#I can hardly walk in my own shoes I’d probably break a bone if I wore those jfjfkfk

[worm-in-a-trenchcoat]

The MH shoe collection goes on preorder tomorrow and I’m so torn about which ones I want to get 😭

[lubdubsworld]

The Devil’s Own.

Jungkook x OC

Mafia Au!

Warnings : Non-Con ! Manipulation, Degradation, Shitty hero with no redeeming Qualities you have been warned. ( i mean he does get better but not much.) 

Summary : Just Mob Boss Jungkook doing mob boss things. 

Chapter 1

“ Sign it. ”

I glared at him, feeling sick at the tone. The entitlement.

“No.” I said sharply and I could feel his anger swelling, morphing into something dangerous and deadly but I couldn’t care anymore. I was tired. Exhausted. This cat and mouse game had gone on , long enough. It wasn’t an even playing field, in any sense of the qword.

If today was the day I died, so be it. I would accept it. I would even welcome it.

I was done.

He had everything : an empire at his beck and call , enough money to pave the streets of Seoul in gold and an army of loyal associates behind him. His face was plastered on Billboards across the country , the President posted pictures of him on his fucking SNS and delegates from other countries had to wait weeks , just to get an appointment with the youngest billionaire South Korea had ever seen.

And yet none of those white collared dignitaries saw this side of him. The dirty, violent ruthless man who had more blood on his hands than anyone else in the country. My father’s. My brothers’.

Jeon Jungkook was both the most revered business man in the country and the undisputed king of Seoul’s criminal underbelly.

“You defiance only makes me want to break you in other ways Elena.” He said warningly and I felt my throat go dry. I stared at him, wondering how someone could look so expensively gorgeous and yet, like a hardened criminal.

The expensive silk shirt, the fitted slacks and the handmade shoes ought to clash with the dark ink that covered his entire arm and neck, the piercing on his eyebrow and the glint of metal on his tongue but it didn’t.

It just all came together to make him the most attractive man in existence.

I took a deep breath. Perhaps begging was the way to go?

“ You have my father’s company. You have my brother’s Hospital and you have the family mansion. It’s all yours. This bakery belongs to my mother. It’s all I have left of her. My sister in law is pregnant , due any day. She needs a place to stay and I don’t… I don’t have money to rent anywhere else.” I said desperately, thinking of the paltry wage I earned waiting tables. I could barely afford food for myself let alone for Jisoo and the baby on the way.

The bakery was abandoned but it had a roof. The furniture was crumbling but I could fix that. If I didn’t have to worry about rent, I could save up enough to make it livable. At least till I got a better job.

“I’ve offered you solutions for all of that.” He reminded me softly, eyes trained unblinkingly on me and I stared at him.

“I’m not going to be your whore.” I felt my voice shake.

He grimaced.

“You aren’t qualified to be my whore. And I don’t need one either. Whores are not my thing. I have a beautiful fiancée, don’t you remember? ” He grinned. I felt my heart ache because that fiancée was once my best friend. The only person I had trusted with my entire life. Lisa had betrayed my trust, had spied on my father’s operations and brought him down and I had the horrible, horrible inkling that she had also had something to do with my father and brother’s untimely death in a car crash.

But I couldn’t think about that. Every time I thought about her my heart broke and head spun, and I had to be at my maximum mental capacity if I was going to deal with her heartless fiancée.

“ If you ask me, you’re not fit for anything more than a back alley blowjob for a couple bucks. But Hoseok thinks you have potential. Join his agency, there are a lot of very wealthy men who have a bone to pick with your father. He made a shit ton of enemies. Most of them would love to fuck the defiance out of you. ”

His words felt like worms crawling all over my skin and I could feel the nausea churn inside me.

“I’m not signing the bakery over. You can call the creditors. I still have another year and half to pay the one remaining loan and they won’t come for me till then.” I felt my head begin to throb and Jungkook sighed.

“Suit yourself.” He stood up and I stayed still, watching his tall frame tower over me with ease. He gave me a small bitter smile. It was fraught with hatred and I stared back at him, knowing the emotion was probably mirrored in my gaze.

“Beautiful Elena. As pretty as the day you left me at the altar.” He smirked and I flushed.

“Your vengeance is petty and pointless and unfair…just like you.” I said angrily, frustration building u at his words. The way he talked about our broken engagement like it even mattered. It hadn’t even been real. We had hardly spoken and my father had called the wedding off at the last moment. But apparently, that had been the last straw for the Jeons. They had come after my father’s entire existence with a single minded intent to destroy him and they had succeeded. The man was dead . His two sons were dead.

But apparently it wasn’t enough.

Jungkook stared at me, slipping his hands into his pockets.

“Maybe. But it’s also deadly and potent. And it won’t rest until I see you reduced to nothing but a whore on the streets, spreading your legs for every man who can afford you.” He laughed. “ Saying no is a luxury , one that you’ll soon be unable to afford.”

I refused to be cowed, refused to give him the satisfaction of knowing that his words scared me. Because they did.

They scared me so damn much.

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

“This bed is so lumpy… I’m so sorry, unnie..” I said apologetically but Jisoo shook her head quickly, palms cupping my face as I held her elbows, gently lowering her to the bed. I stared at her feet, feeling my heart race at how swollen they looked. That can’t be normal, a voice whispered and

I didn’t know if that was normal and I had no money to take her to a clinic. The social center we usually went to only allowed three visits per month and we had used it all up. I wanted to throw caution to the wind and spend the thirty thousand won it would take but that would mean no groceries for a week and surely bread and eggs wouldn’t stretch that long, even if I could sneak meals in the restaurant for myself.

“I’ve been feeling a little dizzy…I’ll just sleep.” She said tiredly. She was thirty six weeks along, not due for another four weeks but her blood pressure was erratic. Her lab numbers were oscillating and there had been talks of an emergency c section. Even with insurance it was way more than I could afford but I had my own jewelry, a few expensive trinkets from my teenage years. I’d been obsessed with diamonds and my father had indulged me and I had a pair of earrings left. I’d already sold the rest but this would take care of the medical bills for the birth itself.

“My shift starts in ten minutes. I have to go. Give me a call if you need anything…” I said softly and I saw the familiar blank and listless look come into her eyes. I knew she was depressed, dealing with grief and pregnancy and loss but there was nothing I could do for her. Nothing. I had applied for a bunch of other jobs but they never wrote back. It wasn’t easy, being rejected over and over again but it wasn’t like there was much else I could do. And the truth was I was resigned to this, accepted that at some point I would have to take more loans and be stuck in an endless cycle of debt for the rest of my life.

And I had made peace with that.

There was no future for me. And I was okay with just surviving.

If only Jungkook would let me.

Apparently, watching me wipe down greasy tables and mop up floors and toilets trying to earn just enough to get a few square meals didn’t soothe his anger. It only fueled it. Jungkook couldn’t fathom that it had been six whole months of me on the streets of Seoul and I wasn’t completely destitute yet. I’d kept myself and my sister in law alive, safe and it pissed him off.

He wanted to see me broken and on my knees, begging him for help. The idea of me somehow surviving despite him taking everything away from me, it just didn’t sit well with him.

I couldn’t afford to have him as an enemy so all I could really hope was that one day he would wake up and give up. One day he would just wake up and decide that I wasn’t worth it.

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

When I walked into my shift and noticed a familiar pair of high heeled Louboutins , completely out of place in my seedy place of employment, I knew I was in trouble. Lisa sat against one of the booths and her gaze was fixated on the door which meant she was waiting for someone. And when her eyes narrowed at the sight of me, I just knew I was the someone.

She wants to get me fired.

It wasn’t rocket science and I felt the urge to turn right back around and leave.  But I tamped down on it. I could get through this. I would get through this. Lisa and Jungkook got off on invoking reactions and I wouldn’t give them that.

Except it wasn’t that easy.

It was a nightmare, watching her demand and reject and walk all over me but the sleeplessness from the past few days made spacing out easier and I just stared away at the wall as she yelled and complained and made a scene.

“You’ve stopped fighting? Finally giving up? Good…” She hissed when the manager apologized to her and told me to meet him after my shift and I felt myself tremble in indignation.

“I won’t fight you or Jungkook, you and I both know I can’t afford to.” I said quietly and she went still, something flashing in her eyes for a second. It was gone before I could fully process it but it had been there. Guilt.

Lisa wasn’t a terrible human. She had been a dear friend. We had grown up together and she had even hugged and teased me when I’d been betrothed to Jungkook, all those years ago. I had been twenty back then, naïve and spoiled. While Jungkook had taken my father’s entire legacy apart, piece by piece, Lisa had been nothing more than a pawn. I remembered all the times I had let her home, how she would disappear for lengths of time.

Planting bugs all over the house. All over his office. Jungkook had been smart. Someone like Lisa, so fascinated by thr wealth she had grown up around would naturally jump at the idea of more. It wasn’t greed. It was human nature. And with her help he had destroyed everything my father had built over decades.

I shuddered. My father hadn’t been a good man. He had been greedy, yes. But he hadn’t deserved to die. And Jungkook would have to pay for that sin, someday.

“There’s a job waiting for you in Hoseok’s club.” She smiled cruelly , “ you don’t need this one.”

“The fact that you want to take it away from me, tells me that maybe there’s nothing left in you save.” I said blankly and she turned her nose up at me.

“I have Jungkook. I don’t need to be saved.”

I shook my head. She was so naïve. Men like Jungkook cared for nothing but themselves. But I wondered if women like her didn’t care for anything but the money that came with being his. Money was precious, I thought bitterly. I’d never realized how privileged I had been until I’d had it all ripped away.

“He’s the one you need saving from. And one day you’ll realize that.” I shrugged, not in the mood to offer her anymore life advice.  If she was alright with being a trophy wife in exchange for a few pretty shoes that was her prerogative.

Before she could reply,  my phone rang.

“Hello?” I asked nervously and I felt my heart drop to my knees when I heard who it was.

I turned on my heel rushing inside and my manager gave me a look of surprise.

“ My sister..she’s… she’s sick. I need to go.” I said desperately and his eyes narrowed. It was the worst timing. He was already annoyed because of Lisa and I stared in disbelief as he quickly shook his head.

“No. I’m sorry Elena…I just can’t let you leave like that…” He said sharply.

It was so unfair.

“I haven’t taken a single day off in five months…” I said desperately..” Please, she’s pregnant..She needs me, she-“

“If you leave, you won’t have a job to come back to. I can’t do this.. First you make trouble with a customer and now you just want to walk out in the middle of your shift without any notice…”

“Fine. Fire me.” I snapped, because I’d just had enough of it. I was exhausted, and tomorrow I’d go knocking on some other tore and I’d get a job. I lived in Seoul …How hard could it be? For now, I had to get to Jisoo. I had to get the hospital and things would be okay.

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

It wasn’t okay.

“I… You want to keep her in? So soon?”

“Her blood pressure is through the roof. There are signs of severe pre eclampsia and we want to get her started on a magnesium drip. Steroids to help the baby’s lungs incase we need to deliver…”

“Deliver..?” I couldn’t breathe.

“Yes, I’m sorry…. If her blood pressure doesn’t come down we’re going to have to deliver.”

I nodded, glancing at the bed where Jisoo was sleeping, her face swollen and I knew that she was sick. Really sick. She looked pallid and ill.

“Is she going to be okay?” I asked hoarsely.

“We’re going to do what we can… But I’m going to be honest, we’re looking at a c section, a lot of meds and also some time in the NICU for the baby…. Can you afford it? Your sister’s insurance only covers 80% .”

I blinked, completely thrown. White noise rushed through my ears,  a dull throb settling right at the base of my skull and beginning to spread all the way to my arms and back. It was panic mixed wth anxiety mixed with despair and I couldn’t quite cope. The earrings wouldn’t cover all that.

“Oh… Oh..yeah.” I said dully, “ Of course I can… Let me just…. Can I have a moment? There’s somethings I need to do.”

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

I carefully slipped the cash into the envelope, swallowing as I sat on the pavement. I’d got another call from the hospital, they had administered the steroids but Jisoo’s condition seemed to be worsening. They wanted to try inducing labour soon but they wanted me to pay for the room and for the medicines, and apparently, the earrings weren’t as valuable as I thought they were.

I fought nausea wrapping arms around myself as I stared at the cars whizzing by, the putrid city air clogging my lungs as I tried to come to terms with what was happening. Jisoo needed help. She was the only one left and she carried my brother’s son. I felt my throat clog when I thought of Daehwan. He had been a good guy. I had loved him. It wasn’t fair, what Jungkook had done to my family, I thought miserably .

And the only reason I wasn’t driven by vengeance or anger was because I was nothing like Jungkook. I hated him. I didn’t want him to live in my head, didn’t want to waste any part of myself on him , not even my anger. But it was hard when he wouldn’t let me breathe, always at my heels like a wolf : jaws snapping and blood thirsty eyes trained on me at all times. I couldn’t fathom his obsession sometimes. Surely, his hatred was uncalled for now? He’d taken everything from me anyway.  

There was a dull roaring in my ears, one that said that this was not really a surprise. I’d thought about it way too often, had considered it countless times. Had even spent one absolutely horrifying evening scouring the streets of Seoul’s red light district just to see how sex workers behaved.

I’d also realized that in the face of desperation, dignity didn’t hold much value.

You are going to pay your debts on your back and on your knees.

The first time Jungkook had thrown it at my face, eyes glinting with glee, my stomach had rebelled so hard. I’d been absolutely infuriated, had thrown a vase at him. And it had been awful,  watching him catch it out of the air with ease, his mocking laughter making my bones rattle as he shook his head, “ That’s how this ends, Elena. Mark my words.”

And it was pitiful ,  that he went through life so consumed with hatred and vindictive cruelty that he couldn’t leave me alone . He was pathetic. That’s how I saw him. A pathetic child who refused to stop tormenting the helpless ant on the floor although it was no match for his cruelty.

At some point Jungkook was going to win. And his idea of winning was seeing me stripped bare of the one thing that kept me alive : my freedom.

It had just happened sooner than I’d thought.

Because I knew what it would mean, to go to Hoseok. He would own me. Hoseok’s whores were all slaves, tangled in his web so badly that there was no hope of escape. He wasn’t cruel but he was smart. No one left the his ‘ agency’ once they went in. I would be lost, forever. And I couldn’t stomach it.

I stared at my knees, fists clenched on the fabric of my skirt. I grabbed my phone, scrolling through the contacts. I considered it carefully. I had to do this on my terms. Had to make sure I retained some sort of control here.

And I knew just how to do it.

Hoseok picked up on the third ring.

“Hello.”

“I need help.” I croaked out.

The deep chuckle made my skin crawl.

“Elena Gong. What a wonderful, wonderful surprise. What can I do you for?” He drawled.

“Well sweetheart, I’m all out of charity so you’re going to have to make it worth my while.”

I took a deep breath.

“I’m a virgin.” I whispered.

The line went completely silent.

“What?” The amusement in his voice died.

“You heard me and I’ll let you cash in on it. I’ll let you auction it off…” I tamped down on the burning protest in my lung, the screaming inside my head that said it was horrifying, that I was considering this. “ But only if you keep my terms.”

“What makes you think you have a say in that.” He said sharply and I laughed.

“I belong to your world, Hoseok. Did you forget that we were friends, once.” I whispered and he didn’t reply.

Laughter, kindness, a big brother I could always count on, hobi oppa, nine year old me with my fingers curled around his wrist as we ran all around the gardens , a smile so wide that he could spread sunshine on the gloomiest days. Different from Jungkook and Namjoon and Yoongi and the others. Willing to include a ‘ girl’ in his playtime. Lisa and I the only girls, not even fazed watching as the rest of them wielded toy guns and mock interrogation scenes, pretending to kill and maim and torture because that was the world we were born into.

“We’re not friends, Elena. Let’s get that straight. The only part of you that holds any value to me is th part between your legs. So tell me, what do you want.”

“When was the last time you auctioned off someone’s virginity? You know how much money you can make off something like that. Not just from the sale itself but from the entire night. Your club… Your gaming hell…. All of it.”

“You expect me to believe you’re a virgin. At twenty seven.” He scoffed.

“Put the word out, everywhere. If you find one man who says he’s slept with me , I’ll back off.”

“That would require me to tarnish your  family name. And you’re alright with that?”

I smiled biotterly.

“Isn’t that what you and your precious Jungkookie want? To see the last living Gong, be labeled as a whore and a slut.”

He didn’t reply.

“I’ll give you that. You can do it… You know that will only interest more people. As Jungkook so eloquently put it, most of them would love to fuck the defiance out of me.”

“What’s the catch. What do you want. ”

“2 billion won.”  I said firmly “It will be one night. One night only and I want enough money to pay off every one of my father’s debts, to get me an apartment for my sister in law and to support her and her baby for a year at least.”

“Done.” He said without missing a beat and I went still. What must it be like, to throw around money like that without a care in the world. And it sickened me that Jungkook was probably ten times as rich as Hoseok , the money my father owed him and his associates not even pocket change in comparison to his gargantuan wealth and yet, he stayed on my heels, snapping his jaws like a dog with a bone.

“And Jungkook doesn’t get to watch.” I said softly, knowing exactly what Jungkook would get off on.

That made Hoseok laugh.

“You know him too well. I keep forgetting he was madly in love with you once.”

I resisted the urge to vomit. Jungkook didn’t know love. He knew ownership. He didn’t love me, he thought he owned me. That I was his to play with…. For the rest of his life. And when my father had denied him that, just like a toddler in a toy store being denied a shiny toy to break and trample on, he had thrown a temper tantrum.

Except his tantrums always ended in death and destruction.

“That’s the deal. He doesn’t turn up there to gloat.”

“He’s heading out to Switzerland for a week , two days from now.” Hoseok said evenly.

“Good then. My sister in law…she “ I swallowed. “ She’s in a hospital in Yongsan. I’ll send you the address.”  

“I’ll take care of it. But I want you here tonight. I’m not going to drop a couple billion won on your head without making sure I’m getting my money’s worth. And I can’t have you changing your mind and bolting either. My reputation is on the line here. If I put out the word that I’m serving something so fucking delicious and then back out, they’re not going to want to buy Hobi’s wares anymore. You understand what I’m saying darling?” Hoseok drawled and I knew exactly what he was saying. If I agreed to this, it was blanket consent for him to whatever he wanted.

“I won’t back out. I can’t. But this is one night. One night with whichever bastard you choose and that’s it. I want out.  I don’t want you or Jungkook hounding me again. Ever.” My voice shook as I dug my fingers into my knees.  

“My men will be there in ten minutes. Sit tight, princess.”

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

I stared at Hoseok as he carefully poured me a finger of whiskey, neat. He gave me a smirk and I shrugged.

“you remember.” I said casually, throat itching because it had been way too long since I’d had quality alcohol. I missed the burn,  the warmth , the numbness that followed.

“Of course I do. You could drink all of us under the table with little effort. It was spectacular.” He laughed and I leaned back against the couch, letting my head fall back.

“I was half certain that you would have a doctor around to make sure I’m a virgin.” I stared at him and he shrugged. “ Pointless. You’re twenty seven, you’ve probably had stuff up there anyway… Not like your hymen’s still going to be intact.”

I thought it was rather horrifying, that I didn’t feel nearly as mortified as I should. This was how Hoseok talked, matter of fact and open and that was why he was so popular. Anytime an important person came into the country, Hobi was the one who offered entertainment for the night. Hobi’s girls were always the prettiest, most well behaved and perfect. They were educated, knew what they were talking about and he didn’t force them into the life. They loved it, enjoyed it and it showed.

Not to say he was a saint.

Far from it.

Hoseok knew how to dine with kings in castles  but also how to wrestle with  swine in the gutter. The seedy brothels in Seoul’s back alleys were his as well, and he ruled his kingdom with an iron hand. The prostitutes there feared him, one look or word enough to silence any rebellion, any thought of escape.

He was called Hope. And yet somehow that was exactly what he denied the women under him. There was no hope here. There was only lust and power and money. You came to Hobi…. You never left .

I took the glass he offered, taking a small sip, savoring the taste.

“But you believe me. I wonder why.” I watched him closely and he scoffed.

“Between your father and Jungkook, no one ever really had the pluck to come anywhere near you  did they?”

Undisputable.

I sighed, leaning back to stare at him.

“Do you think dying hurts?” I asked softly.

It was frightening, how his entire body went stiff, eyes wide and jaw dropping.

“Elena, what the fuck-“

“Its just a question. You’ve killed people. You’ve watched them die… how do you think they feel?” I asked , curious.

“None of them wanted to die. If that’s what you’re asking.” The look in his eyes made me nervous.

I stared at him and the question was obvious. None of them wanted to die, but do you?

I didn’t.

“I’m not thinking of killing myself , oppa.  Stop looking so horrified.” I laughed. He shook his head.

“ Don’t joke about that. It’s not fucking funny.”

I sobered up, remembering with a jolt. Ah, of course.

“I’m sorry. I forgot.” I said quietly.

Hoseok’s little sister had killed herself when I was seventeen. She was a year older than me and her father had lost her in a wager to a seventy year old man, known for torturing his bedmates. She had heard the news, taken a deep breath and taken a deep dive off the seventeeth floor of the condo where she lived with her mother.

I’d been engaged to Jungkook by then. And I had almost wanted it. Jungkook wasn’t old at least… twenty one to my seventeen.

“Just so you know, he’s going to find out. And he’s not going to like it.”

I shrugged. Three years is a long time to be preyed upon and now my mind was resigned to a life of being hunted. Hoseok was right. Jungkook would find out and he wouldn’t like it.

Good.

“I don’t care what he does anymore. All I care is that Jisoo and the baby are left out of whatever plans he has…. If you promise me you’ll keep them safe , I’ll cooperate.”

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

It was a baby boy.

I stared, fingers itching to hold the baby but it was impossible, the little one whisked away to the NICU right after with respiratory distress and Jisoo had gone into a seizure, eyes rolling back into her eyes.

She as alright now, resting in a VIP room with the best care money could buy. Hoseok had asked me if I was happy with the arrangements, and if I would name the boy after him.

I stared at the room, large and breezy and filled with flowers and gifts, toys and baby stuff and I knew right then that I had sealed my fate. I was going to have to go through with this. I could imagine how much Jisoo would protest when she came to her senses. The only relief was that it would take her a few days to be good enough to fight or protest. But then this would all be over and done with.

Jungkook would leave this afternoon. His flight was at three.

I would reach the club at five. The patrons would arrive at seven.

One night, I reminded myself , staring at the gentle rise and fall of Jisoo’s chest as she slept, my fingers playing with the soft skin on her wrist. The IV line went through her veins and I watched the gentle drip of it.

One night.

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

I didn’t know how auctions happened and while I’d been prepared for the worst kind of humiliation,  Hoseok assured me that he wasn’t going to make me stand naked on some podium or something.

“Generally, I would do something like that simply for the flair of it but consider this a favor ….a respite because you were, as you said, once a friend.” He gave me an even smile and I could only nod in mute relief.

I was grateful. Beyond grateful.

And what was more, he hadn’t told anyone, who I was.

That stunned me. Because wasn’t that the selling point? The murderous, greedy mob rat Gong Hyo Suk’s only daughter forced to spread her legs for one lucky stranger? If Hoseok had cashed in on that he would have made a fortune. But he hadn’t. I wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing. Would , whoever it was be upset if he recognized me?

I was led to a bedroom, large and tastefully decorated with silky satin sheets and dark curtains and dim lighting that lit up parts of the room and left other parts plunged in darkness. Hoseok had told me to wear whatever I wanted and I realized with a pang that he really didn’t see this as some sort of transaction. He was trying to make it as easy as possible without making any decisions for me. Offering me choices and options and some illusion of being in control.

I didn’t have anything fancy so it was just a dress shirt that I borrowed from Hoseok. I’d left the underwear off, eager to merely get the whole thing over with. I felt a sudden overwhelming urge to laugh out loud.

If Jungkook were here he really would have lost his damn mind, simply because of how little this whole thing affected me. And that was it, really. He was always desperate for a reaction.

Earlier when this whole thing had started, I’d obliged him with that. I would scream, rant and yell….launch myself at him like a wildcat, scratching at him , fists flying  and it was obscene, how much he seemed to enjoy that. He would press me up against walls and tables , fingers choking the breath out of my lung, just so he could see me struggle and push back.

He fed off from every negative reaction I offered him and it had taken me a long long time that the way to beat him was to become passive, unresponsive. I would go limp in his arms, stare at him blankly as he tried to manhandle me and that…that had pissed him off. Because that meant I wasn’t playing his game anymore.

If the prey wasn’t playing, the game wasn’t fun anymore. It was drab.

Boring.

And I knew that Jungkook kept raising the stakes, kept tightening the noose around my neck….just to bring that girl out again. The one that had wanted to put up a fight . The one that wanted to mouth off even with the muzzle of a gun pressed against her head. The one who would spit in his face in front of all his associates, even if it earned her a vicious strike of his hand across her face.

I shuddered. They weren’t memories I liked reliving.

Well, if that was who he wanted, I’d make sure he would never see her again.

The door opening made me jump and Hoseok came in , with a wide grin on his face.

“Baby…. Your guest for the night.” He said softly and I peered over his shoulders, my heart and mind grinding to a halt when I caught sight of what had to be the most breathtakingly beautiful man on the face of the planet.

I felt my heart begin to pound, fear taking over because this wasn’t okay. Not really. I was okay with old, creepy and disgusting , not able to get it up for more than ten minutes.

I wasn’t okay with someone who looked like they stepped right out of the latest issue of GQ.

Hoseok left quickly, closing the door behind him and the man stepped into the light, the brightness lighting up his perfect features even more. I felt my throat go dry, and fought the urge to get up and run. Growing up as the daughter of a mobster , I’d learned how to trust my instincts over appearances.

And right now, every single one of those instincts screamed at me that this man was absolutely dangerous.

“Well, you are beautiful. I’ll give you that. “ He said casually.

“Thank you.” I said stiltedly, watching as he tugged on his tie, pulling it off his neck deftly . Instead of tossing it aside , he wrapped it a bunch of times around his wrist over and over as he smiled at me.

“Don’t thank me yet. The only reason I like beautiful things is because of how easily they break.” He smiled.  “ I haven’t been with a virgin in a while…. I miss the screams.”

And there it was the full blown panic that came with stark terror. I crawled back on the bed, staring as he moved closer and there was no mistaking the look on his face, the harsh grip of his hand on my ankle telling me that I was going to regret every one of the choices that led me here.

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

“Hoseok wasn’t at the airport.” Jungkook observed casually, glancing at Yoongi as the latter finished cleaning his gun carefully, eyes fixed on his weapon with utmost concentration.

“He’s holding some sort of auction tonight. Some chick …” Yoongi said casually and Jungkook hummed. It was not the kind of thing he was interested in. Anonymous bids were often boring : actresses or female idols past their prime, desperate to make some money to survive. He had no interest in those but he was a little peeved that Hoseok hadn’t told him anything about it.

Hoseok was one of Jungkook’s most trusted friends. He was almost as powerfully rich as Jungkook and the only reason Jungkook reigned supreme was because Hoseok had no interest in challenging him for the throne. Hoseok was dangerous and cunning and loyal and Jungkook was grateful to have him on his side and he had hoped to see him before leaving. Just to ask him to keep an eye on Elena.

He grimaced, hating himself.

God, he couldn’t go two hours without thinking of her. It fucked with his head, the amount of space she took up inside him. Jungkook , for all his wealth and power, was driven solely by his need to prove himself. He wanted to be powerful and terrifying yes, but more than that , he wanted people to know.

He wanted people to look him in the eye and acknowledge him for what he was : the most dangerous man in the country. He liked seeing that fear, that worship, that admiration. He got off on it. He wanted it , craved it and for some reason he craved it more from her , than anyone else.

And instead of giving him what he wanted, instead of begging on her knees for mercy, instead of licking his shoes and begging for him to let her live….she ignored him. She looked at him with defiance and pride, her chin straight and her back unbending, her gaze locked right on him like she was his fucking equal….

And Jungkook, he’d taken a lot of insults. Taken more than his fair share of hits in life …..

But when she looked at him like that , like he was something stuck to the bottom of her shoe….

Fuck it drove him wild with fury.

It made him want to teach her a fucking lesson, to remind her that he owned her because he owned everything. To break her down, snuff out the flames of defiance that burned so bright in those ember eyes… Take her into his bed and brand her with his body. Till she was on the floor, on her knees covered in his spit and cum begging for mercy….

Because no one looked at Jeon Jungkook like that and lived to tell the tale..

“Seokjin’s here. Landed in Korea a couple of hours ago. ” Yoongi said casually and Jungkook smiled a bit at that. He loved his older brother, technically a step brother and growing up he had only saw him when he visited his mother in China. That meant a couple of months a year and now as adults,  a bit more often because Seokjin loved Jungkook and liked to visit him often.

Seokjin was a celebrity trainer, working with actors and athletes and he did a good amount of modeling as well. He was rich,  handsome and well liked and the only thing that gave away the Jeon blood in him was the fact that he was a sexual sadist.

The face of an angel with a devilish streak, he had a penchant for sadism and inflicting pain on his partners and while Jungkook didn’t particularly enjoy indulging him, he knew there were women who were into that and usually had them arranged for when Seokjin dropped by in Korea. His hyung’s visit seldom lasted more than a few weeks at a time and it was a pity that he would miss out one whole week of it .

But the issue in Switzerland was a little pressing and Jungkook had to be there in person to sort it out.

He leaned back against the seat, staring out of the window, sighing.

“An unsullied dove ….What the fuck is this shit..” Yoongi muttered and Jungkook turned, curious.

“What?”

“Hoseok’s been hyping up some new girl for the auction and Seokjin hyung’s bidding on her.”

Jungkook laughed at that.

“Jungkook…..” Yoongi’s voice is completely stunned, his eyes confused as he looks up at Jungkook.”  Its Elena.”

Jungkook’s thought process came to a grinding halt.

There’s a sound between his ears, a dull rushing sound like the wind in a storm and he can’t quite comprehend what he just heard. Even Namjoon who had been buried in his laptop , looked up then, tugging an airpod out of his ear.

“Wait…did you say Elena?” His eyes were wide , lips parted in shock. Yoongi and Namjoon exchanged glances, no doubt bracing themselves for the explosion that was to follow.

Jungkook took a deep breath.

“Turn the fucking plane around.”

That jolted Namjoon out of his stunned stupor..

“Turn-? Jungkook what…. We’re on a fourteen hour flight-“ Namjoon began but the look on Jungkook’s face made him stop.

“DID I FUCKING STUTTER?”

Namjoon swore.

“Fucking hell… alright just calm the fuck down, Jesus…just put a fucking bullet in that girl’s head and spare us all the headache fuck…” He growled, unbuckling his seat belt and rushing to the cockpit and Yoongi groaned.

“ Let me guess you want me to get in touch with someone in Seoul and ask Hoseok to hold off on letting Seokjin near her…”

Jungkook glared at him.

“If you already know that why the fuck are you still here…” He growled and Yoongi gave him a look.

“Just tell her you’re in love with her and let us live, Jeon Jungkook.”

In love….. what the fuck….

He glared at Yoongi’s back, his asinine words making him madder. God he wanted to crush someone’s skull into dust with his bare hands.

And right now, in his head , that skull belonged to Jung fucking Hoseok.

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

 “What just happened?” I asked, frantic staring at the door as Hoseok’s men casually led a fuming Seokjin away while the man himself stared at me, looking pale as parchment.

“ Jungkook found out.” He said shortly and I felt my heart drop although I was half relieved because there had been something insane in Kim Seokjin’s gaze when he’d reached for me , a cruel glint of hunger that told me he would have hurt me really badly if Hoseok hadn’t barged into the room , frantic and worried.

He had given Seokjin a wide smile and then, “ I’m so sorry. We were waiting on her blood results and turns out she has a…. well, certain occupational disease that is very infectious.”

Seokjin’s mouth had dropped open even wider than mine.

“I thought she was a fucking virgin.” He had snapped, and I flinched at how cold and furious he had sounded.

But apparently there was a reason this whole thing had happened.

“What do you mean Jungkook knows? What does that mean?” I asked frantically, fear taking over.

“ He’s heading back here… He wants to see you.”

I felt my entire body go ice cold as I shook my head…

“No…fucking no bring Seokjin back here , he can fuck me that was the fucking deal, Hobi, please don’t../…”

“Elena , I’m so fucking sorry.. Seokjin…he’s fucked in the head…. He likes hurting his whores, likes making them bleed and he would have fucking destroyed you…”

I gaped at him horrified.

“What?!” I hissed shaking my head in disbelief.

“He’s Jungkook’ stepbrother. I’ve arranged whores for him before, I knew he was a little crazy but I’d never seen him before and I didn’t know he was the Kim Seokjin…fuck he outbid everyone and fucker looks like a fucking angel, how the fuck was I supposed to know he’s unhinged? Thankfully, I messaged Yoongi and …. Fuck… Listen… I know I paid for your sister’s surgery but you’re going to have to pay me back….”

I felt my body convulse in rebellion.

“I can’t.. You know I fucking can’t…”

“I can’t make an enemy out of Jungkook…. I can’t.” Hoseok shook his head. “ You can get out of here now if you want but I’d advise you to stay. If you run it’s only going to make Jungkook angrier.”

“WHAT DID I FUCKING DO TO HIM?!!!” I screamed, feeling my composure crumble into smithereens. “WHAT THE FUCK DOES HE WANT FROM ME?!!”

Hoseok flinched, stepping back and holding his hands up.

“Whether I want to or not, I answer to Jungkook.  I shouldn’t have done this in the first place , I’m sorry Elena.” He shook his head and stepped back like the coward that he was and I wanted to hurt him. To shake him and ask him to fucking remember who I was. That I had nothing to do with my father’s sins . That I had been a fucking marionette in his hands, had wanted nothing more than to be left alone.

I stared at him in disbelief.

“So much for being a friend…” I whispered.

His jaw tightened. But he didn’t look guilty. None of them ever did. It was like guilt didn’t exist in their world. They did what they wanted to whoever they wanted , whenever they wanted and they got away with it because that bastard’s word was law. What Jeon Jungkook wanted, he got.

“I’ll get your clothes sent in.”

I watched him leave, the door slamming shut behind him and sagged against the bed, staring at myself. What had just happened?

Was I born to endless misery and misfortune?

Couldn’t I catch a fucking break?

I’d agreed to sell myself hadn’t I? Would have even let Seokjin hurt me if that was what he wanted. Because it was one night. It was one night of this…whatever the hell this was and then freedom. That was the deal.

The door opened again and I stared as a young girl brought me a pile of my clothes neatly folded.

“Do you work here?” I said sharply.

She blinked before bowing her head.

“Yes, mistress.”

I scoffed.

“Don’t call me mistress , I’m here to get fucked, just like you. Tell me does Jungkook ever use the women here.” I demanded.

She looked trapped, glancing at the door, clearly wanting to run .

“Tell me.” I snapped and she flinched.

“I..uh..yes. Sometimes.” She said softly.

“Can you tell whoever fucks him next to kick him in the fucking balls?”

The girl bowed deeply and all but ran out and I sighed, feeling myself shaking. Jungkook was on the way here and I wanted to yell and scream and rave at him but I knew that was exactly what he wanted. I wanted to deny him the satisfaction …wanted to act all cool and composed in front of him but it was impossible…

Because I hadn’t realized just how tired I was of this whole thing, till right this moment, when the end had been in sight. I was supposed to get my two billion won pay off all the debt , give Jisoo the rest of the money and disappear. I was so tired, so tired of this life I’d gotten trapped into, slaving over for hours on end just to afford a couple of meals a day. No friends, no boyfriends, no hope of a future …..

The door banged open and I jumped, crawling back when I recognized the man who had just entered.

“Yoongi-“

“Jungkook wants to see you.” He ground out and I swallowed.

“I need to get dressed. Please just wait outside.” I said shakily.

And then the door opened further and a tall looming shadow stepped in familiar and vomit inducing.

Jungkook looked livid, piercing glinting through the dimply lit room and I stared at him. He was dressed in a tight black t shirt, he sleeves stretched thin over his biceps and the tattoos stark against his skin.

“Leave us.” He said softly and Yoongi moved away to the door leaving me alone with the devil himself. I cursed myself for not putting at least my panties on, I was naked underneath this shirt and although it was big it left nothing to the imagination.

Jungkook’s eyes raked over my form before resting on my face.

“You think you’re smart enough to outsmart me, Elena?” He whispered softly.

I swallowed.

“Send you brother back in. He can fuck me and I’ll pay you back.”

Jungkook hummed, stepping closer and grabbing my clothes from the bed, he grabbed the plain white bra and the pastel pink underwear and then to my complete and utter mortification he brought the clothing up to his face, breathing in .

“Fucking pervert!!!” I screamed, feeling the action like a physical touch and wanting to claw his eyes out and the smirk on his face told me that this was exactly what he wanted but I was too fucking gone to care.

“If you want me to be a whore, fine. I’ll be a whore. But on my terms…” I spat out and he shook his head, laughing.

“I don’t just want you to be a whore, Elena. I want everyone to know that you are one…” He dropped my clothes and moved closer, holding a hand out. “ Come here.”

I stared at the inked fingers, adorned with sterling silver rings and bracelets with the motifs of his gang. I shook my head.

“No. I’m not playing this game with you.” I turned my face away.

His hand shot out gripping my upper arm with enough strength to bruise and I screamed, agony shooting up my arm and shoulders as he dragged me off the bed and onto the floor. I landed hard, hips and elbows bruising from impact and I stared at him in disbelief.

“I’ve been to gentle with you. You’ve forgotten your fucking place.” He bent over and grabbed me by my hair, yanking me to my feet so hard that it felt like my scalp had been ripped away from my skull.

“Okay…okay…Okay Jungkook..just…!!” I said softly, flinching because my pain tolerance was almost zero and Jungkook’s grip was so hard that my eyes were beginning to water now. He let me go, grabbing my panties off the floor and tossing them at me.

“I’m going to count to five. Put those on and get out.”

He walked out of the door and I stumbled a little fumbling with the fabric before quickly, slipping my legs in and yanking it up to my waist. I made to put on something else but his voice came, loud and impatient.

“Get the fuck out here.”

I walked out of the door and he was standing there next to Hoseok. I couldn’t meet either of their gazes , hating how they had so much power over my life. I stared at the floor. It was tempting to yell at them and scream but that never led anywhere.

“ I’ve asked them to stop the payment on the Hospital bill. Seeing as Elena hasn’t kept her end of the bargain.”

I felt my breath hitch at that, willing down the tears as I glared at him.

“What do you want?” I snapped. “ Tell me who you want me to fuck…. I’ll do it. Let’s get this over with so you can go back to whatever sewer you fucking climbed out of. ….”

Hoseok’s breath caught like he couldn’t believe what I’d just said and the look in his eye was a warning but I was sick of this. Sick of them all.

Jungkook turned to Hoseok with a laugh.

“You see hyung? See why I can’t let her go? If I let her scot free, everyone’s going to think I’m a pushover….that any worthless bitch can talk to me any way she wants and get away with it….” He shook his head, staring at me with a glint in his eye. “ I’m not going to choose. They are. You think you can charm your way into Hoseok’s heart and get special treatment? You think you’re ready to be a whore, Elena? Let me show you how a real whore gets treated in Hoseok’s club.”

He gripped my wrist, yanking me behind him as he stalked off down the narrow corridor that opened up into the club. I let myself get dragged out into the club dismally aware of the fact that I was wearing nothing but Hoseok’s shirt. I could feel eyes on me but I kept mine on the back of Jungkook’s head as he dragged me all the way to the front. I knew what he was going to do and at this point I was just numb.

There was no point reasoning with the devil.

I glared at him as he pointed at the stage. “ Get up there.” He whispered harshly.

I stared back at him, not moving. I saw Jungkook’s jaw clench.

“Either you go up there by yourself, with your clothes on. Or I carry you up there, after stripping you naked. What’s it going to be? ”

I glared at him, pursing my lips before climbing up using the small stair in the side. I moved to the center, right in front of the stage lights, so the rest of the room would disappear. I had no wish to see any of the bastards in the room.

“I think all of you recognize this little beauty here, don’t you?” Jungkook’s voice was cheerful, friendly even and I bit my lips, fists clenched. “ Well, if you don’t let me tell you . This is Gong Hyo Suk’s daughter. Remember that bastard? He put a hit out on my father. Killed him and my mom on the night I was supposed to be marrying his fucking daughter. A daughter who later called off the wedding, because I was too poor now, to give her the life she deserved. ”

I felt the familiar ice cold guilt in my vein. I was seventeen, I wanted to scream. I was seventeen and all I did was say what my father asked me to say, do what my father asked me to do.

“ That was nine fucking years ago… and you know what I told myself…. I told myself, that a greedy little bitch like this, doesn’t deserve shit.” He laughed. “ If money’s what she values the most, then the only thing she deserves is to be treated like the whore she is.”

“Why don’t you guys tell me, how much money you’d be willing to spend, to fuck her? Come on, Hobi’s been treating you guys so well lets help him make some money tonight… be generous. ”

I could barely hear what they were calling out but when Jungkook climbed onto the stage next to me, I jumped. Moving back instinctively, I winced when brought a forearm around my throat nearly choking me as he dragged up against his body.

“90 million won….That’s a lot.” He grinned. “ Jihan hyung….. that was you right? You’re gonna pay 90 million won for her?”

I felt my heart race, it was a lot. More than enough for the Hospital Bills, would even leave extra to get a decent apartment somewhere... I grabbed his wrist as it pressed into my throat, trying to pull his hand off me but he just wrapped his free hand around my waist, wrapping his entire body around mine and chuckling into my hair.

Jungkook pressed his head against mine and I froze, hating the close contact.

“Okay…but since I’m feeling a bit left out here…Why don’t I pitch in… 500 Won.” Jungkook said loud and clear.

I froze. An eerie silence fell over the club, laughter stilling and the clink of glasses slowing down.

What.

I struggled to get away from his but his hold tightened.

“Anyone else?” He called out. “ Come on… Not even thousand? Surely you think this one here’s worth a thousand won? Aren’t you going to outbid me?”

No one responded of course they didn’t. Jungkook’s anger was palpable and no one was going to get on his wrong side …..

“Ahh… is that it then? Bid’s going to close for 500 won then…. Hear that baby?” He whispered against my ears and I swallowed. “ 90, million won to five hundred won in a few seconds… What does that tell you?”

“It tells me you’re a fucking psychopath in love with your own voice… Get off me.” I hissed.

“No. What it tells you is that only I get to decide how much that body of yours is worth, not you. . You don’t get to go sell your fucking body behind my back for two billion won and then pay off all your debts and ride off into the sunset, that is not how this works….”

I went limp in his arms fighting tears because he never played fair. Never.

“Hear that Hoseok-ah… I win her for the night for 500 won…fair and square…. Is that alright?” He called out into the darkness and I felt the first inkling of dread begin to seep in.

“No.. No… get off me.” I hissed and he laughed, dragging me off the stage with ease. I screamed, kicking out in disbelief.

Jungkook grinned at me, before grabbing both my arms and yanking them behind me, and I whimpered, unable to move as he easily pulled me along to the door that opened into the hallway. Behind us I heard Hoseok’s voice.

“Jungkook, don’t be impulsive. Think about whatever you’re going to do.”

I flinched at that, panic building.

“He’s not going to do anything. I’ll fucking kill him if he touches me , I-“

“Shut the fuck up, you little bitch.” He shook me hard till my teeth rattled and I sobbed out.

“Jungkook…” Hoseok warned but he merely snarled.

“I know what I’m doing hyung, just…. Don’t disturb us. And make sure everyone here knows that she’s open for business.” It was loud enough to carry through the club and I felt humiliation burn my throat, acrid like acid.

I froze in disbelief.

“Jungkook …” Hoseok’s voice held a tone of reproach.

“ And tell them that her body is amazing. Tell them she spent the night with me , the best fuck I’ve ever had , mouth made for cock.”

I stared straight ahead as he pulled me all the way to the room we had left earlier and I tripped when he shoved me inside, landing on my hands and knees . I quickly rolled back around to land on my ass, crawling back as he slammed the door shut and locked it from the inside.

He stared down at me, mouth grim.

“You do owe me a wedding night. I was so ready to fuck your tight cunt, nine years ago… I think I’ve waited long enough yeah.”

I stared at him in disbelief. I knew exactly what he wanted me to do, to yell and scream and protest and fight so he could get off and forcing me…. Fucking psychopath.

I took a deep breath and nodded.

“If you pay for my sister in laws bills, and give me an apartment sure. “ I shrugged. “You’re not any different from any of the bastards here. I don’t give a damn which one of you idiots wants to rut into me like the absolute animal that you are…. I don’t care…” I said softly.

“you don’t? Really? You want me to tell you what your brother said when one of my men put a gun into his mouth…. He begged for his life…said he had a kid on the way….” Jungkook laughed, shaking his head. “I told him it was better than what his father did…. My sister was six months pregnant when his lieutenant gunned her down on the streets.”

I shuddered, wrapping my arms around myself.

“Why are you telling me this…” I snapped.

“Because she didn’t deserve it did she, Elena? She didn’t fucking deserve to die like that , like a dog on the street when she had nothing to do with any of this…. She didn’t deserve it.” He growled, bending down and gripping my chin hard.

“Maybe she did deserve it.” I spat out. “ If I deserve to be here, maybe your sister deserved to die too. “

He snarled, hand flying to my hair and dragging me up off the floor in one sharp yank. I whimpered as he pushed me on the bed, before climbing on top of me. I felt like every bone in my body was about to snap in two, the weight of him unbearable on me.

“I won the bid tonight…. I won it fair and square… You signed the waiver didn’t you…that you agreed to the auction…I won and I’m going to fucking collect.” He growled, and I kicked out, trying to buck him off of my body.

“Get off me.” I hissed. “ I’m not letting you fuck me for 500 won.”

“How about for your Jisoo then?” He whispered and I went still.

“What?”

He chuckled, reaching down and I felt my pulse pound as he pulled his phone out, dialing quickly and turning on the speakers.

Yoongi’s voice made me go ice cold. Everyone knew what Yoongi did for Jungkook.

“Daehwan’s wife is in a hospital room in Yongsan. Hobi’s got the details. I think she’s served her purpose.”

“No!! JUNGKOOK NO!!” I  screamed , thrashing so hard my head began to spin but he grunted pressing down into me harder.

“Are you serious? I’m not home yet… I can take care of it tonight.” Yoongi said, voice casual and I sobbed, shaking my head in sheer terror.

“Okay… I’ll behave.. I promise.. please just don’t…”

Jungkook hummed.

“Well, that was easy… Yoongi-yah… why don’t you stay on the phone yeah…. Going to get that wedding night I’m owed and if my baby doesn’t co operate you know what to do, yeah?”  

I bit my lips, glaring into the sheets as he gripped my waist, pulling me up.

“Ass up like the bitch that you are, baby.” He whispered and I felt my entire body shudder in disgust. It was worse because I hadn’t done this before. Didn’t know what to expect. But I couldn’t let him know that. If Jungkook knew that I was a virgin, I could just imagine how much fun he’d have with that info.

Hands gripped my wrists, pinning them to the bed and I turned my face away when I felt the press of his lips on my cheeks. He gripped both my wrists with one hand, keeping them pinned over my head and I flinched when I felt his fingers pulling the fabric of my panties aside, just enough for the blunt head of his cock to press against my slit.

“Yoongi, you there?” Jungkook said softly and Yoongi grunted over the phone. I felt my face flame in embarrassment.

“You’re a sick bastard but I’m used to it. What’s up?” he said casually.

“Remember how we used to wonder just how tight Elena’s cunt was… back when we were in school.”

Fucking monster, I thought in disbelief. I hate him I hate him I hate him….

“Good times…” Yoongi chuckled lightly .

Jungkook pushed into me in one hard thrust and pain shot straight up my spine, my insides burning like he’d fucked me with a knife and not his body. I couldn’t stop the cry of agony that got torn of me, my eyes tearing up and tears spilling over onto my cheeks.

“Damn Jungkook, she okay?” Yoongi’s chuckle made me want to claw his face off, and just the urge to kill was growing inside me.

“Well, I can confirm that it is, in fact just as tight as we thought…” He grunted, thrusting into me at a pace that was inhumane, every push and drag of him rubbing my insides raw and I bit down on the sheets under me, afraid that I would do something absolutely humiliating, like beg him to stop.

“Good, you should let me take that tight ass for a ride someday then. With her permission of course…. I’m a gentleman after all. Big on consent.” He laughed and I swallowed the urge to tell him that I would puncture his balls with a switchblade if he came anywhere near me.  

“Oh, she’s going to do whatever I ask her to….aren’t you baby…” He grunted, “ Turn around so I can see you.”

He pulled out of me, his weight lifting off my body as he moved away. I couldn’t move, limbs numb and insides throbbing in pain . His palm landed on my thigh, hard and the sharp sting of it made me jump.

“I said turn around, I want to see your face when I fuck you.” Jungkook growled. I stayed limp, breathing hard and he grunted impatient, fingers sinking into my hair , yanking me to my knees and the movement made my legs scream in protest.

“How’s she so quiet? You fucked the voice out of her, kook-ah?” Yoongi asked amused and Jungkook pulled me by the hair, dragging me to the center and pushing me down till my head landed on the pillow.

“Hyung you should see her right now, all fucked out …. Like she’s never had a dick in her before.” He shook his head, “ Fucking slut. Take that off and hold yourself open for me.”

I stared at him, uncomprehending and he grabbed both my hands, placing them on my knees.

“Grab your knees and pull your legs back… So I can fuck that tight cunt the way I want to.” He said slowly, like I was a dog he was trying to train and I stared at him , defiantly.

“ Go to hell.” I whispered.

Yoongi’s laughter came from somewhere to the right.

“Your dirty talk needs work, Kook ah… Tell her she’s a precious little kitten and she makes you feel really good…. Bitches love that shit…”

Jungkook hovered over me, grabbing the back of my thighs and spreading them wide enough to make me whimper in pain.

“Is that so babygirl? You want me to tell you that? That you make daddy’s cock feel good?” He cooed, nudging the tip against me again and I had never hated anyone so much in my life. I stared up at his face, and he smiled at me, a cheeky little grin that made his bunny teeth stand out and for a second he looked so deceptively angelic and the glimmer of his piercing caught my eye.

I couldn’t help but swallow, gaze trained on the glint of metal on his tongue.

“You like that?” He grinned suddenly, sticking his tongue out for me to see, I felt my eyes widen at how sinfully good he looked .” Hyung she likes my tongue piercing.”

“Show her how it feels on her clit.” Yoongi laughed and I could barely fully process what I heard before Jungkook was crawling down my body, arms, curling on my thighs and yanking me onto his tongue .

I felt the press of his tongue on my slit, licking right into me and the jolt of pleasure was so unexpected, the pleasure so unwanted and yet so overwhelming and I couldn’t stop the way my body thrashed against the streets, lips parted as I practically mewled out in pleasure.

“Definitely a kitten…” Yoongi called out and I shuddered as Jungkook slipped two fingers into me , the ice cold press of his ring inside me making me jump. I wanted to pull away, grab his hair and yank him off but I couldn’t because it was

“Next time I’ll put the dick piercing in too, yeah? Fuck you with a bit of metal on my cock so you can feel that up there…. ” He laughed into my thighs and I screamed when he bit into the flesh there , hard.

“I’m getting bored… Either turn on facetime so I can at least jerk off to this , or I’m hanging up…” Yoongi called out .

“Hyung she clenches down on me every time she hears your voice… Just stay on for a few more minutes yeah, she tastes so fucking good, I’m gonna cum soon….” Jungkook added another finger, slipping in deep before spreading them apart inside me. I whimpered when he pushed his tongue in between the wet digits, licking into my walls and I could feel the ball of his piercing drag against my walls, ice cold and hard.

Was it fucked up that I did clench down on him again, my body apparently a slave to my base desires even as my mind screamed that he was the absolute worst bastard on the face of the planet.

“Elena, you owe me a blowjob at least for this…” Yoongi called out and I glared at the phone.

“I’ll bite your fucking dick off if you come anywhere near me.” I snapped.

“Fuck, I could get off just to that mouthy fuckhole of hers…..” Yoongi grunted.

Jungkook pulled away, climbing back up over me and lightly slapping my breasts.

“Now, how about you open that mouth and let me fuck it?”

Yoongi snorted from behind us and Jungkook glared at the phone before glaring at me again.

“Well?”

“You want to know how hard I can bite?” I said sharply, the pleasure ebbing away into nothing and resentment taking it place, the momentarily physicality of the situation fading and the reminder of who he was and who I was entering my sex addled brain.

“No.. You’re right…. But you know what, I’m not feeling it anymore. I was right.. you really aren’t qualified to be my whore. Your body…it’s frigid like a fucking popsicle…such a fucking turn off. ” He reached over and hung up on the phone.

“Now…”he whispered, leaning in closer and I yelped, when his fingers closed over my throat..” Shut your mouth and take what I give you like a grateful bitch.”

I swallowed when he pushed into me again, his pace steady as he fucked into me, eyes closed and I realized that he was almost fully dressed having just unbuttoned himself enough to get his cock out.

When he stiffened, spilling into me his eyes blew open and he locked eyes with me, wide eyed and for one horrible second he looked young and vulnerable and hurt.

I blinked as he pulled out, the sticky warm mess of his cum dripping down my inner thighs and onto the sheets.

“Well, that was much worse than I thought it would be.”  He said and I stayed on the bed as he grabbed his phone and buttoned himself back up.

He smirked at me and then reached into his pocket.

I quickly pulled myself together, ignoring the aches and pains and getting to my knees before reaching for my dress on the bed. it was kind of pointless because I still had Hoseok’s shirt on and I wasn’t going to take that off in front of Jungkook.

“Well, I’m a man of my word , Elena so…here you go..just as we discussed.” He tossed a coin on the bed and I stared at the engraved 500 on the shiny surface, feeling my rage swell inside me.

“If you still want to work out a payment plan for your sister’s bills …. Why don’t you come to my office tomorrow?” He tossed his card on the bed before  moving away to the door.

Fucking bastard.

Author’s note : My whole life is filled with regrets . 

[rhysismydaddy]

can you write a canon rowaelin oneshot where aelin’s pregnant and it’s nighttime so while she’s sleeping, rowan talks to the baby through her stomach and sings a lullaby? and maybe add a scene where aelin’s water breaks and rowan freaks out or something?

It was about two minutes before Aelin’s favorite part of the day.

She could hardly wait, but she had to remember to stay calm and still and everything else someone who was asleep would be. 

Luckily, she knew she didn’t snore, so all she had to do was stay quiet and keep her eyes shut.

A small task that became so much harder when--two minutes later, at exactly 10:30 like always--she felt her husband slip into bed next to her. 

It’d been getting harder and harder to actually stay awake this late as her pregnancy developed, but she still found herself fighting the fall of her eyelids every night, despite knowing she should sleep.

Cool air kissed her skin briefly as he settled next to her and kissed her cheek. Like she’d done even before getting pregnant, she turned on her side so he could snuggle her from behind and wrap his arms around her.

This was home to her, here in his arms. 

Rowan’s head tucked into her neck, and she sighed sleepily, something she didn’t even have to fake.

After a few moments, her husband’s hands began to rub over her stomach lightly. 

She was wearing one of his t-shirts, one that barely fit over her anymore, and hadn’t bothered to wash her hair that day, but she’d never felt more beautiful than when he smiled against her neck and started to talk to the child they’d created together.

He silently slipped further down the bed, resting his head on the curve of her hip, but kept himself wrapped around her so she could continue stealing his warmth.

Aelin’s ears strained to hear as he started whispering, but she resisted the temptation to move closer, knowing it would give her away.

“Mommy’s sleeping right now, so we have to be quiet,” he murmured, big hands cradling her even bigger belly. “But soon, we’ll be able to do this in person. You’ll be here by the end of the week, from what they tell us.”

Tears burned in her eyes at the excitement in his voice as he said, “I can’t wait to meet you, Firefly.”

They’d found out they were having a girl two weeks ago, and he’d been ridiculous ever since, buying pink onesies, hanging matching twinkly lights in the nursery, reading a how-to book about raising girls.

But the one thing they hadn’t prepared for was what they were going to name her. They’d argued about it, and then one day he just started referring to their unborn child as Firefly. 

It was a nickname that stemmed from him calling her Fireheart, and it made her almost cry every time he said it. 

“Your mother’s the most important woman in my life, but you... you’re my baby girl.” She could hear his smile. “You’re going to be just like her. You’ll be strong, and beautiful, and will drive me absolutely crazy.”

Silent tears escaped, even as she remained perfectly still. 

“But I can’t wait to see what traits of mine you have, too.” He pressed his lips to her stomach in a feather-light kiss, then whispered, “I love you so much, little Firefly. Now go to sleep.”

Rowan resumed his big-spoon position and pulled her against his chest, wrapping his arms around her to cradle both her and their child. 

“That goes for you, too, Fireheart.”

Aelin grinned and snuggled further into him, murmuring, “I love you, Ro.”

He kissed her cheek. “I love you, too.”

~

“Are you serious?” 

She nodded. 

“You want lemon gelato for lunch?”

Rowan’s brow furrowed, prompting her to ask, “Why not?”

He looked at her like she had two heads. “You hate lemon, babe.”

Aelin groaned, rubbing a hand over her stomach. She’d forgotten about that. “Take it up with her. She’s the one demanding it. Little brat.”

He scowled. “She isn’t a brat. And she can have as much lemon gelato as she wants just as soon as she’s born.”

Her stomach reminded her once again how empty it was.

“Rowan, I swear I’m going to stab you if you don’t go get me something to eat.”

Her husband just smiled. “It’s moments like these when I’m reminded why I agreed to spend the rest of my life with you.”

“A very short life, if you don’t-”

A container of gelato landed on the counter in front of her, along with a spoon. 

With narrowed eyes, she checked the label, then demanded, “How did you know?”

He laughed. “You talk in your sleep.”

“Eavesdropper,” she mumbled, ripping into the container and taking a huge mouthful. 

See, this is why pregnancy was strange to Aelin. Nine months ago she’d hated lemon, and now this stupid container of gelato was the best thing she’d ever eaten.

“I love you,” she said around a mouthful, grinning when he came to press a kiss to her cheek. 

“And now she’s sweet,” he teased, brushing her hair off her forehead. 

Then he went tense, and every bone in his body seemed to still as he said seriously, “Aelin. Look down.”

“I can’t see past my belly, dummy. Just pick up whatever I dropped.”

His mouth opened and closed for a few seconds before he spit out, “You... your water broke.”

She leaned over slightly to look at the floor, seeing that there was in fact a wet spot beneath her. “Huh.”

She took another bite of gelato.

“Huh?” he asked incredulously, leaving the kitchen and starting to run around the house. He threw things in the bag he’d affectionately deemed The Baby Bag, yelling at her to get ready.

She rolled her eyes and continued eating, only pausing when Rowan burst into the room and demanded breathlessly, “What are you doing?”

“Eating. Can you hand me the pizza from last night?”

Because who was she to question her daughter’s cravings?

“Aelin, we have to go! You’re in labor.”

Reaching the bottom of the container, she sighed. Why did they make pints so small these days? “I’m aware.”

“So then get in the car!”

Her always calm and collected husband looked about ten seconds away from ripping his own hair out, which made her smile. “Labor lasts hours, Rowan. I assure you, I have time to eat a slice of pizza.”

“I’ll order you a whole, brand new, hot pizza at the hospital.”

She considered this, tapping her chin. “Fine.”

Then she turned and waddled down the hallway to their room.

“Wait!” he called out, coming after her. “What are you doing? The door is the other way.”

“I’m not going to the hospital in a wet dress, Rowan. It’s called standards.” Ignoring his angry little growl, she changed into a clean dress. “Zip me up, please.”

He zipped the dress in a flash, almost ripping it, then grabbed her hand and started pulling her towards the door. 

“Wait, I need shoes!”

He pinched the bridge of his nose, green eyes bright with panic. “Babies don’t care if you wear shoes when you birth them.”

“If you think I’m walking across a hospital floor with no shoes on... grab those, will you?” She pointed to a pair of sandals, not feeling like bending down to get them herself. 

Rowan roughly put her feet in them, making her frown. “I’m not really appreciating this attitude, you know. You don’t need to manhandle me.”

His jaw was tight from where he was grinding it, but he still sounded perfectly civil as he said back, “I just want to get to the hospital.”

Aelin sighed, patting his shoulder. “It’s been five minutes. We have time.”

He looked a little relieved... until she said casually, “Plus, worst comes to worst, you deliver her in the tub. All doctors really do is stand there and catch the kid.”

His mouth fell open, and the attitude came swooping back in. “I am not birthing this child in our bathtub, woman. Now, you can walk to the car yourself, or I will carry you, but either way we are leaving right the fuck now.”

Rolling her eyes, she turned and slowly made her way to the door, pausing when she came back into the kitchen. “You know, cold pizza actually sounds better-”

Rowan swooped her up, the ten pound bowling ball in her stomach seeming to be no issue, and walked toward the front door. 

“Rowan! Put me down, you buzzard!”

He set her in the passenger seat, gripped her chin, and set a serious kiss to her lips. “You’re so sweet.”

Her hands fisted in the hem of her dress. “I don’t want to go yet.”

“You’re going.”

“No!” she exploded, pushing him away and trying to get out of the car. “No, no, no. I can’t go yet, I need more time, I-”

Understanding dawned in his eyes, and he slipped a hand over her mouth to shut her up. “You can do this, Fireheart.”

She was crying, although she wasn’t sure when that had even started. 

She shook her head.

“You’re the strongest woman I’ve ever met. You can do this. You’re going to be a great mom. I may be freaking out about actually getting to the hospital, but I’m not scared about what follows.”

Aelin gave him disbelieving eyes.

"If I wasn’t sure, one hundred percent positive, that you could do this, then yeah, I’d be scared. But you’re going to do great. I know that, and so do you.”

He took his hand off her mouth, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Sweetheart, you’re great at everything. This won’t be any different.”

That made her smile, even as she rolled her eyes. 

“I am pretty amazing,” she agreed softly.

“Yes, you are. But I’d really like to do this in a hospital room instead of our driveway, and you’re probably half-way dilated by now, so-”

It was Aelin’s turn to cover his mouth with her hand. “Let’s go meet Firefly.”

She didn’t even know the name of her child or how the hell they were going to pull this off, but under the steady weight of his gaze, Aelin knew that no matter what, they’d figure it out together.

~

[winterscaptain]

take the day.

Aaron Hotchner x Fem!Reader a joyful future fic

a/n: a treat for the grown-ups in the room! this was inspired by an ask from many moons ago, and a couple of ideas submitted in the form. i hope you all enjoy, and as always, tell me what you think (and practice safe sex)! this fic contains explicit content and is 18+. minors do not interact or prepare to be blocked! also some tags aren’t working - please double check your urls below!

words: 2.8k warnings: smut (p in v penetration, [consentual & monogamous] unprotected sex, creampie, counter sex, floor sex, oral [reader receiving], very light soft dom!aaron),language, food mention

summary: “if you can’t laugh with your partner during sex, break up.” - my sister-in-law. au!november 2021.

masterlist | a joyful future masterlist | ajf faq | taglist | what do you want to see next?

“Take the day. Nothing’s going on here and we don’t have any cases for once.” 

You tuck the phone under your chin as you pack the last of the kids’ lunches. “Really?”

Emily’s smile is audible through the phone. “Really. It’s Friday, and isn’t Hotch out today?” 

“Yeah, but mostly just to avoid the meetings with -” 

Just then, Jack rockets down the stairs, throws his backpack over his shoulder, and grabs his lunch off the counter. With a kiss to your cheek, he jets out the door with a quick, “Bye, Mom!” 

You blink rapidly, kind of taken aback by the abrupt nature of his departure. He can drive himself to school now, but he doesn’t always take advantage of it. 

“Sorry, Em. Jack just left for school like a damn tornado and I gotta get Isaac out of bed.”

She laughs. “No worries. Swing by my office when you drop the girls at preschool. I’ve got a couple of things for Aaron.” 

+++

When you return, the house is eerily quiet. 

You toe off your shoes and round the corner to the office with an armful of files in your hand. 

Unceremoniously, you drop them on his desk. “These are from Emily.” 

He huffs a laugh through his nose without looking up. “Thanks.” 

With a sly little smile, you leave him to his work. 

Padding across the hall to the master bedroom, you light the fireplace and replace your winter clothes with one of his dress shirts, two buttons holding it closed over the middle of your abdomen, and a pair of fuzzy socks. 

You’re grateful for the central heating in the house. You’d never be able to pull this off without it. 

After you sneak into the kitchen for a glass of water (you know - the ruse of usefulness), you return to him and place the water next to his left hand. He hardly looks up but mutters his thanks under his breath. 

You take your time leaving the office, just reaching the door when you hear, “Wait, hey. Whoa. Back up.” 

You don’t follow instructions, walking out of his office and into the kitchen, making play at putting lunch together. 

A pair of familiar hands slide up your thighs and underneath the shirt.

“Is this mine?” 

You hum in the affirmative. “Thought you’d like it. It looks good on you so I figured it would look alright on me.” 

“Uh huh. Yeah, well, if those were the rules I’d have to hand over my entire wardrobe.” Aaron spins you and presses you back into the island, your back arching as he crowds closer to you, his mouth hovering over your neck. “You look better in my clothes than I do.” 

You hum again, but your brain is too fuzzy to come up with a retort. He laves kisses over your neck, dropping to your collarbone and brushing his shirt off your shoulder. You decide in that moment to let go, relaxing back into the counter and giving him implicit permission to have his way with you. 

“Yeah?” He asks, feeling you sink back. 

You nod, bringing your hand to his hair and pulling him to your lips. “Yeah.” 

With a dark laugh, he turns you around again and snags your hands, pressing them to the cold granite countertop. You’re stretched taut, your legs already shaking with anticipation. 

His hands slide up your arms and over your back, the starched fabric of his dress shirt a delicious texture over your skin. He reaches your hips, his hands wandering under the hem of his shirt and hooking his fingers in the fabric of your underwear, practically tearing them over your ass and down your legs. You step out of them and he nudges them out of the way. 

He kicks your feet apart at the ankles, spreading your legs and forcing your back into a gentle arch. 

A perk of law enforcement training - some moves translate well in the bedroom. 

Or the kitchen. 

You hear him unbutton his jeans and free himself, not even pretending the last half-hour hasn’t been its own kind of foreplay. An empty house is practically an open invitation at this point. 

He runs the head of his cock through your folds, pressing against your clit with every pass. You drop your forehead to the countertop with a whine, letting the cool temperature soothe your heated skin. 

Aaron doesn’t quit rutting against your wetness, only just teasing your entrance before sliding up to your clit again. From experience, you know he could theoretically do this for hours, waiting for you to get desperate, squirmy, and whiney.

It’s working. You wiggle back against him, but his hands cover yours with a smack as he shushes you, his hips pressing yours flush against the edge of the counter. You’re sure the granite against you would hurt if it wasn’t so hot. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” He asks, low and soft in your ear. 

You swallow as his lips wander over your neck and shoulder. “I want you.” 

He hums in understanding, sucking bruises along the line of your shoulder blade. “Do you trust me?”

“Yes.” Your answer is breathless, and you shove your fingers between his from underneath, holding on as best you can. 

“Do you know how good you look in my shirt and nothing else?”

You nod. 

“Do you know what it does to me when you look like that? My wife in my clothes?”

You don’t answer, knowing it’ll only pay off for you. He lets go of your hands and grips your hips, yanking you back toward him. It’s only an inch or so, but you can feel his cock pressed against you, the cold metal buttons against your ass, the coarse feeling of his jeans against the skin of your thighs. 

“Do you want me to show you what it does to me? What you do to me?” 

You swallow and nod, pressing your chest into the counter, bracing yourself. “Yes.”

He lines himself up with your entrance, plenty slick with your arousal - you’re practically dripping, soaking your thighs and the apex of your legs. 

Aaron slams into your heat, all the way to your cervix, with a searing kiss pressed to the middle of your back to smother his groan. You cry out from deep in your chest, drawing it out as he pulls back, dragging against your walls before filling you again, his hips audibly making contact with your ass. 

It’s rare you get a chance like this. Even at night, with the kids’ rooms upstairs, you have to be relatively quiet. Aaron, when he really lets go, can get loud, and so can you, with his encouragement. So, needless to say, your opportunities are few and far between. 

A steady stream of curses leave him through gritted teeth, watching his own hands pull you onto and push you off of his cock, bottoming out every time. 

You’re not even sure what noises you’re making, but there are a lot of them. You unstick your palms from the granite, reaching around to press your fingertips into the part of Aaron’s hip you can find. 

He leaves you then, falling out of your reach as he pulls out and turns you around again. 

Suddenly, you’re over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. 

How does he do that?

The smell of his body wash from his morning shower lingers in the air as he brings you into the bedroom, dropping to his knees on the soft rug in front of the lit fireplace. 

He supports your shoulders as he tips you backwards, sealing your lips in a searing kiss. Your hands are in his hair, more for the feeling of it than for support. 

The plush rug is warm from the fire, a stark contrast to the cool kitchen island. His weight on top of you seems to sink right into your bones, a feeling of safety and love soaking into your skin. 

Much to your chagrin, he’s still fully clothed, his pants loose around his hips and his shirt hiked up to his ribs. You find the hem and separate yourself from his mouth only long enough to yank it over his head and throw it toward the bed. 

He laughs into his next kisses, but it turns into a sigh as your hands run over his sides, pressing firmly into his waist, before dragging up his back and back into his hair. 

“Are you gonna let me go?” He asks against your mouth. 

You shake your head. “Don’t wanna.” 

He laughs, tipping your head back and peppering kisses to your jaw and neck. “Fine.” 

His kisses meander down, nosing a path past the collar and buttons of his shirt on his way to your chest. He pauses at your breasts, drawing patterns with his tongue until you’re taut and puckered under his touch. 

His hands follow his mouth, unbuttoning the two buttons you’d done up to play at modesty, soothing circles into your skin with his thumbs. He reaches your hips and scoops your legs onto his shoulders, kissing a path down the creases of your thighs. 

When he finally wraps his lips around your clit, your hips buck into him. He laughs, sending a buzz up your spine, and locks your hips in his hands, holding you securely to his mouth. 

You resist the urge to bring your hand to your face, letting your whimpers and groans leave you at full volume. One hand finds a home in his hair while the other claws at the carpet. He could probably eat you out in his sleep at this point, what with the way he knows the pace, the pattern, the pressure you like. He’s consistent but never boring, always managing to lull you into a dull hum of pleasure, your legs shaking under his hands, before pulling something that makes you jump and whine. 

His warm breath fans across your lower belly, keeping him centered as he flicks his tongue against your clit, dipping lower to your entrance, sliding back. He sucks your inner lips into his mouth, letting them go with obscene, wet pop before pulling your clit back into his mouth, feasting on you like a man starved. 

You clench around nothing, desperate for him to fill you with anything, anything to ease the want that courses through you. There might be a moment when you ask for something, but you’re not entirely sure. 

He chuckles, a dark and smug sound, but only continues until your center starts to throb, shocking your body with pleasure all the way to your fingertips. Aaron can feel it too, running his hand up your abdomen, reminding you to relax. 

You take the note, slowing your breath and relaxing into the floor. Your grip in Aaron’s hair doesn’t budge, tight and close to the root. 

He’s determined to get you off with his mouth alone, his fingers digging deeper into your hips to keep himself on track. 

The pulse of your walls continues until the tension crawls into the rest of your body. Your shoulders pull away from the rug as your body curls forward, your hips stuttering even under Aaron’s firm grip. Both of your hands wind into his hair and you fall over the edge, chanting his name. 

Your upper body twists, your cheek against the plush carpet as you convulse under his continuing ministrations. Your hips are still locked to the floor under his hands, braced by his shoulders and held by his mouth. You can feel his smile as he rides it out with you, backing off on the pressure as pleasure rolls through you in violent, overwhelming waves. 

Your jaw seems to be stuck open, your eyes wide as you stare into nothing. Aaron slows, the strokes of his tongue long and drawn-out against the length of your sex, before stopping entirely, pressing a kiss right above your clit. 

He crawls up your body, keeping some of his weight on you as he finds your lips again. You’re still boneless, catching your breath, shaking, and experiencing little shockwaves that irregularly catch your abs.

With that in mind, you can hardly kiss him back - instead, passively letting him smother you in affection, vaguely processing the fact you can taste yourself on his tongue. You wrap your ankles around his lower back, and he finally sheds his jeans and boxer briefs. 

“You good?” He asks. 

You nod. “Mhmm.” You reach between your bodies and stroke him a couple of times. “Gimme.” 

He laughs out loud then, kissing you soundly as he slides home. 

You whimper into his mouth, your overheated flesh alive with sensation as he rocks into you, nearly frictionless. He holds you tight, his hand splayed across your shoulders underneath the shirt you’re still (somehow) wearing. 

You let your mind wander a little, combing through Aaron’s hair with your fingers and tucking your face into his neck. 

It’s been ten years with him, almost exactly. You’re a far cry from the person you were then, and you think maybe Aaron is a different man, too. 

Not where it counts though. He’ll always be that chronically-stressed, endlessly-dedicated tightass who thinks too much and speaks too little. If anyone asked, he’s still the smartest, warmest man you know. Privately, you know he’s also the dumbest invulnerable moron who ever drew breath. 

That makes you laugh, and you wrap your arms further around him. He doesn’t stop, but cranes his neck to look at you. 

“What?”

You shake your head, bringing your hands to the sides of his face, pressing a kiss to his lips. “Just thinking about you.”

He laughs a little breathlessly, his head tilting sardonically to the side as he snaps his hips to yours, making you jump and clench around him. “I’d hope so.”

Flipping onto his back, he pulls you on top of him and has the audacity to wink at you. 

The pair of you giggle and laugh your way to your destination. His laughing smothers his curses as he cums, fucking up into you and holding you flush to him by the hips. You follow him by scant seconds, bracing yourself on his chest as you drag out your orgasm, enjoying the rush and the laughter and just being together. 

When you both completely run out of steam, you lift yourself off of him and tip sideways, landing flat on your back out on the rug. 

This poor thing has seen more use today than in its entire lifetime. 

You roll over after a second, propping your head on your elbow. Aaron mirrors you, meeting your eyes. 

“That was fun,” he says. 

You nod, bringing your hand to the graying hair at his temple. “Don’t get too many chances for this kind of fun anymore, huh?”

He sighs and pulls your hand from his hair, kissing your palm and folding your hand in his. “No, we don’t, but it’s…” He thinks for a moment. “It’s nice to appreciate it more than we used to.”

“Yeah.”

+++

You twist back and forth on the barstool, watching Aaron slice an apple and some strawberries. You both did away with the lunch idea, deciding it was too much work to put something together. 

It feels awfully like your first weekend together, the only differences are in the scenery. Even the wardrobe is similar. You’re in the shirt he started in, not much else, and he’s in his jeans, shirtless and barefoot. 

It’s nice to see him wandering around with a kind of carelessness. You’re not sure any of the little ones have seen him without a shirt, not for any real length of time that they would remember. He told you once that he doesn’t want to scare them. 

You reminded him that this is their normal, too. They’ve never known him without the scars so they’ll always know him with them. The little ones don’t know to be scared. 

Still, he’s careful. 

It’s a work in progress. 

“What were you thinking about before?” He asks, rounding the island. He goes to lean on it, but hesitates. “We have to wipe down the counter.”

You snort and take the plate from him, headed for the living room. “It’s been ten years and you’ve never changed.”

He rolls his eyes and follows you, sitting down in his chair so you can sit in his lap, the plate of fruit on the coffee table. “Is predictable so bad?”

“No,” you reply, your eyebrows raised. “I was just answering your question.”

He huffs a laugh down his nose. “You haven’t changed, either, for the record.”

“Is that a good thing?”

With a smile, he pulls you gently by the side of the head, tucking you under his chin. “It’s a very good thing.” Then, almost inaudibly -

“A great thing.”

+++

tagging: @writefasttalkevenfaster @arganfics @angelsbabey @venusbarnes @quillvine @stxrrywildflower @criminalsmarts @genevievedarcygranger @ssaic-jareau @hotchslatte @avengersbau @ssareidbby @qvid-pro-qvo @joanofarkansass @popped-weasels @reidtomestyles @crazyshannonigans @iconicc @deagibs @starsandasteroids @unicorn-bitch @ambicaos @bwbatta @lotties-journey-abroad @ssahotchnerr @unicorn-bitch @capricorngf @zizzlekwum @cevanswhre @this-broken-band-girl @word-scribbless @averyhotchner @reidingmelodies @shesbiochem4 @violet-amxthyst @kelstark@mandylove1000 @sunshine-em @starsandasteroids @roses-and-grasses @ssworldofsw @sunflowersandotherthings @little-blue-fishie @happyvol7 @ssa-holmes @ssahotchner99 @triangularroses @vagabond-ing @itsmytimetoodream  @magic_in_the_eyes_of_the_beholder

[vernonfielding]

No pain no gain

Missing scene fic from Jimmy Jabs 2! This is shameless hurt/comfort (and some mild Jake/Amy Being Serious). Thank you to the lovely and super smart @fezzle and @feeisamarshmallow for the fantastic beta!! Title is more Bash Brothers (from Let’s Bash). 

Read on AO3.

First, Amy runs up to Jake and throws her arms around his neck and kisses him soundly, right in front of the entire squad and the staff and the civilians mingling all around the bullpen. She kisses him until he’s breathless and she can feel the too-fast flutter of his pulse in his neck (which could be from the kiss or the adrenaline, impossible to know).

Second, Amy pulls back and grabs his hand and drags him up, arm circling his waist when he stumbles a little. She takes him straight down the garage, to their sensible and very boring Champagne-colored sedan, and drives him to the closest emergency room.

It’s busy for a weekday afternoon. Every seat is taken, mostly by people coughing behind surgical masks or clutching barf bags and sweating in a way that makes Amy’s own stomach turn a little. A woman in a chair just behind them is pressing a bloody towel into the palm of one hand. A little boy two chairs over has an icepack pressed to his nose and blood all over his white T-shirt.

The nurse at the registration desk glances up as Amy approaches with Jake. The nurse’s eyes flit down to the NYPD logo on their matching shirts and she says, “Injured in the line of duty?”

She’s holding a pen in one hand, poised over a clipboard, and Amy knows her answer now will determine the rest of their day: If Jake was hurt on duty they get a free pass back to the ER. If she says Jake was competing in the Nine-Nine’s version of American Gladiators-

“Yes,” Amy says. “My husband was on duty. He fell.” It’s not really a lie.

The nurse hits a buzzer, and five minutes later Jake’s in a bed, plastic wristband on one arm and blood pressure cuff on the other. The adrenaline’s fully kicked in and he’s gone all pale and sweaty, his blood pressure is alarmingly high, and he can’t stop fidgeting when the nurse tries to put an oximeter clip on one finger. Amy feels a twist of guilt in her gut and chews on a thumbnail.

+++

Amy loves Jake. Full stop. No reservations, no conditions, no exceptions. She loves every part of him -- his kind and generous heart, his ridiculous curls and goofball grin, his exceptional detective brain and his remarkably robust digestive system (given his eating habits). She loves his recent addiction to corn nuts, and she loves that his new favorite beverage is boba tea from the shop around the corner from their apartment. She loves that he didn’t learn the months of the year until he was 12 and that he activates his animatronic fish at least once a week, just to make sure it’s still “alive.”

She loves that he’s going to be the father of her child. She knows he’ll be incredible -- she feels it in her heart and her bones and her blood and and her brain and all the spaces in between. 

(And she still really, really loves his butt.)

But damnit if the man isn’t absolutely infuriating sometimes.

“So, what happened here?” says the doctor, pushing aside the curtain at the foot of Jake’s bed. The doctor is very tall and her hair is pulled into a tight braid that falls halfway down her back. Amy’s glad she prepared for this moment.

“My husband fell out of a ceiling,” she says, throwing just the right amount of sheepishness into her tone. “Also, I used an EpiPen on him.”

The thing is, this is almost too easy, striking the right balance between telling the truth and fudging the embarrassing details in these situations. Amy smiles pleasantly at the doctor when she raises a questioning eyebrow.

“What is he allergic to?” the doctor says, looking between Amy and Jake.

“Bees,” Amy says, “but he wasn’t stung. I had to give him the adrenaline so he could break down a door.”

“I see,” the doctor says, though clearly she doesn’t. But she refrains from asking follow-up questions, which is all that matters. “You know that’s not really how EpiPens work.”

Amy does not tell the doctor that, in fact, the EpiPen worked exactly as they’d hoped. Instead she shrugs and says, “We didn’t have a lot of other options.”

“Well.” The doctor frowns and looks Jake up and down, and makes a note on the tablet she’s carried in with her. “Let’s take a look.”

The nurse who got him settled took off Jake’s sweatshirt, but he’s otherwise still in his tactical uniform, boots and all. Amy notices there’s a bruise blossoming along his jawline and another high up on his forehead. It’s amazing that he didn’t get any cuts or badly broken bones when he fell, but she suspects his ribs are bruised, at least. She hopes it’s nothing more serious, and she recalls one morning years ago, when he came to work the day after hurting himself so badly after chasing a perp through traffic and falling through the open sunroof of a car. He’d insisted to everyone that he was fine, when he clearly wasn’t; at the time, Amy had brushed it off as typical Jake: brash, impulsive, foolish and still weirdly endearing.

She would have said earlier today that Jake wasn’t like that anymore -- that he wouldn’t participate in the Jimmy Jabs, of all things, if he was truly injured. But after everything that he’s said and done today, she’s not sure that’s the case. And anyway, she was pushing him, telling him they couldn’t lose their ridiculous (boring) car to a ridiculous bet in a ridiculous game.

Jake hisses when the doctor bends over and prods gently at his left side. She lifts his T-shirt and Amy winces at the mottled blue and purple bruising. His shoulder is similarly bruised, and swollen, and Jake can’t reach his arm up over his head when the doctor asks. 

“I’d like to get some X-rays,” the doctor says. “How’s your head?”

“Hurts,” Jake says. He’s gritting his teeth and has wrapped an arm around his middle.

“Did you hit it in the fall?” the doctor says, taking a penlight out of her coat pocket.

“I don’t think so,” Jake says. The doctor shines the light in his eyes and Jake frowns but endures it. She asks his name, if he knows where he is and what year it is -- all the usual stuff.

“The headache is probably from the EpiPen,” the doctor says. “But we’ll keep an eye on it.”

+++

The doctor leaves and a nurse returns with a gown and offers to help Jake change. Amy says she’s got it.

“You’re a mess,” she says, quietly, as she takes off his shoes.

She helps him strip off his pants and they both pause to look over the bruised bumps on his legs. A particularly angry-looking lump the size of a baseball is forming on his right thigh, and when Amy brushes the spot with a finger the skin feels hot. Her eyes fill with tears and she blinks and looks away, tugging the pants off his feet when they get stuck.

“I’m sorry,” Jake says, so soft she hardly catches it.

Amy sighs and helps him sit up. She peels off the blood pressure cuff, and slides his T-shirt as carefully as she can over his stiff arms, up and over his head. She unfolds the gown the nurse left them and helps him pull it on, then takes a seat on the bed, at his hip.

“I’m not mad at you for getting hurt,” she says.

“I know I was being reckless-”

“Jake, last month you climbed onto an overturned wastebasket on top of a skateboard so you could hang the new curtains in our bedroom,” Amy says. “And you know what my first thought was, when I saw you up there like two seconds from falling through the window?”

“That you married a moron?” Jake says glumly.

“No -- I thought you were right, that the teal stripes match our bedspread really well,” Amy says. “Don’t get me wrong, I also wondered why you hadn’t just climbed on a chair like a normal person. But I wasn’t mad about it, and I’m not mad about this now.”

Jake looks so relieved, his face going soft and smiley, that she almost feels bad when she takes his hand in hers and adds, “But I’m still pretty pissed that you bet the car. Our car.”

+++

Amy hated Jake for the first two weeks after she started at the Nine-Nine. After everything she’d been through at the Six-Four, Jake came across as just another fucking bro-cop, with his dumb, disarming smile and flirting with witnesses and constant boasting about his detective skillz-with-a-Z. He never crossed any lines with her, but she didn’t peg him as an ally, either.

Then he’d said something, something that should have been totally ordinary but wasn’t.

A man in a suit had walked up to Jake’s desk in the middle of a quiet afternoon, just Jake and Amy and Rosa in the bullpen, and he’d said, “What’s up with all the chicks working here, dude?”

Jake, who’d been leaning far back in his chair, feet up on his desk, eating a microwave burrito for lunch, had said without pause, “Dude, they’re women, and they’re detectives. Now go away.”

They’d never found out if the man was a witness or a lawyer or there to report a crime -- he’d just stared at Jake for a moment, cheeks turned bright red, and walked right out. After that, everything sort of tilted a few degrees for Amy. Jake was still immature and boorish and flaky, but he also became someone she thought she could trust. 

In the emergency room, Jake’s palm in her hand is clammy, and when she presses her thumb into his wrist she can feel his pulse still racing from the adrenaline shot, but maybe also because she’s made him anxious.

“I know, the bet was dumb,” Jake says, but Amy can tell by the edge of exasperation in his tone that he’s thinking they’ve been through this already and he thought they were good.

“Yeah, but you know what really pissed me off?” Amy says. “Hitchcock.”

“Hitchcock? You’re mad about Hitchcock?” Jake says. “But he’s always an ass.”

Amy sighs and pulls Jake’s hand into her lap. “I know, but this time you were kind of an ass too, babe. He was so dismissive toward me, and whatever, it’s Hitchcock. But you went right along with it, and that hurt. It really sucked.”

She can feel Jake’s gaze on her face, and Amy looks up to find him wide-eyed and appalled. She debated all day whether she should say something about how that had felt, because honestly, Jake is good. She doesn’t believe he needs to be reminded that women -- and especially his own wife -- should be treated with respect. But at the same time, she thinks he’d be pissed if he knew she was annoyed and not telling him. 

It’s obvious that this particular hit has landed. He looks away from Amy and bites his lower lip, and she knows he’s feeling devastated. Literally nothing wounds Jake more than knowing he’s hurt or let down someone he cares about.

“Jake-”

“I am so sorry, Ames,” he says, eyes locked on the hand that Amy isn’t holding. “God, I’m such a jerk.”

“You’re not,” Amy says, and when Jake shakes his head, she adds, “I mean, okay, you were jerk-ish. But look, you were freaking out a little and not thinking clearly and it probably didn’t even occur to you how rude that whole conversation was.”

“That just makes it worse!” Jake says.

Amy frowns to herself, because- yeah, it kind of does. “Fine. You were a jerk.”

“And then you had to spend the whole day helping me win,” Jake says, “when you totally could’ve won the whole thing.”

“Well, obviously,” Amy says. “It should be noted that I had fun today, babe. I don’t get to goof around like that as much as I used to, and you know how much I love a competition.

“It’s just- I would have preferred to skip the Jimmy Jabs entirely and go to my seminar.”

Jake winces. “Yeah, I’m the worst.”

Amy laughs at that, because it’s so far from the truth. “Jake, I love you, so much. But you’re not perfect. You’re allowed to make mistakes, even kind of shitty ones.”

“Ames-”

“Also,” she says, talking over him, “I stabbed you with an EpiPen so you could win the world’s dumbest obstacle race. I think that makes us even.”

Which is exactly when their nurse reappears.

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear any of that,” she says, and helps Jake into a wheelchair to take him for X-rays.

+++

Nothing is broken, and Jake’s head is fine.

The doctor makes them wait around awhile anyway, and after five hours in the ER the adrenaline is finally wearing off and the pain pills are kicking in and Jake is dozing. Amy sits in a chair one of the orderlies brought in, filling out crosswords, and secretly she’s loving all of the uninterrupted downtime.

It’s long past dark by the time they’re free. Jake shuffles to the car and it’s obvious he’s still in a lot of pain despite the Norco. He grunts as he falls into the passenger seat and Amy helps him with the seatbelt when he struggles to reach across his own chest.

Amy sends him straight to bed, and while the soup is heating up she texts Terry that Jake won’t be in the next day. She thinks he’ll be okay at home alone, but wonders if she should use a sick day too. Except they really should be saving those up now.

Jake’s passed out again when she carries dinner to the bedroom. She sets the bowl of soup and the glass of orange soda on his bedside table and nudges him awake. He’s still pale and his eyes are red with exhaustion, blinking up at her slowly, and she swears more bruises have bloomed on his face in the 15 minutes since she saw him.

“I’m a mess,” Jake says, and she thinks he’s deliberately echoing her words from earlier. He sounds tired and pathetic.

She sits beside him on the bed and runs a hand through his hair, nails scratching a little against his scalp. Jake’s eyes flutter closed, and she leans forward and kisses each eyebrow, and the outer corners of his eyes, and the tip of his nose. She kisses him on the mouth. His lips are chapped and the stubble on his cheeks tickles her own smooth skin.

Amy pulls back and Jake opens his eyes, looking up at her with something like wonder.

“You are,” she says. “But you’re my mess. And I wouldn’t change a thing.”

[onlytaylor]

Draco, Harry, & Kissing in the Rain

TW: brief mentions of abuse and anxiety, but it’s all fluffy in the end, I promise. <3

Harry ducked sideways, narrowly missing the TV remote that was hurled angrily toward his face.

“Draco, what the fuck!? Calm down!”

The blonde was visibly shaking across from him. “Don’t tell me to calm the fuck down! I have every right to be upset!” Another object from the living room table was pelted in his direction. For the second time that day, Harry hastily lunged downward.

“Can’t we talk about this? Like goddamned adults?” He spat, stupid as ever, almost begging obliviously to push every last one of Malfoy’s buttons.

“Talk about what? About how you’d rather be with Ginny goddamned Weasley? Or Cho Chang? Or any of the other fan girls that send you owls at every fucking hour of the day?”

“It was ONE letter! From a FRIEND!” Harry stomped a foot forward, refusing in all of his stubbornness to back down. Regardless of the consequences.

This was how their arguments would unfold: Harry’s genuine obliviousness to any underlying issue would result in his own defiance to anything Draco had to say.

And Draco Malfoy’s uncanny ability to run on nothing but emotion would drag Harry to his wit’s end, all but pulling his own hair out. There was no logic here. No, the methodical reasoning of Hermione Granger was long gone in this room.

Draco was angry. And when he was mad, he was like fire.

“Did it ever cross your mind that maybe I want friends, Harry? That maybe I would like to receive suspicious letters from someone else in the middle of the night?”

His tone was heavy with the escalation of their argument.

“It was at 2 o’,clock in the afternoon, Draco! That hardly means we’re sleeping together.” Harry’s palm was thrust forward in a frustrated animation of his rebuttal.

“I wouldn’t put it past her. You are the Savior of the Wizarding world. I’m sure she’d love to get into your pants.”

“You’re being fucking ridiculous. And petty. And-“ he ducked once more- “quit throwing things at me!”

Harry was noble, but Draco wasn’t above deceit. And when he was hurt, the untamed Dragon all but broke loose. The worst part was, he couldn’t control it. It was a beast, a ball of anxiety and insecurity wrapped up into one strong defense mechanism at the center of his chest.

And it ruled everything.

He loved Harry. He loved every ounce of that raven haired twat. He loved the way he swirled his tea with a Muggle spoon instead of his wand. The way he drooled on the side of his pillow after a long day’s work. The way his lips pulled upward at the edges when he’d tell one of those ridiculously unfunny made up jokes of his...

He would never be good enough. Harry deserved so much more than he could ever be. An ex-Death Eater, narrowly escaping Azkaban thanks to testimony from the Savior himself. A selfish whirlwind of emotion that refused to keep itself in check.

He deserved someone like Ginny, whose level-headed continuity was an unending source. She wouldn’t yell like this, or throw bratty temper tantrums when she felt threatened. No, she’d take him by the hands, and pull him close...

He’d enjoy it. The mundane reality that was settling down with a witch. They’d have a bunch of red-headed spawns, and they’d have play dates with their cousins...

Draco was an empty seed. A dud. A dead end. Dry and unyielding. A... a failure.

Draco cocked his head wordlessly, tears surfacing at that thought. He was no better than his father. No better than the scum of the earth.

“Now, can you quit being fucking crazy and talk to me?” Harry asked. His voice was calm, and that was the worst part. How chill he could be, when Draco was drowning for reasons he didn’t even quite understand himself.

“Crazy? That’s it. Don’t fucking talk to me. I’m done.” The words were venom, straight from the reptile’s mouth. The beast was awake and in full action. With that, Draco turned on one foot and stomped out of the door.

Harry remained fixed to the floor, unable to follow.

***

It was raining. Of course it was fucking raining when he’d decided to walk out in a poor attempt at making a statement.

That was what he got, after all. Isn’t this what he deserved? For lacking the ability to keep the monster in check?

He didn’t even try to avoid it; instead, he sat down as the rain began to pound harder. It drenched his hair, his shirt, Even his shoes and socks. He was miserable.

He shivered, refusing to go back inside. He didn’t want to speak to Harry- it was easier this way. It was better to build a wall- to feed the monster- than it was to walk back inside.

Goddamnit, why? Why couldn’t he lay down his pride, stand up, stomp through the front door and tell him that he fucking loved him?

Because, what good would it do? Harry would probably just call him crazy again.

And, suddenly, as a bolt of lighting lit up the sky... Draco was crying. There was thunder, and wind, and he was soaked to the bone... and he sobbed. Because he wasn’t good enough. Because Harry deserved better. Because this time, what if he really had ended it all?

Harry would leave. They all leave eventually. His father left. His mother refused to protect him from the man that abused him most.

And now, he could barely pull himself together.

And that wasn’t Harry’s fault, but it also wasn’t something Draco could change. It was a never ending cycle, and, just as the rain fell from the sky, he would battle his own self destruction.

But what if there was something to break the cycle?

What if there was a sword that he could use to slay the dragon? Once and for all?

A dozen cars must’ve passed by at this point, and Draco pondered how every one of them was probably wondering what kind of idiot would sit outside during a thunderstorm. He sighed at his own relentless ability to put himself down before gazing up at the sky. He was alone, but hardly lonely. Every rain drop was here to keep him company.

This was what he deserved.

“Draco?”

The voice snapped him from his reverie, a stark contrast to the sound of the pouring rain.

And there was Harry, standing, quickly becoming as much of a soppy mess as he was.

Draco was lost for words, caught in confusion. Why had he followed him? Hadn’t he done a fine job of pushing him away?

“I’m sorry I called you crazy. You’re not crazy!” He yelled over the pounding thunder, pressing forward with another step.

Draco wasn’t sure if his tears were visible, or obvious at all, but something in him didn’t care. He was done with feeling pathetic. He needed a win. An out. An answer.

“You really would be better off with Ginny Weasley!” He called, the wind whipping his hair, and it was a miracle that he didn’t choke on the words as they escaped his mouth.

“No I fucking wouldn’t! Jesus, Draco.” He took another step forward, closing the distance between them. “You’re fucking beautiful, and amazing. And the only thing I want for the rest of my days. You think I want that life? The suburban, family dream? Ha!” He paused with a sarcastic laugh. “I want to fight with you, Draco. I want to yell and scream and dodge TV remotes with you. I want to spend the rest of my life convincing you that you are good enough, if that’s what it takes. Although you ARE way out of my league, Draco.”

“You’re kidding, right?” He laughed dryly. “You saved the fucking world, Harry. You saved me. And all I was was a coward. I didn’t do the right thing. I don’t deserve you.”

“You did what you had to do to save yourself from your father. And I don’t blame you for that for one second.” Harry’s eyes were genuine and full of a vivid green honesty that he could not refute.

“You are my world, Draco. Even when you’re trapped and lash out. Even when you think I’m your father, and you start to panic. Even when you convince yourself that I’m cheating on you, though I’d die before that happened.” He took Draco’s hands, clasping them as the rain poured down.

“I will never give up fighting, Draco. With you or for you. I’m done with the petty little arguments. This is it. We’re in this, together. For the long haul. Are you with me?”

The dragon loosened its grip. Draco felt his stomach soften.

All he could manage was a nod, insufficient as it seemed.

“We’re going to fail, Draco. We’re going to make mistakes. This won’t be our last dispute.” He gazed down at their hands, then into eyes that were as silver as the clouds pouring down above them.

“But I don’t want anyone but you. Not now, not ever. I don’t want rational. I want insane. I want to stand out here screaming at you in the goddamned rain. I want-“

But he was cut short by Draco fervently pressing his lips onto his. There they were, in the middle of what might as well have been a hurricane. And instead of running, seeking refuge in the nearest shelter... they danced in the rain.

Draco was fire, whipping and breathing with a passion so bright it could’ve been fury. But it wasn’t. It was burning hot red against the beast, lighting and catching until it was consumed by flames. Releasing the toxicity that seeped from every dark corner of its being. It growled, and scratched, and fought for redemption, but all that was left was Harry.

The taste of his lips, warm against his mouth. The striking contrast against the chilling rain. The freedom that came with each movement of their tongues as they danced.

The Dragon was silenced. And it was no more.

And in its place was something more whole. A tingling sensation, a fluttering of wings against his belly. It was beating, and flying free. It was a promise, full and complete and blocking out any and all insecurity. It was freedom; liberation. It was love.

And it almost saved him. But in the end, as he tugged Harry into an embrace, he vowed to save himself. To finish the job.

For himself, because he deserved better than his father. For Harry, because he promised to love him regardless. For the rain, pouring continuously around them and washing everything clean.

And, perhaps most importantly, for the feeling that was evading all darkness within him.

For love.

[natasha-romanoff-deserved-better]

Title: Looking Back

Summary: When you grow up surrounded by abuse, it can be hard to tell exactly what was abuse and what wasn't.

Or, the 5 times Natasha struggles to realize just how fucked up her childhood was, and the 1 time she finally does.

TW: Mentions of child abuse, Mentions of child sexual abuse on #5.

Words: 2,658

1.        

Deliberately ingesting poison is usually something people try to avoid while on missions. Apparently, Natasha had missed the memo.      

             Their mark had been suspicious when she handed him the cocktail. Just as any decent mob boss would have been. Natasha had sensed his reluctance, and so she copied exactly what Clint did for her when he made food or drinks- drank a sip of it herself to prove it wasn’t poisoned.

             It was enough to convince him. And Natasha had smiled, carried on their conversation seamlessly as the pain inside her grew. She’d known the poison wouldn’t kill her, it was one of the ones she had been continuously exposed to in the Red Room training, slowly building up an intolerance over the years. However, just because it didn’t kill her didn’t mean it left her perfectly fine. As soon as the target had crumpled into a heap on the floor, she’d walked herself out of the building and then collapsed in the back ally.

             Clint reaches her as she is struggling to push herself up on her elbows, and wraps an arm around her chest to steady her. She whispers out a small thanks to him, before promptly vomiting on herself, the ground, and half splashing on Clint’s leg.

             She cringes at herself and tries to push Clint away as she croaks out apologizes to her partner.

             “Nat, stop. It’s okay. I’d rather you get it all up now anyways rather than have it damage you in any way.”

             Natasha nods shakily, though she still doesn’t look happy about having to be held up as she vomits onto the sidewalk. They sit there together for twenty minutes, the sun slowly setting around them. On minute eight, Clint had pulled them backwards to lean against a wall while they wait it out, Natasha leaning against him as she gags.

             “Why are you so okay with this?” She asks.

             “Because you’re my partner? And I’m not sure about you, but I’d rather have an alive partner than a dead partner.”

             “Hmp.” She frowns. “Last time I threw up on someone they beat the shit out of me.”

             “I- what?” Clint sputters. He hadn’t expected that from her, but he guesses he shouldn’t be surprised. “Then he was an awful partner and a shitty person.”

             Natasha shakes her head. “No, no.” She moves to sit up straighter, some color beginning to return to her face. “Not a partner. It was one of the ballet teachers. When I was a kid.”

             “Oh.” He tries not to show his horror at this new revelation. He knows her childhood was messed up, that it was filled with awful and abusive adults. But every now and then, the things she says still manage to shock him. He knows she doesn’t mean too. When you grow up surrounded by the horrors she did, the abuse becomes normalized. “You didn’t deserve that.”

             Natasha shrugs halfheartedly. “I shouldn’t have eaten before class.”

 2.

             Clint pulls the blankets tighter around himself as he huddles next to the heater vent. The blankets were wrapped around him in a cocoon so that only his face was peeking out, as if he was a child curled up in a safety blanket.

             Bruce checks him over again before leaning back onto his heels. “Well, you got pretty lucky Clint. This could have been a lot worse.” Clint grumbles at him, but Bruce continues. “I’m serious. You were probably about fifteen minutes away from the starting stages of frostbite.”            

             Natasha hums in agreement from the counter, where she is mixing two cups of hot tea in her and Clint’s matching mugs. “That’s true. Getting frostbite is seriously a bitch.”

             Behind her, Tony snorts.

             “Yeah? And how would you know?”

             Natasha shrugs. “I’ve had it. Nearly lost my right hand. Glad I didn’t though- It would have been a death sentence.”

             Clint furrows his brow. “When the hell did you get frostbite, Nat? You’d think I’d remember that…”

             “You don’t remember it because you weren’t there, Clint. I was eight.”

             “Jesus, eight? What the hell happened, did you get lost or something?”

             Natasha tilts her head. “I mean, in a way, I guess. It was my own fault though. My handlers caught me staring out the window one night during class. So they loaded me up into a car and drove me ten miles out, dropped me on the side of the road. Said if I wanted to be outside so badly then I could walk back.” She shrugs again as she thinks back on it. “It wouldn’t have been that bad if I’d had my coat, but I was still only in my leotard, so I guess that didn’t help any.”

             Natasha finishes stirring her tea and raises it to her lips to take a sip as the team stares at her. She is completely unbothered. It’s Bruce who breaks the silence first.

             “Nat…” He says softly, a frown on his face and eyes gentle. “That wasn’t your fault. They shouldn’t have done that to you.”

             Natasha finally seems to notice the concern on her teammates faces. “Oh,” She sets the cup down on the counter. “No, don’t get all sappy on me now. Looking back it’s kind of more funny than anything. Really, guys, it wasn’t that big of a deal.”

             Steve looks like he is about to argue with her but is cut off by Clint asking for the heat to be turned up. Steve agrees and moves it up a few more degrees, but only after he has promised to not fall into freezing water again.

 3.

               They’d watched Stand By Me tonight, as part of their new Friday night routine in the Tower. Tony starts the conversation as the credit roll, with a tidbit about how at age ten, he and a friend of his had snuck into his father’s lab and accidentally blown a hole in the roof after misreading chemical names.

             The conversation spirals into talks about their childhood friends and adventures. None of them had had too many, but there had been enough. Clint remembers a young girl from his elementary school, named Lilly. She had been the only deaf girl in the school, and it was through her that Clint had begun to learn sign language, a skill he’d never imagined he would end up needing for himself one day. Bruce had known a younger boy, one he seen himself in and had taken up protecting. Steve recounts a fond memory of him and Bucky being chased by a flock of angry geese.

             Natasha, high on pain meds thanks to the recent bullet wound in her ribs, is sprawled on the couch. “Me and my best friend used to steal bread from the kitchens at night. We would pass it out to the smaller girls.��  She smiles a bit at the memory, despite the bittersweet taste it leaves in her mouth. She remembers those nights well. The handcuff key her friend had stolen, the secret glances between them as they silently snuck through facility, their own little hand signals they’d developed so they wouldn’t have to speak out loud during their nightly quests.

             Clint puts a hand on her shoulder, gives it a small squeeze to bring her out of her thoughts. He’s learned better than to ask about her past.

             The others, however, have clearly not.

             “Honestly, I’m surprised they let you guys have friends there.” Its Tony, because of course it is.

             Natasha quirks an eyebrow at him. “Of course they did. Made it hurt worse when we had to kill them.”

             Steve chokes on his drink, and Bruce slaps him on the back. Tony’s face drops into one of horror.

             “Oh, god, Nat. I’m sorry I didn’t know…”

             Natasha cuts him off, waving her hand flippantly in the air. “It was a long time ago. It doesn’t matter now.”

3

               Natasha’s ankle is broken.

             For the most part, it’s slightly her own fault. She hadn’t really needed to jump off the building to avoid the Hydra goons headed for her, but according to her, she didn’t want to risk it. To her credit, she made no sign of her ankle being broken until after everything was said and done and the base cleared out. It was only then did she radio in, asking for Clint to come meet her at her location because she needed help walking.

             They’d made it back to the Quinjet fine, Clint supporting most of her weight. Bruce was waiting for them, and pointed her to the table he had cleared off for her. The medical kit had been pulled out and opened, bandages and a splint sitting out.

             She hoists herself onto the table, ignoring Clint’s offer to help, and hikes her leg up to start pulling out the laces on her boot. Bruce suggests cutting them off but is quickly silenced by her famous death glare.

             She finally works her boot off, only wincing once. Her sock follows.

             Bruce gapes in shock.

             “Nat… your foot.”

             Natasha follows his gaze, no longer on her ankle, but instead locked onto her foot. Her toes are misshapen, knuckles bulging out and joints swollen. Natasha frowns at his concern.

             “Oh, that? That’s just from so many years of ballet. It’s fine.” She shrugs. Bruce frowns deeper.

             “Ballet isn’t supposed to do that to your feet, Natasha.”

             “Well, no, not if you’re not dedicated to it. But I was. Got on Pointe when I was six years old because I was so good.” There’s a small on her lips, almost as if she is proud of the damage.

             It’s Clint who speaks up. “Nat, six? Lila does ballet and I hear teachers at the studio talking about it all the time. You’re not supposed to start until the age of like, eleven, or something.”

             Natasha rolls her eyes. “Well, I’m sure those kids don’t practice as much as we did. We practiced hours every single day. I was ready.”

             “It has nothing to do with skill, Natasha. Kid’s bones are too soft for pointe shoes. That’s why your feet look like that. And you were a child, you shouldn’t have been made to practice for hours every day. This isn’t something to be proud of, Tasha. That’s abuse.”

             Natasha presses her lips together. “It was hardly abuse, Clint. Not compared to-“

             “Uh, guys? I hate to interrupt but, Nat- your ankle is swelling more and more by the second and we really need to get this splint on it.”

             Natasha is grateful for the distraction. She pretends she doesn’t see Clint shaking his head.

5

             They’re all bit drunk, with the exception of Steve, and strewn clumsily around the common area. Tony and Rhodey are sitting on the main couch, Bruce sitting on the armrest to the couch. Steve is sitting on the loveseat, having claimed it for himself as his own special sober island. Clint lounges on the ground, his back leaning against the ottoman. His legs are pinned to the ground by Natasha, who had decided to use his lap as a makeshift pillow. She is nursing her very own bottle of Russian vodka, has drunk more than usual tonight.

             “Sixteen.” Tony.

             “Twenty two.” Bruce.

             “Nineteen.” Clint

             “Also nineteen.” Rhodey.

             “Aha! So I win, then.” Tony does a messy fist pump, accidentally splashing some of his drink onto the couch fabric until Rhodey forces his arm back down and confiscates his glass. “I knew it!”

             Tony turns to stare at Steve. “Nothing to add, Capsicle? You still waiting for the right girl then, hm?” Tony thinks for a second, then backtracks. “Or, man. Or, like, neither. We don’t discriminate here.”

             “No.” The voices comes from below Clint, female and slurred. “You still lose.”

             “Tasha…” Clint warns under his breath.

             She doesn’t listen to him, and Tony ignores a slightly worried look from an unknowing but well-meaning Steve, who doesn’t like where this seems to be heading.

              “Oh yeah? How old were you then?”

             Natasha sits up and levels Tony with a stare. “Eleven.” She deadpans. Then drunkenly smirks at him. “I win.”

             The room freezes, everyone except for Natasha going deadly silent. They wait with bated breath for her to laugh, to say she was only joking, to make up some just wanted to see what you’d do excuse, even if it wasn’t true. But she doesn’t- just continues to stare at Tony as his demeanor deflates at the new information.

             “Natasha.” It’s Steve who speaks up this time, the most levelheaded one of them all. “That doesn’t count. That’s not what we were talking about-“

             Natasha twists to look at him behind her. “Yes, it is. Don’t play dumb with me just ‘cause you don’t like my answer. You,” She looks at Tony, “asked what age we lost our virginity and I answered! I won.”

             Bruce chimes in, coming to Steve’s defense. “That’s not what sex is, Natasha. That’s rap-“

             Natasha rolls her eyes as she takes another shot before cutting him off as well. “It literally doesn’t matter. I don’t understand wh-why you are all getting your panties in twists.”

             Clint stands and moves closer to her. He carefully pries the vodka bottle from her hands before dragging her up with him. “That’s enough, Tasha. You’re drunk.” He turns to address the team. “I’m going to take her to bed before she says anything else she’ll regret in the morning.”

             “I don’t have regrets, ‘Lint.”

 +1

             It’s Lila that breaks her.

             Lila is prancing through the house high on her tip toes, her braids pinned up into a messy bun. She’s wearing a baby blue leotard over some light pink tights, a long run going up the side of her leg where her small fingernails had caught on the thin fabric as she pulled them up. Kidz Bop is playing softly in the background.

             Natasha stares at her from the table, where she and Clint had been going over the latest files before Lila had appeared from upstairs.

             “Nat,” He calls to her, and she snaps her attention back to him. The color from her face is gone, her eyes wide, and he knows they’re not getting any more work done even before she stands up and exits the room in a haste.

             He finds her outside, sitting on the back porch with her knees drawn up and elbows resting on them. She’s staring out into the distance at the horizon, doesn’t acknowledge him as he lowers himself down beside her.

             He knows she’s not going to start the conversation herself, so he does it instead. “What is it?”

             She chews on her lip a second, debating on whether to answer him or not. “She’s so small.” She settles on.

             “Yeah.”

             “I couldn’t…” She takes a deep breath in. “It’s easy to look back and blame myself for the things that were done to me as a kid. At that age, you feel so grown up.” She plucks a piece of grass from the ground, begins shredding it. “But then I see someone- her- and it reminds me how young I actually was. And I look at her and think how... How could someone ever do those things to a kid? It was all so wrong. All of it.”

             He wishes he had an answer to give to her, but the truth is he doesn’t know either. He could make up something about some people having no hearts, could call them evil until his voice gives out, could say something about how fear and greed corrupts people. But they know it’s not true. They had known exactly what they were doing to those kids. They just hadn’t cared enough to stop.

             “None of it was your fault, Nat.”

             She looks over at him for a second, before looking back out towards the sky. She drops her head onto his shoulder.

             “No, no I guess it wasn’t.”

[missbrightsky]

I didn’t know where else to go

Fics Masterlist

Previous Chapter

Chapter 11: Feyre

Prick: Meeting at the compound tonight, 8pm

Darling: I’ll be there. Any particular way you want me to arrive?

Prick: Well I’d never say no to you wearing a coat and nothing else

My vision turned red for a second, ready to tell him to go fuck himself and defeat Amarantha alone. Only my desire to protect my city from her had me texting instead

Darling: No smartass, I mean how do you want me to get there? I can’t exactly walk right in the front door.

A verbal lashing can come later, hopefully somewhere semipublic where I can berate him but not be too tempted to also make out with him again.

Prick: Oh

Prick: I can come pick you up

Darling: Fine, but only because it’s too cold to walk

A cold front had swept in the past few days, causing more leaves to turn brown and fall. The crunched underneath my shoes, a small satisfaction on my daily commute to work.

I gave him my address, cringing slightly that he now knew where I lived. Granted, he could find out on his own by tailing me. Azriel probably already had and passed the information along to him and he was only asking out of politeness.

Prick:  See you then, darling

A string of curse words streamed from my mouth, taking a slight edge off my frustration with him. Lucien looked up from his report, a worried look on his face.

Shit, I held up my phone, “Landlord problems,” I lied. A believable lie at least. Lucien knew where I lived and the landlord I had to deal with on a regular basis. You’d think being a cop would deter the man and force him into action, but Gabe cut from a gelatinous cloth of indifference and alcohol.

Lucien gave me a sympathetic look and went back to his work. The past two days, he had been in and out of the precinct tracking down his CI’s to see if they knew anything about the shooting at the docks. Anytime he brought it up, I forced my face to be carefully blank or vaguely lost in thought, as though I was perplexed too by who could have been behind it. Thankfully, most of the time Lucien was looking at a report or his computer when he talked about it. Even though it was my case too, I hadn’t done any real investigating on it yet. I would need to soon so that people didn’t start asking questions.

Throwing my phone back into my bag, I turned to my screen again, pulling up a search bar. My fingers hovered over the keyboard, poised to type in Amarantha. It would hardly be the first time I had Googled her name, but the precinct was a too public place to risk it.

The first time had been on the subway home from Rhys’s after I slept with him. All it took was her first name.

Search results: 502,000 for Amarantha Bast

The first link was a Wiki page (thank you internet). Clicking on it, I held my breath as it loaded (service was slow underground). The first thing I saw was her picture. Red hair pinned back in an elegant twist. Sensuous red lips twisted up in a small smile. But her eyes, it was her eyes that sent a shudder down my spine. Blacker than night, they absorbed all light, all joy, everything. Scrolling down, I scanned over the basic information, my eyes catching on her age.

Born October 14th, 1982

I counted backwards from the information Rhys gave me. She had been twenty-one years old when she took over Rhys’s country, holy fucking Caldron. What little warmth was left in my body disappeared. If she was capable of staging a coup at that age, what could she do now?

I continued down.

Queen of Hybern

Assumed Office February 3rd, 2000

Over twenty years ago, she wasn’t even eighteen yet. How the hell did she manage that? I skipped the rest of the basic information, wanting to read her bio.

Amarantha Bast was born to King Malcolm Bast and Princess Mara Bast on October 14th, 1982. Her mother died soon after the birth of her only child. Bast assumed her father’s title on February 3rd, 2000 following his death the month before. She was born in Hybern’s capital city of Zensa and continues to reside there to this day.

From birth, she was given the title of Princess Regent, poised to inherit the country on her father’s death. As such, from childhood she was educated in the laws of her country and how to lead upon his death. After assuming the title of Queen, she shut down the borders of her country citing that the Green Death, a variation of the Black Death, had broken out must be contained. It was the same disease that took her father’s life and a third of her citizens.

In a press release at that time, she is quoted saying “The loss of my father and my people have been a devasting blow for me and my country. It is in our best interests to close the borders until the disease is contained. When we have it [the disease] under control, we will consider reopening our borders for travel and trade.”

A few months after Bast closed Hybern’s borders, she also assumed control of a neighboring country, Illyria. In another press release, she stated “Due to the carelessness of some Hybern citizens, the disease had spread beyond our borders into Illyria. In the unsuspecting country, the disease spread like wildfire and has taken out the majority of government officials and a quarter of Illyrians. The prevent the collapse of their economy, I have annexed Illyria into Hybern so that we may share resources in these hard times.” Bast was hailed a public hero in Hybern, Illyria and other nearby countries for her swift and compassionate actions.

From what Rhys had told me, I knew the majority of what she said was bullshit. I had clicked on the link for Illyria, but its page was barebones. Since it had gotten annexed into Hybern, it seemed that most of its history had been erased or forgotten about.

I made mental notes to ask Rhys about his country when I next got the chance. I could do it over text, but the pain in his voice from his lost country and family made me think it was an in-person conversation. Maybe tonight after the meeting.

I closed down the web browser, instead, pulling up the report from the shooting. The file had barely grown in the last few days. Ballistics came back from the site. Your basic 9mm and handguns, fragments from a sniper bullet (that would be Az’s) and… blood. I had forgotten about that. Az had shot one of Amarantha’s men so that Rhys could getaway.

I pulled up the medical report. There had been no body, at least at the scene. DNA tests were still being run, if the guy was in the system, we would know by the end of today. Odds are that he was just some common criminal that got hired for the job. Another dead end.

I stood from my desk stretching and willing blood flow back to my legs. Lucien barely glanced up from whatever had him so entranced. I strode into the briefing room, scanning the board with the Veritas case on it. It was information I had gone over a thousand times in my head, with Lucien and the captain, with half the precinct but before, we were no closer to any answers. Now, I could look over everything with different eyes.

The kidnapping of doctors to find a way to stop the horrible disease that she could release on our country.

The raiding of warehouses to find where Amarantha was storing supplies and weapons.

Last night’s shooting wasn’t supposed to happen and then it was only in self-defense.

I heaved a massive sigh, feeling tired in my bones, in my soul. I was hiding things from my captain, from my partner. I was breaking the law every second of every day for an attack that might not even happen. Yes, Rhys and the others have found weapons they think might belong to Amarantha, but she could just be supplying local gangs. There has been no evidence, no sign of an imminent bioattack with that disease. I had also looked into the Green Death more, but little was known about it since Amarantha had shut down Hybern and Illyria borders so tightly, saying that it was too risky to release to the world’s doctors eager to study it.

More questions than I had mental capacity swirled around giving me a headache. I decided to let Lucien take point on this, staying in the background for as possible. I refused to destroy or alter any police documents but maybe I could give a heads up to the Veritas if anything pops up.

With one last look at the board, I walked out of the briefing room to mentally prepare myself for being in the same car as Rhys, even if it was for twenty minutes.

Next Chapter

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

Hard Choices

Bucky stood in the kitchen sipping his coffee and watching you talk on the phone on the balcony of the penthouse. They’d just moved you in. It hadn’t been long but the place already had little feminine touches that made it feel less like just a place to sleep. 

The modern lines and sleek furniture made homey with a few decorations and some throw pillows. It felt nice now, coming home after a long day. Like sinking into a bath when you were cold. 

Still, there were somethings you hadn’t permitted yet. They hadn’t yet met or even talked to your younger siblings. The ones you’d sued for guardianship of at 18. You protected them like they were your own kids. Even though they were grown now, Tommy was 20 and Kate has just started college this fall. They know you miss them. When you moved Kate into her dorm they didn’t see you for a few days and when they finally came over to check on you, you were a mess.

You’d started crying all over again. In the quiet with no one to take care of immediately in front of you, you’d been forced to deal with all the things you shoved aside. All the pain and all the hurt and frustration. The disappointment of all the dreams you had to give up so Tommy and Kate didn’t have to grow up as fast as you did. You’d told them everything. 

How you’d been in and out of foster care so many times that you knew exactly what the social worker’s knock sounded like. The official sounding click of their shoes on the sidewalk and the jangle of office keys on a lanyard. Your mom’s protestations that she wasn’t high while there was a pipe, still smoking in her hand. The night you’d all almost frozen to death in a van by the river. 

Your parents had just left you there with two-year-old Tommy and newborn Kate. What they’d done it for you didn’t remember but you’d all been so cold. At 8, you’d had to decide whether to freeze to death in the van or risk trying to find somewhere warm to sleep. So you took Tommy by the hand, put Kate bundled in your coat and started walking. You’d found a church. Someone had left the doors to the sanctuary unlocked. It was warm at least and you’d all collapsed into exhausted sleep in a back corner in a pew. Hungry and cold but too little and too tired to look for anything to eat. 

As you got older, you shouldered more of the brunt of managing finances. You dropped out at 15 and worked any job someone would give you. You didn’t know what else to do but keep social workers from sniffing around. Your parents were gone most of the time anyway, and that helped. No one on your block was going to report you as long as the three of you kept your heads down. You thought you’d been so smart, hoarding away enough money for a little apartment. Getting it all set in order and taking everything to an overworked judge. He’d granted you the custody of them and hardly looked at you. Or the kids. All clean and dressed well. Kate had been so sad that no one noticed her new hair bow. 

But money ran out and bills piled up. So when a girlfriend told you how much money she could make in clubs, it seemed like a way out. And it had been. You figured if men were constantly staring at your tits and trying to grab your ass you might as well make them pay for it. You got popular fast. Did some escort work from time to time and special appearances. Ran club nights all your own because you knew everyone who was anyone... And by 22 you bought a bar with the money you saved up. Another risk that paid off. It was putting the kids through school. Helping them get where they needed to go. Making sure they never needed to make hard choices.

______

After that, the boys had decided to keep you. Probably forever. You’d slept that night, sprawled on your stomach between them. You were wrung out and exhausted. Too numb and disoriented from the weight of the grief for all you’d given up to have sex. But they didn’t care. They never wanted you to have to make another choice like that. To feel like all you were was a body. To feel like you weren’t worth it.

_______

When you come in off the balcony, looking like you’re praying for patience because if God gives you the strength you’re gonna need bail, Bucky frowns. “What’s wrong, Doll? Kids acting up?” You snort, “Kate’s not coming home for Thanksgiving. I guess she and some friends are gonna go fuck around in Mexico. She saved enough of her allowance to buy the plane ticket.” You don’t say that it hurts. You don’t need to. Bucky wraps his arms around you gently and kisses the side of your head. “I’m sorry, baby, I know you miss them,” he murmurs. You swallow hard and take a deep breath, shaking your head, “Kate’s an adult. Aside from that, she should go do things. Maybe she’ll learn something.” Bucky smiles a little, “Babe, you can be mad about it. It’s okay.” You shrug and help yourself to coffee, “What good would it do? All it would do is start a fight. Katie will tell anyone who’ll listen that I’m just jealous. Tommy’ll get stuck in the middle and everyone will be miserable and still not speaking to one person or the other by Christmas... I’ll stick with passive-aggressive mom guilt and just make sure my boys all have a nice Thanksgiving.”

Steve paused at the kitchen door and looked from you to Bucky, “What’s he telling you to be mad about?” You shrug, “Kate’s going to Mexico with friends for Thanksgiving instead of coming home.” Steve frowned, “Why?” You shrug again, “I mean, when I was 18 I would have if I’d had the chance.” You sip your coffee, “Is Tommy still coming?” Steve asked, stealing a kiss from Bucky and slipping his arms around your waist. You nod, smiling a little, “He wants to make sure you’re treating me okay... Dunno what the fuck he thinks he gonna do if you’re not.”  Steve smiled a little, “Well, we wouldn’t rough him up too bad.”  You snort, “You’d have to get through me first, boys.”

______

Watching you behind the bar was always a treat. You flirted with them easily. They liked flirting back. Knowing that every male in that bar would kill to get the attention they were getting. Until one day, you stopped mid joke and froze for a second. “Tommy!” You bolt around the bar and half tackle your baby brother as the tall, lanky kid pulls you into a bone-crushing hug and swings you in a slow circle for a second. Bucky feels a pang, watching you fuss at him, adjusting his collar and telling him he’s gotten too skinny. Threatening to cheerfully beat him to death for not telling you he was coming so you could have his bed made up and food waiting. The poor kid just looks so relieved to be home. He thuds his head into your shoulder and sighs. 

Bucky knows his sisters have been dead for years. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t wonder if his sisters would have greeted him like that. It made his miss the sisterly fussing. The teasing. Steve kisses the side of his head and squeezes his hand, “You okay?” he asked softly, “Still with us?” Bucky nodded, smiling a little, “Yeah,” he said, “Just wishing I could have introduced Y/N to Rebecca.”  Steve smiled a little, “They would have got on like a house on fire,” he said. Bucky smiled a little, watching you card your fingers through Tommy’s hair, telling him he needs a haircut. “Yeah,” he said softly. When You turn, Tommy is towering over you, his arm around your shoulder and your arm around his waist, still fussing. Telling one of the girls to put an order for him in, in the kitchen. His favorite thing on the menu. 

Steve and Bucky both get a handshake and a smile when you introduce them. He looks like you. Same soft hair. Same wide eyes. Same nose and cheekbones. His dimples when he smiles are different and he’s taller. Lanky. Could fall through a crack in the floor if he stands sideways. But they can see he loves you. You’re his mom even if you didn’t give birth to him. You get your boys settled with food and something to drink before going back behind the bar. Once you’re out of ear shot, Tommy leans back in his chair and watches them both, “Don’t hurt her,” he says after a long moment. It isn’t a threat. But the promise is clear. If they hurt you he will find a way to hurt them back.” Steve smiles a little. He already likes Tommy. He has a soft spot for scrappy kids. “Son,” he starts, making Tommy twitch an eyebrow. Bucky smirks. He’s seen that look. When Steve had accidentally assumed he’d gone over your head discussing something and tried to dumb it down. It reminded him irresistibly of a tripwire. One wrong move and all hell is gonna break lose. “We’re not going to hurt her,” Bucky said, “Not on purpose.” Tommy nodded, accepting that for the moment. Bucky wondered if you’d ever introduced him to anyone you were in a relationship with. He knew actual relationships were few and far between. 

“So,” Steve said, “How long are you going to stay?” Tommy shrugged, “Just until the day after Thanksgiving... I came early because I found a flight with a stopover to try and get Katie to come home.” Steve nodded, good kid. He assessed. Really good kid. “No dice,” he sighed, “she’s... She’s mostly not happy about Y/N being with both of you. And still running club promotions... It’s not classy enough, she says,” he rolled his eyes. “Like... don’t tell Y/N that? Please? She’d be fucking heartbroken.” He looked towards you and winced reflexively. “How do you feel about it?” Bucky asked. Tommy snorted, “She’s a grown adult. I don’t pay her bills. She can do whatever the fuck she wants.”

Steve smiled a little and nodded. “She gave up enough for us,” Tommy said, “She was on track for a full ride to college. She could have just left us to rot but she didn’t.” He took a deep breath, “I can’t. There’s no way I could ever pay her back for what she did. How hard she tried even when I was an asshole.” He shrugged, “As long as she’s happy that’s all I care about.”

After Tommy had eaten and had some time to get his bearing again, he rolled up his sleeves and started bussing tables. Mostly, he told you when you fussed at him, it was because he was really fucking bored. Really, Tommy told Steve later in the back, it was because he felt like he should. You busted your ass for years to make sure he could have everything he needed. The least he could do was help out when he was home. Aside from that, he’d added, it was a way to spend time with you while you were working. 

Steve and Bucky watched with interest as the pair of you crisscrossed over each other easily. Part of it was practice and part of it was just intuitive. It was fun, listening to the two of you bicker back and forth over the bar. Adding to the din and bringing in tips for being entertaining. 

________

Thanksgiving was quiet. Tommy helped in the kitchen. Mostly by being in the way. He taste-tested everything, whether you wanted him to or not and drove you to distraction, “Thomas Alexander,” you said sternly, smacking the back of his hand, “If you don’t quit it I’m gonna stab you.” Tommy only smiled and cheerfully snagged another cookie. He’d missed your cooking. And irritating you. 

Bucky smiled a little and leaned on the counter. It felt so achingly familiar, watching this scene that his chest hurt a little bit. He didn’t know if he should help you or help Tommy. He settled for being somewhere in between and stole a kiss that left you distracted and a little dizzy, “You can’t stab him. You promised me there’d be no ER trips if I let you cook,” he rumbled. 

Tommy looked away, a little uncomfortable. He really didn’t like having certain images in his head and anything pertaining to your sex life was one of those things. 

“That was one time!” you protest. 

“And it looked like a crime scene in here,” Bucky countered, “Seriously. One little cut. I didn’t know you could bleed that much needing three stitches.”

“Well, it’s not my fault you and Steve both go beast mode on can openers. and we need a new one every 6 weeks.” you pout. 

Tommy snorted, “Sis, remember that one time we got Dr. Pepper on the ceiling when that one can exploded?” You look around Bucky and smile a little, “Did mom ever figure out what it was?” Tommy grins and shakes his head, “Nope. Not a clue. Every time I go over there she mentions it though.” 

“You still see your parents?” Steve asked confused. Tommy shrugs, “I mean yeah. Ronnie and Joe are fucked up but like... They’re still my parents. Kinda. On paper.” You turn back to the stove quickly pretending something needs to be stirred so none of them can see the emotions on your face. “They like to say Y/N ‘stole us’ but like... It’s not like they were raising us.”

Tags: @lancsnerd​ @stevieang​ @golddaggers​ @blameitonthecauseway @qxeen-of-hearts​ @process-pending​ @xmarveled​ @beautybyfire, @etherealwaifgoddess, @mschellehitt, @mistressoftorture @thorfanficwriter, @ctinadiva, @innerpaperexpertcloud @amalthea9

[thewnchstrs]

O’ Death

Pairing: SamXReader

Summary: a hunt gone wrong leads to Y/N finding herself facing Death one last time.

Disclaimers: blood, death, crying

Word Count: 1.5K

M A S T E R L I S T

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

I should’ve known that a place like Tuscaloosa, Alabama would be the place where I’d die.

It was a small town. Quiet. A place so unlikely that it was bound to be my final resting place.

Sam’s screams for me to watch out for the blade was the last thing I heard before it was all I could feel. The quick slice through my shirt, through my skin, the tip of the blade lodging itself in between two of my ribs. Blood instantly began to pool in my mouth as I fell to my knees, my hands shakily cupped under the blade, collecting all the blood that poured from it as if I had the intention of putting it back in.

Sam screamed my name, but I couldn’t hear it. I could only see his mouth move up and down silently and in slow motion. I reached out to him, the puddle of blood in my hands pouring down my arms in rivulets. In two strides, Sam was across the room and holding me, lowering me slowly to the floor.

I looked up at the ceiling of the cabin we were in, an orange light exploding in the room as Dean shot the thing that’d stabbed me. For the life of me I couldn’t remember what the hell we were hunting, I couldn’t even remember why we were in Tuscaloosa, Alabama in the first place. I just knew it was a shitty place to die in.

Dean appeared over me now, too. He said something urgently to his brother but I could only hear Sam. It was always only him.

“Y/N, Y/N,” Sam repeated my name over and over again as he held me. I dragged my eyes to his. Those big, hazel eyes that I was always lost in now seemed like they would be the last thing I would see.

“S-Sam,” I gurgled out, my voice sounding rough to my own ears. Tears fell down Sam’s cheeks as he held me tighter, his tears hitting my chest, “i-it’s o-okay.” 

Sam shook his head, tears flinging every which way, “No. No, not like this.”

I shakily reached my hand up toward his face, feeling my body teetering on the edge of unconsciousness, my vision going black at the corners. I held his face in the palm of my hand, my shaking thumb wiping away the tears as he leaned into the touch.

It was the last thing I felt, his tears against the palm of my hand. 

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

In an instant, the searing pain in my chest was gone. I looked down at myself, running a hand over where the blade used to be, only to be met with a gaping hole in my shirt. 

“You’re early,” a voice said from behind me, making me whip around. I stared at Death who watched me, a twinkle in his eye as he stared back.

I raised my eyebrows, “Early?” I asked, willing myself not to look at my dead body, “I don’t know, I think for a hunter I made it pretty far.”

“You’re 28, Y/N,” he pointed out, making my heart ache. I had died time and time again but I knew that this time wouldn’t be like the last or the time before that. I knew this was my last run, my final hunt. I’d always said that once my time came, I’d be ready, but now that that time is here, I’m not so sure, “that’s young, even for a hunter.”

I finally gained enough courage to look down at my body that lay lifeless on the floor. I was so incredibly pale, the life and blood, drained out of me. My eyes stared motionless at Sam, the color already fading from them, too.

Sam and Dean surrounding me, relentlessly trying to bring me back. I watched them scramble. Dean pressed down hard on the wound in my sternum where the knife had been lodged, trying his hardest to stop the bleeding even though he had to have known I was long gone. I felt a twinge of pressure on my chest, hovering my hand over it. Sam shouted my name, begging me to come back. I tore my eyes away, unable to watch as he broke down.

“Will they be okay?” I asked. Death looked over my shoulder to the scene unfolding behind me, his eyes flicking back to mine.

“That’s what you want to know?” he asked, “Most people’s first question is where they’re going next.”

I scoffed, shaking my head as I thought about my life. The things I’d done, the demons I pissed off enough to figure that even if I did somehow make it to Heaven, they’d probably find a way to snake their way up there and tear me a new one, “Yeah, well, I’m pretty sure I know where I’m headed. Looking forward to getting a tan.” 

I gave Death a tight lipped smile as I held back my pain, an inkling of hope somewhere deep inside me that Hell wasn’t where I’d end up. That maybe I’d done enough good to balance out the scales of justice, that hopefully I had lived a life worthy of going to Heaven.

Death tightened his grip on his cane, “They’ll try to get you back,” he said, answering my last question, “they’ll call every demon, try every spell, read every book they can find to get you back, I’m sure. But, in the end, they’ll be okay.”

I felt a weight lift off my shoulders, turning to look back at Sam who was now holding my body close to his chest again, rocking me back and forth as Dean watched on, his arms up to his elbows soaked in blood. He slumped forward, his eyes sad as they came to the conclusion that I was really gone.

“Can I say goodbye?” I asked, turning back to Death, my throat constricting.

I could tell he’d gotten the question numerous times but nonetheless, he nodded me forward. I swallowed past the lump in my throat, squeezing my hand into a fist as I slowly walked toward Sam, squatting down next to him. 

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered into my hair as he held my body, his tears hitting the top of my head, “I’m so sorry.”

I clenched my jaw as I wrapped my arms around his shoulders, praying that maybe he’d be able to feel that I was there. I closed my eyes, resting my forehead against his temple before kissing it. I smiled through my tears as I took in his face one last time, streaked with blood, sweat and dirt, streaks of tears rolling down his face. I ran my thumb over his cheek, wiping his tears away. 

“I’m okay, Sam,” I reassured, my voice breaking, “you’ll be okay, too.” 

I tried to remember every moment I had with him, tried to bottle it up so I could keep it forever. Sam loved me in a way I never thought could be possible. So fully and so deeply, I was sure I didn’t deserve any second of it. He taught me it was okay to let others love me, that it’s okay to let yourself feel that love because there was always going to be someone out there who was more than willing to give it.

I smoothed back Sam’s hair, smiling at the memories of him and I, “I love you, Sam.”

I tore my eyes off of Sam to look over to where Dean continued to sit silently. I kissed Sam’s cheek one last time before stepping over my own legs, crouching down next to Dean. I watched the scene in front of us. Sam, his shoulders shaking as he curled his body around mine. 

Over the past ten years that I’d been with the Winchesters, Dean quickly became not only my best friend, but my brother. He was the one who took me in after my family had been killed, taught me the ropes on how to hunt and kill the thing that took them from me.

“You have to watch out for him,” I said to Dean, my heart breaking. I knew Dean would find a way to blame himself for this, to take it upon himself to feel guilt in every inch of his bones, “he needs you. I won’t be there for him when he-” I could hardly get my sentence out, tears pooling in my eyes. I quickly wiped them away with the sleeve of my jacket before squeezing Dean’s hand, “Thank you, Dean.”

I took one last look at them before standing, not turning back because I feared that if I did, I’d never be able to leave that room. I stood before Death who patiently waited, “I’m ready.”

Death smiled softly, nodding once before placing a hand on my shoulder.

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

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[keelywolfe]

FIC: In Sickness...

Summary: It’s difficult to handle when someone you love is sick. Edge does the best he can. 

Notes: You can either thank or blame @cheapbourbon for this one, either response is probably appropriate. They were very hopeful for an expansion of this drabble here, and I am nothing if not obliging.

Warnings: Illness, hospital setting, hurt/comfort, good ending. 

 Also on AO3

By Any Other Name Masterlist

~~*~~

Edge knew something was wrong the moment he walked in the door. His coat was only half-off when he noticed Stretch sitting on the end of the sofa, watching the television with an oddly subdued air. He hung his coat in the closet before going over to him, wondering if he was simply having a bad day, and pressed a soft kiss to his skull.

The near-scalding temperature against his teeth made him frown, and he switched to press his wrist against his forehead, wincing at the heat.

“Rus, are you all right?” Edge said, more than a little concerned.

He shrugged vaguely. “i don’t feel very good.”

“You’re very warm. Come on.” He didn’t even attempt to pull him to his feet, scooping him up and carrying him to their bathroom.

He turned the shower to cool and helped Stretch peel off his clothes before stripping off his own. The first splash of water pulled a weak sound of protest and no more, and they stood beneath the cooling spray until Stretch’s bones no longer felt scalding.

Briskly, Edge dried them both off, bullying Stretch into a pair of pajamas and his robe. Not that he protested; he was still uncomfortably subdued, allowing Edge to help him dress and then lead him back downstairs whereas normally he would have been snappish if Edge even suggested such a thing. Stretch was something of a miserable patient but right now Edge would rather have his temper fraying from dealing with that than this awful quiet.

“Stay here, I’ll make some soup,” Edge told him as he settled Stretch on the sofa with a light blanket. When he returned with the bowl, Stretch only stirred it listlessly and a touch of his skull with the inside of his wrist again made Edge hiss at the renewed heat.

“Love,” he said softly, “I know you don’t want to hear this, but I think we need to go to the hospital.”

“okay,” Stretch mumbled.

That quiet agreement sent a chill up his spine and he was on his feet with a coat and boots on before Stretch was even off the sofa.

He took a moment as he was driving to call ahead, struggling to keep to the speed limit while casting a worried eye at Stretch curled up in the passenger seat.  A pair of Monsters in green scrubs met them at the door with a wheelchair, whisking Stretch away while Edge parked the car.

Stretch was already in a room when Edge went upstairs, settled into a gurney and tucked beneath a sheet with a nurse standing next to him writing on a clipboard.

“All right, Papyrus, how long have you been feeling ill?” she asked.

“stretch is fine,” he smiled weakly, “papyrus is sort of my ‘brother from another mother’ kinda guy. i’ve been feeling off since yesterday, i guess.”

Yesterday? He’d been feeling ill yesterday and Edge hadn’t even noticed. If he had, would they be here now? If he’d kept him warmer, kept him in bed, stayed home today, would they—

The nurse interrupted his spiraling thoughts, setting aside her clipboard with a quiet clack. “All right, the doctor wants to get an IV started while we run some tests. Do you want Edge here or do you want to send him out while I summon your soul?”

“he needs to leave,” Stretch said immediately.

Edge blinked, a twinge of inexplicable hurt rising in his own soul. Yes, it was deeply intimate, but he’d seen Stretch's soul before a couple of times. They were married, why wouldn’t he want Edge to see—

“stop looking like i stepped on your puppy,” Stretch grumbled, “i don’t care if you see my soul, but i hate needles and i don’t want you to kill diane here if she hurts me.”

The nurse, Diane, didn’t look particularly worried about her possible imminent demise.  “If you want him here…”

Stretch shook his head. “trust me. you don’t. hit bricks, edgelord, give us five.”

He nodded curtly and stepped out into the hallway. The corridor was quiet, only the soft sound of typing and footsteps from farther away. A moment passed, two, and from within the room he could hear Stretch cry out softly, then louder, tearfully. The nurse’s voice was nothing more than a low, soothing murmur.

He didn’t move, breathing deeply until the crimson skirting his vision eased.

“Edge, you can come back in,” Diane called, and he did, hesitating inside the door. The nurse had retrieved her clipboard and was writing, a couple of glowing vials in her other hand. Edge hardly noticed her, not with the way Stretch was sitting there with tears still sliding from his sockets.

Stretch wiped them away on his sleeve, sniffling. “calm down, i’m fine.”

“I’m perfectly calm,” Edge said automatically. He refocused his gaze on the IV bag that hung from a pole, its slender tubes winding down the front of Stretch’s shirt.

“yeah? then why do you look like a sparkler on the fourth of july?”

The nurse made a soft sound of stifled amusement while Edge tried to draw his magic back in a little tighter. “I’m going to get these to the labs for some test, all right? I’ll be back soon.” Her soft-soled shoes were quiet as she walked around them to pull the curtain around the bed before leaving.

The flush of heat in his cheekbones was mottled and unhealthy but Stretch smiled at Edge when he pulled up a chair. “well, that sucked. still wanna see it?”

“Yes,” he admitted. He did. He wanted to see it whole and healthy, proof that Stretch was all right.

Stretch smiled faintly and tugged up his pajama shirt.

Soft silver light shone inside his ribcage. His soul was the very essence of who he was, beautiful beyond words and right now it was pierced with an ugly needle. There was discoloration around the metal tip, the glowing liquid dripping into it.

He reached out unthinkingly and drew back before he touched. Souls were excruciatingly private, he couldn’t assume—

Stretch took his hand and set it lightly over his ribcage so he could feel the sickly warmth. “there’s no part of me you can’t touch, okay?” he said, simply

“You would say that now when there’s nothing I can do about it.”

Stretch chuckled weakly. “sorry. make it a promise for another day.”

“Knock, knock,” Diane leaned in the door and the sight of another Monster in green scrubs at her heels made Edge hastily tug Stretch’s shirt back down. “This is Clancy, one of our technicians. We’re going to take a little trip downstairs and run a few tests, all right?”

The two of them lifted the rails on the gurney and Diane stepped on a little pedal break. They began wheeling Stretch out, pausing as Edge trailed behind him, “Edge, you’ll need to wait here,” Diane told him. “We’ll bring him right back.”

“No,” Edge frowned, “I’m going with you.”

“Just stay here, this won’t take long,” the technician said placatingly and it raked across his nerves.

“I am not—“

“edge!” Stretch snapped. “i want to get this over with, please!” His eye lights were pleading, that unhealthy flush creeping up from his cheekbones to his skull. 

“I…of course.” He subsided, trying not to cringe, “I was only…”

“i know you were only,” Stretch gave him a tired smile. “it’ll be okay.”

“I’ll take good care of him,” the technician said brightly.  

“We will,” Diane said, a little gentler.

They started out the door again only for the technician to pause. “Oh, hang on, I almost forgot, no metal. Why don’t you let Edge hold your ring?” 

Stretch took it off slowly, looking more discomfited by that than he had the notion of the IV. He hadn’t been without a ring of some sort since their wedding. His fingers were trembling a little as he handed it to Edge, who could only stand there and watch as they wheeled him out the door.

Edge sat down after they left, a little lost with nothing to do but wait for them to return. The ring was still warm to the touch; Stretch had slimmer fingers than him, his ring was too small for his third finger and too large for his pinkie. He held it instead, reluctant to put it in his pocket.

He should call Blue, that’s what he should do. He’d want to know his brother was ill…except they didn’t know anything yet, he should wait, there was no point in Blue coming down until they knew more…except he might be upset that Edge didn’t contact him right away, he should…

In the end, he did nothing, only sat and waited until the gurney returned, pushed carefully into the room by Clancy. His soul lurched to see Stretch curled up beneath the blanket, looking small and drawn, his sockets closed.

“He’s only asleep,” the technician told him quietly, “you should let him rest.”

He barely managed to bite back a snarl that of course he was going to let him fucking rest. Instead, he only drew the blanket up a little closer around Stretch’s shoulders.

His sleep was fitful, twitching and occasional wheezing breaths that had Edge on his feet, waiting until they eased, but what could he do if they didn’t? Aside from calling for help, there was nothing he could do but sit uselessly, waiting.

A soft knock on the door made him jerk, looking to see a Monster in a white coat leaning into the room. She gestured for him to follow her and warily, he did, stepping out into the hall.  

“Hello, Edge, I’m Doctor Hailey,” she told him softly. “Let’s let him sleep, shall we, and we can go over a few test results.”

Edge could only nod silently; he felt like words were caught in his throat, refusing to be spoken, refusing to let him beg her for reassurance, for answers, for anything.

“I believe he’s going to be fine,” she said, and Edge could hear the carefulness in her voice. ‘She believed’ was not ‘she knew’, her only reassurance came with a caveat. “It’s an infection, we know that much. He doesn’t have the resistance a high HP Monster would have, but there’s nothing wrong with his soul and he has plenty of magic. I’d like to keep him here just because of his HP, but what he really needs is rest and time to fight it off. We’ll continue to provide IV support, just in case.”

Such careful phrasing, Edge thought tiredly. We believe, we know that much, just in case. He was very good at reading between the lines and didn’t care for what it was telling him.

The doctor gave him a stern look. “Now, I want you to listen because I can’t stop you from worrying, but I do want you to remember. He’s going to get worse before he starts getting better. I know this is frightening, but remember we’re monitoring him, and his soul is very strong. He’s going to be fine.”

“Thank you,” Edge said quietly.

He’s going to be fine.

He wanted to believe, he wanted so much to believe. And he would when Stretch opened his sockets again.

The doctor gave him a gentle pat on the arm and Edge returned to the too-quiet room to watch Stretch sleep. It was hours later when he realized still holding Stretch’s ring, but both his hands were buried beneath the blankets. Edge smoothed his fingers over the metal, a perfect match to his own, and waited.

Eventually, he texted Blue, answered all his demanding questions, got him to reluctantly agree that it was better to allow Stretch to sleep and that he would visit when his brother woke. Throughout the night, Stretch slept restlessly, occasionally waking and looking at him with hazy, fever-bright eye lights that slipped closed again before Edge could even reassure him. Nurses came and went, checking the IV, writing things on their clipboards. One brought him a drink and a sandwich that sat untouched on the side table while Edge watched Stretch sleep.

Red came and sat with him in the second day for a few hours and he basked guiltily in his brother’s silent support, snatching brief moments of rest, occasionally sparing a moment to reply to texts that demanded updates and tried to offer reassurance.

He didn’t remember falling asleep again but when he woke, Stretch was looking at him, his eye lights lucid for the first time in two days.

“hey,” Stretch whispered. His voice was weak and husky, “you look like shit.”

“So do you,” Edge said. A faint prickle ached in his sockets and he blinked it away.

Stretch tutted sadly, batting feebly at Edge’s arm. “that’s not nice. you’re supposed to say i’m gorgeous, radiant, beyond compare.”

“You are all those things,” Edge caught his hand and pressed a kiss to his knuckles, “And you still look like shit.”

He laughed weakly. “think i can get some water?” 

There was a styrofoam cup with a bendy straw on the side table and Edge held it as Stretch took a few sips and settled back with a sigh. “seriously, babe, you look rough. have you had any sleep at all?”

“Yes.” It was not a lie, he told himself. Minutes counted.

From Stretch’s skeptical look, he was less than convinced. “c’mere.”

Edge stood and Stretch’s eye lights dropped to his hand, blinking hazily.

“oh, hey, give me that.” Stretch reached out weakly and Edge realized he was still wearing Stretch’s ring, settled just above his knuckle near his own.

Carefully, Edge slid the ring back on Stretch’s finger, the same as he had not that long ago. Then he sat on the side of the bed and let Stretch tug him down, rested his head against Stretch’s ribcage to listen to the gentleness of his breath and the steady, strong pulse of his soul.

 -finis-

[balladserial]

Episode 1: Part 2

Chaos ensues almost immediately. I think I see Mikael hopping on Clairvoyance’s back piggy-back style out of the corner of my eye, but it’s hard to keep track of them for longwith people rushing this way and that. Between everyone scattering and the shouting of the Guard over the bar noise, it’s difficult for anyone to keep track of their surroundings.

That’s good for me.

I sprint across the room like a bat out of hell, ducking briefly under the arm of one of the Guards. My legs sweep glasses to the floor with a clamor of sound as I vault over the bar, but I hardly have time to stop and apologize. I can smell ozone in the room behind me, and that smell never precedes anything good.

Hellfire in a bar full of alcohol? What the fuck are they thinking?

I don’t intend to stick around and find out.

A cluster of fearfully huddling serving staff blocks the way to the kitchen, and I don’t have time to ask them to move. I barrel right through, knocking two of the more lightweight of them to the floor.

“Sorry!” I yell over my shoulder, already halfway through the kitchen.

Elbowing the last of the kitchen staff out of the way, I emerge through the kitchen door into the golden light of the fading sunshine.

I hear shouting and heavy footfalls behind me. Shit. I still have a tail, although I don’t dare look over my shoulder to see who’s pursuing me. Instead, I pick up the pace, my worn shoes skidding over the rough cobblestone street as I turn a sharp corner.

All this running is not doing wonders for my lungs. My chest contracts in sharp pain. It feels like a weight is pressing down on my lungs, squeezing out the oxygen like so much toothpaste. It’s not a comfortable feeling. My breaths come shallow and half-filled.

The pedestrian path ahead rounds the top of a hill, and the city of Greater Mercy lays itself out before me. It’s an enviable city, all golden minarets and silver spires. Vertically built, with walkways between the buildings at even the highest levels, the city feels more like a spider’s web than something man made. I swing myself onto a pedestrian ladder at full force and climb like my life depends on it, in the vain hope that maybe all that armor will weigh the Guard down some.

I should be so lucky.

The path at the top of the ladder hits a crossroads, intersected by a magnetic levitation track. I strain to sprint past the crossing in time,, but I feel a deep panic well up in my throat as the pedestrian gate falls closed, signaling that a train is coming. I can’t breathe at all now, and I can feel heat rising to my face as I skid to a sudden stop.

A quick glance behind me shows the Guard is mere moments away. It seems I only have two of them on my tail: a short Guard whose silver armor is still shiny and unscratched, struggling to keep up the pace, and the gold-plated Order member from before. Her hair is long, brown and plaited neatly to the back of her head. She has severe features, and I sincerely doubt she’ll be in the mood to let me bluff my way out of this. Which leaves me with one move left.

The supply train glides towards us silently, with the kind of stealth I’d expect out of a train that literally does not touch its tracks. I have only a split second to judge its speed, and I take the risk. Unfurl the rope on my belt, throw the hook at the end, and hold tight.

Real tight.

The force of the car passing nearly pulls my arms out of my sockets, but I maintain my grip. The momentum swings me upward, and my hands scream in protest, but find purchase on a ridge in the metal. And just like that, I’m riding the train. I’m RIDING the SUPPLY TRAIN.

The wind rips a whoop of joy from my lungs, adrenaline triggering waves of giddy laughter.

I exhale. Speaking of my lungs. I furiously untuck my shirt and reach underneath, carefully undoing the hook-and-eye clasps under my right arm until the tight fabric of my binder falls away and releases the pain in my chest. I cough loudly, willing air into my lungs until they fill up once again.

I’m just beginning to get comfortable, perched atop the speeding train, when a deafening noise erupts from behind me. I hit the deck before my brain has even processed the sound, reflex taking over my body and slamming it to the cart’s roof. My already sore chest smarts with blinding pain, my ribs smacking at full force into the harsh metal.

The front of the car in front of me erupts into blue flame, the smell of smoke and ozone acrid and unfamiliar against my nostrils. The Hellfire is a good ten feet from me, but I can still feel the heat on my skin as if I had been standing a foot from a heater. It burns through the solid steel the way I’m told ordinary fire might burn paper. Its uneven, flickering light casts everything around it, including my own face, in a cold, eerie sheen. My heart pounds in my gut.

That could have been me.

“Tal Nika Joane!” calls a booming voice from the direction of the caboose. It’s to the Guard’s credit that I can hear her at all over the rushing wind. “By order of Her Highness, Princess Arrellia Valonde, you are under arrest for crimes against the Principality!”

“I’m sure I am!” I shout back, clinging to the car for dear life.

“Come back with your hands above your head and you will be taken in peacefully! Continue to resist, and we will continue to shoot!” bellows the voice, not sounding particularly amused with my very funny quip.

“Serious question?” I yell back, still straining to make my voice heard over the wind. “How many people in high speed train chases actually go for that? I gotta know what percentage of the Principality are actually credulous schmucks-”

Another burst of Hellfire erupts about three feet to my left. This time the heat is close enough to irritate my skin, like a bad sunburn.

I have to get out of here, but I’m essentially trapped between two walls of cobalt flame. Both of which are slowly creeping in on my position. The only direction I can run is toward the Guard.

I glance over my shoulder toward the front of the train. It’s about to round a bend, then the track dips and heads through a small, curated forest-like area to a tunnel with about two feet of clearance from the top of the train. I’m on a time limit, and I need to make a decision fast.

My jaw clenches vise-tight, but I put my hands on my head and walk, slowly, towards the caboose. My heart thrums at hummingbird speed inside my ribs, but I will my outsides to stay calm. A deep breath: in for five seconds, hold for five, out for eight.

The Guard meets me halfway, climbing onto the roof of the train just in time to grab both my hands. She wrenches them roughly behinds my back and begins to fasten them with a pair of iron cuffs.

“Tal Nika Joane,” she booms, practically yelling in my ear. “you are under arrest for multiple counts of underage drinking, truancy, petty theft, vandalism, aiding and abetting a known fugitive, and piracy.”

She pauses to breathe. I don’t blame her, my rap sheet is pretty impressive.

“You retain your right to silence until an advocate can be acquired. If you cannot acquire an advocate, you are entitled to self-representation.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I reply, wriggling my hand a little as she struggles with the cuffs. I can almost feel something inside her bag, I just need to distract her long enough to reach it. “Listen, you couldn’t have done this like a year earlier when I was still a minor? I’m too young and pretty to spend my life in jail, yknow? Look at me, I wouldn’t make it two weeks.”

The Guard rolls her eyes and yanks my arm a little too hard in the wrong direction. I manage to bite down on the pain, but only just.

“You should have thought about that before you became a pirate,” the Guard says smugly. “But don’t worry, kiddo. With the crew you run with? I doubt jail is what the Princess has in mind for you.”

The train veers to the right, and I swallow. I’m not entirely sure what she’s implying, but I can make a rough guess, and I’m not a fan.

“Cool,” I say out loud, clenching both fists. “Well, as fun as that sounds, word of advice?”

“Huh?”

“Duck.”

I pivot on one foot and swing the steel cuffs at full speed into the side of her face. There’s a satisfying crack as her nose breaks under the force and blood begins to flow freely down her face. I desperately wish I had time to savor the hit, but time waits for no man. The train is swiftly approaching the tunnel and there’s only one way off this thing.

I pitch my body sideways, and briefly, I am weightless. The feeling doesn’t last long. I feel the familiar pull at my guts as gravity grabs me back and I fall, crashing my way through tree branches and brush until I finally roll to a stop on the leaf-covered ground.

Everything hurts.

I can feel the beginnings of some nasty bruises all over my body, and a dull throbbing pain in my shoulder tells me the bone is probably dislocated. I’m not sure what else is broken, but the continuing pounding in my chest tells me that I’m not dead, and that’s the most important part.

“You good, Tal?” calls a familiar tinny voice from just above me.

I struggle to my feet. It’s not an easy task, what with the pounding in my head, the world swimming around me, and my arm threatening to detach itself from my torso entirely.

“Clair?” I ask aloud. “Where are you?”

“Behind you, doofus.”

I turn. Indeed, hovering in the air behind me is a fist-sized orb made from intricately constructed bronze. It’s held aloft by a single spinning propellor, buzzing around me like a really weird, oversized bee. On the side of the orb facing me is a single blue eye.

“So are you dead now?” says Clairvoyance, hovering by my clearly injured arm smugly. “Because if you’re dead I get your stuff, that’s the arrangement.”

“I never agreed to that,” I grumble, massaging my limp arm. “And I’m not dead. Where are the others?”

“Back on the ship,” he replies. “It’s docked a few blocks west of here. Wanna head out, or would you rather go back and hang for your crimes against humanity?”

“Get fucked,” I groan, pushing past him in the direction of the slowly fading sunset. He chuckles behind me and speeds to catch up.

“Glad you’re not dead,” he says. After a brief pause, I grin.

“Course you are.”

--

The last rays from the setting sun slink down over the horizon by the time I reach the jutting rock where the good ship Vega Vespa has laid anchor. I’m immediately conscious of how much of a mess I am. My binder is still unfastened beneath my shirt, my hair disheveled (more so than usual) and the knees of my trousers are torn through. The one shackle that Guard managed to fasten still dangles from my injured arm, making me wince in pain every time I move.

Still, the landing point is nice. I can feel the thrumming of the enormous propellers keeping the city afloat beneath my feet, and beyond the sharp drop where the ship is docked, I see a sea of clouds and sky cloaking the distant treetops of Arcadia V’s surface. The ship itself looms far over us. An enormous metal contraption, held aloft by an enormous balloon filled with hydrogen, powered by massive solar sails that billow in the brisk, cliffside wind.

A figure on the deck grabs a loose rope and swings to solid land, bypassing the gangplank entirely. Captain Warring lands with the same grace as usual, although the flyaways in her hair and the sheen of sweat on her face give away a level of stress I haven’t seen on her in a while. I can imagine why; the Vega Vespa isn’t a small ship. There has to be a limit to how long she can leave it docked here.

“Joane,” says the captain, closing the distance between us in two short strides. “What the hell happened?”

“I ran into some...Guard-related problems,” I explain sheepishly, feeling my face go red. “I might have jumped off a train.”

“You might have-” Captain Warring looks literally the most tired I have ever seen her be. “Joane. You are on deck duty for the next two weeks once you’re healed and fit for manual labor. Go see Gratitude.”

“Captain-” I start.

“Do not test me,” she snaps. “You could have been killed.”

“Yeah,” I admit, rummaging with my good hand in my pocket. “But I also got this.”

From my pocket I pull a yellowed, folded piece of paper. I unfold it. Official Principality letterhead.

“Flight schedule of the P.A.S. Condor. Transportation of black bar goods.” I let out a shaky breath.

“Docking in West Compassion on October 1st.”

[Episode 1 Part 1] - [Episode 1 Part 3]

[inadarkdarkroom]

Never Lived Alone Again

Ok, here goes. Writing this out makes me want to barf.

I was a news reporter right out of college, reporting on dismal topics in dismal towns. After three or four years of this, with the help of a friend, I landed an interview at an ad agency in Cincinnati. I got a job writing speeches and press releases and doing the usual early-pr-career grunt work. After stints in Alaska and West Virginia, Cincy seemed like a metropolis, and I picked a totally refinished first-floor apartment off of Craigslist. It was $400 a month and not in a great part of town, though the landlord assured me it was changing. Besides: in West Virginia, I was living in an old furniture factory for $300 a month and kicking crackheads off the front stoop. This place sounded like paradise.

My huge black dog Dozer and I drive down the street for the first time- a library! A record store! Restaurants! I pull up to my building, a few blocks down from the retail stuff, and it’s… not at all as described. The vestibule for the apartment is caked with grime. But I already have my key and I open the door to find an almost eerily perfect apartment. Everything is brand-new. The main room is in front. White carpet, white walls, a refinished bathroom, a boring but tidy kitchen. Huge windows, high ceilings. In the back is a small bedroom with a door leading out to a tiny, three-step back stoop and a little fenced backyard.

Over the next couple of weeks my friend helps me meet people, including her friend Alan. He’s great; we kind of friend hang out and kind of boyfriend-girlfriend hang out. Who knows. I have to drive around the state a lot for work and he watches Dozer while I’m gone- I always go to his place to pick her up on my way home.

The first time I do this, I come into the back of the apartment with my bags and race to the bathroom to pee.

The seat is up, and I fall right into the toilet. I figure Alan left it up, and unpack, go running with Dozer, etc.

A couple of weeks later, I have to travel again. I leave my keys with Alan so he can pick up Dozer after he gets off work. Same routine: I pick her up two days later and go straight home, in through the back bedroom door.

I go to the bathroom and sit down again; again, I fall right into the toilet. I think: I need to ask Alan not to do this when he picks up Dozer; it’s so weird. I walk out of the other bathroom door and into the main room.

Everything there is covered with a thick layer of dust, as if I’d been gone for years.

It covers my dining room table- the stray coffee cup I’d left there. It’s sunk into my mom’s old velvet couch, on my picture frames, onto every nook and cranny of the huge yellow hutch against the wall. It’s on the windowsills, on every handle of every drawer. Only the inside handle of the front door is perfectly clean. The door is locked.

I realize the white carpet is filled with even more dust- it’s white-on-white so I hadn’t noticed. I get out the vacuum and I fill two bags. I call the (Seattle-based) landlord and say that if he’s renovating other parts of the building they need to chill on the construction dust. He says he’s “short on funds at the moment” and my renovation was and will be the only one.

After that I’m home for a couple of weeks and everything’s… fine. I figure the air ducts burped out some old gross stuff. For my next trip, the usual. I come home with Dozer and the seat’s up. I had teased Alan about it and he’d said: I’ve never used the bathroom in your apartment.

I go out into the main room and the box of pictures from college I’d dragged around for a couple years was on a dining room chair. Every spring break picture of a girl in a bathing suit, some slutty sorority-themed outfit, a towel, anything sexy… they are all arranged neatly in a grid on the dining room table. I can feel my blood rushing in my ears. I walk through every room, look under the bed, open the front hall closet with a pair of kitchen shears in my hand… nothing.

I call Alan, politely, remembering that I don’t know him all that well, not really, and ask him about the pictures. He’d seen nothing like this, he says, and doing such a thing would be “hella creepy.” I’m so afraid that I can hardly hear him. I call the landlord to see who else has keys but he’s not picking up. I call over and over.

I don’t want to leave Dozer there, I’ve just been super weird to Alan, and I don’t want to sound insane. I’m just… standing in the apartment. I end up taking a picture of the picture grid with my digital camera to prove to myself that it happened, cleaning it up, making a sad dinner, and spending the whole night talking to everyone I can think of on my flip phone (2005 y’all) until I fall asleep. The doors are locked, Dozer’s on the end of the bed, and every light is on.

I’m in the office or at home with Dozer all week. Every time I walk in my apartment I’m terrified, but it’s just her waiting, wagging her tail. I get cool about Alan again- after all, my friends know him, he’s really fun- he just doesn’t seem like the type. Still, the next time I travel, I drop Dozer off at his house and I don’t leave him a key. He insists on coming with me when I go back to the apartment. Sitting neatly in the middle of the back stoop is a small black rectangle. I bend down and pick it up. It’s the remote control for my fancy digital camera I used as a reporter. Under it is a sheet of paper. It’s a printout of PICTURE I TOOK of the grid of swimsuit pictures left on my dining room table.

Alan goes in the house for me. Everything is locked tight, and my camera- the most valuable item I own- is gone. The living room is covered with deep, pillowy dust; the front doorknob is pristine. I don’t clean anything- I leave and go to Alan’s place, where I drink as much as possible. I call the landlord again- he says he has a key in Seattle, and I have a key in Cincinnati, and that’s all he knows of.

I call the non-emergency police, but the police are swamped in 2005 Cincinnati. They tell me a neighbor probably has a copy of my key, that all the Northside landlords are grifters, to get my own deadbolt and keep valuables locked in the trunk of my car. They will take a report if I’m willing to drive to the station.

I buy deadbolts for the front and back doors. I spend as little time in the apartment as possible. I try to break the lease but the landlord won’t let me out and I can’t afford to do anything else. I spend a lot of time with Alan.

On the next trip, I come back to find my toilet seat up and a bunch of my food gone.

On the trip after that, it’s just a day and half so I ask Alan to drop in and check on Dozer, do her walks, keep her company. Nothing happens.

Trip after that: Alan takes Dozer. Everything’s normal. I check the mail, still nothing but junk circulars, same as the past two months. Nothing I order arrives, so I start having things delivered to my office. But this time when I open the front hall closet to put my coat away: there’s the entire past two months of mail. Online orders, packages from my mom and faraway friends, all my bills. They are crushed, opened, ransacked, soaking wet and streaked with dirt. I just… run. Out into the street, on this sunny day, and everything’s normal but I can’t hear, I’m too scared, and slowly I realize the street is busy and my huge dog is out here and I get myself together enough to hold her collar and sit on the curb.

I turn around to face the building. A face at the very top window, in the attic, sinks below view.

Other stuff disappears over time- a collection of coins my dad has given me from the places he’s visited, more food, any drop of alcohol I buy. But nothing ever happens to me. No one breaks in when I’m home, there are no menacing figures at the window, no creepy feelings at night- and the face in the attic starts to feel like a dream. I even go up there- it’s just a bunch of people’s extra stuff in storage. This was some asshole with a key, I decide, and I’m making a good chunk of this up. The longer things are normal, the more it fades. I barely sleep; it makes everything feel even dreamier.

And then, one night, I’m getting dressed cute to go out. I use the blackness of the long windows to check my reflection. I put on my shoes and one turns white. It’s dust again. It’s not all over like before- it’s concentrated around my huge hutch. I get out the vacuum and get to work, teetering in heels, but it’s piled around the side of the hutch, which is hard to move. I turn off the vacuum, brace my legs against the couch, and push the hutch out toward the center of the room.

In the wall is a hole the size of a man.

The dust, of course, had been from the sawing. My company put me up in a hotel after that, until I could move. My landlord let me break the lease. Later, during the process of getting a felony conviction, I learned that two men did all that stuff specifically to scare me, that they sat peeping through the gap at the back of the hutch for months. One lived in the apartment next door. The wall opened into a little pocket between the apartment stairwell and the basement. They hid it with plywood.

My neighbor described it all for me in court, smiling at me. They watched me check myself out in the full-length mirror, cook meals, watch sad movies, flirt with guys on the phone, do sit-ups, talk to Dozer, have the occasional cry, go to the bathroom- everything. They kept a hoard of snacks from my kitchen in the wall to enjoy while they passed the time. My long kitchen knife was found in the wall, plus a boning knife I didn’t recognize- but they didn’t want to come in while Dozer was home, and I was never without her. Every morning on the way to work for six months, I’d driven past a “wanted” billboard featuring one of their faces.

I have never lived alone again.

[thefudge]

lima syndrome || a klonnie fic

klonnie week: day ii. | TROPES

lima syndrome  - def.  the phenomenon in which abductors develop sympathy for their captives, named after the abduction of the Japanese Ambassador's Residence in Lima, Peru in 1996 by members of a terrorist group

(you can also read it on ffnet)

“my grandmother is going to kill you.”

this is what she tells him as he fastens the polyethylene rope around her ankles. 

his fingers linger on her calves, pulling the leg to see if she can get out of the trap. he notes in passing that the flesh is firm and the muscles are strong, stronger than one would expect of a pampered witch princess. 

“let’s not get ahead of ourselves, love.” 

bonnie looks down at him. he might’ve been handsome if his jaw didn’t stick out so much. it’s as if he has a grudge on the world. 

“i don’t know what you think you’re accomplishing, but this valerian root won’t hold long. i’ll get my powers back...”

“and i’ll keep injecting you,” he supplies with a crooked grin. “pity it doesn’t shut you up as well.”

she struggles a little in his grasp, trying to kick him in vain. “you won’t get away with this.”

“that’s what they all say,” he remarks moodily.

she’s surprised to see that he’s taken her to what looks like an airbase. 

“you can’t possibly hope to get me on a plane as your captive.”

klaus - she’s heard his henchmen call him that and she found it oddly upper-crust for a kidnapper - tilts her head up with a brush of his fingers. “only private jets for her highness.”

and indeed, the landing strip is bare except for a gleaming silver beast, the kind high-stakes ambassadors usually fly in. whoever has ordered her capture has ample means. 

“i hope they’re paying you well,” she mutters as he guides her towards the tarpaulin. 

he must admit that she’s acting very level-headed for one so young. she is calm and thoughtful, her panic having receded to a private place in her mind. from time to time she will clench her fingers, as if calling out to her fettered magic, but she’s doing her best not to make a scene. she’s realized there’s no audience except him and his men. and his men are worse than him. 

“you’re a werewolf,” she says, as they fly over the panama channel. 

she’s half-asleep (it’s been two very long days) and her eyes have turned a darker shade of green, like deep pools at the bottom of the ocean. 

“i can sense it, even with my magic low,” she mumbles, cradling her chin in her hand. 

he leans back in his chair and smiles in a way that doesn’t reach his eyes. “and what do you sense exactly, witch? my impure blood?” 

“yes...” she mutters, eyelids closing against her will. “it smells like oranges...in the sun.”

he’s a little shaken despite his better judgement. he turns towards the window and avoids looking at her again. all these witches are the same - mystical fools with no damn sense in their heads.

an hour later he puts a small pillow under her head. he doesn’t want her breaking her neck, does he?

they land at 3 am in no man’s land and she’s not entirely awake for the business of disembarking and walking over the pebbly ground to the nearby shack where a few men are waiting for them.

so, he has to carry her in his arms. he feels rather foolish at first. he hoists her up firmly over his shoulder, the smell of freesias and sweat invading his senses. but she keeps sliding off his body like a woodland nymph, so he hooks his hand around her shoulders and another under her legs, and carries her like a bride. she doesn’t nestle into his chest. her head falls away from him. he stares at the length of her neck and listens to the throb of her pulse. 

they spend half a day at the dilapidated motel outside the village. to anyone else’s eyes, the building is abandoned. but inside, a small army of men are preparing for a ritual. 

bonnie gradually understands the purpose of her abduction. she can feel the nervous energy in the air pouring down from the amazonian rainforest. they’re only miles away from one of the temples. 

she starts to cry laconically, tears running down her cheeks while her face remains a funeral mask. 

the werewolf crouches down at her level. “you needn’t cry. it will all be over soon.”

“what do you care?” she snaps, and it’s the first time she sounds bitter. 

“i don’t. but tears irk me.”

she spits on his shoes. “you irk me.”

she’s not likening him to oranges in the sun anymore, that’s for sure. he smiles coolly. “it would be rather strange if i didn’t.”

bonnie looks away, disheartened. “you don’t have to do this.”

“ah, another thing they always say.”

it’s hot and sticky in the truck as they drive through the half-submerged jungle. there used to be a city here, many hundreds of years ago. now it’s just vines and sticky leaves and bugs the size of your head. there’s probably bones too, buried under the foliage. 

he hates the jungle. he hates the humidity, the smell, the pressure of it all. his head feels about to explode. 

his men sit on the dumpster bed behind, holding machine guns over their shoulder. it’s mostly for show, in case any unlucky humans crop up in a ten-mile radius. they don’t really need them. their claws would sink into your heart before you had time to blink. 

bonnie sits by his side, forehead leaning against the grimy window. 

klaus hates the stifling silence so he turns on the radio, but the signal is warped in these parts of the forest and all he gets is truncated fragments of a popular ballad. 

bonnie heaves a weary sigh. “it’s my birthday today.”

his hands stiffen on the wheel. “i know.”

she laughs bitterly. “right, it’s gotta be my birthday for the ritual.” 

“well. happy birthday anyway.”

he doesn’t know why he says it.  it’s very daft, given the circumstances. he rubs the back of his neck. he can’t stand the silence, so he presses on. “i don’t know my actual birth day. no one can tell me, as no one can recall with certainty.”

the witch raises her legs to her chest. she’s not tied up anymore seeing as there’s nowhere to run. she scratches the red welt on her arm where he injected her with the next to last dose of valerian. he’s saving the biggest shot for the ritual. 

“your parents probably wanted to forget the day you were born,” she tells him callously. 

“...i suppose i deserve that one.” 

she nods wearily. “you do. you’re a disgrace.”

“a disgrace?” he echoes, trying to keep his eyes on the road. “that’s a bit much.” 

“we’re both servants of the moon and instead of helping me, you’re sending me to my death.” 

he scoffs. “both servants of the moon? no, little witch. you don’t have to chain yourself when the moon calls for you.”

bonnie shrugs. “maybe i do.” 

they don’t speak again for the duration of the ride.

they spend a rainy night in a moldy tent on the side of a precipice where the ground is still relatively warm and dry. 

she protests weakly at first that she should be given her own tent, that she’s not about to make her escape and die in the jungle, but he won’t hear it. he knows her kind is “crafty”.

“crafty?” she explodes with a laugh. “if i was such a wily creature, i’d have found a way to kill you by now.” 

klaus lets her words wash over him like the rain beating down on their tent. 

there is hardly room for two people inside; her proximity is inevitable, but it’s comforting too. he doesn’t know if she feels the same, but it drives away the demons of the jungle. 

he rolls down two sleeping bags.

bonnie watches him with a guarded look. “are you going to sleep too?”

he laughs. “of course not. i’d give you a prime opportunity to kill me, like you said.”

“i doubt i could,” she complains, looking around despondently. “i don’t have my magic. i don’t see any sharp objects around. and i don’t think i’m strong enough to strangle you.”

“oh, don’t give up hope yet,” he teases amiably, which makes her shiver uncomfortably. he removes his jacket. his t-shirt is stuck to his skin, exposing every line of his body. bonnie wonders if he can see her body through her thin dress and even thinner shawl. she folds her arms over her chest. 

“you should rest for tomorrow,” he tells her gently, but it’s rather cruel. 

“yeah, i should get my beauty sleep. i don’t want to look bad on the pyre,” she retorts, holding back a fresh wave of tears. he looks disturbed by her comment but can’t bring himself to offer her any comfort.

they lie down, side by side, on the sleeping bags. bonnie stares up at the dirty canvas. 

“i was going to...open a school for witches,” she says softly, staring at the shadow of an insect on the side of the tent. 

klaus turns slightly towards her. his bare arm accidentally brushes against hers.

“you wanted to teach?”

she nods, wiping her wet eyes quickly. “i wanted to help young girls like myself find their footing.” 

his thumb traces a few freckles on her elbow. she means to move away from his touch. she means to scold him. but she doesn’t, because this is her last night alive and she won’t deny herself this small human gesture. 

“you’d be good at it.”

bonnie scoffs. “you don’t know me. you have no idea what i’d be good at.”

“maybe. but i’m a wolf. i can sense these things.” 

“that’s superstition.”

“really. a witch telling me about superstition.” there’s humor in his voice. she hates that she will probably think of that when the flames engulf her. 

“well, it doesn’t matter now, does it?” she bites back, wishing she could hold something to her chest and squeeze it tight.

and somehow, he reads her mind because he pulls her towards him. it’s strange and unexpected - even to him - the way his fingers clench around her waist.

“what are you doing?” she asks quietly as her hands touch his chest tentatively. 

he doesn’t answer at first. he stares into her heart-shaped face, almost as if he’s trying to memorize her features. his hand runs up and down her spine, leaving pleasant tremors in its wake. his eyes, she notes, have globs of amber in them. the sun made liquid. 

“i want you to know, no one’s paying me,” he says at length. 

“what?”

“it’s my mother. she is the one who wants you dead. she wants to absorb your power.”

bonnie’s eyes widen. she clenches her fingers around his t-shirt. “your mother is esther? you’re esther’s son?” 

he nods gruffly, as if ashamed of the legacy. 

bonnie is speechless for a moment. “but she - how -?”

“even the original witch makes mistakes,” he replies bitterly. “my biological father is one.”

she’s overwhelmed by his confession. she doesn’t know how to respond. 

they stare at each other for several long minutes, pondering on each other’s strange fate.

“what do you get out of this, then?” she asks quietly. 

“she’s my mother, bonnie.”

her name on his tongue has a strange effect on both of them. he closes the gap between them and kisses her on the lips, without permission or apology. he cradles her cheek and kisses her like she was always his for the kissing. but it doesn’t feel proprietary. it feels like he’s been waiting to do it for a long time. it’s funny to think a few days ago she didn’t know his name. 

she sighs into his mouth as he removes the shawl from her shoulders. 

they kiss for a small eternity, glued to each other by sweat and exhaustion. he doesn’t disrobe her any further, he only touches her body furtively, skimming small islands of bare skin before coming back to her face. he loves touching her face. if you follow her features closely, they’re rudely asymmetrical, but still beautiful, all the same. he’d like to draw them. 

she strokes the back of his neck as he bends down to kiss her lips again and again. 

his fingers brush against her knees, parting them slowly. his knuckles caress the inside of her thigh making her heart jump in her throat. but she whispers into his neck. “no. not like this.” 

and he understands. he removes himself from her.

they fall back, side by side, staring at the canvas, their shoulders touching. 

“i’d like to...” she says nervously. “someday. after you’ve taken me away from this place and bought me dinner. maybe.” 

klaus laughs and it sounds innocent and boyish for once. “you’re wasting your breath, witch. i’m not taking you away. i can’t.”

“i know,” she mumbles, closing her eyes. “but a girl can dream.” 

a girl dreams. and in this dreams she burns like a bundle of hay, like a handful of branches. the werewolf kneels by her pyre and weeps. everything tastes like ashes.

but bad dreams eventually melt with the coming of the sun.

he injects his mother with an almost lethal dose of valerian as she comes towards him to embrace him. her smile is greedy. her eyes glint with a murderous need. he doesn’t feel too bad about sticking the needle in her. he knows she won’t outright die. her powers will be weakened beyond conscious state and she’ll fall into a deep coma. she’ll wake up in the middle of the jungle. and maybe she’ll survive. 

his men listen to him as he’s their alpha. some of them defect because they don’t like the sudden change of plan. they’re old creatures, wary of novelty and all things young. klaus lets them go without killing them. all he wants right now is to get out of the jungle. 

bonnie drives the truck haphazardly across the wet trails, glancing from time to time at the werewolf. he doesn’t seem capable to do much else anymore. but that’s fine. he did his part. now, she’s the one taking them away. 

sheila bennett doesn’t understand why her granddaughter smells like oranges every night she comes home. 

[pitviperofdoom]

BNHA Gods AU sneak peek

I’ve been teasing it lately, so I thought I’d post the prologue for you guys while I keep working up my momentum.

Enjoy!

No one recognized the falling star for what it was.

It was such a small thing, a light glinting briefly in the slate-gray sky. It did not go unnoticed—though the sky had scarcely changed in five years, many still cast their eyes upward, hoping desperately that the heavy veil of clouds might break, and the sun might move in the sky once more. And perhaps the glimmer in the gray brought a glimmer of faint hope to whoever had eyes quick enough to catch it, but in the end it came to nothing.

Night fell—or what passed for night, in a world where the sun never moved and the sky stayed overcast—and a storm closed in, darkening the world further. In storms like these, clouds and thunderheads gathered beneath the veil that protected the earth from the stagnant sun’s heat, and the darkness reminded mortals of what night used to look like.

Few humans would dare to walk alone in the woods in the midst of a storm, but there were always exceptions. As rain fell in sheets, soaking the trees and turning the ground to sludge, a single runaway trudged through the cold.

He was a mere child, thin and ragged, with one side of his face swathed in wet bandages. He walked through the woods half-blind, soaked and shivering beneath an old cloak that he’d hacked shorter to fit him. At some point he had lost his shoes, though his mind was too muddied to remember when and how. Shelter was the only thing he could focus on—he needed a safe, dry place to rest. Exhaustion dragged at him, but he could not sleep. Not yet. Not out in the open and poorly armed.

And besides, if he slept then he would have to speak with someone that he never wanted to see again.

Light in the distance caught his attention, and he froze where he was, hand straying to the single dagger he carried at his side. Rainwater dripping down his right arm began to freeze, while steam  hissed as it rose from his left. The boy breathed deeply and slowly, calming himself. He could see his breath in the air, and beyond it the faintly flickering light.

It could be anything, in these woods. Ghost lights, foxfire, will-o’-the-wisps. Desperate mortal bandits. If he followed, then it might lead him into danger.

Or, it could be other travelers. Safety. Warmth.

He kept his hand on the hilt of his knife, and walked toward it.

Careful watching assured him that the light was neither moving further away as he approached, nor luring him toward anything. As he neared it, it dimmed to a soft glow, before it finally faded to nothing at his approach. The boy came to a halt in a tiny, wet glade, only a stone’s throw away from a towering oak whose branches were nearly enough to block the rain. The underbrush was gone, cleared away in a circular, almost concave patch of bare earth. At the very center, a body lay crumpled and motionless in the mud.

After a moment’s hesitation, the boy stepped closer and crouched by the still figure. Their cloth was plain, hardly damaged by whatever trouble had led to this. Beneath the mud and rain, the boy could recognize a good cloak, thick and sturdy and finely made.

Reaching out, he brushed his fingers against their shoulder. The wet cloth was warm to the touch, and the figure stirred and rose.

The boy stepped back hastily, knuckles white as he gripped the dagger. With a wordless groan, the person—a man—rose to a crouch and lifted his head to look at him. Muddied golden hair fell over his face, and his sodden clothes clung to him.

“Owch,” the man said quietly. “Oh dear. That won’t do at all.” There was a flash of light, a burst of sensation that brought an itch to the boy’s nose, and the mud and water sloughed off of the bedraggled man as if repelled. Dark, shadowed eyes stared blearily at him, and in the faint glow of magic, the boy saw how gaunt the face was.

The man sat up with another soft groan and looked down at himself. Now that he wasn’t lying on the ground and covered in a drenched cloak, the boy could see that he was not merely thin, but nearly skeletal.

“Ah.” The man lifted his arm and stared at it, running his spidery fingers over the sharp angles of bone poking through skin. “That wasn’t supposed to happen,” he said, half to himself. “But… better than it could have been, I suppose.” He lowered his arm, and looked up to the silent boy again. A smile spread across his face, warm and reassuring in the midst of a storm. “Well. Hello there, little one. You aren’t all alone out here, are you?” The man glanced around, as if noticing for the first time that there was no one else around. “What is your name?”

The boy was silent for a moment. “I don’t give my name to people I don’t know,” he said. “Especially someone who asks without offering his first.” His eyes flickered around again, taking in the broken branch and the shallow impression in the earth. “Who are you?”

“No one important. I am merely a simple traveler who—” The man stopped talking then, because he found the tip of the boy’s dagger tickling his throat. Around them, the cold air dropped even further in temperature until the nearest raindrops froze solid before they hit the ground.

“I didn’t ask you what you were,” the boy said. The hand holding the knife was steady, his single visible eye cold and flat as a river pebble. “I already know what you are, so there’s no point in lying. But who are you? What are you doing here? Did—”

The man’s hand closed lightly on his arm, neither gripping it nor trying to wrest the knife away. “Peace, my boy,” he said. “It’s all right. I apologize, I didn’t… mean to…” His voice trailed off, and he looked at the boy’s face and then further, deeper, and his shadowed eyes lit up. The placating reassurance on his face shifted to sudden surprise before his smile softened once more. “Oh. Oh, I see. Forgive me, my boy. It took me a moment to recognize what you were. How silly of me to try to fool you.”

The boy’s teeth ground, and the knife didn’t move from his throat. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“It… might be best if I didn’t,” the man admitted. “I have no wish to put you in danger. The less you know, the safer it will be.”

“I’m not safe anyway,” the boy said. “I’ve never been safe.”

The man blinked in surprise, before answering hesitantly. “Then that’s all the more reason that I shouldn’t heap even more danger upon you.”

The boy hesitated a moment more, then finally took his knife back. “Fine.” He stepped away, tugging his arm out of the man’s loose grip. “Fine. I’m going, then. Please forget you saw me.”

“Where are you going, if I may ask?”

“Anywhere.” The boy paused. “Somewhere drier. If I can find it.”

“You’re exhausted.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“You’ll catch your death out here.”

The boy’s flat stare didn’t change. “Plenty of things haven’t killed me before. This storm won’t, either.”

For a moment the man watched him, his sunken eyes unreadable. “I can shield myself from the cold and wet,” he said at length. “If you stay here and rest, I can do the same for you.” He got to his feet, and the boy tried not to stare when he saw how the man’s height stretched high above his own. “Lots of wicked beasts in these woods, I imagine. I promise you, they won’t dare come near me.”

Still the boy stared at him with a mistrustful eye. “Favors have a price,” he said. “What’s yours?”

“You’re standing in it,” the man told him. “This storm is my doing. Not intentional, I promise you, but the fault still lies with me. And you woke me before something less friendly found me sleeping. The least I can do is offer you shelter for the night.” He paused. “So to speak. I’m afraid I haven’t any food, though. I apologize for that.”

“I’m not hungry,” the boy lied.

“Fair enough.” The man spread his hands in invitation. “That is my offer. If you should refuse it, then… luck to you, my boy. And I apologize for the cold and rain.”

At first, the boy looked ready to turn and walk away into the storm. But then his icy stare wavered, and for just a split second he looked like what he was—a child lost in the woods, cold and wet and so very alone.

“A-all right.” His voice hardened again. “I accept. But I won’t sleep. I can’t sleep.”

The man gave him an odd look as he led him to the base of the oak. Another quick glow nearly escaped the boy’s attention, and the moment he stepped beneath the tangled branches, the heavy beat of rain stopped. The branches and foliage may as well have been a well-made roof, and the squish of mud beneath his feet turned to firm ground. His ragged clothes, along with everything beneath the oak’s reach, were suddenly dry.

“Well, either way, I can use the company,” the man said, as he seated himself comfortably in a hollow in the tree roots. He sat back, resting against the trunk. “But why won’t you sleep? If you don’t mind me saying, you look half-dead, my boy.”

“I don’t want to.” The boy sat down beside him, gathering his tatty cloak around him. He looked up at his companion, searching his face with one eye. “If you won’t tell me who you are, will you at least tell me why you’re here?”

“Well… I didn’t quite mean to come,” the man admitted. “But as long as I’m here, I suppose I’m looking for someone. As soon as this storm is past, I mean to find them.”

“Oh.”

“What about you, child? What are you doing out here, all alone?”

The boy drew his knees to his chest, making himself small. “I have to be alone,” he said. “It’s not safe around me, so I can’t stay in one place. You’ll probably be fine, though.” He fell silent, fidgeting a little. “You… know what I am, don’t you.”

“It’s as plain as I am, I think,” the man told him. “You’re very brave, to have made it this far on your own.”

“It’s not brave,” the boy said. “It doesn’t count if it’s the only thing I can do.”

“Of course it counts, my boy,” the man said, almost too softly to be heard over the rain falling beyond the tree. “Of course it counts.”

The boy took a deep breath and let it out. His head dipped, weighed down by exhaustion, but he forced it up again and shook it.

“Why do you fear sleep?” the man asked. “Is it nightmares?”

“No. Nightmares don’t bother me. Nightmares aren’t real.” The boy lowered his head to rest on his knees. “He doesn’t talk to me if I’m awake. I don’t have to see him. But he comes when I’m asleep, and I don’t want to see him right now, or ever.” Silence, broken only by rainfall and the occasional low rumble of distant thunder, passed between them. “Your… your parent, I presume,” the man said at last. There was a note of caution in his tone.

The boy nodded without raising his head.

A gaunt, spidery hand came to rest on the boy’s shoulder. “Sleep,” the man told him. “If anyone tries to disturb you, I’ll send them away.”

The child’s body went tense, and he looked up with desperation on his bandaged face. “You can’t,” he said, shaking his head furiously. “He’s strong, he’ll just ignore you and—”

“Child.” The other hand gently lifted the boy’s chin, and a pair of shadowed blue eyes caught his gaze and held it. “I will not be ignored. However strong your father is, I promise you. I am stronger.”

The boy stared into his eyes until the breath caught in his throat. Desperation gave way to recognition, then astonishment, then awe, and the smallest hint of fear. Tears welled up in his right eye, nearly overflowing. “Why,” the child whispered. “Why are you here? What do you want?”

“To help,” the man replied. “That is all I’ve ever wanted. This favor has no price. I want nothing from you. Will you accept?”

Slowly, the tears in his right eye spilled over. “I’m tired,” the boy whispered. “I’m so tired.”

“Then sleep, and I’ll make sure that tonight, at least, nothing and no one will disturb you.”

The boy fell asleep far too quickly, nestled against the stranger’s side in the shelter of the oak tree and the stranger’s cloak. For a while, the nameless man sat motionless and listened to the sound of the rain and the exhausted child’s steady breathing.

He felt it the moment it approached—a thread of power, reaching like an invisible hand toward the sleeping child. He tracked its path, as it curled through the air toward his small companion. When it came upon the boy, he reached out with a touch of his own power, and swatted it away like a thieving hand.

None of that, he thought sternly. He’s exhausted and frightened. For pity’s sake, leave him be.

The source of that reaching power reacted at first with anger, and then with gruff bafflement when recognition set in. So. You’re alive after all.

He thought he’d recognized the feel of that power. I suppose I am, Warbringer. No need to sound so disappointed.

The response was as close to humorless laughter as such methods of communication allowed. When are you coming back?

Not for a while yet. I have business in the mortal realm.

Business? His counterpart’s power flared hot with temper. Have you forgotten that there is a war going on? The King in the Shadows may have vanished, but his minions continue the fight. Your place is among us, you old fool.

The man laughed softly, shaking his head. Perhaps. But there are things I must attend to first. I can’t tell you all, but don’t worry, I won’t be idle. Tell the others that I still live. It may be some time before I make contact again.

He could almost hear a snort of disgust from the other. Very well. I suppose we’ll just have to manage.

Thank you, old friend, the man thought, and smiled when he felt the answering jolt of disgust. And Enji?

There was silence from the other. The presence had not vanished; it was merely waiting.

The man let his arm settle around the child sleeping against him, protecting him from the cold and the elements, and from things far greater and more deadly than either. When I do get back, and we have the chance to talk face to face? We will be having words.

Again, there was no answer. The presence melted away from his senses, leaving him alone with the rain and the darkness and the painfully young demigod curled up against his side.

“Oh, dear child, I wish I could take you with me,” he whispered. “But I’m afraid I would only lead you to your death, and besides—you have your own path. I hope one day your father sees that.”

The child slept on unaware, dreams undisturbed by the whims and words of gods.

[flunkyofmalcador]

“Red Thirst” WIP

Horus returned to the Casa Retrata some hours later.  He walked in through the garage door, placed his keys in the wooden cubby marked with his name, and removed his shoes.

The house was uncharacteristically dark and quiet.  The main room was empty and the only light came from the lumen strip over the farmhouse sink. “Daddy?” Horus turned to see Juliana standing on the stairs leading up to their floors.  He walked over to her and gave her a hug. “Ferrus and Fulgrim are mad at you,” she told him.  “They told me and Felicity we couldn’t do our homework together.” “Let’s go upstairs.” They went to the parlour and sat down.  Horus poured a glass of wine and made a juice cocktail for Juliana.  She accepted it and asked, “Are we going to have to move?” All three Lupercals had armchairs.  Sanguinius’s was tall and low-backed.  Horus rested his hand on the padded back of it before settling into his own. “We aren’t going to move,” Horus assured her.  We’re going to have a rough time ahead of us though, and we are all going to have to be very brave.” He took a swallow of wine.  “Your baba is very sick.  It…makes him dangerous sometimes.  Your grandfather is trying to cure him.  Baba has decided to stay at the manor so Grandfather can work with him and no one will be in danger.” Juliana nodded solemnly, a gesture she had inherited from Horus.  “How dangerous is Baba?  What does he do?” Horus weighed his words carefully.  “He loses his grip on reality sometimes and attacks animals for blood.” “Only animals?” Juliana’s gaze was direct and compelling.  Horus was reminded that this child was a primarch. “Yes.  Ferrus is angry because, even though your baba has only attacked animals so far, we kept that a secret.” “Daddy, do you think he would attack me?  Or Feli?” “Baba wants to make sure that he can’t.” “What can I do?” “Same thing you have been, Juli.  Baba and I love you and are always very proud of you.  Go to school and do your chores, same as always.  If I need you to do anything else, I’ll let you know.”

Once he’d tucked Juliana into bed, Horus retired to his own room.  He changed into a loose black robe and settled onto the bed.  The vacuum servoskull was up on its shelf, and the sheets were free of the fluff and dust Sanguinius’s pinions generated nightly.  For some reason, that struck Horus harder than having dropped off his husband at the Manor hours ago. He turned on his reading light, turned off the overhead, and leaned back against the padded headboard with a book.  This reminded Horus that the padded headboard, wrapped halfway around the bed, had been designed just for Sanguinius to rest his wings on them. Horus remember that he and Sanguinius had not spent a night apart since Juliana’s birth, eleven years before.  How would Horus ever be able to get along without him? Reading was futile.  Horus turned on the vid until the next morning.

Juliana woke up on time, performed her ablutions, and dressed in her school uniform.  Her arms felt like cement.  She put her books in her schoolbag and plodded downstairs. Felicity was at the table and Fulgrim had made pancakes.  Ferrus was half-hidden behind the morning paper as usual. “Daddy’s not down yet?” she asked. “He left early to the Manor,” Fulgrim said, placing some cakes on her plate.  “I don’t think he slept all night.” “That makes two of us,” Juliana confessed, and then, to her own surprise and shame, began to cry. Fulgrim set the pan aside and gathered the weeping girl into his arms.  “Oh Juli, I know how scared you must be.  Don’t worry, you have your whole family behind you.” “Don’t be angry at my fathers,” she sobbed.  “My baba might die and I know you’re angry with Horus.”  She sniffled loudly and said, “I don’t want to have to live without you and Uncle Ferrus and Feli.” Ferrus folded up his paper, lay it aside, and joined Fulgrim.  “Juliana, we’re just angry because they hid this from us.  If we’d known Sanguinius was sick, perhaps we could have done something.” “Your home is with us, and nothing can change that,” Fulgrim soothed.  “How about this.  I’ll make that stew you like for dinner, the one with the little peas.” “Thank you.”  She didn’t sound enthusiastic. The finished breakfast.  The girls collected their lunches and schoolbags and left for the day.  Once they were gone, Fulgrim picked up his recaf and sat on Ferrus’s lap. “I’d wager the odds are high that the Blood Angels are about to be purged,” Fulgrim said. Ferrus took a sip from his own cup and nodded.  “If Sanguinius has psychotic breaks, his sons probably do too.” “Horus will find the worst, most destructive way to respond.” “I fear you’re correct.  We have to be ready to take responsibility for Juliana if that happens.” “Fortunately, that’s just a matter of taking down the wall between our apartments.  You can do that in a day with a sledgehammer.”  Fulgrim ran his fingers down one of Ferrus’s silver arms.  “For once, I wouldn’t enjoy watching.”

Perturabo came downstairs into the Emperor’s medical bay in the basement of the Manor.  He was immediately met with the sight of Sanguinius sitting dejectedly on an examination table, clad in a medical gown.  Horus sat on a metal and plastek chair beside him, wringing his hands. “You needed to see me, my lord Emperor?”  Perturabo had still not warmed enough to the Master of Mankind to call him “father”. “Yes.  We’re trying to work out a gene-seed problem. Perturabo’s eyes went from Sanguinius to Horus.  “What’s going on?” The Emperor explained.  Perturabo’s eyes grew wide.  Sanguinius looked away, clearly embarrassed. “Iron Warrior geneseed is the most stable geneseed there is,” Horus explained.  “Mine is good, and I’ve already given a sample for Father to analyze.”  He lowered the collar of his shirt to show the red speck where the biopsy needled had gone into his flesh. “Angron refused,” the Emperor grunted.   “With the way you asked, no one could blame him.”  The Empress emerged from the back of the laboratory with a cloth-covered tray.  She set it down.  “Doing a progenoid biopsy isn’t a small favour to ask.  We only presume to do it because Sanguinius’s health and legion may depend on it.” Perturabo smiled, something that just over a decade ago had been such a rare occurrence.  “Then I can hardly refuse.  Will you need a sample from Rogal as well?” “No,” the Emperor told him.  “Imperial Fist geneseed may be stable in its flaws but it’s flawed nonetheless.” Perturabo undid the buttons of his shirt, revealing his powerful, large-boned upper body.  “Another thing I have over Rogal.  At least he and I can laugh about such things now.” Once the procedure was complete, Perturabo rose, dressed again, and walked over to Sanguinius. “I’m sure everything will be fine,” he told the Angel. “I am not,” Sanguinius replied morosely.