#and was like ''what could possible have happened to midnight that would warrant this warning???'' because i. forgor.

[everypaneloftenya]

Chapter 26 - Chase Down The Leader

[pan-fangirl-345]

He Would Tear the World Apart

Summary: During a raid, you're taken hostage. Shouto doesn't take the news well, and will do anything to get you back.

TW: kidnapping, abuse, alcoholism mentioned, Enji Todoroki's bad parenting, mental torture, dissociating, injuries, blood, angst, mentioned character death (no one actually dies), a lot of swearing, chains, starvation, dehydration, that sort of thing. If there's anything I missed, please let me know! Also, there is a happy ending, so it's angst to fluff!

A/N: First and foremost, I have no medical degree, I have no idea what it's like to dissociate, so anything medically incorrect is because I am not a doctor, though I am currently working on getting my psychology degree. I'm sorry if this offends anyone, that was not the intention. I have no idea what went through my head to make me write all of this in an hour, but here you go. Also, please read the trigger warnings, and if you don't like it, don't read it. Anyway, I might make a part two to this if anyone is interested. Feel free to spam my ask box, or slide into my DM's if you want. Please interact with me, I adore you all.

Aizawa sighed as he stepped into the conference room. He sat down heavily in his usual seat, and Nezu climbed onto his shoulder, as was custom after so many years, despite the situation they were in.

Again.

"As you have all heard, one of the second year students, (Y/N), has been taken. She was last seen on a raid with the hero she was studying under, and we haven't heard anything from her since this transmission."

Nezu pressed play on a recording and her voice floated through the air.

She was panting, and she was whispering, but Aizawa knew that it was her.

"To anyone receiving this transmission, this is hero-in-training Tempest, I'm pursuing the criminals associated with the gang 'The Numerals'. I've been separated from the others and my comms have been compromised by one of the members. Please, send back-up."

There was a pause where all they could hear was her breathing, and suddenly she yelled, "Hey! You, stop!"

There was static, and then there was nothing.

"We have received information from one of our recon teams that they have taken her to their base of operations, though we don't know exactly where that is yet. We have also, as a school, received a ransom demand. Her parents have yet to be contacted about this."

Copies of the notes were handed out to the teachers, and they all frowned, clearly thinking the same thing Aizawa had thought.

They were a school, what kind of school had this kind of money sitting around?

"What is the girl's quirk?"

"She can create different types of storms in her hands," Aizawa supplied. "As of the end of last year, she could make a hurricane for a few minutes at a time, sometimes a dust storm, and I know for a fact that she was undergoing training over the summer, so it might be more than that now. Under extreme duress, she can make a full scale electrical storm in a building or outside, but only if her life is threatened."

"So, not helpful for getting out of this kind of situation?" one of the other teachers chirped and Aizawa nodded.

"No," he agreed. "Though we should be checking for any strange storms and freak electrical spikes."

"Do any of the other students know about this?" Hizashi asked.

"No, and we need to keep it that way," Aizawa told his husband.

"Why?" Vlad King asked.

"(Y/N) is Todoroki Shouto's girlfriend," Aizawa replied, then waited for that to sink in before he continued. "If he finds out that she's gone, or that's she's been kidnapped and harmed . . . ." He shook his head a few times before he added, "He would tear the world apart to get her back."

"Fuck," someone mumbled, and Aizawa nodded.

Pretty much everyone that was at U.A. knew what that girl meant to Shouto, not to mention the people at Endeavor's agency, and the one that (Y/L/N) was working with.

"Alright, so what's the plan?" Midnight asked.

"We plan a rescue mission," Nezu said. "We're working with nearly every police force in the country to try and figure out where they're keeping her. We have a rough area," he clicked onto a photo of a map, one area to the far north highlighted in bright red. "But there's nothing we can do until then, we need a warrant and evidence."

"The life of a child isn't enough?" Midnight asked. "Especially such a beautiful girl?"

Everyone went quiet, the mood somber and heavy.

"Aizawa, you spent more time with this girl than anybody," one of the third year teachers said, "how likely is it that she'll find a way out on her own?"

"It's a possibility," Aizawa admitted. "She's a very capable student, on par with Midoriya, Todoroki, and Bakugou, but they know what she can do. Not to mention that sources tell us she was injured, though we aren't sure to what extent. And the longer she spends with them is more time Shouto has to figure out what's happening. Not to mention the other students. We need to get her out as soon as possible."

"Agreed," Hizashi added.

It was no secret that Present Mic and Eraserhead had both taken a liking to you when you were in Class 1-A, all of the teachers liked you, and you were a solid foundation for your classmates.

You were a calm presence, and everyone, Bakugou included, had gone to you for advice at some point, though it was all for different reasons.

You tend to be a level-headed person, but when you felt strongly about something, nothing was going to stop you.

People, Shouto mainly, would start to sense the lack of your presence, and Aizawa wasn't ashamed to admit that he wanted you back where you belonged.

"We can't keep him, Shouto I mean, in the dark about this," Hizashi murmured. "He's one of the best up and coming heroes."

"Not to mention," Aizawa added, "that we plan on flooding the streets with her photo. We've already sent it to all of the major hero agencies involved with the search, Endeavor's being one of them. If we don't tell him, his father will, and we all know how volatile that relationship is."

Everyone in the room shuddered at the mention of the father and son duo and nodded.

"Aizawa, All Might, it might be better if you both told him," Nezu said. "You both have the best relationship with him in this room, and you might be the only two that could hold him back if he reacts violently."

"And he will," Aizawa mumbled, already standing from his chair.

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

Shouto knew something was wrong.

He hadn't seen or heard from you in two days, almost three, and the teachers were acting suspicious. There were fewer of them in the halls, and Aizawa was even more tired than usual, with dark worry bags under his eyes that the students hadn't seen since the Bakugou Debacle in their first year.

The last he had heard, you were going on a raid for some gang members that were selling some sort of hallucinogenic drug based off of a mirage quirk.

You hadn't contacted him or come back since.

"Young Shouto, can we speak to you for a moment?" All Might asked, making everyone look up from what they were doing.

Despite the dorms no longer being completely necessary, (the League had backed off a little bit in recent days, and there hadn't been very many Nomu attacks lately), most of Class 1-A, now 2-A, had moved into the dorms for their second year, you and Shouto included.

"Does this have to do with (Y/F/N)?" he asked, standing quickly.

"Unfortunately, yes," Aizawa said, voice somber.

"Todoroki, do you want us to come with you?" Midoriya asked, getting that look on his face.

"If it's about (Y/F/N) then they all deserve to know too," Shouto said. "And I would feel better knowing they were here."

"Of-Of course," All Might replied, glancing at Aizawa nervously.

"(Y/L/N) has been kidnapped and is being held hostage as we speak," he told them, as blunt as ever.

Aizawa ripped his goggles off right before Shouto blew.

One half of his body erupted into blue tinted flames, and the other exploded in a rain of ice, but they evaporated quickly under Aizawa's gaze, and before any damage could be done to the dorms.

Everything went dark in his head, and his feet were moving before he even had a chance to fully process what his former teachers had been saying to him.

"And where do you think you're going?" Aizawa asked, raising an eyebrow as he moved to intercept him.

"To find her," Shouto snarled, and he didn't even recognize his own voice. It was several octaves lower than normal, and there was a rasp to it that had never been there before. "To get my girlfriend back."

"You don't even know where she is," Aizawa said. "We don't even know where she is. Besides, you're too emotionally involved."

"Too emotionally involved?" Shouto said, his voice too calm, his eyes too dead.

Everyone in the room took a step away from him. Everyone except Midoriya and Bakugou.

"Too emotionally involved?" he repeated.

"Oh shit," someone whispered, though Shouto didn't know who it was.

"That is my girlfriend. That is the love of my life and you're telling me that I can't get her back because . . . I'm too emotionally involved? What about when Midoriya went to get Eri? Was he too 'emotionally involved'?"

No one dared to point out that it was nowhere near the same thing, but there was a collective thought about it in the room.

"That is my fucking girlfriend out there," he snapped. "I will work harder than anyone to get her back. I will be the one person wholly invested in making sure that she stays safe."

"And that is why you can't be one of the people in on this," Aizawa told him. "The others are her friends, but you? You are way more than that, and that means that when it comes down to it, you can't make a clear-headed decision on whether it's worth it to try and grab her or not. Because she'll always be worth it to you."

"Damn right she will," Shouto said, staring Aizawa down.

No one had heard Shouto swear this much at once, if ever, depending on the person. He was starting to sound like Bakugou, and the others knew immediately that if you weren't back soon, he was going to blow.

"Look kid, I understand," Aizawa muttered. "I really do. I understand how you feel, I would do that same thing for Hizashi, but I also know what I would do, and we can't have that in the investigation. What would (Y/F/N) want?"

"She would want to be here!" Shouto shouted. "She would want to be teasing Bakugou in the kitchen, making sure that everyone had a blanket for movie night. She would want to be curled up with me on the couch watching bad romance movies that the girls cheated their way into picking out and making sure that I-!"

Shouto stopped as the emotions got lodged in his throat. Tears threatened to spill over as his vision got blurry, and the others were there to catch him as his knees gave out on him.

"We'll get her back kid," Aizawa assured him, crouching down, touching the top of his head softly. "We will get her back."

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

Your head was buzzing as you came back to consciousness and you suppressed a groan of pain.

Consciousness hurt.

You did a short mental tally of your injuries.

Your ribs were definitely a little bruised, if not cracked or broken. Your lips were split in at least four different places each. One shoulder was definitely dislocated, and the other was hurt in some way. Your left ankle was bruised and swollen, broken probably. Your head probably had a huge gash if the blood running down the side of your face was anything to go by, and you were definitely concussed on some level.

Apparently getting your head slammed into solid concrete by someone who had launched themselves off a ledge would do that to you.

You were in what looked like a basement of some sort. The walls were solid concrete, there were pipes running overhead and dripping on you randomly, which wasn't appreciated, and there was insulation and plaster showing through here and there.

"Finally awake sleeping beauty?"

Your head whipped around to see your kidnapper, but your head protested and so did your stomach, despite the fact that there was nothing in it.

You suppressed a groan, trying to keep your stomach where it belonged.

"Ready to tell us who the informant is?"

"Go straight to hell," you muttered, when you were certain you wouldn't throw up on yourself, glaring at them.

"I still can't believe you were fucking stupid enough to kidnap a child! She doesn't know shit," the other man snapped at the first.

"She has to know something!" the first guy snapped. "She was in on the raid!"

His quirk allowed him to change his voice, so he wasn't using the real one, he sounded like a guy that smoked twenty packs of cigarettes a day.

The other guy you had started calling Sandy in your head. His quirk was similar to yours, he was able to turn anything he touched into sand, and then use it. He mostly made sand storms, and that's how they had gotten the jump on you in the tunnels.

One had blinded you while the other had carried you away, much to chagrin of the Sandy.

"I'm in training," you rasped. "I'm hero-in-training Tempest, from Class 2-A at the school U.A."

They hadn't given you anything to drink in the last two days, from what you could even remember of it, and you knew that you weren't going to last much longer, having been dehydrated when they had taken you.

They had kidnapped you from the raid site, and then spent six hours driving around like morons trying to cover their tracks, before driving for an unknown amount of time before they had dumped you in here. You had been unconscious for the secondary part of the drive, and you knew that with everything going on, there was the possibility you were experiencing retrograde amnesia.

"They don't tell me the important stuff like that. I get told when we're going on raids, and what my part in them is, and that's on the very rare occasion that they happen during my shifts. Most of the time, I'm on patrols around the city," you told them, taking a break in your little speech to spit blood onto the floor by your leg. "You need directions, I'm your girl, but you need to know who's a rat, sorry, I can't help."

You would've shrugged, but your arms were chained to the wall behind you, and every time you moved your right arm it made an awful clicking noise that you knew wasn't natural. Your left shoulder was dislocated as well, meaning your arms were pretty much useless.

One leg was operational, but barely. You were so far out of commission you wouldn't be surprised if U.A. kicked you out to recuperate.

U.A. wouldn't, and couldn't, pay the ransom. You knew that. The best hope you had was that you could act your way out of this, or that they planned a raid to get you out.

They had done it for Bakugou, why not you, right?

Shouto passed through your thoughts, thoughts about what he might do to get you back, but you shut them down as soon as they entered your head.

You were trying to keep him in a safe place.

You hoped that Shouto never learned about this. About where they were keeping you, what they had already done to try and get you to talk.

He was your safe place now, safe and away from this building, wherever you were. You thought maybe if you could keep him out of your head here, it was a way of protecting him from the reality of your situation, even if he already knew.

"She's a kid," Sandy snarled, pointing at you viciously. "She's a kid. You know the Boss' rules about kids and you broke almost every one of them!"

"Yeah, well-"

"Guys, hey, I hate to interrupt," you interjected, "but I really have to go to the bathroom."

They both stared at you for a moment before Sandy asked, "Do you promise to not try and escape?"

"Buddy, I don't know if you've looked recently, but I doubt I'm doing anywhere," you quipped. "My ankle is obviously demolished, my head was cracked open like an egg, thanks to your buddy Darth Vader over there. Not to mention, I'm dehydrated and starving, and don't even get me started on how much my ribs are killing me right now, probably literally. Do I look like I'm in any shape to try and escape?"

Sandy frowned, glancing at you like this was the first time he was seeing the extent of what had been done to you.

"Alright, I'm going to undo the chains, but you can't try to escape, you'll only make things worse for yourself."

"Death seems preferable at this point," you grunted, trying to hide the pain you were in.

"Don't you have healing supplies?"

"How am I supposed to use them when I can't move my fucking arms?" you asked, wiggling your fingers in emphasis. "And you morons confiscated my belt, which had them all in it! You know what my quirk is! What did you think was in it? Explosives? No, I leave that to Dynamight."

"Fuck," Sandy muttered.

"Why do you care so much anyway?" the voice dude asked.

"Because if she dies then that means no money and no chance of surviving prison again. Do you know what happens to people who mess with kids in prison? Nothing good."

You logged that little piece of information away, trying to focus on their features, but with your concussion, your eyes weren't the hottest.

"Can you move?" Sandy asked you as he worked on unlocking your chains.

You couldn't help the cry of pain when your arms dropped to your sides, tearing stinging your eyes as you bit into your already roughed up lip.

"Shit. Can we get a medic in here?" Sandy shouted.

A door opened and someone stuck their head in. Sandy repeated his demand, and the door shut again.

"Why are you doing this?" you whimpered, trying to keep your voice even.

If they were sadists, any fear or pain you showed only gave them what they wanted.

"Because we don't have a choice," Sandy said. "The Boss gave us somewhere to belong, he gave us a place off the streets. We owe him. We would've died."

"Shut up," Smoker snapped, and you glanced at him.

"I have a headache, and it comes and goes as you talk. Please, for the love of all things holy, shut up," you hissed to Darth Vader, wanting to touch your head, but not being able to for multiple reasons.

Sandy touched your shoulder lightly and you cried out again, moving automatically to hit him, but your other arm twinged, bringing more tears to your eyes.

"Sorry," Sandy murmured, pulling his hands away.

You took a shaky breath, waiting for the pain to dull before you said, "There's no way I'm moving from this spot without being in pain, and I'm definitely going to need help."

"Holy fuck, you two morons were two lucky blows away from killing her."

You glanced over to see someone with a med kit strolling leisurely down the stairs.

"Hello Tempest," they said, giving you a bright smile.

"Hello Med Kit," you replied, giving them a grimace.

"You can call me Himo for now," Med Kit said. "Do you mind if I take a look?"

"You're going to whether I want you or not, but sure, go ahead," you muttered. "It's not really like you can make this any worse."

"I could break almost every bone in your body and keep you alive while doing it, so I could do so much worse, but that's not the goal here," Himo told you, setting to work.

"So what is the goal? Since I'm assuming that I'm never going to get out of here," you said, glancing around.

"Why do you think that?" Himo asked, ignoring your first question.

"Because I've seen your faces, I know your quirks, I know a general area of where I'm being kept, unless someone used a teleportation quirk of some sort. I know the school won't pay the ransom, my parents don't have that kind of money, and my boyfriend's father would never pay to see me safe and sound. He would probably twist his son's grief to get him to be compliant," you grumbled. "Besides, I'm a hero, hero-in-training, whatever, it's all semantics. I'm basically your arch-nemesis. Isn't that what every villain wants? To kill the person in their way?"

"We aren't villains," Sandy muttered.

"You break laws put in place to protect people, you attacked a minor, then kidnapped her after assaulting her, and you are trying to get a ransom for me," you pointed out. "That doesn't really scream 'hero' or 'civilian' to me."

"Have you ever though about who writes the rules? About how money can manipulate everything? The system is flawed, and we are going to make sure people know it," Darth Vader snarled. "Do you understand how unfair the world is?"

"Don't talk to me about the world being unfair," you whispered, your voice dropping, every muscle in your body tensing. "My boyfriend loves his mother more than pretty much anyone in the world. Her parents, his grandparents, arranged a quirk marriage, and she had four children she didn't necessarily want. Her husband drove her to near insanity, enough so that she poured a kettle of boiling water over my boyfriend's face because he looks like his father. His father has already managed to get one of his children killed, and he considers the other rejects because they don't have the quirk he wanted them to have. He's a different kind of monster, and he's not in jail.

"My own father verbally and mentally abused me for as long as I can remember. My mother and I were zombies until recently, when I decided I had had enough and my mother finally found the courage and will to leave his sorry ass in the gutters where it belongs. My father always had enough alcohol in his system to make him a human molotov cocktail. I had little to no self esteem until recently, and I still struggle to understand and comprehend that I am worth love. I am still learning to respect myself. So you don't get to preach to me about how unfair the world is buddy, we all know," you snarled.

"The hundreds, thousands of kids out on the street know. The women and men that get raped, and continue to see their own personal monster roam free know. The kids that get hit every day for not being what their parents want know. That's why people like me exist, to put away the monsters wearing human skin. That's why my friends and I try so hard to be heroes. It's not about the glory, or the money. It's about bring people to justice, it's about making sure that people feel safe. It's about giving other people something that we never had."

Silence echoed through the room as what you said sank in.

You hadn't meant to burst like that, but you were sick and tired of these guys using their shitty lives to make other people's lives shitty too.

"Why are you a hero, Tempest?" Himo asked.

"Because I want to save people," you replied. "I just told you that. I want to make sure that every child like me knows that they don't have to be their parents, that there is another option. I don't want the abused becoming the abuser. I want to make sure that the people doing the bad things get put where they belong. I want to help the kids that have nothing to lose, I want to help them realize that they have everything to gain. I want to give people like you hope."

There was no use in lying to them, they were probably going to kill you anyway. Besides, it might help you build rapport, and they might let you go when they realized that they made a mistake.

"People like us?"

"People who think that there isn't another option. People who have been shown nothing but the horrid parts of the world, the horrible parts of humanity. People who don't know what it's like to be loved completely by somebody, both good and bad. People who think that they owe someone who isn't worth one minute of their time. Good people who strayed too far from the path."

There was silence for a few minutes before you said, "I've seen a lot of real villains, people who aren't capable of basic human emotions, I've seen people who have no humanity in their eyes. They are the villains, they are the monster under our beds personified. People like you, you just simply wandered. You aren't lost, you're just further to the side than some other people. It would be easy for you to walk the path again."

You paused, thinking over what you said, then added, "Well, it wouldn't be easy necessarily, but it would be worth it."

"You still have the naivety of a child," Vader snarled.

"Call me what you want, naive, innocent, optimistic, I've heard it all, but in the end, I'm right," you told him.

"And how do you know that?"

"Because, at the end of the day, I know that every life I save isn't just one life," you replied. "That young woman I saved, she might have kids some day, or foster a child that needs a loving mother. That child I shoved out of the way might help the suicidal child in his class. Every life I save touches other people's lives. As hard as it is to believe, no one is ever truly alone in the world. Every smile I give to a stranger might make their day, might help them live long enough to find the thing that makes them happy. That's why I'm a hero."

More silence.

Your face heated, but there was something in their faces that told you they had never thought about it that way before.

"So, is there anything you can do to heal me?" you asked, breaking the silence.

"Like I said, these guys were two lucky blows away from killing you, I'm surprised that you're still alive, actually, everything considered. Your head will heal on it's own, but there might be a little scar left. However, your ribs might take longer. Three are cracked, and four are bruised. Your ankle might need surgery to get it back to the way it was. It's definitely broken, and there might be small bone particles floating around in there, I'm not entirely sure, my quirk isn't that detailed I'm afraid. Not to mention that, from what I can see, your shoulders just need to be popped back into place. One was dislocated more than the other, but it will hurt."

"Can't hurt worse than the state I'm in now. So what can you do? I'm assuming that taking me to a hospital is out of the question."

"Well, I can treat the cut on your head, relocate your shoulders, and I can see if someone else can take a look at your ankle, but everything else will have to heal on it's own."

"So there isn't much?"

"Nope, we don't have the equipment needed for your ankle here, and, like you said, no hospitals."

"Fucking gre- wait a minute, to you guys still have my belt?" you asked, perking up a little.

"Yeah, it's over here," Sandy said, walking over into the back corner, pulling your med belt out.

"Hand it over. I promise there's nothing too harmful in there. There are some painkillers, but it's just Midol. It's all medical stuff," you said, wincing as Sandy dropped it into your lap.

You opened it, taking out a small device.

"What does that thing even do?" Himo asked, looking at it warily.

"It's not a communicator or anything," you hurried to explain. "I made some friends in the support courses, so I asked if they could make me a device that works like an X-ray would. Himo, take it."

He took from you gently, which you appreciated, and turned it all around, trying to figure out how it worked.

"Alright, see that little button on the top left, yeah, right there. Click that button twice, like hitting the home button of a phone."

Himo did as he was told, and the screen blinked to life.

"Alright, hold the over my hurt ankle, and it should be able to show what's going on. Or," you added, "it'll blow up. Hatsume is kind of unpredictable like that."

Himo's hands tightened on it, but he did what you asked, and was clearly surprised when a detailed X-ray appeared on the screen.

"Holy shit, it worked!" you cheered, grinning.

"You have some very talented friends," Himo told you.

"I know right? She's a little quirky, but she's great at what she does!"

"How are you able to smile right now?" Sandy asked, looking at you with something akin to wonder.

"Don't get me wrong," you started. "I'm fucking terrified, but there's not much I can do in this situation. Besides, from what I can tell, other than the initial assault, you people don't want to hurt me. You want something from me. In this scenario, what I'm guessing, is that you want something from me, so you're going to be nice, and make me want to help you out, or make me feel like I owe you one, and then, when I don't comply, you'll either torture me to try and get what you want until I die, or you'll just kill me right off the bat."

Himo winced, and Sandy twitched.

"You guys really hate the thought of me dying, don't you?" you asked, cocking your head to the side, despite the protect of your brain. "Is this one of those scenarios where kids should be off limits?"

"We may be bad guys, but we have certain priorities," Sandy admitted. "Kids are a sore spot for most of us."

You nodded slightly. "I can see why. You guys said something about being on the streets? I know that sometimes kids band together, that's how they survive. I'm assuming you've lost friends."

"Smart kid," Himo murmured, eyes darting over the X-ray.

"Sometimes they give us profile training," you admitted. "Besides, I've been working on my psychology degree."

"Wicked smart kid," Sandy quipped.

"Alright, so I can set your ankle, there isn't anything wrong with it other than the obvious fact that it's broken," Himo said, handing the device back to you. "Riko, I'm gonna need your help."

"With what?" Sandy asked, looking skeptical.

"Can you hold her legs down? I need to relocate her shoulders before I do anything with her ankle, just because I have a feeling she attacks when she's hurt."

"Good instincts," you muttered.

"I'm a doctor," he confessed, grinning. "You learn a thing or two."

"Sorry about this," Sandy said.

"I wouldn't worry about it too much," you told him. "As long as that's all you do I'll considerate your way of trying to make up from everything else."

Sandy snorted, holding your legs just below your knees.

"This is going to hurt," Himo warned.

"I would be surprised if it-"

You clenched your teeth to try and keep your scream in as Himo popped your right arm back into place.

The rest of your body bucked, trying to roll away, but Sandy, Riko, had a firm hold on you.

You panted as the pain started to fade a little in your arm.

"Sorry, I've found it works better when people aren't expecting it," he said.

"Son of a bitch," you gritted out, spitting blood off to the side. "I bit my tongue."

Riko chuckled, shaking his head.

"Alright, now for the other one," Himo murmured. "I really don't understand how you managed to take this much damage."

"At least I only broke my ankle. My friend Deku has broken both arms, both legs, and both hands before. I think he's broken almost every bone in his body sa-"

Himo popped your other arm back into place and you couldn't stop the tears that flowed down your cheeks at that one, your jaw almost cracking with how hard you clenched it to try and keep the noises in.

"Fucking fuck," you muttered when the pain pulsed into something a little bit more bearable.

"Better?" Himo asked, prodding your shoulders.

"Yeah," you admitted, moving them slowly. You dug around in your med belt, pulling out two pieces of metal and a small bottle.

"What is that for?" Himo asked.

You pushed a button on the metal, and they extended to the required length.

"It's for a splint, or a cast," you told him. "Once you set my ankle, you put the metal on either side, and I can spray this one. It's a special kind of plaster, don't ask me how it works, I have no idea what's in it, but it'll hold until my ankle is fully healed, then it'll fall off on it's own."

"Amazing!"

"Heroes, when the respond to disasters, often have to set up triages until other emergency responders can arrive, so we have to know a little bit about basic medical treatments in emergencies like that. So a lot of us have belts and such to keep medical stuff in. I also keep duct tape and glue in here. You never know when you're gonna need it."

You pulled out some painkillers, popping two in your mouth, taking them dry.

"How?" Vader asked, sounding horrified.

"Hate to break it to you, but when you're a teenage girl, especially one learning to be a hero, when you don't always have time for water, you learn to take pills dry."

"TMI," Vader muttered.

"Hey, jackass, you asked," you told him.

Riko and Himo chuckled.

"Alright. Riko, see if you can get a hold on her, this is gonna hurt like a bitch," Himo warned. "Li, hold her other leg down."

"Don't use my fucking name!" Vader shouted.

"You know, I wouldn't have known that was your real name if you hadn't reacted that way," you told him. "Heroes are also trained to pick up on certain behaviors like that."

Li grumbled, but did as he was asked.

Himo situated himself, then said, "Get ready."

The pain had you blacking out before you knew what happened.

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

"I knew something was wrong," Shouto muttered for the umpteenth time in the last ten minutes. "I should have gone with her!"

"Dude, it wasn't even your mission," Kaminari told him. "There was nothing you could've done for her."

"Yeah you half-and-half bastard," Bakugou chimed in. "Besides, we're gonna get her back, so shut up and try and think of something useful."

Everyone had leapt into action when it had sunk in that you were in serious danger. It didn't take long, and no one wanted to acknowledge that it was worrisome.

They had split up into teams.

Midoriya, Bakugou, Shouto, Kaminari, and Kirishima were working on the maps that had been given to the students.

Momo, Jirou, Uraraka, Mina, and Tsuyu were going over the interviews with raid members, trying to gather up information on what had happened, trying to see if there was a traitor among them, other than the undercover agent that they had been told about.

Tokoyami, Ojiro, Shoji, Sero, and Koda were helping the other heroes do recon missions and patrols in the area where they suspected you were being held.

Sato, Shinso, Hagaruke, and Iida were working on the case files of all the known members of the gang that you had been going after. Surprisingly, those four were the only ones able to hear about the things that some of the gang members had done.

Hagakure was crying softly to herself as she read, but no one could pull her away from the files.

"I have to know," she kept saying. "I need to know about what they did so I can help when we get her back."

Sato didn't know you as well as the others did, so he was a little less effected. He were itching to get you back, but the others had spent far more time with you personally.

Shinso, on the other hand, was powering through them, wanting to know what he had to avenge when they got to that building. He wanted to know what they might be doing to you so that he could have far more reason to get them arrested.

Iida just wanted something useful to do.

"They just cleared building seven in section 3-C!" Aoyama called from his spot the progress computer that they had set up in the common room.

Aoyama was in charge of letting them know what had been cleared, what was under suspicion, and what they had ruled out completely.

"Fuck, that pretty much clears that grid section," Bakugou muttered, forcefully crossing an abandoned apartment building off his map.

"They might need to expand their net," Midoriya added. "No one knows where she is. There's the possibility that they aren't even in that area."

"I hate this!" Shouto burst out. "I feel useless just sitting here!"

"It's either this or you get stuck back on the sidelines," Bakugou reminded him and he clenched his fists.

He just wanted you back safe and sound by his side, preferably with his arm around your shoulders.

He'd been trying to remember the last thing he said to you before you had gone on that raid, but he couldn't remember.

He hoped that it was 'I love you' or something similar, but not knowing was killing him.

"Todoroki-kun," Midoriya said, laying a hand on his arm. "We will get her back."

"Yeah, we aren't giving up on her, no way in hell," Kaminari added, eyes flashing gold in the lights of the common room.

"She never gave up on us, it's not manly for us to give up on her," Kirishima chimed in.

"I know," Shouto said. "I trust you all."

It went unsaid, but understood, that when it came time to get her back, Shouto was going to be the one leading the rescue.

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

A week later, Himo came into the basement and said, "Do you think you can walk?"

"On one leg maybe. Why?" you asked.

Your ankle was wrapped in the cast that you had taken out, but your ankle was feeling a little better than it had been. It still throbbed every once in a while, but it could've been worse.

"The boss wants to see you."

"Oh, the big boss," you griped, rolling your eyes. "He wants to see me he can come down here himself."

Himo hesitated, but he nodded, heading back upstairs.

You had known that there was an undercover agent in the gang, but you had yet to figure out who it was.

Every member of the gang seemed to know that you were there, that, or they were much bigger than you had anticipated.

So far, Himo and Riko were your top two suspicions, given that they were the only two that were actually kind to you, but you had a small part of you that wasn't sure.

The door opening a few minutes later announced the arrival of the leader, and you steeled yourself.

"You fucking morons," the man muttered, rubbing his eyes like he had a headache. "What did I say about kids?"

"Sorry Boss, but we didn't have a choice," Li said, stepping out of the shadows.

He had been stay with you for the entire week, and it was clear that you didn't have the kind of rapport with him that you did with Riko and Himo.

You had been trying to make a storm, something, to let the someone know where you were, but you had idea of knowing whether it was working or not. You were in the experimental stages of the large storm capabilities of your quirk, and you were completely drained at the moment.

"What's your name kid?" the man asked.

His hands were covered in rings, and scars littered the little bit of skin his tailored suit showed off.

You had seen Shouto in high class clothes for gatherings that he was required by social convention to attend, so this guy was either rich, or so far into debt that he was on the run from the banks.

"You can call me Tempest," you said.

"(Y/N). Second year at U.A. Class 2-A student, and one of the new public favorites," Li said.

"Aw, you looked me up, how sweet," you taunted. "But like I said, I prefer Tempest, it sounds cooler."

"Far enough," the boss said.

He was wearing a mask that covered the top half of his face, and a fedora type hat, so there wasn't much to catalog, but you did anyway.

"Are you here to kill me?" you asked, crossing your arms over your chest, despite the way it made the chains rattle.

"No, not if you give me what I want," the man said. His voice was deep, and he looked like he was in his early thirties, but you weren't entirely sure.

"I don't know who your rat is," you stated.

"How do you know that's what I wanted?"

"When I woke up on day two, your Sandy man and Darth Vader over there were talking about it. Vader actually asked me about it." You paused, then said, "You guys do realize that I'm right under an intern right? I'm not high enough to know about UC's. Think of me like the intern's intern. I'm lucky I even got to go on the raid."

The man watched your for a moment before he said, "I hate it when people tell me the truth. It means I don't get to have any fun."

"Sucks to be you then," you replied. "So what happens now?"

"You get broken," the man said, reaching out to touch your forehead.

"Good luck with that," you muttered when he pulled away.

Then the visions started.

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

"Everybody get up!" Aoyama shouted. "Up, up, up! Someone called in a noise complaint late last night!"

Class 2-A poured into the common room.

Shouto, Midoriya, Bakugou, Kirishima, Kaminari and Sero ran in with no shirts on, and Kaminari fell trying to pull his shorts up over his Pikachu boxers. Shinso was already in there sitting on the couch with a cup of coffee clad in a t-shirt with a cat meme and dark jeans.

The girls poured in in a mix of pajamas and hoodies that they had stolen from the boys over the last week, their hair a mess and dark bags under their eyes.

"What's going on?" Shouto asked. He knew that his bags were darker than anyone's, and no one had seen him sleep in almost three days.

"Late last night someone called the tip line anonymously to complain about screaming from a condemned building smack dab in the middle of section 1-A. Someone checked into it and there has been a lot of activity in that area lately," Aoyama explained.

He had given up trying to keep up the sparkly attitude, though some of the French had stayed.

"Is there anything else?"

"Guess which gang has been operating in the middle of that area?" Shinso said, having stayed up with the sparkly blond.

"The Numerals," Shouto said.

"Tres bein!" Aoyama replied.

"Have the heroes been notified?"

"They started a conference at three this morning," Shinso said.

"And no one told us?" Shouto asked.

"They wanted to let us sleep. They know how hard we've been working," Shinso replied.

"I'll sleep when we get her back," Shouto snapped, heading for the conference room.

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

Aizawa shouldn't have been surprised when his former students streamed into the meeting that was being held to rescue (Y/L/N), but he was.

Though that might have been because most of the boys were shirtless and the girls were clad in their pajamas, and hoodies that were clearly not theirs.

"Catch us up," Shouto demanded.

"Shouto, what are you-"

"Shouto, you are aware that this is merely to scope out the building, correct?" Aizawa interrupted, glancing at his former class.

"We don't fucking care," Bakugou snarled. "You're going to catch us up, and you're going to let us join, because she's our friend, and we're the strongest team that you could ask for."

"We can't, in good conscience, let kids into-"

"Do we need to mention all the times that the League has attacked us in the last year? Not to mention Gentle Criminal, Stain, the whole Chisaki ordeal, should we go on?" Midoriya asked, frowning.

Endeavor went to talk again but more students started to talk.

"We can help," Kirishima chimed in. "We want to help."

"Besides," Kaminari added before any of the adults could chime in, "the more hands you have the better it'll be. We can capture more members and get her back. It's a win-win scenario. Gangs are known to be disorganized. If you can get word to your informant about a stealth mission, you might be able to get both them and (Y/L/N) out with minimal risk to them both."

"And we have useful quirks," Jirou supplied. "Kaminari can kill any power they have, Bakugou and Midoriya are good for taking stuff down, so are Kirishima and Sato. Todoroki is more than capable of restraining anyone that he comes across, and I can tell you where people are, how many and so on."

"Not to mention I can make communicators that are much harder to disconnect," Momo piped up.

"People don't really know about me yet," Shinso said, hands in his jeans pockets. "They don't know my quirk, so they're much more likely to fall for me, which is more than helpful for you, since it makes fighting back much less likely."

"We want to get her back, me more than anyone," Shouto said, arms crossed over his chest. "We can useful. Besides, I don't think I need to mention all the times that we've stepped in without your permission and gotten the objective completed while keeping everything legal."

Aizawa sighed.

"We really should just let them help," he said. "They're going to keep pushing, and I don't want any of them expelled and arrested. They are some of the best up and coming heroes. Besides, they all make good points."

"I feel the need to point out," Midoriya chimed in, "that the more of us you take, the more heroes you can have causing a distraction, or the more you can release to recharge and work on other things that are starting to take precedent, like the drug that the gang is manufacturing and selling."

There were more whispers, and finally the heroes sighed.

"Alright, but you're working with Eraserhead and Endeavor, since they're going to be leading the mission with Fatgum."

"We can work with that," Bakugou said. "But we want permission to engage if necessary."

"You would have that anyway," Fatgum said.

"We also want credit if we find her," Sero added. "We aren't going to let possible attackers think that we're defenseless. They take on one of us, they take on all of us."

"That can be discussed," Present Mic assured them.

"This should go without saying," Shouto began, "that I get to ride with her in the ambulance when we find her."

"Everyone assumed that anyway," Midnight told him. "Don't worry Todoroki, no one is going to keep you away from her."

Endeavor opened his mouth, but sharp looks from everyone had him shutting it again.

The students nodded.

"Now catch us up," Bakugou demanded.

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

You couldn't remember when you had stopped processing things the proper way.

You couldn't remember a time before the nightmares.

They talked to you, they wanted you to know about an informant. Sometimes Shouto appeared, smiling and reaching his hands out to you. Sometimes your father walked in, drunk as always, shouting at you to do better.

You retreated in on yourself.

You turned to that small part of your brain that you had made to wait out the fighting, the yelling, the hurt. You retreated into the part of yourself that you knew no one could ever enter but you.

Shouto was there like he always was. He wasn't entirely your Shouto, but he wasn't the nightmare either.

He was a figment of your imagination, but he made things a little bit better.

"I'll come," he assured you. "I'll find you."

You were lying in a meadow, a small clearing surrounded by trees that were bent over you to create a small dome of shade.

"I know you will," you told him, reaching your hand out to him.

He touched his fingers to yours, but you couldn't feel it.

You remembered someone in the past calling it dissociating, but you weren't a professional yet.

You had never done it at U.A. since you had never felt the need, but this wasn't something that you would ever be able to forget how to do.

You could still see the nightmares, but it was like it was far away, background noise.

"Do you think that you'll ever go back?" Shouto asked. "Do you think that you'll ever go back to me?"

"Maybe, if the nightmares ever stop. If I think that it's actually you that I'm going back to," you said, watching him carefully.

"Do you remember the last thing you said to me?" Shouto inquired.

"Yeah. I said, 'I'll always come back to you'. Why are you asking me that?"

"Do you remember what I said to you?"

"You said, 'Promise me you'll be safe?' I was about to go on the raid, and you were upset about not being able to go with me."

"Do you promise to remember that?" Shouto asked.

"Yeah, I promise," you told him, smiling a little.

"(Y/F/N)! Oh, darling, what did they do to you? (Y/F/N), can you hear me?"

The nightmare was getting better at looking like the real Shouto, and this one had the same voice.

"Go to him," the dream Shouto said, sitting up.

"Why?"

"(Y/F/N), blink if you can hear me," Shouto demanded.

You forced yourself to blink.

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

Shouto couldn't describe to absolute relief it was to see you blink.

He had seen the discarded cast off to the side of you, and he wasn't sure whether you would be able to hear him in that state.

"Hey darling, come on, we're gonna get you out of here, I promise," he murmured, touching your face lightly.

"Sh-Shouto," you rasped. "Shouto, wh-what was the last thing that you said to me?"

"Darling, don't try to speak," he told you, trying to figure out how to cut through the chains without hurting you.

"Shouto, what was the last thing that you said to me?" you asked again, reaching up to grab his hand.

"'Do you promise me that you'll be safe?'" he said, eyes roving over you to try and see any wounds. "That's what I said to you."

Your eyes widened in surprise before tears slipped out of your eyes.

"Sho, it really is you!"

"Darling, hey," he murmured, touching your face softly.

You were sobbing now, fully body sobs, and Shouto wanted so badly to take a moment to just relish in the fact that you were safe, but he had to get you out of there as soon as possilbe.

"Tsukuyomi," Shouto called. "Can Dark Shadow cut through chains?"

"Yes."

"I'm on the basement level of the building. I have Tempest, can you meet us down here?"

"On our way," Tokoyami assured him.

"Guys, I have her, she's in the basement with me, we're getting her out as we speak," Shouto declared over the coms, and he was met with cheers and relief that you were okay.

"How many of you are here?" you asked, wiping at your face.

"The whole class is here," Shouto told you. "Most of the hero agencies sent representatives that are here too."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah, people were really upset that you were taken, especially with the role you played in apprehending Numeral gang members on the last raid, and the part you played in bringing the drug to light."

"Wow," you murmured, making Shouto laugh.

"Hold on just a little bit longer darling," he coaxed. "Our friends are on the way."

"I can't believe that it's really you," you whispered, touching his face softly, rubbing your thumb over his scar the way you did.

"Oh darling, what did they do to you?" he asked.

"For the past couple of days they've been trying to break me, they want to know who the undercover agent is. I don't know who it is though, so the leader of the Numerals used his quirk on me. He makes the drugs. His quirk makes you see things, makes you feel things. It's like he can burrow into your head and take the images out of your head."

You shuddered in his arms and he frowned as Tokoyami appeared in the doorway.

"Hello (Y/L/N)," he said, smiling at you.

"Hey little bird," you replied, your smile watery with emotions.

"Can Dark Shadow get through those chains?"

"Of course," Tokoyami told Shouto.

"Hello starlight," Dark Shadow said.

"Hi Dark Shadow," you murmured, stroking the sentinent creature before he tore through the chains like paper mache.

You rubbed at your wrists for a moment before you threw your arms around Shouto, burying your face in his neck.

"Sho," you sobbed, tears back full force.

"I've got you darling," he murmured. "I've got you. You're free, you're free."

You nodded, arms tight around him.

Shouto scooped you up, cradling you against his chest, letting you sob as much as you needed to.

The paramedics that had been called to the scene hadn't managed to get Shouto to let go of you, and you showed no signs of letting go of him, so they had managed to do everything they needed to with you clinging to him.

"She'll need physical therapy, not to mention professional trauma therapy. She's malnourished and dehydrated, not to mention suffering from exhaustion and a very severe concussion. Her ankle needs to be further inspected, and there's some internal damage, some cracked ribs that might need to be taken care of, but we can do some more thorough work at the hospital. I assume that you're coming with her?" the paramedic asked when he was finished.

"Yes, I'm her boyfriend," Shouto said.

"Alright, well, you have to let go of her so that we can get her hooked up to an IV and make sure that we don't make her concussion any worse. You really shouldn't have moved her, but there's only so much we can do about that now," the other paramedic told him.

"I-It's okay Shouto," you murmured, pulling away from him enough to wipe your face off.

Your breathing was ragged, and you looked like you wanted to go back to being unconscious, but you allowed the paramedics to get you onto an IV and a bed with a neck supporter.

"Shouto, will you stay with me?" you asked.

"Always darling," Shouto said, gripping your hand.

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

Forthree weeks afterwards, you were stuck in the hospital. Your ankle hadn't been as bad as it had been feared, you back on your feet in a week, and you were undergoing physical therapy.

You were back to a normal diet, and you were going to therapy three times a week. Well, the shrink came to you, but semantics.

Your class visited every day, bringing you your homework and recorded lessons, most of them crying, and more than elated that you were back, safe.

Shouto, after being given permission by your parents, was being counted as a family member, and he had been practically living in the hospital with you.

For the first week, he had refused to leave your hospital room. He had slept curled around you, despite the machines that you had been hooked up to, he had missed class, staying with you and keeping you company.

There was also the reason of him being the only one to be able to calm you down after a nightmare.

There were nightmares where you woke up sweaty and nervous, asking the nurse on the night shift to light the candles that were all around your room.

But there were some that had you hurtling to the small bathroom in your room, hurling the contents of your stomach up. Then there were the ones that got so bad that you locked yourself in the bathroom, hiding yourself away in a corner until someone noticed and got a hold of Shouto.

They were getting better, and you were getting better about people coming up behind you, the touching.

For a few days after being admitted to the hospital, the only person who could touch you was Shouto.

Your mother had been heart broken every time you flinched away from her touches.

Your father had only come once, and he had been carried out by hospital staff after Shouto had tossed him out of your room.

You had retreated into yourself after that, and had come clean to Shouto about some of what had happened while you were being held hostage.

The therapy was helping, and so was the massive support that you were getting from the public and other heroes that had been in similar situations.

Your friends were very understanding of you not touching them as much anymore, and you and Bakugou were closer than ever, since he had experienced something similar.

Today was your first day back in the dorms, and you weren't going to lie to yourself, you were nervous.

The class had slowly starting moving all the gifts that you were receiving into your room, so you were only carrying a small bag.

"Shouto," you began. "You know that you can walk away if I get to be too much right?"

It had been bothering you for a while, that he had stayed with you for so long. It had bothered you that he had given up so much of his time for you, while getting very little from you in return.

"Why would I do that?" Shouto asked cocking his head to the side in confusion.

"I just mean that . . . well, I know that I haven't been the easiest girlfriend to have recently, and I . . . I have more issues than when we first started dating, and things have changed. I'm way more high maintenance than I was. I wouldn't blame you if you wanted a different girl-"

"Stop it right there," he demanded, turning to you.

His eyes were hard, despite his soft tone of voice.

"(Y/F/N), I don't want anyone other than you," he said. "I don't care if you wake me up at three in the morning screaming. I don't care if you sometimes have days where you feel like you can't say anything to me. I don't care if you have days where you can't get out of bed. I love you. I love you more than anything, and those things are not going to stop me from loving you.

"You are one of the strongest women in my life, and I am not letting you go because you have some issues. We've all got issues, hell, I have issues we haven't even touched on. Those things are just another part of you that I get to love. Alright?"

You nodded, blinking back tears.

"What did I ever do to deserve you?" you asked softly, wrapping your arms around his neck.

He waited for a moment before he wrapped his arms around your waist.

You weren't entirely sure why touch was such a problem for you now. Other than the injuries you had received during the fight, nothing had happened to you that would explain it, nothing you could remember anyway.

There had been some retrograde amnesia that went along with your kidnapping, though the doctors had assured you that those memories would come back with enough time.

And they had. There were still a few blank spots, but there weren't nearly as many as there had been.

"All the right things," he murmured, kissing your forehead hesitantly.

"I love you too Shouto," you told him.

He smiled softly at you, then turned towards the doors.

They opened, revealing your friends and a huge banner with your characterized face on it.

"Surprise!" they all said, though they didn't yell it like you had thought they would.

"Welcome home (Y/F/N)," Shouto said, sliding his arm around your shoulders as you both walked out.

Yeah, this was home.

[young-dumb-and-vaccinated]

Cult Girl: Doctorate (Hannibal x Female!Reader) pt. 8

Cult girl and Hannibal go through an exhaustive list of potential adoptive couples. 

@wisesandwichshark

Trigger warning: sexual harassment, christianity, discussion of pregnancy and family planning, adoption, murder and cannibalism 

Step two: find an adoptive family.

Some would say your list of expectations for potential adoptive parents was too extensive. Impossible for any human to reach. But it was really just the bare minimum.

Regardless of if they were two men, two women, one of each, or a few people, the parents had to be trustworthy. It wasn't easy to earn Hannibal's trust, but he could recognize those who had the capacity to right away. It was a little instinct you had dubbed 'friend or food'.

On paper, the apostolic pastor and his wife of 19 years seemed like the perfect candidates. The adoption agency tried to push them on you, as they had a great track record with adopting from them prior. Three boys, all of which were honors students.

Hannibal insisted on a formal introduction, during which you could conduct a proper, though surreptitious, interview. It was an invitation to dinner.

He invited the couple into his office, where a pot of tea and an interrogation was waiting for them. Then there was you. Barely-pregnant little [F/N], feeling entirely safe so long as your fiancé was beside you.

"You're doing the right thing, y'know." The woman, who introduced herself as Mrs. Landon, said upon meeting you.

"How do you mean?" You asked, already knowing the answer.

"All god's life is precious." She said, placing a hand on your not-even-remotely-showing-yet stomach. "You're walking in obedience to the lord by giving this child a shot at life."

Strike one: bringing up religion unprompted. Strike two: touching me without asking first.

You wanted to swat her hand away, but remembered that patience was a virtue. She and her husband took a seat across from you.

"Y'know," The man began, his mannerisms eerily similar to those of his wife. "I don't usually begin with the god talk, but I think a higher power had to have been involved in the conception of this- well, our child. I'd like to think the good lord brought us together today."

Strike three: already believes he is entitled to my child. You're outta here.

"Don't flatter the adoption agency like that, Jacob." Hannibal chuckled, placing his teacup on the side table.

"I'm serious, Dr. Lecter." Jacob interjected. "Faith and I really do believe that god put us on this earth to prepare his smallest soldiers for the spiritual war."

You shot Hannibal a side glance that said 'can we please just eat them now?'.

The answer was no. Hannibal liked to play with his food.

"And your adult children have all moved out?" He asked.

"That's right." Jacob nodded. "We have plenty of room in our five-bedroom house for the new little slugger to run around in."

"And if it's a girl!" The wife interrupted. "We have enough closet space for all the denim maxi-skirts money could buy."

Strike four: arbitrarily genders the behavior of a nine-week-old embryo.

The man then returned the teacup to the table, not bothering to use the saucer and instead leaving a nasty ring of condensation on the polished mahogany.

"Okay." Hannibal huffed, resignedly rising from his seat. He pulled two hypodermic needles from his back pocket and carefully, subtly stuck them onto the couples' necks. They couldn't even scream.

The tacos al pastor that followed (after a few days of marinating, of course) were exquisite.

The next week brought a new couple to your doorstep. Frank and Angela, they were named. Their claim to fame was that their oldest son played football for one of those big southern party schools. Either Auburn or Alabama. There was hardly a difference.

You sat for what felt like hours listening to the man speak in unintelligible football babble, waiting for him to take a breath. Surprisingly, it was the mom who got him to finally shut up.

"Frank, please." She said with more frustration than this one situation even remotely warranted. Either she had enough intuition to know she was being tested, or she’d spent the last decade putting up with this. Possibly both. "You're boring our hosts to death."

"What? No way! She loves it!" Frank replied, then turned to you. Not to Hannibal, just you. “Aren’t you having a great time, sweetheart?” 

Strike one: takes advantage of the female socialization to be passive and polite, allowing himself to take up the most space.

You shook your head. “I hate football.” 

His wife looked quite pleased with herself. 

“Angie, I just wanted her to know what good breeding her son is going to have.” He said, without a lick of irony or self-awareness. He eyed you up and down and licked his lips. “And it is mutual, I see.” 

The room went quiet as everyone tried to determine whether he was serious or if it was just a fucked-up joke. The longer the silence lingered, the more you realized he wasn’t kidding. Angela looked like she wanted to crawl into a hole and die.

“I don’t know what the agency told you, Mr. Wyatt,” Hannibal said, trying not to grit his teeth. “She isn’t a surrogate. She’s already pregnant.” 

Frank’s jaw hung dumbly open. “I thought you were looking for a sperm donor? I just-” 

“No.” You cut him off, raising your hand and covering your face. “I don’t want to know what you thought.” 

“Well, I would!” Angela interjected, righteous fury eclipsing what should have been crippling embarrassment. “What exactly did you think this was, Francis?” 

“The file said that he was over fifty, so I just assumed--” Frank rationalized, his voice far too loud for the room. “Y’know? That she wanted a baby that wouldn’t come out all funny-looking?” 

“You’re disgusting.” You blurted out. 

“Francis Howard Wyatt,” Angela scolded as if she were talking to her son. “You are forty-eight and the only increasing part of your body is your blood pressure. Why on Earth would any woman choose you over her smart, handsome doctor fiancé?”

This made Hannibal sit up a little straighter. He wanted Francis on the butcher’s block yesterday, but he momentarily considered letting Angela live. 

“They’re not married?” Frank whispered, or whatever the loud-aggressive-toxic-masculinity version of whispering was. He paused, as the dead hamster on the wheel powering his brain crept back to life. “That actually makes sense.” 

Angela loudly smacked her hand against her face. “Dr. Lecter, Ms. [L/N], I am so sorry.” 

“It’s quite alright, Mrs. Wyatt.��� Hannibal stood up, readying the next batch of needles. “It just makes what I’m about to do easier.” 

It took quite a bit of restraint to not make their deaths hurt, but he made up for it when it came time to carve. He had fun running his fittingly small penis through a meat grinder. Not with any intent to cook it, though. Just because. 

Hannibal wanted to make Francis Wyatt into the least dignified meal imaginable. You quickly recalled going to a friend’s barbeque in Georgia and encountering a horrendously Southern delicacy known as Frito Pie. You proposed the idea to Hannibal, who, after reviling in abject horror at the notion of eating something out of a bag, agreed that it was the most fitting end. He could spare a few pounds of flesh to grind up and make into chili. 

The third week brought yet another couple. They seemed smart enough to realize your invitation wasn't the friendly olive branch the others had interpreted it as. Their healthy skepticism was refreshing, to say the least. Then, you met them: Max and Archie.

"You'll have to forgive my partner's paranoia." Max said upon entering the house. He tugged playfully at Archie's hand. "We watched Get Out recently, so an invitation to the suburbs sounded some alarms in his sleep-deprived brain."

"I love that movie." You chimed in. "It reminds me of my family."

"Oh no." Archie's eyes widened in only half-pretend fear. He shot an I-told-you-so look in his partner's direction. 

"But my favorite horror flick has to be Midsommar." You added. "My friends and I saw a midnight screening and we didn't sleep at all that night."

"But have you seen Hereditary?" Archie posited.

"Of course." You shrugged. "Aster is totally genius."

You made more than just polite conversation with the couple. Max, despite his young age, was a skilled data analyst and day trader. He attributed his success to the hard work of his immigrant parents. Archie was an environmental lawyer and land activist. He was also a bit of a thrill junkie, indulging in everything from scary movies to bungee jumping.

It didn't take long to realize that you wouldn't be eating them. They were far too pleasant of company to eat.

"So when is this baby planning to make its entrance?" Archie asked, gesturing to you. "You don’t look all that pregnant to me."

You put your hand over your slightly-protruding stomach. "Late August, I believe. If everything goes according to plan."

"You're not far along at all, aren’t you?" Max observed. "That gives us plenty of time to prove ourselves to you."

"Believe me." You put up your hand. "You're doing a great job so far."

“If you like horror stories, we might have to indulge you in the last two encounters we had.” Hannibal commented, leaning back comfortably in his chair. That was a good sign. “No blood was spilled, thank god. Would have ruined my carpets. But believe me when I tell you it came very close.” 

The couple laughed along. Archie leaned in like he was about to tell a life-shattering secret. “You wouldn’t believe the hoops we had to jump through to even have the chance to adopt. And I don’t want to say that it’s because we’re an interracial gay couple, but...” 

“Agencies aren’t exactly colorblind.” You finished, via his prompting. 

“She gets it.” Archie pointed to you. “See, Maxie? She agrees with me.” 

Max pushed his glasses up his nose. “I never said I disagreed.” 

You spent the rest of the afternoon waiting for the conversation to take a sharp left turn off a cliff, but it didn’t happen. They were wonderful company; polite, intelligent and articulate. Exactly the kind of people you’d want to see taking care of your child. 

You’d have to look for you next meal elsewhere. 

[witcherslittledove]

May I request some knifeplay with a side of humiliation? Maybe Jaskier got himself caught and Geralt has to cut him free and picks up on how much he loves the knife? And gets off on how desperate he is for it?

@jaskiersbow I believe this was your prompt? If I remember rightly!

Just You Wait

Ship: Geraskier

Rating: E

CW: witcher potions, knifeplay, humiliation (minor namecalling really), butt plugs, anal sex, bondage, canon-typical violence (and death to unnamed characters), mentions of Jask/OCs, orgasm denial.

(I think that's all the warnings but let me know if I missed anything?)

Summary: Jaskier gets imprisoned as part of a spy mission and it's down to Geralt to rescue him, and well, they might as well take advantage of the chains whilst they're there.

AO3

Jaskier should be used to getting tied up. As a Redanian spy, or occasionally Temerian depending on his mood, he sometimes needed to get caught in order to obtain the information he needed. No one ever suspected the bard, and he had a particular talent for getting into trouble, namely a tendency to sleep with the wrong person’s spouse or child. This time was no different. A quick romp with the mayor’s wife, and then his daughter, had been enough to land Jaskier in jail. The poor man never even realised that Jaskier meant to get captured, and it hadn’t taken long for Jaskier to con the guards out of the information he needed. The only problem was that he was stuck, and the guards were enjoying using him as their personal punch bag. Little did they know that every hit, every movement that made his wrists pull against the shackles, jostled the plug that Jaskier had shoved up in arse before he’d been captured. So he was trapped, chained, and unbearably horny.

The best combination in his opinion.

And unfortunately for the guards, Jaskier’s husband was almost certainly on the way. That thought kept his spirits bright through every punch to the gut and face. His lips were split, he had almost certainly broken a few ribs, and he was struggling to open one eye, but that didn’t keep him from laughing. The guards had practically signed their own death warrants the moment they laid hands on him, and Jaskier happened to find it incredibly hot whenever his husband tore down half the Continent to keep him safe.

"Just you wait til my husband gets here," he whispered, his voice hoarse and cracked.

The guards looked at each other, giving Jaskier a reprieve from their brutal punches, and then they laughed. It didn’t matter though, Jaskier knew he would have the last laugh. The idiots were too busy howling to notice the sudden eerie silence in the prison, but Jaskier grinned, not looking up from the ground. A terrible scream tore through the room as a sword appeared in one of the guards stomach, blood shining in the candlelight.

Jaskier cackled. “I tried to warn you,” he sang, finally looking up to see his husband wrenching his sword from the dead guard, Geralt’s eyes were black as the night and a web of inky veins crept across the ghostly pale skin.

Geralt smirked, not bothering to wipe the blood from his sword. The second guard jumped to his feet, ready to fight but Geralt was faster. The sword flew through the air, slashing the guard's throat and he crumpled to the floor next to his companion. Jaskier cocked his head, licking his lips as he took in the bloody form of his husband, all scary face and sword raised.

Lowering the bloody weapon, Geralt cupped Jaskier’s cheek, making sure he was okay with a frantic sweep of his black eyes. It was kind of sweet really. Geralt was barely himself when he was high on the potions like this, and yet he cared so deeply that his first instinct was always to check that Jaskier was safe. And oh, how Jaskier adored him.

A low snarl rumbled in Geralt’s chest as his dark eyes took in the damage that had been done, but Jaskier just met his gaze, offering a smile. “I’m alright, dear heart,” he whispered, unable to take his eyes off Geralt.

"You're hurt," Geralt growled, scenting Jaskier, one hand gripped around his still shackled wrist.

"I'm fine," Jaskier sighed, pulling his husband into a kiss, the taste of their blood on his tongue. He’d never expected to enjoy the taste of blood, but combined with the thrill of the fight and the lingering sense of danger, he was weak. He whimpered, pulling at the shackles, wanting to be free, but first... he needed Geralt to take him like this. It was a drug, an addiction, and Jaskier was the addict. He let out a pitiful "please" against his husbands lips, desperate and aching as he was.

With the final reassurance, Geralt finally snapped, his sword gliding through the air, but Jaskier didn’t even flinch as he felt the kiss of steel grazing against his chest. Thankfully, his clothes were already ruined, otherwise Geralt would be buying him a new set, but the sound of fabric tearing and the sting of the sword scratching his skin made him feel heady. Jaskier licked the blood off his lips as he strained against the chains, but Geralt was faster, holding the sword at Jaskier’s throat with a low growl. Jaskier wasn’t scared, even though his husband was more animal than man at that moment, he trusted his husband.

And holy fuck…

He could barely catch his breath, too aroused, too dizzy, too lost in Geralt. Jaskier whimpered as the tip of Geralt’s blade nudged his chin up, forcing him to look into those midnight black eyes. Gorgeous, beautiful, obsidian eyes that haunted Jaskier's dreams. When Geralt pressed the sword harder, it cut into Jaskier's throat, not much, just enough to make him cry out. He whined pitifully, unreasonably turned on by the sharp pain. Geralt let out a low growl, and the sound sent a shiver down Jaskier's spine. The witcher’s voice was truly something else, like all of Jaskier’s wet dreams combined.

"Tell me, husband, how exactly did you get yourself arrested this time?"

Jaskier didn’t answer, too tongue-tied to form the words. They both know what he did, they might be married but Geralt had never expected Jaskier to be monogamous.

"Fucked the mayor's daughter," Jaskier admitted, gasping for breath as Geralt pressed the flat of the blade against his windpipe, "and his wife...."

And maybe his son... but Geralt didn’t need to know all the details.

Geralt snarled, the tip of his sword running through the thick hair on Jaskier's chest, dancing around Jaskier's nipples. "Is that what you do, whore yourself out in exchange for information?" Jaskier nodded, whimpering as the blade traveled further down towards his cock."I should have known I married a whore, that's all bards really are."

The witcher’s words were like fire in Jaskier’s veins, he was a whore, Geralt’s slut to use and abuse as he saw fit. He wanted that, needed that and he whined, pulling again at the chains. If he didn’t get Geralt's cock in him, blessed Melitele, he might in fact die…

"Geralt, please, I'll be good."

The sword clattered to the ground but Geralt already had a dagger ready, before Jaskier could even protest. They both knew he needed the extra incentive to stay quiet, even with no one left alive to hear them, it was just a part of the game they liked to play. Sometimes Geralt liked to gag him, but most of the time it was down to Jaskier to force himself to stay as quiet as possible.

“I don’t think “good” is in your vocabulary, bard,” Geralt said with a low snarl, biting at Jaskier’s bottom lip as he finally reached down to tease Jaskier's hole.

Jaskier laughed as he felt his husband’s fingers press against the plug, flicking his hair from his eyes as he leaned in for another kiss. "I told you I'd be good for you."

The witcher tugged at the plug, pulling it out in one swift movement, and Jaskier had to bite back a moan. It stung but dear gods... did it feel good. There was an aching emptiness at his core, as he felt the oil trickle down his bloody thighs, and he heard his own voice pleading, begging, beseeching. He needed to be filled, he needed it more than the air he breathed.

Thankfully, his husband was in a worse state than he was and it didn’t take Geralt long to slick up his cock, growling as he pushed inside Jaskier. The stretch burned slightly, the witcher’s cock larger than the plug Jaskier had prepped himself with. It felt like Geralt was fucking his very soul, and he couldn’t help but choke on his own cries as his husband pounded into him at a relentless pace, hitting his sweet spot with every thrust. Jaskier couldn’t even hold on, arms sore against the shackles that bound him to the wall.

Geralt’s teeth grazed against his neck, nipping sharply at the skin. The witcher’s low voice snarled and growled, whispering utter filth in Jaskier’s ear, but it wasn’t enough. He’d never been able to cum untouched, but Geralt was too lost in his own pleasure and Jaskier’s hands were still tied, leaving him teetering on the edge of an orgasm but never quite able to fall.

Before Jaskier could beg to be touched, Geralt came with a grunt, tearing the chains from the wall. They both tumbled to the floor in a heap, bloody and exhausted. The only remaining sounds were Jaskier’s quiet whimpers as he pressed his face into Geralt’s chest, his cock still hard and leaking, and yet still feeling strangely at peace in his husband’s arms.

[inthewild-flowers]

helloooo here's a commission for @ilysmb !!

info: omgcp, jack/bitty/parse, just under 2k words.

summary: parse accidentally hits someone with his car, and jack and bitty help him cover it up

warnings: blood, dead body, mentions of a car accident and murder, it felt a bit gory when I was writing it but it's not that bad

Oddly enough, Jack isn’t panicking.

He’s pretty sure he should be panicking. But he’s feeling quite calm, actually. Serene, almost. This is almost certainly one of the worst things that could be happening, but Jack’s brain doesn’t seem to be processing it right now, and he’s okay with that.

Parse is panicking. Parse is also covered in blood, so maybe it makes sense that it’s affecting him more. Bitty’s got his hands on his hips and he’s frowning deeply at Parse, and Jack almost laughs, because Bitty is so rarely openly disapproving of anyone, but apparently this warrants it.

“Can you tell us that again?” Bitty asks. Parse twists his hands in his shirt, starts to run them through his hair. Realizes they’re covered in blood. Goes back to twisting his shirt.

“I was driving,” he says, “and it was dark, and I hit something. And then I got out and it was a person and they’re dead.”

“And you’re covered in their blood because…” Bitty trails off and looks at Parse expectantly. His eyebrows are raised, as if he’s daring Parse to provide a satisfactory explanation.

Parse sighs. “Because I put them in the trunk,” he says.

“You what?”

“I put their fucking body in my fucking trunk and now I need to figure out what do do about it!”

A tiny laugh escapes Jack’s mouth, and Bitty shoots him a terrifying look. Jack clears his throat and looks at the floor, avoiding Parse’s eyes. If he looks at him, he’ll laugh again, he knows it.

Bitty sighs. “Alright,” he says, “let’s get you cleaned up before we do anything else.”

“Won’t I just get bloody again?”

“You’ll feel better when you’re clean.”

“Okay. Yeah, okay.”

Jack follows Parse up the stairs, one hand resting on his back after Parse stumbles and nearly falls. He guides him to the bathroom, sits him down on the closed toilet seat, and tells him to stay there while Jack gets clean clothes. When he comes back, Parse is pale and shaking, his hands twisted together with his nails digging into his skin.

“I killed someone,” he whispers.

Jack doesn’t know what to say to that. He did kill someone, and there’s not much comfort to be given in this situation. He gently separates Parse’s hands and holds one in each of his own. The blood smears between them, covering Jack’s hands as well, but he doesn’t care.

“It’s going to be okay,” he says. “You didn’t mean to, and we’re going to help you. You’re not alone in this.”

Parse nods, a jerky motion as he stares at their intertwined hands. Jack kisses his forehead. “Come on,” he says, “Let’s get you in the shower.”

~~~

Twenty minutes later, they’re back downstairs and Bitty has three slices of pie on the table. Bitty, despite his reaction earlier, greets Parse with a worried look and a tight hug. He fiddles with a strand of Parse’s damp hair and asks, “Are you okay?”

Parse shrugs.

Bitty nods, and he ushers Parse into a chair and hands him a fork. Parse picks at the pie, but doesn’t eat any.

“What are we going to do?” Jack asks.

“Clean it up,” Bitty replies.

“Clean it up?”

“Yes, clean it up. It shouldn’t be too difficult.”

Jack stares at Bitty for a moment. “Yeah, okay. Let me do some googling.”

“I feel like,” Parse says, then pauses and thinks for a moment. “I feel like googling might not be the best idea. Do you really want ‘how to clean blood out of a car’ in your search history?”

“Oh, yeah.” Jack is lost now. Bitty pats him on the arm.

“Don’t worry honey, I’ve got this.”

~~~

The first thing they do is dig a grave. Bitty wants to move the body first so that he can start cleaning the car, but Jack points out that if they’re going to move the body, they’ll need to have somewhere to move it to. So digging the grave comes first.

The far corner of their backyard is secluded, and the ground is soft, but it still takes hours to dig a deep enough grave, even with all three of them digging. It’s well past midnight by the time they’re satisfied, and although Parse seems to have calmed down slightly, Bitty has a murderous gleam in his eye.

“If you ever pull something like this again, Kent,” he says, “it’ll be your body we’re burying.”

Parse briefly makes eye contact with Jack, then looks away before either of them laugh. “Understood,” he says.

Bitty throws down his shovel and sits down in the dirt. Parse sits next to him, and Jack next to Parse. Their legs dangle over the edge of the pit they’ve dug, and Jack feels as though he could fall in at any second. He rests his head on Parse’s shoulder and reaches out to hold his hand. He can see Bitty doing the same.

They sit like that for a long time, contemplating the grave in silence. Then Parse says, “What if we get caught?”

Jack has been trying not to think about that possibility. He doesn’t know what he’d do if they got caught. At this point, it’s too late to stop, but he wonders if it might have been easier if Parse had just called the police when he hit the person. If he hadn’t got Jack and Bitty to help him. Jack immediately feels bad for that train of thought, because Parse didn’t ask them to go to these lengths, did he? Jack and Bitty decided to do this, and the more he thinks about it, the more he’s convinced it was the right thing to do. No, not exactly the <i>right</i> thing. But he doesn’t know what the consequences would have been had Parse called the police, owned up to this, and he doesn’t want to consider the idea of losing him. So yes, Jack decides, he and Bitty are doing the right thing.

“We won’t get caught,” Bitty says.

“You don’t know that.”

“I’m going to do everything I can to make sure we don’t. Besides, who would expect two NHL players and their internet famous boyfriend to have a body buried in their backyard?”

Parse nods. Jack nods as well. Bitty kicks his heel against the side of the grave.

“Are you guys ready for the next bit?” Jack asks. Parse shakes his head. His grip on Jack’s hand tightens.

“We’re going to have to do it before it starts to get light,” Bitty says.

“Can we wait a little bit longer?” Parse asks. He sounds scared. Bitty sighs, but nods.

“Yeah,” he says, “a little bit longer.”

~~~

The first thing they have to do is find a tarp to make carrying the body easier. Jack digs around in the basement until he finds one, tucked in among their camping gear that they haven't used in years. He brings it out to the car, and he hopes that none of the neighbours are awake and looking out the window.

When he steps outside, though, he sees that Bitty has moved the car into the garage, and he remembers that there’s a door leading right from the garage to the backyard, and suddenly the task seems far less dangerous. Jack goes back into the house, then into the garage, where Bitty and Parse are standing by the car, staring at the trunk apprehensively.

“Have you opened it yet?” Jack asks.

“Does it look like we’ve opened it?” Bitty replies. He winces, and seems immediately sorry, but Jack isn’t mad. This is a stressful night for all of them.

He opens the trunk.

The body is inside, as he expected. It doesn’t smell terrible yet. It’s covered in blood, and the blood has smeared across the entirety of the trunk. It’s going to be awful to clean up.

Jack stares at the body for a moment. Don’t think of it as a person, he tells himself. He doesn’t know how else to think of it, though, and he wants to look away but can’t quite manage it. He clears his throat.

“So,” he says, “how are we going to do this?”

~~~

How they do it is like this: they spread the tarp on the floor of the garage. Part of it is under the car, and it’s perfectly positioned under the trunk. Bitty supplies three pairs of bright yellow cleaning gloves, and they roll the body out of the trunk and onto the tarp. Parse doesn’t help much. He started retching as soon as he touched the body.

So it’s Bitty and Jack that get it carefully onto the tarp, Bitty and Jack that each take two corners of the tarp and lift, Bitty and Jack that carry it out to the hole in the garden while Parse holds the door for them and stares at the ceiling. Bitty and Jack that dump it in. Jack thinks it’s fitting, a true demonstration of the lengths they’re willing to go to protect someone they love. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he also thinks it’s horrifying, but he ignores it. That can wait.

Parse is still shaking too much to hold a shovel, still looking sick at the sight of the corpse, so it’s Bitty and Jack that bury it as well, working silently side by side. The sun starts to rise. They pack in the last of the dirt.

It’s obvious that something has happened in that corner of the garden. Where yesterday there had been perfect green grass, now there’s a patch of exposed dirt and rocks.

“How are we going to cover that up?” Parse whispers. It’s the first thing he’s said in hours.

“I’ll go get some trees today,” Jack replies. “Baby ones, and we’ll plant them there. We can say we dug it up for that.”

Parse nods. His shoulders are tense, and he looks like he could collapse at any moment.

“You need to sleep,” Bitty tells him. Parse shakes his head.

“I don’t think I can,” he says.

“Will it help if we’re there?”

Parse shrugs. “I don’t know.”

Bitty stands on his tiptoes to give him a kiss on the cheek. “I’m going to clean the car,” he says, “and then we’re all going to go to bed. You don’t need to sleep,” he adds when Parse starts to say something, “but having us there with you will be better than you being alone. And you do need to sleep.”

Parse nods. Jack reaches out and takes his hand, lacing their fingers together. “It’s going to be okay,” he says again. “You’re not alone.”

Parse gives him a small smile, but he doesn’t reply.

[kookoosbunnynose]

Pairing -> Officer!Reader x BadBoy!Jungkook (ft. Reader x Yoongi)

Genre -> Angst | Smut | Fluff

Rating -> Mature (18+)

Word Count -> 14.5k

Playlist -> Looks Red, Tastes Blue

Warnings -> Major Character Death | Grief | Poor Coping Mechanisms | Mentions of Alcohol Abuse | Mentions of Smoking (tobacco) | Unrequited Love | Emotional Constipation | Explicit Sexual Content | Unprotected Sex (stay safe losers) | Oral (m/f receiving) | Dom/Sub Themes | Dirty Talk | Praise Kink | Sir Kink | He Spit in Ur Mouth | Brief Sex with Jimin | Should I Even Bother Putting Cursing?

Summary -> You meet an old friend under uncomfortable circumstances, he brings with him memories you’ve tried to forget for years. Your past becomes your future before you can catch your breath. 

Excerpt -> “But where the paradox lies is, if you stop thinking, the smile you hold when you’re with him is the simplest thing you’ve ever done.”

—————

“We have a 10-51 at The Red Eye on Main.” Your radio suddenly booms in your otherwise quiet vehicle, snapping you out of your trance-like state caused by watching a mostly empty intersection run through light cycles for the better part of an hour.

“10-4, I’m 76.” You answered, pausing briefly to assess your location in relation to the hole-in-the-wall bar. “10-77, three minutes.” You finish, setting down your mic and flipping your lights on.

When you first started this job, getting a call for a drunk and disorderly would send your heart into overdrive, cause your breathing to shallow and your hands to shake. Mind filling with possibilities of having to contain a violent man twice your size. But after learning the patterns of the locals in town, and learning your own capabilities, you barely batted an eye. You’d probably just have to give the crotchety town drunk a ride back home and scold him for making you do this for the upteenth time. No biggie.

You sped down the empty street with ease, you could drive this town with your eyes closed since you were fourteen. The street lights around you against the night sky making everything appear untouched and serene, only amplifying your obnoxious siren.

Three minutes, nearly on the dot, when you pull up to Red Eye, and much to your surprise you see a young man sitting on the curb with his forearms resting lazily on his knees waiting for your arrival. The less than impressed security guard stops glaring at him in favor of filling you in on what happened.

“Hi y/n.” the guard greets, making the man pick his head up to confirm his suspicions.

“Well, fancy seeing you on that side of the law.” He says making you take in a stiff breath at the familiar voice, one you haven’t heard in years.

“I could say the same to you, Mr. Jeon.” you say with a steady breath, being very well versed in not appearing as shaken as you are. And you are. But you fight the way your throat wants to close because you’re wearing your badge, and you’re not here to dive nose first into your past. You’re here to take statements and do an assload of paperwork.

“The kid has been pretty cooperative,” the guard continues when you turn your attention back towards him. “didn’t put up a fight when I escorted him out. He’s had one too many drinks and threw a punch at a guy, who has decided not to press charges. But I got his information before he left to tend to his busted lip, if you need to contact him.” he informs, handing you a napkin with the bar’s logo and shaky ink etched into it.

“Thank you, I’ll take him off your hands.” you say glancing at the man in question, he’s still watching you with the kind of smirk only alcohol can provide. “I’ll take him to the station to sober up and get his story.” he nods, stepping back but staying close just in case.

“Are you gonna get in the car quietly or do I have to use these?” you question, holding your cuffs up with a hooked finger.

“Don’t make me any promises you won’t keep, sweetheart.” he winks lamely. You roll your eyes, and open the back door of your car.

“Get in Jeon, I won’t ask twice.”

“Yes, ma’am.” he says, raising his hands in defense and standing to climb in your backseat.

You shut the door behind him and make your way around the vehicle, giving the guard a wave goodbye. If he had been anyone else making a remark like that would’ve landed them a pair of cuffs, but in all your years of knowing him, Jungkook has never given you a reason to feel unsafe with him.

He was pretty quiet on your drive back to the station allowing your mind to wander to the time you two last spoke.

That day the air was heavy and unforgiving on your lungs, that no matter how hard you tried never felt full. You were both dressed in black, heads hung low in mourning. Before you departed you gave each other a long hug, whispering ‘I’m sorry’s and sniffling together. Giving each other as much comfort as you could muster even though neither one of you believed it would be okay yourselves. The hug was meant to be one of condolence but shortly after you would come to learn that, unbeknownst to either of you, it was a goodbye as well.

You don’t know if it was because you were pulling up to the station or if it was because he could sense your thoughts but he decided to break the silence.

“The asshole had it coming.” He spoke bluntly, as you opened his door and walked him inside.

“What did he do that warranted a busted lip?” you asked, slightly exasperated but mostly curious.

“He was making a girl at the bar uncomfortable, she asked him to stop and he didn’t. I stepped in, he swung, I dodged, I clocked him in the mouth, and he fell down.” He recounted simply, almost bored. He hasn’t changed, still ready to throw a punch for anyone in need. Just like-

Your stern look softens. “Why didn’t you tell security he threw the first punch?”

“Would he have believed me? I’m sure I haven’t been gone long enough for half the town to forget my reputation.” He says sitting in the chair next to your desk and crossing his tattooed arms across his chest. Those are new. Well, most of them.

“I suppose not, but at least I could have it on record that you tried.”

“I told you, didn’t I?” he raises his brows.

“Yes, you did.” you relent, grabbing a breathalyzer from your drawer. “Blow.”

He takes the device from you and does as instructed, presumably choosing to keep some sexual comment to himself.

“A .05?” You blink. “I thought he said you drank too much.”

“Probably assumed since I decked a guy in a bar.” He shrugs.

“I suppose, but how annoying.” you say slightly bothered by the fact that he had to tell you everything, and security didn’t even bother to ask people who started it. He chuckles at you.

You start typing away on your report, his story, his blood alcohol level, etc.

“Do you wanna press charges? He did try to assault you.” you question, pausing your fingers.

“No, but I think that woman should.” you smile.

“Okay, I have all the info I need. You have two options.” you turn to him. “I can drive you home now, or I could get you some coffee and you wait here until you blow a .02 then I’ll take you back to your car.”

“I take option B.” he says, tapping the corner of your desk as if to lock in his answer. “I don’t want to have to go get it tomorrow.”

“I’ll go get your coffee.” you go to get the two of you some much needed liquid energy. Normally, you wouldn’t just leave someone who was brought in for assault without cuffing them to your desk or asking someone to watch them, but you know him, and normally people wouldn’t voluntarily choose to hang out in a police station for any longer than they needed to. Tonight is full of many things outside the norm.

As you sit back down back down with your drinks, Taehyung returns from patrol duty, and beelines for Seokjin’s desk.

“Tag you’re it.” he says, patting Jin’s back, making him flinch.

“Officer Kim, don’t sneak up on me.” He says puffing out his chest.

“My apologies, Officer Kim.” they laugh. 

You miss the way Tae looks over at you, and his smile drops when he sees who is at your desk.

You and Jungkook sip your coffee with a comfortable silence, neither of you wanting or needing to address his long absence yet, not while you’re filling out a report with his name on it.

A couple hours pass like this, with you doing various paperwork, and him scrolling on his phone or staring into space. Yep, definitely hasn’t changed.

“Alright Jeon, once more.” you say handing him the breathalyzer again.

He does.

.01, good.

“Let’s get you to your car.” you stand, and walk out into the crisp dawn air.

The ride back doesn’t leave your mind swimming as much as the first time. There’s still a sizable elephant in the room, but the tension isn’t as unbearable as you’d imagined it would be.

You pull your car next to his, allowing him to return home. “Thank you.” He half smiles, unsure if he should say ‘see ya later’ or not, but you had a feeling you would soon.   — You awoke later that same day, when the peachy light of the sunset was flowing through your windows. Your shift at the station usually ran from midnight to ten in the morning, meaning you usually slept through most of the day. Though you didn’t mind, you’ve always been a night owl, nothing a little vitamin D supplements can’t fix.

Groaning as you roll over in your mess of blankets to check your phone, you find exactly what you were expecting.

Jimin (7:48pm): In need of stress relief, Doll? ;)

You (8:13pm): God, yes. When you couldn’t meet up last week I thought I was gonna implode :(

Jimin (8:15pm): Aw, you missed me? Cute

You (8:16pm): Don’t flatter yourself Park. I missed your dick

Jimin (8:17pm): I’m hurt :(

You (8:19pm): I’ll be over in 40. Be ready, handsome ;)

Jimin (8:19pm): :)

You toss your phone on your bed and get up to take a shower, a little hop in your step at the prospect of receiving an orgasm by someone else’s hand. And Jimin always delivered.

You wash your hair quickly, more concerned about shaving your legs for the first time in two weeks. After you’ve dried off, you lotion and perfume like normal. You slip on a tank top and leggings, knowing that he is a big fan of your ass. You take your uniform with you as well so you can head straight to work after your weekly dick transaction.

When you’re making your short drive to Jimin’s you find your mind wandering to Jungkook. How your heart skipped a beat when you saw him sitting on that curb. How he’s lost all the baby fat he used to hold in his cheeks, but his eyes still crinkle when he smiles. How having him stand in front of you for the first time in five years confirmed your adolescence wasn’t in fact a pipe dream your mind had fabricated after you decided to change everything you could. How though he’s jaded and may not know it himself, he’s the same boy you’ve always known. And how he still reminded you of-

But now wasn’t time to dwell, you’ve done enough of that. Tonight is supposed to be about the exact opposite. Free of stress. Free of thoughts. Only a couple hours of animalistic need. Then you could go back to reality.

“Hello y/n.” Jimin greets with a smile after your knuckles rap against his door. “Do you wanna talk? Before we…”

“Not really.” you answer a little too fast, crossing the threshold of his apartment.

“Works for me.” he says, noticing that you’re seeking more of the benefits than the friends side of this deal.

Without another word his hands are on your hips and his lips are on your neck, walking you backwards until your back is flush with the door. Noticing that you’re not in the mood for as much foreplay as normal, he immediately grazes his teeth against that spot on your neck that makes you sigh into his ear.

He’s always been very good at reading you, perhaps that’s why you agreed to this little arrangement. You’re not sure exactly how the two of you ended up fucking in the first place. Definitely had something to do with your collective blood alcohol level at the time. But when all was said and done that first time he told you he’d be more than willing to make it a regular thing. To make your shoulders relax every so often and it’s not as if he didn’t get anything out of it. Neither of you were in the headspace for a relationship, so the easy access to orgasms, with no strings attached was ideal for all parties involved.

Not that you weren’t friends outside his bedroom as well. You guys would hangout pretty often just as friends. You were fortunate that the line between your regular dose of stress relief and the platonic love you had for one another never blurred. Jimin was special in that regard.

Your hands find the hem of his shirt and he takes the hint quickly pulling it over his head. You do the same, and his hands eagerly cup your breasts. He reattaches his lips to the sweet spot on your neck biting down harder this time causing a small whine to fall from your lips. He smirks against your skin and runs his tongue along your reddened skin to sooth it.

Not wanting to waste anymore time than necessary you grab his hand and walk him to his bedroom. Once inside you put your hands on his chest and give him a firm push until his knees meet the edge of his mattress and he falls against it with a small bounce. When he falls back you remove your leggings and underwear, he does the same matching your urgency.

You climb over him planting your knees on either side of his hips, grinding your increasingly wet slit up his stiff length.

“You got hard pretty fast.” you say breath tickling his cheek and he slides his palms up your thighs to your ass, gently kneading the flesh in his hands.

“You said be ready.” he says smoothly, pushing his hips up to add to the friction on your clit. The extra contact catching you off guard making you place your hands on his shoulders for extra balance.

You feel his breath hitch beneath you when you wrap your hand around the base of his cock to guide him to your entrance. You sit down a little slower than you want to due you being a little less wet than usual.

It was your doing, he would’ve been glad to work you up properly, but you were seeking a quick release. Caught somewhere between wanting to take your time so your escape will last longer and needing to reach the cloudy peak as quickly as possible, putting as much distance as you can between you and the thoughts that lay in the valley of your metaphorical mountain. Though it seems your body was choosing the latter for you.

You rock your hips against his, enjoying the way his cock drags against your g-spot, sending heat from your core to your toes. You pick up your pace a little allowing yourself to let go as much as you can, jaw going slack and eyes closing tightly. Jimin groans at the sight, reaching up to toy with your pert nipples.

A light layer of sweat forms over both of your bodies, heating the room like a makeshift furnace. A furnace made of hot skin and moans instead of fire.

You increase the speed of your hips on his until your thighs start to burn, the dull ache in your limbs only adding to the fiery one in your pelvis. Your pants grow louder as your end is nearly in sight.

“Jimin,” you gasp with a mouth like cotton. “I need more.”

Your request straight to the point, he moves his hands to your hips, rubbing your clit one thumb and using his other hand to keep you in place while he thrusts up to meet yours roughly.

“Umph- fuck!” your voice cracks as you fall onto his chest, curling your fingers into his hair and pulling to keep you grounded as your orgasm rips through you.

Jimin groans deeply in your ear, you can tell how your fists in his hair and your walls clenching around him brought him to his end by how desperate his thrusts became. You can feel his cock pulsing as he coats your core with his cum.

You both lay like that for a few moments, his softening dick still tucked safely within you and labored breaths creating a fog around your heads.

“Can I use your shower? I don’t wanna go to work smelling of sex.” you ask and he chuckles against your shoulder.

“By all means.”

“Thank you.” you say, for both the shower and the sex.

He grabs your hand when you go to stand from the damp fabric of his bed. “Are you alright?” he decides to pry for the first time tonight. “You haven’t been that down to business since that fight with your mom a few months ago.” he says, concern laced in his features.

“Yeah.” you begin unsure. “Just, something happened last night that brought up some memories.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” he treads lightly, knowing what that statement could mean.

“I’ll be okay. You let me turn off my brain for a minute.” you smile and kiss his cheek.

“Happy to help. I’m here if you need anything.” he says with a stupid wink. Though you know he doesn’t just mean sex. Jimin has been a shoulder for you to cry on as long as you’ve known each other. You’ve always been there for him as well. A mutual understanding that you can come to each other for anything.

“I know, thank you Minie.” — You take a deep breath and run your hands through your hair, cursing the clock above the captain’s doorway that ticks just too loud for you to think. You blink a few times, your eyes struggling to focus on the text on your computer screen. You’re relieved when the phone on your desk starts to ring.

“Hello this is Officer l/n.” you say putting the phone to your ear, unfortunately excited about someone being in distress, but you’re about five minutes of screen time away from getting a migraine.

“Hello Miss l/n, this is Mrs. Choi,” here we go again. “I was wondering if you could send an officer to the house across the street? I think I saw some hoodlums trespassing.” and there it is.

“Of course Mrs. Choi,” you hold back a lengthy exhale. “I’ll go check it out, myself. Did you happen to see anything that could provide a description?”

“I’m afraid not dear, I only saw some trees rustling.” ah yes, the wind. Nature’s trespasser.

“Okay, I’ll take a look. Anything to help you sleep better at night, ma’am.” you smile as sweetly as you can despite her not being able to see you.

“Thank you Miss l/n.” she says promptly ending the call.

You let your breath out fully for the first time since the interaction began. And try your best to ignore how tense it makes you when she always calls you ‘Miss�� but calls all your male coworkers ‘Officer.’ You once put Jin in a choke-hold over a granola bar, you’re more than capable of holding your own, but that’s neither here nor there. Really.

“Mrs. Choi again?” Tae asks peering around the filing cabinet between your desks.

“The one and only.” you state. “She ordered the usual; someone to check the old abandoned house across from hers.”

“Well maybe if someone didn’t break into that place all the time in high school.” he says looking anywhere but at you.

“And now I’m the one who has to get rid of them. The world goes round, balance is restored. Hooray.“ you say feigning awe, he chuckles.

“Hey, I know how you are about that old place, do you want me to check it out for you?” Tae asks his expression morphing into worry.

“I got it, I’m okay. I need to stretch my legs anyway. But thank you Tae, really.” for the first few months you were a cop, you couldn’t even take the patrol route the old house was on without crying. He was always really nice about taking care of it for you. Officer Kim, always ready to jump in at a sign of distress, perhaps why he’s so good at his job.

“Okay, just let me know if you change your mind.” you hum an affirmative as you exit the building.

Though the bubble of anxiety in your stomach grows as you approach the run down house, it doesn’t spill out as tears anymore. You’ve come to accept this is as healed as your wounds will get.

You unlock the chain on the gate and make your way to the front door, knocking harshly before opening it.

“Police! Come out now and I won’t tell your moms what you’ve been doing!” you shout into the empty house. You’re sure the house is empty because every time there has been a few teens in here you can hear them run before you can even shout ‘police!’ but, you still need to do a walk through just in case.

Your cautious steps make the floorboards creak below you, the smell alone flooding your mind with memories.

There’s a sliding glass door in the back, that’s long since been shattered, where you used to sit and get a perfect view of the stars for hours with your first, and thus far only, love. 

Your mind wanders to when you used to play music off your phones and slow dance in the living room, skillfully avoiding the gaps in the old wood floor. It’s truly a wonder this place hasn’t been torn down yet, but you’re thankful, you don’t know if you could bear to see it go.

As you make your way down the dark hallway you get a small craving for a cigarette, having quit years ago now, but you can almost feel the dry paper on your lips as you make your way to the last bedroom in the house. You pause at the door.

Your eyes scan until they reach the corner of the room, pausing at the small carving in the wall. Your breath catches for the briefest of seconds when step close to it, tracing the heart with your fingers, careful to not get any splinters. Your fingers continue their journey, tracing the initials at its center with care.

Y/I + YG

“Babe! Angel! C’mere!” Yoongi’s smile beamed, gums and all.

“What?! What did you need to interrupt my sandwich eating to show me?” you follow his voice slightly annoyed, though you wondered why he disappeared for a few minutes, leaving you to munch in solitude. You had met here for a picnic, not uncommon for the two of you during the summer. He brought a blanket and you brought the burgers. You set up the picnic in the living room, with summer sun’s rays spilling through the old cracked windows, it’s a lot more beautiful than sitting in the middle of an abandoned house sounds.

“Look!” he says gesturing to the freshly carved wood on the wall, tucking his trusty knife back in his pocket.

“God, you’re so lame.” you smile and walk over to him. He wraps his arm around you, pulling you in close to admire his handy work.

“If I’m lame it’s your fault.” me chuckles running his hand through your hair. “I suppose, loving you makes me this way.” he hums jokingly.

“I never said it was a bad thing.” you look up at him, admiring the way the sun makes his bleached hair glow.

“You know I do right?” his tone drops a bit and his eyes search yours. “I love you.”

“Of course I know.” he only tells you everyday, yet you never tire of hearing it. You study his face, the slope of his nose and the little mole right next to it. His pink petal lips, that despite his reputation, you don’t know how anyone could be weary of a man with such beautifully delicate features. And his dark eyes that lighten only when he looks at you.

His gums return. He tilts your chin up to gently connect your lips. He tastes of the chocolate milkshake he drank not long ago, and you hum against his mouth.

“I love you too.”

The memory shifts, to one five months later.

“I love you too, angel.” his chilled lips peck yours, as he starts to climb out your bedroom window. The winter air makes you shiver when a gust of wind blows against your skin, with only your pajamas to keep you warm. Sometimes you’d sneak him overnight but with the first day back to school being tomorrow, it was too risky. If your mom caught him here again she’d have some choice words for the two of you, but she is a heavy sleeper, so as long as he left at a decent hour, nothing to worry about.

He hops down, his boots packing the snow beneath them when he lands. His head now a bit below yours as you lean out your first story window.

“Text me when you get home!” you remind him as he starts the small trek back to his car.

“Always!” he whisper-shouts back before disappearing around the side of your house.

You gaze up at the moon and take in a deep breath, trying to decide if the frozen air is refreshing or sharp on your lungs. You don’t take the time to figure it out before your window is shut and the air in your room feels hot against your cheeks.

You curl up in bed, and decide to scroll your various socials until your eyes get heavy.

You blink to help your eyes focus on the text on your screen, and decide to call it a night. You flick your eyes over to check the time.

2:30 am? Yoongi left at 2:00 and still no text? He’s always really good about telling you he got home, though he has forgotten a few times, no one is perfect.

“I’ll wait til he texts, he probably stopped for gas.” you mumble to no one.

2:45 am. You decide to text him.

You (2:46am): Love, did you make it home alright?

You (3:15am): I’m sure you just fell asleep.

You hit send trying to convince the panic knotting your stomach.

“He’s forgotten before, why am I freaking out so much?” you mumble to yourself rubbing your eyes. “I’ll just call him.”

My Love missed your call (3:23am)

My Love missed your call (3:35am)

My Love missed your call (3:42am)

“It’s Yoongi, leave your message after the beep.”

“Hi, I know that you’re probably just sleeping, and you’re gonna tell me that you’re fine in the morning.” you push out a laugh trying not to cry. “But I just can’t shake this feeling, so please please call me as soon as you wake up. I love you.”

My Love missed your call (4:01am)

You sit there staring at your phone in your hands, for a few minutes watching the clock on your screen change. Still nothing.

“Alright, fuck it.” you huff and grab your boots, shoving your feet in them and throwing on your jacket. You grab your keys and get in your car, you dial his number again while you start the engine, the route to his house flashing through your mind.

The dial tone in your ear stops ringing. “Thank fuck Yoongi!” the tears you’ve been holding back start to spill in relief. “You scared the-”

“This is Officer Jung.” a deep voice rings in your ear and your blood runs cold.

“What’s going on? What happened?” you ask frantic, the panic in your lungs turning into fire, the air feeling too thick to swallow.

“Ma’am, Min Yoongi was involved in an incident.” he says attempting to make his voice resemble something close to comfort. “The snow caught his tire and hi-”

“Is he okay?” you try to yell but your throat is closing.

“His car was pulled into a ditch, he-.”

“Is he fucking okay?!” your voice cracks and so does the dam holding back your tears.

“He didn’t make it.”

Your heart skips in a way you didn’t know it could, your body instantly too weak to hold itself or anything else. Your phone falls to the floor and your body falls against your steering wheel. You think you’re screaming but who can be sure with the ringing in your ears echoing in your skull. Your vision is blurred and your cheeks are wet. You were shivering when you climbed in your car but your skin has gone numb.

You don’t know how long you were crying in your car but by the time you were able to collect yourself enough to walk back to your bed your phone had no charge, and the sun had begun to rise.

When you finally turned your phone back on, you were flooded with people asking if you were okay, most of them you didn’t even know. After scrolling through your list of unopened texts, you answered only the one from his little brother.

Gukkie (7:38am): You okay?

You (8:44am): No

Gukkie (8:45am): Yeah, me either.

Now the ache is dull and the memories are faded. The anger and hurt that used to filter them turns more rosy as time goes on. And as with most wounds, there are scars. Love runs deep and Min Yoongi was your deepest river and your deepest cut.

You finish tracing the divots in the wood and smile bittersweetly. You place a kiss on the tips of your first and second fingers, you touch them to his initials and take a deep breath.

You let that breath go slowly as you walk out of the house, careful not to step on any of the less stable floor panels. Your lungs finally empty when you reach the gate where you can not-so-metaphorically lock up your past. — “Did you really need to cuff me?” you hear a familiar voice huff from behind you.

“Yes I did.” Tae grunts, you turn to see him holding Jungkook by the elbow before he  plops him down in the seat next to his desk.

“Alright, you’re the boss.” he says somewhere between sarcasm and defeat. He attempts to shift into a comfortable position, his cuffs against the metal chair hitting your ears in a less than pleasant way.

Jungkook glances your way and gives you a small nod when you catch eyes, and you do your best to pretend you meant to be staring at him. Though you’re sure he’s probably just as tense as you are. Police stations aren’t exactly the best place for a reunion. Especially twice.

“Name.” Taehyung states in a business-like tone.

“Jeon Jungkook.”

“Date of birth.” September first, 1997.

“September first, 1997.”

“Address.” 5235 west- shit I’m eavesdropping.

You shift in your seat and refocus on what you were doing before they came in. You try to at least.

Seokjin returns from his patrol route, entering the room the same as he always does, as loud as possible. “Tag you’re it!” he says with a childlike smile as he pats Tae on the shoulder.

“I’m kinda busy.” he gestures to Jungkook and his computer screen.

“I can take care of the report for you.” you butt in before you can think about the fact that you’re speaking. Tae slides his chair to your desk to get out of the other’s ear shot. “Do you really wanna deal with him? I know you’re not a big fan.” you lower your voice.

“Yeah, you have a point.” He thinks for a second, looking over at the man in question and grimacing slightly. “You sure?”

“Of course, I took care of him last week.” you say matter of factly. “And years before that.” you add after a beat. He nods in agreement, and grabs his jacket. “Change in plans Guk,” he smiles at the nickname he hasn’t heard from you in a long time. “You’re with me, Officer Kim has other business he needs to attend to.”

“Oh does he?” Jungkook mutters under his breath and you hold back a chuckle. He gets up from Tae’s desk and shuffles over to yours, his shoulders releasing slightly.

Without saying anything you unlock his wrists and set the cuffs on your desk, he rubs his skin a little too dramatically and you smile when he sits back in the chair looking more relaxed.

“Thank you.” Jungkook smiles. You miss the way Tae scowls at your gesture as he walks out of the building.

You start filing out the basics without question, as you know all the answers. He sits there tracing the walls with his eyes, far less entertaining than last week having already memorized the lack luster wallpaper.

“Alright Guk, what happened this time?” you say after a couple minutes.

“I didn’t fucking do anything.” he says widening his eyes clearly frustrated but not at you.

“It appears you did.” you say accusing him playfully.

“Seriously.” he relaxes a little. “I went to Red Eye again, I was minding my own business.” he points his finger at you in preemptive defense. “The same guy from last week-”

“The one whose face you busted?” you quip.

He stops, mouth slightly agape. “Yes, that one.”

“Continue.” you smirk and he glares at you slightly.

“I was sitting at the bar, he came up and started saying he could kick my ass for what I did. I told him to forget about it cause I wasn’t gonna fight him. He said I may look tough now but I’m still the same sixteen year old I was before everything. I got in his face, no fists mind you, and told him to fuck off. The security saw us yelling and told us we needed to leave, and I refused because I had done nothing wrong. He told me he would call the cops and the other guy left, but I sat my ass back down, cause The Man has never stopped me before. And bingo bango, Officer Pretty Boy cuffs me and I’m here.”

“You just can’t get rid of that rep of yours, can you?” you soften.

“I’m used to it, and it’s nothing I didn’t do to myself.” he shrugs. “Besides, I’d rather be feared than pitied.” his voice lowers, and your heart twinges.

“I don’t fear or pity you.” he smiles, not one of those smiles that’s big and all teeth, but one that’s small and warm. Jungkook had this way of saying everything he needed without speaking a word.

Silence falls over you while you finish writing the report. He didn’t do anything other than disturb the peace for a moment, no need for punishment harsher than a slap on the wrist.

“Ow!” he rubs his arm. “What the fuck was that for?” he questions, his brows furrow.

“It was a slap on the wrist.” you shrug. “You didn’t do anything that requires a fine or jail time, so you get a warning.”

“Aren’t you taking that a tad too literal?” he chuckles.

“I don’t think so.” you fight a smile. “I don’t wanna see you with flashing lights near you again unless you catch fire. Am I understood?”

“Yes ma’am.” he playfully salutes, but he knows you’re serious.

“Would you like a ride back to your car?”

“I can walk, that’s not necessary.” he says standing up and waving you off.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, the air will do me good.” his feet stutter. “Would you maybe want to get coffee on Wednesday? I didn’t imagine our reunion going quite like this.” he lets out a breathy laugh.

“I’d love that.” your eagerness to accept surprises you, and given the way he lights up, you surprise him too. — You mindlessly push the noodles you’ve been eating around on your plate letting the sound of other tables’ utensils clinking and your mother ramble on about her book club’s latest ventures buzz lowly in your head as you hum vague responses.

“… Jeon Jungkook moved back to town.” the mention of the name snaps you back into reality.

“What about Jungkook?” you ask, now at full attention.

“Have you heard he moved back to town?” she looks at you expectantly.

“I- um. I thought I saw him in the grocery store the other day, but I assumed I was seeing things.” you say keeping your voice as steady as possible.

“His mother is absolutely over the moon about it.” she says, wholly missing your lie as she was too excited at the prospect of telling you the latest gossip. Small town doesn’t leave one with much else to do.

“I’m sure she is.” you say and your chest can’t help but warm at the thought of Mrs. Jeon being so excited to see her son after he’s been gone for three years.

“She’s so happy he finally gave up on that god awful garage band.” she says, relief filling her face, and you roll your eyes. You had nearly forgotten he went to the city to make it big, you hadn’t ever doubted them, his voice alone was label worthy. “What were they called again? Red appendix?”

You blink. “Crimson Heart?” you offer her, knowing full well you’re correct.

“Ah right! That’s the one.” she says laughing at the, admittedly edgy, name. “I’m so glad he’s cleaning up his act, I expected better of him.” she adds, shaking her head. Your shoulders tense at her statement.

“Did you hear Jeon Jungkook got busted for spray painting the movie theater?” your mom questions as she leans on your door frame. Your face buried in some book you didn’t know the name of, as long as it had words in it. Mind numbing words.

“Um, no mom. I didn’t.” you mumble clearly uncomfortable with the subject. It was summer now, about six months since that night. The cold unforgiving weather that changed your world in an instant long since melted away, and as free as summer used to make you feel, it just feels hot and bitter against your skin.

“It just makes me sad, I expected better for him.” her voice solemn, clearly not ready to let the topic go.

You couldn’t muster a response that wasn’t yelling or trying to reason with her, which would get you nowhere.

“I never understood why you couldn’t have chosen the good brother.”

Your fingers clench around your book wrinkling the pages. She’d said that for years but sting you felt this time was far deeper.

“He was so studious and stayed out of trouble, but it looks like I was wrong.” she says, appearing more upset that her judgment was off, rather than the obvious issue at hand.

“Can we please not talk about them.” you plead softly, fighting your closing throat and watering eyes.

“Honey, I know you miss him, but look how much better you’re doing now! You’re reading for pleasure.” I’m reading so I can’t think. “You raised your GPA up almost a whole point before the year ended.” My test scores are the same, I just did my homework. “And I haven’t found cigarettes under your bed in months!” She seems most excited about that one. I’ll give her the smoking, they don’t fill my lungs the same way they used to. How can they when I can’t catch my breath?

Her attempt at comfort doing nothing but reminding you that you can’t be who you want to be anymore. You’d become someone who does any trivial task they can as not to spend too much time alone with their thoughts. Instead of someone who didn’t give a shit, did what they wanted to do, and most importantly had their love by their side. “Yeah, I guess not smoking anymore is good.”

“You know I always rooted for you two.” your mom says, her smile mischievous.

“I know, you always told me he was the ‘good brother’.” you try to conceal your eye roll at the same conversation you’ve had with her a million times.

“Before you and Yoongi got together, too.” she adds.

“What?” now this surprised you.

“His mom and I used to talk about how cute you’d be when you were all in elementary.” she remembers fondly.

You try to respond but you’re too shocked that her infatuation with Jungkook went past him being ‘so close yet so far.’

“Anywho, I just hope he can find the boy he used to be.” she hums.

You agree, but for largely different reasons. Your chest blooms at the thought of a smiling Jungkook.

“So do I, mom.” — Jimin (6:37pm): Hey Doll, in need of extra McLovin after lunch with The Wicked Witch of the West?

You (6:45pm): Actually, I feel okay Minie, but thank you

You (6:46pm): I’m doing better

Jimin (6:53pm): I’m proud of you, beautiful

You (7:04pm): Me too — When you walk into the coffee shop a few minutes before you were supposed to meet you’re surprised to see Jungkook already sitting at a small table by the wall of large windows with two cups of coffee placed in front of him.

“Hey Guk.” you sit down, shoulders relaxing.

“I got your old order, I hope that’s okay.” he smiles nervously.

“How the hell did you remember that?” you gasp, taking a long sip from your cup.

“You’ve had a caffeine addiction since you were like fourteen, and you practically lived at my house.” he chuckled.

“I suppose you’re right.” you nod in agreement and take another sip, the drink making your taste buds dance.

“Listen,” Jungkook begins, rubbing the back of his neck. “I want to apologize for the whole you arresting me twice thing.” he hesitates.

“Technically, I didn’t arrest you the second time.” you correct with a smile, trying to ease his obvious guilt.

“Still.” his voice insistent, almost stern. “That isn’t exactly how I wanted us to meet again after five years. It didn’t feel right to not fix it.” his face seeking the approval that his apology did, in fact, fix it.

“There was nothing to fix really, Guk. But thank you.” you soften. “I don’t think of you any different. How could I, given my past?” he chuckles at that. “And you got the shit end of the stick in both situations. I still know you’d never do anything truly bad, you’re all bark and no bite.”

“Oh, you don’t think I can bite?” he tongues the inside of his cheek smugly.

“Would you shut up?” his face shifts immediately, his eyes crinkling. “I’m serious.” you groan, but the heat threatening your cheeks and ears contradicts you. Well, that’s odd. Anyway.

“Okay.” he says after a beat. “C’mon y/n, I know you’re dying to know why I came back. Just ask.” he states, less than smoothly steering the conversation.

“Why would I wonder about you inexplicably reappearing after three years of nearly zero contact with anyone? It hasn’t crossed my mind at all.” your mouth laced with sarcasm.

“You think you’re so funny.” he squints. “I am.” you wave him off. “Alright, spill Rockstar, since you want to so bad. Why’d you give up living it up in the city to come back to all this?”

“Actually.” he laughs. “They kicked me out of the band like two years ago.”

You blink. “What? Why would they kick out their only talent?” you say screwing your brow in offense.

He nearly chokes on his coffee. He sputters trying to catch his breath, wiping his mouth on this arm. “Thank you.” he clears his throat. “But they were definitely better off without me.”

“How do you figure?”

“I wasn’t in the best place when the guys and I moved over there, for obvious reasons.” you nod. “I was getting black out drunk every other night. And writing songs that were just, not good. The kind of sad that isn’t relatable anymore, it was just painful and would make the crowds go silent.”

You grab his hand wishing you could’ve been there when he really needed it, but now will have to do. He smiles.

“The last straw though, was one night I got absurdly drunk right before a gig, and I thought I could handle it because I had been tipsy on stage before. They told me not to but I didn’t listen, and when I got to the song that I wrote about Yoongi, I just broke down sobbing on stage. I was embarrassed so I just fucked off out of the venue and kept running until I didn’t recognize where I was anymore.”

“Guk, I’m so sorry.” you squeeze his hand, and he rubs his inked thumb over you knuckles to tell you not to worry.

“No it’s okay, the guys found me the next morning, passed out in a Denny’s.” he chuckles stiffly. “They brought me home and told me that I needed to get help, they didn’t want to watch me self-destruct anymore, and at the time I was hurt but I’m grateful. It still took me a fucking while to work up the courage to come home, but if I didn’t have anyone tell me to try, I don’t think I’d be home now.” his expression turned from bitter to sweet as he recounted his story.

“I’m glad you’re home.”

“Me too.” he smiles, the stars in his eyes multiplying when he looks at you. “My dumbass fifteen year old self thought if I went dark side I could fill the hole he left, but I didn’t know what dark side really looked like until it was too late. Then it just became something I told myself so I didn’t have to face the fact that I was doing shitty shit.”

“You sound like you’ve taken a lot of time to reflect.” you say impressed.

“Limiting your alcohol intake to a normal human level will do that to you.” he chuckles.

“My dumbass sixteen year old self wasn’t much better, arguably worse.” you counter. “I thought if I got rid of everything in my life that reminded me of him, I could force myself to forget.” your face falls slightly. “Which is worse? Diving in head first or turning your back entirely?” you push out a sound that’s supposed to be laugh.

“I think both are pretty fucking miserable.” you both laugh, he gives you reassuring look. “But, tragic backstory aside. I wanted to come home to face the music and make amends with my mom.”

“My mom told me she’s very happy you’re home.” you can’t help but feel her relief.

“Yeah, I really put her through hell.” his guilt present in his expression.

“But you’re here now, aren’t you?” he relaxes, his gaze fixed on yours for a moment. There’s those stars again.

He blinks, snapping his attention to his coffee. “I’m gonna get a refill” he says, disconnecting your hands, that you had forgotten you were holding, to tap his empty cup on the table. “Do you want another?”

“Yes please.” you say turning to rummage in your bag for a few dollars to give him, but when you turn around he’s already in line. You deflate setting the cash in front of you.

Your eyes wander around the cafe, inspecting the comforting eclectic vibe it produced. Your gaze stops on Jungkook standing in line, studying how his features have changed, how he has grown a few inches, his shoulders have broadened and how you can see the way his bicep flexes ever so slightly when he takes the coffee from the barista. What the fuck? Did I just check him out?

You inhale sharply, turning your focus on anything happening on the street outside the window.

When he’s seated back in front of you, you slide the small bills in his direction. He promptly slides them back towards you and you glare at him.

“When did you get so hell-bent on being nice?” he smiles.

You scrunch your brows and drop your jaw. “What do you mean? I’ve always been nice?” you question in defense and he laughs.

“You used to make fun of me all the time.” he states, crossing his arms.

“I mean yeah, but like in a sibling banter type way.” you frown. “Did you really think I was trying to bully you?”

“No!” he reassures. “I mean it kinda sucked because…” he trails off and takes a sip of his coffee in an attempt to abandon his sentence.

“Because?” You’re not getting away that easy.

“You know it’s funny.” he breathes. “I used to have a huge crush on you.” he admits nervously.

“And?” you blink.

“And?” he echos. “No reaction? Not even a slight inhale?”

“I knew, Gukkie.” you break as softly as you can.

Now it’s his turn to be surprised. “You did?” his furrows his brows in offense.

“We both did.” you laugh lightly. “Why do you think Yoongi left an obnoxious amount of hickies on my neck?” you can’t help but cringe a little at the memory.

“That asshole!” Jungkook’s jaw drops, and you snort. “I just thought you were normal slutty teenagers.”

“I didn’t say we weren’t.” you add trying to contain your laughter at the attention his outburst brought you.

He throws you an accusatory squint. “You guys suck.” — “You didn’t need to walk me back to work.” you beam at Jungkook as you walk through the doors of the station. “I don’t need protection.”

“I know you don’t.” he defends. “Maybe I just wanted an excuse to spend more time with you.” you laugh.

“What did he do this time?” Taehyung chimes in loudly from his desk.

You turn to face him. “Nothing, we just got coffee and caught up.”

His expression remains bitter and unconvinced. You opt for brushing him off.

“Thank you, Gukkie.” you smile when you turn back to Jungkook.

“No, you.” he says, patting your hair affectionately before he exits.

You stand at your desk, shifting various papers to pick up where you left off when you see Taehyung approaching you out of the corner of your eye.

“What the fuck, y/n?” he asks angrily, and you widen your eyes in confusion.

“I’m sorry, did I do something wrong?”

“Listen, I get it.” he ignores you. “You let him off easy a couple times because you have history together or whatever. But now you’re going on a date with him?” he accuses.

“Tae, I have no idea what you’re talking about.” he scoffs, and your jaw tenses. “I would never slack on my job. And that most definitely was not a date.” your words sharp, hoping you’ll get him to drop whatever bullshit this is.

“Then why would you let him go both times?” he crosses his arms waiting impatiently for a response.

“I didn’t ‘let him go,’ because we had no reason to keep him. It’s not illegal to defend yourself or to be a bit of a stubborn ass.” you defend, raising your voice. “He didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Sure okay.” Tae says, clearly annoyed averting his gaze from you.

“I trust him, and you should trust me Taehyung. Why are you being like this?” your voice falling slightly. “Because, I care about you, and the kid is bad news. Do you not remember all that shit he pulled at the end of high school before he took off for several years? He can just show up and everything is heart eyes and open arms?” he says trying to convince you but all it does is make your blood boil.

“I appreciate your concern,” you bite. “But you don’t know him.” He shakes his head letting out a stiff laugh. “Figures you wouldn’t be able to read him, you always did know how to pick ‘em.” “What the fuck, is that supposed to mean?” you say all but seeing red, trying but failing not to yell.

He tongues his cheek and turns to walk back to his desk, very much done with the subject, but you were far from it.

“No!” you say following him. “You can’t just say that and then walk away. Explain yourself.” “I don’t know what the fuck is going on out here but it’s going to end right now.” Captain Kim Namjoon says sternly from his office doorway, arms crossed tight on his chest. “Our apologies, Sir.” you say, both of you bowing at him.

“Y/n, you look frazzled, go home and walk it off.” he offers pointing at the door. “Captain, we’ll drop it. I-” “It wasn’t a suggestion, Officer y/l.” he interrupts. “I expect you’ll be better tomorrow.” his voice a little softer now.

“Yes, Sir.” you bow again, and turn on your heals quickly, avoiding Tae entering your line of vision.

You white knuckle your steering wheel your whole drive home, you’re probably speeding but you can’t be bothered to check. What are you gonna do? Get pulled over?

When your car is parked, you fish your phone out of your pocket. You pull up Jungkook’s contact and your finger hovers over the call button for a second, but you can’t bring yourself to press it with him having been so happy when you two parted less than an hour ago. You opt for seeking comfort from someone else.

You (3:32pm): I need you

Jimin (3:35pm): I’m off in an hour <3 — Your chest rises and falls rapidly while you stare at Jimin’s ceiling, waiting for the normal relief that settles after you two have sex.

But even after you’ve caught your breath you still don’t feel it, the sweat covering your body starting to feel less like afterglow and more like guilt. Why won’t my chest unknot? We’ve hate-fucked countless times. What’s different?

You brush it off shaking your head in the hopes you can trick yourself into feeling normal, before you stand up to gather your clothes. You shudder at how sticky your skin feels against itself as you button up your shirt.

You decide some fresh air would do you good, and you open his bedroom window and take a breath and let the flowers outside fill your nose.

“You okay, beautiful?” Jimin’s voice sounds from behind you. “I don’t think I can do this anymore.” you say before you can fully register what you’re saying. You turn to him, his towel hanging lowly on his hips and the hand tousling his damp hair stops in its tracks, his eyes widen. “Is the sex not good anymore? I thought you liked it when I bit your ass.” he chuckles through his worry. His joke makes you soften a little. “No, it’s not anything you did.” you say walking over to hold his hands. “Remember how I said I was doing better?” he nods, his worry fades into a smile. “Turns out that’s more true than I thought it was.” you say and as the words leave your mouth, your body finds that relief it was looking for. Feeling like, for the first time in forever you don’t need to escape your own mind for a minute to function. “Is there a guy?” he quirks a mischievous brow. “Are you ready to be monogamous?” he gasps dramatically. You shove his shoulder while he giggles. “No guy, I just…” you think for a moment. “Don’t need to forget anymore.” you breathe, lungs feeling lighter, and he smiles brightly.

He hugs you tightly. “I really am proud of you, y/n.” he says into your hair. You smile against his shoulder. “Me too.”

You break the hug and he frowns slightly. “Guess it’s you and me for a while now bud.” he says looking at his palm.

“Jimin, I just had an emotional epiphany, and it only took you two seconds to be gross again?” “That’s why you love me.” he laughs trying to give you another hug. You laugh, pushing him by the shoulders. “Fuck off, Park.” — The sun hits your skin warming it despite the cool breeze, music playing your ears as your feet keep a steady rhythm against the pavement below you. Your late morning jog becoming more of a nature walk with the changing seasons. The greenery returning and the sweet smell it provides makes your limbs feel a bit lighter. You nearly throw a punch when someone starts jogging next to you. You stumble slightly after you nearly run into a sign. When you pull your ear buds out he’s laughing at you.

“Careful there.” Jungkook laughs, continuing to match your pace. “You scared the fuck out of me.” you huff steadying yourself. “What are you doing?” “Um-” He looks at you and then his feet. “Jogging?”

“Astute observation,” you smile in spite of yourself. “I mean why are you following me, creep?” you laugh. “I was jogging on the other side of the street and when I saw you I thought I’d join.” he shrugs. “I guess that’s allowed.” Neither of you talks for a few minutes, nothing but your shoes fitting the sidewalk and your heavy breaths filling your ears.

Normally with a silence like this your mind would shuffle through the files of your mind, bringing a similar memory to the forefront, good or bad. But you come up blank. You inhale deeply deciding to file this under ‘Something New.’

“Are you getting tired?” He asks. “No?”

“Good.” he smiles and tries to wink before he picks up his pace, pulling ahead of you. “A race? What are you, twelve?” you laugh running faster.

“Sorry, I can’t hear you over me winning!” he calls over his shoulder, and you groan at the considerable distance he’s put between you.

“You’re an asshole!” you pick up your speed fully running ahead of him.

You laugh and chase each other halfway across town, if you could see how you look you would probably be embarrassed, but you can’t be bothered to think about anything but the wind hitting your face and the idiot you’re running with.

He stops in front of a small market, and contrary to how you struggle to catch your breath, your lungs feel fuller than they have in years.

“Do you wanna get ice cream?” he questions, eyeing the banner in the store window.

“Won’t that negate all the exercise we just did?” you breathe, wiping sweat off your forehead. “And?” “You make a strong argument.” you say pushing the door to the corner store open and sighing when the air condition hits you like a refreshing wall. You walk straight to the large freezer to pick out your respective flavors.

You wordlessly decide to walk home in favor of more running, talking about nothing between bites of your cold treats, and you can’t help but think the flowers smell a little sweeter. — You have more work to catch up on than you normally do, you opt for having lunch at your desk so you can work through your break. You have your lunch to your side as your fingers click away on your keyboard.

Something being placed gently on your desk draws your attention away from your screen. You look over too a coffee cup with ‘I’m sorry’ written on it and with a sheepish looking Tae with his hand still wrapped around it. “I’m sorry.” he says looking guilty. “Tae-”

“I acted like a complete ass the other day.” he interrupts before you can even fully think of a response. “Well I won’t argue with that.” you soften and he looks the slightest bit relieved. “I just care about you, and I don’t trust him.” he reiterates his statement from a few days prior.

“This apology was going so well.” you half laugh.

“But!” he adds quickly. “But, I trust you. And if you trust him, then that’s good enough for me.” he says with large eyes, nudging the coffee toward you in the hopes you’ll accept his regret. “Thank you, Tae.” you say taking a sip of the bittersweet drink, appreciating his sincerity. Truth be told, you had already begun to forgive him, he just wants you to be happy. If he expresses his concerns in a less assholistic way next time, you’d be happy to listen. “And I won’t stand in your way if you want to date him.” he smiles. “Like you could, I can kick your ass Kim.” you laugh. “And what is it with you and us dating? I promise you, it’s not like that.”

“Awfully defensive for someone who has no reason to be.” he eyes you with a stupid smirk.

“I just forgave you, don’t push it.” you point a finger and he raises his hands in defense though he doesn’t drop the taunting smirk on his face. He walks backwards to his desk and sits in his chair giving you a nod as one last confirmation that you’ve forgiven him. You continue your work, the air feeling light in the station for the first time since your fight. So focused on your pile of tasks you don’t even notice it’s dark out until the phone rings and makes you look up from your computer.

“Hello, this is Officer y/l.”

“Hello dear, this is Mrs. Choi.” she says sweetly. It’s like clockwork with this fucking lady. “Could you possibly send an officer to this side of town? I saw a young man in a black hoodie hop the fence to the old place.” Well that is far more description than usual.

“Of course, I’ll go make sure everything is okay.” you reassure.

“It’s appreciated as always, Miss y/n.” she says before she hangs up.

“Mrs. Choi?” Tae asks lazily, not even lifting his eyes from his computer.

“Yep.” you say tossing your jacket on.

“Do you want me to check on it?” now he’s looking at you, a hint of concern in his eyes.

“No, I’ll be fine.” you smile. More than fine this time.

Your drive to the old house feels way more like a normal patrol than it ever has, the air feeling like a fog has been cleared. Or perhaps you’re just getting a little too used to Mrs. Choi’s usual request.

You walk down the familiar dirt driveway and your eyebrows furrow when you see a light in the window. Incredible, the old woman who cried wolf is actually right.

“Police!” you shout before you turn the doorknob, your guard not too high as you’re expecting a harmless teenager. Though you’re surprised when you find Jungkook sitting against the wall at the edge of the tattered living room, his legs bent with his forearms resting on them and a bottle of whiskey by his hip. “I’m not here to damage any property.” he says calmly, raising his hands above his head in a lazy surrender. “What are you doing here?” you ask and point your flashlight at the ceiling to better light the space, the light on his phone not doing very much by itself.

“It was something of a quiet place for me. I guess old habits die hard.” he said patting the dusty wall he’s leaning against.

“It was for me too.” you breathe, you look around the room taking in how it’s become even more run down and not quite as beautiful as you remember but breathtaking even without the fantastical dream cloud your memories have become muddled with. “Did he bring you here too?” he looks at you through his messy hair, much more practiced than you at bringing Yoongi up in conversation.

“Yeah he did.” you smile fondly. “We used to have picnics here all the time during the summer.”

“Sounds romantic.” he says, with a comedic scoff.

“Hey, for a sixteen year old? Peak romance.” you retort and he chuckles, letting his head fall against the wall. “He never told me he brought you here too.” you furrow your brows. “Makes sense though, it was his favorite place.” “Yeah, he brought me here a few times when he could ‘remove the stick from my ass.’” he laughs at the memory. “I never understood, there’s about three inches of dust on everything and all the windows are cracked.” he shakes his head. “But after he was gone, it was the most peaceful place I could find. There’s no place as serene as these four shitty walls.” he smiles looking up at you. “It was far less peaceful for me after the accident. The silence coming from this place was deafening for a long time.” you take a seat next to him. “But it’s not so bad anymore.” you hum, eyes scanning the room. You sit in a comfortable silence for a few minutes letting the sound of the crickets fill your ears, doing your best to not disrupt the stillness around you.

“I want to thank you.” your mouth making the decisions for you once again. “I missed you a lot and spending time with you has been really nice. I’ve been able to face things again that I didn’t think I ever would.” you steady your breath. “So, thank you.”

“I should thank you too.” he begins, and you turn to watch the way his profile moves when he speaks. “I can’t recall a time I smiled when thinking of him. It feels nice to reminisce, not just remember and wish he was still here.”

“God, he wouldn’t recognize either of us.” you say looking down at your uniform and Jungkook’s dirtied jeans.

“He’d kick both our asses.” you laugh.

“You know for a long time,” you hum, leaning your head on his shoulder. “I was upset because I lost the boy I was in love with.” he shifts a bit. “But somewhere along the way, it became less about being in love and more that someone I cared for so deeply was gone. I don’t know when or where I fell out of love, but it took me a long time to realize that I had.” “I don’t think falling in or out of love can be pinned to a single moment. You just kinda have to take a step back every so often to assess how fucked you currently are.” he laughs, leaning his head on yours. “How vulgar yet profound.” you smile and lace your fingers together. Your mind is running at a dull roar. You had never actually said you weren’t in love with Yoongi out loud before, not even to yourself. You suppose on some level you’ve known for years but saying it made you aware of just how true it was, like you’d been standing on a diving board for ages and finally took the leap that wasn’t so scary after all. You’d still give your left arm to have him there with you now, whether you were still just as in love or maybe just a friend. You still loved him but maybe… I’m not in love anymore. Before you have a chance to explore that thought further you feel Jungkook’s lips on yours, you gasp slightly and move your mouth with his, humming at how soft his lips are.

Despite your realization, when you close your eyes you’re overwhelmed with how familiar this feels. The stale smell of the wood around you and images of Yoongi kissing you right where you’re sitting flashing through your mind. Suddenly your heart is beating in your ears and just as quickly as it began you break the kiss.

“Fuck, y/n I’m so sorry.” he says when his eyes meet yours again. “No don’t be, it’s okay.” you say, trying but failing to keep your voice steady as you stand. He gets up to follow you but his feet seem to be stuck. “I didn’t mean to-”

“Don’t worry about it.” you force a smile. “I should get back to work, I’ll see you Guk.” You say trying to ignore how your throat wants to close. He doesn’t answer, just watches as you close the door behind you, leaving him alone in the empty house. The sense of serenity he found within these walls fades as the light of your flashlight gets further away.

You pull out of the driveway, and remember why you were here in the first place when you see Mrs. Choi’s house across the street. You decide to say fuck it and drive back to the station and hope that she just went to bed. — You (2:30am): Sorry I left. I just need to think

Jungkook (2:37am): No I’m sorry, take your time

You read the same two texts over for what has to be the three hundredth time in the last few days. For a long time you stared at it unsure if you should respond, and then too much time had passed.

Not even texting could be simple with Jungkook.

But where the paradox lies is, if you stop thinking, the smile you hold when you’re with him is the simplest thing you’ve ever done.

Just like the texts you play the kiss in your mind on a loop, your lips tingling at the memory. The old house under your feet and Jungkook’s arms around you crosses too many wires in your brain for anything to make sense.

All you know is… when he kissed your lips you felt like you could breathe again. — You’re sitting on your couch when you hear a frantic knocking at your door. You jump at the sound and check the time. 11:30? What the hell? Your training kicks in and you approach your door and open it slowly.

“Okay listen, I’m so fucking sorry.” Jungkook rambles frantically pushing past you beginning to pace around your living room. “It was fucked up to kiss you, but I just- your eyes looked so beautiful and- shit that’s not the point.” he runs a hand through his hair trying to collect his thoughts. “Guk, it’s okay. You don’t need to-”

“I know what I did was shitty but we haven’t talked in days, and I can’t bear to not have you in my life again.” he’s on the verge of yelling at this point. “This time since I’ve been home with you is the most alive I’ve felt since I was fucking fifteen.”

“I’m not upset with y-”

“I know, I wouldn’t forgive me either, but I needed to try and-”

“Oh for fucks sake.” you mumble as he continues to ramble. You take in a breath. “I wanted you to kiss me!”

“I-” he finally stops, nearly out of breath. “You what?” “I wanted you to kiss me, that’s what scared me.” you clarify now that he’s listening.

He just blinks unsure of what to say. He imagined this going far differently, something more along the mine of you slamming the door in his face, but you didn’t and his heart swells as he takes in your words. “I want it too.” you continue though you’re unsure where you’re going. “I love you, Jungkook, and I can’t get your stupid pretty smile out of my head and-”

“You love me?” the words falling from his mouth softly, and his gaze fixes on your face.

“Yes.” you breathe realizing what you just said. “And it scares the shit out of me.”

“How do you think I feel? I’m in love with my deceased brother’s ex.” he counters, laughing at how ridiculous your situation is, and your heart can’t help but race at his bittersweet words. “But you’re the first time I’ve felt home in forever.” he says, his eyes hiding behind messy bangs.

“Me too.” you admit, and the air in your lungs feels lighter. “I know he would want us to follow our hearts but… like this?” you ask sheepishly, maintaining the distance between you as if neither of you are allowed to cross the invisible threshold.

“I think that even if you guys got the opportunity to break up like two normal ass teenagers…”  he begins, his face full of concern but his eyes filled with the hope that you’ll agree. “He always wanted everyone he cared about to be happy, and fuck y/n, you make me so happy. You always have.” There’s those stars again.

“But I feel guilty.” your eyes threatening to water for the first time in a long time, and your lips tingle at the memory of Jungkook’s lips on yours. “Me too.” he takes a step closer to you. “But we don’t have to. We can-” “No, you don’t understand.” you interrupt and he deflates. “I feel guilty because even though we’re talking about him… I can’t stop thinking about how badly I want you to kiss me again.” “Fuck, okay.” he says as if you had just stolen the air from his lungs. He quickly closes the gap between you and reconnects your lips. You put your arms around his neck and attempt to pull him as close as you can, his hands are warm on your jaw and the dream cloud in your mind feels as if it’s been wrapped around the two of you. A blanket of home that you didn’t know had been missing until you had it again.

You run your fingers through his hair and savor how it feels in your hands. He licks into your mouth and his heavy breaths feel hot between kisses. He feels almost frantic as you feel his nails gently dig into the sides of your neck, as though you’d slip out of his grasp if he doesn’t tighten his grip, the dull pressure making you moan into his mouth.

You put your hands on his and he relaxes his fingers. You pull his bottom lip between your teeth, tugging it lightly and he groans at the sensation, your thighs rub together at how you’re affecting him.

You wordlessly guide him to the couch and nudge him gently until his shoulders are flush with the back of the couch. You straddle him and his thighs flex underneath your ass, you resist the urge to grind down onto him in favor of kissing along his jaw.

His tense shoulders release under your hands as your lips continue their path to his neck. Your teeth graze his skin and his breath catches in your ear, you smirk and bite down harder. His hands quickly grab onto your hips squeezing them in tandem with your mouth, you run your tongue along his reddened skin and your sounds create the most beautiful harmony you’ve ever heard.

Your hips give into temptation and grind down on his hardened dick, the layers between you not doing much in the way of friction but the way his hands tighten around your waist send heat through you melting you from the inside out.

Your hand snakes between you to palm him through his jeans and you move your head up to face him, to see how sweet he looks with his eyes squeezed shut and lips parted from your touch. He reconnects your mouths and the kiss is messy as neither of you can properly think.

You break the kiss and quickly slip to your knees between his thighs. You tuck your fingers into his waistband and pause your movement, eyes searching for his. “Is this okay?” you ask with a slight tug to his pants, he answers by smirking lazily and helping you slide them down his hips.

You pull his boxers down and your mouth waters when you see his dick, the tip a frustrated shade of red. You run your tongue along the thick vein on the underside of this length, wrapping your lips around it when you reach the tip. He groans as if he’s relieved to finally have your lips wrapped around him. He grips your hair tightly, fingers flexing against your scalp as he fights the urge to push your head down to his base.

“Fuck, your mouth feels so good, sweetheart.” he says out of breath, working against his flexing abdomen to keep his voice steady. You hum around him in response making his hips stutter against your mouth, and arousal pools at your core.

You sink your mouth as far down as you can and he moans deeply holding your head in place beginning to thrust into your mouth to test the waters. You grip his thighs to ground yourself and do your best to ignore the way your lungs are beginning to burn. He picks up his pace and you take his cock in your throat until tears prick in your eyes. You tap his thigh and he takes the hint releasing your head so you can breath again.

“You like having your pretty mouth fucked, don’t you?” he questions as he wipes a tear from your eye with his thumb. You nod eagerly and move to take his cock back in your mouth but his grip on your hair stops you. “Patience beautiful,” his eyes darken looking at your swollen lips. “Open.” he says, his voice low. You oblige, flatting your tongue for good measure, he spits in your mouth and his cock twitches at the sight. He lowers your lips back on his dick, the extra wetness making him groan at how messy you look, and you try to keep your throat as relaxed as you can, doing your best to ignore the growing arousal between your legs.

He breaks his assault on your mouth, pulling your head up with a wet pop and you gasp. “Can I taste you too, sweetheart?” he asks sweetly despite how ready he looks to devour you.

“Yes Sir.” you answer and his pupils twitch at the name.

“You’re gonna ruin me.” he laughs stiffly, releasing your hair and you realize how sore your scalp is.

You stand on shaky legs, he sheds his shirt and you follow suit before laying on the couch in front of him. You tuck your fingers in your waistband but he stops you. “Let me.” He says his eyes softening and you relent.

He puts his large palm on your waist and kisses your lips slowly contradicting his previous actions. He leaves hot open mouthed kisses on your neck and down your chest, the wet trail he leaves behind feeling cold when the air hits it. He wraps his mouth around one of your hardened nipples, swirling his tongue and teasing his teeth on the sensitive skin.

Your moan catches in your throat as he bites down and your hand tangles in his hair trying to pull him closer. His free hand runs up your arm removing it from his head and pinning against the cushion gently, you lace your fingers together and you can feel him smile against your chest.

His mouth doing little to relieve the real fire you’re feeling growing deep in your abdomen. You give into the urge to move your hips against his waist and he chuckles deeply taking the hint and continuing his path down your stomach, nipping at your skin when he reaches the hem of your pants.

His breathing picks up again as he slips your pants down your legs and the wet spot on your underwear is exposed to his gaze. He takes his time removing your panties, reveling in the string of your slick that follows. “Such a pretty pussy.” he breathes quietly just to himself.

He tosses them on the floor and eagerly puts your thighs on his shoulders placing gentle pecks anywhere but where you need his mouth. You roll your hips to meet his face and he smirks darkly at your frustration. After properly enjoying your wordless plea he gives you what you want, licking a long flat stripe from your entrance to your clit and you whine at the small bit of relief he’s giving you.

“Did you get this wet just from sucking my cock, sweetheart?” you deflate slightly at his teasing and nod, clenching around nothing at his words. He swallows a groan at the sight in front of him.

He wastes no time wrapping his lips around your clit, swirling tongue in delicious circles. A moan rips out of your throat at the sudden stimulation and he groans wrapping his arms tighter around your thighs.

You move your hips against his face and he shifts his mouth to collect your juices on his tongue before moving back up to your clit. You fight how your thighs want to close around his head but he only presses himself further into you at the shaking against his ears.

You feel him at your entrance, stretching you slowly with two fingers as he continues his work on your clit. He curls his digits into you and your hips buck at the sensation.

“That’s my good girl, fuck yourself on my tongue.” he moans into your folds, flattening his tongue for you to use. He picks up the pace of his hand and you rut against his mouth. The sounds you’ve been swallowing down flowing out of your lips before you can stop them.

“Jungkook, fuck!” you whine and he scissors his fingers faster to bring you to your rapidly approaching peak. Your walls clench and your rhythm falters, he wraps his lips around your clit sucking as he does. Your orgasm rips through you and onto his fingers with a loud moan.

“You’re so beautiful.” he says breathless, he almost sounds amazed that someone can look so beautiful when they cum.

He quickly climbs over you, whipping his mouth with the back of his hand and reconnecting your lips as soon as he reaches your face, he can’t get enough of your lips and you moan at your taste on his mouth.

He slips his pants down his legs, and lines himself up with your entrance, gasping at your wetness on his painfully hard cock. His eyes widen “I didn’t bring a-”

“I’m on the pill.” you reassure, grinding up against his dick.

“Thank fuck.” he sighs, pushing his cock in as he does. Your eyes close at the stretch he’s providing. He pushes in rather slowly savoring every small clench and twitch your walls give him.

He’s quick to pick up the pace seeing as you were more than happy when he was rough earlier. You moan at how well he fucks into you, you hold onto his arms as you’re afraid you’ll float away if you don’t anchor yourself. He smacks his hips against you harder and you gasp at how deep he is, trying your best not to yelp.

He wraps his arm around your back and takes a handful of your hair, yanking against your sore scalp until your chin is pointing at the ceiling, and you can’t contain your moans with your neck so open. “Don’t hold back, sweetheart. Give me all those beautiful sounds.” he says into your ear before sinking his teeth into your neck.

With your new position you’re a moaning mess underneath him and you feel him smirk against your skin as he delivers particularly hard thrusts, the sound of your moans and slapping skin filling the room..

He continues his relentless pace, watching you in awe. “Such a pretty slut.” he groans. “Look at you falling apart on my cock.” you can only whimper in response. He rubs your clit so he can watch your eyes roll back, doing his best to ignore his approaching orgasm so he can feel you cum again on his cock.

“I’m- fucking- I’m gonna-.” you try to warn doing your best to keep your voice steady.

“Good girl, cum for me, beautiful.” he soothes, lacing his finger with yours, mumbling praises into your ear as you clench around him, his hips work hard to keep their pace through your orgasm.

With his not far behind, he thrusts faster finally letting go. He reconnects your lips, the kiss hot and messy as his end is finally in sight.

His hips stutter. “I love you.” He breathes as he releases into you, falling against you shortly after and you laugh, brushing his wet hair out of his eyes while he catches his breath.

“I love you, too.” you whisper and he hums holding you tightly.

“I could get used to hearing that.” he smiles brightly, before he kisses you slowly. — “So…” you begin after the two of you are showered. Jungkook is sitting on the end of your bed ruffling his damp hair. “So?” he perks up, taking your hands in his. “Are you sure you want to do this?” you say squeezing his hands, still a little nervous despite the several ‘I love you’s and how your heart pounds when you look in eyes. Still a little nervous that if you hold on too tight he’ll slip through your fingers. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.” he says leaning into your touch, and his words calm your racing heart.

“Okay.” you smile brightly, and he can’t help but mirror you.

“Hey.” he says, making sure you’re giving him your full attention, and you meet his gaze. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” — You stand next to Jungkook, fingers laced tightly together, as you stare down the familiar dirt driveway.

“You ready?” he asks, still looking straight ahead at the chicken wire fence.

“No.”

“Yeah, me either.”

He squeezes your hand in his as you walk through the dirt and into the old house, same as you left it. You walk past the living room into the furthest bedroom where Yoongi’s mark is most prominent in the house. You stop at the corner where he carved that heart in the wall that, besides some dust, looks just like the day he put it there.

“Hi Hyung,” Jungkook begins. “I’m sorry I haven’t come to talk to you in a long time.” he looks a tad nervous as if he’ll be reprimanded, he squeezes your hand and you rub your thumb over his knuckles. “I found her,” he says, sounding more sure of himself. “And I wanted you to meet her. Are you surprised?”

“We are too.” you breathe out a laugh. “Hey Yoongs,” your voice is a little shaky. “I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner, I just didn’t know how.” you breathe. “I miss you, and I want you to know that I’m happy.” you reassure, remembering how he always checked. “We’re happy.” you put your other hand on Jungkook’s.

“Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of her.” He adds, placing a kiss on your temple.

“And I’ll take care of him.” you say, and you both put your hand on the heart gently. That final breath that was taken from you those years ago returns and your lungs finally feel full again, and you open your mouth to speak.

“I love you, angel.”

————————

A/N -> Hello! I hope you liked it!!! I’m really proud of this one, feel more than free to send me an ask with your thoughts, I’d love to know what you thought. <3

Tag List -> @ancailinaerach​ @kpopfanfictionhoes​ @bunnyboyenthusiast​ @singularity-mp3​ 

[katehuntington]

Title: Black Dog - part seven Word count: 3100± words Episode summary: When  Sam gets an anonymous phone call with information about his father,   Dean receives a text message with coordinates to different location. The  brothers clash and split up, one following orders, the other trusting his instincts. Meanwhile, in the wilderness of Cascade Range, Washington  State, Zoë loses grip on a personal case and is forced to confront her  demons. Without back up, this might very well turn out to be her final  hunt. Part seven summary: Zoë and Dean try to form a plan of action, now that they are stuck in a cabin with hellhounds surrounding them. One wrong move can mean their end. Episode warnings: Dark! NSFW, 18+ only!   Angst, gore, violence, character death. Description of blood, injury and medical procedures. Supernatural creatures/entities, mentions of   demon possession. Swearing, smoking, weaponry. Descriptions of  torture  and murder. Illegal/criminal practices. Mentions of nightmares and flashbacks. Descriptions of suicidal thoughts and tendencies, depression, panic attacks, hallucinations. Author’s note: Beta’d by @winchest09​​​​​​​ & @deanwanddamons​​​​​​​​. Thanks, girls!

Supernatural: The Sullivan Series Masterlist

S1E03 “Black Dog” Masterlist

     “Can I ask you somethin’?”

     Zoë looks up, but can’t see the hunter who prolonged her life from where she’s sitting. She hasn’t moved much, still facing the fire that is raging now, filling the cabin with a comfortable heat. The tremors have stopped, her respiration much calmer now. Her body seems to have recovered from the initial shock of the traumatic attack. With the adrenaline gone, her leg hurts badly, though, the pain having her grit her teeth. She tries her best to block out the loud noises of pots and plates being moved in the cupboards of the small kitchen, increasing both her headache and frustration.      “Shoot,” she replies, her voice much weaker than she would like it to come out of her mouth.      “If you were so dead set on dying,” Dean says while pulling out a drawer, “then why did you stock up enough food and water to survive a fucking apocalypse?”      The huntress scoffs. “Hoping for a miracle, I guess.”      “Does this mean I’m your miracle?”       Dean moves into her peripheral vision with a can of tomato soup, a pot, some cutlery, and a can-opener in hand, setting the items down on the ground next to her for later. He has a boyish smirk on his face, apparently amused with his own remark.      Zoë rolls her eyes. She’s been stuck in this little house on a hillside for a little over an hour now, and this manchild is already getting on her nerves.

     “Let’s see if I can work miracles and get some help, because I have a feeling we’re gonna need it,” Dean slides his hand into the pocket of his leather coat, taking out his phone.      Zoë watches him, noticing a hint of hesitation. “Who you gonna call?” she wonders.      “The nerd.”      “He’s downhill?” she presumes.

     Dean drags his teeth over his bottom lip, but doesn’t answer. Instead, he stares at his Motorola as he looks up Sam’s number. His thumb hovers over the call button, but he doesn’t press it. Judging from the pause, Zoë is able to connect the dots; she knows something happened between the brothers.

     “You two got into a fight, didn’t you?” she assumes, not beating around the bush.      He glances over his phone to meet her gaze, then confirms with a nod. She can distinguish the concern and guilt in his stance; it’s bothering him.      “That bad, huh?” Zoë huffs. “Where is he then?”      “He was heading to Nashville,” Dean tells her.      “Tennessee?” she checks, stunned. “That’s a long way from Waco. Why the hell is he there?”      “It was the weirdest thing,” the older Winchester recalls, still unable to wrap his head around the strange lead that ultimately led them to have the biggest fight since Sam went to Stanford. “Someone called him, didn’t identify herself, and claimed that she knew where Dad was.”

     Zoë frowns, her interest peaked. For one, she is very curious about how this Mystery Lady would have gotten her hands on that kind of information, since John has basically been as invisible as a ghost. She knows, because she has been trying to track him down as well, but of course, that is a detail the huntress is going to keep to herself.

     “How did she get Sam’s number?” she questions, instead.      Dean shrugs. “Beats me, but when it comes to finding Dad, Sam can be quite--”      “- obsessive? Yeah, I've noticed,” Zoë chuckles, remembering the long conversations she had with Sam and the arguments the boys had in her presence.

     The guy who usually is so quick to respond to such a comment, seems distracted now, staring down at his Motorola. “Fuck.”      “No signal?” she presumes.      “Nada,” Dean sighs, thinking of another solution. “We need to reach him, especially if David sends out an S.O.S. signal. Sam needs to realize what he’s dealing with before he charges up here.”

     Realizing the Winchester in her company is right, she ponders. If the younger brother goes into this case without knowing that the hellhounds are off their leash and will attack anyone they come across, he is going to get torn to pieces. Dean and David are lucky, if there even is such a thing. The hunter is as stuck as she is, and the hellhounds might have caught up with the only Cleveland survivor; the kid could be dead for all she knows. 

     She adjusts her leg a little, carefully testing its mobility. The swelling is starting to pull at her skin, so she props her foot up again on the plastic first aid briefcase, watching Dean in the meantime. He has crouched down by the backpack he was carrying and mutters a few curse words under his breath while rummaging through it.

     “What are you looking for?” Zoë wonders.      “The kid packed a satellite phone,” he says, giving up his search, recalling that the zipper of the backpack wasn’t entirely closed when he took it off earlier. “Shit, I must have dropped it outside.”

     Annoyed with the rookie mistake, Dean gets up and walks over to one of the windows. There he listens carefully, but he can’t detect any sign of the hounds. No growl, no nothing; it’s almost too quiet. Ready to pick up any sign of movement, the hunter scans the area outside, but there’s nothing living nor dead to be seen. Then he spots the black device in the snow, just a yard away from the cabin.      “I see it.”

     “So what? It’s not like you can go out there.” Zoë pushes herself up on the edge of the table, careful not to put any pressure on her injured leg. Leaning against the pillar, she follows Dean’s fixed gaze. Without hesitation, the either fearless or oblivious  hunter intends to go out, his hand already reaching for the iron latch.      “Dean! Are you fucking nuts?!” Zoë calls out, dazed. “And you call me suicidal?”      “We need that phone, Zo,” he reminds her, his hand still on the handle.      “Do you have altitude sickness or something?!” The wounded huntress steps forward, her leg almost buckling, but Dean’s fast reflexes prevent her from hitting the floor.      “What are you doing? You shouldn’t even be standing up,” he scolds, steadying her.      “What am I doing?! If you go out there, those motherfuckers will rip you to shreds!” she argues, smacking his hand away.      “Yeah, and if we don’t contact Sam, he will!” he reminds her as he hands the shotgun to his current hunting partner, his green eyes intense. “I haven’t seen them yet. If they are still focused on you, they might not attack me.”      She meets him with the same fire in her eyes, keeping a tight grip on his biceps before he does something stupid. “And what if they do?”      “You’ll back me up,” he says, trusting her. “Okay?”

     Zoë stares at him for a couple of seconds, but then sighs, realizing that he makes a good point. If they are not able to reach his brother before he gets here, he will sign his death warrant the second he sets foot on the mountain. Reluctantly, she lets go of his arm and takes the gun, holding the action release button before she pumps the slide to force the shells into the chambers. “Okay.”

     He nods and turns away from her, glancing at the black and white world outside. Nervously, he takes a breath, collecting himself before he steps into the wolves den; here goes nothing. 

     The latch unlocks and the door opens. Careful not to break the line of goofer dust, Dean steps onto the porch and looks back for a second, sharing one last look with the huntress, then descends down the stairs. 

     It’s eerie how quiet the forest is. At midnight, the trees stopped whispering in the wind and even now he could still hear a penny drop. Even through his boots, the snow feels cold as he walks on it, highly aware of the crunching sound with every footprint the hunter leaves. Dean isn’t anxious often. But right now, being as exposed as he is, it ambushes him. Alert, he bridges the few yards between himself and the phone, trying to be as stealthy as possible. He ducks to pick it up, when he hears it; a deep, low growl.

     “Oh, fuck,” Zoë whimpers, staring past the hunter wide-eyes. 

     Slowly, Dean looks up into a pair of red eyes which light up in the darkness of the woods. It approaches him like a predator sneaking up on his prey, its head hanging low between its shoulders, every motion calculated. While Dean stares straight into the hypnotizing fiery orbs that seem to be portals to the afterworld downstairs, the wind picks up and begins to circle around the cabin. Zoë is shocked when she notices that the goofer dust at her feet is blown off the threshold; there goes their last line of defense. A shiver of both fear and the cold has her trembling as she holds up the shotgun, peering over the double barrel. The beast in the shadow inches closer to Dean, until the moonlight falls on the creature, revealing its true form.

     “Hey - uh, Zo?” Dean asks without moving a muscle. “These hellhounds, do they look like bear-sized monster mutts with hellfire burning in their eyes?”      Zoë inhales sharply, lifting her cheek from the stock of her weapon. Shit. He can see it. He can see the fucking hellhound. Realizing that Dean is a split second away from being torn apart, she swallows apprehensively, steadying her rifle in order to fire. 

     The hunter’s hand hovers over the essential device in the snow as he tries to form a plan of action, but he’s captivated by the bone-chilling creature before him. He has never seen anything animal-like so evil as what is standing before the hunter. It’s an absolute monster, about the size of an Irish wolfhound. It looks like one too, but its dark fur is anything but soft and cuddly. The hair on the back of the creature stands straight up, like splinters of obsidian. The beast growls, fixed on its target, showing its razor-sharp teeth, blood dripping from its mouth. 

     Dean stares back, contemplating his next move. Frozen to the ground, he holds his breath, aware that any sudden movement will trigger Hell’s watchdog to charge him. The hunter sets his jaw, never breaking away from the definition of Death before him, until movement in the black shades surrounding him draws his attention. A second pair of eyes appears, then a third, and a fourth. Within seconds he can count a total of six hounds.

He exhales with a shudder. I am so fucked.

     Who is going to make the first move? Dean knows it has to be him, because if he gives the evil creatures only a fraction of a head’s start, he’s going to end up with a lot of stitches, and that’s only if he’s lucky. Bracing himself and gathering his courage, Dean  takes a breath and counts down. 3… 2… 1… 

     Lightning fast, he snatches the phone from the snow and dashes back for the cabin. As fast as his legs can take him, he sprints to safety, but he can hear the beast that was closest to him lunge itself at its victim.

     “Get down!!!”      It’s Zoë’s high-pitched voice that cuts through the night air. He takes her cue and dives for the ground, rolling on his side. A mistake, because the vision of the hellhound coming towards him with tremendous speed is one that will surely leave him with a nightmare or two if he survives this. 

     Right before the supernatural being is about to release its fury, the creature is shot out of the air and squeals like a pup. Knowing he can’t afford to lose a second, Dean gets on his feet and rushes towards the porch. He registers the comforting sound of a shotgun reloading before another loud bang echoes through the valley. Almost there, Dean.

     But instead of just one hellhound, a whole bunch of them arise from the shadows now. Zoë’s eyes widen; there’s no way she can handle them all. She lowers her rifle and backs out. She doesn’t have a choice, there is no other way. What she’s about to do isn’t like anything she tried before, but it’s their only shot of staying alive. 

     As Dean stumbles in, the shotgun clatters against the floor. He turns around to close the only barrier between them, horrified when he witnesses the first two creatures already within inches of the threshold; they’re not going to keep them out of the cabin. But before the hunter can blink, the door slams closed with unmeasurable speed and power without anyone touching it, cutting off the creatures outside. Barking like mad, they march against the wood like a battering ram, clawing to get inside. 

     Unable to process the unexpected scene that plays out in front of him, Dean snaps his head towards his hunting partner, watching in shock how the woman has her right hand heaved up in front of her, fingers spread out and shaking. Her eyes are firmly closed, respiration fast and frantic. Holy fucking shit, this is her doing, Dean realizes. Whatever energy she’s sending towards the door, works because the dogs can’t get through. 

     “Dean, the goofer dust!” she exclaims over the sound of barking and growling, needing every ounce of her power to keep the barrier closed.      Zoë’s order brings him back, time speeding up again. He grabs the bag and quickly lays out a line on the doorstep. As soon as he has connected one side of the doorframe with the other, the pressure on the door drops as if someone flipped a switch. Out of breath, Zoë lowers her hand and opens her eyes as an almost unbearable headache comes to the huntress. Trying to cast it out, she pinches the bridge of her nose while fresh blood drips down from her nostrils. For a moment, she feels like she is going to pass out, but then the pain begins to fade to a level she can cope with. Whoa, that was intense. 

     She didn’t think she could do it, but she did. Making a whiskey bottle fall off a shelf in Beetle’s Bar is one thing, talking to Sam only using her mind is another, but this was a whole new experience. Of course, she has practiced her telekinesis, but never before has she used it on a supernatural creature. She’s getting better, or worse - depending on how she looks at it. 

     Dean, who can’t believe what he just saw, stares at her, his jaw slightly dropped and eyes wide. When Zoë glances aside, he knows she can see the indignation in his glare, detest even. He always assumed there was more to the huntress they crossed paths with only recently, but never once did he expect this. Who - or what - is standing before him, is anything but human.

     “Christo!” he shouts.      “I’m not a demon,” she assures.      “Then what the hell are you?” he asks, his upper lip twitching with a hint of hatred.       What. He asked her what she is. Not who, but what. Zoë swallows with difficulty as she collects the courage to speak again, hurt by his choice of words.      “I’m human,” she tries to assure him, her voice breaking. “Dean, it’s me.”

     She steps closer, but Dean quickly draws his Colt M1911 from behind his waistband. Alarmed and cautious, she moves both her hands up as a gesture of surrender. “Easy, tiger.”      “Leave her the fuck alone,” Dean sneers, convinced a demon is possessing his hunting partner.      “Would you drop it already?! You just yelled ‘Christo’ at me. Here, I can say it myself! Now if I was a demon, that would be a fucking awesome trick, wouldn’t it?” she fires back.      “Shut up,” Dean mutters, starting to doubt himself, yet unable to take his finger off the trigger.

     “It’s all mighty fine that I’m staring down the barrel, but a bullet won’t kill a demon. It will kill me, though,” she brings to mind, pointing at her chest.      “A human is not supposed to be able to do that kind of freaky shit!” Dean exclaims firmly, still aiming the .45 caliber at her.      “Neither is Sam, but I don’t see you pointing a gun at him!” she returns.

     He swallows apprehensively, brought out of balance by her rapid reply. He hates to admit it, but it’s a valid comparison, one that scares him. Because if he’s able to keep Zoë at gunpoint, what does that say about how abnormal his brother’s abilities are?      “Do you want to soak me in holy water if that makes you feel better? Fine, be my guest,” Zoë offers, waving her hands to the side.

     But Dean already lowers his Colt M1911 and flips the safety on, the engravings in the metal catching the light from the fire as he tucks it behind his waistband again. The hunter looks away, aghast, the mixture of doubt and distress that he’s experiencing throwing him off. Unsettled, he peers outside, but the hellhounds have disappeared. He thought he understood Zoë’s fear for these things, but now that he actually can see them, he’s experiencing that same anxiety. His heart is racing so severely he can feel it beating in his chest, and his breathing does not seem to slow down either. Almost dying is something he has gotten used to over the years, but almost going to Hell is a new one.

     “You okay?” Zoë checks, noticing his weariness.      “Yeah, I’m okay,” he claims, annoyed by the fact that he isn’t.      He starts pacing through the cabin slowly, keeping a sharp eye on the door. But it’s not just the creatures he keeps an eye on, he can’t help but monitor Zoë too. He huffs almost unnoticeable. You fucking idiot, you thought you had her figured. There’s a whole lot more to Zoë Sullivan than she shows, that’s for sure.

     “It’s a good thing we’ll be stuck up here for a while, because it’s about damn time you start talking,” he makes clear, done playing catch-up.      The woman across from him wipes her bloody nose with the back of her hand before she suggests otherwise. “We better make that call first.”

     Dean knows she’s avoiding the subject, but she has a point; he needs to reach out to his brother. He picks up the satellite phone and inserts the country code and Sam’s cell number, but before he presses the green button, he hesitates. He knows Sam. He knows his stubborn pain in the ass little brother; there is no way he is gonna talk to him after their fight. As soon as he will hear Dean’s voice, he will hang up, yet the one person he has been wanting to talk for days, is sitting right across from him.      He hands Zoë the phone. “You call him.”

Thank  you so much for reading. I appreciate every single one of you, but if  you  do want to give me some extra love, you are free to reblog my work  or buy me coffee (Link in bio at the  top of the page)

Read part eight here

[uwua3]

Bunniiiieeeee, have you considered being a goose or a duck? Ohohoho jkjk~ could I request Azuma blushing hc? Ily so much 💜

it’s my Sworn Enemy and Mortal Rival ruri *goose honk intensifies* but because i love you, i will Answer: i have T_____T now back to fighting you ♡ i hope you love it~

summary: who knew you would meet an angel at a 7/11 when it was 3am?

warnings: impossible beauty standards, insecurity, late nights, overthinking, unrealistic expectations

author’s note: this is for my favorite azuma stan of all time! my great friend who is definitely just as head over heels for him like the mc in this headcanon ♡

i wanted to touch upon azuma’s ego. although he’s definitely not arrogant about his looks, i feel as if pretty people can develop some sort of imposter complex of whether they really are who people see them as. i wanted to recognize maybe an inner people pleaser within him and someone who actively sought validation because he lacked it before he was considered “pretty”. this is mainly a romanticized take on imposter syndrome and what it means to have fake love for temporary satisfaction

word count: 1,335

music: water fountain – alec benjamin

convenience store angel.

❄️🍶 yukishiro azuma

why did everyone want azuma to sit still and look pretty?

it was like he was some victorian doll people played around with before becoming bored, abandoning him for someone so much better. someone, prettier

so azuma grew up following the latest classy fashion trends, locking himself in his bathroom to spend hours taking care of his hair, cashing out thousands to preserve his youthful appearance to defy his age

no matter what time of day it was, he always came off as the best version of himself. pale like the snow, because no one liked it when his face was red. azuma learned how to maintain his porcelain complexion to be even prettier

azuma knew he was pretty; after all, if he wasn’t, all his hard work would be for nothing in the end. he had to be pretty, easy on the eyes, it’s what he was meant to do

compliments had no effect on him anymore, he’s heard it all before: how delicate his dainty fingers were, how smooth his luxurious voice was against their ear, how he was the best they’ve ever had. he knows they lie, and lie, and lie, just to steal a moment with veludo way’s resident ethereal god. they all wanted something underneath their corrupt surface

azuma never believed any of them, no point getting his hopes up about a one night stand. he was just arm candy, something to show off like he was an a prop mannequin

they were all the same: azuma would leave early in the morning and never reached out to contact them again. they did the same, no wonder, he wasn’t pretty enough to be worth their phone bill

azuma would be by himself in the dangerous streets after sneaking out, walking hurriedly from the dark alleyways. he knew no matter what time it was, wolves in sheep’s clothing wanted a bite of him

even though it was safer to stay within his one night stand’s four walls, he couldn’t risk feeling something in any affair. staying in the morning meant wanting more, more visits, more time together

he didn’t have time for anyone else but himself

it was the same process: leaving at midnight, meeting up for drinks, and disappearing into the night at 3. for years, that’s all azuma knew how to do

but then you came along like out of a dream, appearing into his life out of thin air one night

azuma had his face down as he quickly walked towards the dorms silently, his blazer too tight and v–neck too revealing for the hungry eyes staring at him

passing by the convenience store, the LED lights glowed as azuma stepped inside to avoid the heavy set man that was just trailing behind him again. thank god for rest stops, azuma refused to have someone taint his appearance

maybe he was doing something right with his looks if men couldn’t stop following him home, azuma thought, unaware of how he was basing his self worth on creepy attention

the store was lined with racks of cheap food that was sure to give him acne and oily skin. azuma grimanced at the idea of breaking out, or god forbid, having a wrinkle! he’d get the worst possible attention, the one that came with gossips and insults. no, he needed every stranger’s validation on his beauty. he was pretty, right?

turning into one of the aisles to make a call for a ride home, azuma stopped dead as he saw you bent over your cart that was surely not cleaned, debating over two food options that were not healthy in the slightest

shit. he didn’t look, presentable, right now. azuma’s hair was tied down to the best of its abilities, but he could feel the flyaways from his scalp. his casual suit had lint and creases. even his shoes were smudged despite polishing them last night

a first impression, and you were going to forever remember him as an unkempt, messy fool who wasn’t socially acceptable. azuma felt his heart skip a beat as he maintained a charming, easygoing aura, attempting to scoot past you without drawing attention for once

“hey, you! come here a second!” you ordered, not even looking up as you were staring at the colorful advertisements labelled on each plastic bag

azuma held in a sigh as he turned around slowly, forcing a pleasant smile as he hummed a questioning tone against his will. his clients never liked it when he disagreed or talked too much, so wide eyes and thin smiles were the way to go

“what’s the best snack—” you began, pushing your hood out of the way as you finally looked at azuma. azuma who believed he was too ugly and your silence was a confirmation of that

“whoa.” you dropped randomly, squeezing one of the bags so hard that it popped open loudly much to both your dismay

flinching, azuma reprimanded himself mentally for showing any sign of weakness before hearing your laugh amidst the quiet neon store. you sounded out of place over the consistent fan rotating in the background and rare car or two speeding outside

“my bad! sorry, you’re just...” you trailed off, putting both bags anyway into your cart to buy anyways as you stood up to his level

azuma was ready to hear it. how he wasn’t even good enough to be outside right now. how he should try harder to please society’s beauty standards. how there were so many better and—

“beautiful. yeah, that’s it.” you finished, nervously smiling as you suddenly found the stock of usa–imported snacks the most interesting in the store

you’d never tell him until much later on, but azuma appeared like an angel in the dinky, rundown gas station. looking up, you saw his silver periwinkle hair illuminated in the bright white lights like a halo. his white undershirt was bright against his smooth skin and his striking sharp yellow eyes felt like a godsend. azuma was so beautiful in that moment, he took your breath away. he was so gorgeous and heavenly, it was a surprise you didn’t drop to worship him

azuma paused, his mind blanking for the first time in his entire life. he always had something to say, something to add that made the other person want him even more. but you, you didn’t look like you wanted to devour him whole and take advantage of him. you just looked... in awe? like, he was really pretty.

azuma turned red

azuma was blushing uncontrollably, because it’s almost as if you meant it. did you really think he was beautiful? more than pretty, more than an artificial sense of self? even like this? he wasn’t even at his best, he was average. there was no reason he could have warranted such a dramatic reaction

typically, azuma would easily take the compliment and have a graceful act of appreciation as his consistent insecurity over his appearance thudded in his ears

but this time, he didn’t know what to say. there was nothing to say. did you actually think he was beautiful?

azuma subconsciously lifted his hand to his ear, which was burning hot to the touch. but he didn’t feel embarrassed, he wanted to feel like the summer more

less cold, less frigid like he was frozen in time like a snowman. maybe for once, azuma wanted to be as fluid and everchanging as the water. azuma wanted to be melted, and your sunny smile burned him

two people stood inside a 24/7 convenience store, staring at each other with hundreds of questions but comfort they hadn’t found in anyone else. the cars outside whizzed past in the distance, the street lights changed colors, the sun was about to rise on their relationship. things were changing. they were changing

azuma blushed as red as the string of fate looped around their pinkies. he would do so many, many more times and you were always there to make it happen

[randombtsprincessa]

Bold

Author: Randombtsprincessa

Characters: Jung Hoseok x Kim Seokjin 

Words: 4.1k

Genre/Rating: Smut/fluff (NC - 17)

Prompt: 2seok with bad boy Jin (think tattoos, motorbikes, intimidating af but rescues kittens type) and model student shy and sweet Hoseok.

Warning: Clubbing, social drinking, mentions of drunken sex, tattoed blond Jin, flirting, LGBTQ+ fic, MxM fic, bad father, bad childhood mentions, volunteering work, kissing, blowjob in a garage, unprotected oral (male receiving) [be safe folks].

A/N: The following work is a part of @ficswithluv ‘s amazing project Change With Luv. It was commissioned by the lovely Ducky ( @diedinwarofhormones​ ) Thank you for the commission and let’s hope the donation helps bring about some really needed reforms! It is my very first mxm fic so please be a little lenient in judgement and I kept the smut not very explicit just in case (also because I exceeded the word limit shhh) so yeah. I hope you enjoy! Please do check out the project to help bring some change to the world and art to the world! 

Now, do welcome the gif that brought together the last scene of the fic!

In life, there are three sets of people who go hand in hand.

There are the people who are completely alike, do everything together, share hobbies and end up being the ‘goals’ that are usually portrayed on every hyped up couples instagram.

There are people who seem to just mesh well, go about in their personal bubbles as things either go well or not.

And then…there are the people who are nothing alike. They are poles apart, one league away from each other.

Yet, they are brought closer and closer to each other and gel together in a manner that astounds the people surrounding them.

Or so Jung Hoseok had read somewhere; in a book, maybe in his adolescence, in those past teen years that seem like a dream.

He was grown up now, in college and while he had kept on the rosy tint in his cheeks, he had shed off most of his earlier romantic notions.

After all, college was a step forward towards the future he craved desperately. And he worked hard for it, to graduate and then carry on further into a blissful, stress free life.

So, when he came in touch with the circle in which Kim Seokjin moved, well…

All those ideals and notions came back like a sucker punch.

To be very honest, a club scene where there was too much light but nothing could be seen, where a bass thumped that irritatingly made you feel like you had a second heartbeat, too many sweaty bodies that merged, collided to a rambling beat and alcohol that cost half a days’ worth income – even on a campus ground, was not to Hoseok’s taste.

However, his best friend Namjoon had dragged him out of his room this time, screaming, wailing, and crawling – for once to pry Hoseok away from those chemistry books that still had equations pounding in his cranium.

Many minutes after arriving at the party, Namjoon had disappeared.

Hoseok had no idea where; if there was someone who was more shy, nerdy or awkward than him…it was Kim Namjoon.

He hoped he was getting laid somewhere, that way he’d be much less annoyed when Hoseok inevitably left to go home.

He turned his torso around to the crowd, and although he could see absolutely nothing clearly, he tried, he really did.

He reached up, straightened onto the bar stool so he could look over the multiple heads. Most of the flashing lights glinted against his glasses, blinding him and he sighed. Slumping back, he admitted defeat, looking along the length of the bar.

Maybe he should order another drink?

It wasn’t midnight just yet. He could make it till 12 and then slip away. After all, if Namjoon was around and…not otherwise occupied, he would come over so they could both go back to the dorm.

They both had early and lengthy classes for god’s sake.

As he stretched out a hand, to attract the bartender’s attention, he saw him.

The angle the man sat at made it impossible for him to get a clear look at his face. However, it was easy to discern the hunch of his shoulders, too wide, clad in a smooth leather jacket that exploded rainbows whenever a streak of light bounced off of the man.

Deep blond hair ruffled on top of the head and he could barely make out the hints of a neck tattoo.

The bartender soon came over to take his order and after refilling the drink, Hoseok decided that he could stay a bit more, just to see what the stranger looked like maybe.

“Buddy, take a picture. It’ll last longer.”

Hoseok started, the rim of the glass jolting against his teeth at the move as the man turned his head to look at him head on, one dark eyebrow quirked.

Suffice it to say, the man was breathtaking.

The soft blond hair accentuated the poufy lips of the man, glistening wet from the alcohol. The leather jacket showed off a swimmer’s body, a silver clasp at his thin waist.

Hoseok was tempted to think that this man put his last boyfriend to shame.

“I’m sorry; I must’ve just stared at you. I was zoning out.” Hoseok excused himself.

“Don’t worry about it.” The man grinned, leaning forward so he would be audible. “You here with someone?”

“My roommate…he’s disappeared.”

The stranger nodded, taking a swig from his glass. “Yeah, that happens around here. If you wanna zone out a bit more, feel free but only cause you’re cute.”

Hoseok’s mouth fell open at the flirting, gaping like a fish as the man grinned yet again, this time feral.

“I…I wasn’t…”

“Like I said, don’t worry about it, pretty boy.”

The man was taking the final gulp, placing the glass next to Hoseok, along with a couple bills under the glass. “Buy yourself a drink from me, would you?”

Hoseok could only stare at the glass and money, still shocked at the bold advance of a complete stranger.

“Oh and hey pretty boy,”

Hoseok turned to look at the exiting male.

“Next time, I’m gonna start charging.”

He turned after that, not hindered by any of the swirling bodies in his path, leaving Hoseok to wonder if maybe he should’ve gotten the name of the man, or at least given his own.

“You’re, like, not even listening to me.” Namjoon snapped Hoseok’s attention towards himself, a pen tapping insistently against his notebook.

“Yes I am,” Hoseok immediately defended but it was too late.

Namjoon had already shoved the study materials that were strewn across the table to one side, both arms coming up to cradle his head. “Go on, purge.”

“I don’t have anything to say to you, I swear.” Hoseok could hear the defensiveness in his own voice and while it was partly true, he knew he would have to cave in the face of his best friend.

“Fine…I met this guy at the club party a couple nights ago.”

Namjoon stared.

“The one you left me alone at.”

That seemed to jog his memory, causing a delicate sheen of plum to spread along his cheeks. “I said I was sorry, I mean...I saw Taehyung and he looked like –,”

“A dream, yes, I got that.” Hoseok stopped himself from rolling his eyes at the slightly…enormous crush that Namjoon harbored towards the popular junior.

“You didn’t tell me about this guy though,” Namjoon continued.

What was there to tell? Yes, he’d conversed briefly with an absolute stranger for not more than five minutes. Yes, he had never felt this wildly attracted to anyone before. At least, not so much that warranted mooning over him for more than a day. He also knew that there was a good chance that he would never run into him again.

He didn’t even know his name. There was nothing tying the both of them.

Unless he wanted to end up like Namjoon, in a puppy love with a guy he was too scared to talk to, he’d have to move on.

After all; Hoseok thought back to the sleek black lines that ran along the man’s skin, the tight leather that clung to him, smelling of liquor that was alluring in its own right; he was someone Hoseok would not usually find himself associated with.

He was probably a patented bad boy, and Hoseok well…he was model student.

“You just flaked on me again, bro.” Namjoon poked his arm.

“Sorry, so, you didn’t get laid that night then? Why didn’t you come find me?”

“I kind of did; but I don’t know if you can call it that. The chick and I both were pretty smashed and all I could think about was Taehyung’s --,”

“No thanks, I don’t need that imagery in my head.” Hoseok interrupted with a sharp flutter of his hands, raising them to cover his ears.

Namjoon broke out laughing, before shaking his head. “So, do you know anything about this mysterious man of yours?”

“No, but I do know, we have a test tomorrow, so let’s get back to work, shall we?”

Yes, he did know one thing. It was to never hold true to ideals about anything. Somehow they always got smashed to pieces.

Hoseok had been right to let go of past ideals as he grew up.

He was sitting in the café, books open as he checked the answers to his test. A smooth cream latte sat near his hand with a plate of the café bakery’s special made chocolate chip cookies. Hoseok and Namjoon being regulars meant the staff knew their preferences and it was a god send when the both of them would stumble in, bleary and hazy from their workload to a ready steaming cup and some desperately needed sugar.

He had attempted to put away thoughts of any blonde men that may have crossed his path to solely worry about how chemistry worked in anatomy and it had somewhat paid off, if only all his answers mirrored the ones in his notes.

So, when he heard that same voice, calling out from the wide open door that had haunted him for the past few days, he had to look up.

In the daylight, if possible The Stranger looked much more beautiful than what the club lights paid homage to. He was awfully tall and broad, the same leather jacket and belt still wrapped around him, only this time, he had a helmet clasped under an arm and his hair was mussed from probably being trapped under it.

Big boots thudded, as Hoseok watched the man make his way to the counter, a hard smile ready for the counter worker who clearly stuttered in talking with him, while boxing up a few things.

Must be another regular; Hoseok thought back if he had ever seen him around but glossed over him. Nothing came to mind, even as the man slid over his payment before grabbing the handles of the bag, laughing at something the barista said.

Sensing that he was about to turn about, Hoseok looked down quickly, nearly burying his face behind the book.

He prayed; eyes closed that he hadn’t been caught. While he had hoped for another sight of his stranger, Hoseok hadn’t accounted for what he would do if it did happen. All the times, he’d imagined meeting up in his daydreams, they always stopped short when it came to a response on his part.

“…hey, it’s you.”

Hoseok gulped, wondering why he wasn’t invisible as he looked up, caught in the dark gaze of The Stranger again.

“It is you. Remember me?” The man tilted his head, shifting the helmet in his arms.

“Oh…yeah, in the club, of course,” Hoseok’s voice shook, hands dropping the book to the table as he worked hard to form coherent sentences.

The man’s eyes flashed to the books, grinning with those teeth flashing. “You’re a student.”

There was no room to deny it even as Hoseok chuckled. “Yeah, what about you?”

“Oh I’m done. I just hang about now.” He lowered his voice as if admitting to a mock crime and after a deep breath, Hoseok let out a much more relaxed grin.

In the light, it was easier to tell how different they really were. He was leather-clad, motorcycle helmet laden. Hoseok was wearing a knit sweater and simple jeans and sneakers, a school bag at his feet and his books strewn about a table.

Worlds apart…

Hoseok was someone easy to approach, to talk to, while this man was obviously not someone who anyone would go to first. However, even with the dark aura that hung about him, the way he talked, to ease Hoseok up, revealed something much softer beneath him.

“Speaking of which, I need to go. I will see you around I guess.” The man said.

Your name - give him your damn name, Hobi.

“My name is Hoseok. I forgot to mention it last time.” He said quickly.

The man paused in opening the door, a quirk to his lips. “I’ll remember that.”

And he was gone, with Hoseok watching his walk to a Harley parked nearby, straddling it as he put on the helmet. The Stranger hadn’t afforded Hoseok his own name…

Maybe they were too different. And maybe Hoseok wasn’t the only one who was aware of that fact.

Even if - Hoseok thought as he stared at the boy sitting opposite him - he wasn’t the only one who knew how different their lives were, neither seemed too intent on cutting their losses just at the moment.

Hoseok hadn’t timed himself, he swore up and down that the reason he was frequenting the café more and more was the increased need for coffee and not the need to catch an elusive Seokjin, whose name he’d caught only accidentally when the barista called for his order.

However, now here they were sitting across from each other.

He was still just as intimidating at first glance, a cold tilt to his head at anyone who he didn’t favor approaching him. A light scoff followed whenever he overheard something particularly obnoxious and rough looking fingers that Hoseok couldn’t help but want to touch.

He was in too deep, he figured. His mind had compartmentalized the raging crush he harbored for the new and exciting addition to his world but he knew that amidst his straight As and glowing recommendations, Jin would not only not sit well, but also appear…unsavory.

And Hoseok absolutely, blissfully, just didn’t care.

He had had a bad childhood, Seokjin had told him. A rich father, who had abandoned his family to ‘fuck about’ as he put it, with packets of money deposited for their upkeep but Jin didn’t touch it.

His mother had paid through the money in a trust after he had graduated in business but instead of putting his degree to use, he’d started working in a garage, now partner in it.

That explained the motorcycle, Hoseok had joked while Jin had only shrugged.

“I also volunteer a lot of my free time. My mom, well, I love her but she’s got her own life now…and she puts all of my father’s money in the trust still so I don’t have to bother her about anything. I don’t think she enjoys having a reminder of my dad around anyway.”

All Hoseok could do was nod his head sadly at him.

So when Seokjin offered to show Hoseok about the volunteering he did, he jumped at the opportunity. He had a chance to see what the man really was like under the façade of the cool bravado and Hoseok could feel intrigue tingling at his fingertips.

He wasn’t disappointed.

Seokjin took him to an animal shelter first, filled with puppies with big eyes, kittens that purred and curled up under their chins, bigger dogs and cats that were soft to touch and clearly abandoned and starved for loved. There were birds too, brightly colored and some wild and a couple of pigs and horses. Each animal that Jin visited seemed to love him, curling under his touch, molding them to him.

The next place they visited was a children’s library. A large group of toddlers shrieked when they saw him, swarming up to him and begging for a story. Hoseok watched with a bemused smile for an hour as Jin made animal and vehicle noises to entertain the spellbound kids.

When finally, they visited a retirement home, it was then that Hoseok saw the brief haunted look behind Seokjin’s eyes. It was just a glance, as he wiped an old woman’s mouth as she chuckled motherly at him, the rice that clung to her chin not fazing Jin in the slightest.

“It’s like having a family of my own.” He whispered as Hoseok put a hand to his shoulder, still hesitant.

“You miss them.”

“I do, but I would rather do this than let them be burdened by my presence again.”

“Maybe, they don’t feel that way.”

Seokjin didn’t reply to that, instead standing with a lovable smile to the lady who waved goodbye. “I’ll drop you off at your dorm.” He said.

His voice scared Hoseok. There was an air of finality there, as if he knew he’d shown Hoseok much more than was necessary. More than he needed to, to a guy who he probably wouldn’t see much of in the future.

“I’m not ready to go just yet.”

Hoseok knew he sounded desperate but there was nothing he could do. He had to accept his reality.

Seokjin turned with a curious look, puzzled at the heaviness in Hoseok’s voice before smirking. “Then there’s one more place I can show you. Let’s grab some dinner first.”

“This is amazing.” Hoseok whispered, awed as Jin flicked on light switches.

When Jin had said he was going to take him to his garage, Hoseok expected something like a shed, greased and metal barred. This was, this was sleek, all black steel and huge lights swinging from the ceiling.

“I spent a good deal of dad’s money on this. Hence, why I got the partnership, I saved the place from sinking. The upscale décor brings in some solid clients so, I guess you could say my sense of style did the job.” Jin kicked at a few strewn crates, turning to throw a wink at Hoseok.

Hoseok looked down at the remnants burger in his hand, biting the piece down into his mouth so as to not answer.

He watched, surreptitiously as Jin undid the jacket, removing his arms from the leather sleeves to reveal an extremely thin white tank top that sent a swoop down Hoseok’s throat, settling somewhere in his gut.

Jin turned; pausing Hoseok’s ogling at his muscled back as he stretched out his arms over his head, a thin strip of his stomach showing.

Hoseok swallowed loudly, the bite of burger going the wrong path and he broke out in coughs.

“Hey, what…” Seokjin laughed, pulling out a water bottle from a mini fridge to pass it to the wheezing boy. “Calm down, pretty boy. I know the burger’s good but eat slowly.”

Hoseok pulled the bottle away, eyes still watering.

This was too much; here he was, Hoseok, a nice kid who tried to steer clear from all sorts of ‘trouble’ and he was here with Kim Seokjin, someone who people would say embodied trouble.

And what was he doing?

Why, all he wanted was Seokjin to ram against him on the surface of one of the cars of course.

He was worse than Namjoon.

“I think…I should go.” Hoseok stuttered, casting his eyes down. This was it, the final time he put himself in the path of such temptations. Jin would never look twice at someone like him. He was in way over his head.

“Hey pretty boy,”

Hoseok looked up at Seokjin, who now stood too close to his face, blond hair hanging in his eyes, lips pulled into his teeth.

“Tell me something, why are you so scared of me?” Jin asked.

Hoseok blinked, all previous concerns evaporating. “Wait, what…? I’m not scared of you.” He said, conviction strengthening his voice.

“Really,” Jin moved in, eyes dropping to the way Hoseok chewed on his bottom lip. “So, why do you keep pulling away? You stare at me, flirt with me, hold on to me on the bike, but when I bring you here and when we’re alone for too long you withdraw.”

Hoseok thudded back against something and Jin took advantage, lifting his hands and putting them on either side of his body, caging him in.

“I’m…I’m not scared of you.” Hoseok sighed, giving in. “I’m scared of well, my feelings, as cliché as it seems.”

“Why?” Seokjin asked smoothly.

“Because we’re so different; I mean you’re a rich kid who acts like a bad boy but is so kind and sweet under all that toughness and I’m…I’m a good sweet boy who would never - never be able to keep up with someone like you. I’m putting myself up for disappointment when you realize it too.”

Seokjin stared at Hoseok, hard and deep. He looked almost angry – dangerous...gorgeous.

“You know what I realized actually?” He asked. There was a pleasant lilt to his tone but Hoseok could feel the undercurrents of a threat to it.

He leaned in, making Hoseok press himself to the wall, his body almost vibrating from the proximity.

“I realized that you’re exactly the kind of person who can keep up with me. I realized that it doesn’t matter if we belong to different circles. I realized that I should probably kiss you right now because you might be a grade-A kid but baby, you’re fucking stupid.

Hoseok had no time to even draw a full breath. Jin had reared back and then slammed Hoseok back again. The hands that Hoseok had dreamed of touching now gripped his cheeks, Jin’s mouth fully on his, swallowing the surprised squeaks he embarrassingly let out.

Seokjin chuckled against his lips, pulling back just enough to nip at his chin. “Fuck, I should’ve done that in the club.”

Hoseok reached forward to tug Jin back, taking over the kiss this time as he delved into the older boy’s mouth, tasting the soda on his tongue.

“Not a complete good boy, then.” Jin commented, reaching back to tug off the tank.

Hoseok lounged against the wall, idly tracing over the tattoos that ran over Jin’s exquisite body. “What do they mean?” He asked as Jin tugged off Hoseok’s shirt too.

Jin paused, glancing down at his torso.

“This,” he raised his arm. “A compass to point me in the right direction,” He moved to his shoulder. “The lion to keep me strong and brave,” he smirked suddenly, grabbing Hoseok’s hand and placing it against the burning skin of his chest. “The tree keeps me kind and nurturing.”

Hoseok met Jin’s gaze, running his hand down to his belt, fiddling with the clasp.

“Wait,” Jin stopped him, shoving his hand away. “This is about you. Let me take care of you tonight.”

“What do you mean, oh,” Hoseok’s voice pitched higher as Jin fluidly sank to his knees in front of him. Deft, nimble fingers undid the buttons and zipper on his jeans, pulling the band and the underwear down to free his gorged shaft.

“Fuck,” Jin and Hoseok both let out as Jin swept his hands against the soft skin. He was hard, Hoseok marveled, hard enough to drip over Jin’s palms which he smeared back onto his skin to make the slide easier.

A loud moan escaped Hoseok’s parted lips when Jin engulfed him, first the tip and then most of his length. He jolted, head falling back as his hips pushed forward on their own volition.

Jin kept his eyes on him, a smirk straining his lips at the vulnerable stance of the lithe man. While he would usually be on the receiving end of this, there was something so sexy, so erotic about watching a man lose it over head as he throated as much as he could.

Hoseok meanwhile fumbled with his hands, alternating between fisting his own hair and tugging at Jin’s to further lower himself into the heat of his cavern. If he knew this was what he would be missing out, there would’ve been no way he would have agonized over it for this long.

Seokjin continued moving, squelching sounds echoing throughout the empty garage that sounded so wonderfully taboo, Hoseok nearly came right there. The thrill of it; the way someone could walk right in, catch them with Seokjin sucking him deep into his mouth caused his eyes to roll back.

“That’s it, pretty boy. Come for me.” Jin coaxed from below and before he could catch his breath, his throat closed up, his body hunching when Jin pulled him back, and the tip of his cock brushing the back of his throat, deeper still.

With an almost pornographic groan, Hoseok unloaded himself into Jin’s throat, his lover keeping him in till he was fully empty.

Jin pulled away from him, color flaming high in Hoseok’s cheeks at the wet sound that echoed through the near empty garage.

All he could do was fall into the surprisingly sweet kiss that Jin pressed to lips, the taste of him mingling in his own mouth. Jin handed him his shirt with an impish grin.

“Next time,” he pulled Hoseok in by the waist. “I’m going to make you pay for ‘zoning out’ in the club.”

[illfoandillfie]

Curtains

Pairing: Roger x Fem Reader

Summery: There’s a problem with your curtains...you don’t have any.

Warning: Smut (18+), Exhibitionism, masturbating, public fingering, unprotected sex, dom!roger, little bit of choking.

Words: 2305

A/N: No one asked for this and I didn’t intend to write it but 🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️ Inspired by THIS ask I sent to @idontbelievethiss (who also very kindly beta read it for me) about living with a big ol glass door in my bedroom that doesn’t have any curtains on it (true story). This fic is an ode to exhibitionism and uhhhhhh I need to get me a neighbour as cute as Roger.

Taglist:  @somekindof-cheese @dtfrogertaylor   @ezmina98  @vee-ndetta @atomic-watermelon @kellypenac @labessieisallama​ @deakyclicks @jennyggggrrr​

The flat you’d rented was small – amounting to barely more than a bedroom, bathroom and kitchen-slash-living-slash-dining area – and needed a little work. Nothing huge, just small cosmetic stuff that even the poorest student could fix themselves without too much trouble. Which was okay since you and everyone else on the street were students, and none of you were particularly well off. It gave you something to bond with your neighbours over. Or it would if you could pluck up the courage to talk to any of them. You’d waved at the boys in the place next door once but the blonde one was too much your type for you to talk to without feeling flustered and you were already nervous enough just moving in. So you focused on settling in and imagined the conversations you’d have about the broken lightbulbs and loose taps. 

 The most annoying thing you’d had to fix was the curtains. Not the curtains themselves, though they were worn and faded and musty enough to warrant replacing. No, it was the brackets that screwed into the wall and held the whole curtain rod up. They were splintered and chipped like someone had once tried to swing from the curtain rod and found it couldn’t quite hold up the extra weight. Someone probably had. Drunk most likely. Either way it felt like one harsh tug on a curtain would bring the whole thing down on your head. Which meant you’d had to spend an afternoon trying to find a screwdriver that fit so you could remove them and then you’d had to go to the hardware store to buy new brackets and screws. Of course, now it was a full month later and the new curtains you’d picked up still weren’t hanging. Your fault, obviously. The brackets you’d picked first were much too small to hold the rod you already had. Then you’d realised you need different screws and a new screwdriver since none of yours were the right size. And then between classes and adjusting to your new life it had kind of slipped your mind.  

It possibly should have bothered you more that the door that led from your bedroom into the back garden was left curtain-less, especially since it was a glass door. It had bothered you at first. You’d cursed yourself for a week straight for not fixing the damn thing, staring out into the dark garden as you tried to sleep, feeling like a good hard orgasm would help send you off but also feeling uneasy at doing it with no protection from the outside world. But then there’d come a night when you were just so overwhelmingly horny you couldn’t ignore it. A week of rushed orgasms in the shower and on the couch had left you desperate for something better, where you could take your time and really enjoy it. And you couldn’t shake the image of the blonde from next door. It was dark outside, you’d reasoned, and it wasn’t like you were facing the main road – just the back garden where no one was likely to go, especially not at quarter to midnight. And besides, you were safely hidden away under your covers in your dark room so there was no reason to believe anyone would see you. You slept better that night than you had since you moved in.  

A few nights later you did the same thing, after your cute blonde neighbour smiled at you. And then again the next night after he waved hello. And then the next day, because at nine in the morning on a Saturday you could almost guarantee you were the only one awake so really there was no risk and what else could you do when the only thing in your head was the neighbour’s laugh. You’d stayed tucked up that time, carefully watching for any sign of movement out the back door, but gradually you let the covers drop little by little. Before you knew it, you were regularly getting off in full view of the back garden. You knew that the chances of someone actually seeing you were tiny but something about the mere possibility of it happening had you reaching for the vibrator again.  

Which was the only explanation you had as to why you were yet again spread out on your bed, at two in the afternoon, skirt and underpants thrown to the side, shirt in a crumpled heap next to you. You held the vibrator against your clit once more, moaning as your orgasm began its approach again. You’d been going for twenty minutes or so with the vibe on the lowest setting, pressing it to your clit on and off, teasing yourself with it. Part of you wanted to flick it onto a higher setting now and just let yourself cum but part of you wanted to hold out, let it build a bit slower. You closed your eyes and let out a needy whine as you pulled the vibrator away again. After a few calming breaths you pressed it back to your clit. You could already feel your orgasm, picking up almost where you’d left it. Right as you were considering switching to a faster speed your eyes drifted to the door. A familiar figure was out there, in your back garden, casually looking into your room, blue eyes watching you intently. Your heart constricted with shock as your eyes met and you came, moaning loudly. By the time you’d got yourself back together he was gone. 

 The fact that the cute blonde from next door that you may have a slight crush on saw you like that was enough to have you blushing for the rest of the day. Even the slightest sign of his long golden tresses had you ducking for cover. By the evening you were desperate for a drink so, after checking the coast was clear, you headed down to the local pub. Within minutes you were stationed at the bar, two empty shotglasses beside you and a full pint in your hands, trying to drown out the memory of those eyes through your door, and the small voice that was telling you to see if it could happen again. It was going as well as you could hope it would when you saw those same eyes fix on you in the mirror above the bar. Cheeks already burning, you watched as he downed his drink and walked in your direction.  “I knew I was good but I didn’t realise I could make a girl cum just by lookin’ at her” You turned to look at your neighbour, his back was to the bar and he leaned back on both elbows as he looked you over. “That- that’s not what happened. It wasn’t you,” you managed to stutter out.  He pushed himself to his full height, turning toward you, “But I think it did have something to do with me, even if it was just by virtue of my impeccable timing. See, I think you like knowing people are watching you. Innocent shy little thing like you doesn’t have curtains in her bedroom? Has to mean something. And I think it means I could have you cumming on my fingers right here in a matter of minutes because you like the danger and you like being naughty where anyone could see you.  You struggled not to whimper as you listened to him, heart rate increasing with every word. And by the way he laughed he could tell just what an effect he was having on you.   “I’m Roger.”  “You’re my neighbour yeah?”  “One of. And what should I call you?”  “Y/N”  “Well Y/N,” his fingers tickled your knee, “shall we test my theory?”  You were already uncrossing your legs, letting them fall open so he could trail his fingers up the inside of your thigh. His touch crept higher and higher up your leg as he finally slipped into your underwear.  “Already soaked.”  You breathing was heavier than it had been a moment ago, eyes darting around the crowd on the search for anyone who might suspect what was happening.  “Look at me, love. Eyes stay on me while my fingers are in your tight little cunt.”  All you could do was nod as he slowly worked two fingers deep into you, terrified that if you tried to speak you’d alert someone and everything would grind to a halt. And then he leaned into your ear, speaking softly despite the surrounding noise.   “God you’re fucking filthy aren’t you. Have to be to get off like this. Y’know I was coming over to introduce myself properly this afternoon. Seen you around enough, thought I should. No answer when I knocked at the front so I decide to try round the back in case you couldn’t hear me. And wasn’t I glad I did. Didn’t expect to see the shy new girl being such a slut, practically inviting everyone to watch her. Guess it was my lucky day.”  You couldn’t hold in a whimper as Roger increased the pace of his fingers.  “Haven’t stopped thinking about you since. About the way you came when you saw me. How your eyes went wide and how your cunt looked clenching around nothing. All the ways I want to fuck you in front of that door.”  You came with a gasp, shuddering quietly as he pulled his fingers free and wiped them on your skirt.  “Looks like I was right. Should I take you home now?”  You knew he was being cocky and presumptive but all you could manage was a small, half begged, “Please.” 

The moment he was in your room his lips were on your neck, sending pulses of electricity through your body as he unzipped your skirt. He detached himself briefly to yank your shirt over your head and then he was back, sucking at your skin as you tilted your head to encourage him. His hands were warm as they ran over your body and yours trembled slightly as they tried to unfasten his pants. You managed to push them down past his hips, setting his cock free, before he spun you round and pushed you towards the bed.  “Hands and knees facing the door,” he ordered as he wiggled the rest of the way out of his jeans.  You paused to pull your underwear off and then hurried to obey. You watched from your position as Roger pulled his own shirt off and then he disappeared behind you. The bed dipped and your heart pounded against your chest.  “Being such a good slut for me,” he said as he grasped your hip, “wanna hear you moaning like you were this afternoon.”  The ‘yes’ you were about to give was lost in a whine as he eased into you. He gave you a moment to adjust, kneading your arse, and then his fingers were digging into you as he began fucking you in earnest. It was rough and deep and there wasn’t much more you could do than clutch at the sheets and whine his name. You dropped your head forward but almost straight away his hand was around your throat forcing you to look up again.  “Gotta keep looking at that door. Never know when someone could come by. And you wanna be seen don’t you.”  You didn’t respond, too focused on how good he felt, but you did squeal when he pulled you backwards onto your knees, his hand squeezing your throat, his cock buried deep inside you.  “Maybe I should call my bandmates over, let them see how slutty the new girl is.”   You shook your head as much as you could under his grip but Roger just laughed in your ear.  “Your head says no but by the way your cunt just clenched around me I’d say you quite like the idea.”  You shook your head again, “Please move Roger, please fuck me.”  “No,” He wrapped his free arm around your stomach, holding you still against him, “not till you admit you like the idea of people watching you like this,”  You bit your lip, trying to wiggle out of his hold but it was too tight. You gave in, “fine Roger you win. I like it.” “Like what?”  “Roger, fuck, I like the idea of being watched. I came when you saw me because you saw me and I kinda want someone to come over and see me now.”  “Was that so hard to admit? Silly little slut.”   You couldn’t respond because both his hands were gripping your hips, setting you to bouncing on his cock and the only coherent words you could form were ‘oh’ and ‘fuck’. You grabbed onto one of his wrists for support as you brought your other hand to your clit, furiously chasing your release.  “Christ,” Roger groaned.   You were sure you’d find bruises in the morning from how hard he was holding you but as your orgasm hit nothing could have convinced you it wasn’t worth it.  You chanted his name, each separate “Roger” growing louder and overlapping until it sounded like one continuous word.  He came with a grunt, followed by a gruff, “fuck” as you collapsed to the mattress together.  

He stayed long enough to catch his breath and get redressed, talking to you while you lay where you’d landed when he’d lifted you off himself.   “Next time I’ll fuck you up against the door shall I? Or maybe I’ll open it and let the rest of the street hear you.”  You laughed softly without really understanding, watching as he pulled his shirt back on and made to leave. He paused in the doorway, “And hey, welcome to the street.” And then he was disappearing into the darkness.

[argylemnwrites]

It Couldn’t Wait Another Moment - Chapter 17

Pairing: Drake Walker x MC (Riley Liu)

Book: The Royal Romance (Canon Divergent from Book 2, Chapter 15)

Word Count: ~5100

Rating: R (language, implied inability to consent)

Summary: Drake goes to Ramsford while he figures out his next steps, Leo has something to ask Liam, and Hana is at her wit’s end

Author’s Note: I’m just gonna throw a trigger warning here that there is an interaction in this chapter where a man is clearly looking to engage in sexual activity with a woman who is not able to consent at that time. There is no actual sexual assault or violence, but it’s the type of thing that may hit close to home, so I thought I’d give some warning. It’s in the third and final “section” of this chapter if you wish to avoid it.

This series diverges from TRR canon, where instead of waiting to discuss his relationship with Riley until their last night in NYC, leaving her a note while Liam is proposing to her, Drake tackles this topic as soon as possible after Tariq makes his statement and Riley’s name is cleared. To catch up on this series, you can find the previous chapters in my masterlist (link is located in my bio).

“Hello?” Drake called out, glancing around as he stepped into the foyer of the Ramsford estate. He wasn’t surprised that there wasn’t any staff to greet him, given the Beaumont’s current financial situation, but he figured he should announce his presence somehow. Not just lurk around until someone found him. He was pretty sure he was the only person invited for dinner tonight, after all.

He hadn’t really wanted to come for this dinner, but when Savannah had called him, excited that he was still around and inviting him over now that she was settled at Ramsford, he just couldn’t bring himself to say no. He’d seen so little of his sister over the past couple of years, and even before then, he’d always found it hard to tell her “no.” So here he was, hoping that Maxwell and Bertrand had enough whiskey to get him through the evening.

“Drake, is that you?” Maxwell’s voice called out, echoing through the halls as he rounded the corner, “Hey, glad you could make it!”

“Yeah…” Drake trailed off as Maxwell came over. Maxwell was clearly going in for the hug, but thought better of it when he saw the look on Drake’s face. 

“So, yeah. Dinner might be a bit yet. Savannah is cooking but Bertrand has decided to ‘supervise’ as this is ‘their first dinner party’ as a couple or whatever. I wandered through the kitchen about 20 minutes ago, and it was not exactly going great.”

Drake just shook his head, “I hardly qualify as a dinner party.”

“Yeah, well… try telling Bertrand that. Do you want a drink while we wait for whatever the hell we’re gonna get for dinner at some point?”

“What do you think?”

“Right, stupid question. Come on, I’ll get you some whiskey.”

Drake followed Maxwell through the halls to the private lounge and took a seat on one of the couches as Maxwell wandered over to the bar cart and preparing a whiskey on the rocks and a glass of white wine before he joined Drake on the opposite sofa.

“So, has Riley been having a good time with Hana?”

“What?”

“Hana told me they were going to check out Riley’s favorite place for Chinese take out today and that she was going to see how it stacked up to authentic Cantonese cuisine. I was wondering if you’d heard the final verdict.”

“Maxwell, what the hell are you talking about?”

“Hana’s in New York,” said Maxwell, squinting slightly as he took a sip of his wine. “Drake, did you not know that?”

“No, she uhh… didn’t tell me that.” Drake downed his whiskey in one, pushing himself up off the couch and stalking over the liquor. That information warranted another drink.

Hana was in New York with Riley. Riley couldn’t be bothered to text him, but she was taking Hana out and keeping Maxwell posted about everything they were up to, apparently. It just was him she wanted nothing to do with. 

It was like every other time, and this time, he knew it was his own damn fault that she left him. He’d fucked everything up. He drank his second glass in one swig. He just wanted to go back to his quarters and be alone with his pain, but he could hardly duck out of a family dinner where he was the only guest. Pouring himself one more whiskey, he took a deep breath and rejoined Maxwell. He was gonna have to get through this night somehow.

Maxwell glanced up, tapping his finger on the side of his wine glass as Drake sat down. The silence was tense for a few moments before Maxwell broke it. 

“Drake, I wasn’t trying to pry, I swear. I’m just worried about Riley and I thought maybe-”

Drake jerked his head up and stared at Maxwell, “Why are you worried about Liu?”

Maxwell tensed for a second, “Look, I’m not trying to butt in where it’s not my business or anything-”

“Really? Since when have you had any sense of boundaries?” Drake snapped

“Hey! I’ve given you plenty of space! I get that you and Liam had to work through your… issues, or whatever. But she’s like my sister, and I have a right to be worried about her, too!”

“Yeah, I get it. It’s all my fucking fault. I already feel like shit about it so-”

“Oh come on, that’s not what I’m saying at all.”

“Then what’s your fucking point?”

Maxwell let out a sigh, “I’m just trying to make sure that both of my friends are doing okay and not isolating themselves and being all lonely and mopey and deciding that it’s better if no one knows that they are actually hurting.”

Drake took a deep breath, “Since when did you get so fucking insightful?”

“My greatest strength is that everyone underestimates me. It let’s me see things,” he said with a shrug.

“Huh,” was all Drake could muster, taking another sip of his whiskey.

“So, if you can promise not to jump down my throat, I’d like to ask how you are.”

Drake grimaced, “I’ll be fine. It just sucks right now because all I can do is wait for the other shoe to drop.”

Maxwell frowned at that. “What do you mean?”

“Well, as you could probably guess from my reaction, Riley’s basically ghosting me. I’m just waiting for the inevitable breakup text.”

“Or, she’s mopey and isolating herself, you know, like I said,” countered Maxwell.

“I don’t know. She won’t talk to me.”

“So go back and talk to her. The people behind the attacks are behind bars and you, Liam, and Olivia all said that things are looking good from that standpoint. You took care of what you needed to here, time to go take care of things with one Riley Liu.”

Drake shook his head, “It’s not that simple, Maxwell. I don’t even know if she wants me there.”

“I never said it would be simple. But you don’t know what’s going through her mind right now, right? So maybe she wants you there with her or maybe she doesn’t. There’s really only one way to find out.”

Drake bit the inside of his cheek, willing himself to keep calm. He couldn’t let Maxwell know that he didn’t know if he could deal with the possibility of face to face rejection from Riley. Not now, after he’d come to think that she might be the one woman who would stay. When Savannah left, it had nearly broken him completely. If he had to watch Riley leave him, too… well, he didn’t know if he could handle it.

“Hey,” called out Maxwell, forcing Drake to divert his attention away from his spiraling thoughts, “for what it’s worth, I don’t think she wants to leave you. But even if she does, wouldn’t it be easier to move forward knowing you did everything you could to try and make things right?”

After a few seconds, after processing the fact that Maxwell could apparently read him like a book, all Drake could say in response was, “Damn, you’re right.”

Maxwell smiled, “I’m fucking insightful, remember?”

Drake laughed at that, raising his glass to clink against Maxwell’s.

After taking a sip of his wine, Maxwell pulled out his phone, “Speaking of being insightful, what do you think the odds are that dinner preparations have completely fallen off the rails?”

“I’m going with about an 80% chance.”

“My thoughts exactly. So shall we preemptively order some pizza?”

Drake smiled and nodded as Maxwell called the restaurant he always used for late night sustenance at Beaumont Bashes. It was strange to think that Maxwell was now a close enough friend that he felt okay about talking with him about anything he was feeling. More than that, he realized that he had misjudged Maxwell a lot over the years. But if the past year had taught him anything, it was that Maxwell had pretty decent awareness when it came to a lot of things. He’d seen the value in Riley before any of them, after all. 

Drake knew he probably should apologize for some things he’d said in the past, both to and about Maxwell, but maybe bringing up his past intolerance of the man was not the best way to go. So instead, he waited until Maxwell finished placing the order and hung up the phone before he got up and walked over to the liquor once again.

“You need a refill, best friend roomie?”

The subsequent shriek of joy was loud enough to bring Savannah and Bertrand running.

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

Liam sighed, rubbing his eyes as he scanned through the final reports on all the interrogations. Starting tomorrow, some the initial hearings were happening in public court. Liam had pushed for expedited trials, knowing that the people had been through enough with these attacks and didn’t need the court proceedings to drag at a glacial pace. Of course, this meant he was giving himself less time to develop a firm grasp on the details of the three men whose trials were starting this week for when the press inevitably asked for comments. Still, he knew the prosecutors had it worse, and he was grateful the team of attorneys had agreed with his plan yesterday, even agreeing to meet with Bastien’s agents on a weekend.

He’d slept in his office last night, reviewing the files well past midnight. When he woke up with his head hanging over the arm of his sofa, he’d scurried off to the Monarch’s Quarters, quickly getting freshened up before heading back to his office. He chose his desk this time, hardly able to risk drifting off to sleep again, but it was still hard to stay focused. The reports were full of so many conflicting details, it was hard to keep who said what straight, and he’d been at if for hours at this point. He was about to get up and stretch his legs for a few minutes, but heard a couple of knocks on the door. Before he could call out a greeting, the door swung open, Leo walking straight in and over to the side cupboards.

“Why hello, Leo. Please, come in.”

Leo paused to turn to Liam. “Why, thanks brother!” he said in an exaggerated manner, winking as he looked back towards the wall units, “I was thinking of fixing myself a drink; would you like one?” 

Liam glanced at the clock on the wall. “Leo, it’s not even noon,” he chastised, “and you won’t find the whiskey in that cupboard.”

Leo stopped rifling through to cupboard and walked over to Liam’s desk, a wide grin spread across his face. As he plunked himself down in one of the chairs facing Liam, he raised his eyebrows and cocked his head to the side. After a moment, Liam sighed and opened the bottom drawer of his desk, pulling out the Highland Park whiskey and two glasses.

“Keeping it close at hand, nice. I have to say, I like your style. Dad always kept his booze tucked behind the books. Your way is much wiser,” Leo said, accepting the glass from Liam.

“So what brings you by my office? We haven’t seen much of you around the palace the past couple of days.”

“Well, it seemed like things were pretty hectic around here. I thought I would give you some space while you dealt with all the official business. Besides, the casinos worry that something has happened to me if I’m around for more than two days and don’t make an appearance,” he joked. “Anyway, I just came by to let you know I’m flying out tomorrow.”

Liam took a sip of whiskey and nodded. He’d been expecting this since the funeral. He was actually kind of surprised Leo had stuck around Cordonia as long as he had. “Where are you heading this time?”

“I’m spending the next week in Havana, then it’s on to Rio.”

“Of course. Well, you know you’re welcome back anytime. Keep in touch, okay?”

“Yeah…” Leo said, trailing off and looking down at the surface of the desk. It seemed odd to Liam. Usually, when Leo said he was leaving, he appreciated a light-hearted goodbye. Liam figured years of Father attempting to guilt him into staying had taken their toll, so he always tried to show Leo that he understood his need to explore, to go elsewhere. But today, that seemed to bother him, and Liam wasn’t sure why.

“Is something wrong, Leo?”

Leo paused for a moment before he spoke, “You’re doing okay, right?”

“Of course.”

“I mean, you’re okay with the fact that I don’t spend much time in Cordonia, right?”

“Where is this coming from, Leo?”

Leo shook his head, “You don’t have to pretend you didn’t hear what Drake said to me the other day. I know you overhead us.”

Liam nodded slowly. He hadn’t heard everything, but he’d heard enough. And while the fact that Drake had mentioned being torn away from his life had been of more interest to Liam at that time, the fact that Drake had told Leo that he was a bad brother was also something that had stuck in his mind.

“It didn’t seem like the type of statement you’d put much stock in, if I’m being honest.”

Leo tensed at that. “He called me a shitty brother, Liam! Of course it stuck with me! Do you think so little of me that you thought I wouldn’t care about that?”

“Of course not. I just thought that you knew better than to hold Drake’s anger as a source of universal truth, not to mention you never seemed to mind being told you weren’t living up to expectations in this building.”

Leo gave Liam a small smile, “So, you don’t think I’ve been a bad brother to you?”

“No, I don’t feel that way.”

“But Drake was right. I haven’t really been around, I tend to get caught up in my own interests. I definitely have failed you in some ways.”

Liam shook his head, “I don’t expect you to care for me in the same fashion as Drake. He has his way of doing things, you have yours.”

“He called me your drinking buddy.”

Liam chuckled at that, “That’s an interesting perspective. It lacks some nuance, but yes, I suppose you do get me to let go of certain stressors temporarily by encouraging me to indulge in a variety of vices. It’s helpful at times, so I wouldn’t be so dismissive of it.”

Leo just shook his head, “Come on, you don’t need to shield me. If you need to get pissed at me, I get it.”

“Why would I need to get pissed at you?”

“I abdicated, for Christ’s sake! I left you with all the responsibility.”

“And didn’t I encourage you to take that course of action?”

“Yes, but Drake said-”

“Forget what Drake said. His interpretation of our relationship is highly irrelevant, and Drake is going to think what he’s going to think. I am telling you, I do not resent you for abdicating. Being Crown Prince was killing you; you were miserable. I love you, and I want to see you happy. How could I ever hold you taking an action that greatly improved your happiness against you?”

“But I want to see you happy, too.”

“I know you do. I presume that’s why you are very willing to take the full blame for indiscretions conducted by either of us.”

Leo scoffed a little, “Sure, when we were little.”

“And now. I heard Regina had some choice words for you after our night of drinking before the funeral.”

“She said she was amazed that after all this time, I still found a way to be a bad influence on you,” Leo said with a little smile.

“Exactly, and you let her believe that. Leo, you’ve always shown you care about me in your own way. I’ve never felt like you didn’t love me just because we want very different things out of life.”

“Still, the weight of the crown-”

“Is something that I don’t see as a barrier to my long-term happiness. It’s a responsibility, sure, but I am honored that our people trust me as their leader.”

Leo stared at Liam for a few seconds before throwing the whiskey back and finishing his drink. “You’re a good king, you know that right?”

Liam smiled gently, “Thank you, Leo. I appreciate that.”

“And I don’t just mean better than I would have been. You are a good leader. Cordonia is lucky to have you.”

“Thank you. But I think you would have been a better king than you give yourself credit.”

Leo just laughed, “We’ll have to agree to disagree on that point.” He stood to leave and strolled over to the door, but before he opened it, he spun back to face Liam.

“Do you mind if I give you a piece of advice?”

Liam inclined his head, “I would be a bad king if I couldn’t handle friendly advice.”

“Right, well this more personal than professional.”

“If it’s about Madeleine, give your history, that seems like a rather awkward topic-”

“Nah, it’s more general than that. Just... you need to be selfish sometimes. Not often, let’s say once a week. But you need to do something, no matter how small, that’s just for you.”

“Leo…”

“Promise me you’ll at least consider it. Remember, I love you, so that means I like seeing you happy. And I know you well enough that you might forget about your own happiness if things get hectic. So add it to your schedule or something, but remember, once a week, one thing, just for you.” And with that he was out the door.

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

Hana felt... well, the only way to describe it was gross. She knew that her plan for the evening was not something that was completely acceptable, morally speaking. But she hadn’t known what else to do.

All weekend, Riley had been completely uninterested in talking about anything of substance. She’d listened to Hana just fine and told plenty of amusing anecdotes. However, anytime Hana asked her how she was doing or if she needed to talk about anything, Riley had just brushed her off, saying she was fine before suddenly remembering a story about a funny customer or something of that sort. It was always lighthearted and superficial. There was never one iota of depth to anything she said. It had been shopping and restaurants and tourist attractions before Riley scurried off to get ready for work both Saturday and Sunday, and Hana was done with it. 

Maybe she wasn’t being fair. Both Saturday and Sunday evenings, when she’d been alone, trying to devise a strategy to encourage Riley to open up, she’d come to the realization that most of the weight that she’d felt in their friendship had come from her opening up, not so much the other way around. While Hana had discussed her distorted dynamic with her parents, her failed engagement and romantic inexperience, and her very lonely and isolated childhood, there was very little Riley had told her. She briefly mentioned that her father was long gone and her mother dead, but it had been Maxwell who told her that her mother had died of a heroin overdose. She wasn’t even sure if Riley had any family beyond that, any aunts, uncles, cousins, or grandparents. And Riley certainly hadn’t confided in Hana about her growing feelings for Drake at any point during the social season or Liam and Madeleine’s engagement tour.

The fact that her friendship with Riley appeared to be fairly lopsided filled her with both pain and guilt. It certainly hurt knowing that the first person in her life she saw as a best friend had probably not felt so connected with her. But more than that, she felt guilty for depending so much on Riley for emotional support and strength without offering anywhere near enough in return. But tonight, that was going to change.

Hana had tried being friendly and open. She’d tried asking gentle questions. She’d point blank asked Riley if she’d heard from Drake while they were at the Guggenheim. But Riley had deflected every single attempt. So tonight, Hana was getting her drunk. She hated thinking of it that way. It sounded so predatory, so malicious. But her intent was merely to use a bit of alcohol to help Riley feel comfortable enough to actually let her guard down and communicate openly. 

Her plan had been simple to execute, at least initially. Riley was off Monday, and given her apparent desire for all things fun and frivolous, it had been very easy to convince her that while in New York, Hana really wanted a little taste of the nightlife. Riley had been thrilled, offering to lend Hana club wear and taking them to a small little lounge after dinner before they headed to a nightclub. She hadn’t been out dancing in ages, apparently, and was very enthusiastic about the idea.

At first, it had gone exactly as Hana had hoped, with Riley downing vodka sodas while Hana just sipped on an amaretto sour as they sat in a little booth at the lounge. When they’d paid the cover to enter the nightclub, the bass from dance tracks resonating through Hana’s entire body, Riley appeared to be tipsy. Hana figured a couple more drinks, an hour or so of dancing, and then they could head out and actually talk.

What she hadn’t accounted for was the swaths of men who didn’t seem content to let them dance without butting in, invading their personal space without even saying hello. All of these men came with offers to buy them drinks, and while Hana always declined, Riley seemed keen on taking every single one of them up on it, wandering over to the bar time and time again, dragging Hana along with her.

Currently, Hana was standing there, watching as a tall man with very blond hair ordered Riley yet another Long Island Iced Tea. Riley was well passed the point of tipsy and was incredibly intoxicated, leaning heavily against the bar, the words she was practically yelling over the loud music slurred into a giant mess. The man in question didn’t seem to mind at all, though, handing his credit card over to the bartender.

“Excuse me!” Hana called out, the bartender pausing to look at her.

“Sorry!” yelled the blond man, leaning close to Hana so he could speak directly into her ear, “I didn’t know you were drinking. What do you want?”

Hana just shook her head and rolled his hand off her shoulder, leaning over the bar to speak directly to the bartender, tugging her skirt down as she did so. The length was not something she was used to, and she was feeling self conscious of how high it would ride up her thighs with her movement.

“Cancel that Long Island Iced Tea, please. She and I are leaving.”

The bartender glanced between the three of them, but after just a couple of seconds, he nodded with understanding. Hana then spun towards Riley,  hoping that she would be a cooperative drunk.

“Riley, sweetie,” Hana said, leaning to speak directly in her ear. 

Riley spun to face her, stumbling slightly on her heels as she moved, grabbing Hana’s arm. “Yeah?” she said, a concerning glazed looked to her eyes as she seemed to struggle to meet Hana’s eyeline.

“It’s time for us to leave.”

“I think she can decide if she wants to leave for herself.”

Hana rolled her eyes. She had hoped that the blond man would have moved on, but it seemed like he had set his sights on Riley. Ignoring him, she linked her arm through Riley’s and started to navigate them toward the coat check, but the man grabbed Riley’s wrist and tugged her back towards him.

“Riley, why don’t you tell your friend you’re having a good time and that I can get you home.”

Riley just looked dazed, her gaze unfocused, so Hana stepped forward and tugged her towards her side. “Riley, come on,” she said before looking at the man, “You are a disgusting excuse for a human being if you think that she is in any state to go anywhere with you.”

“Bitch!” the man spat out, but he seemed to decide that having this fight with Hana was not worth his time as he turned away and walked away from the two of them, probably looking for some other woman to ply with alcohol. Shaking her head, Hana wrapped her arm around Riley and moved them towards the exit. When they were waiting for their coats, Riley seemed to gain a little awareness of her surroundings.

“Where’d Peter go?”

Well, Hana had a name for the blond man with ill intentions now. “He had to go, and so do we,” she said, trying to guide Riley’s arms into her jacket.

“Oh,” said Riley, “Is Peter, I mean, where’s he, yeah, you know?”

Hana just blinked, not really having any clue what Riley’s drunken ramblings were supposed to convey. “Come on, sweetie. Let’s get a cab back to my hotel.”

Hana was able to shepherd Riley out onto the sidewalk, but when she attempted to flag down a taxi, Riley batted down her arm, almost falling into the gutter in the process.

“No taxi, only three blocks,” she slurred, stumbling away from Hana and down the sidewalk with surprising speed.

“Riley, wait!” Hana cried out, “Where are you going?” But Riley didn’t give any response, so Hana took off after her. Any efforts to redirect her were met with groans and slurred grumbles and complaints, so after a few attempts, Hana just followed along. Riley was clearly on some sort of drunken mission, and Hana was going to be along for the ride, apparently.

It was a tricky route to wherever Riley was going. There were numerous other bars, clubs, and restaurants in this part of the city, and even though it was after midnight, there were still many people on the sidewalk, many of them just as drunk as Riley. Trying to prevent collisions, dodging cat callers, and keeping Riley upright was taking a lot of effort. Hana barely felt like the sidewalk was any less of an overwhelming place of noise and bodies than the dance club. Her ears were ringing and she was exhausted. She just wanted to get Riley safely into a bed and then go to sleep herself.

After a couple of blocks, Riley stopped in front of a small market, veering towards a side door. Hana was about to correct her that not only was the market closed, but that she was trying to enter what was clearly an employee entrance, but Riley fished a set of keys out of her pocket and fumbled with them, trying to unlock the door. At that moment, Hana realized that this door wasn’t to the market, it was to Riley and Drake’s apartment building.

After a couple of tries, Riley got the door unlocked and open, so Hana followed her into what appeared to be a mailroom for the building and then up a flight of stairs. Hana didn’t know what she had pictured for where Drake and Riley lived, but it certainly wasn’t this. She was trying hard not to be judgemental, but she’d never been inside a building so run down. It had probably been an adjustment for Drake compared to living at the palace.

As Hana trudged up several flights of stairs behind Riley, catching her from falling twice, she couldn’t help but think about Drake and Riley, not only living in this building, but in this neighborhood, in this city. Riley she could kind of imagine, out at a different bar or restaurant everyday, trying new foods and drinks, charming different people left and right. She was so bubbly and outgoing and had a definite wild, impulsive streak.

But Drake? Nearly agoraphobic, routine loving, scoffed at the new and unknown Drake? She just couldn’t see it. He would have punched at least five people on their walk back from the club alone. Try as she might, she couldn’t picture him in a place that was so loud and with so many different people. It seemed like the type of thing he would avoid at all costs. She didn’t know what to make of that. Did Drake have some secret, social side that he only let Riley see? Or was he just miserable and surly all the time? Hana felt like it was probably the latter. It made her sad to even think about. Here he had made a grand romantic gesture, moving to be with the woman he loved, and it was probably draining and stressful beyond his wildest dreams.

Eventually Riley turned down a hallway and made her way to a door labeled 4B. She tried to use her keys, but was struggling to figure out which key went into which lock. After a few seconds, Hana stepped up to grab the keys herself, but before she could even offer her help, Riley started crying, sinking to the floor.

“Riley!” she cried out, crouching down and grabbing her shoulders and rubbing circles against them. “It’s okay; I can unlock the door. It’ll be okay.”

“S’not that,” Riley mumbled. “I jus’ wanted t’forget t’night… T’not feel so bad…”

“Shhhh,” hummed Hana, sitting down on the floor next to Riley, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

“I’m so lonely. But no one cares,” Riley slurred, head thrown back against the door, “He’s never coming back and I’m gonna always be alone.”

“Riley, plenty of people care about you,” Hana said, trying to provide words of reassurance, but it was like Riley was just giving some sort of emotional speech, and she just kept mumbling the same thoughts over and over again. That she was alone. That she had no one. That everyone would always leave her. So Hana did the only thing she could think to do. She sat there with her, letting her ramble and release her pain. She wasn’t going anywhere, and hopefully that fact would provide at least a little comfort.

Permatag: @mfackenthal @lilyofchoices @thequeenofcronuts @jamesashtonisbae

The Royal Romance/The Royal Heir: @kingliam2019  @sirbeepsalot  @texaskitten30  @princessleac1  @ladyangel70  @dcbbw @yaushie @octobereighth

Drake x MC only: @jovialyouthmusic @iplaydrake @gibbles82 @drakewalkerisreal @riley–walker @notoriouscs @butindeed  @addictedtodrakefanfic

It Couldn’t Wait Another Moment: @wickedgypsymoon @thesumofmychoices @cosigottahavefaith @thequeenchoices @katedrakeohd  @feartheendlesssummer  @ao719  @ooo-barff-ooo​ @sunnyxdazed

[danetobelieve]

It’s Always Mime For Coffee || Miriam and Winston

This happened during the mime POTW.

Winston had agreed to this and honestly they weren’t sure why. They weren’t sure what was going on and they weren’t sure why they found themselves being talked into going out for coffee or was it dinner? Winston wasn’t sure, but it was more the person (did Vampires count as people?) that wanted Winston to go for dinner. Miriam was cool. That was the problem. Not only was she hot (perhaps too hot) but she was also a vampire that could and would absolutely rip their throat out if they gave her the slightest indication that they were a witch. Which was great. Really REALLY great. Winston swallowed as they adjusted their somewhat uncomfortable standing position from left to right. They’d agreed to meet Miriam outside of the university, it was not a long walk to the Downtown bit of White Crest or even Amity Road or the Bend and Winston knew that they had to meet in the dark for obvious reasons, though Miriam had not explained those specifically. Sending a quick text her way, Winston waited. “Got here a little early, ready when u r.” 

Texting was a bit confusing, seeing as how sometimes people neither typed in full words nor full sentences, but Miriam was slowly getting the hang of it. At least, she wasn’t as bad at it as some humans her age, though she felt that was, in part, because she still appeared to be a woman in her late twenties with all of the health benefits that had to offer. She still spent a great deal of time squinting at her phone, though, if only because she didn’t understand it. But she understood Winston’s message well enough, so she parked her car not too far from campus and walked that way, pleased to get to see her young, technologically sophisticated friend. Winston was interesting to talk to, and it was a bit easier to ask them these sorts of tech related questions than it was to ask Elle, who Miriam feared had gotten too close to her and took great pleasure in making fun of her. Winston, however, did no such thing, which pleased Miriam greatly. As she saw them waiting outside the university, Miriam put on her best smile and gave a wave. “So glad you were able to meet tonight,” she said brightly. “I know coffee’s not an evening affair, typically, but I do promise to still provide excellent company.”

They were here and that meant that Winston had no choice but to go through with this now. They weren’t sure how they’d ever found themselves meeting a witch hunter for coffee in the night when they were a witch. Moving towards her, Winston met her half way and nodded gently. “Of course, you were pretty insistent even though these are things that you really can do on your own once you’ve had them explained,” they shrugged and smiled in reply, “but I appreciate everything anyway and it is always nice to see you.” They hoped that their lies weren’t too easy to see through. Not that they were entirely lies. There seemed to be a disconnect in recognising what Miriam was and recognising what they were. It was almost as if they didn’t quite realise how dangerous she was. It was hard to imagine her as the dangerous thing that Morgan and Nell had warned them about. “I’ve got some papers due anyway so I was going to be drinking coffee either way, but it’s nice to share it with someone.” 

“Hard work should always be appreciated,” Miriam said. “I know that you think you weren’t that helpful to me, darling, but, I assure you, having you explain things to me works far better than with anyone else, and I’d like to thank you for that.” Easily slipping her hands into the pockets of her jacket, she gave them a smile. Winston was a sweet child, young but still helpful. And so nervous around her, which made her want to tease them, though she refrained. It would be a bit cruel, and Winston had been too helpful to warrant teasing. Still… “It’s always nice to see you as well, dear. Your company is most enjoyable. I do hope you feel the same.” She continued walking with them towards the coffee shop. “Yes, you’re in college, right? Are finals coming up soon? I’m afraid I haven’t kept up with any of the schools since I graduated myself, which has been just a little bit longer than I’d care to admit.”

Did she have to be that charming? Winston already wasn’t the most gregarious person and this was kind of overkill. Swallowing back an excuse, they nodded and smiled politely. “Well, as I’ve said before if you think of anything else, which I’m sure you will, let me know and I’ll do what I can to help.” They were sure that if Miriam had come into the station they would’ve helped anyway, so it wasn’t really even like they were giving her special treatment. There was just the bit about vampire witch hunter that Winston sometimes had trouble with. “Oh for sure,” Winston hoped that they sounded enthusiastic enough but they always felt slightly guilty for doing this, even though really it was just dangerous for them. “Uh, finals and final deadlines on projects, I won’t bore you with the details but I’ve been busier then I thought and I’m a little behind. But that’s fine. Sometimes you’ve got to pull a long night to make something worthwhile.” 

Smirking just a bit, Miriam said, “I’m quite certain I will.” Glancing over at them, with their nervousness that she could practically feel, she wondered if she was teasing just a bit too much. Winston always seemed so nervous around her, like they were scared or intimidated. Which wasn’t much of a problem, really. Miriam knew she was intimidating, used to revel in it while in business meetings with men that thought they were better than her just because they were men. However, she didn’t want to thoroughly intimidate Winston to the point that they were incapable of quality conversation. Oftentimes, long into the night when everyone was asleep and she wasn’t working, Miriam found herself starved for it. People, conversations, connentions. She was tempted to go and join in with the supernatural nightlife of her kind, but she just… couldn’t. She had nothing against other vampires, but nothing really for them either. She preferred humans or, at the very least, creatures with a pulse and a lacking desire for blood. “I appreciate your desire to help me, Winston, very much so. And I don’t find your college curriculum boring! Though, I might not understand it all that much.” As they approached the coffee shop, she smiled. “I’ve confidence in your abilities. Besides, I’ve always found it easier to get things done in the night, anyway.”

“It really isn’t a big deal,” Winston replied with a gentle shrug, “you’ve managed to avoid getting any malware or viruses or anything like that onto your hardware which would be trickier to deal with and the best way to avoid that sort of thing is to work in preventative measures rather then fix the problem.” They pulled their jacket closer against them in the cool night air. “Well at least that makes one of us, not all of the stuff I have to do is the most fun but it’s really useful in terms of developing skills and working out how to problem solve in the long term…” they shrugged gently, honestly their college work didn’t seem all that important anymore, “I agree, during the day there are too many distractions and I can always sleep once the work is done.” They wondered if vampires slept. That was never something they had thought to investigate before. “Do you do most of your work at night too? I actually, I’m not entirely sure what it is that you do …” awkward.

Even though she’d heard those words before, they meant next to nothing to Miriam. “What, exactly, is all of that? Malware, computer viruses, it’s all a bit lost on me.” She grabbed the door to the coffee shop for them and led the way in. The taste of coffee was a bit dull these days, compared to what she remembered from being alive, but it would be nice to be able to warm her hands a bit. Anything was better than icicle fingers. “See, developing skills, particularly problem solving skills, is always a good thing. Not enough people put focus into that anymore, not like they used to.” Did that make her sound old? That probably made her sound old. Jokingly, she added, “No one solved problems like those Romans.” She looked at the coffee menu, trying to decide if she wanted to go with something tasteless and plain or something tasteless but with a funny name. “I own the leather shop downtown, Flemming’s. Which, the paperwork and the customer service aspect of it is very much a daytime task, and I can’t be in the office some days, but I have a lovely team that helps me out. I do enjoy burning the midnight oil while working on projects, though. It’s a good time to think, when the sun sets. A bit more peaceful.” She gave Winston a smile, a sincere one.

“They’re basically malicious files that do things to your computer that you’d rather they don’t do, so for example you could get something that records all the keys you press and then sends logs of it back to whoever put the files on your computer. You can get them by downloading things usually, but it can be more innocuous then that.” Winston paused in their explanation. “But they’re also able to do other stuff like access your camera for example, they won’t usually do anything really overt because they want them to stay undetected as long as possible.” Coffee was basically Winston’s blood at this point. They consumed it near constantly and they were convinced that they would die of a coffee headache if they ever stopped drinking it, even for one day. Winston quirked an eyebrow and shrugged. “It’s what I need to do to get where I want, Rome wasn’t built in a day after all.” They paused and raised an eyebrow before smiling. “Oh, that’s cool. So you actually do the leatherworking? Is that … I mean obviously it is hard but like I guess why leather work?” 

“Well, that’s actually quite terrifying,” Miriam said, eyebrows raised, only really understanding part of what Winston was saying. Something about something bad breaking your computer from the inside. She didn’t need that at all. Miriam had already broken three computers from the outside. And she didn’t trust computer cameras, although they make excellent mirrors, since mirrors are no longer applicable for her. She stepped up to the counter and placed her order. “An Americano, please, and I’m paying for them as well.” She turned to give Winston a smile before handing the barista her credit card. As she looked over her shoulder, out the shop winder, she thought she saw blonde hair and a familiar leather jacket, which was impossible; after all, she was wearing the only one of its kind. Perhaps it was simply a similar make. “No, Rome certainly wasn’t built in a day. But, yes, I do most of the leatherwork, though two of my employees are also incredibly talented in it as well. I also do a lot of the designing and bookkeeping myself.” It was a pain to do on the computer, but she had all the time in the world to learn. As for why… It’s my legacy, my family business. I grew learning it, and I couldn’t imagine anything different. Besides, I’ve always loved fashion.”

“Yeah, I wouldn’t advise you to go out seeking one, especially because so much financial information is on computers nowadays it can be a real pickle to extricate yourself from if it all goes wrong.” Winston didn’t know how people managed to get themselves into such situations nowadays, with the amount of internet security available it shouldn’t be hard to avoid these things and yet they were still a third of the problems that they were faced with when they worked on the communities tech needs at the station. “Just a latte please,” Winston said with a bright smile, “Black coffee is pretty hardcore.” Winston followed her gaze but saw nothing, before nodding and smiling. “Damn, that’s really interesting. I’ve always wondered how satisfying it must be to do something like that with your hands and actually get to see all of the things that you create and all of the work that you have actually done, you must be really proud of your achievements. It’s very impressive.” Was Winston really complimenting a vampire? It was so hard though, she was just so charismatic. So charming. Not to mention beautiful. 

“Trust me, darling, I’ve no desire to seek one out,” Miriam told them with a smile. If she could, she avoided computer shenanigans as much as possible. That’s what she’d hired Elle for, though it was nice to be able to talk about something with Winston. It was quite adorable when they started spouting off technological jargon to her, even if she didn’t understand a damn word of it. The barista handed her back her card, And Miriam tucked it back into her purse. “I like the strong taste of it,” she told Winston. The only taste, really. The other drinks were fun and interesting, and she liked the smell of them, but they were just bland. At least with the Americano, she could almost imagine it tasted normal. Plus, her father raised her on black coffee. It was something to remember the old man by. As they complimented her, Miriam allowed her grin to widen. “Flattery will get you everywhere, darling,” she practically purred. “But, really, it’s quite satisfying. There’s something incredible about seeing people appreciate your hard work. The time and effort that you put in and see them enjoy. It’s wonderful. I never get tired of it.” Their drinks came out to them, and Miriam wrapped her hands around her cup, enjoying the way the warmth sunk in. “Won’t you take a walk with me, WInston? I know you need to get back to your work, but it’s a nice night, and I so rarely get to enjoy time with other people.” She’d thought Winston might be a werewolf, in the beginning, but they were just so decidedly human. She enjoyed that. There weren’t many humans she spent time with outside of work.

“Cool, less work for me.” Winston had to admit that it was really nice that someone apparently valued their work so much. They kind of wished that she wasn’t undead and completely devoted to killing spellcasters, but they guessed that was something they would hae to work on. The truth was that the more that they got to know Miriam the more difficult it was to consider her as, well, the enemy. She didn’t seem like the energy. “I can’t do the strength of the taste,” Winston replied with a shrug, “I love the caffeine though so I drown the coffee in milk and hope for the best.” Smiling at her comment, Winston shrugged. “I mean, you’re buying me coffee already, I’m not sure how much more I can get out of you.” They were joking of course and for a moment they had to admit that they didn’t expect their reaction to be making a joke. Maybe they were getting a little bit too comfortable here. “You never wanted to do something else? There was never anything outside of leather work that intrigued you enough to pursue it I guess?” They wondered if it was really sensible for them to go walking with Miriam, but honestly they didn’t know what else they were going to be able to do to get out of it and found themselves nodding along. “Sure, I can take a bit more time, you did get me coffee after all so yeah, where are you headed?” 

Miriam brought her coffee to her lips, savoring the aroma of it. She took a sip, enjoying the flavor of it. They brewed it strong here, something that she approved up. Strong coffee was good coffee. “I used to add more things to it, sugar, milk, when I was younger, but these days I simply drink it straight.” She looked at their latte. It smelled nice, but she knew the taste would be underwhelming at best. “Nothing wrong with cutting it with milk, though. Black coffee’s an acquired taste. I just so happen to have acquired it, over the years.”  She couldn’t help teasing them; Winston made it too easy. “Darling, if you think coffee’s the most that you can get out of me, you’re sorely mistaken.” She gave them a wink. Another sip of coffee, her insides feeling warm. She could briefly imagine blood moving through her veins, spreading warmth and life through her body. “You know, I never really thought about anything else. I loved it. I’d go into work with my father and see his employees making beautiful things, and I wanted to do that. I enjoyed all sides of leatherwork. The fashion side, the practical side, even the business side. I don’t have to tell you that I’m terrible with modern computers, but the books, the accounts, business math, I’m good at that, and I enjoy it. Plus, it’s quite relaxing.” When she was thinking leather, Miriam wasn’t thinking witches. She knew there were plenty out there pleased with that. “No specific direction, though we can head towards the college, keep you a bit closer to where I’m sure you’re headed. I simply want to appreciate the night and nice company.

“Did you grow out of it or something?” Winston wasn’t sure why they cared so much about the way that Miriam apparently took her coffee. The truth was that it was easier to act as if something as trivial as how she drank her coffee were important. Swallowing loudly, Winston had to admit that they were glad that it was the evening. They hoped that the darkness and shadows protected them from the obvious blush that they must have experienced at Miriam’s quip. “Really?” Winston swallowed, they hadn’t even considered /that/ not with Miriam, she was super hot though. Winston wasn’t sure if the fact that she would kill them in several seconds flat was a turn off or…. They decided that now was not the time to think about that. They were already flustered enough and they didn’t need to start developing a crush on someone who would very happily kill them once they learned the truth. “I have to admit, I know a lot of people who don’t quite know what they want to do yet… i always feel kind of sorry for them, I’ve always known what I want and where I want to be and how I am going to get there. I can’t imagine what it must be like to lack that purpose.” Winston wasn’t even being extra sympathetic. They’d always known what they wanted to do and what was right for them. “It’s always a pleasure anyway,” Winston wasn’t lying, though they wished that they were because despite themselves Miriam was slowly winning them over. 

“My taste buds changed over the years,” Miriam replied, a bit of a joke. She started taking her coffee black around the time she started craving blood and something else, something one couldn’t really crave. Her eyes caught the slight blush working its way onto Winston’s skin, and she covered a grin with her cup, heading outside into the night air. Flustering Winston was both easy and enjoyable. However, it’d take away the fun if they got too used to it. She decided to hold off a bit, allow the conversation to flow and shift. “I’m not a bit surprised by that. You’re young, you know. Lots of people your age don’t know what they want…” She trailed off, swearing that she’d seen a familiar profile turn around the corner in front of them. She was just a bit off; that had to be it. After all, she hadn’t properly seen that profile since the last time she looked in a mirror, and that had been a long time. “I feel a bit sorry for them as well. Good on you for knowing what you want, though, darling.” She smiled pleasantly. “And it’s always a pleasure to be in your company as well.”

“I mean, technically all your cells replace themselves every seven years or so, so you have a brand new body after seven years. I guess it’s kind of like that analogy about Theseus’ ship.” Winston had heard it talked about with other concepts before, coding for example. If you stripped out enough of the original code and replaced it with something new, was it still the same program even if every part is different then what it was originally? Winston frowned as they spotted a familiar silhouette that would sometimes send panic into their very bones. That was only when they saw Miriam in public and it was unplanned, but they were with Miriam right now and she was stood next to them. “Me too, I think I’m lucky that I worked it out ahead of time, less stress.” Winston frowned gently as they tried to peer around the corner they thought the figure had gone down, but there was nothing there.

“Really?” Miriam asked, intrigued. “Then I suppose they’ll change again in a few years or so.” Though, that was unlikely. She didn’t change anymore. Likely, she still had the same dead, useless cells in her body that she’d had ever since the car wreck. “Yes, I count myself lucky as well. Knowing what you want, going for it, good for--” She was cut off as a blonde figure came from nowhere, trying to tackle Miriam and spilling her coffee. An involuntary snarl worked its way out of her throat. Righting herself. She took in the creature in front of her. “Damn,” she said in disgust. “And here I thought I’d escaped the fucking mimes.” The mime version of Miriam smiled, baring sharp fangs. Greasepaint on her face, black lips, even stripes added to her prized jacket. “You’re so tacky,” Miriam bemoaned. “Couldn’t you have at least spared the jacket?” Mime Miriam snarled and attacked the original. Miriam felt her own fangs drop into place. She hoped Winston had the foresight to stay out of this as she forced her mime down into an alley, both of them pulling at each other’s hair and scratching at each other’s faces.

Winston was just wondering if the same was said for things that were technically ‘undead’ although they were far from convinced that that was a useful way of looking at what was undoubtedly something that could be observed with science. Science could explain the supernatural phenomena that existed in this world, it just needed to be given the time to do so. One moment, Winston was walking alongside Miriam, then there was a blonde blur moving at inhuman speed and knocking coffee from Miriam’s hands. Winston watched as fangs were quite literally drawn, Miriam and mime-iam started to fight and all Winston could say was “What the fuck.” They watched, frozen in place, should they intervene? Should they try and help? Should they just run?

It was like fighting with a mirror. A horribly dressed, unnervingly quiet mirror. Whatever Miriam did, the mime did. A pull of the hair, a slap to the face, a heel to the boot. Miriam was getting just as battered as the mime was, and it pissed her off to absolutely no end. She needed to end this, quickly. She looked to Winston, standing and watching. Well, she thought, there was no use in hiding what she was now. The vampire was well and truly out of the coffin at this point, as she fought with red eyes and sharp fangs. She kept taunting the mime’s sense of fashion. “That lipstick, really? With all that face paint? Darling, we know better.” The mime put a hand over Miriam’s mouth, and Miriam took a chunk out of it, spitting out flesh and gagging as a black, tar-like substance, different even from her own thick blood, leaked out of the creature. It smelled like fresh bread. The mime cried out silently, cradling its hand, and Miriam managed to pin it against the wall. She looked to Winston. “Darling,” she called out, “I do hate to get you involved in this silliness, but if you could find something sharp and wooden, I’d be most grateful.”

A stake. Of course. That would be what you would need to kill a vampire. Winston didn’t know why they hadn’t thought of that but honestly they were kind of hoping that their problem would be taken care of for them. But just watching Miriam get killed by an evil copy of themself wasn’t something that Winston was sure that they could stomach. “A stake, yep, cool, cool cool cool,” Winston sprung forward, suddenly wishing that they could justify using the stake that they had started keeping in their rucksack but that would look a little too convenient. Winston didn’t want to raise suspicion and so they sprinted past the tustling vampires and over to a pallet. “I would offer to, uh…. Stab you, mime you, not you you,” Winston couldn’t help babbling as they kicked the old wood once with a resounding thud but no break, “but I’ve seen these before and you’ve got to do it otherwise it, other- it’ll come back.” Their sneaker crunched through the pallet and the wood split in two. Grabbing the smaller piece they sprinted over to Miriam, trying to hold it out without getting hurt.

“Don’t worry, darling, I’ve got this,” Miriam said, though the mime thrashed against her and snapped its teeth. Miriam shifted herself more firmly to pin the creature. “Stop struggling, you wretched bitch. You’re a crime to fashion, humanity, and everything in between.” She snatched the piece of wood from Winston, grateful for their help and determination. If only all humans were so gallant and brave. Perhaps she wouldn’t be in this situation had Theo had a bit more humanity in him. She stabbed the mime with the pointed end of the makeshift stake. The creature, instead of turning to ash, turned into the same tar-like substance that it bled. Miriam wrinkled up her nose and sighed at the puddle of it. It’d gotten on her shoes. Finally, she turned to Winston, more than just a bit concerned. “I take it you’ve dealt with these things before?” she asked. Her fangs receded and her eyes faded back to blue. “I also… I hope that this doesn’t… doesn’t scare you. Me. I hope I don’t scare you.” She brushed at something on her jacket, not quite meeting Winston’s eyes. 

Winston watched, somewhat impressed and more then a little horrified by the situation that was unfolding in front of them. Miriam could definitely deal with herself. Note to self, don’t give her stakes in the future if you can help it. “Uh, well -” they shrugged, “yeah, my room mates both had one, me too, not … my favourite thing to have to do. But, it’s done now anyway.” Winston slipped their hands into the pocket of their jacket and looked at the gloop that was running all over the floor. “I mean, I was scared, but not because of you, I guess that’s not really … what you meant.” They sighed. “You don’t live in White Crest without starting to realise that sometimes there is more to things then meets the eye, and I don’t hold any animosity to anyone because they’re not exactly like me.” Winston wondered if this was really a situation that they could’ve avoided. Really they should’ve known better but they were starting to think that they were destined to get themselves in more trouble. “It’s about how you live your life, not about what you are.” 

“And you handled it yourself?” Miriam asked, remembering what Winston had said about it had to be done by her. “That’s incredibly impressive, Winston.” It was. Truthfully, she hadn’t thought they had it in them, the strength to handle the supernatural bullshit of this town. She felt a bit silly for that, though. Winston, time and time again, impressed and surprised her. She needed to stop being so shocked. Of course they could handle themselves. And it shouldn’t have surprised her, their words about the supernatural in this town, and yet she couldn’t stop that, either. She was touched by their words, the acceptance that came so readily from this human child. Perhaps they were more than meets the eye. Perhaps they were simply kind. Whatever the case, she appreciated it. “Thank you, Winston. Truly. You are probably one of the kindest people I’ve ever met. I wish that more people could be as accepting as you. Hell, I even wish that I had the capacity to be so.” She gave them a soft smile and brushed off her clothes, clearing her throat. “Well, darling. I’ve lost my coffee and am covered in this strange, bread-smell substance. Care to start heading back to the college? I parked not too far from there.”

“The way that you said that makes it sound a lot more impressive then it actually was…” Winston shrugged. “I’m not sure that impressive is the right word, traumatic maybe,” they laughed somewhat nervously, it wasn’t a funny joke. Their life had changed in ways that they had never expected it to and they weren’t above admitting that they were pretty terrified by what the future might hold. “I guess you’re welcome, honestly I don’t think it’s kindness, it’s just what I would want for me if I were in your situation,” Winston hoped that Miriam would remember that if something were to happen. They really hoped that it wouldn’t. “I hope that more people will be more accepting, it’s a remarkably violent world … I mean from what I hear, I don’t exactly make a habit of fighting mimes.” Nodding, Winston gave her a weak smile “Probably a good plan, the code won’t debug itself.” 

“Traumatic, I’m sure, but it’s you here with me and not some clown that refuses to see itself as a clown,” Miriam told them. “That counts for something.” She felt sympathy for them as they laughed but seemed scared out of their mind. The supernatural was terrifying, Miriam knew this to be true. She had been younger than Winston when she first found out about it; before even Theo, she had known something was amiss in her hometown. She’d lived with it a long time, but she still knew how awful it could all be, especially in the wrong hand. “Well, Winston, kindness or not, it’s certainly appreciated. I hope, one day, more people see things the way you do.” She considered holding out her arm for them before she thought better of it. “We best be heading back, then. Before any other sort of foolishness rains down.”

[the-quiet-winds]

Hyde Awey

[I really like the way this one turned out.]

“Maybe if you weren’t such a conniving little witch, none of this would have happened!”

That’s it, right there, the death sentence everyone had been waiting for.

Boleyn recoils, physically flinching at Aragon’s harsh declaration. Her eyes narrow, her nostrils flare, her lip curls. “I am not a witch.”

“Say that to your sixth finger, love,” Aragon growls sarcastically. She, to be completely honest, doesn’t know where this anger is coming from, Boleyn had made a simple mistake. She just couldn’t calm herself down. “It’s a shock that Henry beheaded you instead of burning you at the stake.”

“Like your daughter did?”

At the mention of Mary, the other queens physically retreat. 

“How dare you.” Aragon steps closer. “How dare you even speak about my daughter?! All she did was try and fix our country, because someone decided to bewitch,” she pointedly uses the word again, “my husband and caused him to fracture our country on its religious beliefs!”

“Trying to fix the country?” Boleyn laughs. “Sorry, love, it was my daughter who brought England into its Golden Age, remember? Sending people to the New World? That was my Elizabeth. Your daughter slaughtered hundreds. You wanna talk about a witch?” Anne grins wickedly. “You’re the one who taught her everything she knows.” 

Aragon, before she can stop herself, lunges at Anne. Boleyn jumps back, just out of reach, as Cleves and Jane grab Catherine’s arms to keep her from advancing further. 

“Let me go!” She demands.

“Not until you calm down,” Cleves says firmly. “You need to cool down.”

“And she needs to pay for her words!”

“Catherine,” Jane says soothingly, “we can all work this out-”

Aragon roughly pulls her arm back and, anger pulsing through her blood like oxygen, she brings the back of her hand to connect with Jane’s cheek, sending the third queen toppling to the floor.

“Mum!” 

Katherine rushes over to help Jane up, as does Parr, and they all look to Aragon for answers.

But she’s gone, and the front door is still barely open.

---

Four drinks deep, Aragon is still feeling horrible. But it’s a murky, indistinguishable kind of horrible, the kind where she can’t sort her fears from her pain and can’t decide if she wants to cry because she misses her daughter or if it’s because this is some of the worst wine she’d ever had.

“Rough night?”

Aragon looks over, and a woman is sitting next to her. Her face is blurry, her accent unrecognizable, yet she’s incredibly familiar in the weirdest sort of way. Catherine figures there’s not much more that can go wrong this evening.

So she starts talking.

Her own words don’t reach her ears, her throat making syllables of its own accord, and Catherine can’t keep herself from talking no matter how hard she tries.

“Looks like you’ve been through the ringer today,” the woman concedes. “Can I buy you a shot?”

Aragon agrees.

Two shots appear in front of them. The woman smiles and raises her glass to Aragon. “To all the things that can go wrong in a night.”

Without hesitation or comprehension of her companion’s words, Aragon downs the drink. It goes down in the weirdest ways, tingling a little too much in her throat and far from warm in her chest.

She looks over and her companion has slipped off.

It takes Catherine another three seconds to realize the drinks were definitely coming back up, and she rushes to the bathroom as quickly as possible.

Crowded in the tiny cubicle, she hunches over the toilet and empties the contents of her stomach not once but twice. She clutches at the wall, desperate for anything to grab to to keep her head from spinning.

She throws up once more and then things get fuzzy.

In all honesty, Catherine isn’t entirely sure how she gets home, but somehow she does, stumbling through the door at half-past midnight as her attempts to be quiet fail miserably. 

“Let’s get you to bed, love.”

It sounds like Jane, it has to be, the sweet voice she hears. 

She barely makes it to her bed before she passes out, a soft cadence echoing in her ears.

“Thanks Jane,” she slurs before falling asleep.

But Jane Seymour is tucked up in her own bed, passed out with Katherine tucked under her chin.

---

Catherine wakes up the next morning with no hangover, surprisingly. She feels rejuvenated, she feels amazing, like all of the bad energy had been taken away from her.

“Good morning queens!” She greets, grinning, as she enters the kitchen. 

Jane looks up from stirring her tea. “You’re awfully chipper this morning.”

“Had a great night out.” She stretches. “And thanks for helping me last night.”

“I didn’t-”

Jane is cut off by Boleyn entering the room, immediately glaring at Aragon. “Good morning,” she says pointedly.

Parr nearly drops her mug as Aragon swiftly crosses the room and takes both of Boleyn’s hands in hers. “Anne, I’m so sorry about yesterday. Everything I said was completely unreasonable and cruel. Do you think you can forgive me?”

Boleyn is baffled. Such an enthusiastic and surprisingly heartfelt apology from the eldest queen was certainly something unfamiliar. “Uh, yeah, I guess,” she says.

Aragon smiles brilliantly. “Wonderful.” She releases Anne’s hands and crosses back towards the kitchen, her grin growing brighter when she notices the wonderful array of breakfast foods Jane has put out. 

“Thank you for the breakfast, Jane,” she says brightly, kissing the woman’s cheek. She fills a plate and splits back up to her room, leaving four (Cleves, as usual, is still asleep) very confused queens behind.

“That was… completely out of character,” Parr comments.

“Agreed,” Anne says. She shakes her hands out a few times. “Even her touch,” she muses. “Everything felt wrong.”

“Like she was a different person or something,” Katherine mumbles.

“You don’t think…”

“Henry? Never,” Parr says surely. “This would not be his strategy at all. This is something else.”

“What, then?” Boleyn challenges.

“I don’t know.” She sighs. “But we need to figure it out.”

They do not, in fact, figure it out. Aragon is so bubbly and out of character that it’s hard to get a serious word out of her mouth. 

Boleyn can’t even get Aragon to seem even a smidgen like herself. 

“Cathyyyyyy,” she groans. She enters the room without knocking, which is usually enough to warrant a full stop from Aragon herself, but the queen doesn’t seem bothered in the slightest.

“Annie!” Catherine greets. “Come in, darling. Make yourself comfortable.”

Those words, that tone, is enough to make Anne very uncomfortable.

“What has gotten into you?!” Boleyn finally bursts out.

Aragon cocks her head to the side. “Nothing, I am just in such a great mood!”

“No,” Boleyn says immediately. “I’ve seen you in a good mood, and this isn’t it at all. Who are you and what have you done with Catalina de Aragon?!”

The sound of her Spanish name, coming from her formerly sworn rival, cuts swiftly and cleanly through Aragon’s ‘facade.’

“You’re not allowed to call me that,” she declares sharply. 

This switch throws Boleyn for a loop she was not expecting. “Oh, does that make you mad?” Boleyn taunts, hoping she’s drawing the normal, not super-scary-cheerleader-Aragon back to the surface.

“I am Catherine,” Aragon says. “You of all people should know that.”

Boleyn smirks. “What are you going to do about it?” She teases again.

But it’s not right, something isn’t right. There’s a darkness in Aragon’s eyes that Boleyn isn’t expecting, her brown eyes looking almost black.

“I’ll do what I didn’t do last time,” she warns, stepping closer, “and I’ll make you wish you’d never stepped foot back in England.”

Boleyn wisely ducks out of her room after that, assuming Catherine would cool down and all would be well for the show that night.

But oh, how we dream to be destroyed.

By the time the queens are lingering behind the curtain for the show, there’s a nervous electricity crackling in the air, intangible yet too real. Cleves, Katherine, and Jane linger in the back having a quiet conversation, while Boleyn and Parr rapidly discuss one topic, Aragon, in a swiftly whispered French. Aragon herself sits on the edge of the risers in front of Maria’s drumset, casting murderous looks at not only Boleyn but also Bessie, standing a mere foot away. 

“Places, ladies! Places for the top of the show.”

Aragon swears loudly in Spanish and stands up. Maria barely is able to swat at her shoulder with her drumstick.

“Cállate, Catalina!” Maria whisper-shouts.

The intro starts, Greensleeves echoing slowly and melodically through the theater, before giving way to a low static hum as Aragon prepares her first line.

“Divorced!”

No one lets it show, but that single word is spoken higher than any of them had ever heard out of Aragon’s mouth before. 

She’s smiling insanely brightly. “And tonight, London, we are…”

There’s a long, long pause, as usual.

The show goes as normally as it possibly could, although it’s not hard to see that Aragon is bouncier and more excited than usual - even her quips lack their usual bite.

It’s an odd show. The audience, those who hadn’t seen the show a hundred times, at least, probably didn’t think anything was wrong, but the queens could sense there was most definitely something about Aragon that was amiss. 

Stagedooring, though, proves this thought even further. 

Almost every night all the queens left through the stage door to meet fans waiting for them. They’d sign programs, take pictures, and even receive gifts from fans. It was a great way, for the most part, to wash away the stress of a show and reassure themselves they were doing a good job.

One fan approaches Aragon trepidatiously, fingers fiddling with the program’s spine as she waited her turn. Aragon gives her a broad grin and invites her closer.

“I thought you were amazing,” the girl says quietly as Catherine signs her program. “You were always my favorite to learn about in school,” she adds. Aragon chuckles softly to herself, and the girl’s confidence grows just a smidge. “Something about the great Catalina de Aragon and her fight to the English throne-”

But she doesn’t get to finish her statement, because in barely three seconds, Aragon has dropped her program and marker to the floor and retreated back through the stagedoor.

The girl shakily picks up the discarded items and struggles to hide her tears as she makes her way to the next queen in sight, Anna.

“Hey babes,” Anna greets casually. She cocks her head slightly to the side at the sight of tears. “What’s got you down?” She takes the items from her hands and signs the program. 

The girl doesn’t answer.

Anna gently nudges her with her elbow. “What is it, kiddo?”

“It was Aragon,” she mumbles out, shifting her jacket around her sides. “She was really nice to me at first, and then she just… walked off.” Her voice tapers off to a barely-there whisper.

Cleves raises an eyebrow, then looks around to the other queens. There are almost no fans left in the room, so Anna wraps a gentle arm around the girl and leads her towards Boleyn and Jane.

“Hello, love,” Jane says softly. “What do we have here?”

“Go on,” Anna encourages, “tell them what you told me?”

The girl shakily repeats her story, not leaving out a single detail and barely noticing as Parr and Katherine move closer.

“It’s like earlier,” Anne muses. The others looked at her, confused, so she goes on. “I was talking to Cathy when she was in that great mood earlier, and all of the sudden her mood changed, almost exactly like that.”

“Maria did it too, but the other way around, I think,” Jane adds. “Right before the show.”

Boleyn snaps her fingers. “I know what we have to do.”

After making sure the fan was alright, Boleyn leads the march backstage to their shared dressing room, catching Aragon just as she was about to leave.

“Not so fast,” she calls. 

Aragon freezes in place. She turns slowly.

“I’m going back to the house.”

“Like hell you are,” Boleyn says. 

“Well who is gonna stop me?” Aragon snarls. “Maybe you’d like to lose your head again?”

Anne can hear Katherine give a slight, tiny whimper behind her but she doesn’t back down. “My head is staying pretty firmly attached to my shoulders, thank you very much.”

“Catherine,” Jane interrupts, “this isn’t you. Something is happening-”

“Yeah, you all are fucking annoying,” Aragon says as if its the most obvious thing in the world. She juts her chin in Jane’s direction. “And you,” she marches forward, absolutely effortlessly pushing Boleyn out of the way to get to Jane. 

That, for one thing, is new. It isn’t a surprise that Aragon is strong, it’s something that all the queens knew rather well. But she shoves Boleyn aside as if she were the tiniest pebble next to Aragon’s boots. 

Did Aragon get taller as well?

Catherine jabs a finger into Jane’s chest. “You’re the one who stole my daughter from me,” Aragon hisses. She forces Jane backwards with such ease it almost seems like they’re gliding on ice. The queens part like the sea until Jane’s back hits the wall, Aragon absolutely towering over her. “You took her from me and now you’re going to pay.”

“Oi!”

Aragon turns, staring down the owner of the voice. Boleyn.

“You again,” she groans. “What do you want now, you pestering little witch?”

Boleyn’s confidence falls a smidge. But she carries on. “I have something to say.”

Aragon rolls her eyes. “Well? Go out with it, you stupid woman.”

“Catalina.”

The change is so instantaneous and bloody obvious they all feel stupid. Aragon crumbles back into herself, seeming smaller by the moment. She shakes her head, once, twice, then looks to the terrified Jane.

“Oh my God,” she breaths. “What happened?”

Cleves steps forward, just slightly. “Catherine?”

There’s no change.

Cleves swallows. “Catalina?”

There it is again, Aragon building herself back up until she basically towers over all of them - Boleyn and Cleves included. 

“What is happening?” Katherine squeaks.

Parr sucks in a deep breath, swallowing her anxiety at doing exactly the thing she’s about to do. “Catalina, Catalina, Catalina.”

Aragon’s eyes blow wide and she sinks to the floor, hands grabbing at her head as she tries to regain any semblance of control.

“Help,” she barely whimpers out. “Voices… too many voices… all at once-”

Jane hushes her gently. They all kneel around her, creating a protective circle as if it could ward off whatever ails her.

“Come on, now,” Cleves whispers, “we’re going to figure this out. Together.”

“Too many voices,” Catherine cries softly. “I can’t-”

“Catalina…”

A singsong voice drifts down the hallway.

“M-mother?”

“Catalina…”

“No,” Catherine whimpers, “no, please-”

“Catalina…”

It’s too late, and the spell takes effect again. And this time, they landed on the wrong side of Aragon’s coin. 

She glares intensely at all the women around her, and with a strength no one knew she possessed, forces them all back. 

The blow is strong enough to knock Jane to the ground, Katherine rushing over to help, and Aragon advances on Parr, Boleyn, and Cleves.

“Come on, Catherine,” Cleves pleads, retreating slowly towards the emergency door. “you’re stronger than this. If anyone can beat this, it’s you.”

“Well it certainly wouldn’t be you, Miss I-Never-Had-A-Problem-In-My-Life.”

Good to know Aragon kept her wit thought all of this.

Jane looks helplessly down the hall to where Anna, Anne, and Parr were helplessly trying to fend off Aragon, but there’s someone else moving towards them, stepping over Jane’s legs like she barely exists, the train of a long dress trailing behind her.

“Who are you?!” Jane demands, feeling much stronger than she knows she looks.

The woman stops and turns. She looks down at the two women with a pitying gaze and a sadistic grin. “You should really know who I am, Jane,” she murmurs condescendingly.

She sweeps off.

“Aragon!” Boleyn cries out. “You have to beat this, whatever it is!”

Catherine doesn’t respond, except with a growl and a shove on Cleves, pushing the woman into a nearby room. She continues to press on Boleyn and Parr.

“Why are you doing this?” Parr whispers.

“Because it’s what she wanted.”

They barely have time to contemplate the voice before their backs hit the emergency door, Catherine of Aragon towering over them.

“Catalina, talón!”

She stops dead in her tracks like an obedient dog.

It’s then that Parr and Boleyn notice the presence of another woman behind Catherine, dressed in royal gowns and approaching them at a slow, menacing pace.

“What do you want with her?” Parr demands, voice nearly shaking as much as her legs. She looks to her godmother, so vacant yet so feral.

“Oh, darling Catherine,” the woman croons to Parr, “I’m glad we have finally met.”

“Whatever you’re doing,” Boleyn warns, “it can’t continue. Let Aragon go.”

The woman laughs and sets an affectionate hand on Aragon’s shoulder. “But it’s what she wanted.”

“Stop with the riddles! What have you done with her?” Boleyn cries.

“Well that’s not important, is it?” The woman grins. “All that matters is I have my Catalina back.”

Parr steps closer and takes one of Catalina’s hands. “Come back to us, please.”

The woman pulls Catalina out of reach. “She’s nothing to any of you. Not any more.”

In her rage, which she didn’t even realize she had at first, Parr reaches to slap the woman across the face.

Catalina, even in her passive state, effortlessly shoves Parr into the same room as Cleves, leaving only Boleyn.

“I’ll ask you one more time,” Boleyn growls. “What have you done with her?!”

“And I gave you an answer, I did what she wanted from me.”

“This,” Boleyn gestures to Catalina, “is what she wanted?”

“Practically begged for it, darling.”

“Being controlled and emotionally unstable?” Boleyn laughs. “Doubtful.”

“Not emotionally unstable,” the woman corrects, “freed.”

“What the hell did you do?”

“She was so upset,” the woman says with a false pout, “that she couldn’t control her anger, she wished there was a way she could just take it all out. So I did one better, I made her two different people. And soon,” she checks the clock on the wall, “the spell will be permanent.”

“Then undo it,” Boleyn says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“Now why would I do that, when I have my daughter right where I want her?”

“Your daughter?” Realization paints Boleyn’s face white. “You’re-”

“Isabella of Spain, precisely. And this,” she gestures to the obedient, barely-contained Catalina, “is the girl I raised. The girl I fought to put on the English throne that you all have corrupted.”

“We’ve done nothing,” Boleyn spits, “of the sort. She’s one of us. Family.”

There’s the barest glint of recognition in Catalina’s eyes. “Family,” she mumbles, as if in sleep.

“That’s right,” Boleyn encourages. “Family.”

Thought begins to flicker through Catalina’s face. “Family,” she repeats, slightly more sure.

“No,” Isabella interrupts, tightening her grip on Catalina, “not family. They all mean nothing to you.” She points to Boleyn. “She stole your husband. She had you exiled.”

“And Jane basically had me killed,” Boleyn states. “Old news. We’re different now.” She sees Jane past Isabella’s shoulder and gives a tiny smile. “Family. We’ve forgiven each other.”

“Family,” Catalina says again. Her voice is stronger now. “Yes, family.” Richness floods back into her eyes. “Family. They’re my family.” She shoves Isabella away from her. “You don’t get anything from me,” she declares, that familiar fire in her words. “You never even responded to my letters when I was locked up in England for seven years.”

“Catalina, I-”

“My name is Catherine,” Aragon declares proudly. She steps away to open the door of the room Parr and Cleves were in. “And these women right here?” Catherine presses her mother back against the wall. “They’re my real family.”

“Catalina-”

“Goodbye, mother.”

As if she were never there, Isabella fades into the wall and disappears.

Catherine takes a massive inhale and falls to her knees. The others rush around her: Boleyn landing in front of her, Parr and Cleves on her right, Katherine on her left, and Jane behind her, gently bracing both of her shoulders for support.

“You’re alright,” a voice whispers. Cleves? Cleves. “It’s okay now.”

Boleyn takes both of her hands. “We’re here for you.”

“We’ve got you, love,” Jane murmurs behind her.

Aragon starts to cry - not loud messy sobs, just silent tears streaming down her face. She feels so utterly weak, so drained. Whatever spell her mother had used on her had taken its toll.

“Let’s get you home, Cathy,” Boleyn says. She grins when Aragon gives her the tiniest mad face, which is completely derailed by the tears on her cheeks.

“Home,” Catherine repeats in an empty echo. 

“Home,” Parr says, “with your family.” She presses a soft kiss to her godmother’s temple. 

“I’m sorry,” Aragon all but whimpers, “for all of this. I was drunk, and-”

“It’s alright,” Cleves cuts in softly. “It wasn’t your fault.”

Catherine looks up at Boleyn. “Anne,” she squeezes her hands very gently. “I’m sorry about what I said to you when we were fighting. I didn’t mean any of it-”

“I know, Cath-”

“Please,” Aragon interjects softly, “let me finish.”

Boleyn nods. “Go on, then.”

“You’re not a witch,” she says, “I promise you you’re not. Farthest thing from it. I shouldn’t have said it.”

“And I shouldn’t have said what I did about Mary,” Boleyn says, and she sees Aragon flinch at the mention of her daughter again. “But it’s over now. Can we move on?”

Aragon smiles and tugs on Boleyn’s hands, pulling the other woman into a hug. 

“I think we can,” she says, then smirks softly. “Annie.”

Boleyn protests the nickname and tries to pull away, but Aragon just laughs and holds her tighter. 

———————————————————————————————————–

tag list: @percabeth15 @kats-seymour @qualquercoisa945 @jane-fucking-seymour @a-slightly-cracked-egg @justqueentingz @annabanana2401 @wolfies-chew-toy @broad-way-13 @tvandmusicals @lailaliquorice @aimieallenatkinson @sweet-child-why03 @gaylinda-of-the-upper-uplands @funky-lesbians @thinkaboutitmaybe @hansholbeingoesaroundzeworld @anaamess @beeskneeshuh @prick-up-ur-ears @theartoflazy @justqueentwo @brother-orion @paleshadowofadragon��@lafemmestars @beautifulashes17 @jarneiarichardnxel @idkimbadwithusernamesandstuff @sixcago @mixer1323 @boleynssixthfinger @aimieallen @elphiesdance @boleynthebunny @krystalhuntress @lupin-loves-chocolate @bellacardoza16 @bluify

[littlemisswolfie]

a lonely speaker in a conversation

AO3

Summary: Yi deals with the fallout of Cal’s kiss while the holidays--and Darius’s possible return--quickly approach

Yi barely sees Cal for the next few weeks. 

On one hand, it’s a little comforting. It  means se doesn’t have to talk to the guy who shit-talked her boyfriend and then kissed her and left without saying anything. Yi has always kind of hated emotional confrontations so that works in her favor. 

Except she really thought of Cal as a good friend before he kissed her. And she misses that easy friendship. He’s the only one of the troupe besides Darius who snarks at her on a regular basis, and she likes it. It makes her feel closer to Darius, in a way. 

Not that she’ll ever say that to either of them. They’d both just deny any similarities between them.

It’s Wrath who finally pulls her aside and closes the door behind them so they’re alone in the nursery. “What’s going on with you and Cal?”

“It’s nothing,” Yi says, and it sounds weak even to her.

“Yi.” Wrath’s voice leaves no room for argument. “Tell me what happened.”

“He kissed me.”

*

Wrath wants to call Darius right away.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Yi hisses at her when she whips her phone out of the pocket of her jeans. “We shouldn’t bother him over something dumb like this.”

“You’re upset. That’s not something dumb.” Wrath’s fists are clenched, and Yi thinks that if she kept her nails any longer than they are she would be drawing blood from her palms.

“Yes it is. Please, Wrath. He’ll come back right away if you tell him what happened and I don’t want him to do that if he’s not ready.”

Wrath sighs. “At least let me check in on him,” she bargains. “I won’t tell him what Cal did.”

Yi nods. She thinks Wrath expects her to leave the room, but she doesn’t. She won’t deny that hearing Darius’s voice would make her feel better. Wrath shrugs and sends a text, and a second later her phone starts ringing. When the call gets answered, Wrath puts it on speakerphone.

“Hey, Wrath. What’s up?”

God, that voice. He sounds tired. Yi bites at her hand to stop herself from speaking while Darius and Wrath talk to each other. Tears prick at the corners of her eyes. She’s glad she’s pregnant so she can blame the emotional surge on the hormones instead of her just missing a guy.

“How’s Yi?” Darius asks, and her breath catches in her chest. “Has she still been hanging around with the rest of you?”

Wrath looks at her. “Yeah.” Then, even though Yi shakes her head, she says, “She’s here, if you want to talk to her.”

There’s a pause on his end of the line. “She is?”

Yi swallows past a knot in her throat. “Hi, Darius,” she says, so soft she’s not sure if he hears her until he gasps on the other end of the line.

“Hey, beautiful,” he responds, voice thick with emotion. “Damn, it’s good to hear your voice. I miss you.”

“I miss you, too,” Yi says.

“Hey, now, no crying. You know I hate making you cry.”

Yi laughs a little. “I’m not crying because I’m sad, though. I’m happy to hear your voice.” Wrath extends her hand and Yi takes the phone. “How are things going on your end?”

“Well, I’m definitely not as monstrous as I thought I was.” He doesn’t exactly sound happy about that, and Yi figures it’s because of whatever it is he’s seen. “I don’t think I’m a good person, but I’m not as awful as I could be.”

“That almost sounds like glowing praise, coming from you.”

“You know me too well. On the bright side, that means I might come home soon.”

Her heart lifts. “Really?”

“Yeah. I’m not sure exactly when, but I think I’m almost ready.”

“Don’t rush it,” Yi says, a token protest. “But I’m sure Avi would love it if you got home by Christmas.”

“Just Avi?” Darius asks, a teasing tone to his voice.

She smirks. “Well, maybe Ripley, too.” 

“Well, I can’t disappoint Ripley, can I?”

For the first time in weeks, Yi feels truly happy.

*

“Yi and I spoke to Darius earlier,” Wrath says at dinner that night, and everyone perks up. Well, everyone except for Cal, who goes pale and has to quickly school his face into a more neutral expression. “He says he should be ready to come home soon.”

The troupe begins to chatter excitedly, asking for details and making plans, but Yi’s eyes stay trained on Cal through the whole meal.

*

After dinner and before the troupe heads down to pregame, Cal pulls Yi aside and actually looks at her for the first time since he kissed her. “Listen,” he says.

But Yi beats him to the punch. She knows she’s the weakest person in the room at any given time, maybe excluding Avi, but she knows how to slap a pushy guy (a skill she learned during bar hopping in college), and so she does. Her palm stings, but the sound of the blow connecting and the red mark on Cal’s cheek are satisfying enough that she doesn’t care. “Don’t you ever,” she hisses, “touch me without my permission again. Don’t act like you know what’s best for me and my child. Don’t say you’d be a better father than Darius. This is his baby as much as it is mine unless he says otherwise.”

Cal has the good sense to look ashamed. “I know, and I’m sorry. It was inappropriate of me to do that to you.”

“Yes, it was.”

“Did you tell any of the others?”

“Wrath noticed and asked. That’s why she called Darius today. We didn’t tell him what happened; I knew he’d come back right away if we did.”

As if on cue, Wrath appears behind Cal’s shoulder. “Caleb,” she says, using his actual name instead of his nickname like an angry mother, “you and I need to have a talk.”

*

Wrath decides Cal’s punishment is that he’s not allowed to go out on missions for a month, he has to tell Darius what he did when he gets home, and he owes Yi a favor. Yi makes him put the baby’s crib together specifically to spite him.

“But if you ever touch someone without their express permission again,” she warns him, “even a poke, I’ll kill you myself.”

And the scary part is that Yi knows it’s not an empty threat.

*

Her mom insists on hosting Thanksgiving dinner and putting the troupe up for the night so they can drink without worrying about driving home. The tiny apartment over the bike shop barely has room for all these people (and Ripley; getting her to the shop without inciting panic from the general public was an adventure and a half), but they make it work. Yi offers to share her old bed with Onyx and Wrath, Cal and Avi take the couch, and Malakai and Ripley sleep on the living room floor.

The turkey is made completely at home. “I even stuffed it,” her mom says. “Pre-stuffed turkey is bad for pregnant women.” 

“Yes, Mom,” Yi says.

Her mom laughs. “You’ll regret that tone when your kid uses it on you, believe you me.”

“Well I’ve got at least a year before he starts talking, so I’m good until then.”

Yi gets the first slice of pumpkin pie, though it’s more whipped cream than pie by the time she starts eating it. She’ll have to ask her mom for the recipe sometime soon.

After dinner, they gather around the TV to watch a rerun of the Macy’s parade. All the adults are drinking, except for Yi, who jokes that her glass of orange juice is just a virgin screwdriver. Avi has a cup of hot chocolate, cooled just enough so he doesn’t burn his tongue. Yi falls asleep on the couch and wakes up at midnight in her bed and with a full bladder. 

At least they left me at the edge, she thinks, glancing over her shoulder at Wrath and Onyx’s sleeping forms. Alright, baby, let’s get to the bathroom before momma wets herself.

*

Her feet hurt too much to go Black Friday shopping the next day, but she gives Onyx a list of things she wants (as many diapers as possible, for one thing) and her credit card (the one not linked to Darius’s account). Malakai goes with her to carry bags.

Wrath enlists her help with the motorcycle to keep her busy during the day. It’s in definite need of a tune up, no doubt about that, and the clutch is stuck to the handlebar, so Yi takes care of that for her. 

It wouldn’t have taken very long if Yi didn’t have to take bathroom breaks because the baby insists on using her bladder like a trampoline. 

“I’m surprised I haven’t pissed myself yet,” she grumbles to Wrath after her seventh bathroom break. “Do you think I can yell at Darius about this when he gets back? I feel like it’s warranted.”

Wrath laughs. “I think you could tell Darius to bring you the moon and he’d start building a rocket ship. So, yes, he’ll let you get away with anything you want to blame on him.”

Yi blushes and turns back to the bike.

*

They start decorating for Christmas the weekend after Thanksgiving. The troupe already has a huge tree that Malakai and Cal have to get on ladders to set up, and Onyx enlists Yi’s help in baking edible ornaments.

“Won’t they go bad way before Christmas, though?” Yi asks as they mix the sugar cookie dough.

Onyx winks. “That just means we get to eat them and make more!”

“Fair enough.”

Wrath lifts Avi up on her shoulders so he can put the star on the top of the tree. Yi wonders what her son will be doing this time next year.

*

“Oh my god, I don’t need the net!”

Wrath crosses her arms and scowls. “Until you can make it across the tightrope and back, you’re not using the bike without it.”

From her place on the ground, Yi groans. This is an argument Wrath and Onyx have been having for a week straight. Onyx has gotten good at basic BMX tricks while on the ground—at least, as well as she can do when Yi can’t hop on the bike and actually show her what to do—she understands where Wrath is coming from. 

Onyx bristles. “You know I do my best work under pressure! Take the net away and I can do a fucking flip!”

“I’m not risking my tightrope walker and envy assassin on a BMX trick when a net is available.” 

Alright, I’m done listening to this. “If you guys can’t stop arguing, you don’t get pieces of the yule log I’m making tonight.”

The threat works, and Onyx agrees to use the net for practice.

*

It’s hard to assemble gifts for the troupe simply because she rarely leaves the penthouse by herself anymore.

She has to get them gradually. She only gets one gift per trip, and never a gift for the person escorting her. When Wrath takes her out, she buys Onyx a gift, for example. It’s a slow process, but the one-by-one increase in wrapped gifts under the huge tree is very satisfying to watch.

Today she’s out with Malakai, trying to find the perfect gift for Wrath and looking for any other baby things she may need that she hasn’t gotten yet. It’s fun to look at baby clothes and toys, and Malakai’s excitement just feeds hers. “This matches the purple perfectly!” he says, holding up a soft blanket with an elephant head on the back of it.

It is cute, but… “We already have, like, ten blankets for the nursery. I think that’s already kinda overkill.”

Malakai looks disappointed but puts it back. “Why are we in the baby section if you’re not going to buy anything for the baby?”

“I’m getting antsy, I guess.” Her hand falls to her stomach. She can feel the baby moving around. “I don’t want to not have something we need when the baby gets here, because I’m sure I’ll be too tired to run out and get it.”

“Hey, it’s not like you’re gonna be doing this alone. You’ll have Darius and all of us.”

“I know.” She leans against his shoulder for the solid weight of it. “Can we find somewhere to sit down? My feet are killing me.”

Malakai frowns in concern. “Do you need me to carry you?”

“We’ll get kicked out if you do that. I just need to sit, I promise.”

“If I see you getting tired, I will carry you, even if it means us getting kicked out.”

“Ugh, you’re annoying.”

“Like any good brother is.”

They find a bench in the store and sit down. From the way Malakai is looking at her feet, he’d be rubbing them if it wouldn’t draw unwanted attention. “I still don’t know what to get Darius for Christmas,” she says.

Malakai laughs. “I mean, you’re literally growing his baby. That’s a pretty good present.”

Yi smacks his shoulder. “Shut up, you know what I mean.”

“Just buy him a corny dad mug or something. You know, like in those pregnancy reveal videos people are doing now.”

She gives a pointed look down at her belly and then back  up at Malakai. “I don’t think he’ll need a hint.”

*

It’s another Sunday mid-morning, about a week and some change before Christmas, and Yi is watching the pot of boiling oil carefully to make sure she doesn’t overcook the crullers (the only way she can convince Avi to eat congee) when she hears the elevator to the penthouse open. This is, of course, odd, since the troupe is still asleep and Avi is—or was—reading aloud from a picture book at the kitchen island while she cooks, like he does most mornings.

For one awful moment, she thinks it’s Kozholok, here to, fuck, take her hostage? Use her as bait to catch Darius? He’s still being quiet but who knows when he could actually strike?

But then she hears Avi gasp and jump off the stool. She turns, slowly, and her breath catches in her throat at the sight of a devastatingly handsome man with tan skin and windblown brown hair standing in the living room. His dark eyes dart down to her round belly and then back to her face. His jaw drops.

Avi doesn’t care about whatever inner turmoil he’s going through. He just barrels at him and latches onto his knees.

“Darius! You’re home!”

[hunterartemis]

The Assistant: Chapter 10: The Truth Must Perish

Word count: 5207.

Chapter summery: The despair that was brought yesternight have brought a catastrophe that indicates that the Bad must win and the truth must perish.

Chapter Theme: Battle by Martin Phipps : https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9KcPmWgllNA

This is the way the world ends...Not with a bang but a whimper.*

There was blood on the floor, the half-drunk soup was stone cold and the case opened aghast, and Newt was sunk on the floor with his Lanvin couture still on him. He couldn’t life any of his present limbs to wipe his nonstop tears, and a sharp jab of pain was constantly pulsing near his diaphragm. When the snowy morning cast a white sunlight inside his apartment, it felt like a cruel mockery. 

In the moment of tomblike stealth, he felt something warm and wet upon his face that wasn’t his ever drenching tears. A blunt and flat beak was nipping at his face—he turned and saw his niffler snuggling upon him, of all his intelligent and brilliant beasts, his crafty little bugger, the niffler broke out of its cage, just to comfort him. Upon the despair, the presence of the creature brought a smile upon his face.

“So it’s you niffy...”  Newt took him in his arms and started to pet him, and watched how it’s nostrils quivered and it’s beady eyes blinked in a certain inquisition, as if to ask ‘what’s the matter with you?’ Newt blinked with a saddened smile, trying to reply to the silent question, but he couldn’t—he couldn’t tell himself what he needed to hear, then how will he do that to this creature.

‘She is gone niffy... she will never come back.’ Newt’s callous hand tried to caress the small fluffy back of the niffler, and he could feel the rejection of the small creature under his palm; as if its skin was creeping into its own skeleton. Suddenly with a jerk the niffler crawled of and dived into the case and with a fine chink something shiny fell out of its pouch.

The diamond necklace dazzled in faint blue, pink and yellow under the pale morning light, its incredible beauty wasn’t marred even though a speck of viscose blood stained its side. It lay there like some shiny outer skin, newly shed by a dark creature. It was tangled within in its own strings of pearls and panels of silver, as if trying to comprehend what it was to do other than to grace the beautiful neck of the duchess.

What is diamond without a beauty?

What is a beauty without diamond?

What is a diamond without dazzle? It is cold, hard and impenetrable.

“She just lost her sparkle that’s all...” Newt mumbled.

Suddenly a gust of wind and a crisp slap landed on the back of his head. Newt who was quite unnerved and exhausted in both mental and physical manner, landed on the floor, hitting his face really hard. And with the gust of effect, his case also snapped shut.

“Tell me you’ve answers...” a female voice angrily snapped. Newt pulled up his face with immense difficulty, and saw a pair of skinny ankles wearing light blue flowery pyjamas and looked up to meet the tall stature of Tina Goldstein towering over Newt with her face flushed with immense rage. As his vision settles he saw, she was clutching a newspaper in her hand. She didn’t look well, it wasn’t the puppy faced disappointment she had when she met him in Paris, nor was it the despair of yesternight. It was pure rage and fear that sent sparks in her beady dark eyes.

“Tina you...” then his eyes fell on the heading of the paper. Without standing up, he straightened his back and took the paper from Tina’s hands, and as soon as he read the headlines, cold sweats started to form on his brows. He threw his unkempt bangs slightly and intently looked at the bold black lines, scrawled across the parchment; like some gruesome bruise on virgin skin.

NEWT SCAMANDER, WANTED FOR THE UNLAWFUL SEDUCTION OF THE NEWLY ENGAGED DUCHESS OF CROY.

The midnight pain in the diaphragm that plagued Newt all night came back and slowly he found it very difficult to stay straight “What time it is?” Newt mumbled with immense difficulty and tried to wipe his face. In an attempt to stay calm, he slowly looked at his wall clock he whispered “it’s 7 in the morning; the Daily Prophet isn’t released until nine... where you got that?”

“Pinched it from the press itself” Tina replied agitatedly, “Actually no--” Tina tried to concentrated, “the junior editor called me up fifteen minutes ago in my dorm--”

“In your dorm? Where is your dorm--”

“Under the Atrium building you bub... don’t you know there is a reserve dorm for the office holders and guests—anyway, this Junior editor, well—I saw him for a couple of month when I heard about your engagement with Leta—but anyhow, he came to my room and gave me this, apparently someone followed you or Maxine--”

“Me or Maxine?”

“would you stop interrupting me--” Tina exclaimed angrily, “anyway, someone followed you and got this footage and suddenly all the ministry went outraged and there was a Wizengamot session at three-o-clock and all this mess—long story short, an arrest warrant has being issued under your name--”

“What did I do? She was drunk and seriously ill when I found her... I didn’t detect anyone; there was no one in the building--”

“WELL APPARANTLY THERE WAS!” Tina bellowed, “I knew from the moment I saw her... I knew she was a bad news--”

“Don’t be ridiculous Tina--”

“Ridiculous?” Tina picked up the paper from the ground, “is this look ridiculous to you? You committed High Treason against British Ministry, this is worse than Queenie joining Grindlewald... I swear to Isolde’s hair, you are a complete idiot!”

“I didn’t commit anything... she is my employee and I was just helping her--”

“Employee?” Tina folded her arms sarcastically, “which part of the official records says she is your employee? She is a Duchess by birth and her father, the French Diplomat can skin you alive. And besides, Theseus told me, you cannot defend yourself since you have illegally employed her.” Tina huffed in exasperation, “she never submitted her official End of Service notice, and therefore she is still under the protection of Article 51A, and you just became a felon by law.”

Newt had nothing to say. He felt like he was being trapped into an acromantula web and the head of the hollow was coming for its flesh. He tried to breathe slowly after sitting on the couch. Tina was still fuming and pacing throughout his living room. Her nervous pants echoed throughout the room like a sound in a claustrophobic space, magnifying everytime.

“Theseus is trying to minimise the press... he is trying to convince the editor not to print this in the paper, because his job is on the line too—but your warrant is ready to be released—Newt think of something, what you can do to defend yourself, is there anything you can do, or call anyone for that matter?” her cheeks and nose glowed red in agitation and her voice grew more hoarse. Her tall figure, to Newt’s ken looked grim against the morning light. Newt’s blue-green eyes went vague and glassy, his mind was swimming and for that he couldn’t respond to that, he remained quiet for a long time. After that Tina started to break down, “that’s it... you are gone—nothing can save you! And with you, I will be gone too--”

“Why would you go? You didn’t do anything?” Newt tried to comfort her, but there was no comfort in Tina’s eyes. She looked up from her hands that hid her tear stained face, “I may not have do anything, but I won’t leave you anytime soon, knowing that the reason you are in this position is the bitch--”

“It is a misunderstanding Tina, and I WON’T ALLOW YOU TO BADMOUTH HER LIKE THIS--”

Tina stood up from the sofa, looking at Newt with disbelief, her face was livid and tear stream was running across her face. But suddenly, the fireplace blazed in lurid emerald flames, Newt and Tina stood back in surprise as a head started to appear in the fireplace.

“Theseus has been arrested, they are coming for you... quick, do what you--”

Before they could recognise the person, Newt and Tina heard several whoosh of apparating wizards around their house, and then Newt happened to notice what was exactly wrong with him, and the realisation almost petrified him, as if there was a basilisk standing in front of him. He slowly recalled everything: Tina was inside, and yesterday Maxine disapparated from his room, so clearly the anti-apparation charm was failing. There was plenty of danger if a ministry wizard came in: first of all, his case, which they would have confiscate in a matter of second on a minute excuse, second was his basement which was enhanced with undetectable extension charm, a deed that was against the law of Wizarding Property and Magical Enhancement; Maxine did warn him about this, but Newt never thought that it would happen so soon. 

His mind was divided in two places: firstly protecting his beasts and their whereabouts, it wouldn’t be pleasant if the New York incident happened again, and then he steadily wondered who and how delivered this obvious false piece of news to the ministry. There was a high chance that someone from Maxine’s family or the French ministry charged against Newt, but the possibility of Anatole Malfoy stalking Maxine’s steps did not completely vanished from his mind. Moreover, Maxine was very afraid, in fact exceptionally afraid around Anatole, and she did admit that it was for him she left her Auror’s job—but why Newt and Tina? There was a mystery that wasn’t adding up. If Theseus is arrested then their last line of defense is gone—Anatole must be behind this and he was operation out of sexual jealousy.

The footsteps outside grew closer and closer; both of them felt themselves surrounded. From the corner of the eye, Newt saw Tina fondling her golden locket that preserved a picture of her and her mother. Suddenly, her hand slipped from the golden locket, and firmly held onto Newt. He could her voice; it wasn’t fumbling with nervousness, there was a desperate calmness in that tear drenched voice that can only come to someone when their backs are at the wall, ��You must not let them reach the basement... now listen to what I say--”

“Newton Artemis Fido Scamander... by the Order of the British Ministry, you are charged with a matter of Illegal affair with the Duchess of Croy, Maxine Adrienne Odessa Valois--” a sonorous voice called out from outside of the door. At first Newt wondered why they were calling him when they could have rammed the door or just directly apparated inside, but then again, he understood that an anti-apparition charm was already on effect.

“—They’re here....” Tina’s voice firmed up even more, and Newt felt a small pressure before the battalion march of the Aurors stopped at the doorstep—any moment now.

“—on the count of three, we will come inside, do not attempt to resist or retaliate--”

“Tina... I think you should leave now--” Newt took his mouth to Tina’s ears, but instead of scampering back, she smiled at him, and her hand firmed even more upon his, if Newt wore the cuffs, so would she.

“I may have not danced with you Mr. Scamander, but I will sure wear the same cuffs and hear the same sentence as you--”

After the agonising three seconds, like the army of death, the ministry wizards rammed Newt’s front door. The one at the front had an awfully familiar face. “Mr. Charlemagne?” Newt asked in a flabbergasted manner, and the wizard looked at him with a queer eye. As if he wasn’t in his will to do this, and it terribly saddened him to arrest Newt. After a brief pause, an unwilling smile graced upon his lips, framed with a Papillion moustache, “how strange are the circumstances Mr. Scamander that we are meeting this way... Clement Charlemagne sir, and it’s a pleasure to finally meet you--”

“Please Mr. Charlemagne, don’t do this... we are innocent, we know nothing about this--” Tina implored to Clement in a most desperate manner, but his honest eyes showed that over his personal opinion, he placed his duty towards the ministry, and in a reluctant manner he cuffed the hands of Tina and Newt.

“You are Newton Artemis Fido Scamander? And you, Porpentina Esther Goldstein?” he asked solemnly, as they both nodded. “Good... you will be identified by your superiors Mr. Abernathy and Mr. Augustus Worme furthermore. I hearby arrest you on behalf of the French and British ministry--”

“Wait what--?” Tina asked abruptly, “What do you mean by French and British ministries--”

“There are many things Miss Goldstein, which are better not be revealed. Trust me it will break your heart--” Clement came dragging them both out of the flat, ready to be apparated to the designated spot where they could go to the Atrium. But before they could leave, Newt desperately sought after the question Tina just asked.

“Who ordered our arrest Charles--” he used the name Maxine called him last night, “who have such a power to arrest us both?”

“The Duchess...”

...

Across the sea, in the middle of the Seine River, in a tall stone chamber, Maxine’s eyes fluttered opened into a nearly unfamiliar scene. Her compact London flat had somehow whirled into a lavish golden-and-pastel baroque room which may have awestruck any commoner, but sent a chill in her bones, suddenly she felt an old fear creeping in her heart and with that all the remaining traces of drowsiness left her eyes. She looked outside the window and the views confirmed her fear; she was in the most infamous place in the whole of France, not only known by the wizards but also muggles: the Conciergerie, a place that stood against everything that was human, the royal prison, and this place was ‘acclaimed’ by the Valois when the last queen of France Marie Antoinette was beheaded in the guillotine. Conciergerie*, the Paris estate of the Valois is the place where Maxine spent all her childhood, and underneath this exact room, a muggle queen was stripped all of her dignity and pride to be set an example that she was nothing. Conciergerie, what better place to bring Maxine Valois to remind her of her status? Her head hurt really badly, as if she had rammed her head several times on cold hard marble, and her body felt incredibly light, warm and fuzzy, as if there was something cloudlike all over her body.

She shook off the satin futons from her torso and looked down to see that she was no longer wearing that murky, stout and warm corduroy dressing gown that was soiled with vomit, blood and her own defeat, but in pink fur that smelled of gold, pride and status. As if a vacuum created in her heart and the turbulence of her blood set in, she remembered that the unknown shore she was swept in, that dressing gown was the only anchor to her previous world. Now it is gone, there is no chance of seeing it again. That soft lacy pink of that fur felt like cannibalising flesh upon her very skin and for the first time in a long time, her blood remembered the old feudal rage that burned many, and destroyed many. She jumped from her bed and slammed the giant wooden door open and started to stomp across the massive medieval corridors in such a tremendous force that all the house-elves that were working disillusioned themselves and the human attendants made themselves scarce in case they are trampled in her fury.

“c'est quoi cette merde?” (what is this shit?) Maxine drawled after slamming herself into the breakfast parlour, where three women were having tea and gossiping with silvery laugh. At Maxine’s arrival they cast a brief patronising look at them, and the oldest of the three put her cup gently on the short table and put on a forceful smile.

“And good morning to you...” she said in a pleasant voice.

“Ah... Saint Marguerite, haven’t see you in a while” Maxine replied with a cruel smile and sauntered towards her. Supporting herself on the glass top table, she leaned on her and asked, “how is your cousin...oops, your husband--” and gave a satisfactory smile when she cringed at her, “so nice to see you when you’re not sucking my old man up.”

“Mademoiselle Maxine...” Marguerite stood up, pulling her entire Bell-epoch authoritarian figure to the fullest extend and her neatly arranged red hair high, as if to stand against the unjust that Maxine was causing, “do not forget that he is your father, and I am your mother.”

“Oh please... do forgive yourself for a moment” Maxine waved her words around, “you are the very reason that I was born. It’s your fault that my father went with my mother, because he wasn’t happy with you know—fucking his sister.” Maxine paused and enjoyed the conflicted look on Marguerite’s matronly face that oscillated from humiliation to rage, and Maxine did no effort to hide her delight.

“Sometimes I am so glad that you grew up to be so observant, but Maxine, do you happen to know why your mother left you alone?” Marguerite asked with composure and watched Maxine’s smile disappearing.

“Don’t speak to me like that old hag, you are just a--”

“If you speak another word again maman, I cannot guarantee that your dignity will not be violated--” a reddish blonde woman with very pale skin and Slavic feature stood up against Maxine, and her icy blue eyes glowered towards her.

“Hello Sveta, didn’t notice you were there—and how’s the marriage going with Lance” Maxine straightened up and smirked. It felt more like a greeting than an insult, because the next moment Sveta, or Svetlana, Maxine’s older sister-in-law drew a smile upon her uncannily symmetrical Slavic face, and came to kiss Maxine.

“Bonjour Masha...” she gently grabbed her face and gave her a glowing look. Svetlana had this habit of calling Maxine ‘Masha’, a Russian diminutive that queerly sounded both affectionate and condescending. Out of the three Maxine had patience only for Svetlana because she had a no-nonsense attitude and cared less about being ‘ladylike’. Svetlana smiled again to praise Maxine, “glad you are taking the drinking business seriously--” Sveta shook her head in such a manner that from under her waved tucked in bob, the pearl droplets caught the morning light. And in that smile in her face, Maxine sensed something out of the normal. She knew those earrings, those were her grandmother’s the Duchess of Croy, whose title she was given. Those precious baroque pearls were now dangling on Sveta’s ears, and it was an indication enough to convey that her position was reducing on the Valois estate already.

“What drinking business? It’s been eight hours in a weekday... isn’t that normal for a human being, and besides I had always had the stronger stomach--”

“—more like seventy-eight hours...” another voice spoke from the couch, and looked at Maxine with her protruding gray eyes that had dark shadows underneath it. She was giggling to herself, barely managing to keep her posture correct with her enormous stomach. After an episode of giggling and fondling her stomach, she cast a glassy look towards her sister-in-law as if to assert a new level of patronization upon her. Maxine returned that look with her usual crooked smirk that wiped the smile off the pregnant woman. Elena de Orsini, the younger daughter-in-law of the Valois, after two miscarriages and a trip to the Hopital de Dymphna, she was finally able to get pregnant, and now she was silently conveying Maxine that with the true heir on board, she will usurp her position.

“Oh darling...” Marguerite mused with concern which sounded like mockery in Maxine’s ears. She turned towards her stepmother quickly with the word, and the intensity of her expression put caution in Maxine’s face, “didn’t anyone tell you?” Marguerite asked plainly. She waited for Maxine to reply, but nothing came out of her mouth. Marguerite’s brows crinkled in worry and she started to shake her head, “oh dear, o dear... you sincerely do not know?”

“Can you cut the chase and come clear now St. Margaret, before I slap your parchment face?” Maxine snarled and Marguerite came a little closer to her and told that she has been unconscious for nearly three days. Marguerite received a call from someone at very early in the morning, and Lampito, her elf brought Maxine in the Conciergerie, crossing all the portkeys.

“And do you know the best part, dear sister?” Elena stood up with difficulty, straightening her sheath-like dress and her protruding eyes glowed with a covert excitement, “your very good friends and benefactors got arrested—oh, what was the name, Oh yes—Scamander and—Scamander” Elena’s giggles that followed poured like hot lead in Maxine’s ears. She carefully screened the faces of the three women that were sitting in front of her, all of them held a peculiar look, as if they were looking at her with a condescending eye, for not knowing something she should have known already. Elena again continued, “I think the order of the universe is finally restoring, don’t you think maman, I mean—it’s a shame that our sister used to work with the filthy lowbred auror when she could have had—anything in the world, and now when she is getting married with the Malfoy family, everything is back in order—I think they should bring back the guillotine and put an end to all those audacious muggles lives--” Elena paused in her musing and veered her ghostly eyes towards Maxine “It still a mystery to me—how come that beast hunter managed to seduce you? But, I don’t blame you ma chere... I mean you cannot really ignore your true nature—you know what they say, like mother like daughter--”

Before Elena could finish, Maxine was pointing her ivory wand towards her sister-in-law’s full belly, and in reaction Svetlana raised her wand up on Maxine’s throat and Marguerite looked like as if she Maxine just murdered someone. With the corner of her Maxine inspected Svetlana’s wand tip and her anger came out in a whispering vapour of poison.

“You should be careful Hélène... there is a long way from the womb to the world, and anything could happen between the two” Maxine’s eyes were getting redder with every passing moment, and her ferocity reduced Elena into a whimpering mess, “if you spew any more lies about me or any of my friends, I not sure I could be a model aunt for that unborn child of yours--”

“She’s not lying...” Marguerite replied with regained composure, and fearfully picked up the paper from underneath the tea-table. With caution she handed Maxine Les Temps Magiques* where it was clearly said that “The Duchess of Croy, Maxine Valois gets Newt Scamander, the celebrated beast hunter arrested for unlawful seduction. Auror and brother Theseus Scamander is also apprehended in suspicion--”

“What is this?” Maxine thundered after throwing the paper across the room, “what is this joke?”

“Why don’t you ask your father?” Marguerite said in a reserved tone.

“Oh believe me, I would--”

Maxine then threw away that fur robe she had been wearing, and in the pink underrobe, she strutted across the hall and into Hrothgar’s chamber in full rage. The pain she had felt after losing the corduroy robe was worsened into something that told her in her face that she had now lost the only good people she knew in her life. When she opened the door, Hrothgar lifted his face and looked at her as if he was already expecting her.

“Viens, ma chere... guess you’ve found out” he said with such an ease that it Maxine’s blood boil, she stomped her hands on his large oak table and looked at her father, who looked back at her with an indifference and a mild annoyance as if he was an employer and Maxine an employee who was out of her limits, he cast a brief glance upon her and smiled his usual well rehearsed cordial smile, “consider this a wedding present.”

“Wedding present? Oh, I didn’t know that I was being married—I thought I was brought here so that you could prepare me for the execution--”

“Maxine—do have a care with your fiancée.” Hrothgar expressed with a mild annoyance, “he is a pureblood and of good family, and he expressed to me how much he is in love with you. Besides, I know about your little liaison with that Theseus Scamander. It wasn’t hard to understand that he was in love with you--”

“What—what did you say?” Maxine’s face changed its course from turbulent anger to a surprise. She couldn’t believe what her father was saying to her. It could not be true—Theseus Scamander of all people, loved her? This can’t be true—it was always infuriatingly one-sided, it was Maxine who pined for him always, and he was the one who disregarded her. He didn’t understand her feelings and never acknowledged her—she was the winner when she walked away from him, moving on and saving him from Anatole’s poison—no, no her father must be lying. But was he lying? Rothbart Valois is never wrong when it comes to people—that’s what makes him so very infuriatingly good. Her eyes felt unusually foggy and burning, her jaw slouched and every rib in her chest started to contract, to squeeze every ounce of breath out of her lungs, but her ears heard Hrothgar speaking, “—it wasn’t just cordiality that he couldn’t mention that you no longer work for him anymore. Even in the dinner table, he kept staring at your direction; his eyes moved every direction that light from your diamond necklace shone... I know that look, and I know what mayhem it can bring--” Hrothgar looked meaningfully to his daughter, “you must not make my mistake Maxine--”

Her senses were numbed already, but despite that a sense of shame was washed upon Maxine, “do you mean my mother then, Monsignor? Then you must think that me being alive is a mistake--”

“I never said it like that--”

“Then end my life My Lord—end the job you left twenty years ago—the one you procrastinated with your mark—do it, end my suffering--” Maxine screamed in agony,

“Calm yourself--” Hrothgar snapped irritably in such a patronising way that not only it belittled Maxine, but also made a fool out of herself, “—but why his brother, monsignor, what did he do?” Maxine straightened up, struggling to gather herself from the humiliation of expression pain before an unfeeling listener, “why him—what did he do? And why take my name to announce the good job? Always the saints aren’t you, you and Marguerite? Never getting your hands dirty and making me the angry fool... ”

“He was simply in the way--” the veil of decorum finally fell from Hrothgar’s face, and the person who was looking at his daughter was a cruel Machiavellian who thinks people as pieces on a chessboard “Newt Scamander—shame on you Maxine Valois! Lying to me through your teeth while you were stirring scuts with that lowly beast hunter—the time when you should be feeling proud that you showed the people like him and his example of a brother their rightful places. I have dug them deep, some place from where they cannot escape—and you are blaming me? I did everything for you—I gave you everything, despite everything--”

“It is my sovereign right sir that I am aware of the actions that are committed under my name--”

“YOUR SOVEREIGN RIGHT WAS TO BE DISGRACED AS A BASTARD OF A MUDBLOOD--” Hrothgar’s screamed on top of his lungs and the force of that voice threw Maxine off her foot. But then, she wasn’t someone who would just take anyone’s lip—she always faced times like this, and she learned to evoke who she was after so many trials and errors that her pretence of being unaffected was almost natural.

“Where have you put them Monsignor? The bottom cells of Azkaban with hoodless dementors to suck their soul instantly” Maxine’s eyes were full and her voice shook with despair with tears filled to the brim.

“Don’t be a nincompoop...” Hrothgar answered with the same indifferent irritability, “they are the property of French Ministry now--” Hrothgar put his quill down and looked at Maxine’s tearful bloodshot eyes with a subtle victorious look, “I am happy to announce that they are currently in the Geôlier of Tour de Silence, and if you have exceptionally good luck—a trait you have inherited in birth, you would be walking down the aisle upon their graves”

With that news Maxine stood breathless for a moment, and then her despair surfaced with sudden howl. That brief bellowing of grief wasn’t only a representative of how the greatest people in Maxine’s life was stripped away from her, and will be soon from life, but it was also an outburst of rage that concealed itself covertly in grief. Maxine put her hand away from mouth that was clamped tight to stop her from whimpering and then she looked at her father with the same expression with which he looked at his daughter few minutes ago.

“Let me remind you sir--” Maxine said in a low and threatening voice, “you are committing a mistake that would cost you your biggest this time. You’ve sold your queen to the wrong knight, and it’s the matter of time that you would be pawned and sold like a brood mare, like you are doing to me now” Maxine slammed the door shut behind her as she stormed out the rooms of her father. The daylight upon her face and the fading bustle of Paris seemed like the gossips of the aristocrats against the unfortunate muggle queen that walked these doors. Maxine never thought she would relate to her muggle roots so much—so this is how must have her biological mother felt when she walked through the halls of the Châteaux d'If*, this is how must have Marie Antoinette felt when she was dragged for her execution, in all humiliation and hopelessness. She started to walk away from that awful corridor to someplace quiet—someplace where she could bleed in quiet, where she could laugh at her own tragedy, the mistake that made her lose the one thing she cared most for. She walked right into Anatole’s trap, and this time she lost Theseus and Newt together.

Tags: @my-current-fandom-is

This is a chapter that exposes how privilege and power can corrupt and usurp good people. I intend to present a part of Maxine’s family here, and I seriously do not condone any questionable action Maxine does in here. take the characters as impartially as you can.

This is how the world ends... : lines from T.S. Eliot’s poem, The Hollow Men.

Conciergerie: a castle in the ‘Isle of the City’, Paris, formerly a prison but presently used mostly for law courts. It was part of the former royal palace, the Palais de la Cité, which consisted of the Conciergerie, Palais de Justice and the Sainte-Chapelle. Hundreds of prisoners during the French Revolution were taken from the Conciergerie to be executed by guillotine at a number of locations around Paris. From 1914, it was opened for public and tourists with a great deal of the buildings sealed off (Medieval parts). I imagine that the places that are ‘out of order’ for muggle public, are used as a wizarding residence by the Valois. It was made during the Capet dynasty (parent house of the Valois), so I guess Valois will use it as house. I specifically wanted this place to be portrayed to show the parallels between Newt and company’s imprisonment and the imprisonment of Maxine in her own home.

Hopital de Dymphna : Dymphna is the patron saint of madness and insanity, and Hopital de Dympha is a medieval style asylum that I imagined for the French Wizards, where the victims would be tortured out of insanity.

Les Temps Magiques : The Wizarding Times, a French Equivalent of The Daily Prophet

Geôlier of Tour de Silence: Jail of the Tower of Silence, I have taken the terms from different places, “ Geôlier“ is the French term for prison Vessel, the kind you see Jean Valjean was kept in the Les Miserables, and the “Tower of Silence“ is the Zoroastrian ‘gravesite‘ where the Zoroastrian people leave the dead to rot in open sun and rain up on a high tower. They believe that dead body is the house of evil and by aquamation, burial and cremation they would respectively corrupt the water, earth and holy fire (which they worship). I intend to write elaborately on the French Wizarding Prison in the next chapter, and reveal its history.

Châteaux d'If: The Château d'If is a fortress (later a prison) located on the island of If, the smallest island in the Frioul archipelago situated in the Mediterranean Sea about 1.5 kilometres offshore in the Bay of Marseille in southeastern France. It was the place Maxine was born, and it is a reclaimed property by the Valois family.

[ozarkhealingtraditions]

Hauntings According to Spiritism

First things first, in Spiritism we really hesitate to call places “haunted”. As a philosophy it has always sought to create calm, rational adherents, who are able to approach the spirit world with peace of mind rather than fear. One of the big questions that came up for budding Spiritists early on was that of haunted places, and whether we should be afraid of such locations. Allan Kardec in The Mediums’ Book encourages readers to rationally think through what exactly goes into a haunting. What is present? How is it affecting you or the family who lives in the place? And how are you able to help resolve the issue? There are many approaches to hauntings that we can look at through the lens of Spiritism, but below are just a few mentioned in detail in chapter nine of The Mediums’ Book.

What Creates a Haunting?

A haunting usually refers to what are called “spontaneous manifestations” meaning noises (raps, scrapes, voices, etc.) that seemingly appear at random in a location but have an intelligent origin. This is often tested through the use of questions, whereby the entity will be asked to rap out a certain pattern for letters or “yes/no” type answers. Today there are a whole host of other methods employed by paranormal investigators, but the same basic idea still exists and that is verifying the origin of certain “explainable” noises.

Kardec goes on to say that historically such noises would automatically create fear for people. Rightfully so, I’d say. I’ve lived in houses with such spontaneous manifestations and it can drive you nuts if you don’t have an explanation. But Spiritists would say not to worry about it, that such manifestations, along with others like moving furniture, or throwing objects, are often the result of a spirit that is “acting out” so to speak. They become like a toddler who is trying to entertain themselves by annoying their parents to no end. A situation like this doesn’t warrant fear, but patience more than anything. Answering the question of the origin of hauntings, Kardec’s channeled spirit has this to say:

It has grown out of men’s instinctive belief in spirit manifestations, a belief that has prevailed in all ages of the world; but, as I said just now, the aspect of lugubrious places strikes the imagination, and men have naturally located, in such places, the beings whom they have regarded as supernatural. This superstitious belief is upheld by the fanciful imaginings of your poets, as well as by the nonsensical stories told to you in the nursery. ~Allan Kardec The Mediums’ Book, 9:5

The hauntings we see now through the media always create a much more intense experience than normally anyone would ever have. They create houses that actually kill people, and demonic ghosts that are forever following certain people around. Kardec even addressed this notion in his works, telling us that ghost stories are almost always inflated versions of real events. We see this at play with eye-witnesses all the time, where their story grows and develops new facets the longer the person keeps telling it. That’s not to say all stories of hauntings are lies, of course not. Most are likely based on some example of a spontaneous manifestation that was allowed to build and build in the minds of the witnesses until it became something far bigger than the reality of the situation.

What Places Can be Haunted?

For Spiritists like Kardec this was a ridiculous question to ask. He urged readers to think about how many spirits they are surrounded by on a daily basis. If we had in mind that all locations containing ghosts are haunted, then everywhere we stepped would be defined as such. Spirits are everywhere, and most only really ever notice their presence when they become noisy by way of spontaneous manifestations. Essentially any location can produce these experiences, regardless of its age, or whether it was abandoned or “ruined”. Now, that said, I will mention that in my experience the more likelihood that a location is filled with errant or lower level spirits does tend to increase the chance that those spirits will be noisy. Take old prisons, for instance, where you’ve amassed a large number of executed individuals who might now act as “haunting spirits” until they are convinced to elevate. This still doesn’t created a haunted building in the way the media would like to portray, and should be approached with the same levelheadedness and skepticism as any other location. Spirits also can attach themselves to certain locations that they are familiar with, say a childhood home, or a school, etc. But again, these are lower level spirits who are still fixated on materialism, still connected to their former life.

What are the circumstances that may attract spirits to a given place? “Their sympathy with persons who frequent that place, and, in some cases, the desire to communicate with them. Their motives, however, are not always so praiseworthy inferior spirits may desire to revenge themselves on persons against whom they have a grudge. Sojourn in a fixed locality may be, also, a punishment inflicted on them especially if they have committed a crime there, so that the crime may be constantly before their eyes.” ~Allan Kardec The Mediums’ Book, 9:9

Along these same lines, Kardec explains that spirits can’t possibly be attached to certain times or days (he mentions midnight, but I’d also like to add Halloween) as they are beyond the sense of time after losing their mortal bodies. Now, we do sometimes see lower level spirits that appear at certain times to recreate some event that they’ve become fixated on in death. This is actually rare, though, and Kardec warns to investigate such cases to make sure its not just a spirit playing a game. As far as night versus day goes, Kardec explains that spirits are sometimes easier to see at night because of the nature of their perispirit, or spirit shell, but that essentially spirits can manifest any time of the day.

…days and hours are measurements of time for the use of men, and for the needs of corporeal life; spirits have no need of any such measurements, and take very little heed of them. ~Allan Kardec The Mediums’ Book, 9:6

How Do We Get Rid of Haunting Spirits?

It’s wrong to think that you might be “getting rid of” a certain spirit that has been particularly nosy or troublesome. It’s more that there is a way of quieting the spirit, or also helping them to elevate, whereby they then realize that being annoying is of no use to them at all. Kardec encourages talking to the spirits to identify whether they are:

tricksters, that make trouble for their own enjoyment

suffering spirits, that might have issues you can help resolve

guardians, that simply want to watch over the location and those who frequent it

The process of discovery is often a difficult one, but even without the aid of a medium, an ordinary individual can assess a “haunting” by talking aloud and talking often to the spirits present. Some would say this only encourages the ghosts to continue, but in the case of trickster or frivolous spirits, this will sometimes make them realize they haven’t tricked you and they with quiet down or move on. Some spirits enjoy playing games, so laughing at them when a manifestation occurs can sometimes show the spirit that they’ve been heard.

Spirits who come without any evil intention may also manifest their presence by rendering themselves visible, or by noises ; but the noises they make never degenerate into racket. They are often suffering spirits whom you may relieve by praying for them; they are sometimes kindly spirits, who desire to show you that they are near you ; or they may be frivolous spirits, who are only in sport. Since these who disturb you are, almost invariably, spirits in search of amusement, the best thing to do is to laugh at them they will tire of playing pranks, if they see that they neither frighten nor vex you. ~Allan Kardec The Mediums’ Book, 9:14

In most cases, unless the witness has a more level head about the situation, a case of “haunting” immediately warrants an exorcism, even if it’s just through the burning of sage to “drive away negative spirits” as I always hear. For Spiritists, the use of exorcism formulas or spells to send away ghosts is nothing more than wishful thinking, really. Imagine what you might do if you were just walking down the street and someone started yelling an exorcism formula at you. You’d probably think, “What the hell?” and just walk off, right? Most people wouldn’t react in any way other than to be confused and concerned when something like that happens, I imagine. The same goes with spirits, who tend to be more human than we give them credit. When faced with an exorcism or spell they simply laugh, or roll their eyes, or retreat away, confused by the situation. Kardec tells us that you can do much more through talking with the spirit than just reciting banishing formulas. By talking and listening you might be giving the spirit something they never had in life. Your actions could very well help them to elevate. And all it takes is some patience and kindness.

“That’s easy to say when there’s a demon in your house!” some might exclaim. Is it difficult to show patience and love in the face of evil? Yes, of course it is. But is it impossible? Certainly not. As humans we have the unique ability to passively effect the spirit world simply by our demeanor. By remaining as a calming influence in the world around us, and by surrounding ourselves with higher level spirits as protectors and guardians, we are actually able to transform those errant entities around us. Without even knowing it we might be helping countless spirits to elevate by simply being calm and happy within ourselves. And remember! The traits of the higher order spirits, that direction we are all progressing towards, is altruism, meaning love for and the want to help others without necessarily experiencing that sentiment back.

Is there any method of expelling them? “Yes; but most frequently what people do for that purpose attracts rather than repels them. The best way of expelling bad spirits is to attract good ones, by doing all the good you can; the bad ones will then go away, for good and evil are incompatible. Be always good, and you will have only good spirits about you.” – Many very good people, however, are greatly annoyed by the persecutions of bad spirits. “If persons thus annoyed are really good, the annoyance may be a trial to exercise their patience, and to excite them to greater goodness.” ~Allan Kardec The Mediums’ Book, 9:13