#an old au ive had kicking around for a while

[miz-chase]

Bones crime au aka The Reverse Broadsky

There's a sniper loose in DC who has a tendency to hit targets recently investigated by the FBI. Special Agent Jared Booth was put on the case but kept ending up in dead ends. Frustrated by the lack of progress, his boss FBI Assistant Director Hacker enlisted the Jeffersonian Institute's Medico-Legal Lab to aid the investigation. They worked with the remains, particulates, and other evidence to try and pin down the sniper, getting closer than ever before.

In another place, Seeley Booth was lining up the angle for the perfect shot. There's an apartment that just overlooks the falsely-exonerated criminal's home, and it didn't take much to break in. What Booth didn't plan for was the apartment being occupied in the middle of the day. Instead of an empty room, he found a woman with a nasty left hook who took quite an exception to him breaking into her place.

Seeley rolled with the hit and sent a little prayer up for remembering to keep his mask and hat on. Now's not the time to get sloppy. He's able to subdue her, gag & bind her, and lock her up in the bathroom so he could do his work in peace. It took a few hours of patient waiting (and ignoring the intermittent kicks at the bathroom door), but he got his perfect shot. It's quick work to pack up his rifle and get his ass out of there before anyone notices something's amiss. He was a gentleman, though, and unlocked the bathroom and dropped a knife beside the absolutely furious woman. Pretty blue eyes glared daggers at him, but he figured with a mask, a hat, and a bulky jacket, there's not much to see. He took off, not realizing he'd made a huge mistake.

Temperance Brennan was furious. After a decade of personal defense training, being pinned and shushed like she was just a child throwing a tantrum was beyond the pale. And for it to be the very man they were hunting for in the lab? Completely unacceptable. As soon as she's able to free herself, she's on the phone with Jared, getting the apartment scoured top-to-bottom for evidence. Security cameras yielded nothing of value, the man clearly an expert. What he didn't account for was the fact that she was an expert, too.

Working with Angela and her own exceptional memory, Brennan was able to sculpt his likeness. It took a lot of tweaking from Angela and back-and-forthing, but they're able to pull together a decent likeness. Paired against the military records of advanced snipers, there's only one close match: Sergeant Major Seeley Booth.

Suddenly Special Agent Jared Booth's lack of progress on the case didn't seem so much like an accident. It all of a sudden became very remarkable that, while all the sniper victims were from FBI cases, not a single one included Jared's cases. Without explanation, a new agent was assigned to the Jeffersonian and Jared isn't seen again.

Seeley Booth was used to dodging the FBI. He'd been doing it for years now. Admittedly, having his face blasted across every news station was a new and exciting wrinkle to his efforts, but he could lay low. What he's not used to is attracting the attention of local lowlife Max Keenan, who turned up in Booth's garage hidey-hole one night. Now, Keenan doesn't sink so low as to report him to the feds, but he does have a word or two to say about putting his daughter in danger. With a few friendly threats, Keenan suggested Booth could make things right by dealing with a certain Robert Kirby.

Always a good man for taking orders, Booth doesn't ask questions. He just gets the job done. He really shoulda laid low, though, because on his way out of his sniper's perch, a cop recognizes him. Booth took a nasty shot to the hip before he's able to disappear into an alleyway and lose the tail.

He did his best to zigzag his way through the city, leaving no obvious trail to follow. Unintentionally or not, he realized he's wound his way back to the damn apartment where all this mess started. It's a stupid idea but he's losing blood at an alarming rate. He climbed up the back balcony, slipping in through the sliding door, pistol in hand.

Out in the living room, she wasn't facing him when he creeped in.

"Temperance, right?" His voice was low.

She jumped, spinning around, whipping her phone out.

"Easy, easy. Just drop the phone and everything will be alright." He gestured with the gun from her hand to the floor. She dropped the phone with a clatter. Her eyes were big and wide, hands raised in surrender.

"What do you want?" There's a quaver to her voice but she held herself upright with a steel spine.

"I just need a quick favor, that's all. I swear I'm not gonna hurt you."

"You're pointing a gun at me."

"Yeah, cause I know if I don't, you're gonna try to kung foo my ass again."

"Judo." She squinted at him disapprovingly.

"Whatever." He's starting to feel dizzy. That was not great. "Y'got a first aid kit or something?"

Her scowl deepened. "Why should I help you?"

"I got shot doing your father a favor." She flinched at that.

"I don't owe him anything. He's a criminal."

"Yeah, well, here we are anyway. Just... all I need is some gauze and a hand, alright?"

"I could wait you out until you pass out." She jutted her chin up in a stubborn glare.

"I'd really rather you didn't." He gestured with the gun towards the kitchen sink and, reluctantly, she moved that way. "You must have a first-aid kit around here somewhere. You seem the type."

"'The type'?"

"Yeah. Girl scout. Over-prepared."

She knelt, pulling a box with a big red cross on it from under the sink. Brennan plopped it on the table in front of him, crossed her arms, and glared.

"I'm not going to help you."

"Please don't make this difficult?" He gestured with the gun at the plastic box, but she didn't move.

"If you shoot me, everyone in this building will hear it." Her petulant frown dared him to try.

"Yeah, and if I knock you out, my life will be much easier, but that big ole brain of yours isn't really going to appreciate the damage." Her scowl deepened.

With every move clearly telegraphing her disapproval, she set to work putting him back into one piece. She roughly tugged his t-shirt up, revealing a bloody mess. His gut flinched as her hands traced over scarred bare skin. Capable hands harshly pulled padding and gauze around his middle, covering the wound. He hissed in pain as she pressed down firmly, probably firmer than she really needed to. Still, it was good enough. It would do.

She sank back down into one of the kitchen chairs, still glaring at him with arms re-crossed. Booth collected himself pulling his shirt back down with a grimace and smoothing his hand over the bandaged wound. He gave her a long, considering look.

"What would you do if I needed to rest here a while?"

"Call 911." Her look was all grumpy disapproval.

He exhaled a frustrated sigh. "Have you considered not being a pain in the ass?"

"Why in the hell should I help you?" There was disgust in her voice.

"I did take care of your good friend, Heather Taffet."

"The judge was... 'taking care' of her just fine. Legally."

"They were going to let her get off. Everyone knew it."

"Well, now we will never know if that's true or not."

"So that's it then, complete and utter faith in the judicial system? The system that lets criminals go and jails innocent people?"

"It's not faith." She apparently didn't like that word any more than she liked him. "My job hinges on adhering to the logics of evidentiary proof, allowing a jury to deliver correct verdicts in the court of law." She regarded him with a sneer. "Society cannot function with arbitrary, extra-judicial killings as a means of providing justice."

"And police shooting up anyone they feel like is different because...?"

She scowled. "Police reform is not under my purview. Evidence, and its use within the justice system are my only responsibility."

"So the fact that I pick my target utilizing evidence you personally compiled means....?"

That earned him a death glare. "The quality of my work does not excuse appointing yourself judge, jury, and executioner." She huffed. "You're no better than my father."

"If the person with the better lawyer always wins, rather than the better evidence, then--"

"I am done speaking justice theory with you. Sleep on the couch, clearly my opinion has no bearing on the matter. I am going to sleep." She shoved past him, stormed into her bedroom, and shut & locked the door.

Alone in the empty kitchen of a stranger, Booth pondered his next move. What were the chances that she would climb down three floors of balconies to escape? It wasn't impossible, but it wasn't easy either. Probably she'd stay where she was. Picking her phone off the ground, he scrolled through her texts until he found Max.

It's done. Took a hit. Laying low here. She's pissed but fine, Booth typed and sent off the text. Max wouldn't be pleased, but this meant the old criminal would be stopping by in no time.

Taking the lady's advice, Booth laid himself out on the couch and dozed off. Hopefully when he woke up, it would be to Max with a back alley surgeon, not the bone lady whacking him in the face with a frying pan. Hopefully.

[slasherbvnnie]

Until We Found You  Part II

Hi again! Welcome back for part II of Until We Found You, please head the tags: Modern Day College Scream AU, Obsessed AFAB!Reader, Eventual Poly!Ghostface x reader, Eventual NSFW, All characters 18+

Part I Part III Part IV Part V Part VI Part VII Part VIII Part IX

The police were practically useless with your case. After your parents had arrived, they checked the house while they told you to pack a bag. You went back upstairs, still cautious in case the killer was lurking somewhere. You felt your foot slip beneath you, remembering the papers on the floor. You picked them up from the ground, stuffing them into your backpack, following it up with clothes and whatever else you needed to take. You looked out of your window, seeing a red beetle pulling into your driveway and Tatum and Sidney getting out of it. You sighed, finishing packing your bag up, hearing the police begin to make their way to your room. “You can all interview her tomorrow, I want her somewhere safe for the night,” you heard your mom's voice from down the hall, putting your shoes on before peeking your head out and looking up at the officer in front of you. “Dewey,” you called out, seeing the man look back at you. “Hey, are you okay? Did the paramedics check you out already,” he questioned, nodding and offering a tiny smile. “Yup, I wasn’t hurt, just kinda scared I guess,” you murmured, what if the killer got the smart idea to frame it all on you now? Why didn’t they kill you? You weren’t scared for your life, just scared they would ruin it by setting you up.

“Oh, good, yeah. You gave your statement already, right?” He asked, you gave a hum in response. “Crazed masked killer wearing a black outfit, yup. Creepy call too, he asked me about an old horror movie, you know, the one I named Irena after. It was fucking creepy,” You said, recalling the incident from less than an hour ago. “Dewey!” Tatum called, pushing past the other officers with Sidney trailing right behind her. “Oh my god, are you okay? Did they hurt you or anything,” Tatum asked as she pulled you in for a hug. “No, I’m- I’m okay,” you reassured her as Sidney wrapped her arms around you as well.

“Honey,” your dad called, making you pull away from the girls. “The Machers said they would be happy to keep watch on all you kids tonight. I’d feel a little better knowing all your friends will be with you,” he said, you nodded. “Yeah, I’d feel better too, did you guys call Randy and Billy already?” You asked as you turned back to Sidney and Tatum. “Yeah, we called them on the way, we asked Stu if we could stay at his since his is the biggest. We kinda figured you didn’t want to be alone tonight,” Sidney said, making you smile a bit as you nodded. “Thanks,” you said before going to your parents. “What about you guys? Where are you going to stay tonight,” you didn’t want the killer to go after them, next to Irena they were the only thing you cared about. “We’ll be at your aunt's house, we will be safe. You just try relaxing okay? We’ll pick you up in the morning to take you to the station,” your mom said before hugging you. “I’m so glad you’re safe,” she sighed out.

“I guess you aren’t the killer after all, or maybe you have an accomplice helping you to throw police off your trail,” Randy said in a teasing way to you, huffing when you kicked at him. “Maybe it was you, Randy. Maybe you saw one too many Halloweens and thought you’d take some inspo,” you said as you put your head back onto Sidney’s lap. “Yeah, Randy’s a perfect killer. He probably did it because you wouldn’t sleep with him,” Stu added, making the group laugh except for Randy. “And who says it wasn’t you, Stu? Maybe you got jealous of her seeing your girlfriend's tits more than you,” Randy retorted, making Stu laugh as he looked at you. “Yeah, what's to say it wasn’t me trying to gut you tonight?” Stu asked in a teasing manner, Tatum hitting his shoulder as Billy sounded in. “Can you two idiots shut up about it? Watch the fucking movie,” he huffed out. “Billy’s right guys, I just want to relax tonight. I don’t want to hear about that stupid fucking mask anymore,” you huffed out. You didn’t want to admit it, but your heart was a little hurt. You had been obsessed with the killings, you didn’t think Weary had killed Maureen, you think it was someone who was still on the loose, the same someone who killed Casey and Steve. The use of knives, the fact that no one saw their face, and how they were killed, it was all too coincidental. You spent over a whole year obsessing over them, only to be betrayed and nearly killed. You were almost killed by the one person who made you feel alive again, someone who brought you excitement, you were hurt by that.

“I’m gonna grab a beer, anyone else want one,” Stu asked as everyone chimed in. “Then someone come and help,” he demanded as he stood, you got off of Sidney’s lap and stood up, “I’ll help. Got anything other than shitty beer down there?” You questioned as he laughed, “I think,” he replied as you two headed down to the garage.

“You know, I’m surprised the horror hottie would follow someone all alone to a dark place,” Stu teased, earning him a shove to his shoulder. “Shut up, Stu. Everyone knows you would probably go searching through my underwear drawer before trying to kill me,” you laughed, “who says I didn’t?” He questioned, making you stumble in your walk for a moment. “Chill out, I was with Tate on the phone while it was going on. I’m just fucking with you,” He chuckled, opening up the fridge and handing you the beers. “Got patron or hard lemonade, take your pick,” he hummed, you pointed at the lemonade. “Hey, Randy’s getting cut off the dumbass keeps talking about his theories,” you heard Billy from the doorway, Stu laughing as he took one of the beers from your hands. “More for me then,” Stu said as he closed the fridge. You turned and saw Billy looking at you, a bit more intensely than his usual crazy eyes. “What? Scared to be near the girl who almost got killed,” you joked as he flashed a smile. “No, surprised you’re still alive though.” “Same here,” Stu said as he looked at Billy, Billy narrowed his eyes at Stu for a moment before he went over to you to help with the beers. “Maybe ghostface has a thing for you or something,” Billy said as you laughed. “Doubt it, I think he got scared that my parents were getting home,” you said, which was partially true, but you couldn’t deny that maybe your obsession helped you survive tonight. “Maybe you have a thing for ghostface then,” Stu chimed in, making your head whip to him. You blushed, shaking your head, “as if,” you huffed out, giving a little laugh to cover up your nervousness.

Time passed by quickly that night, you all spent the night drinking and watching movies, mostly horror movies involving Jamie Lee Curtis since Stu insisted on watching them. Tate was cooped up in Stu’s room with him, Randy had passed out on the couch and Sidney and Billy were probably in the guest room fast asleep. You had snuck out into the backyard, letting your mind wander once again as you stared up at the stars. Your phone began to ring, you stared at it and debated answering before seeing it was Sidney’s number. You sighed and picked it up, wondering if she needed anything. “Hey,” you answered, hearing a familiar voice. “The Machers, huh? Don’t you know not to split up?” The voice questioned, making you sit up. “You let me live, why are you calling?” You asked, looking around before standing and heading back for the door to get inside. “I wanted to talk to my fan, I saw all your papers. Thought you would like a phone call, or are you mad I didn’t slit that pretty little throat,” the person taunted as you messed around with the doorknob, it had locked behind you when you left. “That was before I realized I was on your kill list,” you retorted, heading around the house to the front door to wake Randy up. “No hard feelings, it was before I realized you were a fan. Leave your window open when you’re back at home. I would like to see what my pretty little fan is willing to do for not slitting her throat.” The killer said, chuckling as you blushed a little, about to respond before you heard the beeping that indicated they had hung up. You smiled slightly, happy that they wanted to see you again.

The front door opened, Billy looking at you with panicked eyes and a knife in hand. “Jesus, I thought you were the weirdo, I heard you trying to open the back door,” he said, making you laugh a bit. “Yeah, sorry, the back door was locked,” you said as he moved out of the doorway. “Come on, get inside before you end up like Casey,” he said as you walked in, “not funny, Billy.” You said as you yawned. “Mind if I crash with you and Sid? I don’t want Randy to make any passes,” you asked as Billy laughed, heading to the kitchen to put up the knife. “Be my guest, you and Sid can have the bed, I’ll take the floor.” “What a gentleman,” you teased. “Shut up before I let Randy take a stab at you.” He said, mimicking a stabbing movement as you laughed and pushed him.

[hotcheetohatredwastaken]

Wild’s Wolf: Febuwhump Day 4 -- Obedience (Modern AU)

“Tell me about him,” Time said as he walked down the dim research facility’s hallway, flipping through the binder in his hands. He’d already scanned through its pages at the dinner table that morning over his coffee, and again as Malon, his lovely wife, drove him to work for this impromptu… assignment. The boy’s picture sat taped in the back of the binder. He glared up at the taker of the picture viciously, his too-sharp teeth bared in a snarl and those odd long ears of his pinned back against his head. His blue eyes were pale, his skin nearly translucent against the white wall behind him. “He doesn’t look very happy with you people.”

A dry laugh. “He’s not. Appears to be male, approximately twelve years old, assuming that his species ages similarly to humans,” said the researcher walking alongside him. “Has blond hair, blue eyes, and heavy scarring along his left side. Hasn’t spoken a word we could understand since we caught him out near the city a few days ago. He’s been obstinate, aggressive—”

“I’ve read all of that in the reports you’ve given me. I want to hear your impression of him.”

They thought for a while. They stopped in the hallway, then led him into a room. Many other researchers in lab coats sat at computers or peered through the window taking up the far wall of the room. Beyond it was the room in which they held the… subject. It appeared to be empty.

“... he’s just a scared kid, I think,” they said at last. Time furrowed his brow, opening his mouth to ask just where he was, but they pointed towards the bed in the corner of the room. The covers of the single bed had been dragged down to form a sort of wall around the bed frame, but Time thought he saw glinting eyes in the shadow behind it. “He’s in there, hiding. Has been since the first day we got him. We had to drag him out kicking and screaming to run his labs yesterday, it wasn't pretty. Hasn’t eaten or drunk a thing we haven’t given him through an IV, so far.”

Time sighed, thumbing back through the folder. “And you have me here for the linguistic issue?” he confirmed, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes. He’s shouted at some of us a few times, but his language is unlike any we’ve ever heard. Figured that we’d give you a call since you’re the great professor, see if you could figure out what we’re dealing with.”

“Of course, of course.” Time dropped his hand to his pocket, checking whether the pouch that held his jabbernuts was still there. Magic made it surprisingly easy to make a living as a linguistics professor with a knack for quickly learning any language he encountered. It wasn’t like he was expected to teach anyways, and captive audiences were the best ones, after all. Of course, if anyone found out about that magic… he was already cutting it too close, having government agencies contacting him for his abilities. Time returned his attention to the room across from the glass. “What are your plans for… him?”

“Confidential information, I’m afraid,” they replied smoothly. “All we need from you today is a confirmation of whether or not he speaks a human language. We may bring you back if we need to set up a mode of communication with him, but for now we’re just wondering about his capabilities for communication at all—level of intelligence and all that.”

“I understand,” Time answered, gazing through the window. “What… what is he? He’s not human, I believe you insinuated?”

“Will you be needing anything else?” they asked brightly, stepping between him and the pane of glass. “We’d like to get this done quickly, if at all possible.”

Time knew by their tone that it was time to stop asking questions. “No, no, I don’t need anything but an hour or two with him.” He swallowed thickly. “Thank you. Show me to him, please?”

“Gladly. Follow me.” They led him out into the hallway, then to an adjacent door. “Just be careful, he’s a biter. But I’m sure you’ll be fine.” They tapped at the keypad, then spoke into the little microphone mounted to the wall. “Open the door!”

It swung open with an eerie creak. Time took a deep breath, then stepped into the room.

First Chapter >> Next Chapter

[polteergeistt]

Gardening AU :3

The old mansion where Sleep Token resides had once a beautiful garden. They decided to restore it.

Vessel

Vessel got assigned the job which requires the most muscles in my opinion which isss *drumroll* taking out weeds ! He likes it a lot because sometimes it requires digging holes around the roots and he likes it. He makes sure not to stab into worms with his shovel even if II assured him that they would survive if he did. He just doesn't want to hurt the wormies. It's quite a simple task and rather repetitive. He likes to listen to music while doing it.

II

I think II is the nerd of the situation. They call him the bug man because he knows a lot about bugs and all the little critters around. However, he refuses to touch them without gloves even if he knows they won't hurt him, but with gloves it's fine as long as the bug isn't too big or too fast. He has a big book with images he carries around. Vessel makes fun of it without actually intending to be hurtful but II wields the book as if he was about to smack him in the head with it, then they both laugh about it.

III

III will not mind picking up bugs with his bare hands, which grosses out the others sometimes but in his big carefree and gentle hands the bugs look kinda adorable. He is the bug dad. III will be happy to help, not Vessel because he deems his job boring, but V and VI who plant and water. He is often covered in mud and wants to crash in the couch once he gets inside but he gets kicked into the shower at the speed of light by IV.

IV

IV is the one who does the heavy lifting. He is incredibly strong despite looking small next to Vessel and III. He can lift heavy bags of dirt and the weed and the buckets full of weed all by himself. He's very proud of it and likes to show off sometimes, all in a show-don't-tell manner. When Vessel is done weeding out the land and his back is sore from bending all the time, IV likes to give him massages. It amuses the both of them when IV makes Vessel groan and he starts to fake moans exaggerately and Vessel doesn't mind having IV sitting on him.

V

V is the one with the most knowledge about plants. She grew up in the countryside and often worked in the garden with her grandmother. She is basically the head of the operation, the one everyone asks for confirmation or advice. She prefers watering but she will do anything. When it's raining and they can't work outside, she paints flowerpots.

VI

VI also knows a bit about plants and mostly flowers. She like arranging flowers so she tells which plant to put where and when they bloom she makes wonderful bouquets and put them in a pretty vase in the living room. She hates bugs with a passion but she made a reason not to kill them and asks for III to take care of them.

VII

VII isn't into gardening as much as the others. She gets bored of it very easily. Instead, she keeps track of the evolution of the garden by taking picture every now and then. She also like to paint them with watercolor paint or draw them with pencils. She writes poetry about it as well. The garden is a golden mine in terms of inspiration for her because of how beautiful it is but also because it was put together by her friends. She shares the art she makes with Vessel and sometimes he gets inspired by it in turn. He makes fanart of VII's art, in other words.

[alaydabug2]

Tag list: @sparklenarniawizard @imobsessed123 @thoughtlescat @ilikebookssomuch

Broken heart/Broken mind

Chapter Sixty-one

(Human AU)

Sophie and Keefe met in the children's hospital when they were little. Because of how long they were confined to the four walls of the hospital, they became very close during their stay.

As the years pass, they wind up being in the same classroom together due to their physical conditions. This makes their bond deepen.

But are they able to handle when life gets tough, throwing problems and complications their way?

The alarm blared throughout Sophie's room. She groaned and buried her face into her pillow. It was way too early to be getting up, four in the morning, to be exact. She still dragged herself out of bed and started to get ready.

Once she was dressed and had her items collected, she knocked on her parents' door.

"I'm leaving," she called to them.

"Got it," Grady said back. "Love you, be careful."

"I will," she promised. "Love you, too."

It was Friday. Keefe's surgery was going to be at six thirty in the morning. The first stop she made while getting out the door was McDonald's for a coffee and hashbrowns. She didn't think she'd be able to stay awake if she didn't.

After thirty minutes of driving, she arrived at the hospital. She pulled out her bag she brought to keep herself busy. There also was a good chance of her spending the night, so she brought some clothes to change into.

When she made it to the room, nurses were already there, asking tons of questions. Sophie quietly snuck through the doorway to wait in a corner until they were done.

When they left, she moved to go greet Keefe and Ro. Ro waved, while Keefe sleepily blinked up at her.

They waited around until five thirty, in which the nurses took them into the pre-op room. The nurses took to Keefe with a bunch of needles. Sophie wanted to support her boyfriend, but the sight of them made her heady woozy. She had to turn away.

When it was safe, she turned back to find Keefe with several IVs in his arms. She noticed the way he cringed at them. She took his hand as the nurses continued to fiddle with the various monitors he was hooked up to.

One of the nurses pushed some drugs into the IVs. Sophie had to fight back a giggle when she saw the exact moments it hit Keefe's system. His pupils dilated wider than she thought was possible, and he slumped back into his pillows.

Ro snickered. "Yeah, I want what he's on," she told the nurse. "Seems like a good time."

The nurse shook her head with a grin. "Sorry, this is for the VIPs only. Afraid you can't have any."

Ro gave an over-exaggerated pout.

The nurse finally left the room, and they were alone. Keefe turned to look at her and held a hand out. She took it, giving it a gentle squeeze. He closed his eyes as the meds kicked in.

Time to be taken back was quickly approaching. Sophie was still stationed by his bed, stoking his hair.

He finally looked up to Ro and said, "Can I talk to Mom and Dad before I'm taken away?"

"Of course," she agreed.

She pulled out her phone, dialing Cassius's number. It ended up in voice-mail. She tried again with Giselle. Each ring felt like it was sucking life out of the room. Until-

"Hello," their mother's voice came out. "What do you need?"

"Hey, mom!" Ro said. "Is dad with you?"

"Yes, he's right here. How come?"

"Well... Keefe is going to be taken back into surgery within the next ten minutes. He wanted to talk to you guys."

She moved the phone over to Keefe's mouth so he could say, "Hey. Just wanted to talk."

A yawn came from the other side of the receiver. "Why? Thought you knew better than to be needy."

Keefe's eyes shifted downward. Ro pursed her lips.

Their mother continued. "How old are you again? Oh, right, sixteen. Can't you handle yourself?"

Ro finally spoke up. "Why are you so pressed for him wanting support from his parents? Those are natural instincts to have!"

"He needs to learn that we won't always be there-"

"You never were there in the first place," Keefe spat.

"Excuse me, sir? You're not going to talk to me like that. You're crazy if-"

Ro clicked the button for it to be off speaker. She then got up and stepped outside. It was quite useless because the argument was easily heard through the walls, though.

Sophie leaned in and kissed Keefe on the cheek. He turned up at her when she pulled away and reached out a hand, pulling her back down.

He pressed his lips to hers. It almost seemed desperate. Every time she thought he would be ready to break away, he deepened the kiss.

They didn't scramble away until someone cleared their throat. Ro and a few nurses were waiting. Sophie felt her cheeks turn red hot.

"Remember," the nurse directed to the couple, "We're actively not trying to take his breath away. Exact opposite of what you were doing." He smirked.

He came up to the bed and started fiddling with wires. Once he was done, the bed was able to be rolled around easily.

Ro came over to Keefe to lean down and give him a hug. "You've got this. You'll do great," she whispered in his ear

Sophie leaned in for one last kiss. "Everything will go well," she assured him. "Promise."

At the last second before he was taken out of the room, she whispered by his head, "I love you."

She never saw his reaction before he got wheeled away.

[skysquid22]

hi hi hi i love your fics so much ive been reading Perfect Stranger and it's sooooo lovely im excited for the next update!!

also I'd like to ask about your thoughts on fishmonger minedai and if you have any headcanons about this au!

and also if you maybe possibly plan on writing a fic about that someday ahem👀

💖💞❤️💖💞❤️ Thank you so much! I’m glad people are really loving it because I had such a fun time writing it.

So the fishmonger idea come directly from this post which I love dearly and can’t stop thinking about it. Doubly so now since Daigo is a fisherman apparently in Y8 lol. With that in the mix my original view of a scene is kinda dead in the water but I might do something relating strictly to the fishing stuff depending on Y8. But I’ll describe the original scene I had in mind, below the cut.

Mostly, the situation is that Daigo finds Mine after y’know a decade of believing he’s dead. As for how he found out, the inciting situation is a few Clan members try to take over some old lady’s fishmonger set up/business (I don’t actually know how it works) but the point is—the employee (Mine) steps up to tell them to fuck off. When they don’t he kicks their asses and stabs one of them with an ice pick (reminiscent of a butter knife see) stigmata style (through the hand). The attack/defense is a story and gets passed up and around and blah blah blah Daigo goes to investigate.

They stare at each other for a bit, both shocked and Mine’s nervous while Daigo is just kinda awed. But after another beat of silence Daigo walks up and hugs him. (He’s wearing his chairman suit at this time.) Before he sweeps in for a hug Mine warns him that he smells like seawater and is covered in dead fish guts but Daigo just hugs him anyway. Arms wrapped around him, face buried in the hood of his coat, Daigo admits that he doesn’t care if he gets dirty and that he’s missed Mine deeply. Mine silently returns the hug.

After that I think all I had was Mine offering a change of clothes for Daigo. That’s about it, mostly just an aesthetic scene. If you’re coming from reading Bangkok Necktie, I do have a few more ideas I’ll probably never write that extends from that fic. I’m sure when Y8 comes around and I get an understanding of what Daigo is doing I might do a more proper Minedai fic in that setting. We’ll see I guess!

[crimeboys]

hiya i feel like ive seen you mention the sweeney todd au but. sitting here kicking my feet. if u would like an opportunity to rant abt it please take this as one -kai

oh hi!! yes i've mentioned it a few times mostly bc i was desperately trying not to make wilbur a barber LMAO. i'll be so fr, im probably never writing this thing forrealsies, especially bc there are so many details and storylines i do not feel like figuring out, so i can just tell you like. everything under the cut. it'll probably be a little jumpy bc i don't have any of this info actually written anywhere it's all in my mind lul.

WARNINGS: cannibalism, murder, abuse, suicide

it's basically just like. wilbur is sweeney. quackity is mrs. lovett. 13 years prior, wilbur was sent to prison by schlatt for "treason" and a bunch of bullshit political stuff bc well they had beef. a little bit before this, sally disappeared and wilbur claimed she left him, but he actually murdered her (do not know the reason yet, and if i did i forgot) and the only one who knows is quackity, but wilbur does not know that quackity knows. also wilbur definitely ate sally in some way bc well i always liked the idea the wilbur ate sally in canon. she's just a human instead of a salmon.

so it's 13 years later, and wilbur is getting off a boat with this guy tommy who has been helping him (which btw wilbur and tommy are MUCH closer than sweeney and anthony, they're besties instead of like. awkward mentor and semi-student), and wilbur plans to go back to his old home to see what remains while tommy goes to do some fucking thang idk. and wilbur ends up finding quackity, who has opened a burger shop, and tommy accidentally runs into schlatt, fundy, and tubbo and almost gets in a fist-fight with fundy. also in this au schlatt semi-raises fundy but is kind of a shit semi-dad and everyone around him is just miserable. ignoring like 90% of the johanna plot Except the simple fact that wilbur has a kid who was given to someone he fucking hates and now he wants to get him back.

tubbo is basically toby but if toby was schlatt's right-hand man instead of random fake italian guy. also wilbur's first kill is eret, who actually came to him trying to make amends/help, but wilbur thought was trying to out him to schlatt, so wilbur like. panic-murders eret. and has a bit of a freak out about it bc he's murdered someone before (his wife lul) but it haunts him and now this does too. but quackity's just like Bro. Free meat. This goes crazy. bc it's basically the same plot of like, meat prices are crazy, quackity can't afford it, and this is the perfect solution to his meat problem and wilbur's killed someone and has a body problem. also quackity used to be part of the manberg cabinet but when he finally broke things off with schlatt for being constantly disrespected both as a partner in politics and fiance, he was basically defamed and kicked to the curb and had everything taken from him so he had to figure shit out which is how he ended up in the position of burger shop owner in wilbur soot's old place.

also wilbur and quackity obvious tension but it's like that "im probably nonbinary but ive got a job so i don't really worry about that" but wilbur's like "im probably attracted to quackity but i've got a lot of people to murder to get my son back so i don't really worry about that" and quackity's malding about that a little bc he is definitely in love with wilbur but it's fine he gets one thing he wants and that's a functional fucking business, he can figure out the wilbur shit later when wilbur gets his stupid son back.

but yeah. wilbur murders eret, which starts a spiral spurred on by quackity being like "objectively you should keep killing people so i can run my business thanks man", and the rage he carries from his life being taken away for nothing, and the violence he has always carried since he murdered sally. idk if tommy's gonna know? i haven't thought about tommy enough in this au tbh and that's bc he is Completely different than anthony so i have to fucking think about it a lot. bc he's not going after fundy like anthony was johanna, he's trying to help fundy bc that's wilbur's son and wilbur's his best friend so he wants to help him save his fucking son. but fundy is also conflicted bc he genuinely cares about schlatt, as they've all genuinely cared about schlatt, and he's like a father to him.

also tubbo does NOT trust wilbur's ass. he's very fond of quackity, from memories of his childhood and quackity at schlatt's side, trying to protect tubbo, and the way quackity welcomes him with open arms when he gets the fuck out of there after tubbo hits his breaking point with schlatt, but tubbo thinks wilbur is kind of like the worst. bc he doesn't realize until it's too late that quackity is also kind of like the worst.

i haven't thought a lot about the middle, just bits and bobs, mostly the beginning and the end. i have the ending planned beat for beat pretty much.

the ending, basically, is that wilbur has tossed schlatt down the murder chute or what-fucking-ever, and quackity watches him die. he sort of just like stands there and watches schlatt choke on his own blood, not even trying to help or kill him faster, just watches it happen. as schlatt takes his last breath, wilbur storms down to the basement to make sure schlatt is dead. and he is! so wilbur's like this is my perfect victory, everything is fine now, except shit, tubbo knows about the murders bc frankly they are not very good at cleaning up their murders. this means they either need to kill tubbo or convince him to keep his mouth shut. they both know the second isn't really an option.

one of them vouches to keep tubbo alive despite this, probably quackity, and it sparks an argument that has quackity finally confess that he knows wilbur killed sally. wilbur is paranoid and angry and quackity is paranoid and angry and their argument devolves until they're trying to fucking kill each other. wilbur barely escapes the room with his life intact, though he doesn't manage to quite kill quackity.

he tries to find fundy and tommy, but they are both still trying to get to the shop after escaping the prison? or some shit again, not fully sure, their part of the story needs some fucking work, but wilbur is frustrated because he hoped to find them before tubbo did, lying and saying tubbo and quackity were killed by schlatt and wilbur killed schlatt in retaliation, and fleeing with both of them into the night. when he can't find them, wilbur decides he needs to go back after tubbo and goes through the side door of the house and back down the basement stairs.

while wilbur was looking for tommy and fundy, quackity had gathered himself back up from their fight and planned to go after wilbur and finish the fucking job, but he trips on schlatt's body and in a moment of just complete and utter anger and frustration and, unfortunately, love for both the dead man and the man who killed him, quackity grabs a bone or knife or something and cuts open schlatt's chest, pulls out his heart, and starts to eat it. as quackity eats schlatt's heart, tubbo comes up behind him and stabs him through his heart. he drops the knife and runs, finding tommy and fundy running up to the front door, looking for wilbur.

wilbur finds himself downstairs. he looks at the carnage, the oven still running, quackity and schlatt's dead bodies, meat and bones everywhere from he and quackity's work together. he wonders how the hell he's going to face fundy, face tommy, after everything he has done. he hsan't seen his son in 13 years, he hardly knows what fundy fucking looks like, he hardly remembers what sally looked like. it's all in a haze of blood, the awful life he made with quackity and tubbo overwriting it. he decides to kill himself and explodes the shop with the oven. somehow. i guess.

fundy, tommy, and tubbo get out alive, bc i always liked that johanna, anthony, and toby manage to get out it was very nice to me. tommy and fundy are heartbroken that wilbur died (still not sure how much they, specifically tommy, know about wilbur and quackity's business), and tubbo is admittedly very sad that he had to kill quackity, but he knows what they don't, that wilbur and quackity were dangerous men playing a dangerous game and bringing unsuspecting players into it, and he is the luckiest person in the fucking world to get out of their orbit alive. so he celebrates the fact that he won their game, and the three of them try to make a life. it is certainly happier than whatever they would have found in wilbur and quackity's.

also here is the only written (unedited) scene i have you can have it bc well i love to share thangs

Killing people outright is something Wilbur will admit he’s not fond of. He doesn’t like to watch the light leave peoples eyes. He doesn’t like his hand being the one to fell someone. He sits at the counter, staring at his hands. They were covered in blood just minutes ago. Before Quackity walked him over to the sink, talking in a low, steady voice about how it was understandable, it’s hardly as bad when it’s in self-defense, what was he supposed to do? Just let Eret tell Schlatt Wilbur’s back in town? Wilbur did the right thing. Whether that was Quackity’s voice or Wilbur’s own telling him, he still doesn’t know. But Quackity meets his eyes across the counter and does not look afraid, does not look worried. Just thoughtful. 

“So,” Quackity starts, tapping his fingers atop the counter. “What do we do with her?” 

“Take her somewhere far, far away,” Wilbur says, in a voice that sounds just as far. “Bury Eret where they’ll never find him.”

Quackity nods, looking somewhat disappointed. “Right. Right. I mean, burying Eret would make the most sense, right?” 

“Right,” Wilbur echoes, hardly listening. 

“But…” He sighs, looking up at the ceiling, all that separates them from Eret’s body. “Seems like a waste, right?” Wilbur is brought a little closer to Earth in his confusion.

“A waste?”

“Business has been bad,” Quackity continues, thoughtfully, conversationally, like this is all very normal and Wilbur isn’t still rubbing at his hands to get the blood off. “Debts we can’t pay off. What would it hurt, when he’s already dead?” Wilbur isn’t connecting whatever dots Quackity lays out. Eret is dead and the shop is doing poorly. The thoughts don’t intersect. “I mean, it’d be wrong just to dump them somewhere to rot, when there’s a use? When the price of meat raises every fucking week?” Rot. Meat. The connection is made. A little laugh tumbles out of Wilbur, amusement or shock he’s unsure, and Quackity smiles. “Plenty of meat, plenty of business.” It’s completely despicable. It turns Wilbur’s stomach inside out. It’s almost enough to make a Godless man pray for forgiveness… It’s absolutely fucking brilliant.

[hinamie]

hi hina! i hope you've been well 🩵 for the art asks: 5, 6, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 22, 23 🎨🖌️🖼️

Mariam !!! It's so good to hear from you I hope you've been well also <3 <3 <3 this will get long

5. Anything you haven’t drawn yet but want to?

oooooh I've had an idea in my head for an s/e piece inspired by visuals from the blood sweat and tears mv for like 5 years but no matter how hard I throw myself at it I can never get it to look right so i've just been waiting until i manage to catch lightning in a bottle i guess :< (((I also found a few notes in an old "to draw" folder from like 2 years ago that include but are not limited to: jjk band au with guitarist brothers yuuji+sukuna/bassist megu/drummer nobara; gojo in crocs. ))))

6. Which artists inspire you right now?

HHHHH its the same crowd as usual i am so hides face in hands bc they intimidate me /pos :'))))) vacuumchan, ohprcr, gloomyhome, trickywagon, meru90 to name a few ANYWAY RUNNING HIDING

15. Biggest artist pet peeve?

this is a tough one im such a hater and everything inconveniences me ,,, when the perfect csp brush costs money >:C,, when u cant find reference from this One Specific Angle >:C,, when u dont realize youve merged the wrong layer until you've been working for hours and all of a sudden your folders are out of order and its a mess >:C SPEAKING OF MERGING LAYERS hot take i think that they should invent a way to let u merge layer modes without converting them all to the same type. let me put my multiply with my glow dodge !!! cowards.

16. What’s the most daunting part of your process?

rendering :') so much of it is trusting the process and there are so many ugly phases that make u wonder if u were ever good at art to begin with

17. What inspires you?

hdsj i mean im a fanartist so i think it goes without saying that I'm mainly inspired by the content I like ,, but i also am very inspired by fashion !!!! saw a guy walking the other day with a hoodie that said CASH FOR SOULS | COLD HARD CASH | CA$H4SOULZ.com and i had to take a picture of it like a creep bc tht + Sukuna ??? hello??? anyway yea ive got a pinterest board dedicated to insp-y clothes and a notes folder dedicated to jotting down cute outfits I see in public

18. Do you have any larger projects you’d like to pursue?

I've always wanted to do speedpaints ! but even more than that I want to do something aNYTHING with my ocverse but alas...time.....planning....plot.. so in the meantime they simply live in my head bouncing around like globs of wax in a lava lamp

19. Favourite character(s) to draw?

megumi jjk gojo jjk sukuna/yuuji jjk kotori love live rina love live ichigo tokyo mew mew + shiro n eden from My Brain ,,, im crying the duality of my fav chars is either feral shounen twink or idol/magical girl and eden is both simultaneously actually

22. When is your prime time to work on your art?

usually mid to late afternoon but it depends on the season because it gets so HOT in my room in the warm months which I dread >:( How it works is if I start in mid-late afternoon then I'm able to hit my stride and draw basically through the entire evening (also because of the aforementioned Heat I vastly prefer drawing in fall/winter because that means I don't have to evacuate my room at 4pm sdfhdgshd)

23. Do you listen to music or watch shows while you work? If so, what’s your favourite?

I have to have music or something on while I'm drawing or the fans in my cintiq will drive me insane . Sometimes i listen to music that matches/drastically contrasts the piece I'm working on but most of the time I can't be bothered and just throw on my youtube mix which consists embarassingly of mainly vocaloid and utau ,, though sometimes if a piece is kicking my ass and I need to just hunker down and get shit done then I'll put the entire discography of an artist I like on shuffle (some favs include 1D/waterparks/former vandal/harumaki gohan) and for some reason the Predictability activates intense productivity mode?? I cant explain it gdsj its like I have music on that I like but it's not jumping around between artists so I don't get too distracted or excited whenever the song changes

[lucyandthepen]

a lesson on style - i . [ ljn | njm ]

pt. i, pt. ii, pt. iii, pt. iv.,  pt. v, pt. vi

you’ve always been content with being associated with one word and one word only: average. average in looks, academics and social skills, you’re just looking to graduate high school without causing disasters you’ll have to live with until you kick the bucket. when you’re paired with school king lee jeno for the semester-long physics thesis, you can’t help but think the entire situation has pretty much set itself up for failure. that is, until you strike a deal with your partner.  alternatively: an au tale involving lessons in popularity, eleven consecutive B­ minuses, a secretly sensitive, chess­-loving jock, and an amateur sex tape.

pairing: jeno x fem!reader, jaemin x fem!reader verse: high school au { jocks!nomin ft. a super cute whiny ap physics genius renjun } rating: M chapter warnings: none word count: 6.1k

author’s note: this is actually an old exo cast fic of mine from my old blog that i had to put on hiatus (alongside myself, actually), for many, many terrible moons (see : 3 years, for a master’s diploma that is simply collecting dust), but upon re-reading it, i thought that it would be a pretty good fit for a dreamie cast instead!! i’ve been thinking about branching out and writing for different groups for a while now, and as a slow return to writing, i’ll be posting the edited already written chapters up slowly so i can also write ahead! for anyone who might have found this blog and recognizes this fic, welcome back! i hope you still enjoy it! for people who’ve encountered it for the first time, i also hope you enjoy it! :) this is unbeta’d (even after all this time pls), so please do point out any errors i might have missed while editing!

                                                        *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

There are three things you had intended for your very average, simple, girl-next-door life:

1. Graduate high school with an average GPA, a diploma and a sigh of relief, without any type of valedictorian honors or the requirement to make a teary/educational/sentimental/hopeful speech about the past/present/future.

2. Get a desk job as the vice-vice-vice senior-vice president of an average paying company, pushing papers and typing numbers you don’t fully understand into a pirated version of Microsoft Excel 2000 to be able to pay your not very steep rent and eat take-out every other night.

3. Get married to an average-looking guy either named Jaehwan or Minhyuk, and have children that, like you, will have no particular special talents and will also live their lives as the average people that basically exist to make glamorous people appear more fabulous.

The back up plan is to stay single and have a very lazy, fat cat that eats more than you do.

There were three things you did not intend for your very average, simple, girl-next-door life, though:

1. Break your leg trying to do a somersault you can’t, even at gunpoint, imagine why you would agree to doing in the middle of the last pep rally of the season as – get this – a cheerleader.

2. Be asked to the homecoming dance by not one, but two very popular, very good-looking jocks who both, for some odd reason, manage to actually talk to you without either yawning or simply walking away while shaking their head.

3. Be asked to professionally join a teen-to-adult entertainment agency, after a 24-minute long supposedly private amateur sex tape starring you is leaked onto the internet and goes viral around the entire cyberspace.

In other words, your younger brothers have seen you naked. Online.

                                                        *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

“_____________, I just don’t understand why you like him so much.”

Some people might think you’re an optimist. Others might brand you an idealist. The least kind label would be absolutely deluded.

It doesn’t matter to you, though — you, knowing exactly what Lee Jeno looks like. Wasn’t that knowledge already a good enough reason in itself for you to spend a very creepy, alarming amount of time wishing, just wishing, he would walk over and say hey?

And it’s not just that he’s so chiseled and his face is perfect and his lips are so kissable. It’s not that he’s got an amazing body, and is tall and muscular but lean at the same time.

It’s his eyes.

They’re like, god. Great pools of molten chocolate with just the slightest hint of swirled creamer and – ugh. Behind those eyes, you’re sure there’s a sweet, sensitive man who’s looking for the right kind of girl. His soulmate, if you’re feeling a little more like a hopeless romantic today. You sincerely, genuinely, desperately hope you’re that girl.

Yeah, it’s weird. You’re in high school. Your hormones are probably kind of raging.

“Like, he’s just some dumb, boneheaded jock,” comes the continuation from beside you. You roll your eyes in response, but say nothing to contribute out of a desire to simply not. “And that’s all he’ll ever be. He’s failing nearly everything, except physical education. Why can’t you have a semi-obsessive crush on someone who might actually have a future?”

“For your information, Huang Renjun,” You snap, turning to your best friend. You’re seated in the cafeteria, supposedly enjoying a simple lunch meal. That was, of course, until you had realized you were three tables behind where Lee Jeno and his best friend, Na Jaemin were seated, also enjoying their lunches in some very cool, very manly sort of silence. So you’d looked, and let out a long sigh.

It was just a sigh, for the love of God. It’s not like you had run over and fallen to your knees in front of him. And yet Renjun had just put down his triangle gimbap, shook his head, and asked you why you had chosen, out of the thousands of perfectly acceptable (in his opinion) people in the student body, Lee Jeno to give you unreciprocated affections to.

And your response had been, and will always be: just look at him and tell me –- why the hell not?

“Jeno isn’t what you so assume as a boneheaded jock. He’s a classy, athletic student who just… happens to care more about sports than the mundane task of having to read a textbook for hours on end,” you shrug. That had come out more articulately than you’d imagined, which shocks Renjun as much as it actually surprises you — something that you notice with a twinge of belligerence after his eyes widen. “He’s probably going to get himself a top notch varsity scholarship.”

“Yeah, if he can even graduate,” Renjun shoots back contemptuously. “And even then, what’s a varsity scholarship going to get him? Do you know the amount of people who actually get into professional athleticism? He’s probably just going to end up a janitor or something.”

“Don’t you dare,” you growl.

“Come on, __________, the guy is a douche! Why do you have to pick him of all people?”

“He’s not a douche! And for your information, Jeno isn’t failing. He’s gotten a good number of D’s.”

“Yeah, I bet his teachers have gotten a load of D’s too,” Renjun replies snidely.

“Hey, not everyone can be a star student, Huang Renjun-nim with all the straight-A’s to brag about,” you sniff. “And Jeno’s not like that. He’s a gentleman.”

“Uh huh,” he said, sounding supremely unconvinced.

“Why do you hate him so much? He’s not really a bully. And he’s not done anything to you.”

“I don’t hate him him, I hate that you like him.” 

You shake your head. As if that had made it clearer. “What’s not to like? He’s funny, athletic, sweet —”

“I’m sure you know all that because you spend so much time with him.” Renjun sighs. “Why can’t you just like someone else? Why can’t you moon over, I don’t know – Mark Lee, the very smart, also very athletic and very active student body president? Or  Donghyuck, the physics lab assistant who, though not particularly into sports, has one of the highest GPAs around here? Or – I don’t know, someone like me?”

“Like what?” you say, distracted – Jeno had just stood up along with Jaemin, and had begun to clear their table, piling their trash onto their trays.

“Like – you know — you know – just —“

“He’s coming this way,” you hiss, effectively cutting Renjun off. Even though he doesn’t like it, he’s forced to turn away with you, even though he hadn’t really gotten a good look and wasn’t exactly trying to hide his presence from Jeno to begin with.

“So what?” He whispers before suddenly realizing he doesn’t know why he’s even keeping his voice down. “Are you going to offer to throw his stuff for him now? Is this what we’ve come to?”

“No, I want to leave.”

“What?” Renjun looks at you, then at his unfinished triangle gimbap, then at you again. “Why?”

“Because — I don’t want him to see me like this —“ you also whisper, starting to get up. Renjun, however, holds your arm, visibly confused and no small amounts annoyed.

“See you like what? So he’s coming, and now we have to leave?”

“I just – I don’t want – I just – can we please just go?” you beg weakly, watching them approach from the corner of your eye.

“No, there’s absolutely no reason as to why you have to leave just because he’s coming here,” he says stubbornly.

“Let go of my arm, please-“

“Just sit down, ____________.”

“No, I can’t, I don’t want to make eye contact with him — I don’t even want him to really see me right now—"

“Who said you have to make eye contact with him, anyway? Just eat your food.”

“Let’s just go —” You yank your arm back violently — just in time too, as Jeno and Jaemin pass by your table, trays in hand.

It happens all at once:  your chair falls over as you shoot upward from the force of pull, and you reel back as Renjun lets out a surprised yelp. You don’t go far — just enough to make an impact on the person behind you with your forearm and elbow.

That person being, of course, Lee Jeno’s best friend, whose can of soda was just by the edge of his tray – an edge it fell off of the moment you collide with his arm.

You hear three things after that, all close to being simultaneous with one another:

One, a very loud Oh, shit! from the guy behind you, who you had just bumped.

Two, a chair scraping as your best friend stands up from his seat, eyes wide in horror.

And, three, a bloodcurdling shriek from your own mouth as Na Jaemin’s half-full diet Coke splashes down the back of your shirt.

There’s a brief hush that falls over the room. The words that come after seem a thousand times louder.

“Oh God, I’m so sorry…”

The fizz of the soda pops and crackles against your skin, causing the now-translucent fabric to stick to your back like overly carbonated flypaper. Your mouth hangs half-open in shock, trying to find the appropriate words for the situation. Renjun looks up at you, his eyes mirroring a fraction of your horror from witnessing the situation.He mouths something that vaguely looks like “let’s go,” but you don’t want to dwell on what it could have actually been, otherwise you might strangle him. 

A warm hand gently rests on your back, pushing the sticky, soaked cloth even further closer to me. You wince at first, mildly disgusted by the feeling.

But a warm thought strikes you in that instance – what if, maybe, it’s Jeno trying to comfort you, about to say something sweet and caring that would ultimately show Renjun up, and perhaps lead to the beginning of a wonderful romance that would blossom between the both of you?

Well, you like being idealistic about your future – especially when the thought of it involves Jeno.

The idea of Lee Jeno pressing his palm against your back, his hand only obscured by a thin layer of fabric, suddenly sends unnatural tingles down your spine. Color rushes to your cheeks, and you bite the inside of your cheek to keep yourself from smiling at the strangely embarrassing but not altogether revolting thought. Renjun catches it and throws you a slightly quizzical look that suddenly changes to mild exasperation.

“Are you okay?”

It’s the same question you’d expected, but it was not asked in the sexy, careful, and husky drawl you’d often heard Jeno speak in. You deflate noticeably, turning slowly to the best friend of the man of your dreams.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” you say quietly.

“God, I’m so sorry, I really am —” Na Jaemin bites his lip, trying (see: failing) not to gawk at your blue and brown-all-the- way-down-the-back shirt. “I swear — it was an accident, I really didn’t mean to —-”

You shake your head. “No, it’s fine. I should have watched where I was going. My… bad eyesight, you know.” Your eyesight is fine. You don’t even know why you’d said that. The situation in itself was already sufficiently uncomfortable without a lame medical lie. 

Physically, of course, sure, what with your back still kind of popping and fizzing from the coke stain. But more socially, considering you now have two attractive boys right in front of you, unsure of what to do about said stain, while whoever is still present in the dwindling population of the cafeteria stares, very pityingly, at the still-spreading new pattern of Coca Cola on your shirt.

But what really knots up your insides is the fact that this coke stain, the obvious focal point of the situation, is probably the one striking reminder of the day Lee Jeno actually had his attention fully on you, for the first time in your life.

Which, considering what everything was, really isn’t the best way to make your mark on someone.

There’s a long, awkward pause. Suddenly, Jeno pipes in for the first time since the scene had gone awry, speaking in the slow, bass tone he had claimed as signature. “Do you need a jacket?”

Oh god. He’s talking to you. Not around you, not near you, not over you, not out of a conversation you’d eavesdropped – no, sorry, overhead. To you. In that, sweet, nonchalant cloud of sound that fills your ears like some one-man angelic chorus. You let out an involuntary, dreamy sigh.

Renjun, obviously hearing your response (or lack thereof), clears his throat, trying to prompt you to reply to him. Well, shit. What did he say?

“Uh — sorry —- what?” you breath out, still dazed.

“Do you,” Jeno repeats patiently. “Need a jacket?”

Oh, god. He’s going to offer you his jacket. Offer you. His jacket. The one that says Lee in that super cool varsity font that makes his name look even yummier. And that’s literally the closest you’ll ever be to him.

“Hey,” Renjun hisses to you in a low, annoyed voice. “Say something.”

You snap out of a mental monologue again, flushing a funny shade of red for at least the third time today.

You open your mouth, but no words come out -– at best, a very pitiful sort of squeak lodges itself in your throat and dies there. Your lips simply part and shut like a fish trying to process oxygen. You can practically hear the sound of Renjun rolling his eyes, probably going so far back he can see all the creases in his big brain.

“Yeah, she’d appreciate it, probably.”

Yes. Yes, definitely.

There’s the sound of rustling cloth, and hands, gentle on your shoulders, carefully place the jacket on your back. You catch a whiff of the freshly laundered cloth, peppered with the subtly faded scent of cologne that’s been religiously sprayed onto the fabric many times before. It’s heavenly. With a wide grin on your face, you turn to the two of them, more or less ready to lay down your life at Jeno’s feet.

But his jacket, pristine and crisp, is still on him, devilishly unbuttoned and lightly clinging to his sides. He raised a questioning eyebrow as you stare, a little too long, at the jacket that you’d thought had been wrapped around you moments ago. Maybe he has two jackets. Maybe you’re in the matrix. 

You turn your head, trying to read the lettering on the back. You only had to see one “N” in order to realize that the embroidery read “Na”, and not “Lee”.

It’s somehow embarrassingly difficult to hide your disappointment, but you thank Jaemin nonetheless. He seems genuinely troubled, making sure your arms are well into the sleeves of his letter jacket before backing away, hands up like you’re robbing him on the bus.

“I’m really, really sorry,” he repeats. You don’t know how much more apologetic he could manage to look.

“It’s fine,” you mumble. “Sorry about your coke.”

He shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter — what I’m worried about is -–”

“No, it’s no big deal — nothing some laundry time won’t get rid off,” you wave another round of apologies away. “Thanks for the jacket.” A bit of sadness makes its way into your voice; thankfully, it goes virtually unnoticed by all but Renjun, who makes an unpleasant face everyone who does notice it (see: you) decides to ignore.

“It’s the least I can do. Sure it’s okay?”

“Yeah, thank you.”

The first bell’s ring, signaling five minutes before the next period, punctuates the short and uncomfortable exchange. Most seniors have a free period or two for “studying” – except, only Renjun actually takes that seriously. You usually spend it with him, which is, truthfully, a big bore, so you generally end up falling asleep on the desk until he wakes you up for the next actual class.

“Hey, Jaemin, hurry,” Jeno says suddenly, checking his watch. “I want to catch that new action movie – next showing’s at half past one.”

Or, sometimes, if you had a car, guts and a whole lot of charm, you could sneak out of school for the three-hour downtime and go to the nearest mall, grab a bite or watch a movie if you could afford it. Fortunately for him, a car, guts and charm were pretty much Lee Jeno’s strongest selling points.

“Oh, yeah,” Jaemin said halfheartedly, his eyes flickering to you. “You’ll be alright?”

“Yeah,” you reply. “I’ll have your jacket with you, fresh and clean, tomorrow morning.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he shakes his head, smiling. It looks genuine, but for some reason, you feel like that can’t be too right.

“Na Jaemin,” Jeno repeats. Jaemin backs away, offering you a last small, apologetic look before nodding back at Jeno.

“Later,” he raises a hand in farewell. Jeno begins to walk ahead, not even glancing back at you. It seems he had more important things on his mind. Maybe he’d been trying to figure out what was going to go down in the new Mission Impossible movie. That seems like a valid train of thought for him to be so unconcerned about anything else. 

When they’re clear out of earshot, Renjun gives a very audible, very heavy sigh. You wheel around to him, frowning.

“What’s so —” you imitate his sigh.

“Oh, nothing.”

“Come on, Renjun, I may not be grade A but I’m not that dumb.”

“You were like a one eyed pony crippled by a shiny unicorn,” he shakes his head. “And by unicorn, I did indeed mean Lee Jeno, which is actually a significant downgrade.”

“Don’t say his name so loud, people might hear.”

“Everyone in this part of town knows you like him, _________. It’s really not a thousand piece jigsaw puzzle,” he chuckles, though a bit sardonically.

“Liar,” you mutter under your breath.

“Fine, let’s agree to disagree, then.” He rolls his eyes. You note he’s been doing a lot of that today. “You could have at least handled the situation better. Most people would have actually managed to say something other than uhhhhh…”

“I did say something!” you defend yourself, rather affronted. “I said thank you, and it was fine —”

“Yeah, to Na Jaemin. In case you didn’t notice, that stuff doesn’t really funnel down to Jeno —”

“It as good as does.”

“All I’m saying is that if you wanted to make some progress, you could have at least looked him in the eye and not choked on your own saliva.” He’s amused. You can tell. Except you’re not in the mood to laugh at all, so you settle with sniffing — very angrily — pursing your lips, and saying nothing. “What? It’s true!”

“Just shut up, Renjun,” you say tiredly. “Maybe I didn’t want to make progress then, have you thought about that?”

“Not likely,” he snorted.

“Oh – really? Really? You thought it would have been a fantastic time for me to strike up a hi hello, how do you do, would you care to have a cup of coffee with me some time? while I was drenched in coke from the waist down?”

“I’m just saying, if you’re trying to be an opportunist, you can’t really be picky about when you make your move.”

“I don’t understand you,” You throw your hands up in the air. “First you tell me to stay away from him, and now you’re telling me to think back upon the fact that I didn’t make a move when I should have?”

“It’s called reverse psychology,” he said, after a moment’s pause of consideration. “Like, I’m telling you now yeah, go for it, but then in your mind, another voice is going maybe it’s not such a good idea, especially if the only time we ever get to talk is when I’ve been splashed by coke and I can’t even form coherent sentences.”

“Oh, well, shit,” You mutter sarcastically. “Why didn’t I figure that out?”

“Given time, you might have. I have so much faith in your intelligence, even though you refuse to use it.”

“I doubt it.” You mumble under your breath. He falls quiet, and you sniff again, not because you really feel the need to but because you want to express how miffed you are at the very, very sudden and bad turn of events.

“___________,” Renjun begins in a slower, considerably kinder tone after moment of actual silence. “Are you all right?”

“Fantastic,” you sigh. “Got coke dumped on my back, in front of forty percent of the student population, I smell like a soda parlor and I choked on my own saliva in front of Lee flipping Jeno.”

“That’s a good estimation — forty percent,” Renjun approves.

“Wow, thank you.”

“Hey, it’s not all bad. For the rest of the day, your last name is Na,” he says, trying to cheer you up. You sniff for the third time in a row, nose now raw with the habit.

“I’d much rather it were Lee.”

                                                         *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

You part ways in last period, Renjun heading off to what he calls AP Physics and what you like to call AP Torture. You, however, had managed to stay very happily in the physics lesson for normal people, despite Renjun’s constant badgering for you to just work harder so that you both could be AP Torture lab partners together. You’ve declined, quite politely, on more than one occasion. Average is your specialty.

Never mind the fact that Lee Jeno was in your Physics class, only three stations away from you. It’s not the reason you’re staying, but you’d be a liar if you ever said it hadn’t served as one of the many excellent justifications.

He’s already there when you walk into class, yawning and twirling his pen in between his fingers. Your breathing hitches a little as you take the glorious sight of him in, but you scold yourself for a hot minute, reminding yourself that cool people don’t ever show when they’re feeling any other emotion than the one called cool. You do a pretty good job (well, it feels like a good job) of making yourself seem calm and aloof, remaining seemingly unaware of his presence as you walk past him over to your station to sit down on your stool.

You should have been able to skate by with the whole act, too, except you stupidly take the time to sneak a glance at him, causing you to miss the surface of your station and drop your books so loudly you feel like the people in the next classroom hear it too.

Face burning to about the average temperature of a summer’s day in the Sahara Desert, you scoop up all your books and shove them onto the untrustworthy station table. Luckily, when you cast a furtive look at Jeno, he makes no indication that he had noticed the racket you’d made. His head is still turned to the front, finger performing a mini-exhibition of pen twirling.

“Hey,___________, have a good term break?”

“Hey, Donghyuck,” you greet, sliding into your seat. “Pretty good, how was yours?”

Lee Donghyuck, another physics genius with a strangely buddy-buddy relationship with the head of the Natural Sciences Department at school. He and the chair, Choi Jiwoo (who Donghyuck fondly refers to as “Jiwoo-nim”, for some inexplicable reason), are pretty tight, which is probably why Donghyuck landed himself a position as ‘teaching assistant’ in the basic Physics class, where he can tell you what you’re doing wrong and grade your quizzes instead of having to attend whatever boring lecture they had going in AP Physics, which he probably would have aced anyway. You’re not sure if he gets paid, or whatever, but you know it sure beats the hell out of staring at a Powerpoint all day.

You’re also pretty sure they put you in a station close to the teaching assistant’s desk because of that weird chemistry incident last year when Park Gaeun got her eyebrows burned off.  You know they think it had been your fault because you were the one who had screamed and filled a beaker of water to splash onto her face when she was screaming (too) and going around in small circles like a blind chicken.

Except it wasn’t your fault – you don’t even know how it had happened. You had sworn it couldn’t have been you, because…

Well, because you’d had your back turned to Park Gaeun. Because you had been busy staring at Jeno, who was filling his graduated cylinder with hydrogen peroxide, his brow all scrunched up from concentrating. Which, by the way, makes the top 10 cutest things of the year every year.

But it still doesn’t change the fact that Park Gaeun lost her eyebrows and now has to draw them on with a pencil until they grow back, and it doesn’t sway your theory that you had been put in the station next to Lee Donghyuck’s teaching assistant’s desk so that he could keep an eye on you, in case you decided to like, accidentally electrocute someone.

“It was good,” he replies, smiling. “Do anything interesting?”

Well, you had tried to add Lee Jeno on Facebook, if that counts. Not that he’s rejected you; he just hasn’t accepted it.

Maybe today, he will. If not, there’s always tomorrow.

“No, not really. Mostly stayed home and slept,” You shrug, deciding to keep that Facebook thing to yourself. You and Donghyuck aren’t that close to begin with. “You?”

“Graded stuff,” he taps a stack of papers piled neatly upon his desk, and you raise a quizzical eyebrow.

“They let you grade the final exams?”

“Yeah.” He leans in conspiratorially. “Wanna know what you got?”

“No,” You pause, reconsidering. “Yeah. Nah – it’s low, isn’t it?”

“I wasn’t going to tell you either way,” he chuckles. “I’ll leave it as a fantastic surprise.”

“Fantastic,” you echo hollowly, knowing that must mean you had gotten a zero.

“It’s not as low as you might think. Besides, you can more than make up for it this term.”

Before you can ask what was happening this term, the door slams shut, and you spin towards the front of the classroom. Hwang Taehyung, the non-AP Physics teacher, stalks in, looking moodier than ever.

There are three things everyone knows about Hwang Taehyung:

One, he’s bitter because he’s consistently turned down for the AP Physics slot, which is also consistently handed over to newer and seemingly more qualified instructors. The latest AP Physics teacher is a young new graduate, Jung Yoorin, who is an average babe: pretty, fair-skinned, a slightly above-average bust size, with a surprisingly very, very above average IQ. You think the fact that she’s smoking hot kind of makes Hwang Taehyung a lot sulkier.

Two, he has one thing and one thing only in his wardrobe: a grey suit. Day in, day out, grey suit. Going to class? Grey suit. Going to a meeting? Grey suit. Catch him in the mall? Grey suit. Going to a wedding? Probably the grey suit. Maybe with a flower on the lapel, or something, to spice things up a little.

And the third, most important thing about him: He’s always, always in the process of getting a divorce with his wife.

And it’s not like he’s a ladykiller and is trying to get all these hot bitches off his back to protect whatever assets he may have accumulated with his teacher’s salary over the years. No, it’s the same wife, who is as old as he is and about sixty times bitchier, from the way you hear it. Except, you don’t know why he can’t just get rid of her. Or why the divorces never push through. Some people think it’s the really disturbing notion of make-up-break-up with a lot of old people sex involved. You prefer to stick to the theory of there not being an actual wife, and he just files with an imaginary spouse so that he can get continual pay raises for “divorce bills” that don’t exist. It’s not like the school does a really extensive background check, anyway. If you can teach and don’t presently do hashish, you’re pretty much hired.

“Donghyuck, give out the papers, please,” Hwang instructs, tossing down a clipboard onto the desk. Donghyuck jumps up and begins handing back your final exams from last term. “And are you sure you got this list right?”

“Absolutely, sir,” he says, sliding a paper over to you.

Ugh, a B minus. Not your worst, but definitely not your best. Meanwhile, Renjun is probably celebrating another well deserved A-plus in his AP Physics finals from last term.

“Fine, since I’m too lazy to look it over the class list,” Hwang swivels to the board, scrawling some unreadable shit that looked weirdly like Penis Tum Roadjet.

“Your Physics Term Project,” you stifle a laugh that Donghyuck shoots you a look for. “Will require you to work in pairs on a four-month-long investigatory research and experiment that involves any physics concept or breakthrough. And – yes, what is it?”

Park Gaeun, eyebrows half grown in, had raised her hand. “Sir, do we get to pick our partners?” You notice she’s pointedly looking at you, and you turn away, trying to look innocent. Judgy bitch. Maybe you should have roasted her eyebrows off.

“No, Lee Donghyuck over here has already laid out a masterlist.” The statement is met with a disapproving noise. “Now, as I was saying – what is it now?”

Another student, Moon Jonghyun raises his hand as well. “Sir, any physics concept? Say – if it involves the trajectory of a car falling off a cliff as it drives two hundred miles an hour –”

“If you can find a way to simulate that and prove what kind of significance it has to today’s society, I won’t stop you,” Hwang Taehyung says dryly, though his tone suggests that if anyone did manage to simulate a speeding car falling off a cliff again and again for this project, they might as well give themselves an F and be done with it. Moon Jonghyun sobers down, looking sulky. Clearly, he’d cottoned on as well.

“Now, when I read your name off the masterlist, find your partner – I’m assuming you’re all familiar with each other? You should be. You can spend the rest of the period discussing what you want to do. Turn in your short proposals by the end of the week.”

Everyone sits up a bit straighter, listening very hard for their names attached to their partners.

“Jeong Jisoo and Kim Minhyuk. Park Gaeun, Oh Taekyung. Min Taehee, Moon Jonghyun. Lee Jeno, ____________.”

As though in slow motion, you watch his head turn, his eyes searching briefly before they land on you. You feel your mouth go dry, and you see him, as though from a dream, stand up and walk towards your station.

Oh God, oh God, oh God. What are you going to do? Shit, shit, he’s still looking at you. Okay, be cool. Oh God, You’re going to have a heart attack.

As he takes the last few steps towards you, you run a hand through your hair. You think, maybe you should smile. But would that creep him out? But would it make you seem too cold if you didn’t smile? The end result of that debate is a painful, lopsided thing that looked more like a grimace than a grin.

“Hey,” he greets, setting his book down atop the station. He blinks once, very briefly, and it looks like all the lights in his head have gone out before something clicks in his mind. “You’re that girl right? The one in the cafeteria?”

He remembers you, though. You nod, speechless — actually, not trusting yourself to speak.

“How’s your shirt?”

You lick your lips, trying to get them to move again. ���Fi-fi-fine?” You say breathlessly.

“Cool,” he blinks once again. “So — uh, I’m Jeno, by the way.”

And then he sticks out his open palm and holds it in midair. You have to hold your wrist to stop your fingers from trembling against his. You briefly grasp his hand, and he holds it for a brief moment before letting it go.

“I’m – I’m __________.”

“___________,” he repeats. “Okay, __________. Know anything about this physics stuff?”

“Well – I – uh,” You push your books back with your elbow, covering your embarrassing B-minus in case he wants to see what you’d gotten. “I’m… I’m cool with it.” Only because Renjun forces you to study with him and sometimes has to shove the new lesson down your throat when you'd rather be on Facebook trying to beat your Everwing high score.

“Oh, well, cool. Because, you know, I gotta be honest with you,” he shrugs. “Physics blows for me. We don’t get along. You know what I mean?”

“Mmm,” you reply, more or less entranced by the very confused, very beautiful look on his face.

“So, uh, will you be okay with taking the reins on this one? Get us a cool grade, and all?”

“Mhmmm,” you answer dreamily, watching the corners of his mouth turn up. He’s so cute.

“Fantastic. You’re a cool kid, ___________. Not sure why I haven’t spoken that much to you before,” he stands up, and you instinctively straighten up to look at him, eyes still following his every movement. He gives you a light pat on the shoulder, and all you can think of is how he’s touched you twice today. “So -– is that it? Are we good here?” He asks. You don’t know where your voice is again, so you just nod in response. “Cool. See you tomorrow.”

He glances at the now-empty teacher’s table — Hwang had left the class alone to plan — and then over at Donghyuck, who’s looking through an unclaimed exam paper of an absentee and probably laughing at all the stuff they got wrong.

“Hey, Lee Donghyuck, I’m going ahead.” Without waiting for a response from the teacher’s assistant, he eases out of the station and exits the room. No one seems to find this the least bit unusual.

“You’re with Jeno; that’s tough,” Donghyuck frowns, putting down the exam paper. You notice that there’s a really large, proud D on it that he must have really taken the time to write out. “He’s not doing well in this class. It looks like he’s going to need at least a B-plus to get him to graduate.”

“We’ll get whatever grade he needs,” you reply, your eyes still on the door as if you’re expecting he’d come back through and take you with him.

“Yeah – so you got a plan, already? You guys planned quickly. Everyone else just sat down.”

“Yeah, we have a plan.”

“So? What are you doing?”

“It’s – well, it’s a secret; I can’t give it all away, can I?” You snap out of your daze long enough to give an answer that isn’t just parroting back whatever you can hear above the noise in the room.

“Okay, okay,” he chuckles. “Keep your secrets then. But it better be good. You know I’m grading fifty percent, right?”

“Well, you better give me that fifty percent, then,” You raise your eyebrows.

“We’ll see,” he laughs, standing up from his spot. He pats you once lightly on the shoulder before leaving to walk around to see what kind of progress everyone else is making. You note that it feels nothing like how Jeno had done it. 

It’s only now that you realize you’ve hit a big snag by making that brash promise to Jeno. You don’t know anything about physics.You chew on your bottom lip, watching everyone draw up ideas left and right for the term project. Some people already have five ideas written down. You have zero. Plus, your partner’s already gone.

You knead your brow in frustration, slightly hating the moony-eyed part of yourself and wondering why you always let it take the reins during important situations. You can’t let Jeno down, but there’s no one you can ask for help here either; this class is a competition now, not collaboration. You think about asking Donghyuck for some tips before remembering that you had already told him you and Jeno had a plan. Besides, whatever question you’d come up with, he’d probably just laugh at hysterically inside; nothing could match his AP Phy–

AP Physics.

And if there were a moment you would choose to thank a God you don’t fully believe in for making Huang Renjun your best friend, it would pretty much be right now.

[bitterqueenofhearts]

His World (I)

Warnings: age gap, alcohol consumption, mentions of sex

Sugar Daddy!Bucky AU x Reader - “a stranger at a party offers you more than the night”

WC: 2.3k

Note: Ahh I’m so happy to be writing again! It’s my first fic in years and I’m really excited about it. This is my entry for the Two Years of Darkness by @darkficsyouneveraskedfor​ !! I hope you enjoy reading it, please leave some feedback, likes and reblogs are super appreciated! (I intend to make this a 5 part fic)

Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V

As you mindlessly played with the straw from your drink, you wondered once again about your reasons to come to this party. When you got the invitation, it sounded like a great idea. A blind date at a party that you didn't know who was throwing and at a popular club on the fancy side of town. You rarely visited that neighborhood, and its tall buildings and fancy restaurants. You lived five minutes away from the university, on the opposite side of town. There were certainly more fitting places you could be visiting on that Saturday night, like a bar with cheap drinks and desperate frat guys. Okay, it's not like you preferred the frat boys either.

Yet, there you were, at a stranger's party, in a fancy club you've never visited before, having a boring date with some boring guy - what was his name again? That was the only huge disappointment, he barely bothered to ask your name or make small talk before indulging in a monologue about his family business... and then you both fell in empty silence, and you just drank your way trying to fill it.

You couldn't recognize anyone around you. Most of them looked like old money. Ivy leagues, business majors, heirs. Fancy designer dresses and purses, watches, and golden monogram buttons. Where the hell have you gotten yourself into? With a glance over your shoulder to check on your date - who was scrolling through his phone and seemed to have forgotten about you at that point, - you immediately excused yourself to get another drink or whatever. Tired of wasting time and patience, you grabbed your purse and walked towards the bar.

When you stood up, you could finally feel the alcohol from the last couple of drinks kick in. The loud music, mixed with the colorful lights and all the drunkness in the air made you let out a sigh. It felt like a chance in a lifetime to be at a place like this, and you were tired of wasting your time. An hour had already passed by and you really could use some actual fun - even if it wasn't your kind of place or your kind of people.

Another drink down - a shot of tequila this time - and you decided you wanted to dance. A remix of a familiar song blasted through the speakers, and that was the first time you noticed a DJ was playing. You chuckled to yourself, letting your body move in the rhythm with the music. The alcohol made the lights and colors brighter and the whole experience more comfortable than if you were sober. You felt even prettier now in that little silver strap dress than you did before.

A little while later, you felt eyes on you. Well, it felt like someone was staring. You slowly stopped dancing and looked around, and that's when your eyes were captured by a strong gaze. Piercing blue eyes that were so captivating you wouldn't dare look away.

He was sitting at a booth with a couple of friends, but his attention was completely yours. The man wore a black suit and a matching glove on his left hand, which rested on the table. His face... even from that distance, you could easily yearn just by taking a look at his gorgeous features.

Being stared at like that made you feel like prey, a piece of meat. Which shouldn't exactly feel like the best thing in the world, but you couldn't explain the chills running up your spine. You swallowed hard, feeling both intimidated and turned on before he broke the connection looking away.

As he simply looked away and resumed the conversation with his peers, you were left confused. The man was so attractive, like a movie star or runway model attractive, and looked way older than you too. And honestly, given the type of people there, he could easily be one. You wouldn't mind having a little fun with that rich man if you got the chance.

But that was it... Just one look, nothing else. For all you knew, he could be judging you - for looking so out of place? All the confidence from before seemed to dissipate for a moment. You had turned on your heels, thinking about going to the bathroom before wrapping up the night. You could fantasize about him doing whatever he wanted with you when you got home...

"You shouldn't stare, doll. It's not polite." A firm voice warned from somewhere close behind you. The chills were back in a nanosecond. Turning back around, searching for the source of the voice, and your eyes met the black suit that accompanied those stern blue eyes that found you on the dancefloor a moment ago. He was too close, you thought, before taking a step back and looking directly at him again.

"I'm sorry, what?" You chuckled just a little, almost nervously. It could come off as if you were playing dumb, but you could swear that wasn't the case. It was just that being called "doll" was something odd, but strangely enough, you didn't dislike it entirely. Besides that, the handsome stranger was right there in front of you, which was one step closer to your little fantasy becoming reality. Fuck your date.

You took the opportunity to take a better look at him. His short, dark hair was so perfectly fitting to his face and stubble. He could be at least ten years older than you, just from that look on his face. The kind of look that's so expressive and carries so many stories and much more experience than you could imagine. He could be thinking "don't play with me" or "I'll make you hear it loud and clear" or whatever your hazy mind could come up with in a deviant scenario.

Did you have a daddy kink? You didn't think so. It was a common thing, right? Men that look older and think they can boss you around... It was fun to think of it. It made you wet at times.

Again, your thoughts caught your attention and you couldn't understand what the sex deity in front of you had just said. You almost answered with an innocent "sorry, I was fucking you in my dreams", but that thought only made you giggle.

"How drunk are you?" He asked again because apparently, you didn't hear it the first time.

"Just enough to get all bubbly." You answered, simply. "I'm (Y/N), by the way." You offered a hand for him to shake. Let's be honest with a stranger, why not? What was the worst thing that could happen? It's not like the night could get any worse, and having a good talk with that man could never be the worst-case scenario.

He took your hand with his right - this one didn't have a glove on -, carefully but firmly, and you smiled at the way he held it. "I'm James Barnes. Friends call me Bucky." He seemed to be eyeing you up and down as well. You couldn't tell if he was worried by your state - even though you were just fine - or admiring you. Either way, it felt good to be under his gaze. Even better than before, with the chills easing on you.

At the mention of friends, you looked for the other two men who were sitting in the booth with him before - they were nowhere to be found. "I don't know anyone in this place. It's annoying." You confessed.

"I know." He had half a smile dancing on his lips, as he was amused by whatever you had said. "I'd remember inviting such a pretty little thing to my party."

Your lips formed an "o" as you heard the last words. Pretty little thing. Damn... "Wait, so it's your party!" That was kinda impressive, judging by the high standards of the club.

"Yes. And how did you end up here, doll?" His brows furrowed with what seemed to be genuine concern. How embarrassing would it be if you mentioned the failed date? Especially keeping in mind you very much wanted to score that handsome James Barnes tonight, from the very first moment his eyes laid on your figure.

"It's not a very interesting story." That was true. "But I promise I didn't sneak in." Another chuckle, followed by a delicate bite to your lip. Your drunk self thought that could be a sexy move, and maybe it worked because you noticed his eyes locked with your lips for a moment.

"Fine. You won't get in trouble..." He said very seriously. "...if you accept to join me for a drink. I'm unexpectedly bored by everyone else here, and I'd enjoy your... company." The invite was pretty clear, and so were his intentions. Inside, you jumped and cheered and celebrated that this hot piece of sin seemed to be just as into you, as you were into him. Trying to bite back the smile that covered your lips, you just nodded and followed the man, as he didn't drop your hand for a second since he took it.

xxx

Even though all your body could think about was sex in a neon sign, you two had a good talk before getting into the dirty business. He was a fun person to be around, complimented you at every chance he got and had such a powerful presence... You couldn't get enough of his banter, of his laugh, of his smile. The night was infinitely better now, because of James. He felt like an old friend you could be completely open about anything... And the alcohol only helped the feeling.

Of course, by the way he talked and how he was dressed, you couldn't forget he was very rich - and it would feel kinda weird if he wasn't so good at making you feel like you belonged to it all. Like you were part of this world. And you've been honest from the start, you told him about your life, that you paid for your education and that you lived on your own in a small apartment by the university.

While James... Yes, there was old money involved. But he never wanted to follow the family business, so he started a new path... entertainment. So he built a nightclub, and that was his full-time job! You were impressed by his determination and how wealthy he actually was. He owned one of the highest-ranked clubs in the city. And that explained... "his" party.

At some point, he wrapped his left arm around your shoulder, and you remembered about the single glove. "What's with the glove?" You mindlessly asked, almost missing when he clenched the jaw at the question.

"I can show you later." The way he stopped smiling just to answer in that harsh tone... Something felt off as if you had offended him somehow. But it wasn't entirely harsh. You could easily interpret that as a warning about how the night would go on... Oh, you and your dirty mind going at it again.

"Y/N." He interrupted your thoughts with a serious call of your name, not moving his hands from you. Your attention was completely his, and you dared to delve into his gaze once again.

"Yes, Bucky?"

He caressed your chin with the gloved hand and licked his lips before continuing. "You're such a precious girl. I can tell you're a smart one, as well." You just nodded, enamored by his words. "I could give you one night, and fulfill our desires. We could make some memories and then never see each other again, but that feels wrong. It would be such a waste..."

As he continued, you frowned for a moment. Where was he going with this? His hands never left you, and his handsome face only kept getting closer to yours. Sitting on that booth, where you knew most of the people couldn't see the two of you, but you felt under a spotlight at that moment. "What do you..."

James didn't let you finish your thought. As he inched closer, you felt his cologne mixed with whisky. His lips captured yours, and you couldn't thank him enough for finally making it happen. The kiss was hungry, full of desire, and lacking patience. But he determined the pace and kept it all under his control. Before you realized it, it was already over. And you almost whined as he pulled away, but he stayed close, dragging his lips across your neck with small pecks, taking in your perfume as deep as he could.

Was he as intoxicated by you as you were by him? Because it certainly felt like it. "Bucky..." You whispered.

"I want to propose an arrangement." He interrupted you, his words barely above a whisper in your ear. "Be mine. I will take care of you, you can keep me company. I can give you the world. My world. And in return, you just need to give yourself to me.

Those words echoed in your thoughts like a wonderful dream. You smiled thinking about it, and the alcohol got the best of you. With a giggle, you nodded and said whatever he wanted to hear. Of course, you could surrender yourself to him. Anything he asked for.

"You won't regret it, doll." Those were the last words you remembered from the night.

Little did you know, you had agreed to something you could only have dreamed of. When the man had set eyes on you in that club, he decided he wanted you for himself. And you fell right into Bucky Barnes' trap.

xxx

[in-ky]

Hi! I’d love a story about Negan being a serial killer who only kills “bad people” (like in Dexter) and maybe he saves the reader from her ex who’s about to kill her and Negan can save her and takes her in because she’s a mess but she’s actually a killer herself (who kills rapists etc/ only the bad ones) and Negan and the reader start fighting and then get caught up in steamy hot sex 🥵 thank you!

Savior - Negan Killer AU

Warnings: Warnings: GORE + violence, smut, domestic abuse, swearing, dirty talk ig? idk how to tag this lol

A/N: hey! i struggled over this one for a while lol. ive only seen like. 3? episodes of dexter so. i really hope this meets your expectations! also forgive any mistakes its late, im tired, and i wanna get this up lol. also, is negan batman? maybe. 3.7k words

"Will, stop you're hurting me!" I hissed, grabbing at his wrist. He tugged me out of the bustling restaurant and into the dark street.

"I don't really give a shit," He snarled, throwing me into a secluded alleyway a few buildings down from the restaurant. Will had taken me out to a business dinner with his boss in hopes of showing me off and making a good impression. But things didn't quite go according to plan. "You embarrassed me in front of everyone!" He pushed me against the brick wall of the closed department store.

"What was I supposed to do?" I sneered, trying to wiggle away from him "He kept commenting on my body, saying how he wished he could take me home at the end of the night and do all kinds of 'unspeakable things to me'."

"You were just supposed to shut up and take it!" Will said, voice filled with rage "But no, you and your untamable fucking complex just couldn't handle a compliment. You threw your drink in his face! You're lucky he didn't fire me right then and there. You made me look like some pussy who can't control his whore."

"You're an asshole." I shouted, tears welling at the edges of my eyes. Will's face contorted further into a look of pure, unadulterated hatred.

"What the fuck did you just call me?" He seethed, clasping his hand tightly around my throat and constricting his fingers around my airway.

"I said you're an asshole who cares more about his dead-end career than his fucking girlfriend." I croaked. I hated him. I hated him so much. My vision clouded with the combination of disgust, loathing, and lack of oxygen, so I hit him where I knew it hurt. "There's a reason you needed me for arm candy tonight. It's 'cause you're a boring, piece-of-shit, lowlife who has no skill whatsoever. How does it feel knowing you need me to make something of yourself?" With that, he threw me to the ground by my throat. He wasted no time and pinned me to the cold concrete. His knees dug into my shoulders and his hand flew to his back pocket, whipping out the switchblade he carried as a precaution against mugging. My eyes widened as they caught a glint of the moonlight off the sharp knife. He brought the blade up to my throat and slapped me over the cheek harshly with his free hand.

"You better take back those words, bitch," He hissed, pressing the blade into the soft skin of my jugular "or they might just be your last." A dribble of blood ran down my neck with the pressure. Realization flashed through my mind. I could die right then. That could have been my last moment. Was I scared? No. Why wasn't I scared? Maybe it had to do with the shadowy figure that was slowly approaching us from the ally entrance.

There was plenty of time for me to warn Will that someone was coming. But I didn't. Instead, I stayed quiet and watched as the shadow figure pulled Will from my body with ease and tossed him to the side. Everything was kind of a blur. I was still oxygen starved and filled with a whirl-wind of emotion. I heard Will cry out in surprise and indignance. The shadow figure said nothing. It saw the switchblade with a steady line of my blood. It kicked Will in the chest, knocking him to the ground. Then it lifted up a baseball bat over its head and cracked it down over Will's skull. He continued to beat Will until he stopped squirming. The shadow figure paused and swung the bat over his shoulder. I had regained my breath and pushed myself to my elbows. The shadow noticed me moving and took a few heavy steps in my direction. I squirmed away slightly, instincts telling me to get away from the thing that had just pulverized my boyfriend. The shadow entered a stream of moonlight. It was a man. He had peppered hair and a blood-speckled face. He had dark brown eyes and a small smile perched on his lips.

"You okay, sweetheart?" He said. His voice was deep. I was partially surprised. He wasn't a bulky man. He was tall and had a broad frame, but his limbs were long and his body was lithe. He wore a leather jacket and his boots were slick with what I could only assume were Will's brains. I didn't want to look at his bat.

"W-Why did you do that?" I whispered. It was all I could muster.

"He was going to kill you." The man sounded confused, like I was supposed to know who he was and why he saved me.

"You don't know that." My voice was quiet. My eyes were glued to a spot behind the man, unblinking. He let out a throaty chuckle and dropped to a squat, leveling with me.

"Doll, he had a knife pressed to your throat," His words were gentle "Looked like he was gonna fuckin' kill you." He hesitantly reached out two fingers in the direction of my face. I didn't move. He was wearing leather gloves. The ridged fabric ran along my injuries. "Seems like he did some damage before I could step in. Damn. Sorry about that. Listen, I live a few streets down. If you want, I can get you cleaned up."

"Okay," I said softly. I let him help me up to my feet. He guided me along with one arm while holding his bat with the other. As we walked out of the alley I couldn't help but look down at Will, or what remained of him at least. His forehead was split in half, a pool of chunky blood bubbling on the ground. I clenched my jaw and forced myself to swallow the bile that had risen in my throat. And yet, I didn't feel sad. I didn't mourn him. Maybe it was shock, maybe it wasn't. "Thank you?" I murmured, though it was more of a question. The man and I stepped out onto the street and I was grateful there was no one around to see us leaving the scene of a very heinous-looking crime.

"No problem, doll," The man hummed, setting a brisk pace down the sidewalk. "The name's Negan, by the way." Cool. Negan: my Savior.

~~~

"So you're like Batman?" I asked Negan as he dabbed the blood away from my neck. He gave a short chuckle and tore away the sticky part of the band-aid.

"I guess you can say that," he mused, splaying the bandage over the cut the knife had left "but I specifically go for people that I know have hurt others. The baddies, if you will."

"Is that legal?" I tilted my head, crossing my ankles as they dangled over the bathroom counter. My palms were flat on the surface of Negan's marble sink top, fiddling with the wrappers of the medical supplies he had used to clean and bandage my small cuts and bruises.

"I haven't been caught," Negan shrugged "besides, it's less work for the police. They don't have to do any interrogation bullshit or anything. I usually catch people in the act, like tonight. Then I do my thing."

"Do you kill everyone?"

"Only the bad people," He reminded, tossing away a bloody tissue "only people who have hurt others. But, yes, usually the offender ends up on the business end of Lucille over there." He pointed out the door into the living room, where the still-bloody bat rested against a chair. I furrowed my brow.

"Well, doesn't that make you a bad guy?" I pressed. He tapped my knee and I dropped down to the tile floor, tucking my hair behind my ear and gathering some of the scraps.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you still kill people, right? Even if they're bad? So doesn't that still make you a killer?" Negan was quiet for a minute. "Let's put it this way," I continued "What would you do if you came across someone who was like you; someone who hurt the bad people. Would you still kill them. They're hurting people." Negan took a deep breath and let it out with a contemplative sigh, itching his bearded chin.

"I'm not sure," He mused "I've never really thought about it before. See, I don't consider myself a bad person per say. Yea, what I'm doing might be considered fucked up. But I'm doing it for the right reason. I'm protecting people by attacking their attackers. In the end, someone's saved." He brushed off his hands and led me out of the bathroom, flicking the light off. "Would you rather me not have saved you tonight?"

"No," I said immediately "thank you. Really, thank you. You saved my life. Will is...was...always a dick, but I never thought he'd actually hurt me. I guess that proves people can have a whole bunch of layers." Negan nodded and moved to the kitchen. He raised a bottle of whiskey as an offering. I shook my head but he poured himself a glass.

"I was just doing my job," Negan grinned sympathetically "I'm sorry your boyfriend was an asshole who tried to murder you." I shrugged, amusement in my eyes.

"Eh, it happens to everyone." I smiled as he let out another laugh. I felt as if I shouldn't be laughing, but at the same time, everyone has their own responses to almost getting stabbed to death in an alley. So I let myself have this moment. Besides, Negan was a good guy to be around. He made me feel safe, comfortable, secure. Everything I needed right now. "So, Negan, what do you do? Surely vigilante-ing can't pay well, and this apartment is really nice."

"I'm a retired baseball player," Negan said, sipping his whiskey and settling into one of the armchairs in the living room "Hence the bat."

"Were you any good?" I asked. He let out a loud scoff.

"Was I any good?" He mocked "Sweetheart, I have a whole damn trophy room. I was fucking amazing. I just got old."

"So you're rich with no real job, you kill bad guys, and you have a massive ego," I listed "You really are like Batman, aren't you?"

~~~

Negan let me stay on his couch that night. It was leather, like everything else that man seemed to own, but it was comfortable. I woke up to the smell of bacon filling the air. I groaned and rubbed my fists against my eyes, clearing them of sleep. I stretched my arms above my head in a yawn and rolled off the couch, stumbling into the kitchen. Negan was hunched over the bubbling pan, dodging pellets of grease as they shot up at him.

"Smells good!" I purred, closing my eyes and taking a deep inhale.

"Good," He grumbled "You better fucking enjoy it because I've gotten burned at least three times." I laughed and walked up to him examining the small red patches that dotted his arms.

"You didn't have to make me breakfast you know."

"Yea, but I wanted to make sure you were comfortable," He sighed, turning off the stove and scooping the cooked bacon onto a paper towel. "Besides, I was craving some bacon when I woke up. I haven't had someone to share a meal with in a while."

"Well, if you want, you can come by my house for dinner." I offered, crunching down on a piece of bacon "I've been meaning to whip out the family alfredo recipe for a while, maybe a hot date would give me that incentive." I gave him a playful wink and he chuckled.

"Sure thing, doll," He hummed, putting the pan in the sink "I love me some fucking spaghetti. I'll see you around seven?"

"Sounds good."

~~~

I ran down the sidewalk, chest heaving. There was enough darkness to cover me, but I still kept my head down to prevent recognition. I held my hands close to my stomach, praying that the blood on my fingers wouldn't drip on the pavement and leave a trail. I had been on my way home from the store when I heard some commotion coming from an alley. My first instinct was to run, but then I heard the girl crying for help. Negan came to mind, what he did, how he helped people. I couldn't turn away. I marched down the alley and saw a greasy man pinning a woman to the wall of a building. Flashbacks of the night before hit me like a train. I looked on top of the alley dumpster  and saw a crowbar perched on one of the lids. I grabbed it and stormed up to the man, whacking him upside the head with the weapon. I kicked him to the side and brought the crowbar over my head before swinging it down. It connected with his face in a sickening 'thwack.' I thought of Will. I thought of what might of happened if Negan had never stopped him. I thought of all the times that bastard had gotten drunk and told me I was nothing. I let the rage bubble up and fuel my beating. By the time I was pulled back into the moment, my muscles were screaming, the woman was gone, and the man's face was unrecognizable. I tossed the crowbar into the dumpster and ran back home.

Dried blood is extremely hard to wash off. It sticks to your skin in flakes, creating a pattern of red veins crawling over your hands. Fuck. I scrubbed as hard as I could under the rushing water of the sink, pumping more and more soap into my hand. It was under my fingernails. It was stuck in my palm prints. Shit, did I leave fingerprints at the scene? Would they be coming for me? With a hiss, I rubbed even harder at my skin, small flecks of blood turning the sink water red.

Suddenly, my door opened.

"I'm ready for my s'getties!" Negan boomed with a wide smile. My head whipped around, looking at him with wide eyes. His grin faded and he crossed the room in record time, grabbing my wrists and turning the sink off. "Is this fucking blood?" He snarled, bringing my hands up to my face. I clenched my jaw and dropped my eyes to my feet. "Jesus, who's is it? Answer me!"

"I-I heard someone screaming on the way home," I said quietly, eyes still downcast "I thought I would help..." His jaw went slack and he let go of my hands, running his fingers through his hair.

"Jesus fuck, you can't just go around killing people!"

"Why not?" I snapped, eyes meeting his "You do it all the time? What's the difference? Why can't I help people?"

"Because it...Because you just can't!" Negan growled, shaking his head.

"Why are you so special?" I hissed back, drying my hands off on a towel before tossing it at him "It's not like you can get a permit for fucking murder. Why do you do it, anyways? Is it some perverted thing? Do you get off on saving people from attackers?"

"Watch yourself." Negan warned, eyes darkening.

"Pfft, or what?" I laughed, tossing my head back "What are you gonna do, kill me? I'm not afraid of you, Negan." As soon as the words left my mouth, he charged me. His hand flew to my throat, squeezing my airway lightly. His hips pressed me against the counter. I let out a small gasp when he shoved his face next to mine.

"Oh, but doll, you really fucking should be." He spat, curling his lip "I could snap your neck right here, right now." He gave a small squeeze to emphasize his words. I let out a strangled moan. We both froze. "Are you turned on right now?" He muttered, furrowing his brow. I licked my lips and squirmed in his grip, pressing my thighs together slightly in an effort to alleviate the warm pressure growing in my belly.

"No," I lied, voice weak. A sinister grin curled over the bottom half of his face and he licked his tongue over his teeth.

"And I'm the perv, huh?" He sucked on my earlobe and peppered kisses down my jawline "Sweetheart, tell me, do you want me to fuck that pretty little pussy of yours? Do you want me to make you cum harder than you ever have?" I whimpered at his dirty mouth. "Use your words, doll, or I'll leave right fucking now."

"Y-Yes!" I breathed as Negan's lips sucked on the sweet spot right beneath my ear.

"Yes, what, princess?"

"Yes, I want you to fuck me, please!" I groaned, clawing at his shirt. He let out a short chuckle, muttering something about how needy I was, but I didn't care. Right now, the only thought running through my head was that I needed Negan. I needed all of him. And damn me if I wasn't going to get it.

We clawed at each other's clothes like rabid animals. Once we were completely bare, Negan moved his kisses down my body. His large, calloused hands kneaded my breasts, twisting my nipples between his thumbs. My arms flew around his neck and I dragged my fingernails up his back. He shivered against my touch and slid his hands further down my body. They settled firmly on my hips as he captured my lips in a fervent kiss.

"Fuck, sweetheart," he grunted, pulling back for air. I looked at him. His tawny eyes were now black, pupils far beyond dilated with lust. Both of our lips were swollen and red from the intensity of our kisses. Negan's chest inflated and deflated quickly as his eyes roamed over my body. "You're so damn perfect." I smiled sheepishly and pulled my bottom lip between my teeth, looking up at him through lidded eyes.

"You're not so bad yourself," I reached out my hand and used my pointer finger to draw a line from his collar bone down the center of his chest and through his navel, finally ending right over his pulsing cock. He sucked in a breath as my fingers closed around him. My thumb swept over the hot tip, gathering precum on the pad of my finger and rubbing it around.

"Shit," He hissed as I slowly pumped him "I'm not gonna fucking last if you keep doing that." He gently pried my hand away and took a step closer to me. I could feel his hardened length resting against the inside of my thigh. The thought of him being so close made a burst of heat rush down between my thighs. Negan took a long finger and ran it through my folds, collecting my wetness. I moaned as he teasingly dipped the first knuckle into me. He pulled back and let out a low whistle. "Damn, girl," he chuckled, raising his finger to my face "You're fucking dripping. Who's that for?" His slick-coated fingers glistened in the light of my apartment. I let out a deep groan as he slid them between his lips and sucked.

"You, Negan!" I whimpered, wrapping my legs around his waist "It's all for you." A wolfish grin spread over his features as he tugged me off him and pulled me down off the counter. He spun me around and pressed gently between my shoulder blades until my chest was flat against the cold surface.

"Then if you don't mind," Negan cooed, lining himself up with my entrance "I'm going to take what belongs to me." With that, he slowly pushed into me. I gasped at the stretch, balling my hands into fists as he continued to split me open.

"Fucking shit," he groaned once he bottomed out "you're tight as hell. I bet you've never had a dick as big as mine." He pulled out slightly and I let out a moan at the growing emptiness inside. The moan soon turned to a yelp when he brought down his hand against my ass. The smack was loud and he rubbed the red spot tenderly. "Have you?"

"N-No!" I gasped when he thrusted into me for the first time "Never. Fuck, you feel so good." Negan's thrusts sped up, his hips snapping against my ass in an obscene rhythm. Grunts and moans of pleasure slipped from both of our lips as he plowed unapologetically into me. I could feel every inch of him. He was hitting every spot, dragging against my walls in a sinfully perfect way.

"You're doing so good," He purred, kissing and biting my shoulder "So good for me. You're so perfect." I tossed my head back and he grabbed my chin, tilting my face towards him so he could give me another bruising kiss. I could only keep up for so long, though, and the white bliss of pleasure he was giving me soon became overwhelming. My jaw went slack and my head dropped against the cool tile of the counter in an attempt to ground myself in the moment. "I want you to cum, doll, cum around me. Wanna feel those walls squeeze me." His thrusts were starting to become sloppy and I could tell he was getting to his end. One of his fingers danced down my spine and found its way to my clit. He circled it with just enough pressure to get me to the edge that I was so willing to jump off. "Now." Negan growled. I obeyed, feeling the band in my lower abdomen snapping violently. We reached our releases simultaneously. My walls clenched around him, milking him of every drop. I screwed my eyes shut and screamed his name, holding in a large breath as the world around me spun. Negan eventually pulled himself out and collapsed on top of me. We both were breathing heavily, sweaty bodies entangled as well as we could over a counter. I swallowed, my throat dry from panting through my orgasm. When my eyes fluttered open, I could see Negan's thumb tracing circles over the love bites that were starting to darken on my shoulders.

"Are you going to kill me?" I rasped, running a hand through my wild hair "I guess I'm a bad person now." Negan chuckled, still out of breath.

"I think I'll make an exception," He mused, pressing a sweet kiss to the shell of my ear "I don't think I'm ready to let you go just yet."

[hollyethecurious]

CS AU: In the Company of Demons (12/12)

Summary: After being in the wrong place at the wrong time, bounty hunter Emma Swan finds herself conscripted into working for one of Storybrooke’s most notorious crime families. Tasked with finding a rat that has infiltrated the Jones family enterprise, Emma tries to keep things just business between herself and the all-too-tempting Killian Jones. If she can unmask the rodent, she’ll receive not just a reprieve from the family, but her freedom and a hundred grand to start a new life. But what kind of life? One that exists in black and white, where there is a right way to do things and one must overcome their demons? Or the kind Killian can offer her, where one can revel in the grey areas while enjoying the company of demons?

A/N: I can’t believe we are at the end!! Thank you all so much for all the love you’ve shown this fic. I will have an author’s note at the end, but for now... THANK YOU and enjoy the conclusion!

**This chapter contains whump and aftercare. Obligatory tag to @killian-whump​ because of the chapter content ;o)

Shout out to @artistic-writer for creating the amazing cover art for this fic. Also major flails to @itsfabianadocarmo and @cocohook38 for also creating some incredible art inspired by this fic. You can check out Fabiana’s aesthetics here and here, and Jules’ mob Killian rendering here. Please go flail at all of them for their awesomeness!!

Much love to @kmomof4 and @artistic-writer for being my sounding boards and cheerleaders for this, as well as the fantastic @elizabeethan and @thejollyroger-writer for being my kick-ass betas!

Rated E (finally) / Available on ao3 and ff.net / add to tag list / buy me a coffee / Prologue / Chapter One / Chapter Two / Chapter Three / Chapter Four / Chapter Five / Chapter Six / Chapter Seven / Chapter Eight / Chapter Nine / Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Another muffled scream slipped past the strip of leather gripped between Killian’s teeth, his forehead beaded with sweat and slipping against Emma’s collarbone as she tried to brace him while Whale dug out the bullet lodged in his side.

When they’d first arrived Whale had assessed Killian’s shoulder first - You are one lucky bastard, Captain. If you’re gonna get shot in the shoulder, this is the way to do it - then set up an IV and started transfusing blood to make up for the volume he’d lost. Needing to save the limited anesthetics he had in case Killian needed surgery on the shoulder later, they’d opted to dig out the ricocheted bullet, caught in one of his ribs, the old-fashioned way. Propped up on an elevated surface, Killian sat with Emma standing between his knees so she could help support him while Whale went to work.

Killian’s fingers were gripping her hips painfully, sure to leave bruises, but Emma didn’t care. Every pained grunt and agonizing scream tore through her. The hot, ragged exhales puffing against her skin as he tried to catch his breath in the brief reprieves Whale gave him made her skin break out in a sheen of cold sweat, matching the clamminess of his. Her hands, stained a deep crimson, felt tacky as they tried to apply soothing touches down his back and over his chest, desperate to do anything that might alleviate his suffering and knowing her murmured words were being drowned out by his stifled cries.

“Nearly got it,” Whale declared. The long tweezer-like instrument he was using to try and grab onto the projectile twisted and sank deeper into Killian’s flesh, causing him to scream again. The leather strap fell from his mouth and his uninjured arm wrapped around Emma, crushing her to him as Whale pulled the bullet out and deposited onto a nearby tray with a metallic clink.

A few sutures later, Killian was bandaged, wrapped, shoulder set in a sling, and given enough pain meds to knock out a horse. Emma and Whale half carried, half dragged him to a room where he could lie down and rest, then Whale left Emma to tend vigil while he cleaned up, waving her off when she offered to help.

He was too still, too pale, the even rise and fall of his chest the only thing keeping her from completely falling apart as she held his hand, too cold, too limp, unable to return her grip as she threaded their fingers together. As much as she wanted to be right here beside him when he woke up, Emma knew just sitting here, worrying, would absolutely drive her crazy. She needed to keep busy. She needed to distract herself from the way her world was suddenly falling apart around her.

She needed her laptop and files so she could figure out who was behind all of this.

Pulling her phone from her pocket, she crossed the room and dialed Robin. Usually, he didn’t answer calls, preferring to communicate via text, which was why she hadn’t realized the hitman had been a fake, since she’d never seen or spoken to Robin before. Fortunately, given what happened earlier, he answered this time, and she let out a relieved breath that she recognized his voice.

“Emma? How is he? Is he--”

“He’s okay,” she assured him, mentally kicking herself for not calling sooner. “Whale was able to patch him up. He’s resting now.”

“Good.” A shaky breath sent static through the line. “That’s good. I’ll let Liam and Brennan--”

“They know?” Emma whispered-shouted. “I thought Killian told you to--”

“Hyde told Liam and Brennan. He had to. Killian was supposed to be meeting with them, so he had to tell them something when he didn’t show.” Perhaps sensing her next question, he rushed to add, “Whale works out of a few different locations, and I haven’t told either of them which one you're at, but it wouldn’t take long for them to find out. Fortunately, they’re busy overseeing the clean-up and determining who the men sent to kill you were.”

Emma chewed her lip, torn between asking Robin to bring her laptop and files over, and letting him go on with the tasks Killian had assigned him. Ultimately, she chose to let him carry on looking into who orchestrated the hit. The information might be the clue they needed to identify the rat (assuming it was the rat who set her up and not…), and she already had Jefferson working on the initials. Besides, Emma knew Robin was also clandestinely getting her go-bag ready, and as much as she didn’t want to run, she wanted to be prepared for any eventuality.

“Do me a favor?” Emma asked, pausing until Robin prompted her to continue. “Give me a head’s up if Liam or Brennan ask about our location, or if they come looking?”

“I will,” he promised. “And you let me know if there’s any change, yeah?”

“I will.”

~/~

His entire left side was on fire, blistering in his side and smoldering at his shoulder. He didn’t even have the energy to groan, much less open his eyes, but something had pulled him from the drug-induced slumber Whale had put him under. It was as though he were trapped in a fabled sleeping curse, semi-aware of his surroundings, but unable to engage with the world around him.

A door slammed in the distance. Shouts of protest were being exchanged. Destructive noises of things being shoved or thrown out the way made their way closer as hands landed on his chest, trying to shake him awake.

“Killian!” Emma’s voice was frantic in his ears, but he still had not the power to respond. “Killian, Liam’s here! Liam’s here and he thinks I--”

“Don’t deny it!” his brother’s voice boomed, filling the room with an audible rage that made Killian’s blood run cold. “I know it was you. You set my brother up.”

What? How in the bloody hell had he come to that ludicrous conclusion?

“The messages sent to those men, ordering the hit at the warehouse, were all sent from the burner cell we found and catalogued before returning it to the glove compartment of your vehicle the first time we had your bug towed to Billy’s.”

No. That’s… the burner phone was… bloody fuck, wake up!

“You sent the order. You tried to have my brother killed.”

“No!” Emma protested, frantically.

Killian finally managed to pry his eyes open, and the scene before him made his heart seize even as rage now set his blood to boiling. Standing at the foot of the bed he was lying prone in was Emma, hands raised as she pleaded with his enraged brother, who had his gun pointed squarely at her, neither of them noticing his movements.

“Liam, I swear! It wasn’t me. I would never do anything to hurt Killian. The set up was ordered by a r--”

“I’m not interested in anymore of your lies,” Liam seethed, pulling back on the slide to cock the pistol. “I have all the proof I need of your treachery, and I’m not gonna let you--”

“There’s only one problem, brother,” Killian grunted, pulling Liam’s and Emma’s attention towards him… and the gun he’d found laying on the table beside him, aimed directly at his brother as he struggled to sit up.

“That burner phone was taken from Emma’s bug the night you had it towed from The Brig.” With a grimace pulling at his features, he flicked off the safety, then set his sights on Liam once more. “Tell me you didn’t, brother,” Killian implored. “Tell me you didn’t order a hit on Swan the moment I told you we were coming back early. Tell me it wasn’t you, because I know for a fact Emma had nothing to do with it. She was the target, not me.”

“Her? Who, besides us, would want her dead?”

“You mean besides you,” Killian shot back. “I told you from the beginning we could trust her, but you’ve had it out for her since that first conversation on the Jolly Roger. If not for the possibility that Emma was set up by the traitor within our ranks I would have already--”

“Traitor? What traitor?” Flicking his gun towards Emma, Liam insisted, “She’s the only traitor.”

“No,” Killian panted. The effort to keep himself upright and the gun lifted was taking its toll. “We have a rat within our organization, brother. I’ve… I’ve known... for weeks. Long before Swan was recruited. It’s why I… why I wanted the use... of her skills… in the first place. So, s-she could help me… identify him.”

Unable to muster the necessary strength any longer, Killian slumped sideways. The movement tore his side and sent agony ripping through his shoulder. He tried to bite back the pain, but knew it was clearly expressed on his features, his face twisting from the torment.

“Killian!”

“Brother!”

Emma scrambled up the bed, helping to prop him back up and take the strain off his injured torso as Liam rushed to his other side and knelt beside the bed. His head lolled, and more pillows were placed behind and beside him before they eased him back so he could recline in the nest of cushions the two had arranged to support him.

“Killian,” Liam clipped, tapping his hand against Killian’s cheek in an attempt to rouse him. “Little brother, wake up.”

“Younger,” Killian groused, forcing his eyelids open. “It’s younger brother, you git.”

A rare smile twitched at the corner of his brother’s lips and his hand came up to cup his cheek. “Younger brother,” he relented, softly. The tenderness lasted for only a moment before his expression turned serious, his gaze meaningful as it connected with Killian’s.

“It wasn’t me,” Liam vowed, his eyes flicking in Emma’s direction to impart to her, “I didn’t order the hit on you.” When his gaze returned to Killian’s, it overflowed with the acceptance that all Killian had told him was true, no need to try and further convince him. “But we must find out who did before they have a chance to do so again.” Standing, Liam procured a chair and brought it back to Killian’s bedside. Turned so the back faced the bed, he straddled the seat and rested his arms along the back. “So… tell me everything you know about this rat.”

Killian rolled his head in Emma’s direction and gave her hand, which she’d placed within his own at some point, an encouraging squeeze. “You tell him, love.”

She swallowed and brushed back the hair that had fallen over his forehead before nodding. Over the next hour or so, Swan laid out everything. The issues at the docks that first tipped Killian off, the fact someone warned Walsh to run, the close calls with the SPD that made it clear someone from the inside was working against them. She also explained her models and how she’d been trying to find connections within the organization, until they’d learned the Mills had discovered a rat of their own.

With Brennan now joining them via speaker phone, Killian and Emma both shared what they’d uncovered at the casino event, speculating that Gold may very well be behind the entire coup and their hope that identifying the last set of initials would be the key piece they needed to not only identify the Jones’ rat, but prove Gold’s treachery.

“I worried that something like this might happen,” Brennan declared over the phone, sounding short of breath and weaker than Killian had ever heard him. “Malcolm was a cunning son of a bitch, but he and I respected one another. We had an understanding and rapport I never quite managed to gain with R.G.”

Rasping coughs filled the line, and Killian exchanged a pained look with Liam, both of them knowing their father did not have long before he succumbed to the disease ravaging him.

Clearing his throat, Brennan caught his breath and continued, “I half expected the treaty to become nullified when Malcolm died and his son took over, but R.G. agreed to keep to its terms. I think it was because his own son was still young and reckless, having only just taken his place within the family business.” Killian felt Emma stiffened beside him, the action prompting even Liam to take notice, and his brother’s face darkened at the reminder of what she and Killian had told him of her past with Neal and R.G. “I imagine he already had his hands full, reining in and training up his rash progeny… not that I would know anything about that.”

Everyone chuckled at Brennan’s remark, but the movement of Killian’s diaphragm twinged the wound at his side, causing him to hiss in pain. Both Emma and Liam placed a soothing hand upon him, their faces etched with concern which he attempted to alleviate with a forced, lop-sided smile.

“So, why now?” Liam asked, turning his attention back to the conversation. “Why is he willing to jeopardize the treaty now when both our enterprises have fared so well under its terms?”

It was Emma who supplied the answer; his smart, savvy, amazing Swan, who had the advantage of having an outside perspective which allowed her to recognize the obvious component they’d all overlooked.

“Because Brennan is dying.” Her face scrunched, her lack of tact in blurting out the obvious, yet typically uncommented on fact, grimacing across her face in apology before she carried on. “You’ve kept his illness a secret because you know it makes you vulnerable, but somehow, Gold must have learned the truth. He’s getting everything in place to take you down when you’re at your weakest.”

“Aye,” Killian agreed. “And because his hubris knows no bounds, figured he could take out the rest of the competition while he’s at it. He’s already succeeded in doing so with Arthur.”

“While I think it is clear Gold is behind it all,” Liam interjected. “We still need proof. Either way we will have a war on our hands, but without proof of Gold’s breach of contract and his involvement in planting informants within the other families, we won’t have the Mills on our side, and we’re going to need them.”

“Yeah, and we still have to identify who our rat is and control the damage he or she has already done,” Emma replied.

Killian’s chest constricted, his breath catching at the casual way she said our rat, but Liam mistook his response for another bout of pain.

“I think we best let Killian rest. We can discuss this more once Emma has her files back and Robin or Jefferson gets her the rest of the information she needs. Until then, we keep everything locked down like we have since Flynn’s body was pulled from that dumpster. I’m going to have Robin cross check the short list of suspects Emma made before the J.R. angle came up with anyone who might have had access to her vehicle the night it was towed from The Brig. Whoever took the burner phone is either the rat, or another step closer to finding him.”

“And I’m going to have Whale get your more pain killers,” Emma said, leaving the bed and making her way towards the door before Killian could protest.

“She’s right, brother,” Liam admonished, when he tried to call after her. “You need to rest. We need you in fighting shape for when this all goes to hell.”

~/~

“You look like you could use this.”

Liam set a steaming cup of coffee beside her and Emma wondered wearily what time it was, groaning after checking the clock on her laptop.

“Thanks,” she said, pushing away from the makeshift desk Liam had helped her put together after he’d retrieved her things from Killian’s yacht. Wrapping her hands around the warm mug, her eyes shifted to the slumbering form, nestled within cozy covers and pillows, yet still fitful as soft groans reverberated from his chest from time-to-time.

She hated seeing him like that. Hated the pain he was going through, hated the damage those men had inflicted upon him, hated knowing it was because of her that he was suffering. Hated that he had taken a bullet, two in fact, for her. Not that it should have surprised her… she would have done the same for him.

“I was wrong about you,” Liam stated, moving the chair he’d been keeping vigil in and placing it closer to her so they could talk without disturbing Killian. “I want to apologize for my behaviour. For being an arse to you, for making things difficult, for--”

“Telling Killian to get rid of me because my brother, who isn’t even my brother, is FBI, then thinking I had arranged to have your brother murdered, and pointing a gun at me?”

He actually flinched. Emma never would have thought him capable, but the man was actually contrite enough to flinch.

“Aye,” he sighed. “All of that.”

“You know,” she said, taking a sip of the coffee and crinkling her nose. Unlike Killian, Liam had not been able to correctly deduce how she took it. “Nothing’s changed in regards to David.” She wasn’t sure why she was reminding him of that fact. She supposed if they were going to finally have it out, then they should put all their cards on the table. “He’s still FBI, he still thinks of me as family, he still has Graham keeping tabs on me, and he could still become a problem for you.”

“True,” he said with a nod. “But based on how well you dealt with him during that phone call, I think that threat has been neutralized.”

“For now, maybe,” she muttered, gulping down another swallow.

Liam tilted his head in that familiar Jones way, his brows drawing together. “For now? Are you insinuating he might become a problem in the future? I don’t see why he would bother with us once you’re free to carry on with your life as you did before. Out of our employ.” His eyes followed the flicker of her own, lingering on Killian before returning with comprehension settling into his gaze. “I see,” he drawled with a hint of amusement. “My little brother’s infatuation isn’t completely one-sided, is it?”

“Younger,” she corrected with a smirk, bringing the mug up to her lips once more. After another fortifying swallow, she firmly stated, “But that’s a conversation I intend to have with Killian before having it with you.”

“Fair enough,” he relented with a chuckle, leaning back in his chair and letting go a heavy sigh. “But you should know,” he added in a soft but not less fervent tone. “That we take care of our own, and by extension,” he paused and fixed his gaze upon her with a meaningful look that made her heart thump against her ribs, “those closest to them. So if you do stay, if you choose to become a part of this family, then we will ensure David and his family’s safety. They’ll have nothing to fear from us.”

“But what about--”

“I’m sure we can all work together to find a way of keeping the FBI at bay.” A devious smirk lifted at his lips, and he quipped, “We’ve ways of getting agents on our side, no matter how noble of character they may profess to be. Everyone has a price, whether it be monetary or otherwise, and I think you’ll come to find I am a formidable negotiator.”

“With formidable threats, you mean,” she accused, crossing her arms over her chest and cocking a suspicion brow at him. “I thought you said David and his family would have nothing to fear from you?”

“Aye,” Liam drawled. “But he doesn’t know that.”

She tried to stifle the smile that twitched at her lips when he winked at her, so very much like his brother. While she hated the thought of roping David into complicity with the Jones family, she couldn’t deny how entertaining it would be to watch these two older brothers go toe-to-toe with one another.

Fortunately, that confrontation could wait. They had others looming they needed to prepare for.

“Swan?” Killian croaked, his right arm shooting out and searching the space beside him as his eyes struggled to open. “Emma?”

“I’m here,” she called out, lunging out of her chair and up onto the bed. Taking his hand, she brought it up to kiss the back of his knuckles, smiling down at him while his vision adjusted.

“You’re still here,” he exhaled in a relieved breath, a small wince cringing his features.

Emma brushed her fingers down the side of his face, then released the tension in his brow with a light touch as she whispered, “Where else would I be?”

“I thought…” His tongue darted out to wet his lips, and he groaned as he shifted, pulling his hand from hers as he attempted to sit up. “...you’d left. I thought you’d taken the money and,” He swiped his hand down his face and shook the remainder of whatever fog the drugs had left in his system out of his head. “It must have been a dream.”

“Of course, it was a dream,” Liam reassured him. “Emma hasn’t met her end of the bargain yet. She’s not going anywhere until after our rat is identified, per your agreement.”

An acknowledging and slightly sad smile ghosted over Killian’s lips. Emma wanted to tell him that even then, she wasn’t planning on leaving. Not with a war looming. Not when she could stay and help him take down Gold.

Not when she could stay… would rather stay… with him.

The words stuck to her tongue long enough for Killian to brush the matter aside, clearly not wishing to discuss her leaving any longer, and his expression hardened as he asked, “Have we learned anything new? Any word from Rob or Jefferson?”

“Not about the mysterious J.R., no,” Liam lamented with an irritated tone. It seemed both the brothers Jones abhorred waiting. “However, Robin did provide us with a list of those who may have had an opportunity to take the burner cell.” Plucking a notepad from the table, he crossed the room and read off the names. “There’s Billy, of course, but he’s not deep enough in the organization to account for the other discrepancies. Felix was on security detail for the parking lot that night, which likely means Rufio was lingering about after getting the dealers set up with what they needed for the poker game. Arlo assisted Billy with getting the bug hitched up, and later went by his shop to discuss his assistance with the shipment of exotic cars we had coming in.”

Flipping the page, he paused for a quick breath and Emma’s phone rattled on the table with an incoming message notification. While Liam gave Killian the last few bits of info, Emma went to check her phone.

“Billy told Robin that Tink came by the next morning before he returned the bug, and that she had a man with her he didn’t recognize. Robin is scrolling back through the footage from Billy’s security cameras to see if he can identify the man without asking Tink. We don’t want to tip either of them off in case they turn out to be the rat.”

“They aren’t.”

Both men’s heads snapped towards Emma, her phone clutched tightly in her hand as anger coursed through her.

“Swan? What is it? How do you know--”

“Jefferson came through,” she said, cutting him off and taking a deep breath. Pushing back the urge to work out every little detail in her mind, she informed them, “He found him. J.R. The final man connected to the watch heist.”

“And?” Liam demanded. “Who is he? Is he the rat we’re looking for?”

“No. He’s dead. Died three years ago in a drug deal gone wrong, but--”

“Bloody hell,” Killian growled, cutting her off. “So we’re no closer to identifying the rat?”

“Afraid not, brother,” Liam sighed. “We both know dead men tell no tales.”

“Actually…” Emma began, a gratified expression lighting her face. “In this case, they do. J.R.’s real name tells us exactly who the rat might be.”

“It does? How?

“What was his name, Swan?” Killian asked, an edge of darkness wrapping around his words and shadowing his gaze. “I want his name.”

“Jonathan,” she told them. “J.R. stood for Jonathan... Rufio.”

~/~

“No! No, please! I can… I can explain! Please! I--”

A swift punch to the gut silenced Rufio as he was brought on board the Jolly Roger. It had taken a little over a week to track him down. After the warehouse, he’d gone into hiding, certain it was only a matter of time before his cover was blown. At first, they’d been afraid he’d run back to Gold, assuming R.G. would offer him protection. He must have realized, however, that he was a loose end R.G. would want clipped, and that his unsanctioned hit on Emma would have potentially incurred Neal’s wrath, leaving him with no allies.

“I hear you enjoy spilling your guts to my enemies.” Killian approached Rufio, who was doubled over, still wheezing from the blow. Grabbing him by the hair, Killian yanked his head back, forcing the young man to stare into his face as he snarled, “Well, rest assured, Rufio. One way or another, you are going to be spilling them for me before we are through.” Releasing him with a rough toss, he ordered, “Take him below and get ready to cast off.”

Emma could hear Rufio’s pleas and screams as they dragged him from the deck, down into the bowels of the ship. She couldn’t help but feel just the tiniest bit sorry for him, given what all they’d uncovered over the past week, but the man had made his choices and now he had to live with the consequences. Well... not for long.

There was also that small matter of him trying to kill her, so… No, actually. Emma didn’t have much sympathy for him at all.

“Are you sure you wish to stay on board,” Killian asked. “If not, now’s your chance to leave.”

Emma met his searching, uncertain gaze with one of determination. She still hadn’t told him, hadn’t had an opportunity to really discuss things while he was busy recovering and working to ensure their entire empire didn’t come crashing down around them, but she would. As soon as they had the rest of the answers they needed, she would tell him.

“I’m staying.”

Killian nodded, then turned his attention towards Liam who had called out to him before he followed the rest of the men below.

“Are you sure you’re up for this?” she asked, still concerned he wasn’t healed enough to be interrogating Rufio, even though he wouldn’t be the one doling out the punishment.

“Aye, I’ll be fine,” he assured her, tucking an errant strand of her hair behind her ear, though several others began whipping about now that they were pulling away from the docks. “I’ll come find you after.”

“I’ll be waiting,” she told him, lifting herself up onto her toes and placing a kiss at the corner of his lips before murmuring, “In your cabin.”

Time stretched on, so she occupied herself by going over everything again. All the secrets they’d revealed, all the mysteries they’d unravelled. They didn’t yet know why Gold had planted Rufio within the Jones organization, but they had learned Rufio had a vendetta against the Joneses. The drug bust, during which his brother, Jonathan, had been killed, had been one of those misdirections Killian often used Smee for, tipping the police off about a rival’s crime so they’d be preoccupied while they committed one of their own. Robin had missed the connection because Jonathan had died days later. It wasn’t until they really looked into his death, and had Jefferson’s insight to assist them, that they discovered he’d been a part of the gang dealing drugs on the boundary line between the Jones and Gold territories. Rufio had used his brother’s death as one of the reasons he wanted to join the Jones family in the first place.

Having lost the only family he had left, he’d said he wanted to be a part of something.

Rufio had gotten his start working in the distilleries, packing and shipping the bootlegged liquor until he rose through those ranks and got promoted to the docks. He hadn’t worked with Walsh long, but probably knew the man by reputation from his drug dealing brother, so when EWH hit the streets it seemed likely Rufio would have suspected it was Walsh’s doing, and most likely was the one who warned him to run.

His work at the docks explained the inconsistencies with the cargo manifests, and his access to The Brig, as well as the property Robin maintained an office out of, allowed him to overhear or pick up on things he was then able to pass along to whoever he was working with on the outside. Who Emma suspected was none other that Owen Flynn.

It would explain why Flynn had frequented the bar on the nights he had, a place where they could converse or clandestinely exchange information. It also called into question what exactly happened the night Rufio had been tasked to watch over Flynn when he supposedly died from Killian’s beatings.

All the pieces had come together by the time Emma found him, back where it all began. He’d been hiding out in Wizard of Oak. The abandoned furniture store Walsh had once used as a front business, dealing whatever concoction he’d been peddling before eventually being recruited years later by the Jones family. She supposed Rufio thought it a safe place to hide, knowing there was no tangible connection that could trace him to it. The only way he knew about it was because he’d accompanied Killian and Will the night they’d tracked Walsh there.

The same night Emma had.

They had the how’s pretty much figured out, all they needed now was the why’s.

“Well, you were right,” Killian said as he entered the room. A few specks of blood and grime littered his shirt and suit jacket, which he gingerly shrugged off and tossed onto the bed on his way to the mini bar. “He was the one who told Walsh to run. He’s also the one who convinced him to come back.”

“Why?” Emma joined Killian at the table, eager to find out everything the Jones brothers had managed to beat out of their rat.

“It seems Gold wanted Walsh to turn himself in so he could make a deal and testify against me, but I discovered his revolting little side business before he could agree, though there was speculation he’d been unwilling to do so anyway. Rufio was then instructed to lure him back, with the hopes he’d be arrested. Then he would have had no other choice but to roll on us in order to save himself.”

“Wait,” Emma replied, needing a minute to process. “So, Gold tried to use Walsh to take you down?”

“Aye,” he confirmed, knocking back the dram he’d poured for himself, then refilling his glass with the bottle he’d brought with him to the table.

“Okay, start from the beginning,” Emma told him, tucking her legs beneath her in her chair and topping off her own drink. “Why did Gold send Rufio to spy on the family in the first place?”

Killian gave her a play-by-play of the interrogation, or rather, a slightly less bloodied version.

Knowing his brother had worked for Gold once before, Rufio had gone to him first after Jonathan’s death. Having become suspicious as to whether the Jones - who had started to transition leadership from Brennan to Liam - were being truly honorable to the treaty, as it related to the agreement they had regarding the Storybrooke Harbour, Rufio had first been instructed to infiltrate the family and get assigned to the docks so he could keep tabs on things and report back. However, as soon as Rufio learned of Brennan’s deteriorating illness, the Gold men saw an opportunity to expand their territory.

They began to look for ways to get Killian or Liam arrested, so that once Brennan died, the remaining son would be left to fend off the ambush on his own. The prospect of achieving such a coup must have made Gold greedy, because not long after the revelation of Brennan’s impending death, he had Neal arrange for others to infiltrate both the Mills and Pendragon organizations, seeking out weaknesses he could exploit.

“After I shot Walsh, Rufio wanted to go to the police and do the very thing they had tried to get Walsh to do. Turn himself in as an accomplice, but then roll on me so I’d be arrested for the murder. R.G. told him that without a body there would be no point, so when the opportunity came to provide the police with one…”

“Flynn,” Emma deduced, shaking her head and grinding her teeth.

“It was Rufio, not me, who killed him,” Killian informed her. “I knew I hadn’t done enough damage to cause his death, and I was right.” Emma reached over and took Killian’s hand. She knew it wasn’t the man’s death he’d been berating himself for, it was the lack of control and carelessness that might have led to it. “Rufio finished him off then called Felix in a panic, convinced him to help get rid of the body, then planted the matchbook in Flynn’s pocket before they dumped him.”

“I assume he’s also the one who told Neal I was working for you,” she said, taking them away from the subject of Flynn and what could have happened if Smee and others hadn’t been so convincing with their false leads and planted evidence, turning the police investigation in another direction and all but clearing Killian of suspicion, given he had an ironclad alibi.

“He was,” Killian confirmed. “Though, because Rufio did not know the true nature of our agreement he didn’t realize how closely we’d been working together. Neal had no idea you were anything more than another asset until you showed up to the event with me.”

Emma took a long pull from her glass and let the burn of the alcohol fill her belly with its smoldering heat, further stoking the fire that had been building within her. She’d been trying to hold it back, to suppress the thoughts gathering at the edges of her mind, to keep her darker impulses at bay even as her demons spurred her on from the recesses she usually confined them to. She couldn’t deny them any longer though. The truth of the matter was… she needed them. Wanted them. Wouldn’t be able to do what was required, what was necessary, what she desired without them.

To make Neal and R.G. pay for their audacity. To watch their empire burn until they were the ones left with nothing.

“What happens now?” she asked, keeping everything she was feeling reined in for the time being, knowing there would come a moment when she could use it to her - their - advantage.

Killian sighed. “Liam and I will set up a meeting with the Mills and share what we’ve uncovered. Father, Liam, and I are all in agreement that this means we’ll be going to war with the Golds, and we’re hoping to have Cora’s allegiance and manpower to aid us in the fight.”

He stood and went over to one of his night tables, opening the drawer and removing a thick manila envelope. “Don’t worry, though,” he said, his expression grave and guarded as he tossed the packet onto the table and resumed his seat. “I already collected your new identity, and Robin set you up an account. Most of the money has already been transferred into it. The rest is in there,” he said, gesturing to the envelope casually as he took another drink, attempting to appear as though the topic of her leaving wasn’t tearing him apart. His tight smile didn’t meet his eyes, though he tried to make it convincing as he assured her, “Everything you need to make a fresh start.”

Emma slid the envelope back towards him and stood. “Fresh starts are overrated.” Skimming her fingers along the top of the table, she picked up his glass and brought it to her lips. After taking a sip, she licked an errant drop from the corner of her mouth and offered, “It seems to me, if there’s going to be a war you’re going to need all the help you can get, which includes having Arthur, and those loyal to him, among your list of allies. But Arthur can only help if he doesn’t have to concern himself with Percy, who’s gone to ground.” Setting his glass back down, she carded her fingers through his hair, swirling them through the dark, silky strands. “I happen to know someone who’s pretty good at finding people.”

Killian’s brows shot up his forehead and his lips parted in surprise, sticking in the corners in that way she loved. “You want to find Percy so Arthur is free to return and fight alongside us?”

Climbing onto his lap, Emma straddled Killian’s hips, mindful of his still tender side and shoulder, and wound her arms around his neck. “In this family,” she murmured, tilting her head so their foreheads were pressed together, his eyelids fluttering closed as he held his breath in anticipation of her words, “we look after our own, and those closest to them.”

“You understand what it’ll mean, don’t you?” he asked, his Adam’s apple bobbing heavily. “You, choosing to stay?” He opened his eyes and fixed her with his forget-me-not gaze. “It won’t be for only this single job, or merely until our war with Gold is won.” His hand tightened at her hip, his fingers digging into her skin. “It’s for life, Swan.”

“I know.”

“And you’re sure you’re ready for that? Ready to cast off the black and white and fully embrace a life lived in the spectrums of grey?”

“I am,” she assured him. Trailing her fingers down his neck she placed her hand over his heart and confessed, “You were right about me.”

“In what way?” he asked, his lips ghosting over hers, barely able to restrain themselves.

“Turns out,” she whispered huskily, flicking her eyes up at him through her lashes, “I do enjoy the company of demons.”

“Well, then,” Killian purred, snaking his hand up her back until it wrapped around the base of her neck. “Come kiss this handsome devil, won’t you love?”

The End

A/N: I know, I know, I know! I can hear you. Trust me. While the scope of this fic, regarding the identification of and dealing with the rat, as well as bringing CS together, is complete, I recognize that there is still more story that could be told, so... I have started notes for a sequel. NO PROMISES as to when or if it’ll get written/posted, but know that I agree with you and will do my best!

Thanks again for all the love!!!

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[warmau]

☆ [nostalgic] summer romance!au yangyang happy birthday even if its a little late! ~ tw: mention of breakups find others here: johnny | haechan | taeil | taeyong | mark | jaemin

the door opens as soon as the hand on the clock that hangs right above the line of freezers at the back of the store strikes eight

through it walks yangyang

grey hoodie pulled over his messy hair, stuck to the skin of his forehead with slowly evaporating sweat

he’s dribbling a basketball as he walks down the aisles and you pretend to rearrange the candy display in front of the register

but you’re watching

the sound of the basketball thumps through the otherwise empty corner store

outside, the sun is waving its last goodbye before the moon takes it spot in the sky

and then yangyang rounds his way back to you - placing some loose change down and waving the already unwrapped melon pop he’s picked out

you count the coins, and he’s ten cents short, but you don’t say anything about that

he turns, basketball now tucked under his arm 

and leaves without a thank you or a goodbye

you know him - and you’re sure he knows you too - but it has been the same silent routine since summer started two weeks ago

the reason - and it could just be your suspicion - but no other fact has reared its head as creditable

has to do with dong sicheng

yangyang’s upperclassman, friend, and your ex-boyfriend

you lean forward a little and huff, not even really my ex-boyfriend. we fooled around all of last semester and then-

you feel something weird curl up inside your stomach

sicheng had called it off

you remember what he had said to you; 

“maybe if you weren’t always looking at -”

the door opens again and your eyes barely shift to see who it is now

only to see yangyang again, melon pop abandoned, grey hoodie abandoned, basketball abandoned

he buffers a bit before walking right up to the register

you straighten up and feel like the little store has only gotten tighter

he slaps the ten cents he was short down on the counter and you blink

“i owe you this.”

“oh thanks.”

“sicheng isn’t here for the summer. he went abroad.”

you blink, and your instinct is to say - why would i care? - but you just nod slowly

yangyang steps back a little. he’s still got remnants of sweat on him from the summer heat, his hands tucked deep in his pockets

“did you like him?”

“no”

you answer a little too fast for comfort, but there just isn’t enough time to stop yourself from spilling the truth. something you’ve wanted to say for a while.

yangyang is looking at the floor, or maybe the candy, who knows - but he looks up after that.

“he said you were always -”

“looking at you. i know.”

yangyang seems to catch his breath, or maybe he just looks like he’s being suffocated, but either way he points to the sign on the door

“you close in an hour right?”

“yes”

“ill be here. we can - ill be waiting for you.”

even with the streetlights flickering, the night hovering into complete darkness, the heat makes everything feel vibrant and hot 

or maybe you just feel all this pressure, finally being alone with yangyang

you’ve changed, you’ve attempted to comb your hair, you’re holding the half finished bottle of gatorade that is acting like some kind of pseudo-anchor as you wait to hear what it is yangyang will say

does he know? did he notice? or did sicheng just tell him for the hell of it that ive always actually liked him?

“i was looking too, that’s why i was so confused.”

he kicks the curb a little and avoids your gaze

“why you chose him - why you were sneaking around and doing all of that with him when i was-”

he throws his hands up in frustration

“when i was there too!”

“i just didn’t think you felt the same way.”

“you think i didnt like you back?”

you cross your hands and nod

“yeah, you never did anything to make me think you -”

“neither did you, you actually did the opposite, hooking up with one of my closest friends-”

“hey!”

you don’t want to raise your voice, but it makes yangyang look at you. really look at you.

“is it a crime to want to be desired? i couldnt get the feeling from you and sicheng just kissed me one day and it felt-”

yangyang steps closer, both hands reaching for your shoulders as if he’s about to pull you in close to him

but just as his fingers graze your skin, you can feel the tension stiffen him into stone

you flatline your voice and stare, “yangyang if you’re going to kiss me then just do it”

he opens his mouth in protest, at least that’s what he intentions, when in the next second

it’s you, dropping the gatorade in your hand, and just tugging him in for it first

he doesn’t kiss with the overwhelming confidence he can saunter around with when he’s with his friends, but he is enthusiastic 

it kind of shocks you when after just a soft peck on the lips turns into yangyang wrapping you in almost squeezing hug 

he kisses as if he’s trying to make up for something

you chalk it up to the time you’ve both waisted tip-toeing around each others feelings

and when you pull away from him, you realize he’s nearly dragged you off the curb and into the sidewalk with him and you’re like

“let’s get out of the street before we get hit by a car.”

he grins, the brightest light even in the darkness

“wait- just one thing though.”

his hands don’t let go from being wrapped around your waist, his bare skin sticking to the fabric of your shirt. how many degrees is it out? at least eighty something.

“what?”

“do i kiss better than sicheng-”

you yank him back onto the sidewalk and roll your eyes in response, yangyang just leans down to laugh into your neck

you’ve still got to work at the shop all summer, but now yangyang doesn’t just stop by at just eight 

he’s there as much as possible

sitting on boxes of soda and chips - hand on your leg as you two watch the array of interesting neighbors and customers that pass their way through

there’s a nice old couple that beams at you and yangyang, talking about how much you two remind them of themselves

there’s a social recluse that scurries up and down the aisles even though he always buys the same two things every time he’s in here. yangyang theorizes he’s a spy or something and you’re like im pretty sure he works for an IT company

there are giggling groups of middle schoolers enjoying the summer, there are teenagers who spend more time kissing in the corners rather than buying anything, there are adults rushing to and from work

sometimes yangyang’s friends stop by, the ones he plays basketball with, and they wolf whistle and wink and push him when they think you’re not looking

but now kun - who apologizes to you every time for their CHILDISH behavior

the summer that you thought would be dragging slowly because of this dumb job, has become something like a rainbow. 

colorful, eventful, and beautiful

especially when you’re sitting up on the register counter and yangyang is leaning up to kiss you 

lips cold from the ice-cream you both just shared

he’s gotten better at kissing, and at hand-holding, and staring at you like you’re the entire earth and more

he leaves for a couple of hours to go play basketball - and one evening you close the shop early to go watch him 

he looks so different from the yangyang that makes bad jokes, the yangyang who chases the local stray cat around your store, the yangyang who is still a little too shy about coming over to your house when you’re both alone, the yangyang who fell out of a tree trying to get a stuck balloon untangled for a crying toddler 

he looks serious and focused - he looks more mature

when the set ends he jogs over, lifting his shirt up to wipe the sweat from his face and you realize you’re also still a little shy, averting your eyes to the side

he doesn’t notice, if he did - you would not hear the end of it - as he leans forward to kiss your nose

you pull back and tell him ew- he’s so sweaty and smelly - but he just pouts and says thats never bothered you before!

“yeah, it’s never bothered you before so you guys should just make out-”

hendery’s voice echoes from somewhere before you presume kun puts a stop to that

yangyang raises an eyebrow 

and you give in - leaning in to press your lips to him

“salty?” he asks when he pulls away, “very!”, you laugh and yangyang joins in

“oh sicheng you’re back?”

the sentence drowns you and yangyang’s momentary bliss

you don’t want to turn around and see if it’s really him - but yangyang leans away from you so you stand up too

“how was your trip?” it’s kun’s voice - followed by yukhei who exclaims that he’s missed him so much!

sicheng answers them, looking over his shoulder at you and yangyang

the sounds of the park all wash out - you don’t feel anything romantic toward sicheng, but this is still awkward and you’re more than anything worried about-

“yangyang - can i be on your team?”

sicheng is referring to the next game and you want to say something to yangyang about how it’s really all over, like it didn’t ever even mean anything

but then sicheng looks at you

“can i steal your boyfriend away for a bit?”

the playful banter sizzles the tension down and you feel yourself relax, and yangyang does too

“sure bro, but you better have gotten good during your trip - your freethrows always suck!”

sicheng laughs and you do too, kissing yangyang’s cheek before he goes back to join his friends

when it gets too dark to play anymore and everyone’s exhausted - yangyang and you part from the group

hendery tries to yell something about kids being safe, kun drags him away by the ear, xiaojun, yukhei and ten echo the sentiment anyway and sicheng says;

“im happy for you guys.”

you feel yangyang squeeze your hand in his - when it’s just you and him left

you shiver a little because summer is ending and falls kiss is sweeping in

yangyang shrugs off the grey hoodie he’s always wearing and you slip it on before taking his hand in yours again

“was it weird seeing sicheng again?”

“not really - i mean it’s just sicheng.”

you stop walking and yangyang does too

“he’s your friend and he’s just my friend. seriously. yangyang i want you to know that.”

he smiles softly, not the big toothy grin you’re used to, and tugs you a little into him

“i know that.”

he kisses your hair and then laughs

“if it was me, you would have jumped right into my arm-”

“yangyang!”

you give him a look and he swears he’s joking, he promises

but he’s also right

years later - as you’re standing in the airport looking up at the switchboard of flights

you light up when you see that the plane from taiwan is landing

you rush to the gate and wave as soon as you sicheng

he waves back, and so does kun and ten and everyone

and holding up the end is yangyang who abandons his luggage, to come barreling toward you

you can’t hold it too, it’s been all summer that he and the rest of them have been gone

and it’s been so boring without him, and so lonely, so when he opens his arms

you do jump right into them - getting attacked in a whirlwind of kisses

the rest of the group catches up to you two and from somewhere you can hear kun mutter

“they’re acting like kids”

but sicheng defends you two

“let them, they’ve been looking at each other since then.”

when yangyang finally decides to let you go, he adds:

“yep, and we haven’t stopped since.”

[myarmsaretoolong]

so ive been reading all the young dudes...

its massively inspired me to actually get on and figure out this epic length hogwarts au that follows from the og6 starting at hogwarts (marauders style) and going all the way to peter's seventh year

obviously there's a ton of plot stuff in the middle that im still figuring out but i have some basic ideas

anyway this one scene has been bugging me all week so i decided just to write it and see and?? i actually think?? its kinda good?? usually i write something and think meh but this feels good for some reason

its clints perspective, he's 11 but not at hogwarts yet, and yes im making them all british. let me know if you think this actually has legs? im nervous (also ive not edited this at all so ignore any mistakes)

St Joseph’s Home for Wayward Children looked more like a prison than an orphanage. Its grey stone walls were high enough to block out the sun, impossible to climb but topped with barbed wire for good measure. The wrought-iron gate, the only way in or out, was old and rusty and squealed like a kicked pig any time it opened. It, too, stretched upwards, though was much easier to climb. Unfortunately, Clint hadn’t been careful enough of the spikes on top and got himself stuck where he had to wait until Matron came and got him down in the morning surrounded by all the other boys all laughing and pointing at him. The stunt earned him the cane and got him sent to his room without dinner for a week.

Everything was grey at St Joseph’s. The painted walls, the cold stone floors, the uniforms - grey blazer, grey tie, grey jumper, grey trousers, grey socks. The shoes were black, as was the stupid little hat they had to wear, but they hardly added colour to the drab place. Hell, even the sky was grey.

The building itself was U-shaped and surrounded the yard on three sides (the fourth side had the gate to freedom). It housed around eighty children, split pretty evenly between boys and girls. Actually everything was split between boys and girls. A chain-link fence cut the yard - which was really more a concrete square - perfectly in half. Boys on the left, girls on the right.

The east wing housed the boys’ dormitories, bathrooms, and sports room. Presumably the west wing had the same for the girls, not that Clint would know. Sometimes when he looked out of his window he would see one of the girls doing the same, staring up at the stars and dreaming of some other life they’d never get to live.

Classrooms filled the main building, and the canteen took up most of the ground floor. Once again, the boys had to sit at tables on the left while eating, the staff lined up down the middle with crossed arms and permanent scowls to stop them interacting with the girls on the right. Not that they could talk to them anyway because they had to sit in silence. Upstairs, the corridors had a thick white line painted on the stone to keep them separate. Occasionally, one of the boys would manage to pass a note to a girl as they passed between lessons and it would be the talking point of the week.

There was a sharp rap at the door and a shrill voice called out, “Up! Breakfast in ten.”

It was the same as every morning. The four other boys in Clint’s dorm groaned. The oldest and biggest of the lot, Phillip Hutchins, rolled over and pressed his pillow over his head.

“I said, up!” Matron said again, her voice strained.

“Yes, Miss,” the other boys chorused. Hutchins added an extra layer of sarcasm.

All four of them looked at Clint, waiting. Clint rolled his eyes and looked back out the window. “Yes, Miss,” he mumbled.

Matron gave a satisfied hum and marched off to the next room to begin the routine over again.

Reluctantly, the other boys changed out of their grey pyjamas and into their grey uniforms, made their grey beds and trailed out into the grey halls. Hutchins threw his balled up pyjamas at Clint on the bunk opposite the door and cackled, “Tosser!”

The clothes hit Clint’s chest and fell into his lap. In one swift motion, he swept them up and lobbed the bundle back, hitting Hutchins square in the face. Hutchins’ cheeks went tomato red and his hands curled into fists. “You’ll regret that!” He slammed the door behind him, rattling the bunk Clint was sat on.

The five boys had three bunks between them and nobody wanted to share with Clint, not that he cared anyway. He was perfectly content to be left alone, not poked and prodded all night like the other boys did to each other.

Across the yard, Clint could see the first few girls passing windows as they went to breakfast. He looked closer at the room directly opposite his own. A red-haired girl stood on tiptoes as she struggled to make her bed. She didn’t see Clint watching her. He wasn’t a nonce or anything, the girls had the luxury of curtains on their windows. There was just something about the girl, rumours that followed her about like a bad smell.

Clint watched her tie her frilly bow tie around her neck and straighten out her skirt before she stalked out of her room. He hopped from his bunk and stripped, pulling his trousers and shirt on as quickly as possible. Then, slinging on his blazer, he ran out into the hall with his hat between his teeth as he fiddled with his tie.

He thundered down the hall, heavy footsteps echoing off the walls, and barrelled past Mr Adams - the history teacher.

“Stop this instant!” Adams bellowed, shaking his fist. Clint ignored him and kept on. “Detention after last class. My office!” He spoke like they did on the news, all propper with all the letters pronounced. All the staff at St Joseph’s did.

Clint, mentally, flipped him off as he turned a corner, he’d learned the hard way it’s not worth actually doing it. After he’d got his tie on straight, he ran a hand over his hair and shoved on his hat. Matron shaved the boys’ hair so short they might as well be bald, leaving it spikey and sticking straight up. The girls’ was cut to the middle of their backs and always in neat pigtails.

He reached the staircase and hopped the railing to the landing below, stumbling a little as he landed before turning and jumping to the ground floor. The corners of his mouth turned up a little when he stuck the landing. Quickly, he returned to his usual scowl and shoved his hands in his pockets, kicking up dust as he traipsed down the boys’ side of the corridor.

The red-haired girl appeared at the other end. She tugged awkwardly at her skirt hem but stopped as soon as she noticed him walking towards her. Clint caught her eye and lifted his chin in a nod. The girl held his stare and kept walking.

The smell of breakfast wafted from the canteen between them, as did the scrape of cutlery and dull thud of shoes. The girl didn’t thud. You’d have thought she was floating the amount of noise she made, all the girls were like it. It made Clint pick his feet up and straighten his back.

Still she stared at him. She opened her mouth and-

“Barton!” Matron shrieked, appeared in the canteen doorway. “Inside, now.” She grabbed his ear and dragged him in, giving him a shove for good measure.

“Oi!” Clint tripped over his feet, one hand covering his ear as he looked back. Matron crossed her arms and looked down her pointed nose at him. She looked like a bird from this angle. Behind her, the girl slipped in unnoticed.

Hutchins and his mates laughed, spraying toast crumbs across the table. Clint balled his hands into fists, his face a shade of red. He could jump Matron, give her a black eye to last a month, but it would get him slammed in all-day detention for twice as long so he thought better of it. Instead, he stalked up to the counter where the dinner lady filled his tray with two slices of plain toast and a bowl of cornflakes.

The boys either side of him shuffled away when he sat, nobody wanted to be associated with him else they’d get on Hutchins bad side, too. Clint didn’t care. He only had to survive five more years, then he’d be out. Besides, Hutchins would only be around for two more. Maybe then he could slink through the halls unnoticed and unbothered.

He ate grumpily, biting at the toast in between mouthfuls of cereal. Once or twice, he glanced over at the girls’ side. The redhead had her back to him, eating alone at the end of the table as she always did.

Just as he was about to go back to the counter and ask for seconds, Mrs Westwood walked right up to him with another boy Clint didn’t recognise in tow. Clint shuffled in his seat, turning his back, but Westwood cleared her throat loudly, drawing unwanted attention from Hutchins.

“Wot?” Clint kept his head down, shoulder up around his ears.

“Today is James’ tenth birthday.”

“Who’s James?”

Out the corner of his eye, Clint saw the boy give a little wave.

“As you know,” Westwood ploughed on, “it’s tradition that the youngest shows the new boys how things are done.”

Clint remembered his tenth birthday well. Westwood got him up early and took him to one of the supply cupboards where she took out the ‘big kids’ uniform’ - as she called it. He got changed in the bathroom, then marched into the big kids’ canteen. His guide was some goody-goody barely past his own tenth birthday called Paul or Patrick or something like that. Clint followed him around all day - new classes, new dorms, new boys. Then the git went and got adopted the next day, leaving Clint to figure out the rest on his own.

“Right,” he muttered.

“He’ll also be in your dorm.”

There goes his empty bunk.

Westwood patted James on the shoulder, gave him a tight smile, and swept from the room. Clint fished around for the last few flakes, not caring how loud his spoon hit the bowl.

“Sit, then,” he snapped, noticing James was still standing there wringing his hands. James practically fell through the bench he sat so hard.

He could feel the boy's eyes boring into his skull. The last thing he wanted was a shadow clinging to him all day, probably never drop him if James got too attached. James still hadn’t got the hint. Clint slammed down his spoon and turned to look him straight in the eye. “Want sumffink?”

“N-No!” James stammered. He nibbled on his lip, eyes darting between Clint’s. “Where do I get food?”

“There.” Clint pointed at the counter and James scampered off.

Clint half watched, just to be sure he got something. Angrily, he realised that, though he wasn’t the youngest anymore, James was at least a head taller than him and much less skinny. His uniform was neat and tidy, not a thread out of place, unlike Clint’s that often got him shouted at by the staff.

James returned and ate in silence as they were supposed to. Clint snuck another glance at the red-haired girl. He knew the rumours about her were bad, but not bad enough for all the girls to ignore her. They were hardly the worst things he’d heard.

Matron strutted to the front of the canteen and clapped her hands twice. Everyone rose, benches scraping along the stone. James sprang up a second later, half a slice of toast still hanging out of his mouth. Clint snatched it and threw it down.

James looked down, mourning his breakfast. “Now what?”

“Church,” he shrugged. “Sunday, innit?”

They lined up, boys on the left, girls on the right, and Matron led them into the chapel. As the others started filing into the pews, Clint grabbed a handful of James’ blazer and hung back, shuffling into the last row. James smoothed the creases out of his uniform as everyone else settled.

Clint zoned out as the Chaplain droned on about some dusty old book, though James sat forward to listen.

The chapel was easily the most interesting room at St Joseph’s. Still drab and grey for the most part, but there were marble arches in the roof way above, and coloured patterns in the stones making up the floor, and other things like the weird sink next to the Chaplain’s podium. In other words, there was something to look at.

He found himself drifting back to the red-haired girl. She wasn’t hard to find, what with having half a pew to herself while all the other girls crammed in around her. She had her head tilted back, looking up at the arches. He found himself feeling jealous of the way they left her alone.

Maybe he could make one of his own weird things happen. Maybe he could do something really bad and scare Hutchins so much he daren’t look at him ever again.

that's what i have so far, let me know what you think!

[ollypopwrites]

IV. Little Lies | Biker!Mando AU

Biker!Mando x Female Reader (no y/n)

Links to part I, II and III 

Summary: Almost two months ago he had barged in and as an attempt to get a rise out of you, to get you to reveal something, he had made a comment about how beautiful you were. He hadn’t been lying then but it was easier to say something like that when it was part of the job he was sent to do. 

Wordcount: 4.1k A/N: Soon I will have a masterlist specifically for this story that will include any headcanon questions, edits and art that are associated with or inspired the story! Please don’t be afraid to come and ask questions and things like that, and again I can’t thank you all enough for your interest in it. It’s become one of my favorite stories I’ve ever written. 

Warnings: Language, threats, a tiny-tiny bit of violence.

When you arrived at the Covert, the Mandalorian standing guard just nodded at you and opened up the gate. This was your second trip this week, and you weren’t entirely sure if it was the same one from before but you were expected this time. The kids inside all moved out of the way until your car passed and then went back to running around -- screaming and laughing. 

You caught sight of Nessa who recognized your car and gave an exuberant wave in your direction before she went back to playing. You parked and made your way to Syala’s open door, knocking lightly on the door jam and entering to find Lysa sitting with some schoolwork -- her little legs were kicking as she sat in the chair. You gave her a small kiss on the head, you moved towards the kitchen to drop off some food you had picked up. 

Tycho thought you were taking trips to see some friends last week. Earlier that week he had thought you were going to meet with a couple about some arrangements for their wedding  and today he thought you were picking up rare plants. Instead you had been letting Nessa and Lysa show you the best spots around the Covert to play hide and seek, reading stories to Jido, or laughing about the old days with Syala over a glass of wine. 

The two of you were cooking together, chatting away but kept looking towards the door. 

You had run into Din a few times since that night at the bar. It was usually very late and he was just picking up Junior for the night. There had only been a little conversation between the two of you but the tone of those interactions had changed. 

Where there had been suspicion on your side was now only curiosity; seeing his face and knowing his name made him less scary and more intriguing. You noticed now that when you weren’t baring your teeth at him right off the bat, he seemed to be just a little unsure of how to handle that. 

“You don’t have Junior with you today?” you asked as casually as you could. 

“No,” Syala said, “his dad is home for a little while.”

“That must be nice, to get a little break.” You responded brightly, trying to mask the slight disappointment you felt. 

“The kid practically babysits Jido for me, I really don’t mind having him around,” she said. “You know his dad is always asking me about you,” there was a mischievous glint to her eye as she chopped up some vegetables.

“Oh -- “ you were surprised to hear that, “he’s probably just...trying to keep an eye on Tycho.”

“Trust me,” Syala said, “they don’t need you to get to Tycho.”

Thankfully Nessa ran into the kitchen for a glass of water and Syala had to break away from teasing to remind her daughter not to run in the house. Nessa was too busy gulping down as much water as she could in as little time as possible and Syala had to shift to insisting she slow down. Then there was a sudden loud commotion as a large booming voice filled the entire front room. It made you jump and Nessa grinned and bolted out of the room again. 

“Come on...one more!” 

You followed Syala to the front room to find the doorway almost entirely blocked by a solid figure. Not Din, but another Mandalorian; tall and broad but kneeling in front of Lysa who had abandoned her school work.  His helmet was not shiny like Din’s, instead it was dark blue with some accents of a lighter teal with a darkened visor. His patches on his worn leather vest were also different, except the one on the back, and you saw “Heavy Infantry” spelled out on one of them.  

Lysa was punching at his massive hands, gloved but spread wide open, and she used all of her little might. The man showed her how to hold her fist and to dig her small pointy knuckles for maximum damage. 

“Paz, please,” Syala said with a slight laugh, “you’ve already got Nessa challenging all the older kids -- don’t give Lysa any ideas.”

“And how many times have you lost?” His head turned to ask the oldest girl.

“Only twice,” Nessa said smugly.

“Keep practicing and you will be undefeated.” 

“Paz!”

“If your mother says it's okay.” He added quickly. 

It was too late. You could tell from the smile on Nessa’s face she was ready to wrestle every kid her size and beyond until she was some kind of champion amongst them. You had to laugh at the way the Mandalorian, Paz, seemed to sheepishly get to his feet at Syala’s pointed look. His attention turned towards you and you offered him a small smile and a little wave. 

“You must be the sister-in-law.”

You nodded before properly introducing yourself, holding out a hand to shake. He didn’t even look at it, just left you standing there foolishly with a hand out.

“I saw you came two days ago, and now you’re here again.” His tone was not welcoming, and outright combative. Even that simple sentence sounded like some kind of accusation.

“Is that a problem?” you asked with a forced politeness and a tight smile. 

Part of you was still scared of the Mandos, especially being greeted by this one with so much hostility. But you had not learned your lesson apparently, and were ready to go toe to toe with yet another Mandalorian if it came down to it. Syala sensed this immediately.

“Obviously not,” Syala cut in, her tone even, “since I invited you here, right, Paz?” 

All he gave in response to that was an almost inaudible grunt. 

The kids were still around but you guessed that if they weren’t he would have some choice words to say to you -- and the only reason you could think of that would make him so unwelcoming was your brother. But Tycho was also the kids’ father, and whatever manners this Mando had seemed to keep him from bringing him up around the little ones.

Feeling the tense air between all the adults in the room, Nessa blurted out, “auntie! You haven’t checked on our plants yet!”

“You’re right,” you said before looking away from the Mandalorian. You turned to her, “why don’t you two show me?”

Nessa and Lysa quickly exited the room, suspecting some ‘grown up talk’ was going to happen and dragged you along with them. You barely made it out of the room before the burly Mandalorian began speaking in a hushed tone to Syala.  

Nessa and Lysa had found a great spot in their shared room on the windowsill for their new plants. They got more than enough light and had a small tray underneath to catch any excess water. You inspected the plants and they seemed to be doing just fine, if not a tad bit overwatered. You gave the two girls all the best tips you could -- writing them down on a piece of paper so they could refer back to it. 

“When they grow a little more I’ll bring you some new pots to put them in,” you promised. 

“How big will they get?” Lysa asked excitedly.

“These ones can get really big if you take good care of them,” you said.

“As big as a tree?” Nessa inquired. 

“Not quite that big,” you laughed, “to get a big one like that you have to have patience and know how to keep them healthy.”

You made a bargain with the girls: if they could get the plants you had already given them to grow enough you would see about finding them some really big ones. They excitedly discussed what kinds they would want but over their conversation you heard voices get a little louder in the other room. 

You peered out of the door into the hallway and heard an argument -- two male voices. The girls were distracted so you slipped away to find not one but two Mandalorians in Syala’s living room, and it looked like they were a few moments away from brawling. 

You recognized Din easily and Syala looked to you with a slight roll of her eyes but seemed unsure of what to do. The two men were speaking in a language you didn’t understand. Din was shorter and of a smaller stature but he didn’t seem intimidated in the least, and you thought Paz might be trying to make himself even larger, if that were even possible. It was a lot of testosterone and posturing and you had no idea what sparked it but before you could even think to ask there was a sudden weight on your leg. 

Leaning against your shin and grabbing at the fabric of your pants was Junior, big brown eyes turned up to you inquisitively. 

“Hi,” you said, kneeling down to be at a better level. “Do you know what this is all about, little one?”

He babbled at you and his face brightened with a huge smile. 

“Yeah, me neither.” 

Paz murmured something under his breath which made Din curse and then there was the short sound of scuffling before Syala shouted.

“Okay, out -- not around the kids,” she insisted. 

When you looked up from Junior, Din had Paz’s leather vest gripped in his gloved hands and Paz was holding on to the edge of Din’s helmet like he was going to pull it off. 

“Sy -- “ Paz began in protest.

“Out.” She cut him off, “we’ll talk later.” 

Paz stormed out after that and Din looked back to Syala. “I apologize.” 

“It’s fine,” she waved him away with a sigh. 

“I’ll be right back for the kid,” he said and then followed after Paz.

“What was all that about?” You asked once he had gone. 

“It’s…” Syala trailed off, “it’s nothing. Those two butt heads a lot, this is pretty normal.” 

“Oh,” you nodded, “okay.” 

“I guess I do have Junior tonight,” Syala said in a happy tone, obviously trying to change the subject, “let’s see if Jido is awake from his nap for a little play date.” 

Din followed after Paz’s large strides towards the warehouse where the bikes were parked. Luckily not many others were in there and the kids outside were all too busy yelling and playing to pay attention to them. Paz was climbing onto his bike, getting ready to take a ride and cool off. Din approached before he could turn the key and placed his hand over it to keep him from doing so. Paz tried to pull his hand off but he stubbornly held on. 

“If you threaten her again -- “ Din started.

“How can you trust her when she lied to your face,” Paz growled. “She chooses to protect the di’kut. And you welcome her within our gates? In Syala’s home?”

“She is her family -- Syala asked that she be welcomed here,” Din said. 

“Then make her useful, send her back with a message for that -- “

“Our message was made clear,” Din retorted. “We push too hard and he’ll scatter again. That’ll make things worse for Syala!”

Paz didn’t respond so Din pulled his hand away and stepped aside so he could leave if he wanted to. His point was made, and any further arguing about it would be talking in circles. Din waited for Paz to retort or to challenge him again. He was ready.

 Instead the other Mandalorian spoke. “Is there something between you two?”

Din paused, thinking of you and how you had smiled at him at the bar. “What?”

“Syala,” Paz snapped. “Are you and her  --” 

“No,” Din interjected before he could finish. “She’s burc’ya and so is the sister-in-law.” There was a heavy moment, “she isn’t a threat.”

Paz nodded his head once. Irritation still radiated off of him, but he had nothing to say. 

Satisfied, Din turned and started making his way back when he heard the bike start up. He couldn’t zoom out of the compound because of all the kids but once the gates opened up, Din heard the pipes as he tore off down the highway. 

When he made it back to the house you were seated on the floor with both Jido and Junior, the younger boy was learning to get his feet underneath him while watching Junior as an example. Junior’s little hand gripped one of yours tight and Jido was using your free arm for leverage to try and pull himself up. 

Syala came out again seeing him, “how’s your shoulder?” 

“It’s fine,” he nodded. “The healer says I should give it another week.”

“Were you hurt?” You asked looking up at him. 

“It was nothing.”

“He was stabbed,” Syala retorted. 

“Not very deeply,” Din said back. “Didn’t hit anything.” 

“Oh,” was all you could say in response. Junior toppled over while trying to climb onto your lap and you caught him with one arm saying, “whoops! Careful, buddy.” 

Syala laughed and then turned to Din. “Go get changed and join us for dinner, it’ll be done soon.”

“You don’t have to --”

“Go. Bathroom is empty, you can take all that off.”

He silently walked away and you waited until the door was closed to whisper to Syala.

“I saw him without the helmet the other day,” you told her, and when she gave you an interested look you said, “I’ll explain later -- why does he have to hide away to take it off?”

“Rules.” Syala shrugged. “Can’t wear the vest without the helmet on, can’t be seen taking it all off.”

“Why?”

“You’ll have to ask him.” She said, “watch them while I set the table, will you?”

“Sure.”

It was only a few moments later and Din returned, vest and helmet removed. He stood in the middle of the room looking uncertain of what to do now that he was helmetless.

“I’m sure Syala won’t mind if you sit somewhere,” you said with a teasing smile.

He cleared his throat and moved towards the couch, setting his things on one side and sitting on the other. You decided not to tease him any further, instead just shooting him a smile before turning back to the boys who were essentially using you as a jungle gym. 

You felt Junior putting one of your fingers in his mouth, and you delicately tried to pull away but before you could he chomped down, a few little teeth digging into your skin. It didn’t hurt much, but the surprise was enough to make you yelp. 

“Hey,” Din was quickly off the couch to kneel next to you. He scooped Junior up swiftly, grunting a little at the movement on his injured shoulder. “We talked about that, no biting.”  He looked at you, “sorry.”

“That’s okay,” you said, inspecting your finger. There were little indents of  tiny teeth and it was covered in baby drool but otherwise it was fine. To his credit, Junior was looking a little watery eyed, maybe due to the loud noise you had made and Din running over to grab him so abruptly. “You’ve got some mean little chompers, bud,” you reached out to run a finger over the soft skin of his cheek. 

“One of these days someone is gonna bite him back,” Din grumbled, “and then what will you do, ad’ika, hm?” He spoke the last part to Junior.

“What does that mean?” you asked.

Din looked at you again, that same uncertainty seeming to rise up again. “It’s a term of endearment for children.”

You smiled and then turned your attention back to Jido. “Is everything okay? I thought you were going to brawl it out here in the house.”

His expression tightened a little bit. “It’s fine.”

“He… doesn’t want me here, does he? Because of Tycho.” You said.

Din wasn’t looking at you anymore, he was watching Junior with a slightly furrowed brow. “He doesn’t trust you.”

There wasn’t much you could say to that except, “he’s never met me.”

“No,” Din said seriously. “But ... “ he heaved a sigh and then looked over his shoulder, making sure Syala wasn’t coming, “Tycho’s been involved with some dangerous people. He’s just looking out for her and the kids.”

You nodded, wanting to ask about who exactly your brother had been associating with, but Syala called everyone to dinner. 

You didn’t get up right away and Din was looking at you now, “should I stop coming around?”

“No,” Din said quickly. Too quickly. He felt his insides churn at how intensely he had said it. “He won’t bother you again.” There was a pause, “Syala likes when you visit.”

You nodded and opened your mouth to speak again but --

“Guys,” Syala said, more insistently, and breaking through a tension you hadn’t really realized was there until she interrupted,  “come on, before it gets cold.”

There was a lot more to ask him, but right now wasn’t the time.

You got to sleep in the next day, and when you finally made your way down into the store Tycho was helping a customer carry a couple large ficuses into his car. Sitting behind the counter you started going over the earnings for the week, wondering how much to give to Tycho. All of it was going towards the child-support, but it was technically his earnings for the week. He had worked hard for it. Things were lean for the month, but the extra sales you had made from hopping around with the cart were keeping you above water for now and the amount you gave him at least would cover this month and begin to chip away at what he owed.

As you sorted through the finances you wondered about what Din had told you and what Tycho had not. What dangerous people had he been working with? You knew he had gotten into some small time trouble, but the way that Mandalorian, Paz, had acted made you concerned that there was something far worse going on. 

It felt like you had no idea who your brother really was. But no matter how badly you wanted to confront Tycho, it would cause too many problems. He couldn’t know you were going to visit his family.

You sent him off a little later with some cash to transfer his payment to Syala and to pick up lunch for the two of you. Unable to stop thinking about what the hell was going on you moved to rearrange some displays in the windows. The store was empty and you had been meaning to do it, might as well keep yourself busy. 

You were in the middle of a new arrangement when the bells above the door jingled to signal an entrance. Turning with a chipper greeting, you saw that in the doorway was none other than your Mandalorian friend. 

Helmetless and with Junior hoisted onto his hip, his hair was a little more tame, cut a little shorter and his face only had a hint of scruff to it. Wearing a brown jacket and some dark jeans, you couldn’t help but think that he looked good. Cleaned up and less disheveled than he had been last time you saw him.

“What are you two doing out here?” you said with a smile and came towards them.

“We were in town and you -- uh, you said I should come in and say hello,” Din offered, just a little bashful.

“Yeah,” you laughed a little, “I did.” There was an almost uncomfortable pause as neither of you spoke and so you cleared your throat, “what are you two up to today?” 

“The place down the street makes his favorite bone broth,” Din told you and now that you looked Junior had a sippy cup full of it. That was… strange but the kid seemed more than happy with it so you didn’t make a comment. “And the Razor Crest is in the shop.” 

“The Razor Crest?” You asked.

“The bike.”

“You named the bike?”

“Yes,” he said dryly. 

“That’s...that’s adorable, honestly,” you teased with a laugh.

He gave a small scoffing laugh in response and looked around the store. “Where is your brother?”

Your smile fell a little. “He’s on his lunch break,” you said, “is that why you’re here?” 

His gaze came back to you then and you watched his adam’s apple bob as he swallowed before saying, “no.” He opened his mouth to say something but Junior was now wiggling to get out of his grasp and reach for a vine of ivy. “Don’t touch,” he said gently.

“He’s just curious,” you said and reached out to rub a thumb over one of the leaves, “he can touch.”

Following your example he touched the leaves but didn’t pull. The next few minutes were spent showing them around the shop so Junior could touch the plants or smell a flower. Din was quiet, unsure of what to say. Almost two months ago he had barged in and as an attempt to get a rise out of you, to get you to reveal something, he had made a comment about how beautiful you were. He hadn’t been lying then but it was easier to say something like that when it was part of the job he was sent to do. 

Now that you were here quietly leading a conversation with Junior and not snapping at him he almost wasn’t sure how he had found the courage to say it before. You were just as beautiful, maybe more so with such a warm and open smile on your face for the kid -- he just knew how to handle aggression better and this was...soft.

You lifted a light purple flower up to Din’s nose to smell. He looked at you like you had grown another head, and you were obviously trying to hold back a smile. “It’s a flower, smelling it is not gonna kill you.”

He leaned in a little, it smelled fresh and delicate. 

“And?”

“It’s...nice.”

Pulling it away you pressed it towards Junior who pressed his face all the way into it, which made you laugh before wiping his face off gently. 

The door opened and in strolled Tycho yelling your name, bags of food in hand for you both. You felt yourself tense up a little and could see from the way Din’s shoulders lifted that he also was on alert. Din was uncertain how much you had told your brother, but he was about to find out.

 Tycho turned and took in the scene and smiled brightly, blissfully unaware of the reality of the situation. Before him stood his tracker, smelling flowers and holding a baby, and Tycho had no way of knowing that.  Somehow, though, you were scared that he would know somehow and waited with held breath for the shoe to drop. 

“Sorry, sir,” Tycho said in his best customer service voice, “didn’t realize we had a customer.”

You released the air from your lungs gently and looked to Din, who simply raised an eyebrow at you. 

“It’s fine,” Din said. “We should get going anyway.” 

“Oh, yeah,” you nodded, “of course, I’ll um… I’ll see you both another time.” 

Din turned with Junior, the baby still holding a plucked gardenia in his tiny hand. The bells jingled as he left and when he passed by you in the window there was a hint of a smile when he looked at you. Your stomach suddenly had a fluttery feeling, and your heartbeat seemed to stand out to you suddenly. 

Your brother called your name, frowning as he asked, “who was that?”

You suddenly felt like you couldn’t think. Flustered before and now worried, you knew there was some unspoken agreement. Tycho couldn’t know who Din was. But what excuse could you give him? Another lie?

“He’s the guy I met, the one who gave me a ride home from the bar,” you said quickly. 

“You didn’t say he had a kid,” Tycho replied, “is he married?”

“I don’t think so,” you said, coming up to grab your lunch. 

Tycho gave you a serious look. “Don’t take rides from strangers anymore, I mean it.”

You looked at him, eyebrows raised. “Don’t tell me what to do, Tycho. He’s fine. He’s actually nice. And you were the one who fell asleep when you were supposed to pick me up, so don’t tell me who I should be getting rides from.”

“Okay, okay,” he held up his hands in surrender, and thankfully dropped the subject. 

You weren’t sure how long you could keep all these secrets from him, but if it meant Din could come around without the helmet more often...you were willing to keep it to yourself for a little longer. 

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[vanillann]

within the vision (bucky barnes x f.reader)

a/n: i’m going to be naming each chapter based on a sitcom from that time era, cause i can!! also i’m so glad everyone liked the prologue!!

warning: WANDAVISION SPOILERS, swearing, suggestive language, talks of past trauma, AU

word count: 1.9k

within the vision masterlist

Chapter 1: Born Yesterday 

“Do you remember everything we just went over?”

I rolled my eyes, snapping the silver bracelet on my wrist, the little charm would be normal to anyone else but Bucky and I knew the content.

“No, I forgot everything,” I turned to Tony, smiling sarcastically when he frowned.

“We should have given you up for adoption,” Tony titled his head, the tiniest smile on his lips and he played with the technology again.

The room felt packed with people, Tony and Bruce running around the technology, Bucky and I waiting beside two beds that were shoved beside Wanda’s, and Steve and Sam leaned against the wall trying to tell me to stop with this plan.

“We don’t know what could happen,” Steve repeated again, his arms crossed as Tony gave Bucky his bracelet, thicker than mine but still normal enough to not have anyone question it.

We had taken extra steps to ensure our safety as nobody knew exactly where we were going.

“You both need to get out as soon as the mission's over,” Bruce nodded, to both of us. His finger danced across the different screen, Tony and himself were the only ones who understood it.

“I was planning on going on a walk before I came back.” Bruce rolled his eyes, but gave me a hint of a smile. He understood my defense mechanism, one of the few people who never got mad when I couldn’t be completely serious. One plus for anger management classes.

“I regret doing this already,” Bucky spoke under his breath, looking up to Sam who gave a fake thumbs up.

“If it comes down to it, leave Bucky,” he responded, earning a thumbs up from me.

“I hate both of you.”

Bucky and I both laid in our own bed, our combat gear already on as we laid back slightly, Tony taking Bucky's side while Bruce came to mine.

“We’re going to first hook you to this machine to keep track of your vitals,” I said nothing, watching Bruce shove the IV in my arm and playing with the machine a bit to make sure everything was okay.

“Next, on the count of three you’ll press the button on the bracelet. Remember you need to keep your mind focused on Wanda for this to work,” Tony continues with his run on sentence, only stopping once Bucky and I both nodded once.

I felt the chill suddenly run up my body, suddenly nervous to just hind out in my best friend's mind. Especially since she had always been younger than me, I felt weirdly awkward now.

“Are you both sure about this?”

I saw Bucky nodded slightly from the bed beside me, suddenly all eyes on me. I felt myself shift in the bed, avoiding eye contact.

“(Y/N)?”

“I’m fine, I just need a second,” I spoke after Steve, smiling at his worried glares but said nothing else of it.

You were doing this for her own good, you were helping her. This wasn’t you reading her diary after teasing about her crush, this was her turning into herself not knowing we were waiting for her.

“I’m good,” I laid down on the bed, not looking at anyone as my other hand searched for the button. I wasn’t going to mess this up cause I couldn’t find a button.

“Okay, remember to stay safe and think about Wanda.”

I nodded lightly, trying my best to zone in on Wanda while Tony’s count down filled the room.

“One.”

I thought back to young Wanda and Pietro trying to hide my shoes before one of my first dates when I was 14.

“Two.”

Wanda giggling in my room at the compound when Steve went on a manhunt for me because I was late for practice.

“Three.”

I felt my finger smash the button, thinking of Wanda’s face as she held off Thanos with Vision life in her hand. I thought of her tearful face as she gave me one last glance before everything blew up before my body was smashed against the nearby tree.

The weird feeling around me gave me a stomach ache. The feeling of falling when you were about to sleep almost, but my eyes refused to open as the wind rushed past me. I wanted to panic, to pull myself from whatever I walked into, but I simply couldn’t.

I couldn't sense anyone around me, my body was all alone falling and I couldn’t stop it. I was a controlled person, I enjoyed control and suddenly that word didn’t even exist anymore.

Then it stopped, the falling was gone and my eyes were pushed open. My body was moved differently, pushed against something. When I slowly moved around I noticed the slight dusk of the sky.

“(Y/N)?” My name whispered filled the same space I sat in, I looked around trying to get my brain to focus on one thing. I felt something cold against my wrist cause me to jump, pushing harder into the rough back.

I looked down, Bucky's face laid under whatever I was sitting on. I looked up, noticing the windows and the steering wheel slightly ahead of me. I took in the leather under my fingers, seeing there wasn’t a door handle in the back and how low the roof was.

But that didn't worry me, what worried me was I couldn’t make out any other colors besides black, white, and grey. I looked to Bucky, hoping to see the light pale skin on his face but was met with white, almost like a white crayon that had been run in black dust lightly.

“Where the hell are we?”

“Wanda’s head, I thought this was your plan,” Bucky slowly sat up from the floor of the backseat, I had luckily ended up on the actual seat. I looked out, hoping to see the colors of the sky but I was met with the same grey color.

“Can you see color?”

“Can’t say I do,” Bucky rubbed his arm, slowly moving to sit in the same space I had made for him on the seat.

I finally looked around the rest of the area, noticing the row of houses and other such things. The trees and bushes reminded me of the old movie Steve would make us watch, looking like something out of a sitcom.

“What are you wearing?”

I frowned as I looked at Bucky, his eyes held confusion as he looked me up and down once. I looked down at myself, shocked to find myself in a dress, definitely not my combat gear. The material was dark, I couldn’t tell more, and a fake belt was sowed into the thick fabric.

“I haven’t seen one of those in awhile,” Bucky picked up a piece of the dress at the end, rubbing the material between his fingers when I slapped it from his wands. That when I heard it, laughing. Not like you told a funny joke laughing, like a sitcom laugh.

I pointed to Bucky, my eyes wide as I waited for who knew what. When I saw Bucky slowly look up at me from the place he looked at my dress I knew he heard it. That's when I noticed the suit he was wearing, specifically an older looking arm suit. I looked back around the car, spotting the matching hat to the suit on the dash of the car. I didn’t say anything, slowly reaching up to grab it when I saw a door open.

A lady with dark hair and bright smiles walked out, held a hand slightly in the air if she were to hold a cigarette but no smoke came out. She was talking to someone, whoever was in the house. Suddenly I watched the owner lean out slightly, my jaw going slack as I saw Wanda’s bright smile hides behind loopy curls.

“Doll-”

“Don’t call me that,” I spoke softly, doing my best to keep the facade up but I was so shocked, Wanda was lightly pushing the woman out the house, almost as if begging her to leave with a little laugh. She looked the same, only dressed up similar to me.

“You’re going to want to see this,” he tugged on my dress, my hand slapping it away again but he yanked hard. He sent me flying to the back seat of the car. my side pushed into his with a loud oof.

I heard that stupid sitcom laugh again, trying to push it to the make of my mind as I pushed away from Bucky. I hit him in the side with the hat I had managed to take back with me, my mouth wide open to yell but Bucky shoved something in my face.

I could spot the coke logo from miles away, only it wasn’t the saem logo I had always remembered. The bottles were glass and the writing looked much more vintage. That when I noticed Bucky tapping on a part of the label, my eyes reading over the information their.

Expiration date: July 6th, 1953

“1953?” I looked around the neighborhood again, suddenly realizing the vintage cars that were parked along the streets and the dress that hung off my frame.

“How?”

“I don't hear you asking how we ended up in the wrong decade,” My voice was stern as he spoke, watching the dark haired lady finally leave Wanda’s porch and go to her own house close by.

“Not the time,” Bucky finally sat up slightly, watching the lady walk in her house.

“When is the time then? Maybe the 70s or do you wanna wait til the 90s,” I snapped, looking over my shoulder with a pout. His face was so close to me, I finally noticed his once long hair was cut short.

He looked like he had in those photos of Steve and himself, back from the 40s.

“Well, what do we do know?” Bucky looked at me, his nose almost hitting mine when he turned but I had slightly moved back.

“I guess blend it?” I shrugged, hearing that stupid sitcom laugh that I wanted ro punch in the face.

“How do you suppose we do that?”

I looked around the neighborhood, smiling when I noticed the house across from Wanda’s had a large “FOR SALE” sign standing in the front yard.

“Break into that house and act like we belong here,” I smirked, ignoring Bucky as I slowly climbed into the front seat of the car. I heard Bucky yell out about me kicking him but I didn’t care as I made it to the driver seat, pushing open the door.

“For your information, I do belong here,” were the last words I heard from Bucky before I closed the door, smiling over at the house and trying to keep my voice low to not attract wandering eyes. I stood in the same place for a second, suddenly my view changed from house to concrete. I felt a little bump on my backside and frown when I heard Bucky laugh.

“Should’ve held the door,” I noticed his combat boots beside my face. Normally I would have bought him down with me but I decided it would bring too much attention and simply pushed myself from the ground.

“I hate you,” I frowned, slamming my foot into the road when I heard that stupid laugh sound around me again.

“Okay okay,” Bucky held out two arms from me, trying his best to calm me down but it wasn’t any use, I simply pointed to the sign, turning back to look at Bucky with a serious look in my eye.

“We are stealing that sign and moving to that house.”

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<prologue - chapter 2>