fumbled the turn? Would the deer have contacted the car? Would she have killed it?

“You followed your instincts. We’re ok. That’s all that matters. We’re ok.”

Was this what it was like right before her mom’s crash? Did a deer just jump in front of the car? Her foot missing the break as she slammed into a tree. As it crashes just right to take her life. Was this mistake so easy to make that Julie almost made it too?

“Julie,” Steve touches her shoulder, comforting her. “It’s ok. Take all the time you need.”

Julie unbuckles her seatbelt and bolts out of the car. Runs to the wood as bile stings her tongue. Let’s the adrenaline out onto the dirt as she crashes. As the air escapes from her lungs.

Steve’s beside her rubbing her back. Saying something but it doesn’t register. Too stuck in her head to think of anything else.

“I’m sorry,” slips out of her mouth. Not sure of what else to say.

“Don’t be. It was just an accident, it happens all the time.”

Tears start to make their way out of her eyes. “But I didn’t see it. I could’ve. I could’ve crashed the car. Or worse and.” Sharp, shaky breaths interrupt her sentences.

Steve turns her to look at him. “Julie, hey. Look at me.” She does. “Take a deep breath, ok.”

He counts as she forces herself to breath in. She holds it, feeling the beat of her heart in her lungs. Releases it. Does it again.

“I didn’t see the deer either,” Steve admits once she calms down a little. “Something must have scared it, and it ran into the road. And you did a good job avoiding it.”

She doesn’t feel like it was a good job. “It all happened so fast.”

The tears continue to stream down her face. The feeling of the break pressed into the bottom of her foot. Throbbing. Her shoulder stinging from the pull of the seatbelt. The feeling of it all finally registering.

Her forehead hurts. Something is dripping down in between her eyes. She reaches up and swipes away blood. The buzz coming back to her veins.

“Fuck,” she mutters, eyes glued to her hand.

Steve gets up and comes back with a small first aid kit. Wiping away the blood with some napkins and pressing them against her forehead. Waiting for the bleeding to stop.

She doesn’t even remember her head hitting the steering wheel.

They sit in silence while Steve cleans the cut. Julie wincing when the alcohol wipe hits her broken skin. Steve finds a small piece of gauze and tapes it to her forehead. Packing up the first aid kit and returning to just sitting next to her.

“We’ll sit here as long as you want to, then I’ll drive us home,” he says.

Drive. Julie doesn’t know how she can sit in the car again. Knowing how easy it is for it all to fail.

“It all happened so fast,” she says again. Fixated on it.

“Yeah, yeah it did.” Steve’s trying to stay strong but she can see the shock in his actions too.

“Was it that fast when,” a lump forms in her throat. “When she? When my mom?”

Steve realizes what she’s talking about, starting to open and close his mouth. Trying to find something to say.

“I,” he starts. “I don’t know.”

“That’s all I could think about.” She looks at him. “All I can think about is how I could almost have died just like her. One wrong move and I-. And we-.”

Steve grabs her arms, looking her dead in the eyes. “Hey,” he says softly. “It’s ok. Whatever could have happened, it doesn’t matter right now. What matters is that we’re here, and we’re safe. You got shocked and followed your instincts. And because of that, we’re both ok.”

Ok normally doesn’t feel like this. But she tries, really tries to listen to his words.

“I know none of this is going to stop the what ifs in your mind. Believe me, I know. But those what ifs are not going to change what happened. It’s important to remember that.”

She knows he’s right. But it’s so hard to keep her mind on track. Letting it off rail to the ends of possibilities. Wondering if there was ever one where there was never an almost crash to begin with.

“Let’s go home. Get an icepack on that head and make sure it’s ok before you go to sleep. Ok?”

Slowly, Julie nods. “Ok.”

She gets in the car. Buckling the seat belt and tugging it to make sure it locked. Steve gets in the driver’s seat and readjusts it and the mirrors before slowly pulling away. The almost accident fading as she stares in the sideview mirror.

It was just an accident. It can happen to anyone. It just had to happen to her.

Tag list(let me know if you want to be added or removed): @homoerotictangerine, @mugloversonly, @thesuninyaface, @imyelenasexual, @anaibis,

@ilovecupcakesandtea, @brainsteddielyrotted, @jackiemonroe5512, @eddie-munsons-missing-nipple, @goodolefashionedloverboi,

@cinnamon-mushroomabomination, @lolawonsstuff, @writingandmushroomdragons, @stevesbipanic, @sierra-violet,

@steddie-as-they-go, @dauntlessdiva, @mousedetective, @the-daydreamer-in-the-corner, @zombiethingy,

@connected-dots-st-reblogger, @that-agender-from-pluto, @allyricas, @cheddartreets, @devondespresso,

@crypticcorvidinacottage, @queenie-ofthe-void @chronicpainstevetruther, @melonmochi

[salted-caramel-tea]

Are you fully removing yourself from dtblr now?

i’ve made a post with a brief summary of my thoughts and feelings right now but ur not the only person to ask so ill make another . the short answer is not really . long answer under the cut. we’re actually getting into my whole mental breakdown as well so tw for graphic desc of sa

i just need some time to figure things out . i know i sound like a broken record saying it but sa is not an easy topic to deal with for me personally . im aware that the situation was somewhat blown out of proportion and it doesn’t actually compare to the genuine coercion and force i experienced but the past few days have been heavy .

a lot of it is because of the frequency, i am so happy that people have been comfort so enough to come forward about their experiences but there has been a complete lack of nuance regarding all of these situations it’s been very reactionary and coming online seeing never ending untagged borderline graphic descriptions of sexual assault or rape affects me physically . it’s been 3 years and i still experience physical symptoms after being triggered . my ears start ringing, i get dizzy and out of breath and nauseous and i cry . bc i remember how terrible i felt . and nuts something that still affects my relationships to this day.

one thing about it is that i can really sympathise with caiti . our cases are different, i verbally and physically refused physical advances from my abuser but after it happened i found myself trying to justify it because I invited him to watch a movie with me I didn’t push him away enough and someone was interested in me!! at least someone was interested in me . and it’s why i have a hard time regarding the ‘regret’ comments . because i don’t know that if people knew my story they’d say i was just regretting being intimate with him and stating that because i now felt violated after regretting the experience it didn’t mean i was violated on the night . i don’t think my abuser knows what he did to me . but it doesn’t change the fact that he forced me into that situation . i also want to say i don’t really consider touching someone’s waist sexual assault . it can be a form of unwanted physical contact that makes you uncomfortable but the act unfollowed by any sexual contact is not sexual assault . i do believe her feelings are real however and i can sympathise with that delayed fear and discomfort .

this is not an isolated incident as i’m sure we are all aware . for as long as dtblr has been around there have been controversies of sex crime. a lot of them have been faked, we all remember the period of 2021-22 where there was a new burner account every week accusing a member of the dteam of sa until bbh threatened legal action against one of them . and then there was the drituation . although these were faked, they contained extremely triggering details of grooming and assault. i needed time away then too . i’ve said this through every drummy ache but nothing is worth our physical and mental suffering. there is no creator no person that i would allow myself to suffer for .

the internet is reactionary. people will say things and blow things out of proportion to further their moral activity even if it means deliberately spreading triggering misinformation as a punch in the gut to make people agree . i’m not talking about the victims right now but rather the reactions from fans . over the past few weeks we’ve seen allegations of varying degrees aligned in badness with one another when that simply isn’t the case . sensationalising trauma is the new in thing and it prevents private conversations where there should be some and it’s encouraged by fans online so they can get a fix of their daily drama .and i understand it’s because it’s involving large creators and people want to spread awareness of their behaviour but the line has to be drawn somewhere between what should be public and private matters and there has been a mix of both in the past few weeks .

this need to ‘take down’ someone as opposed to discussing matters in a private setting to come to an understanding of the events without the influence of the public has created a spectacle of sexual assault. anything that is mildly uncomfortable or inappropriate is being labelled as on par with sexual abuse or rape which is not the case at all and it’s creating environments that are actively harmful to survivors by having their traumas brought up where it isn’t necessary or equating people who have made mistakes or bad decisions to their abusers .

this is something that has been ongoing since 2020 and will continue to happen with varying degrees of validity behind these comments and its up to us as viewers to decide what’s real and fake depending on the evidence before us but we don’t know what’s been taken out of context what’s been fabricated what’s straight up slander vs what is real admissions of harmful behaviour and its exhausting to wade through . it might seem selfish that i’m kind of saying i don’t want to know about other peoples sa experiences but i dont . i don’t want to have to wade through pages upon pages of details or hours upon hours of proof to accuse or debunk someone of a topic that physically affects me .

i’ve already said i’m not becoming an anti i hold no serious denouncement of the dteam at all but i need to consider fandom dynamics and if i am willing to deal with these accusations over and over again because we all know it’s not going away . dream had people ADMIT they faked his grooming allegations and it’s still held against him . george did make someone uncomfortable and it’s not up to me to dictate caitis feelings on that but george’s perspective does put into play a perspective of body language that is being weaponised to jump to sa rather than bad communication and awareness of the situation . it’s a lot . and i need time to get myself into a better headspace and figure out if im willing to be involve in further reference of these events .

and also fuck quackity bc ppl are using the past few days to say oh quackity is the only good one left as if he’s not literally being monitored by international labour unions

::

im adding on a few things . i am uncomfortable with the way some people have been making light of the whole situations here . there’s borderline (fully) misogynistic posts flying around that are being shared as jokes and memes but it really diminishes the weight of some of the situations at hand and as well as the very real women discussing their situations . im not calling anyone out bc this is has been shared all over my dash so its clear that this is just a preference of mine that i personally find discomforting but i hate the way it makes me feel seeing posts relating abuse of women to homosexuality even though it is in a joking manner it just made me really uncomfortable .

im also tired of the words abuse and assault being thrown around without grounded evidence. there has been no sexual situations as far as we are aware . there has been no sexual contact as far as we are aware . there needs to be distinctions between what is discomfort or creepy and what is exploitation or abuse . i’ve been around lots of creepy guys but only one has sexually assaulted me . throwing words around without any substance behind them diminishes the value of the word until people see it as just another insult . by insinuating touching someone’s waist, although uncomfortable to caiti where she was unsure how to address she did not want that to happen, is a form of sexual assault it creates a form of radicalism of sexual abuse where it becomes is every uncomfortable touch a sex crime? no it’s not. it’s going to trivialise what it means to have been assaulted and being invalidation to victims from wider audiences with lines like ‘let me guess a guy touched your shoulder and you screamed assault’ . we are already blamed for what happened to us and to further trivialise it by mislabelling your discomfort and bad experiences as abusive or exploitative it’s providing a potential fan to those flames . and that’s why i say although i believe caiti is valid in the way she feels that her discomfort and delayed trauma is valid i do not believe she was a victim of a sex crime but rather she was in a position where she was made uncomfortable by a creepy older guy .

im also just so fucking tired to logging on to sex scandals of the dream team where everyone was 18+ and no sex occurred because at that point it’s just digging up anything you can to prove someone else’s hypothesis to be semi reality .

george did fuck up . he made a very young woman uncomfortable and should have prioritised reaching out to her to apologise for her discomfort and subsequent emotional weight instead of an extremely defensive take that, yes, can provide further situation but ultimately comes off as a take disregarding of the very real feelings that caiti was experiencing in order to prove people wrong . he is allowed to defend himself but the emotional impact on caiti should have been a lot better acknowledged . i just wanted to make sure that people were aware that despite the fact i do not think george is a sexual predator and that it is a phrase being extremely abused by the internet, i do believe he did something wrong in this situation .

this whole thing is messy and complicated and exhausting and punz needs to shut the fuck up nobody cares

[theunholyrogue]

a bad day (Bayv! Donnie x GN! Reader) part 2

Finally!! I have had major writer’s block over this part so I hope this cuts it! :)

Tw: angst; happy ending, description of pain and wounds, abuse/physical assault, hints of SA, cursing, hints towards sex, 18+.

Tag: @lovelyladylavie (SORRY IT TOOK FOREVER! 🥺)

read part one here

What the hell had happened?

You groaned, your head pounding as you started to come to. You felt the dirty, rough carpet scratch against the side of your face, individual strands flush against your eye, invading your ocular space as your lids fluttered open.

Had they hit you?

Your vision was spotty with black orbs and your mouth was dry. You wondered how long you had been passed out while manuvering your arms and hands to your side, slowly pushing your upper body off of the floor. Your body was damn-near retaliating against you, you hadn’t taken a cold shower to cool your muscles down after your fight, your face was aching from the blow to your nose, and the rest of your head followed suit with a pounding migraine.

Once you sat up, you held your palm to your head, applying pressure in a weak attempt to take the pain away, especially as you pushed yourself to your feet and leaned against the nearby wall. You gazed around, the room being left still and quiet, noticing the brown shards of a beer bottle scattered about the floor.

Bloody hell…

Moving forward, you walked around the corner of the room, looking into the kitchen and saw it just as messy as it been left earlier that day, at least you assumed it was the same day. You eyes focused on the stovetop clock, reading over the green digits.

01:15

You paused, patting the pockets on your jacket and then looking back into the living room, spotting your phone underneath the coffee table covered in butts and booze. You stumbled over, bending over and pulling the mobile device out from it’s hiding spot. You sighed a breath of relief to see that it was only the next day, you were only out for a few hours.

You also noticed the amount of texts and missed calls from Donatello, as well as the other turtles and April, concerned for your safety and why you weren’t answering them. For your safety and theirs, nobody in your friend group knew where you resided, so you could understand their worries if they couldn’t even come check on you.

You proceeded in checking the rest of the house, seeing that your guardian was gone. You had suspected that they went to work, so you took time opportunity to lock yourself up in your room. You flipped the lights on, moaning as the brightness overloaded your senses and caused your head to pound, but you knew that you needed to inspect the back of your head.

Thankfully, you didn’t feel any shards of glasses lodged into your scalp, however, you did have a cut that had slowed down in bleeding, you still felt like it was open enough to need medical intervention.

Checking your phone once again, thumb swiping through various notifications — halfway ignoring the majority — you tapped on the text thread between Raphael and yourself.

You were closest to Raphael outside of Donatello. It wasn’t always that way, however. It took the mutant some time to get used to you, especially since you and his brother started dating. He eventually warmed up to you once he realized that you weren’t going anywhere, and a great friendship had blossomed. You two would train together occasionally, take out silly frustrations on each other through boxing — him mainly due to Leo and you, your homelife and other human-directed problems.

You were upset at Donatello for how he had ditched you earlier, and seeing April’s notifications didn’t help with the negative feelings that continued to fester. So, you tapped on Raphael’s icon and started to call him instead.

Ring…

Ring…

“Where the hell are you?!” Raphael’s voice boomed over the speaker. You could hear the rest of the turtles asking various questions — Is it them? Are they okay? What happened? And so on…

“M’house,” you replied, your voice cracking from lack of use.

“Are you alright? What happened?”

You shook your head, looking outside the window as you spoke, “I think I need a stitch.”

“Why?”

You explained what had happened when you got home, how the wound felt, and how you felt at this moment.

“ ‘Right, Don can-,”

“No,” you interrupted, walking over to your bed and collapsing onto it, “I don’t want his help, he didn’t have time for me earlier so I don’t want it now,” you continued.

The other end of the line was quiet for a few moments, and you started to speak to fill the silence.

“I’m just letting you know that I’m fine. See ya’ later,” you hung up before anybody could speak up. Dropping the phone to your side, you pushed yourself off of the bed and stumbled out of the bedroom, making your way into the bathroom. Figuring a shower would help with the overwhelming body pain and cleansing of your wounded head, you didn’t hesitate at the opportunity.

You weren’t sure how much time had passed since you started your shower, but as soon as you turned the knobs to cut the water off and exit, it was much colder in the room than it was when you first entered. You shivered, grabbing a towel from its hanging spot on the outside of the glass door and wrapping it around your body.

“Why is it freezing?” You quietly asked yourself as you stepped out of the bathroom, looking at the thermostat across the hall and setting it at a higher temp. You rushed to your room afterwards to get dressed, nearly jumping out of your skin when you saw your boyfriend sitting on the edge of your bed.

“Ahh!”

“Ahh!” He screamed back, averting his gaze as if he had never seen your body before — much less wrapped up in a towel.

“How did you know where I live?!” You asked, gripping the towel.

“You’re asking me that question?” Donatello asked, looking from the window to the ceiling.

“Okay, true… Why are you here?”

“Because I was worried about you, especially after-,”

You cut the terrapin off, “No, shouldn’t you be with April? Fixing a camera? Helping with an issue? Ya’ know, running to the damsel in distress like you always do?” You snapped.

Donatello mumbled your name.

“I’m sick of it! I have never asked you for anything more important than to come to just one of my matches, the most important match, and no — April O’Neil and her camera were more important to you than I was. I am your partner, but I’m not going to stay with you if I always get treated like the second choice, I don’t deserve that, especially when all I have done to you was love you unconditionally and supported you through everything,” You let it all go, allowing a tear or two to slip as you spoke.

You expected Donatello to give his condolences, to turn around and leave. That had been his reaction to minor arguments in the past between the two, as if the genius was inept to normal conversations. You sucked a deep breath in as his gaze swapped from ceiling to floor, watching for any reaction he could have, minor or major.

You just knew it was going to end here.

And you weren’t ready for it…

The terrapin stood up from the edge of your bed, towering over you even at the slight distance you both had between you. Your gaze followed him as he walked over to you, standing in front of you for a mere moment before dropping to his knees and bowing over your feet. Startled, you stepped back and avoided kicking him in the face, but you froze as he started to speak, listening as your name slipped off of his tongue.

“I have been the worst partner to you, my dear. I have not put you first in my life and that is completely unacceptable. I don’t have an excuse for treating you this way, and I am so sorry for making you feel like you came last to me. I understand if you want to end our relationship, to find better than I have been giving you, but, if you’ll give me the chance, I promise to show you that you are my number one, that you are my person, and that you’ll never, I mean never, come last again.”

You felt your heart flip in your chest, your anxiety relieving itself that the situation did not have the outcome that you had expected.

Reaching out, you placed your hand on his shell and sat on your knees in front of him. You moved your hand from his shell to underneath his chin, ushering the turtle to look up at you.

“You have the chance,” you replied softly, causing his face to light up. He raised up from his bowing position and wrapped his arms around your body, pulling you into a hug.

Burying his face into your neck, Donatello mumbled multiple ‘I love you's' into your skin.

“Ya’ love me?”

“Well, of course,” he replied.

“Prove it,” you mumbled, a smirk crossing along your features, sending Donatello in for a loop.

“I’ll prove it, but only after I stitch your cut,” he winked.

————

You found yourself waking up in your bed, alone. Rubbing your eyes and knocking the sleep buildup away, you looked over at your nightstand to see a notecard along a packet of Tylenol and a bottle of water. You reached over and grabbed the packet, opening it and quickly downing the pills with your water before looking at the note.

“Good morning, my love. I left you some headache medication and water, you may need it after last night ;). I love you. -D.”

Rolling your eyes and making an attempt to stop the giddy smile forming on your face, you reached for you phone to glance over the notifications. You paused and read one particular text sent by Raphael not too long ago.

“For someone who is mad at Donnie, you sure left a lotta hickeys on his neck.”

You felt your face start to burn as you gazed over the text, tossing your phone aside before yanking it back into your grip and responding,

“Shut up, mind your business.”

Ding!

“Well it’s hard to mind my own when your business is covering him head to toe, :P”

You mentally cursed at the turtle, but what could you do at this point?

———

After making sure that your guardian was asleep, you dressed yourself in a casual attire and made your way down to the gym to talk to your coach about the incident that happened the night before between you and Eric.

“You ain’ got no worries! He was caught on tape from before the match to afta’.” Your coach explained.

“Eric is banned from our gym and we have let locals know. Howeva’ it’s up ta’ you if you wanna press charges or not,” he continued, looking to you and waiting for an answer.

Despite the evidence that you had, you shook your head. You had heard of way to many people getting hurt or more over situations such as this, and the only thing you wanted to do was to let it go.

Your coach asked if you were sure, and you were adamant on dropping the entire thing. You knew that you were unlikely to see the boy again, and you felt a great sense of ease knowing that you had the turtles on your side. Anybody would call you stupid for not pressing charges, but you truly didn’t have the means or support to move forward with doing so.

After speaking to your coach, you found yourself knocking on April’s apartment door.

You had nothing against the female, even if you and your boyfriend had had arguments involving her. You knew that she was never intentionally trying to cause you two to argue, plus you knew that she defended you because you had heard it in more cases than one when it came to Donatello venting. While you two were really only close because of the turtles, you knew that you could depend on her for anything, to be there for you.

You watched as the door opened up and she greeted you warmly, allowing you to come inside and asked what was up.

“I need a place to stay,” you stated, watching for her response.

She nodded, “Okay, I have an extra bedroom, is everything okay at yours?”

You shook your head, “No, it’s never been okay. My guardian is a raging alcoholic who is plummeting further into debt over their addiction rather than paying for household bills. Last night they got physical in a scratch we had and they hit me over the head with a bottle and I’m fearing for my life, but what’re the cops gonna do? They’ve never helped me in the past and kept me there with them.” You explained, allowing yourself to be vulnerable.

“Oh my, yeah, of course you can stay,” April replied.

“I can help with bills or groceries, whatever you need, at least until I can get my own place,” you stated, but she shook her head.

“Don’t worry about any of that right now. You are most than welcome to stay here as long as you like, but focus on getting out of school first.”

You nodded, allowing a breath that you had been holding in unknowingly to be released and smiled, “Thank you,” you spoke and hugged the female.

April hugged you back, waiting for you to pull away first before you left her apartment and headed back to your home.

Quietly, you grabbed a duffle bag and packed your clothes and shoes into it. You hadn’t realized how little that you actually owned until making this decision, and the duffle still had room for your toiletries.

You didn’t own very many personal belongings, not with how your guardian would snoop around your room at times and destroy it at others. So whatever you did own, you managed to stuff it down into your book-bag or your smaller duffle that you used for boxing. Whatever you had left could be considered junk for your guardian to rummage through, and you quickly scurried out of the apartment with your three bags.

April had already had the room set up for you when you had got back, and you took an hour or so to unpack and put away what you had brought.

“Looks like we’ll have to go shopping. The closet is hardly full and you haven’t touched the dresser, yet!”

“Hey, I’m content with the little I have!” You giggled, putting away your shoes and turning to April, revealing the half empty closet, “Annnnd, done!”

“Yeah, you need more clothes. Anywho, here is your key to the apartment,” she stated and held out a silver key in her hand. You took it and attached it to your keychain, thanking her in the process.

“Hey, I’m about to head down to the lair, want to tag along?” You asked, but April shook her head.

“Sorry, I’m working this evening. Tell the guys that I said hey!” She replied before leaving the room.

———

It was well into the late afternoon by the time you were heading to the lair. April had been long gone at work and so you took your normal shortcuts to get the turtle’s hideout. However, you felt a sudden grip around your arm that had yanked you into the alleyway you were walking by, with a calloused hand covering your mouth.

You looked up at the perpetrator to see that it was Eric, who looked like he was about to tear New York City apart.

“Missed me?” He asked, his bushy red eyebrows furrowed together as his body pressed against yours. He held his leg against yours to avoid being kneed like last night, and his free hand had managed to maneuver both of your wrists above your head in one swoop.

“I might’ve let you get away easily last night, but you won’t be as lucky today. I heard that I’m banned from all the gyms around hear now, but what I wanna know is did you press charges?”

You shook your head, a grin now growing along his features, “Maybe you should’ve, ‘cause I ain’t going away.”

You felt his breath hit your neck, and you trembled against his body. As much as you tired to fight back, Eric had you in a hold that you were struggling to free yourself from.

Slamming your eyes shut, you waited for this nightmare to be over, and suddenly you felt an over-looming presence in the air.

“Step away from my girl, or else,” you heard a familiar voice whisper, opening one of your eyes to see Donatello swallowing the two of you in his casted shadow.

Eric had yet to realize how threatening Donatello’s presence is, chuckling as he turned his head, stating to the turtle, “Yeah buddy, why don’t you just fuck off and find your own sl—,” the boy paused, his eyes trailing up to finally meet with the terrapin hovering over him.

An audible sound of liquid started dripping down onto the concrete below as Eric cried out, letting you go and running away from the scene of the crime, a trail of urine following suite as he screamed. Donnie had quickly scooped you up and made haste onto the closest rooftop to avoid detection. He then set you down, but you were shaken up.

Had you really been in that situation… again?

What if Donnie hadn’t of shown up?

Would anybody have helped you?

Donatello called out to you by your name, catching your attention by snapping his fingers in front of your face. You glanced up at him with tears welding up in your eyes and he quickly pulled you into a hug.

“Hey, hey, no need to cry,” Donnie spoke softly, running his palm against your back as you broke down. “I know it’s been a bad day or two, but we can make it better. Shhh, shhh, I love you with all of my heart, we are going to get through this together, me and you. I promise.”

[wonderingnerd]

Beautiful

.

Relationship: Natasha Romanov/reader

TW: hinted mentions of sexual assault and child sexual abuse (not at all in depth, but it is hinted, so stay safe if you’re thinking on reading this)

.

.

Natasha knows she is beautiful, she has always known it. It was hard not to know it when this was the one of the only compliments she received growing up. Not that she knew it was a compliment. For her, before leaving the Red Room, ‘beautiful’ was mainly a description of a physical trait, something she wasn’t able to control just as much as she wasn’t able to control the color of her eyes or how red her hair was. It was hard to see ‘beautiful’ as a compliment when that was the reason of why she had adults thirsting over her.

When she finally left the Red Room for her first mission, Natasha began to understand that ‘beautiful’ was a trait people liked. It was a trait people looked for and trusted almost blindly. Specially men. And she started to understand why Madame B talked about her beauty as much as she talked about her skills. Of why she complimented Natasha so much for the stares she received of the men inside the Red Room.

After she defected to SHIELD and even around the Avengers, Natasha began to see her beauty as toxic. For her, it was the same as the amazing glow of radioactive substances — ‘beautiful’ and deadly. Her beauty glowed on her and could — should — warn everyone of her deadliness. Stay back. She is ‘beautiful’. She is deadly.

Unlike her, you are pretty. You have a beauty so different from hers that she can’t think of you as something as toxic as ‘beautiful’. You are pretty, you glow in a non-toxic way, you shine in liveness. You two are opposites in that way and Natasha was afraid you would leave her when you finally realized what her beauty was truly about.

But now, looking at her own sobbing reflection on the elevator chromed door, her hand crouching the sugar packet she got for her coffee, she is trying to understand how you can say she is beautiful and not sound at all as all the other compliments she has always related to ‘beautiful’. She is trying to understand how you can say that as if you are talking about her soul and not about her body. And while you get the hot cup of coffee and destroyed sugar packet from her hands, she finally begins to understand why people think ‘beautiful’ is a compliment. When you hug and hold her as tenderly and you can, when you repeats all the beautiful things you like about her, not fully understanding what triggered her crying but wanting to help nonetheless, Natasha melts and finds ‘beautiful’ a beautiful word for the first time. And, praying that your pretty shine continues to overlight her toxic glow, she finds your lips while you are still speaking ‘beautiful’.

.

.

This was a challenge by @vancityfire13 on the @runawayswrite and, against my best judment on how to manage my time, it took me 1.5hour to write, edit and post it. The challenge was “exactly 25 sentences and include 1 of these 3 things: a sugar packet, an elevator or a reflection”. My crazy mind said “lab, are you kicking me? No, we’re gonna focus on this instead of chem rn and yeah, we gonna use the whole prompt even if we could choose only one of those things”. 

I’ll probably post it in ao3 when I have a break from study.

[ashwhowrites]

Hi :)! I know you've got a lot of requests and drafts right now, but I'm in my sad bitch hours and you're my favorite writer, so I wanted to send this request to you.

Tw: past SA and anxiety

I was thinking about Steve asking out reader and she doesn't even think about it, cause duh. She's been crushing on him for years. But then later she's thinking about it, about him. She's heard the stories and Steve is a known sex God. But she doesn't want that, because she only wants to do that with someone she trusts. And she *thought* she trusted her first boyfriend, but that turned out to be a lie.

So they go out and she's worried that he's gonna try to pull something (he's not, changed man and all, but she doesn't know that). But as they get further into their relationship, he notices that she always changes the subject or moves to do something if they start getting heavy. Like she's fine making out, but as soon as he starts touching her body, she's gone.

He finally asks one day and she just breaks down. She's so scared he's gonna leave her, but she doesn't want sex. And she's almost guilty because she knows that's what he wants, she's just not ready. And he just holds her and tells her that he's fine to wait. He loves her for her. 🖤💜

Favorite writer 🥹

As always, thank you for your patience as I worked to get this out. I hope it's what you were looking for. I haven't written Steve in ages so he may be rusty.

⚠️mentions of SA and anxiety ( no real description of assault or sexual actions)

Never proofread

Steve Harrington, is known to be the sex god of Hawkins during his teenage years. He knew the ways to please any girl he snuck into his huge house. He knew how to make every girl underneath his body moan and shake.

Y/N knew all of that, but she saw something else in him. She saw a boy who craved physical touch because he sat alone in his room. He craved a connection with someone because he was left behind. Sex was something he was good at, so that's all he did. But she knew, Steve Harrington is the type to fall in love. And he deserved someone that fell in love with him too.

She was that person. She adored Steve Harrington for years. His quirky smile, horrible jokes, and of course, his hair. She loved hearing his laugh, and watching him with Dustin and the other kids. She watched Steve grow into a beautiful gentleman.

So when he asked her out, how could she say no?

At the beginning of the relationship, Steve kept his distance. He kissed her softly, always cradling her jaw. Pushing loose strands of hair behind her ears. Since he was so shy, it was easy to pass on the sexual part of the relationship.

But the longer they dated, the more she grew scared of the conversation they would need to have.

~~

Steve knew he used to sleep with girls on the first date, but he's a changed man. He likes taking it slow, learning about Y/N, and knowing her mind just as he would her body. Except, he hadn't gotten to learn her body. Which, he's completely fine with. He isn't in a rush. She didn't seem to be interested in taking that next step, and he was perfectly fine with waiting.

Now they've been dating for around five months, and Steve was obsessed with her. He adored everything about her. But he noticed there was something wrong. They'd kiss softly, slowly growing heavier. Placed her on his lap, hands working up to her chest, then she'd snap out of it. Pulling away, out of breath, a smile on her lips. Climbing off his lap and turning the movie on louder. Steve never questioned it, he didn't want to make it seem like he was pushing her.

But then she did it over and over. Anytime his hands went to meet new skin, she was off him in an instant.

~~

She knew Steve was starting to grow suspicious. She could feel his eyes on her whenever she loved a muscle. Kissing Steve was the best feeling in the world. He was soft and gentle but knew when to be rough. He knew how much tongue was too much. But Steve's past was ringing in her mind, alarms blaring in her head once she felt his hands working up near her chest or her jeans.

She couldn't help it, she'd fly off. Stopping him in his tracks and moving on to the next thing. Distract him with something else. It's been working, but she felt that he was going to ask soon.

~~

And he did

Another make-out session on his couch, her thighs straddling his lap, his hands on her back slowly trailing her spine. Without thinking, his hands went underneath her shirt, going to unclip her bra when she flew off. Standing in front of him with a panicked look in her eyes.

"Woah woah, hey" Steve panicked with her, holding his hands in the air as she panted

"I, sorry," she said, shaking her head as she tried to calm her body. Looking past his eyes as her heart raced and her gut clenched.

"baby? Don't apologize, what's wrong?" He asked softly, slowly raising his hand to touch hers. He kissed her knuckle when she held his hand back.

"It's nothing, don't worry about it." She smiled, moving to sit next to him.

"it's nothing. I've noticed...you don't like to be touched. I'm not saying we need to have sex, but why won't you let me touch other parts of you?" He didn't know how to ask it, he tried to frame his words the best he could. He didn't want to upset her but he wasn't sure what would.

But whatever he said, was definitely wrong

He watched as she yanked her hand out of his, covering her face as she sobbed into her hands

"shh, hey it's okay. You don't have to say" he said immediately, throwing his arms around her, and cradling her in a tight hug. He cuddled her into his chest, rubbing her back as she cried into his chest.

"I, just, I can't Steve" she tried to choke out.

The one thing she loved about Steve was he knew how to care for people. He knew the right way to hug someone when they were afraid of falling apart. He was the glue that kept her together, she couldn't lose him.

"can't what baby? Talk to me" he tried again, pulling away slightly to see her face. Frowning at her tears as he cleaned off her cheeks.

"you are going to leave me. I can't lose you" she admitted, her stomach filled with fear.

"I am not leaving you. Talk to me baby, it's just us. It's just me"

"that's the thing, it's you Steve! It's the king of Hawkins. The sex god. It's been five months and I can't give myself to you. I'm not ready to have sex with you! How much longer are you going to wait? Huh? You are going to get bored and leave me!" She ranted. All her fear and anxiety taking the wheel.

"that's not me anymore. I don't care if it's five months or five years or never. I am not with you for sex and I certainly am not going to leave you because of that! I'm with you because you are amazing. You are smart, funny, kind, and creative. I've never felt happier in my life. I want to be with you because you are you." He explained, his brown eyes watering as she cried.

"you say that but I don't know when I'll ever be ready to be intimate with you. You want it, I know you do. I thought I trusted my first boyfriend and I was wrong. I don't want you to leave me but I'm scared. I'm sorry" She accused him. Men were the same, they wanted sex and they'd get it anywhere they could.

"Am I going to leave you because you don't feel comfortable having sex? No. I am perfectly fine with waiting until you are ready, even if that is years from now. And don't you ever apologize for it? You hear me?" He grabbed her chin to make her look at him. Giving her a tiny smile of encouragement.

She nodded as she sniffled

"we will wait until you are ready. I love you for you" he confessed. Fear in his eyes as he realized what he said

"Oh, Stevie. I love you too. Thank you" she cried, throwing her arms around his neck as she cried into his neck.

He held her all night and refused to leave her side. Hugging her from behind as he trailed his fingers on her arms.

She wasn't sure when she'd be ready, but she now knows, she doesn't need to be ready. He wasn't going to leave her, he loved her. And that's all she needed.

Steve tags

@ago-godance @manyfandomsfanvergent

[stayarmytinyzenmoa-l]

Without a Trace [Ch. 11]

Vigilantes AU TW: Language, Graphic Depictions of Violence, Graphic Descriptions of Blood, Minor Character Death, Gun Use, Knife Use, Major Character Death, Body Horror/Gore, Descriptions of Murder, Physical Assault, Implied Mental Assault Genre: Drama, Angst, Light Comedy Pairing: ATEEZ x Reader Y/N Pronouns: Gender Neutral (They/Them) Word Count: 13.4K Summary: Vigilante work has been outlawed, thus sending nine prominent vigilantes either into retirement or into lower ground and, while some abide by the law, a few continue on. Then, one day, a greater threat forces these vigilantes to come together once again, regardless of the law.

(11/11) [First] | [Previous] [Other Groups Masterlist] | [Without a Trace Masterlist]

Notes: HOOOO BOYYYYYYY AHA I DID IT GUYS, I COMPLETED A SECOND SERIES AHAHAAHAHA stay tuned for the end for a special note from me!. Disclaimer: Please remember that this is an AU and a work of fiction, obviously the idols mentioned/written about in this story would never partake in these actions. The idols mentioned in this work are meant to be seen more as face claims rather than the actual idols themselves.

Feedback is greatly appreciated!! Thank you for reading!

You felt disoriented, like your brain was doing flips and your eyes were spinning faster than merry-go-rounds. You rose a hand to your head to try to soothe the throbbing pain in it. Memories seemed to overlap or even completely rewrite, and there were even some memories that seemed fuzzy and incomplete, like they were nothing more than distant dreams.

“If we’re coming back, let’s do it the right way, no more skirting around the law, we both have common goals, right?” Mingi says. You look up, you were standing in the Warehouse now with the other members of the team. “If we cooperate, we could amend the law and get back to what we do best.”

“Plus, I wouldn’t mind a paycheck,” Wooyoung huffs.

Something’s off.

“I’m going to have to disagree with you both,” Yunho spoke up next to you. “I of all of you know how fine print contracts work, for all we know they could arrest us as soon as the Charlatan’s captured.”

“I hate to break it to you two, but some of us have lengthy records on us, not to mention warrants for arrest,” Seonghwa glances over to you and you glanced back. What was this intense feeling of deja vu you were having? “(Y/N)?”

“Uh…” you paused. This conversation just seemed too familiar. “I don’t know, I think we should discuss it more before making a concrete decision,” you finally answered. You looked around the room, something had to be up, now, you were sure. San was skeptical, Yunho was calculating, Hongjoong was waiting, Mingi was worried, Yeosang was busy, Wooyoung was confused, Seonghwa seemed decided, and Jongho… You stopped on him, both of you having made eye contact. Jongho was silent, but he tapped on his wristwatch instead before silently shushing you with a small nod.

“Professor Jung assured to me that our work would be kept under lock and key,” Hongjoong says, pulling you both out of your staring contest. But the conversation started to fall into the background for you, you were too concerned with another matter at hand, too concerned with the way the Timekeeper’s attention landed on you for a second too long.

“If I may,” Jongho, who’d been silent, speaks up now, diverting everyone’s attention to him. “I think we should work independently. We’ve been fine on our own until now, and we will continue to be fine on our own in the future.” He looks to you again. Bingo, the pieces started to connect. They connected faster than you could realize.

Then, you remembered it all. You turned to look at San, who seemed as aloof as usual, neither adding to nor moving the conversation along, and as soon as you took a step toward him, Jongho was quick to intervene.

“What do you think, Spades?” He interjects and the argument ceases. You froze in place, having been caught off guard, and Jongho senses your unease. “Well? Work with the police or not?” Your expression tensed for a moment. The police? What was the correlation there? You had to have been brought back to this moment for a reason, Jongho singled out this sole moment for a reason. Last time, you cooperated with the police, but how did that land you in that situation?

…

Mingi. You looked over to the man who had been nervously fidgeting around with the ball in his hands. Was it really the police’s fault that he got caught?

Come to think about it, maybe they were responsible for so much more.

“I vote no, we should work on our own,” you finally answered. Jongho seemed to relax.

“We were self sufficient before, I’m sure we’d be fine still,” Seonghwa adds. “Like I said, working on our own, especially for some of us, is our best option,” he says.

“Then, it’s decided, I’ll relay to the professor our choice,” Hongjoong says. “Meeting adjourned. We’ll sleep on it and discuss the plan tomorrow,” he turns away, phone in his hand already. 

“Hey, hey! Look what I found!” Wooyoung’s voice was chipper while he pried open the fridge. “How old do you think these are?” He pulls out a pack of beers.

“Well, considering I just restocked it, about three days old,” Yunho laughs, taking the box from him and opening it easily. You, meanwhile, turned to San, ready to corner him, but someone rushed past you and grabbed your arm.

“Don’t lose your cool,” Jongho says. “He doesn’t know what we know,” he tells you. You swallowed harshly, looking at San, who was speaking to Wooyoung, one more time. “Let’s talk outside,” Jongho whispers. You nodded and followed him out. The sun had already begun to set, and you never really thought of it back then, just how quick all of this played out. Getting on the Charlatan’s list, forming this group, nearly dying, and more, it was all over the course of little over a week. How quickly time passed by when you were busy with other things.

“What the hell is all of this, then?” You asked. Jongho glanced at the security camera before looking to you. You glared at him but, with a flick of your wrist, the camera was disabled with your knife embedded into it. “Talk.”

“There’s a reason why I chose the name Timekeeper,” he says before tapping his watch.

“Okay, bravo, you cracked time travel. What’s that got to do with me not sticking a knife in San’s head?”

“Let’s not be too rash, you remember that video, I know you do. He didn’t know either.”

“Why are you vouching so hard for him? You knew from the beginning why I did this vigilante shit, it was so I could kill whoever started this whole mess,” you argued. “Fuck, I just can’t believe I’m arguing with you instead of him.”

“Looked like you weren’t even going to give him the chance to explain it,” he shook his head and you took a deep breath. Unfortunately, he was right. After you saw that video you were so set on confronting him already. You left the room with that intention, and when you saw that the bars had descended you didn’t even think twice before stepping through the door he went through. And after you saw those articles strewn across the floor? You lost it. The drumming in your ears, the Charlatan’s taunting voice, and the memory of coming back to a dead body.

You really were going to kill him.

“I brought you back with me for a reason, (Y/N),” he says.

“You know something I don’t, huh?” You asked him.

“I do, but you’re going to have to trust me,” he says.

“How many times have you gone back?” You asked him.

“Enough times to realize that my old memories are becoming my new ones,” Jongho mumbles. “The last time I brought someone back with me it spelled disaster for that timeline.”

“Oh, I feel so special.”

“That’s not the point, (Y/N).”

“So, what? You want me to show him some sympathy?”

“No, not necessarily.”

“What’s so important about him anyway? The world would be better off without him.”

“(Y/N), I need you to listen to me.”

“Dammit, Jongho, what am I supposed to do?!” The argument continued forth, but Jongho kept a level expression. “I spent my whole life looking for the person that killed Eric. And he’s in there, having a drink with Wooyoung. Jongho, all of my friends have went through so much shit, it has to amount to something, all that pain we went through needs its closure,” you said steadily.

“And you don’t need to kill someone to do that,” Jongho shook his head.

“Why do you care?”

“Because I’ve always cared about all of you,” he says. “You know who really killed Eric. You’re just upset that San got to him before you did.”

The senator sends his regards. San’s voice was so clear now that you knew it was him. 

“Alright, I’m listening,” you took a deep breath. “Why did you bring me back with you?”

“You remember everything that happened clearly, right?” Jongho asks.

“Sure.”

“You remember everyone’s injuries?”

“Yes…”

“You remember what everyone said?”

“Vaguely, but what does this have to do with me?”

“I need you to pull out of this,” Jongho says. “The team, I need you to go back and say you’re out.” You stared at him, processing what he’s saying.

“No, I can’t do that,” you said. “I can’t just leave them to deal with the Charlatan on their own, they’re dangerous, I can’t in good faith let my friends chase after them alone.”

“You have to, (Y/N),” Jongho insists. “It’s the only combination I haven’t done yet. Even all that shit I said in there to get the police off our backs, that timeline ended up with Hongjoong shot dead by them,” he argues. “Do you understand what I’m saying? Every time I’ve repeated that sequence it always ends in all of us dying because of this guy. We have never won against the Charlatan,” Jongho shouts. You took a step back, the suddenness of Jongho’s outburst being something you’d never have expected from him.

“How many futures have you seen?”

“A lot.”

“There has to be one where we win.”

“I thought there was, the one where I went back and convinced you not to join at all. But, in the end, the Charlatan got you. He got all of us,” Jongho shudders. “It was the longest timeline we’d went, I thought I finally found the perfect sequence. Ten years, we were all fine for ten years before that bastard came back to finish the job,” he says. You listened intently.

“Then… do you know who the Charlatan is?” You asked quietly. Jongho made a nodding motion, before shaking his head instead.

“Yes… but also no.”

“Oh, bullshit.”

“I’m serious, (Y/N), the Charlatan has been different every time,” he says. You held back a remark.

“What do you mean?” You shook your head slightly.

“My first timeline the Charlatan was a man named Derek Watts. Ordinary guy, interested in hypnotism, and hated vigilantes because during Aegis’ first bank save his dad died getting caught in the line of fire.”

“Huh, textbook villain.”

“Yup.”

“And then?”

“In the next, a man named Zhang Li,” Jongho crosses his arms. “Young college graduate, girlfriend died in a botched save from Mono.”

“Another textbook.”

“Exactly. Hundreds of timelines, hundreds of Charlatans. Hell, in one of my timelines, you were the Charlatan,” Jongho said in a low voice. “Eric died, you looked everywhere for help, and got none. Your friends died too. And you were left alone. I don’t blame you.” You couldn’t answer. “But then, I thought, what if you knew. What if you had some general knowledge about what was going to happen already, and I figured I’d try it. The last time I brought someone back it went to shit, but maybe this time it’d work out.”

“Who’d you bring back the last time?” You asked. Before Jongho could answer, the door swung open and San, face tinted pink, held two beers in one hand and a half drank one in the other.

“You two making out?” San chuckles through his slurred words. “I’m joking, come join us, we’re getting caught up,” he offers the two bottles to you both and, once you take them, returns inside.

“Him, he was the last person I brought back,” Jongho said once he was out of earshot.

“Him?” You asked with disbelief.

“He’s smarter than you give him credit for,” Jongho says. “We went pretty far with his help too, eight years.”

“What did he do differently?”

“I made sure he didn’t kill Eric,” Jongho said quietly. You looked at him.

“And?”

“Eric became the Charlatan.” Your breath caught in your throat.

“Why?”

“After the ban was passed, he was furious. All that work he did, all that effort he put into everything, he was repaid with a stab to the back.” The way he spoke bothered you. He was just so nonchalant about it, like he’d seen so many of the same outcome so many times he’d become wholly desensitized to it. “I’ve been keeping tabs on everyone who’d been the Charlatan, at least. You’ll never know if a timeline decides to repeat itself, right?”

“Even me?”

“Especially you.”

“Hey! Are you two coming in or what?!” Wooyoung’s voice boomed from inside and you both laughed.

“Yeah, yeah, we’re coming in,” you answered back. “We should go, before they suspect anything.”

“Sure,” Jongho held the door open for you but, before you could step in, he grabbed your arm again, “don’t make any rash decisions.”

“If I did, you’d just twist that watch of yours and go back, so why would it matter?” You shook his hand off and you both filed in. The boys were all seated, beers in the middle table and in their hands.

“About time!” Yunho grins. You popped the cap off of your bottle against the table and took a seat on one of the plastic chairs. “Ask (Y/N) next!” He says.

“Ask me what?” You drank some of your beer while Wooyoung spoke.

“Fuck, marry, kill Outro,” Wooyoung says.

“What are we, kindergartners?” You rolled your eyes, but Wooyoung’s expectant eyes said it all. "Fine, fuck Hope, marry Mono, and kill Agust,” you answered before drinking more. “Nothing against Agust, other than the fact that his inventions backfired on us a couple of times.”

“See, told you,” Yeosang nudges Wooyoung’s arm and the latter frowns.

“Is drinking before an operation a good idea?” Jongho asks, can of beer still unopened.

“Probably not,” San masks his burp with his fist, “but fuck it, right? I haven’t spoken to any of you for ages,” he shakes his head.

“I know! What have we all been up to, anyway?” Wooyoung’s voice overpowered San’s. But, even with the chatter, you couldn’t stop that nagging voice at the back of your head. You looked at all eight of them. Yunho’s shoulder was fine, he was moving around as much as usual. Yeosang was standing upright with ease. Everyone was… fine. You saw the future, or you were from it at least. According to Jongho, it should be different now without the police getting in the way, but you couldn’t help but worry. Was everyone’s safety so infringed on your involvement? Everyone’s wellbeing? You could feel the weight of their lives settling on your shoulders now, how could Jongho do this too? And how could he seem so… You looked at him now, his face stuck into one of indifference. No, you could’ve sworn that at one point he was as loud and cheery as the others.

When did he change? You wondered.

But your thoughts didn’t dwell on him for long, no, instead you looked at the boy next to him. He had discarded his jacket long ago, instead sporting his usual black tee that had some frays and faint blood splatters. His shoulders were relaxed while he laughed fully. How could he? How could he laugh like he didn’t ruin your life? It was almost funny, though, at one point you would’ve said that he saved your life. He was there after everything happened, picking up the pieces like…

Your breath caught in your throat.

He was there. Picking up the pieces like he felt obligated to. There was no doubt about it, San’s appearance in your life was due to whatever guilt surfaced when he realized what he had done. So what were you to him, then? A charity project? A way to repent besides turning himself in? All those soft smiles he showed you, the small gifts from him that you thought he wouldn’t have known about, and the days he’d walk you home thinking that he’d keep you safe, he did all of those knowing that he murdered your best friend.

And all that time you had no idea.

What was it like for him?

To take care of the person who was left behind? And to have no one to go to to talk about it?

“You alright, (Y/N)?” Yunho was next to you now, crouched in front of you while he waved a hand in front of your face. You blinked back into reality. “You good? I know when you’re thinking,” he takes the bottle from your hands and places it just out of reach. You straightened your position and took a deep breath.

“I'm backing out.”

~

And that’s how you ended up watching from afar.

Hongjoong wrote up a new plan, it took all night, but he came up with something else. Nothing he could do about you not being there with them, anyway.

Hell, you weren’t even in the general vicinity of the city.

The sunlight was surprising soft, the sea breeze rushed passed you while you adjusted your sunglasses and took a step off the train. And, directly ahead of you, was the person you’d called for a favor.

“(Y/N), over here,” Jisung rose his hand from its place in his jacket’s pocket, and you walked over to him while waving too. “Glad you called, she’s waiting for you,” he says.

“I bet, she’s been waiting for a while, huh?”

“Year and a half, give or take,” Jisung shrugged and opened the car door for you. “But, well, she was always the more hopeful one out of all of us,” he slides into the driver’s seat. Once you’d both closed your doors, he takes a deep breath. “So, what happened? They kick you out?”

“I left,” you answered while he started the car. “Call it a gut feeling,” you added, stopping yourself from remembering what you did to San before.

“Well, it’s never been wrong,” Jisung says. “You felt it before with Jeno.”

“And since then I’ve never ignored it.”

“Exactly,” he says. “But, it’s not like you to pull out of an operation so abruptly.”

“What do you know about me?”

“More than you think,” he chuckles. “We used to be close, remember?” He says with a teasing tone.

“Yeah, yeah.”

“How long are you staying?”

“Until I see that son of a bitch on the news,” you looked out the window as Jisung turned up onto a hill.

“So… couple of days?” Jisung asks.

“Sure,” you nodded your head slightly. Hongjoong had told you to lay low and go far since you were technically the most at risk in terms of the Charlatan. Originally, you’d planned to hide out in your apartment, but it’s been compromised too much for you to stay there. Then, after moving around the city, you remembered a certain someone who’d been trying to reach out to you for a while now. A person who you knew was in a secure location.

“We’re here,” Jisung pulled into a parking space and got out of the car with you following close behind. You pulled the door to the care center open and quickly stopped while someone stepped out.

“Oh, thank you,” the older man grinned. His grip was tight over the handle on his cane, and he walked with a noticeable limp. One quick glance was enough to see how badly burnt one side of his body was, as the scars creeped up to his face. He stared at you as long as you stared at him. He looked familiar. “Oh… is that (Y/N)?” He asked, his voice unstable but recognizable.

“Mr. Lee?” You chanced your first thought and he nodded. Jeno’s dad. How fitting.

“My god, look at you,” he hobbles closer to you and looks at you with caring eyes. “And Jisung too? My, my, what are you both doing here? You’re both too young to have to be at a place like this,” he shakes his head sadly.

“Mr. Lee, let’s have a seat over there and then we can get caught up,” Jisung looks over to the bench on the side and walks next to the older man, supporting him by the shoulders as the three of you sat down. “Our friend Giselle’s been staying here too, actually, so we came to visit her,” Jisung says.

“Giselle is also here? As a patient?” He asks in a melancholy voice. “Why her, of all the people? She has such a bright future ahead of her,” he frowns.

“Just… you know,” you couldn’t tell him the truth, “things happen. Wrong place, wrong time.”

“It always was that way,” Mr. Lee shakes his head. “So tragic, what happened to all of you because of vigilantes. Eric, Giselle, and even my Jeno, oh, it still hurts to think about what happened to my little boy,” Mr. Lee rubs his face with his hands. “I don’t know why he got caught up in that business anyway,” his voice shakes. “You both give Giselle my wishes, alright? Poor girl,” he mutters.

“Wait, but, Mr. Lee, what happened to you? You’re a patient here as well?” You asked.

“Yes, I am, but I usually stay with my wife,” he says. “I was just getting groceries until I was caught up in a heist led by TNT, I think his name was, and I got caught in the blast,” he says.

“That’s horrible, Mr. Lee,” your own voice nearly got choked up. You were there. You were there and you couldn’t even do anything, what with you nearly getting caught in the blast too, and now you were hearing that your friend’s dad was there at the same time? You could defend yourself, sure, but Mr. Lee? One look at his cane told you everything you had to know.

“This thing? It’s okay, I’ve gotten used to it,” he says wistfully. “It makes me look a little cooler now, right?” He chuckles. “But, I don’t want to hold you any longer, I know your friend is waiting for you both.”

“Will you be alright on your own, Mr. Lee?” Jisung asks.

“I’m old, not crippled, boy,” he says in a teasing voice and Jisung laughs.

“Alright, alright, I get it, old man,” he says. “Who’s picking you up?”

“The wife, of course,” he grins. “Now, go on! Leave this old man to his thoughts,” he insists and, slowly, you both got up and exchanged your goodbyes again before entering the facility.

“Welcome to Jaramedica, the rehabilitation center for all those damaged by vigilante or villain exploits,” the woman at the front desk greeted you as you neared. “Mr. Han, here to see Ms. Uchinaga again?” She asks.

“Yup, I brought another guest with me though,” he nudges his head toward you. 

“Alright, full name, please,” she asks.

“(Y/N) (L/N).”

“And recorded, please enjoy your time,” she hands you and Jisung key cards and you walk through.

The inside was akin to a paradise, or at least in your terms it was. It was as grand as those resorts you used to see on commercials, and somewhere was Giselle, who’d been here for a while now. Her parents wanted her to rehabilitate in the best of facilities, after all, and no where was better than this one. The air was clean, the area spacious, and the people, god, just looking at them made you feel happier too.

“Inside here,” Jisung tugs you into one of the cottages and you locked the door behind you. “Gigi, I brought a surprise,” Jisung announced. You heard the TV’s volume lower.

“I’m in the room, Jisung, come in whenever!” That was the first time you’d heard her voice in… a while. You didn’t know what you were expecting it to sound like, maybe tired and strained, but no, instead it was the same as you’d remembered it. That made it even the more sadder, and couldn’t stop the guilt that circled your heart. You followed Jisung quietly, and when you stepped into the room, you were surprised by how bright it was in there with the window wide open and the breeze flowing through.

But it was nothing compared to her, you old best friend, who sat tucked into bed with her lunch on the table next to her, and her widened eyes that stared at you like they’d seen a ghost.

“Hey, Gigi,” you said quietly. And, immediately, her lips fell into a frown, but not the disappointed kind, no, the sad one, the one that scrunched her eyebrows together and formed tears at the corner of her eyes, the one that was the exact opposite of what you’d expected. Then, as if she’d been waiting, she opened her arms, and you melted into them, your face buried into her shoulders while she pressed her head against yours.

“I missed you so much, (Y/N),” she mumbled. “Look at you, wow,” she pulls away from you first, holding your face in one hand. Then, in a quick turn up, she whistles. “This one looks like a close call," she traces the scar under your chin.

“Too close for comfort, that’s for sure,” you answered. Then she pulled your wrist, looking at the scars that decorated your arms from the many fights you had. “Well, at least you got most of these when we were still together,” she says.

“Sure, that too,” you said while Jisung pulled up two chairs.

“Now, where did you find our littles Spades?” She asks Jisung.

“Technically, I found him,” you corrected her.

“I let you find me,” Jisung rolled his eyes.

“Whatever,” you shot back.

“And still with the banter, it’s almost like nothing ever changed,” Giselle laughs. You leaned back on the chair and then it caught your eye, a picture frame off to the side next to her. A closer look showed that it was a picture from before all of this, before your lives went to shit, and before vigilantes were even in the public eye. The five of you stood next to each other, arms wrapped around the person next to them and smiles brighter than ever. “I did say almost.” She catches the center of your attention.

“Yeah…” you looked away.

“So, you look like you have a lot to tell me,” she says.

“I do, I do, I don’t know where to even start,” you shook your head. 

“We ran into Jeno’s dad just now, actually, he sends his regards,” Jisung says.

“Oh, is Mr. Lee here too? Is he alright?”

“Burns from a TNT heist,” you answered. “He’s still walking, but he has a cane now,” you explained.

“Oh, god,” Giselle frowned. “Next time he comes, I hope I run into him too,” she continued. “I’ve been going outside much more now, actually, the doctors say it’s good for me, so hopefully I see him sooner than later,” she says. Then, like a switch flipped in her head, she spoke again, “actually, before we continue on and before I forget, (Y/N), Jisung and I have something for you,” she snaps her fingers and opens the drawer next to her before handing you a box inside. “Go ahead and open it,” she says. You pulled it open took the SD card from inside of it.

“What’s this?” You asked.

“A gift,” she says. “There’s a computer in the next room, you can go watch it there.”

“Is it something I should watch now?”

“Well… we have time, I think Eric would want you to see it too,” Giselle urges you. Jisung nods.

“A surprise for a surprise, fun,” you flipped the card in your hand and stood up. “It won’t take long, right?”

“Depends on you, (Y/N),” she says.

“Yeah, yeah,” you walked into the next room, Giselle’s and Jisung’s voices growing quieter with the distance, and pushed the SD card into the monitor. You clicked onto the file that appeared on the desktop and what had to be hundreds of video files opened up before you. You clicked the first one and felt your heart stop.

You knew this video.

Eric tapped on the screen of the lens.

“Man… (Y/N) is so going to kill me if they see this,” Eric adjusted the camera to better get a good range around the bedroom. “Okay…” he looks at his phone screen. “Should be fine… I’ll just turn it on when I’m out, I guess…” he continues to mumble to himself while walking around the room. Your bedroom to be exact. The camera caught everything, from the bed, the closet, to the window, it had a good vantage point. “Crap, the one in the living room’s offline again.”

It was the same as the first time you’d seen it, except this time it kept going. You watched Eric move around the whole apartment checking on these hidden cameras you didn’t even know were there and, you were sure, might still be there, just unused and offline.

“Shit… I really hope (Y/N) doesn’t find these but… dammit, I can’t have a close call like that again,” he speaks to himself. “I’ll have to make sure I’m not followed back next time, (Y/N) could…” he stops muttering and shakes his head. You moved on to the next video.

This time, Aegis tumbled in from one of the windows, but as quickly as he came in he stopped to duck behind the curtain as you walked into frame, headphones on and humming whatever song was playing through them, and soon you were out of frame and Eric ran to the bedroom, emerging again in normal clothing and running to the front door. He cleared his throat and loudly announced that he was home and, there you were again, headphones around your neck with a smile.

The next series of videos were either of an empty apartment or of you doing whatever around the area. Occasionally there was a video where he was almost caught and occasionally there was a video of him tinkering with the devices. Then, a strange difference.

Aegis once again tumbled into the apartment and, after a quick check confirming that you weren’t home, Eric removed his mask and took a huge breath, but his eyes widened in shock as soon as he heard something break behind him. He turned around quickly, shield at the ready, before dropping it altogether as someone entered the frame.

Jeno.

“I can explain,” Eric says quickly.

“Holy shit…” Jeno had an apple in his hand and his jaw was practically on the ground. “You’re…”

“Into cosplay!” Eric quickly covered. “Looks good, right? Aegis is awesome!”

“Come on, Eric, I’m not that dumb,” Jeno runs a hand through his hair. “Have you told (Y/N)?”

“Have I told (Y/N)?”

“Have you told (Y/N)?!” “Of course I haven’t told (Y/N)! Are you kidding me?! Have you seen the people after me?!” Now it was Eric’s turn to be frustrated.

“I… holy shit… my best friend is a super hero he’s… he’s the hero!” Jeno freaks out.

“No, no, definitely not a hero, just a guy with a shield,” Eric quickly corrected him. “You can’t tell anyone, Jeno.”

“I won’t!”

“Not even (Y/N).”

“But… wouldn’t… I’m surprised (Y/N) hasn’t figured it out.”

“I can be sneaky when I try. But (Y/N) can’t know. No matter what happens, (Y/N) cannot know. I can’t put them in danger like that, do you understand?” You’d never heard him so serious before. Jeno, who’s countenance was usually so cheery, had grown serious. “Even if I die, (Y/N) cannot know.”

“Christ… that’s dark, man.”

“It’s for their safety.”

“What am I… what do I do if…”

“Don’t tell them, just let the police run their investigation.”

“And if they find your gear?"

“They won’t,” Eric said this as he removed his uniform, clearly showing Jeno where he stashed it and exactly where you remembered it. “Listen, Jen, if anything ever happens to me then you take everything in here and you burn it, got it? (Y/N) can’t be connected to Aegis, god knows who’d be after them,” he says sternly. Jeno only nodded curtly. “If someone else finds these and, I dunno, takes my place, then that’s even better. It would draw attention away from all of you. I originally took this up to protect you all, so I don’t know what I’d do with myself if any of you got hurt because of it.”

It was like everything connected in that moment. Sure, Jeno was the most excited to try the vigilante thing, he showed the most promise, but he never said anything definitive until “Aegis” broke his hiatus. His motive was never ‘what happened to Aegis?’ It was always ‘what happened to Eric?’ Who, thanks to San’s interference, had been removed from Aegis’ history nearly all together.

And when Giselle’s accident happened? Jeno was the first to bring up the idea of pumping the breaks.

And then what happened to him in your next operation?

You moved on to the next video, flipping through until you once again saw Jeno and Eric talking to each other.

“Yo… (Y/N) is going to kill you if they find out about this,” Jeno taps on the camera lens.

“I know, I know!”

“Can you imagine? ‘The Great Aegis killed by angry significant other.’”

“Now that’s a headline,” Eric laughed. “But, I’m only telling you about it because if anything happens you need to take all of the cameras out and take the SD card they’ve been uploading onto. It’s connected to my desktop so just pop it out.”

“Got it, got it, I’m guessing you want me to destroy it, right?”

“Sure, do whatever, just make sure it doesn’t fall in the wrong hands. Who knows what anyone would do with these?”

Wrong hands? The Charlatan had this last time, it was the only way for them to have had the footage. So that left one question then, how did they get it? You continued flipping through videos, only stopping when you got to that one. The one that nearly made you lose your mind.

You skipped through it.

The next video was exactly what you thought it would be. As you expected, it was Jeno, just Jeno, with tears in his eyes and the tip of his nose reddened, you watched him approach each camera and removed them from their spot before you saw him walk to the closet and pull the back panel out. Then you watched his shoulders relax with relief seeing that it was empty. All traces of Aegis were gone. You wondered if Jeno ever suspected the new Aegis, but then again your apartment was privy to burglars and with every window open it would have come as no surprise that Jeno had to consider the possibility. You looked at the date on the corner and, yet another variable, it had been a month after Eric had been murdered.

You didn’t even stay in the apartment that month, no, you stayed with Yuna, who had successfully gotten the cops involved in her case and was now living on her own.

Jeno was smarter than he let on, no wonder he didn’t jump to conclusions. Not in the same way you did, at least. 

“Jen? What are you doing in my bedroom?” Your voice was clear.

“Uh… nothing,” Jeno closed the closet door quickly, but quietly, and before running back in the main room grabbed the final camera and, presumably, the SD card you now had in your possession.

“Sure, Jen, stop creeping over there,” Giselle’s voice was as loud as ever, then the video stopped.

You thought that was the last one, but there was one left, and this one was much different than the others.

This time it was in Jeno’s bedroom.

“Hey… (Y/N). Or, at least, I hope it’s you, (Y/N), so if it’s not you just, uh, do me a favor and don’t watch this, or do… I guess,” Jeno rubbed the back of his head awkwardly. This was a different Jeno than the one you’d seen in the earlier videos, he was older, tireder, and maybe a little more jaded, and when you looked at the date on the corner you knew exactly why, it was recorded the day before the altercation with Absolute Zero. “Uh… if you’re watching this then, uh… I guess I’m gone.” You felt your throat choke up and you took a deep breath. “Look, I just had a bad feeling about tomorrow so I wanted to leave this here for my own conscious, ya know? Maybe it’s a little selfish, but you deserve to know everything, (Y/N).”

~

Jeno rubbed his face tiredly again, feeling the bags under his eyes weigh heavily. He looks over his shoulder and picks up the camera, one that was hidden in the stuffed bear he remembered Eric giving to you a while ago.

“Uh, just to be transparent and everything, here you are,” he shows you asleep on his bed, you’d both agreed to meet up the night before to prepare, then he set the bear down again. “You’re really knocked out there, (Y/N),” he laughs. “But, uh… back to the message and all, this should be the last video on the card, so I’m assuming you watched everything else. Don’t worry, I didn’t watch anything at all aside from the ones I was in, I’m not a creep like that, but I just wanted to tell you that Eric cared so much about you. He really…” Jeno trailed off when he heard you stir.

“Actually, let me move to the kitchen,” he picked up the bear and left the bedroom, closing the door as quietly as he could before placing the bear down on the counter and sitting in front of it. “Eric only wanted the best for you, he wanted you to see him at his best, so I don’t want you to beat yourself up about what happened anymore. I’m sure you have questions, and I’m sure at least one of them is why I didn’t tell you and just…” Jeno trails again, “I’m sorry, this was all kind of spontaneous, I wasn’t planning on recording anything, but there’s just this gut feeling I have and it’s bothering me, you know? But, well… I told Jisung to take the SD card if anything happened so, yeah, he may have abandoned us but at least he agreed to do that,” he chuckles. But, as it died out, he zoned out for a moment.

“Just… just to toss things out there, I never said anything to the new Aegis,” he says. “I'm not sure if he was the one who killed Eric or if he just looted your place after it happened, but I never said anything. But, you know what, (Y/N)? He cares about you too. I hung out with San a couple of times, actually, just guy stuff, you wouldn’t care. Gym, garage, and golf, the three Gs we called it,” he laughs again. “I don’t think he killed Eric, though. And if he did, he didn’t do it from his own personal vendetta, there’s no way. But, I’ve seen the way he treats you, maybe you could hear him out one day, lend him a talking ear or something, I don’t know. The guy just seems lonely. At least we have each other, you know? I don’t know who he has,” Jeno shakes his head.

“Actually, I take it back,” Jeno backtracks. “San did say something weird to me once when we went drinking, but I never really thought too much about it. He kept saying that he “wronged you” or something like that, he kept talking about how nothing he’d ever do would make up for what he did, and after that I had a feeling. I had a feeling but while I was watching him I couldn’t be mad at him. I know, hate me all you want, curse me or whatever I’m probably dead anyway, but (Y/N), you have to understand, if he killed Eric in cold blood why did he try so hard to help you get back on your feet? Why would he have put so much effort into supporting you if he wanted to hurt him so much? I wish I had the chance to ask and, well, if you’re seeing this then I never made it to that bar hang out we agreed on,” he shakes his head. He was rambling, he knew he was, and in some strange way it comforted him. Saying everything out loud and breaking down everything he learned and observed had this strange cathartic feeling to it that he couldn’t describe. He couldn’t look at the camera, for some reason, it felt as if he was looking at you. But, for this last part, he forced himself over that fear.

“(Y/N), I’ll be so honest with you, I don’t want to die,” his voice was strained and he held back tears. “When I agreed to become a vigilante with you all, I think I was just excited. I wanted to be like Eric too, and I thought that I could, but…” he swallowed harshly. “After what happened to Gigi I… I don’t know anymore. Eric told me he chose to do this to keep all of us safe, and I wanted to honor that legacy of his, and then I failed,” he said this slowly now, taking deep breaths when he could.

“I guess, what I’m trying to tell you is… no matter what happens to me tomorrow, don’t hold it against yourself. Everything I do tomorrow and everything that happens is on me, alright? Just, uh… remember to take a couple of steps back. Don’t lose yourself to the hype like I did, take a page from Eric’s book and remember your place. We’re not heroes, and we’re not villains, we’re just people who decided they like to beat things up,” he laughs pathetically. “And don’t rush into things head on! We won’t be here to back you up this time and I don’t know if you would have anyone after us to do it either! If you do, then by all means, beat the shit out of whoever stands in your way, but otherwise take your time and figure things out before making decisions, yeah?” He points to the camera every now and then before sighing and shaking his head.

“You are one of the closest friends I think I’ll ever have, (Y/N). I’ll keep Eric busy for you, so I’d better not see you again for another 100 years, or whatever,” he says quietly. He’s silent for a while, the sound of the clock ticking behind him being the only sound in the video before he shake his head again. “Take care, (Y/N), and good luck on everything, yeah? You can do it if you put your mind to it, I know you know right and wrong, and I know you know how to choose your friends carefully. No matter what it is you’re doing now, we’re always backing you up,” he says. “Good bye, (Y/N),” he smiles at the camera before leaning over and turning it off, and only then did he take the time to wipe the tears that cascaded down his face.

~

You sat in silence, the restart button staring at you while you waited. What were you waiting for? Some surprise character to enter this story? You wiped your tears away while you sniffled and you tried to regain your composure.

God, that Jeno, he always knew how to get you in the end.

“I… um…” Jisung started behind you, you turned your head just enough to barely see him. “Jeno said he had a bad feeling about Absolute Zero, and if I saw his name on the news to go to his apartment and grab it.”

“You couldn’t have given this to me earlier?” You asked him.

“We weren’t exactly on speaking terms until recently, you know,” he deadpans.

“Right…” In the end it was your fault. What an ironic connection. “I’m guessing you and Gigi watched it.”

“Just the beginning, and that last video too,” Jisung says. You pulled the SD card out and stared at it, it was just ordinary, no one would have known what was on it and no one would have suspected anything. You placed it in your pocket and pushed past Jisung to go back to Giselle.

“That was fast,” she comments.

“I didn’t want to dwell too much on it.”

“I understand,” she smoothened out her sheets. “(Y/N), Jisung’s been keeping me updated with everything,” she says while reaching for your hand and holding it between hers. “You’ve been through a lot.”

“I know.”

“Now that you have your answer, what will you do?” You were silent. “Maybe you should take it easy now, I don’t think Eric would have wanted you to go on this rampage for him.”

“You’re right,” you nodded your head slightly.

“You’re not going to fight me on it?”

“Why would I?” You sighed and Jisung entered the room.

“Not to be that person, (Y/N), but we’re worried about you,” he says. “Every time the Ace of Spades came up on the news they were further and further from you. Maybe it’s time to drop the knives, (Y/N),” he says. “You know as well as I do, the Charlatan is out of our league. Just leave them to those eight idiots.”

“God, they’re gonna get themselves killed,” you brought your hand to your head.

“Good faith, (Y/N), they’re not that hopeless,” Giselle laughs. “Gosh, look at us, the reunion of Aces.”

“Minus one.”

“Not to be sentimental, but Jeno’s always with us,” Giselle squeezes your hand. Jisung leans against the wall and crosses his arms.

“I should’ve been there,” he says.

“Hey, too late for sympathies,” you cut him off.

“(Y/N), really, you should think about retiring,” Giselle says suddenly. “After everything that’s happened to you, you should put yourself first. You have your answer now, you know what happened, it’s time to give it a rest,” she insists.

“I guess I could…” you looked up and then you hesitated.

Something’s wrong.

That gut feeling of yours was kicking in again. You looked around and your two friends, who’d known you long enough, easily caught on to your unease. Jisung, though, was the one to really take initiative, standing up from his spot and playing around with something hidden in his sleeves.

Then, you looked up, specifically at the window.

You couldn’t get a good look at who it was, you only caught the shadow of them moving away. Shit, did the Charlatan find you? How? Why? This place was supposed to be secure! But a quick shared look with Jisung made all the pieces fit together.

Two targets in one place. Vulnerable. The Charlatan wouldn’t have missed an opportunity like that.

“I’ll be right back,” you stood up slowly and, before you could take a step to the door, someone grabbed onto your wrist. You followed it and looked to Giselle. “Sorry, I’m sorry, I just have a hunch,” you told her.

“I’m not stopping you, I just want to tell you to be careful,” she says.

“I will, I always am,” you reassured her. Jisung looked out the window.

“I’ll stay here with Gi,” he says.

“Yeah, no telling what can happen now. I know security is air tight here but…”

“You know what you’re up against better than we do,” Jisung fills in the blanks for you.

“Yeah, stay safe, hopefully I’ll be back soon,” you approached the door.

“See you later, (Y/N),” Giselle’s voice was distant as you left the small home.

The outdoors was bright and the cheery voices around you contradicted the intense feeling at the back of your head. You knew you were being watched, but you couldn’t tell who was watching you. There was no sight of anyone suspicious from earlier and the crowd made it hard to pinpoint where he could have gone, until a sudden movement caught your eye, a door shutting a little too quickly and a little too suddenly, so you moved toward it without hesitation.

The layout was near identical to Giselle’s home, save for the fact that it was littered with unopened boxes with a noticeable layer of dust on them. They were still sealed shut with tape and they were stacked amongst each other in various places throughout the room. The windows, likewise, were blocked by various pieces of cardboard that were held together by even more tape and even more boxes. Despite those, the room was empty, you were pretty sure. In fact, to the untrained eye, it looked like you were alone.

You knew that the Charlatan’s lackey was in here somewhere, you could feel it. You thought this as you walked further in, looking behind boxes and peeking into the rooms.

Where?

Where did they go?

There was only one way in and out of the cottages, even the windows couldn’t be opened that far by design. You stood in the middle of the room now, how could you miss them?

Clang!

You hit the floor with a loud thud, the metal cane dropping next to you being the last thing you saw before blacking out.

~

Jongho was right. Everything was going perfectly. Everyone was in relatively good shape, too. He saw this as everyone regrouped in the warehouse that Yeosang had finally traced the signals from the broken Charlatan mask to, they found everything they needed and more than enough evidence to break down the Charlatan’s modus operandi. They found the missing vigilante weapons, they found many of the missing people, all of which were somewhat familiar to them, and they found the source that supplied the Charlatan with all the information to begin with: a simple flash drive. God, did Yeosang yell, a simple flash drive was what brought so many people to their demise? The hacker almost laughed out loud at the sheer ridiculousness of it.

But, the strangest part of that flash drive? The chicken scrawl behind it that simply said ‘Loveholic.’

The legend themself, the unknown variable, and, arguably, the reason why the vigilante ban was passed in the first place. But Hongjoong was skeptical, the coincidental intersectionality between the Charlatan and Loveholic just seemed too convenient, like it was set up just perfectly like a trap made for an animal. Call it anxiety, instinct, or experience, Hongjoong knew something was up.

It was just too easy. Everything was laid out already and all they needed now was the person themself. The Charlatan. Whoever they were, they did well in covering their tracks, but with everything they found it was easy to breakdown the main details.

“How much longer do we have to stick around here?” San groans. "We’ve basically checked everywhere already, I don’t think the Charlatan’s here,” San says.

“I agree, I think we’ve exhausted this warehouse,” Yunho says.

“But we have to find them, if they’re not here then we look everywhere else,” Jongho says.

“Shit… maybe we should’ve agreed to let the police help us,” Mingi huffed, stuck in his own thoughts. “This isn’t even finding a needle in a haystack, it’s more like finding a strand of hair in the ocean,” he shakes his head.

“It should be possible with Cypher’s help, right?” Seonghwa asks.

“Maybe, but don’t rely on me only,” Yeosang said worriedly.

“We haven’t checked that one room yet, the one that was locked earlier,” Jongho interjects. “The one of the first floor,” he reminds them all. In the last timeline it was the room where he and Hongjoong found Mingi in but, with Mingi in front of him very not brainwashed, who knew what was in there?

The Charlatan, hopefully.

“What can we do, though? It’s locked,” Mingi says. Everyone stared at him. “What?”

“I’ll handle it,” Wooyoung rolled his eyes. “Let’s just head over there,” he leaves first and everyone follows. On the way, Wooyoung pulled out some kind of multi-tool from his belt and rifled through it until he tugged off a bent and a straight pick just in time for them to reach the room. Carefully, he pressed his ear to the door and pushed both picks in, listening carefully to hear the barrels click into place.

“Do you think he’ll get it?” San asks.

“Shh,” Wooyoung shushes him with a glare. 

“Don’t be too hard on yourself if you can’t get it,” Yeosang teases.

“Quiet, I can’t hear the mechanism,” Wooyoung grumbles.

“Maybe I should’ve asked if he knew what he was doing,” San corrects himself.

“Can you all be quiet for two minutes?!” Wooyoung straightens himself suddenly and grabbed onto the handle to balance himself, the knob pushing down and the door swinging open.

“Well would you look at that, it wasn’t even locked anymore,” Yunho deadpans.

“No wonder we couldn’t hear anything either,” Seonghwa sighs.

“It was locked earlier!” Wooyoung argues.

“You didn’t think to maybe check the door knob?” Hongjoong pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Be for real, if I did check it you all still would have made fun of me,” Wooyoung rolls his eyes.

“Can we go into the room already?” San cuts in.

“Actually, that’s a great idea! Let’s finish investigating the creepy-ass place so we can go home and find the Charlatan tomorrow!” Wooyoung enters the room first and turns the light on, immediately gasping after.

“What?! What happened?!” Mingi runs in after him and nearly bumps into Wooyoung while everyone else filtered in, the air around them going still as all of them realized who was in the room.

The sound of chains dropping to the ground echoed in the room as the figure who was once chained to the chair stood up. The Charlatan’s mask seemed to reflect the scene in front of them with blood dripping down either side of it and trailing along the curves of the mask’s artificial smile. Behind them was an older man who stood tall while clutching onto his cane that sported a noticeably fresh coating of blood. 

“How nice of you all to join us, finally,” the old man says. “Allow me to introduce myself,” he says. “My name is Lee Muyeol,” he taps on the handle and, with a short chuckle, he grins. “And I am the Charlatan,” he looked confident. Like he had just won.

But none of them were paying attention to him.

No.

Just the last lackey next to him. The one who, instead of wearing the usual white jumpsuits, sported a black uniform with an encircled A on their right shoulder.

“No…” Jongho’s face fell into despair, something that everyone caught onto. Jongho was clutching onto his wristwatch now, the face of the clock cracking from the pressure he was putting on it alone.

“The Ace of Spades, who knew they were so much closer than I thought? It was a bit hard to break this one in, but they always come around eventually,” Muyeol says. In that moment, Spades pulled out their signature knives, the steel glinting under the light. “Now, the Ace of Clubs was a problem, it was better for me to have just knocked him out and, well, Hearts is already debilitated. Diamonds, though, may he rest in peace,” Muyeol shook his head. “Deal with them for me, Ace of Spades.” Spades readjusted their grip on the knives before flinging both toward the group.

“Disperse!” Hongjoong shouted before everyone ran out of the room. At the flick of their wrists, the knives returned to their owner.

“Twine, god, (Y/N) is a genius!” Yunho marvels.

“Not the time, Yunho!” Everyone shouts.

“Huntsman, focus on the Charlatan,” Hongjoong says.

“Got it,” Seonghwa made distance and loaded his rifle.

“Everyone else, try to hold back,” Hongjoong finishes. Next to him, Jongho adjusts his watch.

“Cheshire! Go!” Jongho shouts. Wooyoung, though confused, nodded his head.

“(Y/N)? Hey, friend!” Wooyoung runs up to Spades first. “Wake the fuck up!” He grips onto his knuckles and right hooks them.

“I said to hold back!” Hongjoong shouts.

“They’ll live, they’re hard headed like that,” San pulls the shield off of his arm and flings it toward the Ace of Spades, Wooyoung catching it with a slight clang as he bashed the front side of it against them. Spades grabbed a hold of the shield and flung it to the side while grabbing onto Wooyoung’s collar. Seonghwa, meanwhile, released the breath he’d been holding and pulled the trigger.

“Spades,” Muyeol’s voice was commanding and Spades released Wooyoung, running toward Muyeol instead. Jongho adjusted his wristwatch.

“Don’t shoot!” He shouts, but he was a second too late.

“No!” Wooyoung lurched forward but he wasn’t fast enough. Instead, he watched Spades take the bullet instead. With a steadying step back, Spades gripped onto their shoulder before steeling themselves.

“Shit…” Hongjoong grit his teeth.

“Some friends you have, Ace of Spades,” Muyeol says. “They just keep hurting you. Beating you. Shooting you. Drowning you,” he looks to Hongjoong. “Abandoning you. Dying on you. You really should get your priorities in check,” he shakes his head.

“Shut the fuck up, old man!” Wooyoung shouts. Behind him, Jongho adjusts his wristwatch. 

“Cheshire, on your left!” Jongho shouts. Then, as knives lodged in the ground next to him, Wooyoung bounced back in time for San to grab ahold of his shield again.

“Sorry, (Y/N),” Mingi approached from behind, turning the pistol in his hand to hold onto the barrel while he slammed it down on their mask. Spades pivoted on their heel, bent down low, and swept their leg behind Mingi before pulling their knife out but, before they could throw it, a bullet knocked it out of their hand and Spades’ head whipped to the side, spotting Seonghwa gripping onto his rifle tighter than before. Spades rolled their shoulder out and made their way toward the rest of the group, knives at the ready.

“I guess we kind of are shitty friends,” Yunho says.

“Yunho!” Everyone shouts.

“What? Yeosang said that all the lackeys are still somewhat conscious, it’s like some hypnosis shit,” Yunho argues. Jongho adjusts his wristwatch.

“Hypnosis, right,” Jongho runs a hand through his hair. “Shadow! Keep Spades busy,” Jongho takes a step back and holds his head with his hand and Hongjoong speaks up.

“Jongho, you know something, don’t you?” Hongjoong asks. Jongho looks at him with an expression Hongjoong had never seen on him before, desperation. In front of him, Mingi grabs onto the Ace of Spades and drags them back, gripping onto their arm and slamming them onto the ground.

“(Y/N) is going hate us,” Yeosang cries.

“(Y/N) is going to kill us!” San corrects him.

“Oh, this is so fucked, this is so fucked!” Wooyoung panics. Once again, the knives just barely miss their mark but before Spades could recall them Mingi grabbed onto one of the twines and snapped it in half, all while the second one returned and lodged itself in his back. Spades pushed off of the ground grabbing onto Mingi’s shoulder with one hand and using the momentum to grab onto the knife in his back and pull it out. Jongho, meanwhile, adjusts his watch.

“Huntsman, aim for the second twine,” Jongho says. Hongjoong grabs his shoulder.

“Explain, Timekeeper,” he says firmly. Jongho is shocked into silence and, instead, he adjusts his wristwatch.

“I can’t,” he shakes his head. Then, the sound of a sharp break caught everyone’s attention as Mingi slid to a stop in front of them, clutching onto his arm tightly. San stepped up next, tossing the shield aside and cracking his knuckles.

“Alright, my turn,” he cracks his neck and charges.

“Blackguard, stop!” Jongho shouts.

“Nope, make me,” he catches Spades’ arm and twists it behind their back before kicking them down, but Spades recovers quickly.

“Look at him, he’s just watching,” Yeosang looks at Muyeol.

“We can’t target him, (Y/N) will just take the blows instead,” Seonghwa says.

“I know,” Yeosang mutters. The sound of material breaking caught their attention. The fissures in Spades’ mask were obvious even from their position. Yeosang, helps Mingi up from the floor and supports his weight. Then, something strange, Spades and San are caught at what was like a neck-and-neck finish.

“Shit, when’d you get this strong?” San breaks a sweat but keeps his force steady.

“San, listen to me,” your voice was muffled by the mask.

“Huh?”

“Don’t break concentration, dumbass,” you spoke. “You all came just in time, any longer I think I would have lost it,” you said.

“So, what, you acting?”

“Keep your voice down. If Muyeol suspects one thing the whole place goes down,” you say.

“So why’d you break Mingi’s arm then?”

“I didn’t, you idiot.”

“Then what did we hear?”

“Look at the knife over there, the second one I lost,” San glanced over quickly but, it was obvious, the handle had been crushed. “I’m not so evil I’d break your bones to prove a point, but I need you to make this believable,” you pushed against him and you both stumbled back. San only nodded and shook out his wrists. You pulled out two more knives and spun them in your hands, running toward him and plunging one into a non-vital area of his arm.

“Ouch.”

“Shut up. When you give the signal we all charge Muyeol,” you explained.

“Me?”

“Yup. Break the mask and those other two run. I told them not to tell the others,” San pushed your arm out of the way and you plunged the second knife into his other arm.

“Ouch.”

“Be serious, San,” you said curtly. “As soon as this mask falls off, Seonghwa will take the shot and you and those other two will grab onto Muyeol. He’s confident, but not invincible,” you explained.

“Got it, I trust you, who else knows?” He pushed away from you and picked up his shield.

“The obvious, of course,” he could hear your grin as you grabbed onto the shield and pulled it toward you. San kept his grip strong and he leaned in, other hand readying to uppercut. “Only one of us is crazy enough to come up with this stunt.”

“Jongho, calm down,” Hongjoong grabs Jongho’s hand before he could reach for his watch.

"I can’t,” he says.

“It’s okay.”

“It’s not,” Jongho shakes his head slowly at first.

“It is,” Hongjoong said firmer. “Jongho, we’re winning.” Jongho blinks once and, finally, the sound of the mask breaking in half and falling on the floor, followed quickly by a bullet loading into place, followed by Mingi and Wooyoung running forward, and finished by the sound of San’s shield slamming into Muyeol.

~

“So, basically, I told (Y/N) as soon as they backed out of the plan about it, I’ll admit, the plan was rough around the edges, but I knew it’d work out,” Hongjoong explains.

Now, a few hours and a couple of ex-vigilantes freed from mind control later, everyone sat in your still decimated apartment around the only thing still standing, your dining table. You had turned your TV on for some background noise, but the earlier fight had left visible breaks in the video on the monitor, but it was still largely watchable. And, of course, along the table were boxes of pizza well deserved.

“That’s… insane. And you agreed to do it?” Mingi asks.

“Sure, anything to catch the bad guy,” you jut your thumb to the side, Muyeol sat next to you with a large piece of duct tape sealing his mouth shut, the words ‘Bad Guy’ scrawled messily along the tape. “When I first heard the plan, I was kind of impressed so I wanted to see how it’d go. Plus, I knew there would be insurance if it really backfired,” you glanced at Jongho quickly before looking away.

“Wait, wait, let me get it straight just in case though,” San says. “So, (Y/N) backs out of the plan first?”

“Yes,” Hongjoong answers.

“Then, in front of us, you tell (Y/N) to go somewhere far away and secure?”

“Yes,” Hongjoong repeats.

“But, after we all passed out, you woke (Y/N) up and told them the actual plan?”

“Yes.”

“Which was basically that (Y/N) would walk right into the Charlatan’s trap, get captured, endure hours of torture, become the last resort, get beat up, and then catch the Charlatan?”

“Well, yes, but it was a little more complicated than that.”

“And what if it didn’t work?”

“Like (Y/N) said, we had insurance,” Hongjoong says.

“And what if the Charlatan actually broke them?”

“Did he?” Hongjoong asks while he looks at you.

“I still feel like me,” you shrugged.

“Reckless, that whole plan was just… reckless,” Mingi sounded stressed. “How’s your arm, (Y/N)?”

“Not bad, I just wish I had the brains to not let the bullet hit my dominant arm,” you rolled your eyes.

“The whole plan was dependent on two things, one is that (Y/N) had the mental fortitude to hold out, and the other is that we needed to ensure the Charlatan thought he won, both of which were satisfied,” Hongjoong says. 

“And now all that’s left is to turn the sucker in,” Wooyoung claps his hands. “Vigilantes will be loved again!” He says hopefully.

“Well… not exactly,” Yunho shakes his head. He points toward the TV.

“This just in, the reward for turning in rogue vigilantes has been significantly increased to garner more incentive among the general public. Please check the police department’s website to see the updated reward amounts,” the newscaster said. 

“Aww, man, what the hell?!” Wooyoung cries.

“We’ll just never be in a good light for them, huh?!” San laments.

“After all the shit we went through? Are they serious?” Mingi’s voice was dejected.

“They really just hate us, huh?” Yeosang mutters.

“Wait, I thought we had a deal with the police?” Seonghwa asks.

“There wasn’t a deal, I told professor Jung that we weren’t interested, so we never got any protection from the police force,” Hongjoong explained. “Which, in hindsight, maybe it would have been nice so we wouldn’t have had to deal with this headache, but I digress.”

“But maybe they’ll be kind when we hand over the serial killer!” Yunho bargains.

“No, we will definitely be arrested on the spot,” Seonghwa shakes his head. “Property damage, reckless endangerment, probably manslaughter, and who knows what else? We’re felons, Yunho.”

“Way to take the fun out of our victory,” Yunho frowns.

“It’s so shitty that this is how the city still treats us,” San grumbles.

“Again, if I may direct your attention to the TV,” Yunho cuts in.

“… but despite the increased rewards, many citizens were seen voicing their support for the vigilantes and even showing excitement in regards to the newest team-up of vigilantes we’d recently seen. Could this be the stepping stone to a new era?”

“Oh, I take it back,” San whistles. “I guess we did good, huh?” He grins.

“It’ll be slow, but I can see vigilantes being accepted once again,” Jongho says.

“Wait, but I still have a couple questions,” Mingi says. “About the new plan, I mean.”

“Fire away,” Hongjoong invites him to continue.

“Wait, yeah!” Wooyoung cuts in. “Why didn’t you tell any of us? I had to hear the details while (Y/N) beat the shit out of me.”

“Beat the shit out of you? Did you see me?!” Mingi points at himself.

“Wait, breaking the knife handle was so clever,” Seonghwa says.

“I know, right?” Mingi smiles. “(Y/N) was like ‘I’ll break the handle on this so pretend I broke you arm’ and I was like ‘metal, okay.’”

“I can’t believe I had no idea,” Jongho shakes his head.

“(Y/N) and I decided to keep it on a need to know basis to ensure that everything went smoothly. Like I said, we had to be certain that the Charlatan thought he won,” Hongjoong explains. 

“I didn’t even have a clue until Hongjoong told me right after I fired the first shot,” Seonghwa shook his head.

“Shit… now that’s saying something,” Yunho crosses his arms.

“Any other questions before we bury this hatchet?” Hongjoong asks.

“Yeah,” Yeosang rose his hand. “What is this insurance you keep talking about? Vigilante insurance? What does it cover?”

“It’s not literal insurance, I meant Jongho,” Hongjoong nods his head toward the youngest member.

“Oh, why?” Yeosang asks.

“I’m a time traveller,” Jongho says absently.

“Oh, fun,” Yeosang grabs a slice of pizza. “Wait… what the hell did you just say?!”

“I’m a time traveller,” Jongho points at his wristwatch. “With this device I can go back to any point in my timeline that I had it.”

“Yeah? Prove it then,” San insists. Jongho adjusts his wristwatch.

“On your left, Mingi,” he says without looking. Mingi moves to the right just in time for the overhead light to fall and just barely graze Mingi’s right arm.

“… whoa,” Mingi gasps. “You’re a time traveller.”

“Yes. Although I had no idea of the plan either.”

“Need to know basis,” Hongjoong repeats. “(Y/N) said that if all went wrong, then you’d fix it,” Hongjoong looks to Jongho.

“They’re right, I would have. I’ve been trying since forever now, actually, but this time I have a good feeling,” Jongho nods.

“Wait, forever? How long have you known how to time travel?!” Yeosang asks.

“A while.”

“How long is a while?” San asks.

“Who knows?”

“You know!” Yunho shouts.

“But do I really?”

“Yes!” Mingi’s turn. “Wait, now I need like a rundown on how time travel works.”

“Sure, I guess,” Jongho takes a deep breath and starts to explain all the details, maybe too many details, and after the first hour of the explanation, it was clear the others had had enough. “Then, using this specific metal, I was able to avoid the radar of the Sectors, long story, took forever to escape that prison, so—”

“Breaking news! The Charlatan has been turned in as of right now!” The newscaster’s voice was loud and, suddenly, everyone turned to the head of the table, seeing two chairs empty, and soon they were in front of the TV. “Just moment’s ago, the Ace of Spades came to the precinct with Lee Muyeol, father of the late Ace of Diamonds Lee Jeno, in hand and explained to the officers the situation. Despite earlier sightings, the Ace of Spades insisted that they found the Charlatan on their own and they turned him in even knowing that there were orders to have them arrested as soon as they were found. Now that’s vigilante justice! The Ace of Spades, identity still kept a secret, is now on their way to a highly secured prison made especially for vigilantes. More on this story as it is updated.”

“That crafty little…” Yunho trails off.

“(Y/N) took the fall for us…” Mingi says in awe.

“(Y/N) took the credit from us!” San corrects him.

“(Y/N) is in jail for us!” Yeosang gasps.

“I’m more concerned of when they slipped out,” Jongho mumbles as he removes his wrist watch. “I never thought that they’d do that for us,”

“But… we’re definitely breaking them out, right?” Seonghwa asks.

“Oh, yeah, definitely,” Hongjoong nods.

“What's the plan, boss?” Wooyoung smiles.

“Operation 2 of the…” Hongjoong waits for someone to finish his sentence.

“Team name! Time to brainstorm a team name! (Y/N) is just going to have to deal with whatever name we choose since they’re not here to add input!” Wooyoung says.

“Any ideas?” Hongjoong asks. Everyone’s silent.

“How about…” Jongho hums. “ATEEZ?” He offers. He is met with silence.

“What does that even mean?” San shakes his head in confusion.

“I was trying to incorporate the A’s on our uniform.”

“To be fair and transparent with you guys, the A is actually there because I wanted the discount, if I added a letter then I saved like 40% on the group order,” Yunho says.

“Really?” Seonghwa grimaces.

“I’m the Broker, I need to make a profit somehow,” Yunho scoffs, lighting the fuse for another entirely tangential debate.

“We still need a name, guys,” Hongjoong refocuses the topic and, as everyone begun to brainstorm possible ideas, the news continued on.

“Meanwhile, any vigilante still active or newly active are to be considered outlaws. As accordance to the vigilante ban, you must report anything and anyone related to vigilante justice,” the newscaster says.

And it was like a lightbulb had turned on.

~

Sitting inside your prison cell shouldn’t have been this peaceful. It was cold, bleak, the walls were white and the wall in front of you a perfect clear. Bulletproof, powerproof, lifeproof, nothing was getting through that glass. The only way in and out was the door to the side, highly secured, padded, locked, probably trapped. You didn’t want to try it. Ironically enough, this was the most relaxed you’d ever been. Your conscious had never felt more clear and a weight had been removed from your shoulders. Even if you’d never go back to your vigilante life, you did the right thing in the end. You turned in the monster that had been killing your friends and hurting much others. Maybe this would be a good way to start your retirement? Twenty years of reflection. You looked up at the ceiling. At least you had a safe place to stay, guaranteed three meals a day, and even a somewhat comfortable bed.

You didn’t know what to do next, you didn’t know much actually, but what you did know was that you owed so much to those eight boys. You couldn’t, in good faith, let them get arrested after that whole ordeal. If anyone was going to turn this whole Vigilante Ban around, it was them. And if so many timelines had been doomed because of you interference then maybe that was some kind of sign for you that it was time to hang up the costume for good. After your sentence maybe you’d move to a new country and start a new life, or something romantic like that. Your future was in your hands now and you couldn’t wait to see what those eight will do in the future, you were definitely going to keep tabs on them anyway.

“Stay in your place, inmate, don’t make any sudden movements or we will sedate you,” the guard suddenly orders. You looked at him without moving.

“Sure,” you responded. The door behind him opened and the last person you’d ever expected to see walked in. The guard excused himself and exited the room, locking the door behind him.

Professor Jung, meanwhile, sat across from you, with nothing but the glass wall separating you two.

“Well, well, so you’re the fantastic Ace of Spades,” he says. You rose an eyebrow.

“Expecting someone else, Professor? Someone more remarkable, no doubt,” you nodded.

“Oh, no, you’re perfect,” he smiles. 

“How’d you figure it out? I could’ve been anyone.”

“I’ve always known. Who do you think appealed the courts to keep your identity a secret?” He asks, not expecting an answer. He looks up at the camera. Within moments, it sparks and dies. You sat up now, more alert than before. “Don’t worry, that wasn’t me,” he says. “Friend of mine, though, I’m afraid I’m very limited in time, so I’ll make this quick,” he stands up and approaches the door, easily pushing it open at the swipe of his key card. You stand up now too, taking steadying steps back. “Relax, relax, I’m not here to hurt you, rather, I want to make you an offer,” he says.

“I’m listening.”

“Your little team up, I’m impressed, you’re a very good team player, but really, you’re always on the sidelines, aren’t you, (Y/N)?” He makes sure to emphasize your name. “The Aces and this new team of vigilantes, why do you allow your talents to go hidden for so long?” He asks.

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean, sir,” you reply.

“I want to hire you, (Y/N),” he says. “I want to have you lead an elite team I’m putting together, and I think you’ll be rather fond of your position,” he says. “You’ll have funding, of course. Provided by me through a third party to ensure both of our safeties,” he adds.

“Why me, sir?”

“Why you? I told you already. You’re perfect,” he repeats. “I should specify that these jobs you’ll be taking on, they’re not exactly stellar, they won’t be as clean as the Charlatan mission was,” he says.

“Ah, so it’s not that I’m perfect, I’m replaceable,” you corrected him.

“You could put it that way,” Jaehyun hums. “I’d say that you’re just good at your work. I’ve followed your movements for a while now, and after observing you in this operation, I had to give you this offer.”

“And if I say no?”

“Then you stay here, serve the rest of your twenty year sentence,” he shrugs. “Or, you come work for me.”

“What kind of jobs will I be doing?”

“Anything, but you’d mainly be working on assassinations,” he answers almost too casually. You narrowed your glance.

“I refuse your offer,” you answered quickly. “I do many things, but I don’t kill,” you say. Jaehyun lowers his glance.

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous, (Y/N). You’ve killed, many people, you just don’t want to accept it,” he says. You didn’t answer. “Plus, I think you’ll be interested in who your first target is. Don’t you want your closure?” He asks. You pressed your lips together. “Blackguard. He needs to be removed from the picture,” Jaehyun says. You remain silent. “Don’t play dumb, (Y/N), I know you know. Choi San killed Eric, don’t you want some justice for that?” He asks.

“I do,” you answer. “But not this way.”

“Hm, maybe I read you wrong then,” Jaehyun sighs.

“It’s too early to make any moves anyway,” you muttered. “Why do you want him gone?”

“Lets just say he didn’t just kill one person, (Y/N),” Jaehyun says with an elusive smile. “Of course, if Blackguard is off the table, I have a list of others instead. If you agree to work with me, I’m sure we’ll be a wonderful team,” he offers once again. You looked around your cell. “If you really think about it, it’s not as different as what you were doing before, only now you get a salary,” he says.

“Ah… what the hell, beats spending twenty years in here,” you sighed. “When do I start?”

“Immediately,” he says. “Any questions?” He asks.

“You still haven’t answered mine,” you say. “Why me?” Jaehyun looks to the ground for a moment.

“Have you heard of that saying? Keep your friends close and your enemies closer?” He asks. You nodded your head. He walks up to you and holds his hand out for a handshake. “I know you have me completely figured out, and I can’t afford to have you loose while I know this,” he says. You stared at his hand, thinking back to everything you’d learned over the course of the last few weeks. You did have him figured out. “So, what do you say, Spades? Do you actually accept my offer?” He asks. So, he knew you were lying. To be fair, you were planning on making a break as soon as you stepped foot out of this facility, but if your hunch was right then you knew better than to chance that.

“If I refuse… you’re going to kill me, aren’t you?” You ask. Jaehyun smiles. “Well then… I accept your offer, Loveholic.” Without another word, you shook his hand.

The Outlaws and the Ace of Spades will return in ‘Out of Sight.’

Ending Author's Note:

Hello, hi, hey, everyone! Holy shit, I finished this bad boy. After, drum roll please, 352 pages, and a grand total of 98,500 words (holy shit!) Without a Trace is officially finished!! I cannot believe that I actually finished it lmao but here we are with a completed fic! My second completed fic altogether (minus Covalence, which was released originally as a oneshot).

I started this fic like, what, two years ago? I know she's an oldie, this one, not old enough to be on the old blog but definitely old enough. So to those who stuck around, thank you! And to those who just joined, thank you again! I couldn't have finished this fic without you all and for that I'm thankful! I can't wait to tap into another ATEEZ fic soon, though, y'all know I love writing content for them!

But, regardless, thank you to all of you who supported this series! I am so thankful for all of you for taking time to read this little fic of mine. Who knows what I'll work on now lol, but I don't think Out of Sight will be released in a while, or at least until I complete another series, but y'all will see once it's out!

Until then, thank you. I hope you're all having a wonderful day, a safe night, and a fun summer!

Love Always, Crys

General Tag List: @stopeatread @bat-shark-repellant @raeincitizen @umbralhelwolf @yangsrose @kazooms @sadcoffeecritic 

Without a Trace: @naiify @sunsethw4 @leesalts @toxic-babexe 

If you want to be added to either tag list or removed just send me a reply to this post, and ask, or a DM and I’ll add you as soon as possible!

[fizziepopangel]

"That was the sound of a fucking divorce!" *TW*

(Stolas & Stella headcanons )

TW: mentions of SA, SH, descriptions of abuse, mentions of attempted unaliving. Please don't read on if you feel you are unable to handle those topics (and please do let me know if I missed a tw that needs to be added❤️)

Please note that I feel these events happen prior to Blitz reentering the picture and are meant to depict the life Stolas is attempting to escape from by filing for divorce within the series.

Stolas began SH by pulling out his feathers a year into his marriage with Stella. It was unintentional at first, a habit he developed during anxiety attacks or during bouts of deep depression.

After finding out about the SH, Stella not only began teasing him for the bald patches he ended up giving himself, but also began grabbing fistfuls of his feathers and tearing them out in anger or dragging him around by his feathers until they began to fall out due to the harsh weight of him being dragged by them. This began the physical aspect of the abuse.

Between his wife shaming him for his patchy feathers and her criticizing his body and performance in bed, Stolas began to develop extreme body image issues that led him further into depression.

Since he was young, Stolas had vision issues that led to debilitating headaches and nausea as a result of both sets of eyes having trouble focusing on a single thing at a time. Stella once joked about cutting out his second set of eyes while he slept to get him to stop whining about it. He never brought up not feeling well in any way after that.

After having Octavia, Stolas believed his wife would become softer and more motherly. While she never really intentionally hurt their daughter, Stolas rarely left the girl alone with her mother in fear of the rage he'd experienced reflecting onto the child.

Stella kept Via away from her father for weeks following an accident that involved a rather large plant Stolas tended falling on her after missing Stolas when it was thrown across the room. After being told it was his fault repeatedly, Stolas began to think it truly was.

Stella destroyed most of the plants in the garden before allowing Via to see her father again.

Stolas attempted to unalive himself on more than one occasion, failing each time and having his wife tell him it was because he was just too pathetic to do anything right.

After finding the journal Stolas kept and learning that he was wrestling with his sexuality, Stella took it upon herself to assault her husband, telling him that he was too pathetic for anyone to want, let alone a man.

Stolas never told anyone about the incident, but that was when the couple began sleeping, not only in separate rooms, but on opposite sides of the house. Despite checking the locks on his bedroom door religiously before settling into bed for the night, he still wakes up panicked when he thinks he hears something outside his door or when he hears Stella cackle from somewhere deeper in the house.

Despite the physical and psychological torture he's endured, Stolas does his best to be a good husband and father... Though Via loves her father, nothing he does seems to be good enough for Stella.

After reconnecting with Blitz and starting therapy, Stolas slowly comes to terms with who he is and what that means for his marriage. While it takes a while for him to be able to say the words and genuinely mean them with no fear of being bullied back out of his words, Stolas asks for a divorce.'

Besides trembling and reeling from weight of what he's done, When Stella storms off, for once in a very, very long time, the owlish man feels almost peaceful.

Thank you for taking the time to read through my Stolas and Stella headcanons. While this wasn't horribly graphic, I hope everyone who's read this far is doing well and wasn't too upset by what was mentioned above. As I said before, please let me know if you have any other warnings that need to be added to this piece that I might have missed.