#beat down: fists of vengeance

[vgadvisor]

[two-40-foot-slabs]

[lunaticobscurity]

there's a new post up at the world's greatest obscure videogames review blog, and it's the first of april, so it's time for the one mainstream game a year to be covered here. go and read about it~!

and please show your support by reblogging this post and maybe also subscribing on patreon for early access to new posts, lots more screenshots of every game i cover, and various other nice things :D

[themotherofhorses]

maybe you think that you can hide (i can smell your scent from miles)

summary: let it be known that accepting defeat is not in aemond targaryen's nature. and with a witch now in his hands, the distance between you and him is only shortening.

pairing: (somewhat) dark!aemond targaryen x fem!reader

warnings: explicit language. mentions of violence, previous smut, and child loss. male masturbation. massive obsessive tendencies on aemond's part.

notes: to quote my mom, megan thee stallion: "pressed, stressed, obsessed, i got 'em."

masterlist | series masterlist

part one | part three | part four | part five

The rain was light. From his chamber’s windows, Aemond One Eye could see the fat raindrops fogging up the glass frames and mudding the open courtyard below, where he usually trained under Ser Criston Cole. The evening weather was peaceful and calm, very soothing, but Aemond’s mind was anything but.

He had been counting the days, as it was all he could do right now.

Three months, perhaps even four, since his own lady wife vanished, leaving no trace of herself behind.

Aemond deeply regretted not having a septon marry the two of them in the eyes of the Seven that very night that he claimed her, or whisking her away to Dragonstone in secret to wed her in the customs of his ancestors. Oh, he knew that his family would object to the marriage, but he did not care. She was his, and they could not, would not, deny that. She and the babe. They both belonged to him.

And now they were gone.

It weighed him down most days- if not all, a sort of feeling so heavy in his chest that sometimes it made it hard to breathe. Were they both alright? Safe and healthy? Had she gone against his wishes and returned to her homeland? Aemond had no way of knowing the answers and that itself was most upsetting, because what if they were dead? Or injured, with the Stranger trailing after them, awaiting the chance to rob them from him?

He shakes his head at that. I will find them, he swears to himself, while a fist clenches into a tight ball, no more of these ill thoughts.

But with no more ill-mannered thoughts come those of vengeance and punishment.

How dare she, this lady wife of his, flee from him!

He promised her everything under the golden sun and more- a plentiful and comfortable life as a princess of the realm and the mother of his heirs, as well as his very own beating heart and soul and seed. What more could the foolish girl long for? Aemond stares out the window, towards the gentle hill slopes of the realm’s countryside. The land was silvery from the rain and blanketed with a thick mist. What could her homeland provide that he could not?

He sighs before turning back to his empty bed, the left side, from where she once laid, now cold and untouched, with her sweet scent slowly fading. He hates it.

Yet some of it was still left, to his many blessings, and he brings the sheets to his nose, taking in a deep whiff.

The smell makes his cock stir and harden in his pants, and he soon grows too weak in the knees and in his resolve. He tears off his trousers and lays on the bed, his cock in one hand, and her side of the sheets in the other, his mind spinning countless images of his young bride. Every thought sent more blood rushing in between his legs, memories of her pretty body and all the marks and bruises her skin wore, her cries and whimpers, and the way her tearful eyes bore into his.

After that night, he took her more and more, in varying positions. Some new, others old. Sometimes he mounted her from behind, shoving her face down into the pillows to muffle her loud moans and screams as her hips slapped against his, and while that was pleasant, he soon realized he did not care for such. Aemond liked seeing her beautiful face twisted in pleasure and the way her breasts bounced with every thrust, and how she easily flustered whenever he leant to whisper a string of praises in her ear.

He also liked when she sat on her knees with his cock in her mouth, her tongue working wonders as she stared up at him as if he was a god and she one of those whores that belonged to the Street of Silk. But he never dared mutter those kind of words aloud, fore his lady wife was so much prettier than them damned wenches, too sweet and innocent and pure, and wholly his.

And not long after that, she began to glow, the sort that came only with motherhood.

He loved it and felt nothing but immense pride.  

Was she still glowing, and swelling with his child? Aemond was certain she was, and he could only imagine the sight, one most beautiful to man. He remembered his mother’s pregnancy with his younger brother- how her feet constantly ached, and all the times she would ask Ser Cole to fan her, or switch gowns because she grew too uncomfortable and moody.

Was it the same for his wife? Were her little feet hurting as well?

The thought of such makes him bite down hard on his bottom lip, trying his best to swallow his own grunts and moan, and with a whine so unlike him, the head of his cock weeps and spills more of his seed, down his hand and onto his thighs.

What a waste, he thinks emptily, while eyeing the mess he had made, all this belongs to her, yet the foolish girl refused to see it.  

Heaving out yet another heavy sigh, he reaches for the rag that sits to his side. What more could be done? Nothing. Foolish, foolish little girl, he clicks his tongue, all this because of you. He then calls for the maid, requesting for her to draw him a bath.

Tonight, he will dream of his lady wife and their little babe and the life they should be sharing at this very moment. He will ponder over names and if the child will favor her looks or his, and how he will need to meet with the royal seamstress for a layette. And as he sinks himself into the scalding hot waters of the bathtub, he smiles in contentment.

One-eyed Aemond Targaryen will have his wife, and his child too, by any means necessary. 

It was after he sacked Harrenhal that Aemond finds the opportunity he had been waiting for.

The sixth month was nearing with still no sign of his little wife, though the princeling did not dare to consider admitting defeat. There was much pent-up frustration and fury within him, festering from all the damned months he faced of constant loneliness and dryness, and the riverlands faced the brute of it, most notably House Strong. In the ward of Harrenhal, at the hands and command of Prince Aemond, no Strong was spared- neither trueborn nor bastard, all but Alys Rivers.

He had previously heard that the rivers woman was an alleged woods witch, though she dabbled in other branches of the craft. Blood magic too, several little birds say as well.

It gives him an idea.

So he demands two of his knightsmen to bring to him the wet nurse, dark-haired and twice his age. When she stands in front of him, dressed in a soft emerald gown and with her bodice sullied wet from her breast milk, he does not expect for her to bat her black eyelashes and promise to warm his bed if he grants her protection.

“I can be of great use to you,” she adds, in tones thick with seduction.

But Aemond is quick to unsheathe his sword and hold it at her throat. “It should be known that I carry no love for your kind, witch, and that I dare not touch another woman who is not my wife,” he seethes, pressing the blade harder against her skin, “-either you pledge to help me find her, or I will sever your tongue. Perhaps I’ll send it to the whore of my eldest sister as a gift, seeing how she loved you Strongs so much.”

In the back stands Ser Criston Cole, biting his own tongue from saying anything. He may have been the second son of Viserys Targaryen, but Prince Aemond was the knight’s through and through.

The woman nods, and Aemond pulls back his sword. In his mind, he is giddy with excitement at the thought of finally having his dear wife back in his arms, where she belongs.

And the babe, he can hardly wait to see him too.

Alys wipes away the tiny welts of blood budding along her neckline, grimacing. She recognizes the blade as Valyrian-steel, with an edge that could have cut her head clean off. It is probably spell-forged too, she thinks. “My time and craft come with a price, Prince Aemond,” she says, steeling her voice to hide the fact that she is licking her wounds. “I expect to be paid in return.”

“Yes, I know,” Aemond hums, while sliding his sword back into its sheathe. “You will keep your life, and still have the chance for more babes to feed from your chest.”

He debates whether to bring her back to King’s Landing, in case his own children need a wet nurse, but the thought is off-putting, and he wishes not to offend his wife when she returns. Instead, he turns back to study the rivers woman. “My wife is missing,” he says, “and I wish to find her and bring her home.”

Alys frowns. “When was the last time you saw her?”

“Six months ago, in our room. She disappeared the next morning, leaving nothing behind.” Aemond sighs. “She is with child,” he says ruefully, “and I worry every day." He rubs at his temple, shaking his head. "This is her first babe, and mine as well. I have made her into a new mother with the promise to remain by her side, but now she is gone, and I haven’t the slightest clue where she might be.” The pain returns again, followed by anger and frustration, as well as the deep regret for not doing things differently.

His words give Alys a chill. She always had a soft spot for children and the young maidens that found motherhood too soon in their lives. Maybe because that was her once, so many moons ago, losing child after child well before their lives began.

She mourned so many dead babes that the thought of another girl going through the same felt sinful.

Finding sudden courage, Alys takes Aemond’s hand in hers. “Let me help you, Prince Aemond,” she tells him, all with the gentlest smile. “A father should be with his children, and a wife with her husband.”

His violet eye finds her green ones, and she catches the smallest glimmer of hope flickering within. “Thank you.”

“Blood magic would perhaps be the best way to find your wife, my prince.”

Aemond tilts his head at Alys. “How so?” The Faith of the Seven went against magic, and harbors little love or respect towards those who practice it, and he grew up with similar sentiments. But at this point, he is too desperate to care. All he wants is her back.

May the Father and the Crone forgive him in his later years, though he has a feeling that the Mother might be rather sympathetic and understanding towards his situation.

“It is a strong and powerful craft,” Alys explains, “capable of things beyond our own understandings. This sort of magic- it has the power to deliver life and then steal it away. ”

He hums, nodding along. “And how would it work?”

Alys pauses, unsure of how to say her next words. “It would require the blood of your wife, my prince,” she says, carefully, “even just the tiniest droplet would work well. I could call upon my own gods to find her. If she pricked her finger on a needle or scraped her knee, as long as it drew fresh blood, there is no use in her hiding.” But her head then drops, and her shoulders slump too, “Yet seeing how she has been gone for so long, I do not know how it could be done, or what else to do in that matter.”

Aemond remains quiet from where he sits by the room’s hearth. He brushes his knuckles against his lips as he thinks, and thinks, and thinks some more. “Would dry blood work?”

Alys blinks. “Well, maybe?” Her mouths flatten in a line as she ponders over the idea, trying to remember if her old readings ever mentioned anything about dried blood and rituals. “I suppose so, my prince,” she replies with, fiddling with her long and thin fingers, “Blood is blood, regardless of time.”

At that, he leaves the room, only to return several minutes later carrying a single bedsheet, cream in color. Alys watches as he drapes it over the chair he had sat at, making sure to smooth out any wrinkles. When he is done, he calls for the witch to join his side, and when she stands next to him, he gestures to a bloodstain at the center, dried and a bit crusty but still obvious.

“My wife’s blood,” he says, smirking, “from the night I took her maidenhood and gave her our son.”

Alys glances at him, and her lips pull back into a smirk too. “Perfect.”

tag list: @minttea07 @narwhal-swimmingintheocean @smolnuggie911 @marahisthebest @bibli0thecary @whatsonthemirror @bellaisasleep @witchy-jadda @princeaemond1eye @mefools @xcharlottemikaelsonx @browngirl101

(if I did not tag you, it’s because it did not let me! im sorry, little love, the tumblr gods hate me today.)

[slasherscream]

I love your writing! And you just get my craziness and character obsessions. I was thinking what would happen if reader had a bruise cheek or lip, and refuse to tell them what happen. Then they discover that the reader was the one who beat the shit out of someone for saying something about their partner, and how proud yet pissed off they will be. I’m think Crazy Ass Girls Gang, need more possessive and protective FMC. Thank you!

warnings: yandere behavior - YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED

Tiffany Valentine - Tricks you into thinking she’s gonna be normal about it. She purses her lips when you won’t tell her anything, but quietly rushes off to get the first-aid kit. WATCH OUT! You have just activated a trap card: emotional manipulation. Her most powerful weapon. She’ll silently and dotingly take care of you. Disinfectant. Gentle Hands. Careful bandaging. Petulant silence. Painkillers lovingly dropped in your hand. Big sad eyes staring up at you. When you inevitably break and tell her what happened she could melt! She does melt, straight into your arms. You’re gonna be covered in lipstick by the time she’s through with you. Her hero. Don’t worry, she’ll help you clean up… eventually. Later, you’ll have to help her clean up too. It was so romantic of you to fight for her honor…. But she'd never let someone live after they hurt you, silly.

Jordan Li - Won’t drop the line of questioning until you’re damn near ready to fight her too. She hates that you’re hurt. She loves that you wanted to defend her. Jordan gets a lot of criticism, sometimes it seems never ending. The fact that you feel so strongly about protecting her, not because you think she can’t fight her own battles… but because she shouldn’t have to do it all alone? It means a lot. Still, she doesn’t want you getting into fights. Let alone fights over her. It doesn’t matter how badly you hurt the other person. If there are marks on you Jordan is going to go find them for round two. “You like to put hands on people?” Words spoken seconds before disaster (she’s ignoring the fact that you started the fight. Jordan could give a shit about semantics.)

Nancy Downs - Don’t wanna tell her? Cool! Get ready to experience her favorite couple’s activity besides shoplifting: abusing your coven bond to read your mind! Hooray! It will hurt badly. Because Nancy always makes it hurt when you keep her out on purpose, or hide things from her (or when she thinks you’re doing that.) But don’t worry, after she realizes how sweet you really were, she’ll make you feel all better. Cooing over you as much as she ever allows herself to coo. Cleaning your cuts. Healing you with her magic. Trying to ease the fever that always comes whenever she uses your bond in a way she shouldn’t. She thinks you’re the stupidest, sweetest thing. You’re witches. You don’t have to use your fists anymore to win fights. She leaves you with the coven and goes to enact a witch’s vengeance on whoever dared to lay a finger on you. 

Jennifer Check - You’ll try not to tell her but she immediately starts making such wild accusations you have to just come out and admit to why you’re injured. “I can smell someone on you. If you wanted to get beat up to get your rocks off you should’ve just told me, I’d happily beat the shit out of you.” Start talking quickly! She looks like she’s about to start fulfilling that nonexistent wish now. Once you tell her she has to suppress a smile. She’s a demon. She doesn’t need you playing knight in shining armor over what some jealous, mouth-breathing, loser is saying about her… but, it’s kinda hot that you did. She’ll show you just how hot she thinks it is. Then you two are gonna take a nice little drive, and you’re gonna point out the jackass who put bruises on you. She’ll fuck you again after she’s full. “Thanks for finding my next meal, baby.” 

Victoria Neuman - Victoria expects you to have better self control than this. Not telling her what happened isn’t an option. Ever. The look on her face when you first try and insist that nothing happened is enough for you to quietly admit you got into a fight. Her blood pressure sky-rockets. You two have an image to maintain. You’re her spouse. She has enough problems as it is. She’s thinking of viral videos, nightly news, seedy gossip magazines doing think-pieces: do we really want this person standing behind the president as first spouse? When you tell her you fought one of the Boys for trying to convince you she’s a monster? Well…. She goes a little softer. Victoria will pull you into the circle of her arms and thank you for being so loyal to her. She means it from the bottom of her heart. She’s also dreaming of the day she can pop their fucking heads. Touching you. Talking to you. Trying to turn you against her… they’ve crossed her last line. 

Carrie White - The moment she sees you she’s in hysterics: “Oh, Angel, what happened?!” You’re really gonna sit there and not tell her anything? She’s worked herself into an anxiety attack within seconds. She can hardly open the first aid kit, she’s shaking so bad. The sound of your voice is always so soothing for her that you’ll start telling her the story just to have something to say. She listens quietly while she cleans you up. You’ll have to pull her into your lap before long, and kiss her gently. You’re all she has in the world and it scares her to death to think of you putting yourself in unnecessary danger. You’ll fall asleep curled into each other’s arms. You whisper soft reassurances: “Nothing’s gonna happen to me / I’ll always be here.” Carrie tries her best to listen. You’ll wake up alone, but wander downstairs just as Carrie walks through the front door. She wanted to get her knight in shining armor some breakfast from your favorite diner down the street. She watches you eat with a big smile, and thinks about how she’ll have to burn those clothes in the trunk of the car. She couldn't risk them trying to hurt you again.

Ginger Fitzgerald - Don’t piss her off. If you don’t tell her exactly who touched you she’ll rip the entire city apart. Women, children, men, everyone. Anyone. “Do you want me to do that? Huh, baby? Is that what you want me to do?” No? Then start talking. She won’t be able to see through the blood-lust long enough to take care of you. As soon as you say a name Ginger’s out the door. She’ll only return once she’s thoroughly covered in viscera and gore. She’s still dripping with it when she crawls into bed with you, smearing the blood across your body. She’ll lick at any injury you have, until they’re clean and closed, your skin smooth and unblemished. She’s the only thing that can leave marks on you. She’ll kill anything else that tries. “You don’t have to lift a finger for me, baby. If you want someone hurt, I’ll do it. I’ll do anything for you.” Just run your fingers through her hair and try not to cringe as your fingertips get stained red. 

Patricia (Split) - She’s devastated by the state you come home in after she allows you to go out on a walk all by yourself for the first time since you were…. taken. You’d been so good for her. So obedient. So sweet. She wanted to reward you. And now your eye is starting to bruise, and your clothes are all askew, and your knuckles are swollen. Her calm demeanor cracks, and it’s a struggle to stay in the light. She takes deep breaths, centers herself. None of the others are what you need, right now. You need her. She strips you down, runs you a bath, won’t even let you hold the washcloth. It’s only as she’s patting you dry that she can force out words, finally: “What happened to you, sweet thing, hmm?” The guilt nearly brings her to tears. Months of keeping you close and look at what just a pinch of negligence has done to you… You try to assuage her guilt. You tell her you ran into a neighbor, who’d seen the two of you out together once Patricia trusted you enough to accompany her for little things like grocery trips. You say it’s your fault you came back to her in this condition. That you just couldn’t stand the vile things they said about her. Her face drops into an expression you’ve never seen. It’s gone in an instant, replaced by that comforting, ever present smile she wears for you. She takes you by the chin and kisses your forehead: “My little sweet thing. Playing knight, are you?” You had her love before. Tentatively, you had something like trust. Now Patricia trusts you completely. Even so, you won’t be going out alone again. Patricia trusts you. But it’s clear she can’t trust the world to be gentle with you. Don’t worry, though. All you need to do is ask, when you want to feel the sun on your face. You never see that neighbor again, no matter what time of day you and Patricia go walking.

A/N: thank you!!! we need more batshit crazy women with something wrong with them! Batshit crazy women with something wrong with them unite! if you enjoyed these headcanons consider reblogging, leaving a reply, or an anon! a writer's fuel is engagement. Xoxoxo

[queenstarlight2]

Imagine Legolas watching you get killed in battle and him not even being able to respond to your death

OG post

Legolas stood there frozen, his heart shattered as he watched your life slip away in the midst of battle. He desperately wanted to rush to your side, to shield you from further harm, but he was immobilized by grief and disbelief. Time seemed to stand still as he watched, consumed by a gut-wrenching helplessness that tore at his soul. He struggled to find his voice, to call out your name, to do anything to bring you back, but he was trapped in his own torment, unable to do anything but watch in absolute anguish as you slipped away.

The pain in his eyes was palpable, a reflection of the emotional turmoil he was experiencing. Yet, he was powerless to change the course of events, forced to endure the unbearable sight of your mortality unfolding before him. The horror of the scene, the knowledge that he couldn't intervene, etched deep lines of despair onto his face. Every beat of his heart felt like a torment, a constant reminder of the love he held for you and the cruel twist of fate that had torn you away from him.

The battlefield around him became a blur, the sounds of clashing steel and screams of pain fading into the background as his world narrowed to the tragic tableau unfolding before him. The weight of guilt and regret bore down on him, the realization that he had failed to protect you cutting him to the core. Every muscle in his body ached with the strain of holding back, the desire to lash out, to defy the cruel forces that had robbed him of you nearly overwhelming him.

He clenched his fists, his knuckles turning white with the intensity of his emotions, as he fought a losing battle against the despair threatening to consume him. He had known the dangers of battle, he had accepted the risks, but nothing could have prepared him for this moment of utter devastation. The thought of a future without you seemed inconceivable, and the reality of your absence felt like a blow to his very soul.

As the weight of his grief intensified, Legolas found a surge of newfound determination. The pain of your absence fueled an inferno of anger and defiance within him. He would fight with a vengeance now, his every strike against the enemy a direct outlet for his torment. The knowledge that he had lost you only served to ignite a fiercer flame within him, driving him to push further than he ever had before. This wasn't just about winning the battle anymore; it was about avenging your death and honoring your memory with every fiber of his being.

[johnwickb1tsch]

bittersweet ~ a yandere!John Wick x fem!reader sunshine/grump coffee shop AU... Part 23 all chapters

WARNING: NSFW, SEXUAL CONTENT, YANDERE SH!T. Plz take care. I luv u all. 😘

-You think that maybe you’ve gotten off easy for the night, when the two of you practically doze together in the warm tub, the hot water up to your necks. You are endlessly relieved, when you feel him relax behind you, possibly even asleep. You daren’t look, not wanting to disturb him, afraid of what he might dream up next if you rub him just the wrong way.

You can still hardly believe that your relationship has come to this.

The water has started to cool by the time he stirs, kissing behind your ear with a tenderness that fills your heart with a stupid hope, his arm like a band of iron around your waist. “Will you wash me?” There is a softness, damn near vulnerability in this request, and you nod, knowing you cannot refuse.

It doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy yourself too.

You lather up with artisan soap that smells like sandalwood, sliding your hands over the contours of his skin. He tilts his head back, seemingly content, and you hope he will remain like this, passive as a sleeping leopard. Maybe he’ll be ready to snooze after this, and you’ll survive the night.

You try to avoid the area between his legs, but when his lips curl in a wicked little smile your heart skips a beat. “That’s especially dirty,” he tells you through a smirk, as though amused that you thought you might get away scot free.

He should count himself lucky, that you are gentle as you run your soapy hand over the bulge of his heavy sac. Then you are alarmed—and impressed—to find him rock hard again.

So much for your old man jokes.

“Jesus, what are you, fourteen?” you snipe, hoping to cover the state of your own frustrated arousal. Running your hands up and down his thick shaft does not help you at all.

He actually chuckles at that. “You do make me feel young again…not that young, luckily.”

You find yourself exploring him a few more strokes that what is necessary, just for you, because you like the feeling of him in your hand. He grumbles with approval, his eyes half closed. Then because it only seems fair you stop suddenly. “See how you like it.”

You try to slip away, but quick as lightning he grabs you up, water sloshing over the side of the tub. A playful scream escapes you, and his smile is like a baring of teeth. There is a dangerous glitter in his dark eyes that takes your breath away, even as you know you’re doomed.

You shouldn’t play with this man. There must be something missing in your brain, that makes you keep pulling his tail.

“My turn,” he says, perching you on his knees, reaching for the soap.

At first, he really does just wash you, running those strong hands over your body, and it’s all you can do not to melt. But then his focus keeps returning to your breasts, your soft globes floating at the waterline.

Men.

“I think they’re clean…”

“Not for long.” He rolls your nipples between his fingers and you whimper, that ache between your legs that never really went away returning with a vengeance. Somehow, you know begging him to stop will only make it worse.  

“You should sit up here,” you tell him, tapping on the edge of the tub, and just for a moment you think you may have succeeded in fogging his brain just enough to make him forget he always has to be the boss. He looks at you with intrigue—and suspicion.

“Why?”

“Because I want you in my mouth.”

It’s a little funny, as you watch him war with himself, trying to weigh what exactly you’re up to against his desire to put his cock between your lips. You already know it was on his mind earlier. The remnants of that spicy surprise in your mouth from earlier have faded. In the end, the promise of a blow job wins.

It always does.

Almost warily he lifts himself out of the tub, perching on the edge so you can reach him. His big hand fists in your damp hair at the back of your neck. “No teeth,” he warns you.

You make a pouty lip, watching as his gaze turns to your mouth with laser-focus. “Not even a little?” you tease. “Just lightly, on this big beautiful vein?” You trace it with your thumb, your hand dwarfed by the size of his erection in your little fist.

“Fuck. Woman…”

You take that as a yes, and swirl your tongue over his swollen head, before taking him as deep as you can. You actually enjoy giving head, when it’s an act of love, and not a chore in exchange for a boy’s affection, the way it was in your teens. This is…somewhere in between, truth be told, but you give it your all. You can tell by the way John grips your hair, guiding your rhythm upon him, that you haven’t lost your touch. Your jaw starts to ache, and you are relieved when he gives a strangled moan, pulling you off by your hair. He takes himself in hand, pumping himself two or three times before cumming all over your breasts, thick white ropes that paint your chest with hot seed.

Maybe you don’t get it, but the sight of you marked like this makes his eyes burn like low banked coals.  

He actually lets you slip from his grasp, floating away to rinse the evidence of his enjoyment from your skin. He continues to watch you, as you get out of the tub, and dry off with one of the plushy soft towels.

He only catches up when you try to go to the closet for pajamas, sweeping you up into his arms and depositing you in the bed. You can’t help but feel like you won the round, when he tangles you up in his long bare limbs, and promptly falls asleep behind you.

[upsidedownwithsteve]

hi! could you please do Steve teaching shy!reader how to suck him off cause it's her first time and she really wants to but has no idea how to?

18+

“You don’t have to.”

You shrugged, nerves showing in the way your brows hiked up in the middle, the way you chewed at the corner of your lip. You sank to your knees anyway, delighting in the way Steve let out a groan and a curse.

“I want to,” you told him, sounding more confident than you felt. You let your palms lay on his thighs, hoping he couldn’t feel how clammy they were through his jeans. The bed squeaked as Steve shifted, his eyes trained on your wide ones. “I just— I don’t… Can you tell me what to do? Can you teach me?”

Steve’s eyes shuttered closed, lashes blinking, cheeks rosy and he looked pained. You wondered if you’d done something wrong.

“Baby, if you’re gonna start saying stuff like, I won’t get a chance to.”

You blinked, mouth falling open as Steve’s cock kicked up beneath the zipper, as if to prove a point. You swallowed, bare knees pressed to his bedroom carpet and you smiled, shyer than ever despite the jab you still managed to deliver.

“You’re filth, Harrington.”

Steve punched out a soft laugh, more breathy then he wanted it to be, ‘cause your small hands were busying themselves with the button of his jeans. “Yeah? Hard not to be when you’re on your knees like that, babe, shit.”

You smiled at him again, the picture of innocence despite the way your fingers were wrapping around him, pulling out his hard length with a small gasp. You’d seen it before - fuck you’d touched it before. Hands pumping around the size of it, eager to get Steve to fall apart for you, touch stuttering as he curled his own fingers into the spot that made you keen.

Steve had expected that today, too. Had been looking forward to it, actually, thinking about it all through his shift, wondering if you’d make the same noises for him as last time, when he sucked a bruise into the side of your hip when you came for him.

He hadn’t expected this.

Doe eyed and cheek pressed to his thigh, looking up at him as you waited for instructions. His heart bounced in his chest, a bone rattling beat that made the blood rush to his cheeks, his neck, his cock. His nostrils flared, lips parted and he let his head hang back, hands braced behind him as he fisted the sheets.

Yeah, this was going to be a quick lesson.

“Stevie?” You squeezed him gently, pulling a throaty moan from him and you licked your lips just as he looked back down at you. “Should I just—?” You squirmed, shuffling in your summer dress, thighs pressed together as you brought the head of to your mouth, cherry flavoured lips parting.

You tried to take too much of him, back of your throat burning at the invasion, the way he filled your mouth, hips jumping up from the mattress at the sudden wet heat on him. Steve grunted, gasped, a hand flying to cradle your jaw as you pulled yourself off of his cock with a choked noise.

“Baby, baby, shit.” Steve’s chest was heaving but he was soft with the way he soothed a thumb over the apple of your cheek, running it under the wet that had gathered at your lash line. “You okay? Fuck, too much huh?” A laugh bubbled from him, not unkind, not at you, but self consciousness still clouded your face.

“I— I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to do that, god…” you pulled away, nose scrunched in defeat, brows furrowed but before you could get too far, Steve caught your chin.

“Hey, hey, it’s alright, yeah?” Steve bent a little to get closer to you, hands cradling your face, eyes kind and patient. “Do you wanna stop? It’s okay if you do. Or you can come look pretty for me up here and I can take care of you for a while, how ‘bout that?”

The offer was tempting but that’s what Steve did all the time. Take care of you. So you shook your head and pushed back into the space between his knees, hand wrapping around his half hard length with a new vengeance, you felt him twitch under your touch, a new interest piqued at your determination.

“Shit, honey,” Steve breathed out, head lolling back again, neck taught and jaw tense. He blinked down at you, pupils blown wide. “Just go slow, okay? Take your time, you’re gonna make me feel so good, no matter what.”

His confidence in you bloomed in your own chest and you smiled, palm slick as it pumped him up and down, precum and your own saliva making it an easier job for you. “Yeah?” You asked.

Steve nodded, already gone on your touch, the way you looked. Ass perched back on your heels as you knelt, lips glossy, eyes wide, one dress strap slipping indecently down one shoulder.

“Fuck, yeah,” Steve assured, and with that, you edged forward, lips carefully wrapping about the head of his cock, tongue flat underneath it as you sucked cautiously at the tip. “Jesus fuckin’ Christ, that’s it, baby, shit.”

With each breathy moan, each gasp and wine, stuttered swears and whispers of affection, you gained more confidence.

“That’s my girl, yeah, just take the tip, baby, feels so fucking good.”

You hummed, pleased with yourself when your mouth was wrapped around half of him, the heavy feel of his cock slowly slipping in and out past your lips as you bobbed your head. It was a stretch to take him like this, jaw protesting and knees shaking beneath you but Steve was losing it, and that was worth it all.

One hand on his thigh, curled around the band of his shucked down boxers, the other wrapped around the part of his dick your mouth couldn’t reach, you pulled off of him, tongue licking over his head like a lollipop.

“S’good?” You asked quietly, voice a little hoarse. You blinked, eyes wet with the way you’d lost yourself in it, nearing closer and closer to the point where his cock brushed up against the back of your throat again. “Am I doing it right?”

Steve could hardly speak, chin tucked to his chest so he could watch you, his cock slick with your spit, his lips chewed raw from how he’d bitten at them, knuckles white as he gripped at his sheets, doing everything he could not to grab at your hair and buck up into you.

“Yeah, baby, yeah yeah yeah— fu-uck,” another breath was punched out of him, a rough gasp as you leant into to lick another wet stripe up the underside of him. “Yeah, s’good, you have no fuckin’ idea.”

He was overcome with adoration when you smiled, proud, lips swollen and reddened from your efforts. “Will I keep going?” You said it softly, politely, as if you weren’t pulling his soul from his bones from the way your tongue was curling around his cock.

He swept a thumb over your cheek, a soft push to the skin there that felt like an ‘I love you,’ and he nodded, neck bared once more as he let his head drop back when your mouth slid back over him.

…

[teenidlegirl]

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀❛ 𝓜𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝓜𝐄 𝓗𝐀𝐋𝐅𝐖𝐀𝐘. ❜

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ❀ ˚◞ 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐯𝐞 : 𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬

ઇ ˚ ݂ ֹ ꒰ miguel o’hara 𝓍 fem!civilian!reader ꒱ ! ۟ ׅ ♡

ׄ   ׅ ྀ 𝓢𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘. the spider squad come to your rescue but drama and misunderstandings unravel. events escalate very quickly which leads to chaos.

ׄ   ׅ ྀ 𝓒𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓. angst, violence, mainly asskicking, near death experiences, swearing, villain shenanigans

❛⠀ previous chapter⠀⋅⠀masterlist⠀⋅⠀next chapter ⠀❜

those violent delights crept into his mind.

keep bleeding through the light, darkness consuming his mind and heart. not an ounce of mercy or rationality, only pure delights of vengeance.

his heart pumping blood of anxiety through his veins. with each swing he takes, it beats faster. once he lands on the roof of the warehouse, miguel doesn’t waste a second to smash through the glass roof with his full body. the shattered glass follows him down to the ground as he lands, bits and pieces surrounding him, some on his shoulders but miguel doesn’t even bother to brush them off. those ruby eyes scan the area for your tiny figure but no avail. a grunt of frustration spills from his plump lips. 

he’s going to find you.

no matter what. he will find you.

and swear to god, if that goblin hurt you, oh miguel is going to rip his heart out with his talons.

miguel begins moving on foot since there’s no enemies in sight. it’s actually good goblin isn’t here at the moment, no ass-whooping just yet. as much as he wants to beat the shit out of that fucker, his main priority is finding you. no matter the circumstances, you are all that matters. miguel will do anything to find you, to see your gorgeous face once again. to hear your contagious yet adorable laugh. to hear those iconic sassy, unhinged remarks that always riled him up yet enjoys them.

he misses you so much it hurts. since the moment he met you, miguel’s been infatuated with you. the alluring energy radiating from you that plagues his entire soul. hanging out with you brings him a sense of tranquil and happiness, two feelings he hasn’t felt in years. you made him feel those things; a civilian who captured his attention. but you’re more than a regular civilian, more than a friend. you mean so much to him and he can’t lose you.

miguel is going to find you and bring you home.

⠀⠀⠀⠀���� ୨ ₊ 𓂃 ౨ৎ   𓂃 ₊ ୧   𓂃

loud thuds echo as he takes a step. clenched fists at his sides, shoulders tensed, chest heaving and brows furrowed. those ruby eyes scan every inch of the warehouse for your tiny figure. unfortunately, no luck but miguel isn’t giving up. no way in fucking hell he will. as he continues searching, he finds a machine and an abandoned workbench with shredded blueprints and debris. his eyes focused on the strange machine, noting the several vials and tubes connected to them along with numerous wires. 

what the fuck is that for?

what is the goblin planning? a machine with bunch of vials and tubes? an experiment, perhaps? the seat in the middle of the machine which contains the tubes connected to vials answers the question.

but what for? or the better question, who for?

that sent shivers of fear through miguel’s body. he does not like what this goblin is planning. some crazy ass scientist experiment. disturbing much.

his eyes tear away from the machine when he hears footsteps from the shadows, his head snapping in the exact direction. 

“well, well, well…” a sinister voice he knows too well. “nice to see you again, spidey.” the face he’s been wanting to punch slowly emerges from the the shadows, a sinister smile illustrating on his face.

miguel doesn’t waste time as he lunges forward at the villain variant with a loud grunt. aggressively grabbing harry by the neck, miguel slams him against the wall with a powerful thud, making the villain choke a groan of pain. 

“where is she?” miguel demands through gritted teeth, leaning towards harry’s face.

the bastard managed to smirk while being almost choked to death. “oh you mean [y/n]?” a weak chuckle escapes him when he feels miguel’s hand tighten against his neck. “she’s quite feisty, very sassy. i understand why you like her so much. such a beautiful woman with much fire within her.” he said with much admiration, knowing it would piss off miguel even more, his grip tightened more. “she’ll make a perfect wife, the perfect mrs. osborn.”

oh that sentence broke hell loose.

letting out a snarl, miguel’s mask disintegrates and reveals those pearly white fangs ready to bite and inject venom with a wide open mouth. just before he could fulfill his darkest desire, heavily thuds and sounds of metal comes from behind made him stop and swiftly turn around. long cybernetic tentacles emerge from the shadows, loud thuds as it slams onto the ground causing vibrations. miguel’s eyes widen in surprise. an accomplice.

a doc ock variant. another fucking anomaly.

different than the one he captured a few days ago.

when the hell did he join? how come miguel never got notified of this anomaly? perhaps he was too blinded by rage to know.

“i wouldn’t do that if i were you.” octavius warns in a lone menacing tone.

these two join forces together? established an alliance? well this is just fucking great, but he can take them both down. months of capturing anomalies, even capturing multiple ones in one universe proved this mission would be the same. however, it was different considering it involves an innocent life in danger, extremely different since it’s your life that’s in danger. it’s your life at stake and miguel can not fail this mission, can not fail to save you. he can’t bare another death on his conscience.

he can’t lose you.

while basically choking harry to death, his crimson eyes never avert from octavius. “taking you both won’t be a problem.” miguel threatens.

an unimpressed chuckle spills from the villain’s mouth, shaking his head in disbelief. “you might want to rethink that.” he doesn’t give miguel time to respond when one of his cybernetic tentacles moves forward revealing you trapped inside the pincer, your poor little body heavily restrained by the cold harsh metallic sensation pressing into your delicate skin. soft mewls spilling from your trembling lips, desperately trying to escape by wiggling but no avail.

miguel’s eyes widen drastically when he saw you, his heart beating faster.

oh my god, you’re alive. oh thank god. 

however, fury boils in his blood at the sight of the damn pincer wrapped around your tiny figure. how uncomfortable and distraught you look made miguel’s heart ache terribly. 

“let her go or things will get ugly.” pure venom in his tone, red eyes heavily glaring at the villain variant.

“i’m afraid i can’t do that. she’s perfectly comfortable within my grasp.” doc ock mischievously smiles, taking a quick glance at you.

“oh fuck off—“ you spit out before the pincer tightens around your poor fragile body, squeezing you which makes you wheeze in pain.

miguel’s eyes furrowed, blood boiling at an alarming rate. oh that fucker is gonna get it. letting go of harry, he leaps forward but doc ock acted quicker, using one tentacle arm to grab and slam miguel against the wall, trapping him. a heavy groan spills from his lips at the impact. a weak muffled whine escapes your covered lips as you watch your beloved spiderman get hurt. oh your heart cracks.

“not so fast, spider-man. you don’t get your prize yet.” the doc ock variant teases menacingly. 

trembling onto his feet, harry swipes off debris from himself and walks over. “thank you, otto.” he rubs his neck with a hand, visible bruises from miguel’s claws. “well… i believe it’s showtime, don’t you agree?” 

those ruby irises narrow at his words. “what the fuck are you talking about?”

“oh! well, you see that machine right there, resting in all its glory?” harry gestures at the machine with one hand. “that is your throne where it will drain every ounce of rapture from your veins and rest in those vials.” the corner of his lip curls upward into a smug smirk as he watches miguel’s eyes widen in shock. 

“that’s not happening.” miguel states through gritted teeth, trying to escape from doc ock’s grip.

a mocking laugh echoes the room. “oh but it is, if you wish to save your girlfriend.” harry glances at you with a fake apologetic expression, earning himself a glare which makes him smirk. he turns back to miguel. “do it and she’ll be free, no harm done.”

fuck. always coming down to a choice.

or more precisely, sacrifice.

with no rapture means the end for him. but it also means saving you. miguel would do anything to save you, even if it means giving up his own life for yours. he’ll die happily knowing that you’re alive and safe.

“fine.” those red menacing eyes meant it.

“no!” you cry, wiggling in the firm grip of the metallic claw but unfortunately no avail. 

you don’t want miguel to die. he can’t! he doesn’t deserve this. he has suffered so much already. he can’t sacrifice himself for you. no he can’t. 

you can’t lose him. 

miguel’s eyes instantly shift to you. his heart cracks at your tearful eyes and trembling state. your desperate cries of begging him to not do it echoes throughout the warehouse as you squirm under the doc ock’s grip, desperate to break free and run to him. the sight breaks him, damaging his already damaged heart. he can’t bare to see those gorgeous eyes swell in tears. but in the end, he’ll do anything for you, to take away the pain from you, to make those tears stop, even if means sacrificing himself.

surrendering wholeheartedly, miguel stops fighting back and slumps into octavius’ grip. the sight of a defeated spider-man brings pleasure to harry’s mind. finally, the man responsible for his father’s death is going to pay the consequences. 

however, before anything else could happen, the glass ceiling shatters as several figures fell down from above. it’s the spider squad, they arrived just in time. peter and jess are the first to land, the other three followed suit, landing behind the two. a wide smile forms on your lips at the relieving sight of your spider friends. a very angry harry obsorn glares at the gang, grunting in frustration that his plan is slightly sabotaged but it still can be fulfilled. all he needs is miguel to fail, utterly defeated and worn out. with the help of doc ock, he will keep the the other spiders occupied while harry deals with his nemesis. 

“looks like you just got busted.” peter said heroically with a puffed up chest, mimicking the classic superhero stance. mayday copies his mannerisms in the baby carrier, wearing her cute spider-man beanie, a replica of her father’s mask.

a collective groan behind him fills the room.

“what?” peter asks genuinely confused, turning around to face the group. 

“please, do not ever say that again.” jessica rubs the temples of her forehead with a hand while the other rests on her hip like a disappointed mother.

“aw come on! that sounded cool! especially after a cool entrance like that.” peter motions at the now broken glass ceiling with a dorky smile on his face.

“it was kinda cliche.” gwen said shrugging her shoulders, nervously rubbing the back of her neck

hobie nods, humming in agreement. ben just stands there mopping and waiting.

“ahem!”

the gang looks back at a pissed off miguel whose crimson daggering eyes glare at them. “move it!”

and with that, they all lunged forward and split up. gwen, peter and jess go after harry. hobie and ben join miguel to attack doc ock. miguel goes straight for you but of course the villain variant acted quicker. you yelp when you’re suddenly yanked away from miguel’s attempted grasp as octavius starts climbing up the walls then the ceiling. you squirm under the tight grip of the tentacle arm, your hair falling over your face as you continue squealing, legs kicking in the air and punching fists. an angry grunt spills from his plump lips as miguel chases after you, the two other spidermen following him. he orders one of them to swing forward and cut doc ock off, ben does the job. the young spider-man cuts him off him by shooting webs and going in for a kick directly to the face. that knocks the villain out, losing balance for a moment. the cybernetic arm engulfing you let’s go, your heart stops and stomach drops. a scream erupts from your lungs as you fall until you feel a very strong arm wrapped securely around your torso.

“i got you.” a familiar baritone voice said reassuringly.

instinctively, you wrap your arms around his broad shoulders and nuzzle your face into the crook of his neck. using one hand for webs while the other is wrapped around your body, miguel swings away from the chaos to place you someplace safe. his grip on you tightens, relishing the sensation of your body against his own, afraid of letting you go. oh god he has never felt so relieved, grateful to have you in his arms. his larger figure engulfing yours. the softness of yours against his roughness. is it wrong to say he enjoys, loves having you in his arms? there haven't been many intimate moments between you two like this, other than when he first saved you and that one night he took you home. there hasn’t been any hugging or similar intimacy, just light touches yet still igniting sparks within you two.

once you were far enough from the chaos, miguel carefully sets you down on your feet. he can sense your hesitation when your arms are still wrapped around him. he doesn’t want to let go either. but to both your dismay, you do but very slowly, retracting your arms from his neck. miguel, on the other hand, still holds you by the waist. not tightly like before, just his fingers skimming the material of your dress. 

his ruby eyes look down at you, scanning over your figure for any bruises or cuts. “are you okay? did he hurt you? i swear, if he—“

you shook your head. “no, i’m fine. although, he did low-key squeeze the life outta me for a sec.” you watch his brows furrow. “but that’s all.” you said reassuringly with a sincere look in your eyes.

he analyze your face to see if you were truly okay. part of him is still angry and concern but your eyes, your gorgeous eyes he loves, were telling the truth. he lets out sigh of relief, shoulders slightly slumped. 

you’re okay and safe, all he asked for. however, you need to get out of here, away from danger. 

the sounds of fighting from the distance snaps him back into reality. “you need to get out of here now.” miguel hands you the watch he loaned you. “head back home or to HQ, i’ll meet you there after the mission is done.”

you glance at the watch then back up at him with furrowed brows. “but miguel—“

“go.” he commands, making you flinch. “leave, now.” he let’s go of you and starts walking away. “and don’t you fucking dare stay here.” miguel warns, pointing a finger at you before swinging away to join the others.

an unpleasant shiver went straight down your spine. those ruby eyes weren’t joking, just pure determination with hints of fury. miguel is always firm with his words. it’s the logical, smart way to leave and head back home or to HQ. however, you remember harry’s plan is still intact. that fucker ain’t getting a drop of miguel’s rapture. no fucking way that’s happening. that machine needs to be destroyed or at least shut down.

⠀⠀⠀⠀𓂃 ୨ ₊ 𓂃 ౨ৎ   𓂃 ₊ ୧   𓂃

lots of asskicking in motion. much to their surprise, these two villain variants are a bit more difficult than previous versions. time is running thin and miguel has no patience, a trait he doesn’t possess. loud angry grunts spills from his lips, desperate to get rid of these anomalies before more chaos ensues. 

“you ruined everything!” harry snarls, heavily glaring at the man responsible for his father’s demise.

“i don’t know what you’re talking about, kid.” miguel swings after him, shooting a web but only to be cut by a blade from harry’s glider.

from the distance, you run back to the scene. one half of the quad was fighting doc ock while the other dealing with goblin. your eyes widen in horror when you find miguel and harry fighting. your presence didn’t go unnoticed by miguel but he was too focus on catching the damn goblin. you make a beeline for the machine and try shutting it down. luckily, harry was too occupied with miguel to notice.

“you know exactly what i’m talking about, you fucking murderer!” goblin goes in for a punch at the red and blue hero but misses. 

the eyes of miguel’s mask widen at the shocking yet absurd accusation. “murderer?! what the hell are you talking about?!”

“YOU MURDERED MY FATHER, YOU BASTARD!” 

for once, miguel went silent, pure shock illustrated on his face. murdered his father? what is he… oh wait! he’s the son of that norman obsorn variant from that mission months ago?! the puzzle pieces finally came together. this is revenge, this was all about him and using you as bait. but miguel didn’t murder norman, it was an accident.

“it was an accident.” miguel slowly raised his hands in the air, a sign that he means no more harm but only to speak. “i didn’t murder your father, harry.”

the younger male scoffs angrily. “yes you did! you chased after him like a wild fucking creature! chasing after him until he fell down to his death!” he spits out with bloodshot eyes. 

miguel sadly sighs. “look… i was chasing after your dad so i can take him back to his original universe or the multiverse would collapse. i was trying to reason with him but he kept running away.” he slowly brings down his hands. “i caught up to him but he kept fighting, refusing to listen. things got out of hand then… he slipped off his glider.” he averts his gaze from harry, looking down at the ground as guilt began consuming his mind. “i tried to save him. believe me, kid, i tried. i went after him, so damn close to catch him but… it was too late.” a slight crack in his voice, hint of guilt in his tone. 

a fat silence fell between them, only the gentle sounds of the water outside. when miguel looks up at harry, he’s looking down to conceal those tears swelling his eyes. guilt kicked him even harder. 

“i’m sorry, harry…” miguel takes one step forward, reaching out a hand with slumped shoulders. “to this day, i regret that night.” 

the young male remains silent, allowing those salty tears to fall. but then, those sorrowful feelings turn into rage. slowly lifting up his head in a intimidating manner, those eyes were no longer filled with tears but with vengeance. “he died by your failure… you took the only person who cared about me…”

“harry…” miguel warns.

the corners of his lips curl up into a menacing smile. “now i’m going to take the only person who cares about you.” 

that makes his heart stop. “harry, no!“

the villain ignores him as he flies away towards you. miguel quickly jumps after harry, successfully catches him which knocks them both down to the ground. with the help of hobie and ben, they managed to capture the green goblin variant and send him back to HQ, permanently this time. luckily, the other group succeeded in capturing doc ock. 

the mission is now complete.

the multiverse is still intact and stable.

the nightmare is over.

gwen, peter, and jessica escort doc ock through the portal. ben and hobie do the same with harry. but just before they could enter the portal, the bastard activates a small golden ball which was hidden in his hand and throws it towards miguel. his eyes widen drastically at the green flickering light. before he could even catch it or run towards you, the ball explodes. the warehouse blows apart and collapses, smoke and fire erupting from the explosion. 

shielding himself with his arms, miguel immediately looks up to find you. “[y/n]?!” anxiety and fear flows through his veins once again. the smoke overfilled his senses and vision. he stops panicking the moment his eyes find your small figure from a distance. he shouts out your name again but in relief. without hesitation, miguel bolts across to reach you. 

“miguel!” you shout before a cough interrupts you, waving a hand through the smoke. 

before you could start running, a collapsing pillar crashes down and knocks you out, sending you flying off the barrier. a horrific scream erupts from your lungs as you fall into the water.

“NOOOO!”

miguel chases after you, jumping off and into the water. he swims after you, using all of his strength to save you. he grabs you, wraps an arm around your waist and starts swimming up to the surface. using a web, he swings you both back onto the barrier. very carefully, he lays you on the floor as if you’re a porcelain doll, hovering over your drenched body. both of his hands come up to hold your face very carefully, thumbs brushing your cheeks.

“no no no. please! [y/n]!” his thumbs caress your cheeks as panic took over his body. miguel then starts preforming cpr on you. after three tries, you’re still not responding. “[y/n], por favor!” he cries before giving it another shot, praying you wake up this time. after the fourth try, no response. tears began swelling up in those gorgeous brown eyes. 

“don’t leave me, mi alma…” he whispers in your ear, desperation and fear in his tone.

after a few seconds of sorrow, a loud gasp escapes your lips before turning into coughing. miguel’s head immediately shoots up and looks at you, a big sensation of relief flowing through his body. you cough out the water trapped in your lungs. miguel caresses your face, brushing away any wet hair from your face as you cough out remaining water, whispering endless praises. 

“you’re okay… you’re okay.” he whispers softly, more like to himself as a reminder, still caressing your delicate face with his large hands, mentally thanking the higher beings from above endlessly.

you cough out the last remaining bits of water before turning your head back. the back of your head resting on his palm so it doesn’t hit the ground, meeting miguel’s gaze through hooded eyes. you wanted to say something but exhaustion began catching up to you, making your eyes flutter.

“hey hey hey… stay with me.” miguel mutters, almost begging, caressing your face while panicking.

you try keeping your eyes open but ultimately fail, allowing exhaustion to consume you as darkness took over your vision.

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓. ♡ @loser-alert @keepitreal001 @iamperson12280 @nostalgicdaira @flordelalunas @oharasfilipinawife @cho-coquette @lavenderslemonade @palesatan @awkward-d3rs3-dr3amer @lilscast @beanieboy23 @dorck26 @kakabskbskdnd @4crew @deputy-videogamer @36namey @sin4tra @holographicang3l @migueloharasoulmate @darlingz99 @opalesquegirl @freehentai @rinverse @colorfulbluebirdpainter @razertail18 @shadowzena43 @undf-stuff @miatjie

© teenidlegirl. don’t steal, plagiarize, or translate my work. ♡

[nocturnest]

Tangerine on his way to beat up anyone who hurts Y/n or makes her cry shshs

@kpopgirlbtssvt your asks are always so on point and wonderful! i love your ideas! 🥹💖 also this gif is *chef's kiss* 👌🏻 mr. 🍊 will protect you!

"Love, are you home?"

Tangerine closed the front door, grocery bags in hand. He was eager to see you as you had been at work all day. Tangerine didn't have any upcoming jobs for at least a week, so he was aching to spend as much time with you as he could in your shared apartment.

It was quiet, though. Too quiet. Usually, music from your record player could be heard in the background or you'd be humming a tune in the kitchen as you cooked. But, no. All he heard was silence. He dropped the bags in his hands and made his way down the main hall, his thoughts spiraling.

What if something had happened to you? What is someone had taken you?

He heard a sniffle coming from the living room. As he entered, Tangerine's jaw immediately tightened as he watched you wipe the tears from your eyes, your face contorted in pain. He'd come home to find you curled up on the couch, shoulders shaking with barely contained sobs. The sight of your anguished expression had immediately set his blood boiling.

"What happened, love?" he asked, concerned voice low and laced with barely-contained fury, "Who did this to you?"

You hesitated, not wanting to make a big deal out of it. "It's nothing, really. Just some jerk at work being an asshole."

Tangerine's fingers clenched into fists at his sides as he listened to your explanation. Someone had dared to upset you, to make his precious love cry, and that was completely unacceptable.

"The fuck did he do?" he growled, eyes narrowing dangerously. "Tell me."

You winced at the barely-contained rage in his voice, hating to see him this worked up. "It's really not a big deal, Tan. He was just...making some rude comments, that's all."

"Rude comments?" Tangerine scoffed, his jaw tightening. "Bullshit. Nobody gets to talk to my girl like that and get away with it."

He started pacing the room, mind racing with all the ways he could make that bastard pay. No one hurt the person he loved most in this world and lived to tell the tale.

"Tell me his name," he demanded, turning to face you. "I'm gonna make sure he never goes near you again."

You reached out, placing a hand on his arm. "Tan, please, it's not worth it. I don't want you to get in trouble."

Tangerine let out a humorless laugh. "Trouble? Love, you've got it all wrong. This prick is the one who's gonna be in trouble if he ever so much as looks at you sideways again."

Before you could protest further, Tangerine was out the door, a storm of rage and vengeance on a collision course with the unfortunate culprit.

It didn't take him long to track down the man responsible - a slimy, arrogant coworker of yours who had been making snide comments and belittling you for weeks. Tangerine didn't bother with pleasantries, confronting the man head-on in the parking lot after work.

"Oi, you!" he growled, striding up to the unsuspecting target. "You got a problem with my girl, is that it?"

The man sneered, unintimidated by Tangerine's imposing presence. "Your girl? She's nothing but a-"

He never got to finish that sentence. Tangerine's brass knuckles connected with his jaw with a sickening crack, sending the man reeling backward. Before he could even regain his footing, Tangerine was on him again, raining down blows with a fury born of his fierce, all-encompassing love for you.

By the time Tangerine was done, the man was a bloody, whimpering mess on the pavement. Tangerine stood over him, chest heaving, eyes blazing with a dangerous glint.

"You ever come near her again, and I'll fucking end you," he spat, voice dripping with venom. "You hear me?"

The man nodded weakly, cowering in fear. Tangerine sneered in disgust, turning on his heel and stalking back home, his knuckles already starting to throb.

When he walked through the door, you were waiting for him, eyes wide with a mix of concern and awe.

"Tan... what did you do?" you asked, voice barely above a whisper.

Tangerine pulled you into his arms, burying his face in your hair. "I took care of it, love. Nobody gets to hurt you and get away with it. Not on my watch."

You wrapped your arms around him, heart swelling with a fierce, sense of adoration. In that moment, you knew that Tangerine would always be there to defend you, no matter the cost. And that knowledge filled you with a sense of unwavering security and an undying love for him.

@little-miss-dilf-lover @sebsbarnes @kiss-me-cill-me @idontknowwhattohaveasmyuser @j23r23 @spookyspecterino @liukangsgirl @azureseacloud hope you guys enjoy!

[sweetwolfcupcake]

The Taste of Deceit: Hyungline Part 2( Finale- Namjoon 1/2)

Masterlist

The Taste of Deceit Masterlist

Hyungline: Part 1, Part 2(Jin and Yoongi, Hoseok)

Warnings- Gore, Violence, Grey Characters, Dead Dove Do Not Eat

Unedited. Kindly excuse my errors. if you find anything significantly wrong, please let me know.

It was peaceful for a good moment, the moment right before waking up before she noticed how everything felt muffled. Like her ears were covered. It was not particularly hard to open her eyes, but she needed to find her bearings and assess—

Splash!

"Wake up, bitch!"

It was a snarling, rough and raspy voice that did not come naturally, but only through chain smoking and of course, white powder. She opened her eyes, flinching from the numbing coldness and the wet sensation, a few ice cubes hit right above her left eye and she won't be surprised if it left a bruise.

The man starring right at her had eyes that told her that she was the only thorn in his eyes, as if his rotting life was worth any of it.

(Y/N) mentally rolled her eyes, while registering that her hands were bound behind her with the chair. Thankfully, her legs were free. Ignoring the man, she looked around, it was nothing out of her expectation– an ominously dark basement, while subtly twisting her wrists to get out of the poorly-knotted ropes.

"Oi! I'm talking to you!"

Beyond a certain distance, there were only still shadows and darkness, casting a sense of uncertainty and unease.

"Listen bitch!" The grip on her cheeks was bruising, his blunt nails dug into her skin, threatening to break it "Had I not have the strict orders, you would have been a sorry pulp by now, I'm hold'n back, so you better show me some respect."

He hissed against her face, his breath reeked of alcohol and smoke. If the feeling of his spit over her mouth was not disgusting enough, his hand moving from his cheek settling on her neck hit the nail. His fingers wrapped around her throat threateningly while the other hand groped her bosom.

"Get your hands off." She deadpanned.

He did take it off, only to slap her with force enough to make her head whip to the side and the corner of her lips bleed.

"Fuck the orders I am going to make sure that I fuck the shit out of you until that sorry cunt bleeds—-"

One kick on his stomach sent him staggering away before he fell to the ground, coughing in pain. But it gave her enough time to untangle the ropes and push the chair away.

She kicked again, making him wheeze in pain and breathlessness.

"And I am telling you to..." She began as she sat on him, pinning down his legs

"Fucking"

One punch right on his eye.

"To"

Another punch on his nose, earning a cry from him.

"Take. Your."

Another punch was enough to send two of his yellow teeth flying out.

"Fucking hands. Off!" She snarled.

With one last punch, he was out. His heart was still beating and her fist was numbing. Those were least of her worries.

With her attempts to calm her rushing adrenaline, she searched him for any clues or weapons.

Thankfully, he had a gun tucked behind him and a key.

The basement, or at least that was what it looked like, was oddly empty. An she refused to believe that Namjoon was foolish enough to underestimate her. He was playing a long game and he was fucking cunning enough to be sneaking right under her nose– pretending to be the best fucking lover while playing her.

With renewed vengeance, she rushed to find an exit– a windows might be better than a door—

And there it was, a single shut window shrouded by the shadows in the dimly-lit basement. After checking the gun, she held it tight and in position as she silently approached the window, moving within the darkness. Tentatively, she nudged-open the window.

Nothing.

It was an empty concrete two floors down but no sign of guards or anything. Could be a security system, she suspected. But whatever it was, she had to get out. A living officer was always better than a dead one.

The thin cotton did not obstruct her vision, she could see everything, slightly blurry, but she could see things.

And she saw the gun being fired.

(Y/N) supressed a hiss when her feet met the concrete, her knees wobbled and ultimately met the ground in the process.

Looking back, she realised that it was indeed an isolated building. But, why was it not guarded if she was kept there? How long was she there?

Questions plagued her mind as she sprinted away from the looming building. It was built on the fringes of a wood, and with the skyline gradually dimming, anyone could tell that it was dusk.

If the lack of people near the building was not ominous enough, it was the fact that she had no one chasing behind and no traps on her way to the main highway that truly made her rethink every other reasons or guesses she had come up with before she found herself there.

She needed to contact her teammates first, warn them, they ought to lay low for a good while. By the time she had reached a clearing, it was pitch dark. And while there were vehicles passing by, none of them cared to stop for a waving girl in the middle of a road.

That was until a vehicle did stop. Peeking in, she found a group of girls, cigarettes in hands and as soon as the car window slid down, a waft of alcohol and cigarettes greeted her. Had she been in uniform, they would have earned a ticket for drinking and driving, but she was desperate and only thankful that they helped her get back to the city.

----

"(Y/N)? We have been trying to contact you!"

Kyong was, thankfully on-duty during the night. He rushed to her as soon as she barged into the police station.

"I know a man of his. Might be someone of importance–cut that, he is important in this fucking nexus!"

"(Y/N)…what are you saying? Relax, breath, please."

"Y-yesterday, when we were reviewing the footage, I saw him. I know him!" Her voice cracked before she burst into dry coughs, the back of her neck aching with each jerks.

Kyong was immediately by her side,

"(Y/N), please slow down, here, sit. Have some water first okay?" He gently made her sit on the nearby bench before offering her some water.

All the strain, all the pain finally rang in her system. While she felt slightly breathless, each breath came with a dull ache that refused to be suppressed. After chugging down over half of the bottle, felt slightly better.

"(Y/N), we have been searching for you since two days."

(Y/N) stilled,

"What? But I—"

She stopped mid-way and frantically checked her clothes.

"Hey, hey hey, relax, okay, relax. Lets get you home, hmm?"

"Kyong, its important, I know one of the men who were present in that club last night."

That caught his attention.

"Why didn't you tell us that time?"

"I was at a fix...I needed confirmation."

"He was with that suspect, speaking about a delivery– most probably drugs." Kyong retorted.

"Namjoon, or that was the name he gave me. But he is– he's definitely involved."

"How do you know him?"

"He...He was my boyfriend. Now I know why he was my boyfriend." She gritted through the last word, feeling contempt burning within herself by even associating that word with the man.

"Why don't you stay a the safehouse for now, it's no longer safe for you out there then, we'll figure something out in the morning. Let me update the rest of the team, they're worried sick."

The safehouse was at the most innocuous location, fairly isolated, but not enough to catch any attention. Kyong had been kind enough to lend her the extra pair of clothes he had saved for his night shifts. He was a meticulous man, after all, and it showed when he made sure to check every nook and cranny of the safehouse and ensure that it was only two of them there.

"Everything you need is in the bathroom and pantry. Just don't step out, okay? And don't answer anyone other than me or the rest of the team. You look tired."

"I'm fucked up. Everything is." (Y/N) muttered, gulping down her tear.

Kyong stood in silence, before patting her back "Look, I don't know what course we take from here, but I know that we are a team, okay?"

(Y/N) could only nod.

—-

The night had the veil of calmness, but the frequently flashing sky gave a warning.

(Y/N) hated the rain. Despised storms.Especially stormy nights.

"Dad—"

"Listen, here, get in here."

Her father opened up a narrow passage and ushered her in, even for a six year old, it was a snug fit.

He shut the net opening before sliding hangers full of clothes over the place.

She could hear faint banging on the door, the rattling of the door knob, that only grey louder...

And louder...

And

BANG!

She woke up wheezing, only to realise that someone was indeed banging on the main door. Wiping the sweat on her forehead and neck, she realised that she had fallen asleep sitting.

"(Y/N), open up, it's me, Kyong." Kyong's muffled voice floated into the sunlit apartment.

Checking her phone, she realised that she had six missed calls from her colleague already.

"Coming!"

She rushed to open the door, only to find Kyong in his uniform still.

"Didn't you go home?"

"(Y/N), you need to come to the station. Now."

"But why? Did you find Namjoon?"

"Listen, I have informed Sir and the rest of the team, they will soon be in the station. We had found a video in our investigation, couldn't keep it from our superiors, you are summoned in the police station for interrogation."

"W-what? But why?"

"Long story, I will brief you on the way, I requested them that I take you there, they were sending someone else."

—---

"Is that you Officer (Y/N)?"

It was a CCTV footage of the same evening she escaped from that abandoned place, but the first-half was cut off, it was only her punching that sorry excuse of a man.

"Yes, he-he was the one keeping me there!" She pointed out.

The two officers, both her seniors straightened up and assessed her. (Y/N) knew that look, they did not believe her. But why?

"(Y/N), that used to be the local police station decades ago. And man you hit, is a retired officer who even won an award for excellency." One of the officers revealed.

They both were her seniors, superiors of Officer Byuk. They were sent from headquarters. She had no idea what deeply wrong had gone in those two days, but Kyong had briefed her.

Apparently there was a wide-search for her when she went missing, no trace. At the same time, there had been two more shipments of cocaine. Successfully. Also, some classified documents from her home were missing.

Namjoon...

Or at least that was his name.

He had been to her apartment so many times, had 'waited' for her to come home a few times. But even once slip of chance was enough, that sneak got too many of them. No wonder she was being interrogated.

"Sir this is not—"

"Officer Lee." Officer Byuk finally made it to the police station, followed by Dok and Han, who stood beside Kyong on the other side of the room.

"Officer Byuk, its nice to see you again." One of the officers– Lee greeted him with stiff smile and a short handshake. "This is officer Hyuk, we have been sent by the headquarters in order to interrogate Officer (L/N)."

"I see, good to meet you Officer." Officer Byuk nodded with a formal handshake with the other officer "I would like to see the proper documents."

"We have orders, from the headquarter Officer." Officer Lee asserted.

"Officer (L/N) trained under me, she is a part of my team. I have the right to know, please," Officer Byuk gestured towards his office.

After a couple of moments of tense silence, the two officers followed him reluctantly, leaving her with her colleagues.

"(Y/N), you alright? We had been so worried!" Dok and Han rushed to her as soon as the officers were out of sight.

"Yes, I'm good. I don't know how...I mean that man he spoke as if he hated the police and I–I had to escape."

"I don't understand..." Kyong spoke up as he neared them "How did they get the footage? The first half-gone. It's no coincidence."

"Some files, regarding the information of officers in charge of dockyards are missing. The copies were with me, and they're gone. Kyong. I fucked up." (Y/N) sighed, running her hand through her hair.

There was nothing but anger and despair. Had she not been so fucking stupid, she could have had Namjoon in the interrogation room instead.

"You're not stupid, we all have major fuck-ups." Dok was quick to comfort his colleague and friend.

"Yes, our superiors have probably had major fuck-ups, but what matters is to how we respond from now on. What has happened, has happened, cannot be undone anymore. But its a war now, team, we only lost the first battle." Kyong encouraged. "We need to alert the stations near docks, they need special security."

"So, what now?" (Y/N) asked the most obvious question.

"Depends, if Sir Byuk manages to convince them of your innocence, there might not be further—"

His words are cut short when the three officers return in the room.

"We have had discussions regarding your involvement in an retired officer's murder."

"Murder?"

She checked, he was breathing!

Officer Byuk shot her a warning glance before recollecting himself.

"We have the footage of you punching him." Officer Lee spoke up "But there are enough loopholes for us to reach a conclusion, like the missing first part of the footage."

"I have had a words with the headquarter and it has been decided..."

She kept her breathe while Officer Byuk spoke.

"That an official investigation would be carried out, until then Officer (L/N), you are not allowed to leave the country, or work here. You are relieved of your responsibilities until proven innocent."

She was innocent!

She wanted to scream out. But at the moment, she chose to do what she must.

Accept the situation with a graceful and stiff salute and bow before giving away her badges and card.

—-------

File after file laid on the floor as she rummaged through her house, all were in place. Except for the few mentioned missing, nothing seemed out of place. No bugs, no more missing files, no camera. Nothing.

Kyong and the rest of the team had assured her that they would prove her innocent and support her. But it was not their battle now, it was not about duty anymore. It was fucking personal.

She had no badge for the time being, no uniform, even the official gun needed to be submitted.

That was not much of a worry though, she had another licenced one. But this...Her job, her uniform meant the world to her and it were all at stake. She wished to be like her father. But everything in front of her was crumbling.

As she looked around in despair, she tried to think though, tried to put aside the cracks she was feeling and—

The doorbell rang.

(Y/N) walked up to the door in caution, making no disturbance as she checked the peep-hole before hurriedly opening the door.

"Sir?"

Officer Byuk walked in, his gaze flickered at the mess behind her before he fixed his stare on her.

"Are you hurt?"

"No Sir. I beat him up because he was the one I found waking up."

And he fucking touched me with his dirty hands.

Officer Byuk spoke up after a moment of silence

"Lets talk over coffee. You have coffee?"

"Yes, yes I have coffee."

She told him everything. How she met Namjoon, how she felt a bit off and how she found out about his involvement with RM.

"You are fool." Officer Byuk had no filter.

She had known him ever since she was a child. Almost at his retirement, the officer had been her father's close friend.

"And if you are already feeling miserable and want to give up then I am disappointed, I did not recruit a weakling."

"I'm sorry, Sir."

There was another stretch of silent as her observed her.

"You have been a fool once, don't be one again by not investigating things yourself. Start from the beginning." He passed her the ID that had been seized before.

"Its temporary, but it may help. I have the original one with me, don't worry."

"I just don't understand...why did he go for me, not some higher up, had that not been more beneficial?"

"We don't understand a lot of things. Like that retired officer's involvement with the underground. That just makes it clear that no once can be trusted. But since you are not serving anymore, at least officially, use this opportunity to get your hands on this Namjoon or whoever that was. He could be our key."

"I don't think its easy."

"Nothing is easy, start by proving yourself innocent. But don't sit here and wait for that snake to strike." he sipped his coffee "Am I clear?"

"Yes Sir!" She straightened.

"Don't disappoint me this time. And here, from now use this sim. Yours is no longer reliable."

He passed her a  sim card. He came prepared, because he still had faith on her. And she was grateful to him, to her team who were standing by her while everything was pointing against her.

She would not disappoint them again.

"I give you my word, Sir. No more stupidity."

"Good. Now get to work." he nodded before speaking again " And put more sugar in your coffee from now on. What a bitter taste!"

—---------

Well, she had decided to start from where it all began. First, she tried to have the CCTV footages recovered, only to find out that every six months, the footages are deleted. So she had no footage before six months. While she spent hours looking at each and every footage of her and Namjoon, there was not much to be noticed.

Then she questioned the barista regarding the man who visited the cafe with her often.

"Since how long had he been coming here?"

"Ma'am, quite a while, maybe...six months?"

"More than six months?"

"Could be, I am not sure."

"Has he visited this place this week?"

"No, I don't think so."

Namjoon had vanished from the face of earth. Or so it seemed. Every place she had been to, even the economics professor whose identity he stole, nobody seemed to have much of a clue.

He was smart, she would give him that.

"Yeah?"

"You found something?"

It was Dok on phone while she passed through the busy streets of the city.

"Guess, what, that old hag you punched in the video? We've found something that might help. He was under investigation when he was serving, in the nineties, but he came off clean. I have informed Byuk Sir, come to my home, we review the file, and see if we can find something to put shit on him."

"Great! I'll be on my way."

Finally, finally she had something! Well, at least hopefully.

She had half a mind to inform the rest of the team, but since there was no solid confirmation, she decided not to disturb them.

-----

Dok's apartment was around thirty minutes by bus, along the way, she picked up dinner for them. Her stomach grumbled at the delicious aroma wafting out though the packaging.

Pressing the doorbell, she waited with tapping foot for Dok to answer. She knocked when no one answered for the second time.

"Dok! I am starving already and the food is heavy." She yelled through the door, hoping that he would hurry up.

She rang his doorbell again before calling him this time. The faint sound of his phone ringing floated out, but there was no movement, not even the faint padding of feet or shuffle.

"Dok?" she knocked with urgency this time, growing concerned.

She head the faint slow shuffling. Relieved, she waited for him to open the door so that she could pour out an earful to his lazy—"

Click!

"Dok you—"

The door opened, and the terrified face of her friend greeted her.

"Dok? Dok?" He said nothing through his laboured breathing, falling on her immediately. She help him immediately.

"S-save—"

With a jerk of his body, his head fell back while she had only begun to register the blood all over and an open gash on his back.

"DOK! DOK?"

She realised that had been shot too late, he was not breathing anymore. The blood soaked through her sleeve while the food laid on the round.

"DOK! DO—" She saw a flash of the red dot before it disappeared and without a second thought, she rushed towards the open window

"OI! DON'T HIDE YOU VERMIN!"

With raged eyes and rushed movements, she searched through the line of buildings. But with unshed tears in her eyes and under the veil of the dark night, it was all futile.

—-----

Blue and red lights covered the area near the apartment building and yellow tapes filled the entrance of the apartment. (Y/N) stood numb by Officer Kyong, his overcoat covering her stiff form. Every sound seemed slightly off, every movement felt slow. But this time, he could not keep her tears in. They flowed free as she watched Dok's shrouded body being carried out of the place into an ambulance, the while shroud marred by slight patches of blood.

Han and Kyong held their heads high, not letting a single tear flow out under the weight of the uniform. She felt Officer Byuk's hand on her shoulder, trying to comfort her.

"Go home, child." His voice was heavy as he spoke, as if holding himself back.

She stood still, even after the ambulance left, her eyes remained fixed on the spot.

"He had some...He was telling me he found something." Her voice lacked emotion, and strength but that caught Kyong's ears.

"What do you mean?"

(Y/N) licked her lips, recalling the phone call "Dok...He was saying something about finding evidence that would proof my innocence."

Kyong's hands balled into fists.

He nodded, feeling a twinge of resentment bubbling in, but he squashed it immediately.

"This...Whoever..." He began lowly, "Probably has the evidence now."

(Y/N) stood in silence, eyes stilled on the road.

"(Y/N), tell us everything, don't keep anything from us. We already lost a teammate." Han was barely holding back.

"But for now, go home." Kyong advised.

She hummed absentmindedly. Sleep. She needed that.

—---

The rain pelted against the window, fogging it. While the city sky wept, (Y/N) laid on her back in her darkened room with dried tears. Her thumb pressed on the switch of the nightlamp by her bed, only to switch it off after a moment's stillness. It was a pattern that kept repeating, the ceiling lighting up simply, with vague shadows, before plunging into darkness once more.

All she saw was Dok's pained and terrified face in front of her, even with her eyes open. And once she closed them, all she saw was the dreaded night when...

"Dok you—"

The door opened, and the terrified face of her friend greeted her.

"Dok? Dok?" He said nothing through his laboured breathing, falling on her immediately. She helped him immediately.

"Th-thirty four..." he whispered into her ear "Thirty—Ah!...S-save—"

His head jerked back.

She had told the police each and every detail she could remember in her state. But something in her refrained her from revealing this little information. An officer ins trained to distinguish their intuition from any other form of panic and emotion, and rely on that intuition. It was the same intuition that pointed Namjoon out, and it she had been a fool to dismiss initially. She did not want to repeat the past mistakes.

The constant buzzing of her phone snapped her awake. She had not even realised she had dozed off.

With bleary eyes, she picked up the call in a daze.

"Hllw?" She slurred.

But there was no one greeting back. But there was something—

Breathing.

(Y/N) stilled, now alert as she waited with bated breath.

"Hello?" She tested.

The breathing quivered for a moment before slowing down to normalcy again. But there was no verbal reply. But this time, (Y/N) waited.

"Oh Little bird..."

The audacity.

Her hands balled into fists as she sat up straight, in a smooth, steady motion.

"I wish things would not have had to be so hard...But you—"

"Why?" She asked lowly through gritted teeth.

"I was dying to hear this voice" he sighed lightly and paused for a moment "It's business baby, nothing personal. I just hoped that it would not have to be you. The police tries to meddle with our business, we fuck it up royally. But I have an offer for you, little bird..."

She remained silent. She could almost feel his smirk.

"Come to me, lets forget the past. We can be the same again, but this time you have no officers barking orders at you."

"Why this kindness?"

She could hear his shuddering breath again.

"Oh, Darling, you would not believe me if tell you now...But I feel bad for that officer. That made you upset..."

All she could think of was Dok's face and the number he had whispered into her ear.

"You..."

He took a light but sharp intake when she began.

"...Fucked with the wrong person."

With that, she cut the call.

This was not about her duty or the police department anymore. This was personal now.

—-----

"Did you find any device in the apartment?"

(Y/N) was currently at Kyong's place, both of them sitting in the living room with coffee.

"Devices, like what?"

"Dok had called me to inform that he had found something that would proof my innocence. And Just before I can reach him, he...he is murdered."

"So you are saying that he was being spied upon?"

"I have no other explanation right now. If I were the target, why was unharmed? They are trying to pick us out, one by one, they know us, they know the team."

Kyong hummed.

"What if Dok was not the only one being spied upon? The rest us are probably on their hit-list. But I don't understand...You came out unharmed."

"It was a set up. They framed me for murder of a retired officer, they made sure to kill Dok in front of me. Its psychological game they're playing."

"In every way, you were the one present there so the suspicion would point at you."

Her mind went back to the call. What was the purpose of it?

What did he want? What did his boss want?

"Keep an eye out for danger, alert your family and friends as well, better to put some officers for their safety. We need the help of the intelligence department Kyong, this is not a police-thief hide and seek. It's a war."

-

The road was isolated, but as much as she remembered, it was the same road she escaped through. It was dark again, and she knew that it was expected of her to return to that place. But she had no option, her Kyong and Han had no other option. Under the night sky, everything seemed off.

"Lets park our car here, if we take it into the woods, people might be alerted if they are there." (Y/N) suggested.

As soon as they were out of the vehicle parked safely out of sight, they mingled into the woods. Dead leaves crunched under their shoes as (Y/N) led them further in.

"Are you sure that this is the place?" Kyong asked as they ventured deeper into the woods.

"As much as I remember, yes?"

"Remember? (Y/N), do you realise that one of our teammates is dead and we have guns over our heads, and if we don't find them first, we will be dead!"

Kyong was frustrated, and no matter how much he wanted to keep those thoughts away, they were bleeding through his subconscious.

Clouds of breaths escaped (Y/N)'s lips at that. She understood him, she understood his fears and where he was coming from. But she also knew that there was no other way but to tread in the darkness until they find an anchor, a clue– something, anything.

"I know how this feels—"

"No, you don't. Dok is dead (Y/N)."

"I know he is and it kills me!"

"Okay, you both– we are going to alert people if we keep raising our voice at each other. Dok is no more and they have hit us right where it hurts. There is nothing that can be done until and unless we find this...RM. Whoever it is, they had Dok killed, they had (Y/N) kidnapped and they are waiting to pounce again."

Han's words had both of them looking away. Kyong pushed his hair back– he had never felt helpless and frustrated to this extent.

"Let's...let's keep going, the place is here somewhere."

With that, she resumed walking ahead.

(Y/N) recognised the silhouette of the building from a distance. She signalled the rest of her teammates before the three split up. Taking cover of the darkness and the trees, they stalked closer to the building. It stood with an innocuous appearance, but (Y/N) knew better.

She signalled Han to follow her before swiftly and stealthily making her way towards the building walls. Attaching herself with one of the walls, she watched as Han moved to the opposite walls. After the entrance was surrounded, Kyong moved straight to the entrance of the building.

Both (Y/N) and Han peeked out as Kyong inspected the entrance before giving them clearance and entering, they followed, all of their guns intact and pointed in front of them.

"Number three, anything important? Over."

(Y/N) asked through her headphone as she searched the upper level of the building, kicking open empty doors, expecting to find something but there was—

"No, all three rooms all clear." Han replied.

Her eyes narrowed as she focused her flashlight over a dusty desk. Everything in the place was covered with dust and cobwebs except the half-burnt cigarette. Her gloved hand picked it before sniffing.

Realisation struck her as she shoved the cigarette into her pocket before rushing out of the room.

"Number three, number two, danger incoming 10-0, copy that!" Her eye scanned the area for people before she found gliding through the walls. On the ground floor. She duked in immediately but continued to move.

"Number six, message received."

"I see them moving, take cover!"

She descended with stealth to the ground floor, following the men. Watching them closely, she loaded her gun in silence. Deciding the wall was a good enough cover, she switched to Kyong once more.

"Shoot!"

And with that, bullets surrounded those criminals from both their sides, catching them off guard. They did not intend to kill all of them. She heard some glass shattering from upstairs.

Four out of the five men were down, the other had taken cover behind a wall.

A bullet shattered the glass behind her. She was exposed to the people above.

With no choice, she backed away into a safer cover. while the other man made a run for it

Left with no other choice, (Y/N) chased him into the woods. She faintly heard Kyong's warning call for her but that did not matter. Nothing matters but to take back that man alive. It was a trap and he would be the one proving it. This chase could be a trap as well. But worth the risk.

The bushes, leaves and brushed past her in a swift blurs of sounds and sensations as she chased him. All she could think of was Namjoon's deceptive smile and Dok's dying face.

He was a quick runner and a dodger. The rock he hurled at her came flying towards her, she was quick enough to save her head but it hit her shoulder. And did it hurt bad.

(Y/N) gasped and stumbled due to the jolting pain.

It was just moment before adrenaline pushed her to resume the chase. He took a sharp turn and she almost stumbled before following him.

It was muddy slope with a bubbling creep a few feet deep when she finally grabbed him by his shoulder.

He elbowed her injured shoulder kicked on her stomach, sending her doubling over. This was enough for her grasp to loosen, giving him an opportunity to escape.

He had made it to the creek, his legs ran fast to cross the creek, stumbling a little before—

"ARGH!"

He cried out as the clear water of the creek darkened with crimson. He clutched the side of his knee, but could not stop the blood from gushing out.

His hand reached out for the gun tucked behind him but a heavy boot pressed down on his hand, making him cry out.

"I have him. Over."

(Y/N) informed her teammates, slightly breathless, but keeping her boot pressed on his hand.

---

"There was no need to tie a cloth over the wound, won't say a fucking word!" Han was growing frustrated.

The tied man only grinned through his bloodied teeth. It was quickly becoming clear that it was not his first time being interrogated.

"I'm being nice for the last time— who do you work for?" (Y/N) spoke through gritted teeth.

Her shoulder and throbbed and felt slightly heavy, but the tied up man was the potential key to prove her innocence and to get her hands on Namjoon.

No, her main target was RM, Namjoon could be dealt with later.

She shook his thoughts out of her mind and straightened up.

"And if I don't?" He asked, breathless from the pain. "You can't even arrest me." He cackled at their face

"Listen you little shit—"

Kyong was about to pounce on him but (Y/N) stopped him.

"Kyong, we need to handle this carefully if the department comes to know—"

"So what?! What more can happen? Dok is fucking dead already and they were here to kill us too."

"And that is exactly why we must be calm!" (Y/N) asserted, but Kyong only scoffed and looked away with disdain.

"(Y/N), they knew we were here. They were fucking waiting, that's why you found the bloody cigarette! We are risking our lives just to prove YOU innocent!"

"Kyong! Stop it, we are a team." Han interjected.

"Han, Dok is fucking dead trying to prove her innocent." He shoved a finger at her"  Important files are missing from her home because she blindly trusted a fucking criminal! Why didn't you cross-check his identity first? Are you that incapable? So fucking blind? It cost US! The WHOLE FUCKING DEPARTMENT! Byuk Sir is under fire because of her sloppiness!."

"Kyong—" Han tried to intervene.

"No what the hell are we doing? She almost led us to our doom!"

"Kyong stop it!"

"WHY SHOULD WE? Does she even realise what her love affair has cost us?" Kyong screamed his anguish out on her.

(Y/N) stood still. His words hit her, but she would not show it. She had lost enough for showing her vulnerability to people.

"I know how difficult the situation is."

She began, calm and reserved.

"And I promise you both–"

"What are you? Five? We don't want fucking promises (Y/N), we need results." Kyong spat

(Y/N) sucked her cheeks, maintaining her cool.

"I promise you both...if anything goes wrong, it will be only me who gets under fire. I take all the responsibility. But now, we must work together. This is exactly what they want, for us to lose faith in ourselves." She whispered to Kyong, quiet but assertive.

Kyong's gaze locked with hers in a hard, long stare before he looked away.

"I need a smoke. Get him to talk."

With that, he left the room.

(Y/N) and Han turned to the man sitting against the wall. Amusement dancing in his eyes.

"Pathetic, aren't ya'll?"

"You really are asking for broken bones, huh?" Han gritted out.

"You think a brushed bullet can get me to speak? Years ago, another officer tried to be all macho and righteous." He chuckled and sniffle "Shot dead in his home...So think again fools."

Han kicked him on his stomach, making him double over and cough out saliva, but he sniggered.

Han was about to kick him again when (Y/N) chuckled out, shaking her had. Her eyes were a cold but sure warning as she licked her lips. The previously amused grin vanished from the man's face at the sight of her sharp smile with a shaking head.

"You have, never been properly interrogated before."

She whispered out, stalking towards the now alert male while her colleague stepped away.(Y/N)'s hands rested in her pockets, painting the most deceptively casual picture. But as she sat to his level, looking at his eyes, the man stiffened.

Wordlessly, she took his right hand, unbothered by his violent struggles as she held his forefinger, before her other hand brought a needle and pushed the pointed end right under his fingernail, earning a blood-curling scream from the man.

Kyong rushed in, but only watched from the doorway as the man writhed and shook under her unrelenting hold and cold gaze. He wheezed when she took the bloodied pin out, only to thrust it again with greater force, making the man wail out. She moved her leg and pressed against his wounded knee as he gasped and shook, crying out for mercy.

"Who sent you?"

"We—W-we got orders—right–high–higher up–higher up–aaagh!!"

He gasped out.

"Who do you work for?"

"H–Henchin–Lee Henchin—"

"He is only the drug peddler. Who is he working for?"

She took out the pin before moving to his next finger, thrusting the pin underneath the fresh fingernail, he cried out again.

"I don't k–Knowww eeeaAAa!" He wailed

"I am going to put this pin right through you eardrum if I hear this bullshit again."

She sounded like she was explaining a life lesson.

"I really—I r–really don't know!" He wheezed out, gasping as she twisted the needle, raising an eyebrow.

"Okay...Who are his biggest suppliers?"

"H–H–be–we–we collect from hyve–hah"

"What was that?" She leaned in closer

"Hybe...we collect from there—aah!"

She finally let go of his hand and wiped the needle off his blood.

-----

"Lee Henchin? We have no evidence against him, he runs two very exclusive clubs and has a restaurant under his name, but he is a big name (Y/N), I can't just allow that."

"But Sir that man did take Lee Henchin's name, we even recorded his confession—"

"By using violence? You know that it would not work. Besides, Henchin's a big name, we have some clue of his association with prominent yakuzas. I am not letting you three meddle into that."

"But Sir, this is our golden chance. He is going to bring us closer to this RM." (Y/N) almost could not believe what she was hearing, but after Dok's death, she knew where Officer Byuk was coming from.

"No (Y/N), you think we have not tried to get to that little rat? We lost two men, not even their families were spared. You have no idea how deep these roots run."

"Three, Sir. We lost three officers in the span of seventeen years."

Officer Byuk looked at her, surprised.

"And so we need to pull these roots out once and for all."

She added.

"You think its easy?"

(Y/N) looked away, having no answer to that. She went straight to Officer Byuk's residence after the 'interrogation'. It was deemed dangerous for the three to travel together to an officer's house.

"Sir...Dok is dead, our teammate is dead and we know who did this."

"And you three will be too if you go after him. We originally started this mission to know about RM's connections, we found that. And we stop here, this would be passed to the higher ups."

"And it will stay there on some unknown desk collecting dust. We know that too Sir."

Officer locked her gaze with a stern stare.

"I am not ready to lose more of my able officers. There is already an investigation going over you, focus on finding evidence against that officer's connection with the underworld."

"But that is connected to this! Henchin might be out key to prove my innocence."

"That would not help as much as you like to think. None of you are going to go after Lee Henchin. Am I understood?"

(Y/N) stared back, frustrated, angry, but silent.

"Yes, Sir."

-----

"Why did we just leave out phones in our cars?" Kyong was visibly annoyed, but had complied to (Y/N)'s demand.

"Because, I think our phones are being tapped."

(Y/N) replied before sipping her tea. She missed a good cup of that. When she...was with Namjoon, she had introduced coffee to her regular diet. Not replacing her tea, but reducing the consumption.

That man had crawled into her mind.

"Well, how did they know that Dok had some important evidence? And when we went to the same spot I woke up in?"

"So you called us here for this?" Kyong had been cold ever since their fight, and while (Y/N) had tried to be understanding, his behaviour was getting on her nerves.

"I am not found of wasting people's time, Kyong. I called you all to tell you that Officer Byuk will not allow us to go after Henchin."

"WHAT?"

"Why?"

"Guys, keep it low." She hissed, avoiding all the glances and turned heads in the cafe.

"But—but we have his name...Henchin can be a key to prove your innocence as well (Y/N)."

"I know Han. But Henchin, has a record. Most of the cases against him and his pubs are either inconclusive, cold or abruptly closed. There were officers who went behind him, they are all dead. Byuk Sir just does not want to risk our lives."

"But, we are fucking close." Kyong hissed

"We already are taking on this mission without any supervision from the higher ups. He says that he would be sending the details to the intelligence."

"So Dok's death means nothing to them?"

Kyong was understandably upset

"I don't know about them. But we care." (Y/N) reassured.

"But Sir just dismissed any further action."

(Y/N) hummed at Han's words before picking up her filled cup and taking another sip.

She looked at the two, their eyes held question, but also resilience.

"Sometimes...duty comes first, obedience to authority, second."

There were three officers dead in the span of twenty and four years. One, five years ago, second, twelve years ago. And third...seventeen years ago.

Seventeen years ago when she was a six year old child, and she witnessed her father's death.

Because he was the first office to go behind Lee Henchin.

"We will go. Lets start planning."

-----

"Are you sure he would be present in this club tonight?"

After tracking him for a week, they finally had his schedule. Thanks to the informants.

"I'm 99% sure." Kyong replied.

"What do you mean by 99%?" Han was visibly tense.

"Relax, we can never be 100% sure of anything here, can we?" (Y/N) assured him, eyeing the area with a mask of normalcy.

The tree of them came here as any other guest looking to rewind a bit. It was easy to acquire false names and use false information. The club was booming with life, a Friday night in all its glory— messy, lewd, merry, drunk and dancing– everything all at once.

"The VIP and VVIP section is on the first floor, the second floor is off limits, the basement harbours the storeroom an kitchen. Keep eyes on all those heading up. And keep in touch. I will go mingle into the crown from the front, you both choose either corners."

(Y/N) decided, the two nodded before the three separated, moving to their chosen directions. With her mask on and eyes done, (Y/N) made sure to take on a disguise. Her eyes wandered away as she danced her way to the centre, among the crowd of swaying, jumping bodies and flashing lights, all she could see were people who either wanted to burn, or escape, or perhaps both.

Calmly, she ran her eyes over the place, brushing away intruding strangers and drunk office workers. It was a glamorous place, it was a sorry place, it was a safe place for 'deals'.

"Attention, suspect spotted, going up, follow. Over." Han's voice cut through the thrumming music.

"Received, following."

The first floor was quieter, but not untouched by the loud music below. Kyong motioned them to to stay on the darker portions, avoiding cameras. One of their informants worked as a bouncer there. Had it not been for him, they would have no weapons to defend themselves.

The three followed as the three men, surrounded by two bodyguards ascended further. Second floor.

Kyong motioned towards the bathroom before walking in.

If the second floor was off limits, the stair would be the worst way to take. So they had to climb through the bathroom window into the store room of the second floor. Kyong opened the window and entered quietly, only after he was sure everything was clear, signalled for the two to follow. The room was dark, but clear of any threat for now. The informant needed to be rewarded heavily. With practiced stealth, the three made their way out, staying close to the wall, waiting.

A guard entered the seemingly empty hallway, only to be pulled by the neck into another sharp corner, the back of a gun came down heavily on his head, knocking him out immediately.

Han motioned his teammates with a positive sign as the unconscious guards slid down the wall. Dragging his body into an empty room, he took hold of the card required to unlock rooms. They were playing with fire. But it was an absolute necessity.

As they passed through the seemingly empty hallway, in search of those—

"Team."

Kyong and Han turned to (Y/N) who stood a few feet behind, eyeing a certain door.

"What is it?"

"I think this is the room."

"How do you know?" Kyong eyed the room.

"Yes, we can't be sure." Han added.

"You are right. Do one thing, you two go ahead, I will check this room."

"(Y/N), are you out of your fucking mind?" Kyong hissed "We can't just—"

"I will keep you updated."

She assured them, leaning in to check. So far, silence. Slowly, she pushed the door open to peek in.

Empty.

"Go. We have limited time."

She urged before they could speak up.

Glancing at the room number once last time, she slid in with caution.

Room number 34.

Had it been a pitch black room, she would not have take much of a risk. But the room was unlocked and dimly-lit. An indication that someone was about to come in, or had recently exited. Using the closet to hide, she slid behind the hanging towels and some washed curtains. The gaps in the door design allowed her unobstructed view of the room.

"In the room, watching. Clear for now. Copy that."

She informed her colleagues through the interconnected earbud before checking the number of spare bullets hidden in her shoes.

Now all was left was to wait. Patience would bear fruits. Or something like that along the lines.

She waited patiently for over an hour–still and quiet until the door the the room finally opened. And the room was illuminated further. Leaning away more into the darkness of the closet, her ears perked up at the sound of footsteps.

And finally, the person was right in her viewing range.

"Any updates?"

Kyong's voice rang in her ear. But she did not reply, she could not.

"Number six. Any update?" This time, it was Han.

"Number two and three...take shelter. Over."

She whispered to the earbud, while her eyes watched the man in front of her.

Officer Byuk.

He made himself comfortable over a cushioned chair by the window in the room after taking out a bottle from the mini fridge in the room. But he took out two glasses and did not uncork the bottle.

She waited in the closet another hour with anticipation before she heard a knock. Byuk instantly rose up and went to answer the door.

"Hello Officer Byuk."

The voice had her tightening her grip on her gun. Ready to shoot.

"Finally, come in please."

She waited with bated breath before the second man came into her viewing range, right in front of her.

"It's a pleasure to see you again Officer."

Namjoon's voice was deeper than she remembered, a gravelly edge that somehow made him sound exactly like the cold-blooded criminal that he was.

"Lee said he's on his way. He will join us shortly." Byuk spoke up, motioning towards the set table.

"Let's wait for Lee." Namjoon offered.

"No alcohol for him today, he's on antibiotics he said." Byuk replied, finally uncorking the bottle and filling the glasses.

"Any new updates?"

"The officers were close. But now that the threat is diffused, I think Lee needs to lay low for a while, some of the officers might not let this go." Byuk replied, sipping on his drink.

Namjoon only hummed.

He lookers slightly different than a month—

One and a half month. It had been almost one and a half month since she had last seen him. All she remembered how lively, kind and gentle he looked. But the man she was looking at now had a sinister edge to him. He always had that, he simply hid that well. He was no longer sporting hair she had last seen him with. It was cut short, somehow enhancing the sense of danger that shadowed his presence.

Her eyes moved from him to Byuk– Uncle Byuk– the man she trusted the most in the world. The one man she had put her blind trust on. She exhaled slowly, trying to keep her bubbling rage at bay as she began to connect the dots.

"Number two and three."

There was no response.

"Number two and three?" She hissed, turning tense with each passing moment.

She loaded her gun noiselessly. Something had gone wrong.

Byuk's phone rang.

"Please excuse me." With that, he picked up the phone and listened. "Shit!" he hissed, cutting the call. "I think I need to get out of here, there are two officers in disguise in this building, I will order them to shoot them at sight."

"Don't kill them now." Namjoon spoke up before rising from his chair, Byuk followed "And there are not two officers, but three."

With that Namjoon marched up to the closet and swung the door open, making her gasp. Before she could injure him, he grabbed her wrist and dropped the gun to his hold.

"Tch, that's dangerous little bird."

The nickname made her sick.

"Think of your friends before you do something."

He whispered coldly while dodging her attacks. Byuk stood there, pale as soon as (Y/N)'s gaze found his while she struggled in Namjoon's hold.

"Easy, Little Bird, we just met, what's the hurry?"

This little shit!

"She will kill us Sir, finish her!"

Byuk's words were the final nail on the coffin. She wanted the write the ending, but perhaps fate had other plans. She could only pray that Kyong and Han get away safely.

"Mind your words, Byuk."

Namjoon's voice dipped lower and Byuk visibly gulped.

"Bu–but she knows now."

At that, Namjoon looked down at her. Finding her eyes still on that imbecile, he gripped her cheeks and compelled her to look at him.

"But she won't let anything happen to her friends, would she? Lee's men already have them. And all they need is a nod from me."

She hated being close to him, and she hated herself even more for realising that she missed him, she missed his proximity, his touch, his eyes, his smile, she missed his voice. She missed him.

His thumb rubbed her cheek with a softness she had yearned for one and a half month. And at that moment, she wished that he were a different man, she wished she never met him, she wished that she never fell in love with him.

"What do you say Little Bird?"

His hold on her was firm– there was no use of struggling anyway, one phone call and Kyong and Han would meet Dok's fate.

He leaned closer, his fingers on her cheeks effectively preventing her to move away. It was an ambiguous feeling when she felt him inhaled a long, sharp breath before breathing into her. Their breath mixing was like a reaction set to scatter the world around.

"My offer still stands, Little Bird. But of course, the choice is yours."

His voice was milk and honey, a mocking smirk on her predicament.

"Sir, we have the two officers." A new voice emerged from the entrance and he finally let go.

She turned to look at the man she had only seen pictures of. But his presence filled her with a sense of disgust she never knew she possessed.

Lee Henchin was an aged up man now, but the wicked shadow he possessed overpowered the room. He glanced her her with a curious tilt of his head

"This one could do for the VVIP clients. One of the girls escaped, we need a replacement anyway for tomorrow."

She felt cold, but the sheer amount of hatred in her urged her to break his face. Maybe take out his teeth– one at a time.

"The Lady is not for sale, Lee." She shivered when Namjoon growled from behind, pulling her closer to him.

And as she watched Lee Henchin's previously confident stan falter subtly, she understood who pulled the shots in the room.

"You can do whatever you want with the rest of them though." Namjoon added.

She tensed at that, and he felt it too, she knew that when he asked her

"Isn't that right, little bird?"

The silence was only a beat long, but it held oceans within.

"Offer accepted." She muttered out begrudgingly.

"What was that honey?" He rose an eyebrow, barely containing his smirk.

She would have slapped that smirk away had it not been Han and Kyong's life at stake.

"I accept your offer. But you will let them go safe, in one piece. And they will never be bothered again."

She looked up to meet his eyes– the deep brooding eyes that reminded her of unwritten poetry and hidden classics read on rainy days were now swirls of storms themselves– all the harsh murky days, the hovering, ominous clouds, the sharp, sudden thunderbolts and the deep rumble that followed.

"Lee, tell your men to release the two. Throw them out of the club."

"Uh–I did not know that she was—"

"Officer Byuk!" His voice rose, cutting Henchin off "Make sure the two never reach here, or me sniffing."

"As you wish, Sir."

He took a completely different way out to reach his car. His hand though gripped hers. Outside stood an imposing car in the middle of two others. Like a gentleman, he opened the door for her, keeping a close eye as she settled into the farthest corner.

But he was least bothered by that. He finally had her in his grapes, and that was all that mattered.

"I'm sorry Little Bird but I can't quite trust you so soon." He urged her to give her hands, keeping his voice gentle.

She should know that he meant no harm. He was not the villain, the world was. She narrowed her eyes at him.

(Y/N) knew that she had no choice, not at the moment at least. It was narrow path and the only way was the way ahead. If she was going to die...Well she did not know anymore. Namjoon's behaviour was odd so far, it kept her guessing.

Swallowing the bitter pill, she placed her hands on his tentatively, only for him to lock them behind her. The coldness came engulfed her wrists soon after.

What a fucking irony.

The cop being handcuffed.

She ground her teeth to keep herself from reacting the way she truly wanted.

"What—"

Just as she thought that it was over, a black cloth over hear eyes rendered her blind, making her jump, ready to spring into action. But Namjoon's hold on her tightened.

"Shhh, take it as safety measures, Jagi, nothing else."

He cooed at, tying over the blindfold.

"It's' not necessary, I can't go back anyway." (Y/N) felt the simmers of panic in her belly.

"I know Jagi. But I don't take chances with capable people."

It felt simultaneously like a warning and compliment. Perhaps it was. He knew her capacity, and he was not taking any chances. With a defeated sigh, she leaned on the expensive leather of the car, feeling the engine rumbling into life before the slightest jerk indicted that the car was now in motion.

----

The villa was settled near an isolated road that harboured a stretch of moor on the other side, beyond which laid a highway cutting through a small woodland. And the housekeeper made excellent tea.

There were five of them— those visible at least– her, Namjoon, the housekeeper, a maid and a cook.

A month in the place, (Y/N) at least knew that Namjoon held a high position—Namjoon was his real name after all and it was a stupid as well as smartest move to pull, given that he was, at least very close to the highest and he had spied on her and the department for a long period of time. No one would assume that he used hi real name, criminals never used their real names. She was, though yet to decipher how many of them were hiding in the woods.

"More tea, Madame?" The housekeeper who has been adamant to not tell her his real name, offered to refill her empty cup.

"Thank you, Pep."

(Y/N) nodded to him, smiling faintly as he refilled her cup for the second time.

"No more mooncakes, Pep, I want my tea just as it is."

"Sure." He put away the mooncakes, while she sipped on the tea, watching the wind sweep through the moor in orchid waves.

She kept her eyes on the scene outside, while her ears strained to hear Namjoon on the phone. But he was inside the house and the walls were soundproof.

It had only been a month but to her, it felt like a decade since she had gone to work. Everyday, before her eyes would battle against sleep, all she could think of was Uncle Byuks' betrayal and Lee Henchin.

Lee Henchin...

"I am so sorry, Jagi. My absence sometimes hurts the business."

Namjoon walked up to her with his pretentious apology.

"Why bother to stay back then? Your blood money flow is affected."

He only smiled at her words before turning to the housekeeper. Taking the clue, Pep walked away, leaving the two alone.

"Nothing, (Y/N), is more important than you."

"I don't understand this game..."

And really, she did not. She had no more information to give him. Officer Byuk knew more than her. Had more access. Then why was he even interested in her?

"I did come close to you with the intention to be closer to the ground and have some files." Namjoon confessed, looking away to the moors while he sipped his coffee.

"But even if you don't believe me, Little Bird, I fell, and I fell hard and stupid in love with you." He eyed her for moment before his gaze dropped on his share of mooncakes.

He loved everything sweet, she had learnt.

"Even if you don't believe me, I do not blame you. We have a lifetime to ourselves."

" That's very confident for man who has a boss to answer. What would RM think when they come to know that you an officer?"

Namjoon leaned back, not even a flicker of doubt passing on his face.

"I don't answer, Little Bird."

She frowned and put her cup down.

"Why?"

He smiled indulgently at her, but to her, it felt condescending.

"I don't answer to anyone, Love. People answer to me...I am RM."

She felt cold and parched all over.

—-----

Kyong bit into his apple while his eyes remained on the screen in front of him. No, he refused to believe that (Y/N) was dead, as 'evidence' had shown. He would not have believed that Dok was dead had he not seen his body himself. But (Y/N)...He had not seen her body. It was only her gun–bloodied gun. But again, there was no confirmation whose blood was that.

That was a work too lousy to be professional. It was a cover up, and a poor cover up if he may add.

And he won't be at rest until he finds out where (Y/N) was bring her back.

—--

"I'm dead?"

(Y/N) whispered in disbelief as she watched the tv screen. It was a follow up news. And she, like those cold cases piled up inside shelves, was herself reduced to one of them— a cold case that may fascinate many, but not bother any.

"Who put backs news channels here?" RM hissed at Pep who stuttered in his presence.

"I fixed a monthly plan, they must have added—"

"Take that down. Now."

Her name and face was long gone from the screen. Like a flipped page, it was another day, another news, another race for TRP.

But her cheeks trembled.

She was dead to the world, her traces, her existence was wiped out. Even if she were really dead, there was no family to grieve for her. The only person closest to be called a family was the one to give her one final blow.

"Hey, hey, its just to make sure that no one comes after you, yeah? And we can start afresh."

Namjoon's face shielded the screen as he cupped her cheeks, eyes searching–trying to read her, reassure her. Make her feel the safety she never would. Switching the television off, he focused on her again.

"Don't think too much about that, okay? Why don't we..." looking around, he whirred his brain before his eyes landed on a golden wrapper "Why don't we make chocolate together? Hmm? You love baking right? We can bake later."

As if that would help. She was spiralling and she was spiralling fast.

She let him lead her to the kitchen while Pep hurriedly helped to set the ingredients. But her mind was running far away. Was there, really no choice? No hope for freedom?

—---

"It's cold, wear a coat."

Were Namjoon's first words as soon as he was back from his home office and into the bedroom.

"But, we are alright inside?"

(Y/N) was confused. Anybody could tell that it was cold by the blanket of snow covering the moor, some browns still peeking out, but over all, it all stretched white.

"We are going out for a walk." Namjoon smiled at her. The surprise must have been apparent as she put away the book she was reading and sat up straighter.

"Like, now?" Her eye widened in surprise.

He nodded, watching her closely, but there was a softness that did remind her of their older days, but it held something different, something more. She was, finally having the chance to step out of the place after two whole months, and there was no way that she would let this opportunity go. But there was a part of her that seeped in disbelief and suspicion.

Why would he risk it so soon? There had been no indication of him beginning to trust her. Then why?

"I know that the news of...your death charade was a bit too much. But I did what I thought was an absolute necessity. But I cannot bear to see you sad, Little Bird." He walked closer, sitting on his knees to meet her eyes.

He waited for a verbal response, but there came none. She only nodded.

The sound of snow crunching had something satisfactory in it. And as they walked through the snow. Namjoon pulled up the warm scarf.

"Its cold, Jagi, be careful."

(Y/N) nodded and fixed the scarf over her nose as they walked through the snow-covered moor, towards the white woods. His hold remained firm over her other hand though. Fingers intertwining, slithered between the gaps like he had slithered in her life.

Namjoon could not help but look at her with fondness. Even though there was no trace of a complete smile, there was a ghost of it somewhere— a spark in her eyes that had been somewhat dimmed in the past month. Namjoon hated that. He knew that he had hurt her and things had been going hard enough as it was. But, the news headlines about her (faked) death might have been the final hit. She was crumbling, and Namjoon hated that. She had suffered enough. He could always deal with Henchin and Byuk later. But she was his priority.

He kept a close eye on her, while his hand squeezed her gloved ones every now and then as they walked closer to the woods.

"Its a pretty sight."

"You like it?"

Of course she did, the way her eyes took in every detail, it was clear as day that she loved the winter wonderland the small woods would turn into.

"We can..." He weighed his options "We can come here everyday if you like?"

Without another word, she kept walking, her eyes fixed on the ground as they passed through the trees.

"What are you looking at?"

"Huh? Sorry just—what did you say?"

Namjoon observed her a moment before looking away, "Lets go back."

"So soon?"

"Hmm, I don't want you catching cold."

Tugging her to take a turn, he strode back to the villa. His grip, even through the gloves felt tight. Once back, he ordered Pep to prepare tea for them before marching back to the room.

"Is that what you have planned for me? To be your prisoner?"

Even after two months, nothing changed, and her patience was waning."

Namjoon looked up from his tea, eyes gleaming before he put the cup down and sat up straighter.

"You are no prisoner little bird, don't call yourself that. Did you not hear my offer?"

"I accepted your offer. I am here with you, on your whim, in return of my friends' lives."

"No, that's not it. I told you, come with me, you will have more power than a miserable uniform can ever give you. And by now, I assume you know that the silly ideals you were holding onto, hold no place there."

She stared back at him defiantly as she slowly sipped her tea.

"These 'silly ideals took us to Henchin'. We had him that night..."

"Until I appeared."

"Until you appeared."

"And he still lives."

"He is useful to me (Y/N)."

He killed my father.

He killed my father.

He fucking. Killed. My. Father.

In silence, she sipped her tea.

—------

"Why didn't you accept the invitation, it has been a while since we've gone out drinking?"

Han walked along with Kyong, who strode to rush out of the police station as soon as he could.

"I'm not in the mood Han?"

"You said the same last week."

Kyong finally stopped "Because I was not in the mood to go drinking last week too." he sighed out, annoyed.

"Okay, how about this Sunday? You and me?"

"Han, I'm busy this Sunday."

"You dating, man?"

Kyong sighed at the question

"No–I am—Listen Han—"

"No because there is something bothering you. Look, Kyong, I know that losing both of our friends like that is and has been hard so far. It has been three months since (Y/N)'s..." He eyed Kyong cautiously, who only threw him a withering glare before looking away "(Y/N)'s demise."

"Han...Let's not talk about that."

"This is exactly what we need to talk about— first Dok and now (Y/N). I feel guilty too. She sacrificed herself. Lee was going to kill us but—"

"I fought with her, okay? I doubted her, she was the one in trouble and instead of being understanding, I blamed her for Dok's death! That–" he pointed his finger down, moving it with force "— is guilt!"

"Kyong...You can't let this consume you forever, can you?"

Kyong did not reply. (Y/N) was alive. And he was going to bring her back, even from the depths of hell if it were to be.

—-----

The gentle snowfall had now turned to occasional blizzards that left a good few feet of snow for days. It was no surprise to her that their daily walks were suspended. But it did come as a surprise when she woke up one a gloomy morning, only to see Namjoon all dressed up.

"Good morning little bird, did you have a good sleep?" He turned to her as soon as she had begun to sit up.

"Are we going somewhere?"

"Me, not you." Namjoon replied, fixing his cufflinks "Be good for me while I'm gone,"

His voice was airy as he approached her to place a delicate kiss on her forehead. Yet his eyes were another story— they held a clear warning.

"The blood-business needs the big bad mafia?"

"Business is business, Jagi. There is only profit, loss and sides. Nothing else."

"So it is important."

"The maid has prepared breakfast, if you want, I can have it brought up." He diverted the topic

"No, thanks, I will take it downstairs."

"Okay. I might be late, do not wait up for me. Sleep on time, okay?"

She looked up to him before looking away with a dismissive nod.

Namjoon sighed, "Things would have been different had you just taken up my offer."

"I am here, am I not?"

"Not willingly. You are holding on some stupid ideals."

"Why must I trust you? You broke my heart– they are my friends who stayed with me. I am not holding on to any ideals anymore Namjoon"

I have a purpose.

Namjoon sucked his cheeks– a tell tale sign of his draining patience. He was a patient man, she would give him that– and perhaps it was the calmness he executed his plans, no matter how cruel– that sent sent chills cascading down her. He was not the one to run with impulse, rather, with a cold, meticulous plan.

All the more difficult to decipher.

Namjoon was a man to not mess with. And while he was an extremely patient man, every man had a fuse. She was in no position to try her luck.

Wanting to be out of the situation, she got off the bed and tried to walk past him, when his hand coiled around her waist, pulling her closer to him, while she kept looking ahead. Yet, there was a pit forming in her stomach.

"Those men had been too near you for my liking. If I wanted, I could have had them ripped apart." His hold tightened as he continued "Limb. To limb. And still have you here."

This made her turn to him– her fiery glare matched his cold contemplation.

"But I did not want that. I do not want you to hate me. So don't make do something that is going to cost our progress." His breath was hot on her skin.

Without another word, she jerked his hand away and strode into the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind her.

Once inside, she waited for a good few minutes before she switched on the flush, then turned the shower on. She had heard the muffled sound of door closing. Opening the bathroom cabinet noiselessly, she rummaged through her sanitary needs before a packet came to her grasp. Dipping her fingers in, she fished out the phone she had hidden. Having checked the bathroom lock one more, she moved away from the door while her thumb rushed to dial a number.

The person picked up after a single ring.

"Kyong?"

She whispered.

—-----

Namjoon waited. Eye glancing on his wrist watch ever so often. He did not like to wait. He was the one make people wait. But this deal was important for a business boost. The larger the company, the easier it was to play the cards.

"Where is he, Lee?"

Namjoon's voice did nothing to show his thinning tolerance. He only flicked his lighter on and lit up the limited edition cigarette to keep his cool. The argument was in his mind, her fierce stare showed no spirit of reconciliation and this was worrying for him. He needed her to see how futile everything was– everything she believed in, and how powerful she could be with him. He wanted her loyalty, only then he could marry her. And if he would not marry soon, one of his rivals would and have a heir before him. He had spilled enough blood to be on top, he did not want more bloodshed. They all had their share when he killed the previous Don and took the throne.

"Jardo, my friend!"

Namjoon looked up to see the awaited guest walking up to him.

"My sincerest apology for the delay, businesses have trouble, Sir..."

"RM."

Namjoon corrected him before accepting the hand he offered for a shake.

"Jardo Alec, kindly have a seat."

Lee offered the seat right in front of Namjoon.

"So, your dealings in the Latin world is famous here too."

"Not here, its all over the world."

Namjoon tilted his head.

"I have a schedule, Alec, and I would get straight to the point. There is a shipment of merch-material coming for the factories under Hybe. It will stop the your coast for some custom issues– deal with it, refill the packs inside the material and ship it."

"Well, there has been negotiation regarding the price—"

"Seventy million. I want the pure, white and the yellow ones. Put them inside capsules" Namjoon interrupted.

Jardo sat back, surprised at the lack of negotiation.

"You have got your pockets full, RM."

Namjoon smiled while rising up and buttoning his suit, the rest of the men mirrored his actions.

"Lee will inform you regarding the rest. But I need the shipments before the top five groups begin their world tours."

"You want to sell in the concerts? That's a risky job."

Namjoon took in his cigarette, letting the fumes enter his system.

"Its a risky business."

----

Kyong's eyes took in the computer screen that showed the targets. He the location of the guards loitering in the woods near the villa. Namjoon was out in months. Surely, the guards would be on high alert.

His specialization in hacking did come handy when he was able to get past the security system of the cameras outside the villa and in the woods as well, to note the movements of Namjoon's men. But he could not stay for long, the breach would be eventually detected.

He noted their movements for a few hours before retreating. There was a pattern, but that was not his problem. The problem was the fucking high-functioning front with a camera that overlooked the area. He needed to find out first who had the control of the drone.

—--

"The risotto was delicious Pep."

"Thank you Ma'am." Pep smiled, bowed and retreated.

Just as she had finished her lunch, the gates of the villa opened,

"The weekly groceries are here, Madame."

"I have just finished lunch, don't bother about me, go fetch that."

Pep bowed lightly before rushing to open the door. Bags of the listed items were carried in by two sturdy men.

"Do they have the chocolates I ordered?"

She followed them into the kitchen as Pep prepared to stock up the pantry.

"Oh, here it is." He handed over the box of chocolates to her. Her eyes flicked over the two men there, then on Pep before she open the box.

"I will be in the bedroom Pep, have the evening tea sent up, will you?"

"As you wish, Madame."

She nodded before popping in one of the chocolates in her mouth and walking away.

Once inside the confines of her bedroom, she sighed. Nearing the intercom, she tossed away the chocolate box and picked up the intercom. Taking out a chip from her mouth and wiping it clean, she took off its plastic coat and glued it to the back of the device.

—----

"I don't understand, what do you mean by lost data?"

Namjoon was tense. How could it be? They have lost a dozen of profiles of their guards? Check for a breach."

"Checked Sir, there was none. It seems like a glitch." His men from the other end of the phone explained.

"Okay, send this case to the higher up. I don't want another sloppy hacker job."

Well, the day could not get any worse.

It had been two days since his confrontation with (Y/N) and she had been colder than before. No snide remarks, or witty, scalding comebacks, just the silence. Jardo and his deal was facing an obstacle regarding bribing the customs, and now some of his guards' biodata suddenly went missing.

Namjoon was on edge. Her jerked his tie to loosen up as the car sped through the muddy countryside road. The melting snow and the icy wind did not help.

"Bring me me a coffee!" He growled as soon as the housekeeper opened the door for him.

"Sure, Sir."

Tossing away his dirty overcoat, he ran his fingers through his hair, his eyes looked up to his room, usually, the lights would be on, but the room was all dark with the door wide open.

"Where (Y/N)?"

"Upstairs, Sir."

"She's not in the room." He pointed while taking the steaming cup from the housekeeper's grasp.

"She's on the terrace Sir."

He stopped just as he was about to take a sip. "The terrace? It's fucking dark! Why is she still there?"

He did not wait for an answer, instead, he ascended the stairs.

The terrace was lit up, as usual, just not empty anymore.

"What are you doing here?"

Her back was facing him when he reached the terrace

"I was bored."

She replied without turning.

"There are plenty of subscriptions for you, there are video games"

(Y/N) finally turned as he neared her.

"Thank you." Her honeyed tone stung.

"How long are you going to keep this up? What the fuck—-" Namjoon stopped mid-way, recollected himself after a long breath and resumed "What do you want?"

"You know what I want Namjoon, and even with all the money you can't give it to me."

"I can, once I begin to trust you."

"You proved me dead to the world! You have officers on your payroll, and you are still afraid."

"I am never afraid!"

With a roll of her eyes, she brushed past him.

Fuck it!

Namjoon turned around and strode behind her, grabbing her arm and jerking her to stop and turn to him.

"I've had enough! You think you can torment me like that?"

With a tilt of her head, she assessed him "I think its working. Cool off, Namjoon."

His hold only tightened.

"I have been patient enough, have I not? How long are you going to keep—"

"I do not play with people Namjoon. And then you have the audacity to complaint." It was not an outburst like before– it was plain, cold and as much as he wanted to deny– factual.

"You can't keep this up."

She rose her eyebrow, infuriating him further "Watch me." this time, she forcefully jerked his hold off and walked away.

Namjoon just stood there. Heaving. Burning.

Cool off.

The words did nothing to cool him off. In fact, it had the opposite affect. He needed her. He love her and she needed to know that. So he rushed after her. Chasing her like a lifeline, the only hope of survival.

Desperate.

Angry.

Passionate.

He did not know what came after what, or how many more emotions he was feeling. But he knew he loved her.

And that it hurt when she refused to believe him.

She was already in their room, walking in just in time as he rushed in, kicking the door close. But when she turned around to tell him off, his fingers wrapped around the back of her neck before he pulled her into a burning kiss.

It was like an imprint on his soul– he had been waiting, he had tried to be patient, but she was stubborn, and fiery, and righteous– he loved her, he loved everything about her, but above all, he would love to let his darkness bend her righteousness.

He felt her tugging him closer. He knew he was ingrained in her. She loved him too. His movements were quick and rough as he got rid of her clothes, not caring if he ripped them away in the process, removing his own as well.

It was static energy in the room, thick passion and meaning line between insanity and passionate.

"You fucking get on my nerves sometimes!" He growled, parting her legs with a firm, sharp movement but surprisingly, not rough.

"I thought the boss never loses his cool?"

He chuckled humourlessly at the poking.

"You wanted me to beg you, didn't you? Beg you for forgiveness and tell you how right you were?" his thumb found her pearl with practised ease, her sharp intake of breath only fuelled his desire "I do not beg!" he hissed on her face, playing with her pearl "I. Beg. Nobody!"

"Tell that to yourself Joon–keep telling that to yourself until you fool yourself." She replied breathlessly, somewhat grappling with her wit amidst the onslaught of pleasure coming down on her.

Joon.

Namjoon froze at the nickname. She had called him Joon after so long. It was like returning home after a hard exile.

His movements slowed down eventually, but never came to a halt. He leaned in and kissed her with tenderness– all the tenderness he could have in his heart– the remaining, the newfound, the churned, the ruined.

It did pain him to see her surprised eyes. A remained of the painful fact that she did not trust him, and it was a long way ahead to rebuild their relationship– one that would never be the same, since its very foundation was based on deception.

But in the end, their love would prevail. His love would prevail– even if it was crafted by the nefarious creatures below.

And if...

He dove in, peppering kisses on her bare breast, feeling them to his heart's content.

And if she would never love him the same again...

His one finger teased her folds, testing, feeling her legs spread further unconsciously, making him smirk.

His love was enough.

His finger dipped in. He had missed touching her, feeling her. It was moment he wished could last longer.

He kissed her again, this time, he felt her pulling him closer.

His finger reached deeper, feeling her velvet walls clamp around while she tensed. His thumb continued to play with. Her fingers sprawled over his naked chest, the nails barely scratching him– light and teasing. If she was doing that knowingly– she was playing with fire.

His other hand buried itself in her hair, fisting it lightly while he deepened the kiss, light moans only encouraged him to act further. Adding another finger, her moved them further, occasionally circling them to earn those sweet moans that spilled from her lips. His fingers moved and her hips followed, her hold on him tightened, sliding towards his shoulders.

"All you have is me."

He whispered into her ear, quickening his pace, watching in glee as her eyes rolled back before he felt her spilling on his fingers– hot, gushing as the walls spasmed.

He was a patient man...

But it had been so long since he felt her around him.

Diving in for another intense, mind-robbing kiss, he parted her legs further with his knees, fingers still buried knuckle-deep inside her.

The sudden flashes of her with another man sent him to a frenzy. Had he not promised her to spare their lives...

She moaned into the kiss, hissing as his fingers moved slowly inside her, occasionally parting to prepare her for him. Finally pulling away his fingers, he smeared her wetness all over his manhood before letting the bulbous head tap against her folds teasingly. His patience thinned further when she mewled into the kiss. Relenting against his tongue while he slid inside her, slowly stretching her, inch by inch, until he was buried as deep as he could be.

But he wanted to bury himself deeper.

He wanted to leave traces on her soul, he wanted to run in her veins, he wanted to be the one in her mind and the first on her tongue.

"I missed you." He was turning breathless with all the adrenaline pushing up in his system. Yet, he did not want to hurt her.

To him, she would always be his little bird

"You had me."

"I missed this. You, like this! We–we can always...always go back to as we were."

His hips moved in sync with hers. In that moment, they both were one. And he wished the moment would last till eternity.

It was like his soul was reaching out for hers.

He lied. He knew he lied.

He would beg.

For her, to her.

If that was what it took to being them back to the lovely days they once shared.

"Oh–Joon—"

He moved faster, basking in that moment, deluding himself that everything was alright.

At least he could relish it as long as it lasted.

Her legs wrapped around his hips as they both shuddered in ultimate contentment. It was quiet for a while as they settled under the covers.

"We can start afresh, love." Namjoon whispered, letting his fingers run through her hair, moving away strands as he cherished the tender moment.

Her previously closed eyes opened with unfathomable gaze.

"No, Namjoon. We are not meant to start afresh." With that, she moved the covers and got off the bed.

Grabbing things from the closet, she walked into the bathroom, unbothered by Namjoon's heated stare on her.

Sitting up, Namjoon picked up the cigarette pack and the lighter beside it. Pulling one between his lips, he lit the cigarette. The smoke clouded his vision as he exhaled, leaning back while his eyes kept finding their way back to the shut bathroom door every now and then.

Halfway through his smoke, he got off the bed and wore a pair of sweats.

Still no sign.

Frowning, he turned to pull the curtains of the window a bit and—

As soon as he saw the bloody corpse of one of his guards, he rushed to the bathroom.

"(Y/N)!"

No response.

With one powerful kick, the bathroom door flew open, letting him view the now wide open window with its glass slates cleanly removed with thick towels.

"(Y/N)! FUCK!"

He bellowed.

—---

The snow was thick and the dark woods did not make it any easier. There was blizzard due and they had to reach their car before that.

"Careful there," Han held (Y/N) as she tripped, almost falling flat on the ground "You sure you're not hurt?"

His questioned made Kyong turn to check on her as well, he had been a bit ahead if them, but within the earshot.

"No—I'm okay. Its get out of here." (Y/N) reassured Han, who eyed her with concern, but nodded nevertheless.

Kyong and Han had pulled off the impossible. She had only heard of Kyong's legendary hacking skills...Had seen him hacking no more than modest systems but as they made their way through the silent, snowy forest, she was introduced to his and Han's true potential.

But that was not the thought that plagued her mind– it was filled with the flashes of her and Namjoon– their bodies mingled together. He looked at her with so much of tenderness, with the vulnerability that she refused to believe in. it felt like they were even now.

He deceived her, she betrayed him.

And yet...

And yet there was no trace of satisfaction, or simmering down of the—-

"SHIT!"

Han ducked down just at the right moment, and the bullet hit the tree before him.

"Everyone, down!"

(Y/N) instructed, pushing Kyong away before another shot was fired at him.

"We need to split." She declared as they took cover. It was silent but the light crunching of the snow conveyed approaching danger.

"But we–"

"Now, Han. Go right, Kyong, follow this path. He's after me. I will go left. You two– if I do not return withing twenty minutes, get out of here."

"What? (Y/N). we are not leaving you behind!" Kyong hissed, eyes still ahead in search of the attacker.

"I won't let you guys die because of me–Dok was—"

"It wasn't your fault." Kyong finally looked at her, his hardened gaze softened slightly "It wasn't...I'm sorry. I should have been more understanding."

(Y/N) nodded.

"Go...Please."

Kyong frowned but obliged, nudging Han to slip out first without coming under notice.

"We will see you on the road by the woods?" Kyong's waited for assurance.

Assurance. That was all she could give him at the moment. So she nodded.

"Go."

With a nod, he began to crawl back, maintaining cover of the trees an shrubs. Once he motioned (Y/N), she made a quick dash to her left– deliberately exposing herself.

Her legs worked fast, but she could hear the sound of quick boots approaching. The snow was only slowing her down. But slowing down was not an option.

She could hear him running parallel to her, but with the blurring rights, she could see nothing. He was like an invisible hunter.

But she was no prey.

All she had to do was to distract—

Ow!

She fell to her side, allowing her had to slow down the momentum. But it was painful, especially due to the weight of another man over her. She heard him snigger humourlessly as he locked her to the ground. Knees pinning her legs while he locked her wrists behind her back with one hand. The barrel of the gun felt hot pushed on the nape of her neck. But his breath falling so close stole overshadowed the sense of danger a gun would bring.

"Not so fast." He growled lowly and she shivered, pressing the gun harder

The snow was cold and the jacket did little to help her. Her breathing ruffled some of the dried leaves close by as adrenaline pumped through her.

"I will fucking kill him–kill them both!"

Namjoon would keep his promise. And that gave her all the more reasons to get out.

"No, you will not."

She hissed before navigating her fingers to press on the spot near his thumb, making him loosen his grip a bit but that was enough for her. Her elbow shoved on his jaw as she twisted her body out of his grip. Putting her weight on her upper body, she managed to flip him off her. Rolling over, they both were quickly back on their feet. The only difference being Namjoon's gun now kicked away while (Y/N) had her gun pointed at him.

His smile was unnerving--eyes still raging with emotions. Despite the low visibility, she could see how deranged he looked.

"Yeah, fire now. That would help you in future."

His voice had a tremble.

(Y/N) narrowed her eyes, squinting to get a better look at him. The faint lights told her that the edge of the woods was nearby.

She could fire. She had the gun– a loaded gun. But how could she?

She realised the emptiness she had within after looking at Namjoon's eyes. Her vision blurred but she blinked away the tear immediately.

It's the cold.

It's cold.

She told herself.

"Back off Namjoon. I have nothing to lose anymore. I can keep you off the radar. Just don't come after me."

"I will always come after you Darling. So, shoot me now."

He chuckled at her lack of response.

"Why? Can't pull the trigger? Don't you hate me?"

"You made a fool out of me." (Y/N) growled, feeling anger bubbling up on the surface "Deceived me. Lied to me. Backstabbed me!"

"And yet I loved you. All through my lies, I loved you...I did what I ought to do. But I could never kill you."

He was supposed to kill her?

"We are even now, aren't we? Just come back. Cut the chase."

His voice was a siren call. But she would not be deceived this time.

"We can never be even Namjoon. I lost everything because of people like you."

The loud sound of the door breaking made her whimper, but it was all muffled with the sound of gunfire.

Through tears and fabrics, she could only watch as the once cream wall splattered with blood, and more blood before the lights were out.

She gulped.

She should have forgotten it. Buried it deep down. But she never allowed herself to forget that. She had to remember each and everything so that she could tell the child psychiatrist. Each and Everything.

"And you think you are all angels in that uniform?"

She shook her head.

"No."

Lies were worn under uniforms as well. There was no difference.

" Of course, there are no angels in this world Namjoon."

Her world was turned upside down. Her perception was cracked and her beliefs toppled. She was dead to the world. Being dead in reality would not make much of a difference.

She had nothing to lose.

"But that won't matter."

With that, she pulled the trigger.

----

The streets were in a lull. At he peak of winter, snow blanketed the footpath the bicycle lanes hardly had any tracks. Red, golden and green lights lit up near doors and on windows, like vines creeping all around. Some doors had the wreath hanging with toy bells.

Byun was home after a double shift– weary eyes, sagging shoulders– he knew he needed a warm bath. The process of unlocking the door felt tedious, but as soon as she shut the door, the warmth of his apartment invited him.

It was freezing.

And the predictions were that it would snow heavily by the weekend. While everyone would be cozied under blankets and the roof of their homes, people like him would have to slave their way through the weekended to save the sorry-ass streets.

He threw his overcoat off, along with his cap before roughly taking off his watch—

He stood stiff, straining his ears while his fingers silently took out his gun.

Muffled voices from his bedroom door which was shut tight. He was home after more than twenty four hours but he remembered leaving it open.

He always left it open.

Deliberately, he made his way to his kitchen, making sure he made enough disturbances. Switching on his expresso machine, he stealthily glided along the walls, making it to his bedroom.

The muffled voices did not cease. Silently, he tried the door knob– unlocked.

In a flash, he kicked it open and aimed his gun towards the intruders, fully expecting people to fire at him.

Nothing.

The door creaked as it moved to and fro due to the force it was opened with, while the bedroom remained plunged in darkness and—-

The voice.

It was his voice!

Coming from a voice recorder sitting on the middle of the bed.

"Hi, I'm Byun. I have just prepared a team of four. They will come after your men. Reach the docks an hour before the time. I don't want them caught. No, listen, I can mislead for so long–they're no kids okay? Yeah they–*sigh* I am calling you through his phone so that we are safe. Tell Mr Lee all about the delivery– yeah—"

Byun reached quickly to shut it off, his gun still pointing ahead.

He was not wrong, his house was broken into.

A speeding car momentarily flashed some light into the darkness.

He was not alone.

"I've seen you...come out..." He demanded gruffly, keeping a cool exterior.

From the darkest corner, she emerged like a ghost. Parts hidden by the darkness, parts exposed by the uneven streetlight.

"A-aa—you fire that gun and yet this recording is going to be on air, I have put it on timer."

Her eyes flickered on the gun pointed on her direction but they were looking into his in no time.

"I wasn't going to shoot." Byun deadpanned.

"Why?" (Y/N) rose an eyebrow with an amused smirk.

"Because its you."

She only titled her head, "You underestimated me Byun."

His name sounded cold as she neared him.

"Like you underestimated my father."

"He died because he was foolish. I warned him against them–but he was stubborn. He brought it to himself. You were following his path."

She shook her head.

"I am not my father Byun. I learnt my lesson early."

The silence between them was thick and strained, but it lasted only a moment.

"I you kill me the department would know and—"

"I give you two straight options– either this recording of yours goes on-air and the police, the intelligence and Henchin himself come after you to give you the death you deserve...Or you end it all by yourself and make it easier for yourself."

Byun chuckled in disbelief.

"I am being merciful Byun. Take it while you can."

"You are showing me mercy because you can't kill me yourself." He pointed out.

"What would be worse? Your recording coming out or being killed by my hands?" She looked at the wall clock hanging behind him "Fifty seconds more, and it all is going to go on air. The department would want to look good in the public eye– they would want you behind bars, or dead... And Henchin would reach you behind bars too."

Conflict flickered all over his face, his forehead glistened.

"Lee will come after you." He tried to intimidate.

But (Y/N) only smiled– faint and tight– matching her steeled gaze

"I will be waiting."

"You cannot—"

"Ten."

"(Y/N)--" he hissed

"Nine"

"You will gain nothing!"

"Eight..."

"I–"

"Seven"

"STOP!"

"Six" She sniggered.

"Five."

He was growing breathless

"Fou–"

In a flash, he pointed his gun at his head"

BANG!

The once pristine wall beside him was sprayed with blood. Some flecked her face too as she watched his body drop down.

She would have stared longer, but she knew that she had no time to waste. Choosing the fire escape, she noiselessly made her way out of the building while muffled voice of disturbance and commotion began to stir up.

Once a safe distance away, (Y/N) wiped her face before fishing out a cigarette and a lighter from her coat's pocket.

As she lit her cigarette, she saw the trembling of her hands.

----

Continued here.

[magnoliasandarson]

birds of a feather pt. 2

Dick wasn’t sure what to make of the Redhood Jason. His baby brother, his Little Wing- back from the dead. He was gloriously and miraculously alive, but there was something different. For one, he was jacked. His Jaybird had been five-foot-nothing when they buried him, but he was now a tank given human form- well over six feet tall, at least two hundred pounds.

Then there was the less obvious. Jason had always been a dynamic fighter, explosive and quick on his feet, but where he once moved like lightning, he now moved like wildfire, fluid and lethal. Dick recognized the brutality, the swiftness. Somehow, Jason had been with the League of Assassins. It was easy to put two and two together; someone had dumped the corpse of his baby brother into the Lazarus Pit. His brother hadn’t turned away from the light; someone turned him. They would pay dearly. 

He went to Bruce immediately and demanded they kill call Talia. But Bruce didn’t react the way Dick expected. He didn’t fly to Nanda Parbat; he didn’t swear vengeance in the name of his son. Instead, he said, “This changes nothing,” and went to find the Redhood, stone-faced and deathly quiet.

Dick hesitated for all of a minute before suiting up and running after Bruce, taking care to stay just out of sight. He’d known Bruce for half his life and had spent about as much time cleaning up his messes; he knew when the elder was going to make a mistake he’d dearly regret. He wanted to be wrong. 

Still, Dick crouched in the rafters of the warehouse and watched. He wanted to sob, wanted to scream, wanted to rage as his Little Wing tossed the hog-tied Joker onto the ground in front of him. Keeping the fucking clown as a barrier between him and his father. His fingers flexed involuntarily around a WingDing as the Joker started cackling, “How sweet! It’s a family reunion!”

Jason yanked his helmet off and tossed it between him and Bruce- no man’s land. In a fucked-up way, Dick almost laughed. Jason was still Jason, even under all the rage and madness. Thank fuck Dick had found and defused that bomb- Jason’d probably go on too long, and they’d be blown to pieces. 

Any semblance of a smile faded away from his face when Jason spoke, “Ignoring what he's done in the past. Blindly, stupidly disregarding the entire graveyards he's filled, the thousands who have suffered, the friends he's crippled.” Barbara’s agonized face as she stared at the Batgirl suit from her wheelchair flashed through Dick’s mind. His knuckles popped as he clenched his fists. Jason wasn’t wrong. Dick had believed- had known- what Jason was saying was true; he’d beaten the Joker to death with his bare hands, all for Bruce to bring him back. 

 Dick shifted his weight, ready to drop down in a split-second, “You know, I thought... I thought I'd be the last person you'd ever let him hurt. If it had been you that he beat to a bloody pulp, if he had taken you from this world, I would've done nothing but search the planet for this pathetic pile of evil, death-worshiping garbage and then send him off to hell!” Oh, Jaybird. This was all wrong, all so fucking wrong. Bruce had lost his mind when Jason died; why wasn’t Bruce telling him?

Finally, finally, Bruce opened his mouth, “You don't understand. I don't think you've ever understood.” Dick was going to kill Bruce. Then, he was going to cart his brother off to therapy and ice cream.

“What? That your moral code just won't allow for that? It's too hard to cross that line?” So much therapy and so much ice cream. Maybe even a trip to a bookstore. Or an island. Just anywhere but Gotham.

“No! God Almighty, no. It'd be too damned easy. All I've ever wanted to do is kill him. A day doesn't go by that I don't think about subjecting him to every horrendous torture he's dealt out to others, and then... end him.” Barbara’s beaten form in a hospital bed, Jason’s tiny grave- Dick felt all too prepared to assume the burden for Bruce.

The Joker laughed again, “Aw, Batsy’s thinkin’ bout lil ol’ me!” Jason slammed a boot into the clown’s side, and Dick found himself almost cheering.

Bruce carried on, too stuck in his self-flagellation and morality, “But if I do that, if I allow myself to go down into that place... I'll never come back.” Boo-fuckin-hoo, Dick would stop Bruce if he went too far. He'd done it before.

“Why? I'm not talking about killing Penguin or Scarecrow or Dent. I'm talking about him, just him. And doing it because... because he took me away from you.” Dick was afraid that if he exhaled, he’d scream. It took him months to realize that Jason wasn’t his usurper- that he was just a kid who needed a family. If Jason thought for a minute that Dick hadn’t wanted to burn the world to ashes-

“I can't. I'm sorry.” Fuck this.

Jason chuckled, low and uneven, and Dick felt the hairs on the back of his neck raise, “You don’t have to. I will,” he pulled a gun from his hip, cocked the hammer, and lowered it to point at the Joker’s laughing face, “Him or me, Bruce. Either kill me, or I kill him.” No, no, no, no-

Bruce reached into his utility belt and drew a Batarang- NO

Time slowed. Was this how Wally felt?

Dick launched from the beam-

Jason turned away from the Joker, his mouth opened to speak-

The Batarang glinted in the flickering lights as it flew-

Dick screamed his brother’s name, arm outstretched-

“JASON!”

A river of red opened and poured out of Jason’s neck-

Jason fell to the ground, clutching his throat-

Dick was frozen. He was standing on solid ground. His brother was bleeding out ten feet away, with the Joker howling in laughter on the ground next to him. Dick could sense Bruce Batman behind him. Unmoving.  

It wasn’t something many people acknowledged- even in his own family- but Dick Grayson was a weapon given skin. He had trained with Raptor, Lady Shiva, and Deathstroke. They didn’t specialize in nonlethal force. Dick had mutilated, tortured, and killed in the name of justice. Batman just killed his brother. Carelessly, he flicked a Wingding into the Joker’s neck, slicing his carotid like Jason’s.

"Let him go," Dick triggered his escrima stick, sparks of blue crackling into existence, "now."

He turned to face the man he had loved as a father who killed his brother, his voice uncharacteristically solemn and steady, “You killed my brother.” Blue lightning crackled into existence, drowning out the sound of the Joker’s dying giggles.

Bruce’s Batman’s face was carved from stone, even as he raised his fists, “You broke the code.”

“Fuck your code,” Dick launched himself at Batman, escrima sticks raised, “he was your son!”

Once upon a time, many years ago, Bruce had taught Dick to fight, but Dick wasn’t trying to fight his former mentor; he was trying to kill him. Batman swung at Nightwing, aiming to shatter bone and rend flesh. They had crossed the point of no return, and they both knew it, “He came back wrong.”

Dick roared in rage, primal and furious, not speaking a word, slamming a well-placed kick into Batman’s weak knee. He was done talking. He’d tried to talk to Bruce Batman for years. If the old man wanted to fight someone, he’d be reminded why Nightwing was his contingency plan.

Batman fell to one knee, slashing out with a Batarang, but Nightwing caught it with an escrima stick, knocking it from the elder’s hand, and slamming the other into the side of his head. Dick dodged a sloppy punch, flipping out of the way with agility Batman could never match. 

“Stand down, Nightwing,” Batman bellowed, “That’s enough!” He staggered back to his feet, catching the younger in the ribs with a gauntleted fist. The force of the punch threw Dick, tossed him through the air onto his back on the ground, a pained gasp leaving his lips.

Dick snarled, a horrifying imitation of the smile he was famous for, “Never again.” He’d never stand down again, not for Batman. He launched into the air off his shoulders, his feet connecting with the Bat symbol, knocking Batman onto the concrete. 

Nightwing knelt on the Batsuit, pressing a Wingding into his throat, “You slit his throat.” Tears blurred his vision as he cut through the armor, the blade touching his former mentor’s skin, drawing a single drop of beaded blood. 

“Dad?”

In a heartbeat, Dick was on the floor between the Joker’s corpse and his brother. He thought he was dead; he didn’t check- “Jason,” the word left his bloody lips like a prayer, “fuck, Jason.” He pressed his fingers to his brother’s throat- there was a thick scar under the gore but no open wound. Jason’s pulse was fast and erratic- but it was there.

“Dickie?” Jason’s voice was small, croaky. Batman had probably cut into his vocal cords when he threw that stupid Batarang. (You should call them Batarangs- like Bat and Boomerang!)

“I’m here, Little Wing,” tears dripped off his chin onto his brother’s face, “I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.” 

Distantly, Dick heard Batman jump out of a window. He didn’t care. He was holding his brother, his blessedly alive brother, fuck Batman. Birds of a feather stuck together.

[themaidenofwords]

Yes, it's two AM, but I'm writing a Jason centric story and I'm lost in the sauce of his arc.

Jason started off as an abused kid who couldn't defend himself. I know his backstory is a little debated (with its racist and classiest stereotypes and all) but Willis being an abuser makes sense for his character to me. As a kid, he watches his dad, and he sees his mom withering away, and he promises to be different. He promises himself to be strong enough and brave enough one day to fight back and protect all the other kids who aren't big enough to defend themselves.

And then Jason gets adopted by Bruce and he becomes Robin. For three years he fulfills that promise and defends the innocent. He is finally strong enough-- skilled enough-- to protect all those little kids and other victims. He holds a special hatred for abusers and deals with them with a violence that Bruce doesn't approve of, but that he can't manage to regret in the shadow of the memory of Willis's sneers and fists. He is a bright thing with wings-- swooping down and doling out justice and protecting the innocent-- an angel.

And then Jason dies, and he returns to life with something inside of himself broken. As Robin, Jason had the ability to defend himself finally, but he also didn't have to protect himself from every threat because Bruce was there to defend him. He had trusted his new dad to be there for him, and that trust had been broken in the most irrevocable way right on the heels of betrayal by his bio mom. Jason woke up drowning in the Lazarus Pits and emerged to be told that Bruce had replaced him. What seemed to him like moments after he died, he had proof that Bruce had lied and that he had to defend himself like he always had as a child. No one else would protect him but himself.

And when Jason returned to Gotham, he was still the defender of the innocent, but he wasn't a bright thing flying on feathered wings. He was no longer a Robin, but a vengeful wraith. He spat in the face of Bruce's rules about excessive violence, because obviously those standards didn't mean anything. Jason would do what he had always done and do whatever necessary to protect himself and those who were unable (or shouldn't have to) protect themselves. He had standards. He hurt those who deserved it. He saved those who had been abandoned just like him. He swooped down and doled out justice and vengeance in equal measure with his shadow falling behind him in an angular, twisted train. The angel had died in a warehouse in Ethiopia, and only the traumatized wraith remained.

Timothy Drake was not an innocent in Jason's eyes. He was the epitome of all that Jason had lost and how little that tragedy had mattered. He was the shiny replacement that Bruce had picked up when the old model of Robin had failed. Jason wanted to avenge his death and get revenge on Bruce for making him dare to hope that someone actually cared, and so he decided to balance the scales and prove that the new model of Robin was just as easy to break as the old version. Jason beat up his replacement and left him an inch away from dead, and he left feeling justified. He left feeling grimly satisfied in his vengeance and the brutal fairness of the deed.

The problem came when the haze of righteous rage cleared enough for Jason to look down at the bruises on his knuckles and remember the furious sneer that had twisted his mouth. The problem came when Jason remembered watching Willis raise a similarly bruised fist and stare down at Catherine Todd with that same angry sneer. He had promised to be different. He had tried to break the cycle, and yet he had fallen right back into the same circle of violence and pain. He had broken the wings of another little bird in a mockery of justice. Pain for pain might have been fair, but that didn't make it just-- that didn't make it right. Jason had promised to be different, and he had proceeded to pass on his own trauma to a new child for no more reason than his own jealous anger. Joker was Jason's worst nightmare and Jason had painted himself in the colors of that same nightmare. He had promised to be different. If he had caught anyone else attacking a child, he would have killed them without question. When had Jason's standards dropped so fully? Did his purpose die with the boy he once was, or did his desire for rage twist his concept of justice so badly that he had justified twisting himself into the mold that had been created for him when he was raised in an abuser's home.

Breaking the cycle was supposed to be easy. He was supposed to just do the opposite of Willis's example. He didn't expect to find out how abusers justify their own actions.

The thing is, Jason didn't just give up after that. He changed. He saw that he had fallen off his own standard and he course corrected. Not perfectly, of course, and if you take canon as law he's still splashing in the deep end of everything he stands against, but he made the effort to be better.

Honestly, that's what I love most about him. Breaking the cycle isn't always a linear path, but the decision to keep striving to be different is what truly matters. The promise might have been broken, but wounds heal and bridges can be repaired. Atonement comes through striving to be better, not giving up and lying where you've fallen.

The universes where Jason was never adopted by Bruce (where he never died) he became a priest. He broke the cycle. There's nothing within him that's destined to fill the mold set by the abusers that shaped his childhood.

Jason is by no means a perfect character, but he continually chooses to be different-- to be better-- and that's all I ask for.

[the-hype-on-tv]

The Calm After The Storm

(a short fic heavily inspired by frownyalfred's post)

Clark rushed out of work as soon as he could. There was a single message on his phone from an unregistered number, but he already knew it probably came from one of his secretive friends in the next city over.

"Mister Kent,

It is with a sense of urgency I invite you to pay a visit to Gotham. The details will be discussed in person, but as you may guess, this does concern our friend in common.

- My sincere gratitude, A."

Alfred. Something had happened with Bruce, he knew. Flying through the clouds, he already had some idea of what the situation was: Jason Todd. The boy was declared deceased not more than a week or two prior, and both Bruce Wayne and Batman seemed... off.

The socialite wouldn't appear as much on events and interviews, and when he did, he acted like everything was fine, but never stayed long enough to prove. Batman wasn't showing up to some of the Justice League meetings, leaving most of the leadership to Wonder Woman and Superman. They didn't even hesitate to allow him some time away from his duties. The criminals of Gotham began getting more bruised when caught, more scarred than usual.

Clark's only regret is that he didn't get to it sooner.

Arriving at the Manor's grounds, he paced to the door, glad that the nightfall hid his figure from any prying eyes. Alfred was already at the door.

"He's underground." The old man cut the chase, a thank you rushed his lips. A single drop of concern showed in between his wrinkles. Clark put a hand to his shoulder and shot him with what he hoped looked like a comforting smile.

Heading inside, behind the grandfather clock, down the spiral staircase, into the dark cave. He'd been there before, but not unaccompanied. It feels more eerie than ever.

The man in black was turned away from him, facing many screens at once. Every time they'd start a conversation, Bruce would acknowledge his friend first, even when he tried to sneak up on him. However, Clark beat him to it.

"Bruce," the man of steel kept his voice soft and reassuring. "I heard about what happened. Listen, B... If you need anything, you know the League and I are here for you."

No response. Bruce's heart had the same rhythm as always, steady and calm, like the ever lasting beat of a sad song. The dim light kept the kevlar cape and the removed cowl glistening, creating such an abnormal ambient. Clark sighed before continuing the speech he heartily organized on the way.

"I understand that you may be sad right now, but... no matter what, I--" Clark's thoughts and voice were cut off by a dry laugh that came out like thunder. It sounded almost masochist, a single "hah!" from the deep pit of Bruce's lungs.

"Sad? I'm not sad..." the suffering chuckle gave away to a Batman low and static voice, turning into a growl as he grit out of his teeth:

"I'm furious."

The response left Clark with furrowed brows and wide eyes. He almost took a step back, before hovering around to the side to better see his friend. Bruce's eyes were puffy and red, as wide as his own, furrowed brows in concentration and a deep scowl. His hair was stranded and oily like he forgot to wash it and he could use some shaving too. Wasn't looking much like a celebrity right now, his friend thought with ache.

Following his eyes, he saw what was on the screen: Joker sightings, evidence saved from a blown up ware house, what was once a crowbar but now is burnt and bent like a pretzel. Pieces of the Robin's suit with DNA scans all over, as well as... blood.

Bruce's hands weren't typing anymore, they were turned into fists. A huff or two came out of his lips, soft enough that only enhanced hearing like Clark's could have picked up on.

His heart rate hadn't changed at all. It didn't speed up as the scowl burned with anger and pain, those baby blue eyes filled with vengeance to the point of burning.

"He won't do anything like that again," Batman almost whispered. "he won't get the chance to." And rushed a turn around to his Batmobile. Before he could reach for his cowl, though, a soft and warm hand caught up his wrist.

"You don't want to do this, Clark." a threatening growl. "You know it must be done."

"I know you, B, and this isn't it." his frown was still present as he didn't let go when Bruce struggled to pull his hand out. Even as Bruce took his hand to his belt, he didn't budge. They stayed like this until the older man gave into the touch.

"Fine. Fight me, then. I'll still try, I'll try until you have to kill me. And you will," he spat words unlike his alter ego would do, pushing his voice louder and louder. "You might get it to happen, but I will not let this man go! So end it, Kal, end it here and now! Do it!"

Bruce's face was close to his own now as he yelled. If he was wearing his glasses, this would be much more uncomfortable than it already was. Bruce stared into the sapphire eyes that shone willingly upon him until he exhaled the rage out of his body.

"Please..." his voice almost cracked as it came out of his breathless self. He couldn't hold back the tears anymore, and he hated it. Bruce hated everything about crying, from the running nose to the vulnerability it puts him in. He looked down so that his best friend wouldn't see what a mess he was.

"Bruce, listen to me..." Clark finally let go of his wrist and lifted the older man's chin towards his own so he could look him in the eye. "We can't let our lowest moments define us. You were the one to teach me that, remember?"

Avoidant of his glance, the dark knight furrowed in response. The broad man grasped his shoulders and pursed his lips before speaking again.

"How many times haven't I lashed out and wanted to fix things my way, and you convinced me to use my brains for once?" a shine crossed Bruce's eyes in a second as he reminisced such moments. Kal could be such a hot headed person in battle he would often launch himself into trouble without planning. And he'd get hurt, because he was fighting for the wrong reasons. Many anger issues born from his habit of never leaving matters unresolved could sometimes take the best out of him, but luckily Batman and Wonder Woman would always be there to rescue him.

"This... this is different, Clark." he shook his head twice and took a step back, turning around from a pitiful glance.

"It might be, but still." taking a step forward, he embraced Bruce's shoulders from behind. They didn't display so much affection in front of others, but Clark knew he'd accept it. "Don't shut me off, please. I don't want you to lose yourself to that thing, B."

That thing. That mound of darkness that lured in every corner, the thing that kept him awake after completing every single one of his duties, what made him fight until he could no longer stand and would still come back crawling if needed. It wasn't driven by any heroism or narcissist policy, but born from rage, grown in vengeance and flourished in madness. He sighed and leaned into Clark's touch, allowing a single sob to come out.

"It was my fault, Clark... I wasn't there when he needed me and now..." another sob. He pulled himself inwards to hide from Kal but the man only snuggled him closer.

"You did all you could, B. I'm sure Jason wouldn't want to see you like this."

Turning around in a swift move, Bruce returned the hug, half of a sobbing noise escaping his throat. His legs trembled as Clark reached under the cape to rub his back in comforting motions.

"I'm sorry..." he whispered, his knees giving in. Kal held him with no problem, lowering them to the floor so he wouldn't be hanging. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry..."

Words turn into sobs, that slowly turn into exhales. Fingers buried in both capes as this embrace holds something sweeter than honey and stronger than steel, a bond so deep they drown in each other's touch.

Bruce feels the weight in his shoulders lift off as he drifts to a light sleep in the current position, holding onto the red cape as hunky forearms lifted him and he rested against biceps covered in blue. He hadn't slept in days, just like Clark had thought.

On and off consciousness, Bruce didn't fight being carried into his bedroom. His friend didn't use his superspeed, only carried him carefully and used his cape to cover his eyes from the brighter lights. Laying him against the bed, he removed the cape and armor from the bat suit and left them hanging on a chair, leaving Bruce in his under armor, which wasn't much comfortable, but at least he could sleep in it.

"I'll go now... Call if you need anything, okay?" Clark whispered, not to disturb the almost asleep man. As he pulled away, a hand grasped his cape with laziness.

"Don't," Bruce's voice still strained out of his throat. "I can't sleep. I keep dreaming of him and I feel so..."

He didn't finish the phrase. He didn't have to. Clark took off his own cape and sat down beside his buddy, looking at him in the heavy lidded pearl eyes that blinked slowly, a silent thanking as the rest he craved approached him.

"Don't worry, B." he smiles, letting a hand slide through the one's hair, who sighs and snuggles into the feathered pillow. Clark pulls the sheets over Bruce as he feels the man starting to snore.

"I'll make sure you're okay."

[olympeline]

You know, I like the idea that one of the first real bonding moments Alasdair and Arthur ever had was in the wreckage of 1776. That widely held headcanon that Arthur hit the bottle reeeally hard and was a rum soaked mess for a good few years after Alfred left. And of course Alasdair would have been around to witness it since their joining in 1707

And it’s quite the uncomfortable surprise, too. Arthur was always such a ferocious little shit - such a thorn in Scottie’s side - that in the end he had to propose a union before they tore each other to bits and sunk Britain’s bright future with their endless wars. Much as he hated to admit it, Arthur was tough. Arthur was strong. But now Arthur’s first born son first colony has up and left, and Arthur isn’t the fire breathing vengeance machine Alasdair expected. Instead of coming up with plots to use their growing empire’s might to beat Alfred to a pulp and drag him back kicking and screaming, Arthur has spiralled into a depressive funk, is going through three bottles a day, and would have already killed himself with alcohol poisoning if he were human. Or maybe he did a few times and just regenerated, idk. Either way it seems Alasdair didn’t know Arthur half so well as he thought he did. He never predicted a reaction like this

Alasdair watches Arthur’s collapse with confusion, followed by disbelief, then open disgust. He tries to ignore it, not wanting to deal with his sibling’s antics. Even when the king and officials beg Alasdair to step in and do something, he brusquely brushes them off. He’s not Arthur’s fucking nursemaid for God’s sake! Until one day they’re due to sail together on the kingdom’s flagship and his little brother holds them up. Alasdair gets the message that the former terror of the waves is once again too shitfaced to stand up, let alone captain a ship. Now the important voyage will have to be delayed

And Scot has just hAD ENOUGH of Arthur embarrassing and inconveniencing them all like this. He swears his brother was less trouble as a mortal enemy! Alasdair storms into Arthur’s room to drag the addlepated sot out of bed and talk some sense into him. With his fists if necessary. Not that it comes to that with Arthur as drunk as he is. Alasdair has to drag him up then hold him up to yell at him. And when Arthur tries to punch him, he would have gone down like a sack of spuds without big bro’s bruising grip. It’s awkward for all involved when Arthur’s pathetic attempts at a scuffle and Alasdair shaking and yelling at him, end with Arthur suddenly crumbling and sobbing on his shoulder. Shocking Alasdair again. He doesn’t know what to do, so he just holds Arthur and haltingly rubs his back, muttering soothing nonsense. Most mortifying moment of Alasdair’s millenia+ life.

He doesn’t push Arthur away as he clings to him, though. As much as Arthur drives him insane like no one else, he’s still Scot’s little brother. So he let’s him cry and just keeps supporting him. Listening in silence as Arthur rants and sobs about Alfred: alternating between professing deepest loathing for the “traitor,” and weeping about how much he misses him and how there’s still time to fix everything and they have to try and get him back, etc. etc. It’s a fool’s hope, but Alasdair always knew Arthur was a fool

But what can he say? A smug, confrontational, fiery, normal Arthur makes Alasdair long for their old days of striking swords and border wars. A pathetic, drunk, weeping, vulnerable Arthur brings out Alasdair’s long dormant brotherly instinct. A feeling usually reserved for Wales and the Ireland twins. But, for the first time since he was a wee bairn, the instinct comes out for Arthur. It’s been so long since he saw him cry, he’d almost forgotten Arthur was capable of it

Alasdair lets Arthur cry himself to exhaustion, then helps him back into bed. Takes off Arthur’s coat, pulls off his boots, drags the blankets up over him. Arthur catches his arm, hands trembling, when Alasdair goes to straighten up and begs him not to leave him too. Alasdair rolls his eyes, cuffs Arthur - gently - and tells him to sleep it off. Then promises gruffly to be there when he wakes up, so stop being a drunk fool and go to sleep

Arthur obeys and Alasdair he keeps his word. Wales and Ireland fill in sailing duty and Alasdair stays with Arthur: king and parliament’s ranting be damned. Planning to help his little brother get himself back on track once he wakes up, starting with getting him off the booze. Or at least getting it back down to royal navy functional alcoholic levels. They can worry about everything else later

Thankfully for both their sanities, Arthur remembers very little of this when he wakes up lol. Alasdair makes sure to thank God extra hard that week at church for big mercies

[mosquito-queen]

stewing on a bishova au (as always!)

- kate (10) and yelena (15) first meet as kids. kate is on a travel hockey league and yelena is a junior figure skater with the expectations of an olympic gold.

- it’s a chance meeting. kate is practicing for a big game she has over the weekend at the same rink yelena is using to practice for her next competition. kate is in day dream land (imagining herself scoring the winning shot) and nearly crashes into yelena. yelena easily evades her, and kate slides on her stomach, stopping just shy of yelena’s skates. she clumsily gets up to her feet (yelena does not help her) stuttering apologies.

- “americans,” yelena skates off, goes back to practicing. kate is impressed how yelena glides over the ice like she’s flying. kate starts trying to copy her movements, is clumsy at first but starts to get the hang of it. she thinks she can use this type of skating to her advantage in hockey - she would definitely be faster.

- yelena halts, catching onto kate’s mimicry, “what are you doing?” her accent is thick, kate can barely understand. she shrugs, unfazed by the hostility, “you’re fast.” “what, you think you can keep up?” yelena is smug. kate rises to the challenge, “wanna race?” they’re smiling at each other: yelena’s is thin, kate’s is wide and full of teeth. yelena beats her the first time. kate says it isn’t fair, peels out of her hockey gear and races again, they’re laughing chasing each other across the ice. melina arrives, stop them dead, tells yelena she could be injured and ruining her chances of qualifying. eleanor arrives just after, sorry she is late in picking up kate and reminding her she isn’t allowed to skate outside of her allotted time. kate slinks after mother, gives a tiny wave to yelena, “bye, ice princess.”

- yelena qualifies for the olympics, but she never makes it. she’s in a car accident with her sister, who is able to spin their car so that it’s natasha’s side of the vehicle that is smashed instead of yelena’s. natasha dies on impact while yelena is put into a medically-induced coma.

- when she finally wakes up, she feels like her body isn’t hers. it’s jarring. she has to relearn everything. she’s told she’ll never skate again. except it’s two years later and yelena is kissing the top of her sister’s grave before wandering down a winding path to a frozen lake. and she’s lacing her skates and stepping out on the ice. and she’s wobbly and trembling (from the cold, she tells herself) but she gets into a groove. she’s always pushing herself, and tries for an easy trick. can’t find herself in the landing and spills out on the ice. she smacks her hand, open palmed and uselessly, against it. she screams, bursting the winter birds from their roosts, her frustration turning to the hacking sobs of grief.

- but yelena is stubborn and doesn’t stop. she’ll never medal again, but she’ll be damned if she can’t skate. so for the next few years she pours her life back into the only thing that has ever stopped her racing mind. yelena decides to permanently live in nyc (it was her sister’s dream).

- the anger is still festering, a wound she keeps picking that will never heal right. she comes across a post looking for hockey players on a recreational league. thinks about the ice. thinks about the hot flare of hungry rage. thinks about the way she’s been robbed of her future. takes her vengeance on fate.

- yelena goes through the mandatory training and is picked up by a team in the league. she isn’t as fast or agile anymore. but she’s making a name for herself: she’s brutal and strong-handed. she cuts through the other teams with fist and fury. her team rises in the ranks.

- there’s another team in the league with stats that mirror theirs. they have some kind of pro that plays in the off season. yelena thinks they all bleed the same. when they go to face each other, yelena can’t get a read on the player. it’s usually easy to know what kind of hit will leave a mark, loosen just enough space to find a way to the goal. but this player skates in a way… yelena tries to go around, finds herself blocked, makes another attempt, blocked, pulls back and shoves against this insufferable, arrogant pro: “what are you doing?” another block, followed by a toothy grin: “ice princess?” yelena finds the space in that question, fires the puck and relishes in the sound of the celebratory airhorn. her eyes though find her opponent’s lit up, she sees a bubble of word vomit practically bursting at the seams. but it’ll have to wait, yelena has a game to finish.