#blinding people by holding a red hot iron real close to their eyes was a common punishment in early medieval europe

[yoontopia]

coffee & cream | jjk

pairing: jeon jungkook x (f) reader

genre: friends with benefits au (like the movie mila kunis is sexy y’all), one (1) smut scene [in the form of oral (m) and (f) receiving, unprotected sex (wrap it up kids cmon), spanking, grinding], fluff, angst (but its a happy ending bc its me)

rating: M

word count: 14.3k

summary: Jungkook isn’t usually a risk taker-- in fact, he’s the safest guy in the room. But you’re about to change that

Jungkook adjusts his tie and looks out of the little airplane window. The seatbelt sign is blinking back on – it’s been a relatively exhausting flight from LA to New York and his legs are numb. He eyes the tall buildings of the metropolis below, squinting when he can see the Empire State building in his view. It isn’t his first time in Manhattan, having visited once with his family when he was a teenager. The sheer size of the place terrifies him a little though.

It’s not like Los Angeles isn’t a big city. LA is huge, in fact, and just as saturated as any big city is. But New York is a different topic altogether. Jungkook finds LA intimidating, he’s not sure where to even start with Manhattan.

He walks out into JFK, hoisting his duffle bag on one shoulder. It’s noisy, he notes, as soon as he’s walked out and into baggage claim. He only makes a small pitstop in the men’s bathroom to make sure his hair doesn’t look like birds have nested in it and emerges out, looking around. Someone’s supposed to be picking him up, and they should be here, amongst the throng of people holding up placards with names on them. He’s just pulling out his phone to double check if any emails about his pickup were sent while he was in flight, when a commotion by baggage claim catches his eye. Raising his eyebrows, he takes in the sight before him.

There’s you, hair coming out of your bun, clutching your stilettos close to your chest as you walk barefoot on the baggage belt wearing a crinkled skirt-suit. You’re looking for something, tip toeing around the suitcases, unaware of the stares you’re getting. You’re walking towards him, against the direction of the belt and he stares around him and sees a piece of paper with the name JEON JUNGKOOK written on it in bright red lipstick. He leans over to pick it up, and realizes you’ve made a grab for it as well.

“That’s me,” he says. You blink at him in confusion, before your face clears.

“Jeon Jungkook?” you affirm, and he nods, pointing to the piece of paper and then at himself.  “Oh, thank god.” You introduce yourself and hold out your hand, which Jungkook promptly shakes. You’re still on the baggage belt, so he has to walk alongside you.

“You’re picking me up from the airport?”

“Yes!” your voice is hushed and out of breath. You smooth down your flyaway hair hastily.

“Do you… always pick people up like this?” He gestures at the baggage belt and you suddenly laugh, a high tinkling sound. Jumping off the belt, you stand in front of him.

“Uh yeah, you know, I like to keep things interesting,” you say, nodding your head like you mean business. “Welcome to New York, by the way. I feel like I should’ve brought a boombox with that Taylor Swift song blasting on it.”

“I mean there’s always next time, right?” Jungkook cracks a smile, shoving his hands in the pockets of his suit. “You know… you’re not exactly what comes to mind when one thinks ‘headhunter’.”

“Yeah, I prefer the term executive recruiter,” you say offhandedly. “‘Headhunter’ always makes me sound a little creepy.”

“Well,” Jungkook says, as he watches you put your heels back on. They add a significant amount to your height, and you stand in front of him expectantly. “You did stalk me for the past six months. That’s kind of creepy.” You laugh again at that and reach for his bag, which he pulls out of the way.

“Let me carry your bag, it’s my job!”

“You don’t look like you do this often,” he points out.

“Okay so maybe you’re my first recruit, sue me.” You’re pouting faintly, as the two of you walk out of the airport. The New York heat hits Jungkook all at once, and he sniffs the air curiously. “Nasty isn’t it? I love it” you grin.

“What is that?” he asks, wrinkling his nose.

“Sewage, rats, and the sweet smell of capitalism.” You’re waving down a yellow taxi. “Need me to play you that Taylor Swift song yet?” You hold the door open for him and he gets in and you pop in from the other side. Once you’re done giving the driver your destination, you sit back. “So.” You start. Jungkook raises your eyebrows at you. “You’re finally here!”

“Only took six months worth of emails to convince me,” he says, looking out the window as the cab crosses a bridge. Manhattan looms in front of him.

“It’s a huge opportunity,” you say, and he has to give you points for being earnest. “Art director for Vogue? This is the big leagues!” You’re turned in your seat to look over at him. “I mean, no offence to your little internet blog.”

“Which got seven million hits last month,” He points out, only a little offended. You roll your eyes.

“Have you been on TikTok lately, little kids are pulling those numbers.” You say, and he can’t deny it. “But I’ve seen your work firsthand, and you’re amazing at what you do. That’s why you’re here.” Jungkook sighs. The cab is in Manhattan now and he stares out the window once again.

“There must be a reason you’re here,” you continue quietly. “Even I was surprised you finally agreed to give the interview a shot.” Jungkook doesn’t look at you. He doesn’t know you enough to tell you the real reason he up and left his life in LA.

“A free trip to New York? C’mon I’d be an idiot to turn that down!” He says instead, making his tone as light as possible. “But New York’s so crowded. Look around! I’m from California okay? I prefer the coast.” You’re looking at him, and he has a feeling you can see right through him. Considering New York also has the ocean, even Jungkook knows that is the poorest excuse.

“C’mon, what’s really holding you back?” Your tone is serious. Jungkook shrugs.

“I don’t know. This is a ridiculously huge move. I’ve lived in one place my whole life. And I don’t want it to feel like I made the wrong move and got myself into something I can’t handle.”

“I’m telling you, your work is incredible,” you say again, and Jungkook feels the back of his neck go warm. He’s heard flattery before, but you’re a stranger and you sound so blatantly honest. “You’re fully capable of handling this. Look, we’ll get you some coffee before your interview, you’ll be fine.”

“I don’t drink coffee,” Jungkook mumbles, lowering himself in his seat. You stare.

“What?! You heathen.” You’ve dropped all formalities with him, and Jungkook doesn’t know if that’s just New York, or you.

“It’s really hot,” he says as the cab pulls up to the destination.

“Doesn’t it get hot in LA?” you ask, paying the driver. Jungkook stands on the sidewalk and looks around. He can see the river from where he stands and smell the ocean. That thought comforts him a little.

“Yeah it gets hot in LA, but here it’s the heat, the pollution the humidity. In LA, thirty degrees feels like thirty degrees. Here thirty degrees feels like—the ninth circle of hell—”

“This conversation about the weather is really fascinating, believe me,” you cut him off. “But lucky for me, we’re here.” You point at the large building the two of you are standing outside of. “So, good luck.” Jungkook looks up at the skyscraper.

“Whatever happens, happens,” He says, shaking his head. “I told you, I don’t really want it.”

“I think you do,” you say, crossing your arms slightly. “Whatever it was that convinced you to finally fly out here is also convincing you to go for it. But regardless, just do me a favour? Act like you do want it so that I look good.”

“I guess I can do that,” he mumbles, scratching the back of his neck.

“Okay”, you say, flashing him another one of your blinding smiles. “Go get ‘em.”

It’s past three in the afternoon by the time Jungkook walks out of the building’s shiny revolving doors.

“Hey!” you’re running towards him, still wearing the same clothes from this morning. Your hair is down though, Jungkook notes.

“You’re still here,” he’s surprised, and partly impressed by your ethic.

“Yeah, well,” you say, sounding sheepish. “It’s my job. How did it go?” Jungkook allows himself a small grin.

“They bought it,” he says, giving you two thumbs up. “You’re safe for a little while longer.” You clap your hands excitedly.

“Well thank you,” you offer him a little curtsy that has him laughing. “I owe you one Jeon.” At that moment, his phone buzzes in his back pocket and he reaches for it, while you cross your arms and wait.

“Uh,” he says, reading the notification. “It’s from you.”

“It’s your offer,” you say, tilting your chin at his phone.

“Wait,” he says, confusion evident on his face. “I got the job?” You’re smiling now.

“They called about five minutes ago,” Your smile widens. “Congratulations! The offer expires at midnight.” Jungkook holds up his phone.

“Why didn’t you just tell me instead of texting me?”

“‘Cause it’s more dramatic,” you state, as if it’s obvious. Jungkook scoffs and looks away, towards the river, running a hand through his hair. You roll your eyes.

“Jungkook, you’re not gonna screw this up,” you say.

“It’s a huge move,” Jungkook argues. “Would you uproot your entire life for a job? Be honest.”

“Well, no. For a job, probably not. But for New York? Yeah, I would. Which is why I’m not gonna sell you on the job, I’m gonna sell you on New York.”

“It’s New York!” Jungkook says, exasperation leaking into his voice. “I’ve seen Iron Man, I know what it’s like!”

“Not the bullshit tourist version,” you say, looking at him, that slight pout back in your face.

“Puppy dog eyes? Really?” He questions, defeat evident in his voice. You laugh.

“C’mon,” You say grinning. “Let me buy you a drink.” You’re walking away from him and crossing the street when you realize Jungkook isn’t following. “What’re you waiting for?”

“For the light to turn so I can cross the street,” he says pointing at the red hand glaring across from him. You scoff and march back up to him.

“You Cali folk are so cute,” Linking your arm with his, you lead him onto the street. “C’mon it’s fine.”

“No, it’s really not,” Jungkook argues, watching a cab nearly run the two of you over, but you expertly dodge it. “See? I’m gonna die.” You lead him down Park Row, your arm warm against his and Jungkook finds himself at the Brooklyn bridge.

“What’re we—” he starts, but you ignore him, dragging him to the foot of Brooklyn Bridge. Cars are rushing past them, commuters going home after a day of work. Pedestrians are walking along the sidewalk, admiring East River below. You walk up to a small woman sitting on the side of the sidewalk in front of some mangoes.

“Maria!” you exclaim, followed by sentences in a language Jungkook barely recognizes as Spanish. The woman looks up in recognition and smiles at you. You fish through your wallet for a few dollar bills before handing them to her. You’re still speaking in Spanish as you point at Jungkook and then at yourself. The woman nods and begins to bag up the sliced mangoes.

“You’re feeding me mangoes off the street?” Jungkook whispers.

“What? I thought you LA folk were all about that organic, local bullshit,” you retort. You graciously take the bagged slices from the woman and wave at her before pulling Jungkook back in the direction of Manhattan.

“Do I at least get to eat them?” He asks.

“Not yet!” you reply cheerfully. You usher him into the Fulton Street Subway station, even let him use your Metro Card. Jungkook is too winded to ask any more questions as you practically push him onto a train. Two stops later, you’re getting off, Jungkook trying to keep up with you.

“Battery Park!” You wiggle your fingers. Jungkook stares around. “This is where you come if you wanna take those super expensive tours to the Statue of Liberty by the way,”

“Good to know,” he laughs. You walk him in the direction of the water but away from the ferries. It’s a promenade, he realizes. The two of you walk until you arrive at what he recognizes as a World War II memorial. You walk towards it and sit down on the slabs of concrete next to the steps, your feet dangling off as you stare at the ocean in front of you. You pat the space next to you and Jungkook throws the thoughts of getting his one good suit dirty and joins you. You promptly hand him the bag of mangoes.

“I thought we were going for a drink,” he jokes. You laugh as you pop open the bag. He stares down at his own. “What did that woman do to my mangoes?”

“She puts cayenne salt on them,” you say, popping a cube into your mouth. Jungkook raises his eyebrows and experimentally puts a piece in his mouth.

“Oh my god,” he says, voice coming out in a moan. “This is amazing”

“Right?” you laugh. “Maria is a culinary genius.” Your legs swing as the air gets cooler. The two of you watch the ferries in silence, but its comfortable. Jungkook breathes in the salty air.

“Do you do this often?”

“When I need to clear my head, I come here to watch the sunsets,” you say. “The crowd dies down by then because the only tourists that come here are here for Liberty and the ferries stop around this time.” There is another minute of silence and then – “You know, Jungkook, I like you.”

“Thanks.”

“That’s why, I’ll give you your choice of closes.”

“What?” Jungkook is confused again, a state he finds he’s often in wherever you seem to be involved.

“How I close you on this job.”

“Oh.”

“So, we got the flattery close,” you start, and put on a sweet, simpering voice. “Jungkook, you are so good at what you do!” Jungkook is laughing, but you carry on. “The take-it-or-leave-it close – Man I don’t care if you take it, I get paid regardless!” Jungkook is trying to interrupt but you reel right on. “The sympathy close,” suddenly your voice is hitched, and you pretend to bat away unshed tears. “You see, my liver is failing—”

“Why do women think the only way to get a man to do what they want is to manipulate him?” Jungkook finally manages to interrupt your rant and his voice comes out harsher than he expected it to. You blink at him, a look of understanding flashing across your face and Jungkook clamps his mouth shut.

“History,” you reply, choosing not to pry, for which Jungkook is grateful. “Personal experiences. Romantic comedies.” You look out towards the ocean again. A sailing boat is crossing your line of sight as you speak. “C’mon, you’re here for a reason, whether you want to admit it or not.”

“Yeah,” Jungkook says, biting into another slice of mango. “To explore an option. Who wouldn’t want to know their options?”

“Someone who’s in a perfect situation,” you counter.

“Are you in a perfect situation?” He throws your words right back at you.

“Job? Oh, absolutely.” You say. “Everything else? Well, that’s none of your business,” Jungkook chuckles, and you smile. The wind ruffles your hair as you lean back. You watch as he finishes the remainder of his mango. “Ready to go?”

“But we just got here!”

“Chop Chop my friend, New York waits for no one.” Jungkook groans, deciding that you’re just impossible to keep up with.

“Central Park? Really? I thought we weren’t doing the bullshit tourist stuff.” Jungkook is holding a cup of boba in his hand – rose black tea with lychee jelly. The two of you had picked some up on the way to the park. When you’d said drinks, this wasn’t what he’d had in mind, but he wasn’t complaining. You take a giant sip of your own milk tea with pearls.

“You do realize Central Park is huge, right? There are corners of this place tourists tend to not venture into.”

The two of you are near the upper end of the park. The city is more residential here, almost into South Harlem. You tell him it’s the North Meadow. You find small curving paths in the park and the two of you walk around. Jungkook has to admit, it doesn’t feel like he’s currently in the world’s noisiest city.

“Here’s the countryside and peace you were craving for,” you say cheekily, and he laughs. But the air smells cool and fresh, the smell of exhaust and the sound of cars only a faraway tune.

“Okay fine, this wasn’t on TV,” he admits, and you grin. The two of you manage to find a spot in a clearing on a slight hill next to a huge oak tree and make yourselves comfortable on the grass. You pop open the slices of cake you’d picked up at the boba place and dig a fork in them, motioning Jungkook to do the same.

“So, what’s your dad think about all this?” you ask casually and Jungkook stares at you in disbelief. “What? He must have an opinion! He’s famous – he was the brand marketing director for GQ for 23 years.” Jungkook is surprised, to say the least.

“Wow, somebody did their homework.”

“Oh yeah,” you agree. “I have this thing at work. It’s called, uh, Google.” You ignore Jungkook’s scoff. “C’mon, what did he say about the job?”

“Actually, I haven’t asked him.” Jungkook confesses. You don’t need to know that he hasn’t seen or spoken to his father for almost a decade now.

“Well, then, you must know what he’d say,” You counter, waiting patiently for Jungkook to answer.

“He’d tell me to go with my gut,” Jungkook says at last. “And that he’d be proud of me no matter what I did.” If you can sense the shift in his tone, you don’t call him out on it. He’s realizing that you’re more perceptive of your surroundings than he originally gave you credit for.

“Well, he sounds like a really great man.” Your voice is soft and Jungkook doesn’t need to look at you to hear the smile in your voice.

“Yeah, he is.” Jungkook says softly. He doesn’t know if its because you sense the tension, but you stuff the remainder of the cake in your mouth.

“Hey, do you wanna see something really cool?”

“I always want to see something really cool,” Jungkook says easily. He watches you as you lie down on the grass.

“C’mon!” you tell him, and at this point Jungkook knows better than to argue. His suit is ruined anyway. The two of you lie down side-by-side to look up at the sky.

“One of the only places in the city you can actually see a clear night sky,” you point out. “And you know the best part? Very poor cell reception.”

“You bring all your recruits here?”

“I told you, Jeon, you’re my first.”

“Wow.” Jungkook says. “Thanks.”

“But if you tell anyone about this, I will rip your ears off and staple them to your neck.” You continue, in the same, airy tone.

“I believe you,” Jungkook says in a small voice. You sit up next to him. Your hair is frazzled from lying down and your black pencil skirt has grass all over the behind, but you don’t seem to notice or care.

“Oh, it’s time,” you say, checking your watch.

“Time for what?” Jungkook asks, but he hears it as soon as the question leaves his mouth. Soft music reaches his ears from faraway.

“Those tourist spots always have live musicians in the evening.” You say, hugging your knees and resting your chin on them. “But I don’t like the crowds, so I come up here to listen. Nobody for miles – just you and the music.” Jungkook watches you, as your eyes shine, and you stare into the distance.

“Now this is pretty damn cool,” he says. You’re swaying to the music without realizing it and Jungkook watches you tap your foot along to the beat.

“It’s nice to feel like you’re a part of something, right?” you say. “New York can get a little lonely sometimes.”

“And you’re trying to sell me on it.” Jungkook jokes. You laugh, that high tinkling sound Jungkook has come to associate with you after today.

“Every place can be a bit lonely sometimes,” you correct yourself softly. Jungkook thinks the two of you might be more similar than he’d originally thought. He makes a split-second decision.

“I’m in.” he says.

“What?”

“You sold me.”

“Really?” Your eyes are still shining, but you’re looking at him now.

“I’ll take the job,” he laughs. You squeal, still swaying slightly to the music.

“Oh my god!” you grin. “You are so gonna crush it,” And in that moment, surrounded by nothing but the smell of strawberry cake, faraway guitars, and your windswept hair covered in grass, Jungkook really believes you might be right.

Jungkook finally feels like he’s finished moving into his new apartment. Despite being a twenty-something, he never realized that he didn’t actually own that much stuff, and moving states had taken less than a month. Jungkook had other, more pressing matters to worry about – like quitting his previous job, training his replacement, signing a new lease, and bidding farewell to his rather scary old landlady in LA. Jungkook couldn’t say he was very sorry to leave her.

His apartment in Upper West Side Manhattan is miles better than the cramped place he had called home for the past five years. Vogue really had gone all out fixing him up with a place. Jungkook’s favorite feature are the giant floor to ceiling windows that overlook the city. He finds he can get used to this.

He was here now, on the first day at his new job, trying not to sweat through his cream dress shirt. His new team is unfamiliar to him and Jungkook isn’t an extrovert by nature, but he ignores his sweaty palms and tries to play nice.

“So, all I ask is that you give me a little bit of time to gain your trust,” he says, reciting the little speech he’d practiced on the flight a month ago. “I know that I’m new at this, but what I lack in experience, I make up for in cliches.” He gets a few scattered laughs out of that lame gag and sighs internally. “My door’s always open,” he adds. “Literally.” He gestures wildly to his office wall that’s made entirely out of glass, putting him on view to the rest of his team sitting in cubicles outside. “Thanks guys.”

There’s a scattered applause, a few shaken hands, and Jungkook smiles shyly. The crowd dissipates, leaving behind a man with curling blonde hair making his way toward him.

“Park Jimin, I work in marketing.” He introduces. Jungkook shakes his hand. He’s about to ask Park Jimin about his career when he sees you, wearing a navy dress and holding a stack of papers. Your hair is up again, this time in a no-nonsense ponytail.

“Oh, hey Jimin,” you say cheerfully and Jimin grins, exclaiming your name and giving you a hi-five. “Whatcha doing?”

“Sizing up the new guy,” Jimin stares at Jungkook from the corner of his eye. “You did good here. I could just eat him up.” Jungkook’s eyebrows disappear into the fringe of hair that falls over his forehead as he sees you trying to control your laughter. You pat Jimin on the butt with a fondness that isn’t missed by Jungkook.

“Go back to work Chim,” you say and Jimin shrugs and bounds off towards his office. Jungkook levels you with a look, eyebrows still raised, and you giggle. “You get used to him.”

“Anyway,” Jungkook says, picking up his iPad from his desk. “I have something to show you.”

“Show me?” You’re curious now as you walk into his office fully, still clutching your papers. He uses his tablet to switch the screen on the TV above his desk. It’s a small acoustic band, playing in Central Park.

“I tracked down the band that plays music in the North end of the park – the one we listened to that day that I decided to take this job,” Jungkook explains. “I’m thinking of using them somehow for my first project. I got in touch with the lead singer – we’re thinking of using them for guerilla advertising.”

“Taking something so pure and commercializing it?” You ask. “Knew I’d found the right guy.” Jungkook chuckles and watches you put down the stack of papers on his desk. “Anyway, here’s your contract. Sign it, and I will be out of here.” Jungkook fingers the front page hesitantly.

“A whole year,” he says wonderingly. “Wow.”

“Why do I feel like this is the first real commitment you’ve ever made?” Your hands are on your waist as you level him with a judgemental look on your face.

“Its not,” Jungkook argues, mildly offended. “I worked my last full-time job for two years. And fuck – I do regret that one.” He holds up two fingers to drive the point home.

“Do me a favour,” you sigh. “Don’t quit or get fired before this year’s up, otherwise I don’t get my bonus.”

“Wait, I can leave whenever I want? Then what’s the point of the contract?”

“Just sign the damn thing!” You watch as he groans and scribbles his signature at the bottom. “Nice doing business with you Jeon Jungkook,” You shake his hand vigorously. Jungkook watches you collect all the papers.

“Hey, I was thinking of maybe getting some lunch. Do you know a place?” He asks, checking his phone for the time. You stare at him.

“Are you… asking me out?” Jungkook blinks. What?

“Whoa, no,” he amends. “I’m just asking you to show me a restaurant.”

“I mean, I’m the only friend you have in New York,” you ramble on. “You don’t wanna complicate that.”

“I know,” Jungkook starts. “I’m not asking you out.” You ignore him, Of course you do.

“I mean, sure, we’d have fun, roll around, get into some erotic humiliation fantasy—” You’re wringing your hands. Jungkook thinks if he wasn’t sweating while giving his speech before, he’s definitely sweating now.

“I—Erotic?”

“—But it’ll all blow up in our faces, end very badly, and we’d never speak to each other—”

“Can you slow down for a second—”

“It’s just not a good idea Jungkook—”

“I’m not fucking asking you out, I swear to god!” Jungkook almost shouts, and you shut up. He watches your eyes go wide, and you bite your lip as if to hold back a sob. He winces inwardly.

“Okay,” you say, your voice unusually small. “You don’t like me like that, I get it. You don’t have to be so mean about it,” Your voice is trembling now, and you look down at your feet. Jungkook sputters, taking a step towards you.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t--,” but he realizes that your voice wasn’t trembling from hurt, it was just you trying to keep your laughter in. You look up at him now, mirth swimming in your eyes and he knows he’s been had.

“God, you’re such a girl,” you grin. “Come on sister, it’s my treat.” Jungkook watches you turn on your heel and march out and wonders if there will ever come a day when he’ll have you all figured out.

You bring him to a brunch place at the corner of the block. It’s got a long French name Jungkook struggles to pronounce but he orders a large smoked salmon avocado toast while the two of you sit at a small table by the window.

“So, was it an easy move?” you ask, chopping your broccoli into tiny pieces before eating it.

“It was tough leaving my mom,” Jungkook offers. “My brother gave me some shit. But, uh, the timing was right,” He nods, as if satisfied with that answer. You’re watching him, a small smile on your face.

“An ex?” you ask. Jungkook winces, remembering that you’re far more astute than you let on. “I kinda got the vibe.”

“Yeah,” Jungkook answers, mouth full of salmon. “She’s great! Wants us to stay friends!” You make a gagging sound. “She’s also convinced she can cure me of my emotional unavailability.”

“You’re emotionally unavailable?” You ask laughing, and Jungkook nods vigorously. “Oh my God, I’m emotionally damaged. My ex was so kind to point that out when he cheated on me. I haven’t seen you at the meetings.”

“I’m done with the relationship thing,” He sighs, giving you his leftover broccoli, which you accept graciously.

“Girl, you are preaching to the congregation,” you cheer, raising your hands in agreement.

“Choir.”

“What?”

“‘Preaching to the choir’. You’re supposed to preach to the congregation. That’s the expression.” Jungkook takes a long swig of his hot chocolate.

“Did you understand what I was saying? Then don’t be a dick about it,” you smart and Jungkook laughs. He finds he does that a lot in your presence. “Anyway, I’m having some friends over tomorrow. Why don’t you come? You can meet some new people too.”

“I’m gonna have to check my schedule,” Jungkook says solemnly, pulling out a wad of cash to pay for his meal. “I’m really busy. I work at Vogue now,” you’re giggling. “It’s not just some little blog on the internet.” Your laughter drowns out everything else and Jungkook finds he likes being the one making you laugh.

Jungkook triple-checks the address you’ve texted him before knocking on the door labelled 2A. He hopes he’s picked up a decent enough wine as a housewarming gift. He’d even made sure to get the best alcohol content-to-cost ratio from the grocery store down the street from your place! He hasn’t even entered your apartment and he’s already sweating through his cardigan.

The door opens and it’s you, and this is the first time Jungkook sees you out of your usual business attire. Your hair is down, and you’re sporting skinny jeans and a tank top.

“Hey!” you say breathlessly. “You made it! C’mon!” He hands you the wine, which you graciously accept. You drag him into your living room and address the rather large gathering.

“Hey—HEY everybody! This here is Jungkook, he’s from LA!” There’s absolute crickets at your proclamation, and you roll your eyes. “He’s the reason I can afford all this beer.” You state plainly. At that, there’s a universal cheer that goes around the room.

Jungkook is generally wary of large crowds. Multiple strangers staring at him always makes him uncomfortable, but for some reason he finds himself blending in with your friends. Granted, he spends most of the evening with you playing wii bowling, jenga, and drunk card games with you and Jimin and two other friends – Taehyung and Namjoon.

The days turn to months just like this and Jungkook finds that life in New York is almost refreshing. It turns out he and Jimin have a lot in common, and that Jimin flirts incessantly with literally everyone he meets, not just him. After your party on that fateful day, he’s hit it off with Taehyung and Namjoon too. Taehyung’s a freelance artist, and Namjoon works in the music industry. He hangs out with you often too and finds that the two of you have easily become good friends. You don’t actually work for Vogue, working for a registered recruitment agency instead, so he doesn’t see you that often. He decides though, that this is a good thing. You’re definitely the one person he knows best in this city and he doesn’t want that becoming overcomplicated with having to see you as a colleague instead of a friend.

It is on a Friday night Jungkook finds himself dissolving in your extremely comfortable couch, after one too many beers, watching what he thinks is the worst romance film in existence. You’re totally enraptured though, a firm grip on your own drink.

“I swear all these movies have terrible music,” Jungkook mutters as the soundtrack crescendos and the female lead runs into the male lead’s arms in slow motion, fake tears staining her face.

“It’s so you know how to feel every single second,” you answer. Your voice is croaky from unshed tears as the female lead jumps into the male lead’s arms and he spins her round and round. Despite your newly found distaste for relationships, Jungkook has learned that you’re secretly a sucker for romance. He watches you as you mouth along to the dialogue.

“God, I wish my life were a movie sometimes,” you murmur, as the ending credits roll. “I’d always look good, and never have to go to the bathroom.” You turn to him abruptly. “And then, when I’m at my lowest point, some guy would chase me down the street, pour his heart out, and we’d kiss. Happily ever after.”

Jungkook groans, lowering himself further in your couch, chin now resting on his chest. You ignore him.

“Why don’t they ever make a movie about what happens after the big confession?”

“They do,” Jungkook replies instantly, taking a swig of his beer. “It’s called porn.” You slap his chest, sitting back comfortably next to him.

“God, I miss sex,” you say, your words slightly slurring together. The alcohol in your system has erased your filters, not that you had many in the first place. “Right? I mean, sometimes, you just need it.”

“There can never be just sex,” Jungkook mutters. “There’s always complications involved.”

“Yeah but why? What’s wrong with uncomplicated sex?”

“It’s womens’ fault,” Jungkook says and you sit up, affronted.

“Excuse me?”

“‘Hold me, let’s spend the rest of our lives together’” Jungkook mocks, making you scoff.

“As if men are any better. You’re all eyeing our pussies right from that first date.”

“I wish it wasn’t like that, y’know,” he continues. “It’s a physical act – a sport – if you will – like…. Bowling. Two people should be able to have sex like they’re going bowling.”

“For some weird ass reason, that made sense to me,” you say lazily. Jungkook laughs.

“Right, it’s just a sport. Maybe you shake hands at the end, and then get on with your life.” You nod. A comfortable silence follows. You pat him on his chest, small hands warm.

“More beer?” You’re downing yours. Jungkook nods sleepily and watches as you bend over to pick up the empty bottles and empty bags of chips from your floor and traipse over to your small kitchenette. You’re dressed in a simple tank and booty shorts and Jungkook can’t deny that, in your dimly lit apartment, your legs look good. He calls your name, and you look over at him.

“Let’s go bowling,” he says, tapping his foot. You blink at him in confusion. “Let’s have sex like we’re going bowling.” He repeats. You have the audacity to laugh out loud.

“You’re insane,” you tell him, walking back to the living room with more beer and a bowl of popcorn. Jungkook scowls and pulls himself up to sit up on your couch.

“Don’t laugh at me! This could be great. This could take all the weirdness out of it. We both want the same things.”

“We’ve been over this,” you say, tossing some popcorn in your mouth. “I don’t like you like that.”

“I don’t like you like that either,” he points out evenly. “That’s why this is perfect.” You chuckle.

“I don’t even know if I find you attractive!” you respond.

“That’s cute,” Jungkook says, standing up and bringing himself to his full height. You roll your eyes.

“Well, I do have a thing for jerks,” you mutter, which has Jungkook scoffing. “Do you even find me attractive?”

“That’s cute.” He repeats. You wave your hands and stand up in front of him.

“No, no, no,” you say. “Before you got to know my awesome personality – strictly physical – first impression of me?”

“This is just two people talking right? Sharing notes?” Jungkook affirms and you nod. “I liked your eyes – you have nice eyes.” He sighs. You’re looking at him, arms crossed.

“I liked your lips,” you offer. “Thought you might be a good kisser.”

“I am,” Jungkook admits solemnly, and you snort. “Your breasts,” he adds, tilting his chin towards your chest. You look down at it.

“What about them?”

“They intrigue me.”

“Aw, really?” you seem incredibly flattered. You give your breasts a congratulatory pat. “That’s a first – no ones ever called by boobs intriguing before. I liked your hands by the way. I’ve always got a thing for tattoos.” He watches you eye the ink on the back of his right hand, your gaze traveling up his arm where the tattoos disappear into the sleeves of his shirt.

“Mouth.” Jungkook responds quickly.

“Thighs.” You counter.

“Voice.”

“Butt.”

“Eyes.”

“You said that already,” you’re smiling now.

“I meant it,” Jungkook responds honestly. You’re looking at him now, eyes narrowed.

“You swear you don’t want anything from me other than sex?” You ask.

“You swear you don’t want anything from me other than sex?” he counters. “I know how you girls get.”

“Don’t be a pig.”

“A pig who’s got a cute butt.” He wiggles his eyebrows. You roll your eyes.

“No relationship,” you state. Jungkook nods. “No emotions. Just sex.”

“Whatever happens,” he adds. “We stay friends.” You nod back at him. The two of you stand there, staring at each other.

“Swear?” you ask.

“Swear,” he states evenly. “So…. I guess we should just start?” You laugh nervously.

“Okay then, let’s go to my bedroom.”

“Wait – what’s wrong with the couch?” Jungkok gestures wildly at your sofa, which he has to admit, is stupid comfortable. “It’s less emotional.”

“The bedroom has better light,” you point out. “And since we’re just friends, I don’t have to be insecure about my body.” Jungkook blinks at you, doe eyes wide.

“Aw, cmon,” he says. “You’re beautiful. You have nothing to be insecure about!” You fix him with a glare.

“That’s way too emotionally supportive. You need to lock that down.” You jab his chest with a pointed finger.

“Uh… your ass is way too bony?” he tries, watching your behind as you saunter towards your bedroom.

“Much better!” comes your reply, and he grins. Following you into your room, he watches with slight amazement as you tug off your top. “My nipples are sensitive,” you tell him conversationally. “I don’t really care for dirty talk, and had I known this was gonna happen, I’d have shaved my legs this morning.” You stand before him topless and he shrugs.

“I enjoy dirty talk, I sneeze sometimes when I come, and the socks stay on during sex. It’s a weird feet thing, nothing you need to be worried about.” He’s pulled off his shirt and tossed it on top of yours.

“Wait, feet gross me out too, look at that,” You grin. “Meant to be.” You tug your booty shorts off and stand in front of him wearing nothing but a bra and underwear. He whistles and you roll your eyes.

“Can you please be a little less fuckboy about this?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

“Girl, look what we about to do right now, and tell me this isn’t peak fuckboy behaviour,” he berates. You can’t argue.

“Fine, whatever, be a fratboy, but will you just start my tits are freezing—” But Jungkook doesn’t let you finish your sentence for he takes two strides towards you, cupping your face with his hands and smashing his lips down on yours. You make a muffled sound of surprise, but he ignores you, tilting his face to deepen the kiss. It takes you only a split second to reciprocate, and your hands travel up his sides to rest on his shoulders as you open up and let him explore your mouth.

Jungkook pushes you backwards without breaking the kiss until you’re falling on your bed. You scoot back until your back hits the headboard and you watch him as he stares at you, eyes dark and hair tousled. Without wasting any more time, Jungkook crawls over on all fours towards you. Giving you a chaste kiss on the lips, his tattooed hand travels down your neck, grazes over your shoulder, the underside of your breast, stomach and finally arriving to rest on your thigh. You watch him expectantly, bottom lip caught between your teeth, and he refuses to break eye contact with you s he tightens his grip on your thigh to yank you down so you’re lying down underneath him.

His lips latch onto your neck and you let out a whine that has blood rushing to his cock. He sucks a bruise right over your pulse before his hand comes up to lower the strap of your bra. Pulling the garment down, he lowers himself to press kisses and suck on your breast, before moving to the other side to repeat with the other one.

“Hurry up,” you murmur from under him, thighs rubbing against each other. Jungkook chuckles, and nibbles slightly on your nipple, drawing a whimper from you.

“Patience, princess. Good things come to those who wait,” his hand reaches down, and he strokes a single finger over your clothed core, and you shudder. “So wet already and I’ve barely done anything,” he notes, mouth still closed around your breast. Letting go with a slight plop, he looks at you hungrily. “Let me eat you out.”

You raise your eyebrows but do not object, and Jungkook moves down, pressing kisses to your navel, until he arrives between your thighs. Using both hands to spread your thighs apart, his gaze moves from you to your core. He buries his nose in your pussy without warning.

“You smell fucking amazing,” he tells you and your face heats up instantly, your arms coming up to cover your face in embarrassment.

“I told you, I don’t like dirty talk,” you say, your voice coming out in gasps. Jungkook smiles over your pussy, mouthing it over your underwear.

“Too bad,” he mutters against you, and your toes curl from the vibrations his voice causes through you. “I’m gonna tell you exactly what I want to do to you whether you like it or not.” Hooking a finger through your underwear, he moves it to the side. He licks a stripe up your folds, before burying his nose back into your pussy, tongue lapping at your juices. You’re writhing under him and he places his hands on your thighs to steady you. You’re gasping for air, little moans leaving your pretty pink lips.

Jungkook feels your hand tangle in his hair as he sloppily eats you out. You’re dripping on his tongue and he, in turn, is practically salivating at the taste of you. Your hand tightens its grip on his hair, and he feels you grind down on his tongue.

“O-oh my god,” you gasp. “Jungkook.” He pulls away from you and looks up at you. Your juices cover his lips and chin and you’re looking down at him, eyes blown out, hair in disarray.

“Yeah? You like that?” he groans out, and you nod desperately. “Like it when I fuck you with my tongue?”

“P-please,” you whisper, and he grins.

“Tell me what you want baby,” Your ears turn red at that and you look away. He climbs up to hover over your face and lowers his lips onto yours. His tongue is immediately in your mouth, its sloppy and wet and he knows you taste yourself on him. Its an exchange of spit mixed with your essence and when Jungkook pulls away, a string of saliva connects the two of you. He watches as it snaps and dribbles down the corner of your lips. You’re panting now. “Tell me.”

“Your fingers,” you mutter, clearly embarrassed. Jungkook’s smile widens.

“My fingers where?”

“C’mon Jeon, don’t be a dick.”

“Alright, I’ll stop,” Jungkook answers noncommittally, pulling away to sit back on your bed. You moan and your hand covers his wrist in an attempt to stop him. He grins.

“Your fingers inside me.” You answer, face as red as a strawberry. Jungkook’s grin widens and he leans back down to place a small kiss on the corner of your lips. His hand travels back down to between your thighs and he strokes your folds with his index finger.

Without warning, he shoves two fingers in you, and you moan, small hands curling around his biceps, nails digging into his skin.  He buries his nose in the crook of your neck, and your hand tangles in his hair again. It’s quiet except for your gasps and moans and the sound of his fingers steadily pumping in and out of your pussy. He can feel that you’re near your high, so he carelessly shoves a third finger inside you, increasing his speed. Before you know it, you’re chasing your high, coming all around his fingers with a loud squelching sound and a gasp.

“Like music to my ears,” Jungkook hums, nudging his nose against your jaw. Your hands caress his chest, sides before one travels down to palm the tent in his jeans. Jungkook gasps, biting down on your shoulder. Boldened by his reaction, you twist your hips, so your knee rubs against his crotch and Jungkook freezes. You take this opportunity to flip him over, so you’re settled on top of him, your hair spilling around you. Jungkook lies back on your pillow, bringing his fingers that were just in you up to your mouth. You run your tongue along them, and he shoves them deep in your throat before pulling them out and spreading the mixture of saliva and your wetness across your face.

Your hands spread across his chest as you grind down on him and he groans.

“My turn,” you whisper, leaning forward and placing a chaste kiss on his lips. Your hips are swirling over his crotch as your mouth moves from his lips to kiss his jaw, neck and then moving down to swirl your tongue over a perk nipple. You’ve undone his pants and he takes no time pushing them down. You palm him over his boxers before pulling them down too and letting his dick spring free. You suck in a breath, tongue hungrily swiping out to wet your lips.

You waste no time to take him in your mouth. Unlike Jungkook, you’re not a teaser and Jungkook throws his head back and groans as your lips wrap around his length. Your head bobs up and down between his legs and Jungkook closes his eyes and loses himself to the feeling. His fingers tangle in your hair, gripping it tightly until his hips are out of control and he’s fucking up into your mouth. You let him, slackening your jaw, tongue lying flat against the underside of his dick. Jungkook gets high off of the sound of you gagging on his cock, spit dripping down him and onto your bedsheets. He’s so fucking close he’s seeing stars.

It takes all his self control to sit up and signal you to stop. You look at him, lips swollen and wet, a mixture of precum and saliva messily splayed across your face.

“No more,” he rasps, pulling you close and flipping you over so he’s on top again. “Need to be inside you right now. Condom?” You breathe out that you’re on the pill before smiling coyly up at him. Jungkook is painfully hard and wastes no time to slip inside of you. You let out your loudest moan yet, and he waits for you to get accustomed to his length in you.

“You can move,” you tell him, voice hoarse. Jungkook nods and pulls out only to slam right back in you with a groan. The first few strokes are long and languid until you’re pinching his nipple and motioning him to take you harder.

“I’m not a fucking porcelain doll,” you ground out. “Fuck me like you mean it Jeon.” Jungkook grits his teeth and pulls out of you completely. You’re about to ask him what’s wrong when he flips you over like a ragdoll so you’re lying on your stomach.

“Fine,” he grunts. “You’re such a brat.” You shiver at his tone and he’s gripping your ass to prop it up, pushing your face with one hand so you’re buried face down in your pillow.

Without warning he shoves himself back in you, one hand on your hip, the other still pushing your face into your mattress. He sets an unforgiving pace, ramming into you without pause until your muffled screams could be heard in your pillow.

“How’s that?” he grinds out, planting a smack on your ass as you moan. “That hard enough for you?”

“Y-yes,” you manage to scream. He shoves two fingers into your mouth, spanking your ass between thrusts until you’re smarting and red. Your garble moans around his fingers, drool lacing your pillow until he’s twisting his hand back in your hair and pulling you up flush against him. Grabbing one of your breasts he bites down on your shoulder.

“Fuck you feel so good around my cock,” he whispers in your ear and you shiver. Your ass is sore, but Jungkook shows no mercy, stroking it with his right hand and continuing to smack it. His hand moves around to rub over your clit and you almost fall over at the stimulation but his other hand clutching your breast keeps you upright. “You’re gonna cum now sweetheart? Milk my cock for all its worth?”

“Oh my god, Jungkook please,” you’re almost sobbing

“Come on baby, you can do it,” he croons, and you look over your shoulder at him and he wastes no time in closing the distance and planting his lips on yours. Without warning you’re coming, and that too all over Jungkook’s hand, dripping down your thighs and onto the bed. He’s not far behind, your convulsing pussy driving him over the edge before he’s releasing his load in you. You collapse on all fours in front of him as he pulls out.

“Damn,” he says, bringing his hand up to show you. “So, you’re a squirter, huh?”

“What?” your ears turn red as you look back at him. “Oh, my fucking god.” You watch as Jungkook licks his fingers clean without hesitation before collapsing on the bed next to you.

“Don’t tell me that was your first time squirting,” he grins. You look away in embarrassment, and he props himself up on his elbow, head resting on his hand. “Wow I’m just that good.”

“You’re such an ass,” you mutter. Jungkook cackles in delight.

You and Jungkook fall into a routine after that. There are multiple trysts, mostly at one of your apartments after work, a few in the bathroom of restaurants while you’re out with your friends, and one (1) time at work when you arrived for your weekly lunch date wearing the tiniest skirt Jungkook had ever fucking seen.

Sex with you is easy. Being friends with you is also easy. Jungkook can’t believe how simple you make his life. You’re a good friend, always willing to listen. He tells you things about his life back in LA, his ex and how thankful he was that he was finally out of a five-year relationship. You talk about your family, your sisters, your childhood. There are still lines the two of you don’t cross. Jungkook knows your last relationship left you scarred, but you never mention it and Jungkook never mentions his father. Some things are better left unsaid.

It isn’t until one day when you’ve dragged Jungkook out to Macy’s on the hunt for a new outfit you need to go meet a potential new recruit, that he manages to find the missing puzzle piece.

He’s sat through you trying out at least fifteen different shirts, all of which look the same to him, but you insist they’re not. It’s after you’ve finally picked out a dress shirt, some trousers and a new pair of “killin” shoes that the two of you collapse in a café across from the department store, your bags surrounding you.

“God, nothing feels better than a day full of shopping for shit,” you say, taking a huge sip out of your (soy) cappuccino. Jungkook rolls his eyes.

“I’ll show you exactly what’s better tonight” he mutters and its your turn to roll your eyes.

“Can you please keep it in your pants for a minute,” you groan. “I’m actually nervous about recruiting this guy.”

“Please,” Jungkook huffs. “You’re gonna be fine, you’re a natural!”

“Really?” You’re raising your eyebrows. “After the shit show you had to put up with?”

“Excuse me?” Jungkook pretends to be offended. “I’m here, aren’t I? You won me over.”

“Barely. For fucks sake you arrived to see me on the fucking baggage belt.” you huff, placing your head down on the table. Jungkook watches you, a twinge of sympathy running through him.

“Look, you are good at what you do. I don’t think I’m an easy person to convince, if I do say so myself,” he says, voice gentler. You look up at him slowly, figure still hunched. “Maybe you’re a little unorthodox but hey! We need someone like that. Just be yourself, you’re gonna be fine.”

“You think so?” you’re pouting, and Jungkook’s heart melts a little.

“100%”

You’re smiling faintly at him when the two of you hear your name being called. You freeze and look past Jungkook, a glassy look overtaking your eyes.

“It is you!” the voice comes closer and Jungkook turns around to look at what is possibly the most beautiful man he’s ever seen in his life. He’s tall, hair pushed back in a neat part, wearing a three-piece suit. In front of him, Jungkook feels like a giant toddler in his sweatpants and colorful hoodie and messy hair.

“Seokjin.” Your voice is hushed and oddly quiet, something Jungkook has never seen before. He eyes the two of you curiously.

“How have you been?” The man – Seokjin – asks. “It’s been forever.”

“Yeah,” you clear your throat. “It really has.” It’s awkward for a minute until Seokjin’s eyes land on Jungkook. His eyes travel to the cups of coffee in front of the two of you, and something flits across his expression.

“I’m sorry, are you two--,” he starts, and you’re rushing to correct him, but for some reason, Jungkook’s body moves on instinct.

“I’m Jungkook,” he says, getting up and offering a hand.

“Seokjin,” the man answers, taking it and shaking it firmly. “It’s nice to meet you.” There’s another beat of silence and then a girl is running toward you, calling Seokjin’s name. Seokjin freezes as the girl catches up to him, laying a hand on his shoulder to catch her breath. Jungkook feels you freeze up even more, if possible.

“Hi!” she says brightly, looking from Jungkook to you. “Friends of yours Jinnie?” she addresses the taller man. Jungkook doesn’t fail to notice that she’s just as beautiful as Seokjin. Pretty people really do stick together. You stand up abruptly behind Jungkook and he feels you clutch at the back of his hoodie, out of Seokjin’s gaze. Seokjin clears his throat.

“U-uhm, this is Joohyun,” he offers. “My fiancée.” At this point you’re tugging wildly at the back of Jungkook’s hoodie and he isn’t stupid. He gets the hint.

“It’s very nice to meet you,” he says, plastering on his best fake-charming smile. Joohyun seems to buy it because she grins back. “But we really are in a rush. Places to be! Nice meeting you guys!” and he turns around without another word, grabs your hand in one of his and picks up your bags in a single fluid motion with his other. Then he’s pulling you out of there, away from the café, away from Seokjin and out into the busy street.

You walk behind him wordlessly, hand still clasped in his and he drags you up a few blocks until you’re at Bryant Park. The two of you find a bench and collapse in it, slightly out of breath.

“Thanks,” you whisper, after a while.

“No problem.” Jungkook replies.

“You’re not gonna ask?”

“Should I ask?” He turns to look at you. You chuckle weakly and lean back to stare up at the tall trees.

“My ex-boyfriend,” you say. “Obviously.” Jungkook had figured that but he nods along anyway. “He—uhm—cheated on me,” you continue and Jungkook suddenly feels white-hot rage curling inside him. You’d mentioned it before on the first day of his new job, at brunch, but it hadn’t registered until now. “With the girl we just met.”

“What the actual fuck.” He mutters, running a hand through his hair.

“He’s the reason why I can’t--,” you start, then stop. You take a deep breath before continuing. “Why I can’t get myself to enter into another relationship.” Jungkook doesn’t know what to say to that but it doesn’t seem like you care. Now that you’re talking, the floodgates are open.

“We’d been together since college. I imagined we’d be endgame y’know? Everyone always told me how lucky I was to bag a man so attractive and smart and I felt lucky. Jin was always the best, the most caring, the most loving. We had some really great times together. But then… I don’t know… college ended and careers happened and I struggled to find a job straight out of university, while Seokjin comes from a long line of rich businessmen and he was already working for his dad’s company by graduation. We drifted after that. A part of me resented his privilege, I was envious of what he had. I took it out on him, and I guess he-he—”

“That does not give him the right to cheat on you.” Jungkook stops you. “I get being unhappy in relationships, I really do, but in no way is that the correct response.” Your eyes are glassy and full of unshed tears.

“She’s like him, y’know,” you continue, sniffing. “Beautiful, successful, I heard she owns a clothing line. Seeing them together it made me realize that I was the anomaly.”

“Don’t.” Jungkook says. “Don’t put yourself down. Look at you!” He gestures at you and you look up. “You’re smart, cute, successful. He’s trash for not recognizing that.”

“No, what I am is broken,” you give him a small, watery smile. “I haven’t been able to let anyone in since Seokjin and I broke almost a year ago.” Jungkook sighs and shuffles closer to you. Sniffling, you lean over to rest your head on his shoulder. “Thanks for today Kook,” you murmur against him. “I don’t know what I’d have done if you weren’t there.”

Jungkook sighs and leans over to kiss the top of your head lightly. The two of you sit there, amongst the chirping birds and trees, leaning on each other. Jungkook squeezes your hand and tries not to think of the unfamiliar feeling curling inside his stomach.

Things change after that. Jungkook finds that the two of you are almost domestic with each other. You stay over more often, and he finds you in his kitchen in the mornings, flipping pancakes wearing nothing but his button down. It’s so normal that Jungkook often has to take a step back and remember that the two of you are just friends. Seasons change from autumn into winter and a sheet of snow covers Manhattan.

“My sister’s in town,” Jungkook tells you one morning, offhandedly.

“Older or younger?” You’re making pancakes in his kitchen and you set down a plate of them in front of him before returning to make yourself some. Jungkook shakes the can of whipped cream next to him before squirting himself some.

“Older,” he grins. “She lives in LA with Dad and she’s in New York for business.” It’s the first time Jungkook has mentioned his father in front of you since the day the two of you met. You don’t prod. “My parents are separated,” he offers.

“I figured,” you shrug, sitting down across from him and refusing the can of whipped cream when he offers it. “Do you hate him or something?”

“What? No!” Jungkook laughs. “We just aren’t close that’s all. Everyone expects me to be this prodigy because of my Dad’s reputation, but I barely know the guy. Anyway, my sister wants to meet you.”

“Me?” You’re surprised.

“Yeah she wants to see who it was that convinced me to leave LA.”

“Oh, so that’s my reputation in the Jeon household now is it?” Jungkook gives you a cheeky grin. “How nerve-wracking—you sure you want me meeting your family? Makes us sound more than we are.”

“It’s not like that,” Jungkook argues, ignoring the faint twinge of disappointment somewhere deep within himself. “She’s only in town for three days. Come get some brunch with us tomorrow.”

“Fine. But you need to do something for me in return,” Your mouth is full of pancake and your hair is mussed but Jungkook smiles endearingly. “I have this… thing I got invited to tonight and I need you to be my date.”

“Are you sure? It makes us sound more than we are,” Jungkook throws your words back at you and you kick his shin under the table.

“Shut up, it’s my childhood friend’s Christmas party and our families are close so I have to go but I don’t have a plus-one and I need you there to keep me sane. Seokjin’s gonna be there.”

“You’re asking if I want to go with you,” he starts slowly. “To a Christmas party. As your date.”

“Well, yeah,” you shrug. “We go, drink at the open bar until we can’t see straight and then come home and you pound me into your tempur-pedic.”

“You’re disgusting,” he grins. “But, okay, I’m in--what the hell.”

“Do you have a tux?”

“Girl look who you speaking to,” he gestures at himself, sitting up straight and throwing his chest out. “Of fucking course, I have a tux.”

Wow, Jungkook thinks to himself that evening as you stand in your door in front of him. Long olive-green silk hugging every curve of your body, you grin up at him. You’d tamed your hair by pinning one side up, clutch in one hand, and feet in black pumps.

“Well?” you grin. Jungkook whistles, shoving his hands in his plain black tuxedo.

“Yeah well, you clean up nice too Jeon,” you pat him cheerfully on his chest, causing a warm feeling to flutter through him. “Let’s go do this thing.” You straighten his tie, and Jungkook swallows. He doesn’t know when exactly it happened, but over the course of time you really have him wrapped around your little finger.

The two of you uber down, your warm body next to his as you tell him some inconsequential story about your high school prom.

“We didn’t have prom at my school,” he tells you and you gape at him. “We had sports day though.”

“That is so sad.”

“Not really,” Jungkook shrugs. “Social gatherings are terrifying.”

“Never would’ve pegged you as the socially anxious type Jeon.”

“Well I am,” Jungkook rests his elbow on the car door, his chin in his hand to look outside. “I can’t believe I’m going to this rich people thing with you.”

“C’mon! It’ll be fun!” you send twin finger guns his way and he smiles wantonly.

“No seriously,” he says, looking at you, chin still balanced on his hand. “Thank you. You always manage to take the edge off and make things less intimidating and make me feel like I can step out of my comfort zone.” You blink at him, grin fading at his sincerity.

“What’re friends for, right?” you say, your voice quiet.

“Right,” he says back, just as quiet.

“You know,” you ramble on. “When I first saw you, you did totally strike me as a stereotypical fratboy. I was a little scared.”

“Of me?” Jungkook points at himself, surprised. You lean back in your seat and rest your head back.

“Yeah,” you mutter. “You reminded me of the guys I went to high school with. The jerks that ranked the girls by how fuckable they were and shoved kids into lockers and giggled at you as you tried to present your history project to the class.”

“Why didn’t you just beat them up?” Jungkook isn’t offended by your generalization. He knows what you mean. “The you I know would’ve stabbed someone’s eye out with a pencil.”

“I was different when I was sixteen,” you smile. “But you’re right, now I’m not beyond stabbing someone’s eyes out with a pencil. Anyway, I’m sorry for judging you.”

“It happens,” Jungkook shrugs but you shake your head vigorously.

“No, you’re sweet,” you continue. “I’m so happy we met. And that we’re friends now.”

“I’m glad too,” Jungkook grins, punching you lightly on your shoulder. “Are you sure you can do this? I saw how you were when you saw Seokjin that day.” You bite your lip and look out the window.

“I’ll be fine,” you say slowly. “I have you.” Jungkook blinks and gulps.

“Listen, there’s something I need to tell you—” he starts but the uber is arriving at the venue and you’re getting ready to step out of the car. Jungkook stares at the ceiling before getting himself out. Checking in your coats at the entrance, the two of you enter together.

You were right, Jungkook notes. This isn’t just some Christmas party. Lights sparkle down at him and the massive Christmas tree in front of him is decorated to the nines. The bar is sparkling with decorations, and the tables are decorated with fancy centerpieces and champagne flutes. People wearing black tie are mingling, men in tuxedos, women in floor length gowns.

“God,” you whisper next to him.

“You didn’t tell me you were also Richie Rich rich,” Jungkook whispers back and you jab him in the side with your elbow. “Oh my god you’re a trust fund baby! You’re Gossip Girl!”

“Oh my god shut up,” you’re giggling. “I’m the family’s black sheep, fortunately for you. I refused to major in what my parents wanted me to major in and that was apparently the final straw. I’m surprised Yoongi even bothered to invite me – we haven’t spoken in months. There he is now.”

A man shorter than Jungkook is making his way towards them. He’s got effortlessly tousled black hair and his ears are adorned with many earrings. His eyes flit lazily towards Jungkook before landing on you and he’s pulling you into a hug.

“Yoongi!” you say grinning, returning his embrace and he smiles, changing his entire demeanour. “How are you, this is amazing!”

“Thought I’d do something to get the old gang together,” he shrugs. “I’m happy you came.”

“This is Jungkook, we—uhm—worked together.”

“Ah one of her recruits huh?” Yoongi is shaking Jungkook’s hand. “Min Yoongi, pleasure to meet you. Please make yourself comfortable.”

“Thank you,” Jungkook is sure his palms are sweating again. He picks up a flute of champagne from a waiter passing by and takes a huge gulp. You and Yoongi exchange pleasantries for a little while longer and then he leaves the two of you to greet some other guests that are just arriving.

“Wanna go to the bar?” You’re pulling him in the direction of the alcohol before he can say yes. You wave down the bartender and order your drink and turn to Jungkook. “You okay?”

“Why? Is it obvious I’m freaking out?”

“You country bumpkins are so cute,” You pinch his cheek. “What were you trying to tell me in the cab?” Jungkook looks sideways at you, but sees who’s approaching and clears his throat.

Seokjin looks even better than Jungkook remembered, in a well-tailored suit, holding a glass of wine. You turn and freeze momentarily.

“Jin! Hey,” your voice is steady and Jungkook is almost proud of you.

“I’m glad you made it,” Seokjin mirrors Yoongi’s words from earlier. “You didn’t last year.”

“Yeah, well,” you say sheepishly. “There were just some people I couldn’t face last year.”

Ouch, Jungkook thinks, on Seokjin’s behalf. If Seokjin hears the slight bite in your tone, he pretends not to notice.

“You’re Jungkook, right?” Seokjin’s addressing Jungkook now. “From the mall.”

“Yeah, good to see you again man,” Jungkook smiles and the smile Seokjin gives him in return is incredibly genuine. Your hand is snaking down and gripping Jungkook’s, and he gives you a squeeze, something that doesn’t escape Seokjin.

“Are you two together?” he asks conversationally, and Jungkook is about to vehemently deny the question, when you squeeze his hand back.

“We are,” you answer, much to Jungkook’s shock. He almost chokes on the last of his champagne before he puts the empty glass down on the bar. “We met at work.” He’s trying to calm himself down, trying to stop that warm feeling bursting through him again. You talk to Seokjin for a few more minutes before he’s leaving the two of you to your own devices again.

“So, you beat me to what I wanted to tell you in the cab earlier,” Jungkook grins. You look up at him and he leans in, placing a chaste kiss on your lips. “That I like you,”

“W-what’re you talking about?” Your voice is barely above a whisper. Jungkook leans in and nudges his nose against the column of your throat.

“I meant what I said,” he mumbles, pressing kisses under your jaw. “I’m asking you out. Officially.”

“We’re in public,” you’re hissing, firm grip on his wandering hands. Jungkook grins and leans back against the bar, shoving both hands into the pockets of his trousers. “And you don’t mean that.”

“Of course I do,” he schools his expression into one of sincerity. “You’re awesome, I love spending time with you. We have a lot of fun. Am I wrong?”

“You’re just being reckless—”

“Believe me, I am a lot of things, and reckless isn’t one of them.” Jungkook frowns. “Do you not feel the same way? I just assumed—”

“No, no,” your eyes are wide, panicked. “I like you too Jungkook, of course I do.”

“Then what’s stopping you?” You’re looking at him, eyes wide and he watches your gaze flit past him over his shoulder. Raising his eyebrows, he turns his head over his shoulder to see what you’re staring at. His mouth forms a straight line when he realizes its not a what, but a who.

“Seokjin,” he says, the bitterness leaking into his voice. “You’re still in love with him. Of course, why didn’t I see it before.”

“No! Jungkook, that’s not—”

“So, bringing me here as your date, what you said just now to Seokjin – what was that? A ploy to make him jealous? Hoping he’d run back to you? What, you didn’t wanna show up alone in front of him, so I was your safe fallback?” Jungkook is seeing white, his fists clenched, embarrassment and humiliation washing through him. “I’m just a distraction to you.” Your bottom lip is trembling now and you’re vigorously shaking your head, but Jungkook feels so empty and suddenly finds he doesn’t care. “I’m done. I don’t need to set myself up to get hurt by coming in between whatever this is you have going on with that guy.” He’s pulling his tie loose.

“No, don’t leave,” you’re begging, small hands grasping his arm in a last-ditch attempt. Jungkook sighs, untangling himself from your hold. “Please, Jungkook, hear me out—”

“I hear you loud and clear,” he says, a sad smile breaking out onto his face. Pulling off his tie he undoes the first two buttons on his shirt, trying to breathe. Clenching his fist, he’s walking past you before stopping to turn and take one last look at you. “We’re still friends okay? I just need some time. And for the record, telling you this as a friend, you’ll never be free for as long as you’re seeking Seokjin’s—or anyone’s – validation.”

And then he’s walking out of there, away from you, from a life that never really belonged to him. All he wants to do is to get out of this stifling suit throw on his sweatpants, drown himself in an obscene amount of chocolate and play Overwatch all night.

“Slow down, you’re gonna throw up those eggs if you don’t slow down,” Jungkook’s sister chastises from across the table. “Jesus, you and Junghyun are both such fast eaters because you don’t chew. You’re gonna die early.”

“I’d like to die now,” Jungkook answers, his mouth full of medium-poached eggs and hollandaise.

“So, you got rejected, what’s the big deal?” She asks. “You’re a grown man. Pick yourself up, dust yourself off and move the fuck on.”

“Easy for you to say Miss-I’m-engaged-to-the-love-of-my-life” Jungkook doesn’t mean to sound bitter. “How am I even going to face her after all this. I’m an idiot.”

“You really are,” his sister responds, elbow resting on the table and chin balanced on that elbow. “You always like to think you’re this cool, collected, distant guy when in reality you’re a giant softie that believes in soulmates.”

“I do not.”

“Yeah,” she grins. “You do,” She sighs. “Look Jungkook, that’s not a bad thing. In fact, it’s endearing, and there’s nothing wrong with giving yourself completely to someone. Just make sure whoever you’re giving yourself to is worth it.”

“You don’t think she’s worth it?” Jungkook asks glumly.

“She’s confused, it seems. And that is never a good thing, not in relationships.”

“So, what do I do? I’m still gonna see her at work occasionally.”

“Don’t do anything. The ball’s in her court. You’ve bared yourself to her already and she can either accept that or reject it. And eventually, it’ll get easier to be around her. You might even go back to being friends. And try to move on, will you?”

“With whom?”

“I have someone at work I can introduce you to,” she hums. “If you’re willing.”

“Whatever,” Jungkook mutters. “How’s dad?” His sister stares at him, expression suddenly serious.

“Well,” she sighs. “That’s also why I’m here to see you.” She says quietly

Jungkook is avoiding you. You may not be the most intelligent person in any room, but it doesn’t take a genius to figure that out. He hasn’t replied to any of your texts, dutifully turning his read receipts off so you don’t even know if he’s seen your messages. Whenever you drop by his work for one of your meetings, his office is always closed. You suspect Park Jimin has something to do with Jungkook knowing exactly when you’ll be by the company. When you corner Jimin about this though, he’s tight-lipped, always regarding you with a slightly judgemental stare. It’s clear where his alliance lies.

You could always drop by his place, but even you admit that’s bordering on being pushy. He did say he needed space but its almost been a month and you haven’t as much as seen his coconut head. The New Year passes just like that and you celebrate by finishing two entire bottles of wine by yourself and watching Love Actually for the twenty-seventh time. Yoongi invites you to his New Years’ party too but you decline, not wanting a reminder of what went down at his last bash. You also want nothing to do with Seokjin.

At first you were angry over what Jungkook had said to you before he’d left that party. But soon after, once you’d calmed down, you’d realized he was right. Seokjin was never going to look at you and it was foolish to wait around while he carried on with his life. You deserved better, and Jungkook had taught you that. The realization was oddly freeing.

More than anything, you miss your friend. The coffee dates, the weekly brunches, someone to watch cheesy movies with. And, you admit shamefully, you also mis his dick. Jungkook had been right, you should’ve given the two of you a chance.

It isn’t until a cold morning in February, a whole two and a half months after the entire fiasco, that you finally see Jungkook. He’s standing outside the building, winter coat on and a burgundy scarf around his neck. He looks out of character, dressed like a businessman instead of the usual college-boy sweatpants and baggy t-shirts that you’re used to seeing him in. His hair is longer than it was when you saw him last, curling slightly at the ends. It suits him. He’s chatting happily with Namjoon about something, waving his hands around descriptively, matching cups of coffees in their hands.

You hesitate to get out of your uber, but you’re late for your nine am. There’s no way to avoid him, with the two of them standing right in front of the entrance. You step out of the cab hesitatingly and Jungkook sees you right away. If he’s nervous about running into you, he doesn’t show it. Instead, his face softens into a small smile and he gives a small wave in greeting. You return his greeting shyly.

“Oh, hey,” Namjoon greets, as you approach the two of them slowly. “Got a meeting today?”

“Yeah,” you reply, eyes travelling from Jungkook to Namjoon. “I’m late.”

“I’ll leave you guys to it then,” there’s nothing sly in Namjoon’s tone, but the guy is like, insanely intelligent and you don’t doubt his intentions. “Gotta see Yoongi about this newest track I’ve been working on.”

Jungkook bids Namjoon goodbye before the two of you are making your way inside.

“How have you been?” you’re the first to break the silence. Jungkook takes a sip of his drink.

“Good,” he answers. “I finally beat Breath of the Wild.”

“Took you long enough,” you tease, and he chuckles. You follow him into the elevator and watch as he presses your floor for you, along with his. “I haven’t seen you in a while.”

“Yeah, I,” he clears his throat. “I went to LA to see my dad,” You whip your head to look at him. “He wasn’t well so I worked remotely for a month or so.” So, he was never actually avoiding you, he wasn’t even in the city! You feel oddly relieved.

“How is he?”

“Fine,” Jungkook replies. You can’t help but notice that his animated self from earlier is gone, replaced by someone more somber. “I spent Christmas there.” The elevator doors open at your floor and you step out.

“Listen Jungkook,” you say quickly turning around. He pauses, pressing the button to keep the doors open, and looks at you questioningly. “I’m sorry – for everything.”

“Don’t apologize for your feelings,” that small smile is back.

“No! I mean – I’d really like it if we can be friends again,” you’re panicking. “I’ve missed you.” He grins at that, reminding you of the Jungkook you’d been intimate with.

“I’ve missed you too,” he answers, and something in your chest lifts. “Of course, we’re still friends.”

“Okay—wanna get brunch with me this week? The usual place.”

“I’ll text you.” Is all he says before he lets the doors close, leaving you standing there, slightly breathless.

You spend the rest of your day with a bounce in your step.

Things return to normal after that – somewhat. You and Jungkook start hanging out again, but you can tell something is off. He’s cheerful as always, but he’s holding back. It’s obvious that whatever he offered you that day at Yoongi’s party is no longer on the table. He’s guarded, confides in you less, heart locked away in a place you can’t even begin to reach.

But he’s here, in your life, tangible and real, and you tell yourself that this is enough. Until one day, when it all comes crashing down.

You’re at his place, and he’s retreated back into the kitchen to get the two of you more beers. His phone lights up, vibrating on the coffee table in front of you. It’s not that you mean to pry, but your eyes unconsciously travel to the notification that’s blaring on his screen.

1 New Message Jieun: Hey! We still on for tomorrow night, right? Gonna wear that dress you like 😉

You swallow. Of course, he’s seeing someone. Everything makes sense – the reason he was able to have you back in his life was because he’d moved on and rightfully so. The two of you aren’t teenagers – you are adults, and he is well within his rights to find someone else when you’d so obviously rejected him. You wonder, why then, your chest aches.

Jungkook reappears, holding two bottles of beer in each hand. Placing them on the coffee table next to his phone, he offers you one, which you accept, plastering a grin on your face. He grabs one himself, picking up his phone and collapsing on the couch next to you to turn his attention back to the movie that the two of you had been watching. From the corner of your eye, you watch as he checks his messages, eyes lighting up, a smile on his face as he types up a response.

You spend the rest of the night holding in tears.

You invite Taehyung to yours the next day as a distraction. He insists on watching some documentary about gothic architecture, but you don’t mind. Whatever takes your mind off Jungkook. And what he might be doing right now.

“You know, you are insane,” Taehyung comments offhandedly.

“Excuse me?”

“The both of you,” he continues, lounging on your couch a little too comfortably. “Insanity.” You continue to stare at him, and he sighs. “You and Jeon.”

“What about Jungkook?”

“He’s in love with you,” Taehyung answers plainly, as though he’s telling you today’s weather forecast. Your stomach drops. “And you like him too, but are too dumb to admit it.” You scoff.

“He has a date tonight. That hardly screams ‘in love with me’” You point out. It’s Taehyung’s turn to scoff.

“Please,” he chuckles, arms coming up to rest behind his head. He sits like your dad. “It’s only his third date with that girl. It’s nothing serious.”

“And he’s not in love with me.”

“He is,” Taehyung insists. “Told me so himself. I wasn’t gonna say anything because it’s none of my damn business but the two of you are so atrociously stupid—”

“He…told you?” you pause the documentary.

“Yes. Last week,” Taehyung is talking as though he hasn’t dropped the biggest bombshell on you. “But he’s putting himself out there because he thinks you don’t feel the same way. Frankly, I’m tired.”

“Why are you telling me this?” you whisper. Taehyung checks his watch.

“Because, you still have time. Time to go get him.” You laugh.

“He’s not even gonna be back yet,” you point out. “Plus, what if I go there and he’s having her over? Third dates basically mean sex.”

“He’s not gonna sleep with her.” Taehyung tells you.

“Oh, and I assume he told you that too—”

“He did.”

“What sort of conversation were the two of you even having?” You’re incredibly confused

“A deep one,” Taehyung’s monotone voice is starting to irk you. “I took him out for tea. He’s home right now – by the way.”

“Why do you know so much Kim Taehyung?”

“It’s because I’m always minding my own, and vibing,” he informs you. “Go get your man, for fucks sake.” You’re already running around grabbing your keys and coat.

“Thanks Tae,” you mutter, giving the sleepy boy a kiss on the cheek. He smiles, leaning further back into your couch and turns his documentary back on as you rush out of your apartment.

There aren’t any ubers around your place at this time on a Friday night and you’re stuck taking the subway to Jungkook’s. Tapping your foot impatiently on the 4,5 line you rush out as soon as the train doors open, running to the building you know he lives in.

Your mind is blank as you stand outside his place and ring the doorbell. The faint music coming from the inside stops and you barely have time to second guess your choices before the door is opening and Jungkook is standing in front of you. Dressed in a crinkled dress shirt and black slacks, it looks like he got home not too long ago. He looks at you in surprise. Before he can open his mouth and ask why you’re standing on his doorstep wearing your sweatpants under your winter jacket looking haggard, you step forward, crushing your lips onto his.

His response isn’t immediate, you’ve caught him by surprise. But slowly he melts into the kiss, arms coming up to rest on your waist. You grasp wildly at the shirt on his shoulders.

“Are you sure about this?” he’s whispering, shutting the door behind you as you push him further into his apartment. “Know that I want more?”

“More sure than of anything else I’ve been in my life,” you whisper back, pulling away. “And whatever you want, I want it too. I want you. I’m sorry it took me so long to realize that.”

“How did you know that I still wanted this?” he asks, before his face clears of the confusion and he’s grinning like he knows exactly how.

“We’re really gonna have to send Taehyung an expensive bottle of wine soon,” you grin back. “But first, I need you out of these pants.”

[starcrossedkaiju]

Kingslayer AU: Chapter 3

This one is a bit shorter. It’s entirely fluff, nothing bad happens here. I felt bad for my man, I really did. Scott really channeled Ethan Winters in that last chapter.

Also, Jimmy is here!

Once again Scott awoke to something touching his face. This time it decidedly was not water, although he kind of wished it was due to how dirty he felt. Scott groaned when he opened his eyes and was immediately blinded by harsh sunlight. He remembered making it to the desert and presumably passing out. Was he dead?

“Scott?”

Holy shit. Someone just spoke.

“Hey dude, can you hear us?”

Two mystery people hovered over his line of sight. Their faces were unrecognizable due to being backlit by the sun.

“Hey Scott, can you open your eyes?” Someone spoke softly to him. He reached up slightly with his hand and they took it with a loving squeeze.

Back on earth now, Scott recognized a half of his company.

“Is that you Jimmy?” Scott muttered through half lidded eyes, “It’s so bright, I can’t see your face,” he apologized quietly.

Jimmy giggled with a twinge of sadness, his hand traveled up to cup the other’s cheek, “yes it’s me dear. Grian is here too. I’m going to bring you home in no time,” he reassured.

A primal chill went down Scott’s spine. It sent his exhausted brain into an instant overdrive, causing him to loose his breath quite suddenly.

“No..” Scott said. His voice was hoarse and laced with something like fear.

“They’ll kill me,” he whispered pleadingly, “they’ll come back for me and this time they’ll just kill me! Please don’t, they’ll kill us,” he repeated until he had no more air to talk with.

Jimmy’s eyes were wide with shock, he’d pulled his husband into his lap and off of the rough sand so that Scott’s head was off the floor. A hand fruitlessly rubbed circles on his arm in an attempt for comfort, which seemed to be lost on poor Scott.

“Okay- Scott? Count to ten with me will you?” Grian stopped observing and pat his disheveled friend on both of his shoulders to get his attention.

“Deep breath in, then out,” he guided, and Scott followed him shakily.

Grian made Scott do it ten times before shifting to counting up and down from ten. Scott was able to breathe again and he instinctively turned his head away from the sun. Jimmy placed a gentle hand over his eyes.

Scott tuned out of the conversation in favor of slipping into a comfortable numbness. He could infer the pair were considering their options to get him home. Jimmy couldn’t carry him alone, Grian definitely couldn’t.

The sun in the desert was harsh during the summer months, thankfully it was wintertime and a cool wind swept over the land. Scott focused on the calming sound of a breeze on the sand as he fell asleep once more.

*****

“Careful with him Scar, you’ll snap his neck,” Jimmy complained from somewhere under Scott’s line of hearing.

“Dude shut up, you’re being paranoid,” Scar chuckled back at him.

“I’m really not. Don’t let his neck hang like that,” Jimmy replied.

“Guys stop. His neck is perfectly fine,” Grian audibly hit someone on the arm as he scolded them.

*****

The uncomfortable feeling of grime against sheets greeted Scott when he awoke. It looked like late afternoon judging by the light coming through the curtain (which was a white sheet clipped over a window). He sat up, instantly recognizing his whereabouts.

The Sand Castle.

So it wasn’t a dream, he thought, he actually had made it out. Glancing down at his hands, he observed a myriad of bandages adorning his hands and wrists. They must have been pretty messed up. The rest of his body was still covered in dirt and sand, hence why they stuck him in a cot instead of a bed. Figures.

His sheet was also looking worse for wear, so when he stood up on mildly shaky legs he bunched up the ruined blanket and took it with him to go find someone. Making extra sure to hold the railing on the stairs, he came upon a window and took a second to look outside. The desert was expectantly barren, everyone must have been downstairs.

A muffled conversation became clear when Scott made it to the living room. Scar, Grian, and Jimmy had taken up residence on a single couch. They must have been waiting for something to smelt and conversing frivolously with the resident Enderman. A window near the door was propped open to let in the cold afternoon air which dulled the heat and mild stench coming from the furnace. It must be iron, for Scott could taste the faint metal in the back of his mouth.

He leaned on the doorframe casually as all the eyes in the room turned to him.

“Hey look whose awake!” Scar greeted him with an arms open gesture, “the dust man himself,” he added with a smirk.

“You really are quite dirty,” Grian agreed.

Jimmy almost threw himself from the couch, he went to hug Scott but was pushed away to arms length.

“They’re right, I am very gross right now,” Scott cautioned, but his husband would not be deterred.

Jimmy pushed the other’s arms down and pulled him close, leaning his chin on top of the other’s head gently. Scott sighed and gave in as well.

A unanimous decision seemed to be made when Scott was sat down on the couch. Scar, Grian, and Jimmy hovered over him awkwardly with worried faces. Unsure what to ask him and what not to ask him.

“Uh, I’m assuming you have questions?” Scott broke the silence.

“Yes. Many,” Grian said, “I suppose we should start with where you’ve been for the past three days,” he supplied.

“Three days?” Scott replied slightly horrified.

“That’s not good,” Scar said in reference to Scott’s lack of awareness.

“Well okay, let’s start with where you’ve been right? I mean I think we all know the answer, but still”, Jimmy sat down next to Scott. Probably for moral support.

“Right. Yeah, I got kidnapped; if it wasn’t obvious,” Scott said. Everyone nodded with an I knew that expression.

“They whacked me over the head with a stick in the woods and then,” he paused and looked at his hands. They were shaking, so he curled and uncurled his fists a few times.

“They threw me in a hole and left me there,” he said.

“Wait like an actual hole? Underground?” Scar asked, one eyebrow raised.

“Yes, underground, it was like a cell made of cobblestone. There wasn’t any light, and nobody came to visit me either. That’s probably why I didn’t know how long I was down there,” Scott confirmed.

“What so they just left you in there to die?” Jimmy butted in with a concerned inflection.

“Man that’s messed up, but hey this is good news! Now we have a valid excuse to take Dogwarts down right?” Scar said.

“What?!” yelled Grian, “this is not good news at all. What is wrong with you?”

“We are not building another bomb,” Jimmy said.

“We are completely outnumbered,” added Grian.

“I am not picking another fight with those guys. I think we’ve messed with them enough, look at where that got us,” Jimmy agreed.

“Guys shut up!” Scott said. He stood up from the couch. Everyone seemed to eye him with speculation.

“I need to go wash up,” he excused himself, taking the bedsheet with him out the front door.

*****

Around the back of the base there was an area where the mountain dropped off into a small pond. Scott slid down on the loose sand until he reached the dock where the Red Desert kept their stash of gunpowder. The sky was empty and quiet, eerily so. The only sound came from a slight din of insects and the babble of water lapping against the legs of the dock.

Peaceful.

Scott pulled off his boots, dumping a mound of dirt from both of them before continuing to strip down to his shorts. He waded into the water and submerged himself. He could see the cloud of dirt coming off of him when he ran his fingers through his hair.

Scott stayed under the water for a while. The muffled ambience calmed his nerves. He allowed himself to cry for a moment, then returned to the surface.

“Wow, I didn’t think you were coming back up,” Jimmy said from above him.

Scott yelped with shock, spinning around to face the other.

“Don’t do that!” he scolded with no malice, but he splashed some water in his direction.

“I didn’t even do anything,” Jimmy pleaded and laughed as he was bombarded with cold water.

“Whatever. Were you just standing there watching me?” Scott asked.

Jimmy shrugged dismissively.

“You creep,” Scott splashed him again.

Jimmy made to reach down and get Scott back, but the ladder grabbed his hand when it was near and pulled his unsuspecting husband headfirst into the pond. Jimmy seemed to have already dressed for the occasion and was also wearing his shorts and a T-shirt, so there was no real harm done to him besides his meticulously styled hair.

Scott leaned on the dock to prevent himself from drowning in his laughter. Jimmy resurfaced and a long string of water flew from his now messy hair as he flung it from his eyes.

“You…” Jimmy growled, sending a playful spritz into Scott’s eyes.

“You,” Scott said, “were asking for that,” he teased.

“Ugh. Well I’m glad you still seem to be yourself after all that. Don’t be taking it out on me though,” Jimmy joined the other on leaning on the dock.

“No promises,” Scott responded jokingly, but his smile quickly faded from his face. He pulled himself out of the water and onto the dock, a puddle forming under him where he sat with his legs in the water.

The lake was a deep blue color, just barely able to see the bottom through the dark shadows cast by the mountain in the now setting sun. Scott’s reflection gazed back at him. Cleaner than last time, his bangs were plastered to the front of his face by the water, which had turned his hair into as deep of a blue as the lake below him.

He felt rather exposed. Still afraid that Dogwarts was hot on his trail, they’d no doubt realized he had escaped them.

This was not the life he wanted. Constantly being on the run, feeling unsafe at home, and fearing that your presence could be the reason the people you love get hurt. Scott looked at his mangled hands, his fingers were irritated and red from where they poked out of the bandages; and for the first time in a long time he felt pain.

Not the pain that comes when you catch your finger in a doorframe, or the pain from a bad trip down the porch steps; the pain that grows in your chest when you feel like a burden. When you’ve had to be picked up and glued back together by another person one too many times. When you’ve spent your life running, only to fall into someone else’s arms and suddenly feel safe for once.

When you’re terrified of what will happen if they’re not there anymore.

“Hey,” Jimmy said with a reprimanding tone, “you’ve got that look on your face,” he warned.

Scott threw him a side glance, “what look?”

“That look. The look you get when you start overthinking your life instead of talking to someone about it,” Jimmy recited.

“I hate when you do that,” Scott sighed.

“Do what?”

“Know me,” Scott deadpanned.

Jimmy hoisted himself up and sat next to his husband. He tamed the strands of hair from the other’s eyes, tucking them behind his ears.

“I brought some soap. I was planning on lending it to you before an attempt on my life was made,” he said, leaning backwards and coming back with a bucket and a bar of light orange soap. It was lightly used, it smelled of citrus and mint.

“I feel like I never knew anyone before I knew you,” Scott said as he examined the bar of soap up near his face.

That wasn’t entirely a lie. Jimmy was the first person Scott had seen after entering the border.

“Sometimes it makes me afraid that I know someone so intimately. It makes me feel dangerous,” he said.

“Dangerous?” Jimmy took the soap from his hands and filled up the bucket with fresh water.

“Yeah. In the way that loving something so completely makes it easier to get to me. I’m afraid of people finding out that the way to destroy me is destroying you,” Scott explained.

“That won’t happen,” Jimmy replied, “I can’t even count how many times we’ve almost died and been just fine. Remember that TNT?”

“Oh my god don’t even remind me,” Scott covered his face.

“I am reminding you, because it was cool! I mean I’m the one who took out the Red King without dying,” Jimmy bragged.

“On accident!” Scott reminded him.

“Nobody needs to know that. Also I got him first,” the other added. Scott kicked water at him.

Jimmy put a hand on Scott’s back and pushed him into the lake.

“Hey,” Scott said.

“Stay right here,” Jimmy directed and positioned Scott between his knees so that he could reach his hair easier.

“Don’t let that indestructible mindset get to you,” Scott said. He admired the ripples on the surface of the water.

“Maybe if I believe it enough it’ll be real,” Jimmy said with no particular conviction, focused on making sure he adequately scrubbed his husband’s hair.

[toosicktoocare]

AU where the Avengers don’t know that Spider-Man is Peter Parker just cuz

inspired by a fantastic ask about concussions from @carley-carley-carley (hope it’s okay that I tagged you!)

“Young man? Young man, are you alright?” 

Grunting, Peter drags his head away from the insistent tapping against his cheek, an almost rhythmic, steady pressure that jerks up his temple to spread across his forehead. The pressure isolates to the base of his skull, where the pounding seems to be at it’s worst, and it holds ground there, pulsing uncomfortably. 

“Young man, you fell from a four-story apartment building.” 

Peter’s brows furrow at this. He wants to object because he’s Spider-Man, and a fall like that is minor compared to the novel of inuries he’s suffered alongside the Avengers. He opens his mouth to do just that, to explain to this woman that this is nothing, that he’ll walk it off, but a pricking senstation hot against the back of his neck hotwires to his eyelids, forcing them open. 

He’s aware of two things: One, the woman leaning over him is far too close, and she’s doubling and tripling before him, going in out of focus against his blurry eyes. Despite hazy around the edges, she looks concerned, if the deep-set wrinkles etched into her forehead are anything to go by. Two, there’s a small crowd surrounding him, and while Peter’s not particularly claustrophobic, right now, it feels like each body is pushing against his lungs, and his stomach. When the hell did he start feeling so nauseous? 

“Young man, do you know what day it is?” 

No, Peter thinks flatly to himself. He really doesn’t. He could dig through his mind, eager to push out logic, work through his mental calendar that operates soley around when homework assignments are due, but there’s a solid rock of pulsing pain blocking all normal, brain functioning. “Monday?” he tries weakly. He’s faintly aware that his own voice sounds hollow and distant, but more so, he’s distinctly aware of the saliva pooling in his mouth, a copper taste that coats against his tongue. 

Peter didn’t think it was possible, but the woman somehow frowns deeper at him, and she climbs to her feet, body rigid. He supposes it’s not Monday after all. 

“Call an ambulance! He’s concussed.” 

Peter shoots forward into a sitting position, and the pain in his head bursts like a balloon. The redistributed pressure is blinding, and Peter drops his face into his cupped hands with a low groan that threatens to bring more than just air up his throat. 

He wants to assure them that a hospital isn’t necessary, that his enhanced healing defies medical science, but when the white light coating his vision dies down to an unsteady sway of darker, blurring colors, he only sees scraped up palms before him, not gloves. He rips his hands away, and one, quick look down shows that he’s sporting a blue NASA hoodie and blue jeans and that he’s definitely not wearing his signature red and blue Spider-Man suit he thought he had on. 

The hell? 

He glances to see his backpack beside him, thankfully still zipped up and intact. He tries to wrack his brain, briefly craning his neck up toward the rooftop he assumes he fell from, only to quickly jerk his gaze back down when the setting sun seems to shine past his eyes to burn at his skull. He can’t remember why he was up there in the first place, especially since he’s in civilian clothing. He can’t remember much of anything, now that he dwells on it. 

“Young man, by all accounts, you should be dead.” 

Peter makes to reply, his clenched jaw unhinging almost painfully, but a different, probing jolt sparks up his spine to the back of his neck, and he’s climbing to his feet, pale, wobbly, just as two, new voices somehow carry over the wall of chatter around him. 

“What’s going on?”

“Make way. Crowds typically mean one of two things: some weird alien contraption that equals bad news or a dead body, either of which I can’t really fit into today’s schedule.”

Even if Peter didn’t have the two voices memorized, down to the timbre, the sudden, loud squealing from the crowd of “Tony Stark!” and “Captain America!” is enough to have him eyeing for a quick exit, determining if he can duck his way through the pressing bodies. 

“This young man fell from the roof!” 

“So,” Tony draws out, his voice growing closer. “Dead body it...” He trails off as he nudges around a few people until he’s breaking into the center of the circle with Steve hot on his heels. 

“Well, hello there, not dead person.” 

Peter wants to shrink away from Tony’s gaze. He wants the ground to crumble and break and swallow him hole, to rid himself of the awkward fear and warm embarrasment that flushes his cheeks. He can feel a thick, lukewarm liquid dripping down his neck, and he doesn’t want to look down to see the concerning pool of blood at his feet. 

“Son, are you alright?” Steve shoves forward, and on instinct, Peter backs away and brings a hand to the back of his neck, a nervous tick, but he pulls it back almost immediately, faintly frowning at the splattered red coloring his palm. 

“You fell,” Tony starts, and Peter knows this tone well as it’s Tony’s signature speculation tone, where he dissects the situation around clipped, short sentences. 

“From up there?” 

Leveling his gaze, Peter huffs out a shaky sigh, wincing slightly as Steve prods lightly at the back of his head. 

“Um, yeah. I guess?” 

“You guess?” 

“I don’t really remember,” Peter laughs awkwardly, clears his throat. He can sense the tension that builds behind him, can almost feel the way Steve’s muslces grow rigid. 

“He’s concussed, Tony. Maybe save the interrogation for another time?” 

“Sure,” Tony says, and he steps forward, carefully avoiding the puddle of blood. “But, you can’t blame me for finding this entire situation unsettling, Steve. This kid fell from the roof of a four-story building, landed on his back, and now he’s standing, and aside from the fact that he looks a tad worse for wear, he’s alive?” 

“I’m right here,” Peter mutters under his breath, and Tony nods and crowds too close to him. 

“You are. Standing. Speaking. Alive. Three things that don’t exactly pair well with falling off a roof.” 

Peter’s head hurts, bad. Deflect, he thinks. But how? “I’ve always been told I come from a family of hard heads,” he mumbles around a hollow laugh, and, he thinks, it definitely sounds as stupid out loud as it did in his head. 

Tony’s gaze, in response, his sharp, and narrow, and Peter unconsciously closes his eyes. He can feel the ground rippling below his feet, and he sways, steadying only when Steve wraps an arm around his shoulders. 

“Enough, Tony.” 

“How much would it take to get you to come back to our labs so I can run some tests-”

“-Enough, Tony.”

Steve’s voice vibrates all across Peter’s body. It’s a powerful yet familiar feeling that makes him shudder slightly. 

“What’s your name, son?” 

Peter contemplates lying, maybe even using Ned’s name. But, he’s been careful as Spider-Man thus far, so, he thinks, he’s not at risk by sharing his real name. Besides, it’s not like it’s uncommon. “Peter,” he says after a moment. 

He could hear Steve talking beside him, but an unannounced rush of blood in his ears begisn to drown out close sounds. He grows hot suddenly, or maybe, he’s been getting steadily hotter this entire time and he couldn’t fully realize. His body’s shaking a little harder now, inconsistent trembles jerking his limbs. His throat’s tightening, and when he realizes what the hell is happening, he’s shoving away from Steve and hunching over to vomit. 

He feels worse when he finishes. He’s exhausted, and his head is positively throbbing. Yet, there’s a color of clarity flicking across his mind. Through the thick pain, he can think a little clearer, see a little clearer. 

“Peter?” 

“Gross, kid. Time to go to the hospital.” 

“No!” Peter whips around, staggers, and unconsciously reaches out to Steve’s arm for support. “I mean, that’s not necessary,” he clarifies at the two, wide expressions looking at him expectantly. “Really. I’m already feeling better.” To punctuate his point, he lets go of Steve’s arm and bends down to snag his backpack, clutching it close to his chest. “See, totally fine. No passing out or anything.” 

On the back of his head, he can already feel his broken skin moving, closing torn gaps, slowing the bloodflow. He figures he’s got about an hour until it’s completely healed, and he’d rather not be around two Avengers when it happens. 

“I’ll just go home and... rest! I’ll rest. Scout’s honor.” He mock salutes, and then he spins on his heel and starts pushing his way out of the crowd, missing the furrowed gaze from Tony. He swallows thickly when he hears two sets of heavy footsteps behind him. 

“Peter, wait!”

“I’m with Steve on this one, kid. I can’t, in good conscience, let you disappear in this condition. I can see the headlines now. Iron Man Abandons Helpless Teen.” 

“Tony...”

Peter keeps walking ahead, keeps his gaze locked to the sidewalk below him as Tony and Steve take either side of him. “My apartment’s just a few blocks from here,” he mumbles, focusing on the rhythmic pound of his shoes on concrete and not on the hot pain pushing all across his head or on the fact that he can’t shake a couple of Avengers, something he’d never consider as Spider-Man. 

“Do you not like hospitals, Peter?” 

Steve’s question is a gentle prod, and Peter goes with it, shrugging. 

“Not really,” he offers, keeping his voice low, indicating he doesn’t want to pursue the conversation, and luckily, Steve takes the bait and drops it. At least, Peter thinks, they’ll stop insisting he seek out medical assistance now. Though, he does feel a little bad lying to Steve; he doesn’t like lying, unless it’s to egg on Tony’s nerves as Spider-Man. But to Steve? It feels morally wrong, and he thinks he should seek out a confessional for his sins later. 

“Not interested in having a bunch of doctors deem you a medical miracle?” 

“Definitely not,” Peter groans, finally dragging his gaze up until he’s looking forward and not at the scuff marks on his shoes. His memories, though fuzzy, are filtering through cracks in the thick mud that’s currently his mind. He can remember standing atop the roof, maybe a little too close to the edge. He was getting ready to rip open his backpack for his suit, and then he remembers losing his footing. He remembers the back of his foot hitting the edge of the roof, and everything goes dark after that. 

Embarrassing, he thinks. He’s the only super hero he knows clumsier than a newborn deer. Lost in his thoughts, he doesn’t realize he’s reached his apartment until his leg muscles are dragging to a stop on habit. He looks up, craning his neck, and sighs. “Well, this is me. I appreciate the escort, but I’m good now.” He starts up the steps, sighing louder when he hears the two follow. 

He makes it all the way up the steps to his apartment door and unlocks it before he spins on his heel, a second, longer sigh pushing past his lips. “Look, I really appreciate everything you’ve done for me, but don’t you both have... bigger things to do? Iron Man and Captain America things?” 

“You busy, Steve?” Tony asks, and Steve mutely shakes his head before following Tony into the apartment. 

Groaning, Peter rubs at his forehead and shuffles inside, knowing full and well that both are incredibly busy on an hour-to-hour basis. He’s quick to slip his bacpack into his bedroom and close the door before he steps back out into the living room to see Steve motioning toward the couch with a pack of frozen peas in hand. 

“It’s all you had.” 

Shrugging, Peter drops down flat onto the couch, sitting up briefly so Steve can slip the bag of frozen peas behind his head. He shivers on contact because shit, it’s freezing, and Steve’s reaching over him to snag the blanket draped behind the couch. He hums absently when Steve tucks it around him, and then he cracks an eye open to see Tony staring down childhood pictures with a familair set of glasses on. 

“Mr. Stark?” 

“Huh?” Tony whips around, already plucking the glasses from his face. 

“Really, Tony? How much info is FRIDAY feeding you right now?” 

“What?” Tony drags out, both hands raised in defense. “Kid fell off a roof and walked away. Sue me.” 

“I promise, Mr. Stark, I’m not even remotely interesting,” Peter tries, and Tony raises a single brow his way. 

“I’ll be the judge of that.” 

Peter’s kept his identity tightly under wraps thus far, and he knows childhood pictures or pictures with May aren’t going to reveal that he’s Spider-Man. Still, it’s annoyingly intrusive, and he sits up with a groan. 

“If I swear on my best friend’s lego model death star that I’ll stay put, rest, and wake up every few hours to monitor my condition, will you both please leave? You really don’t need to hang around here; I know you both have to be really busy.” 

“Your best friend has a lego model death star?” Tony starts, isolating that one fact. “Is your best friend in second grade?” 

Peter clambers to his feet, stalks over to his door, and yanks it open. “We’re the same age, and I happily helped him with it,” he challenges, motioning toward the doorway. 

“Easy, champ,” Tony says around a laugh as he and Steve start toward the door. “If you and your friend want to play with legos, that’s none of my business. Just try not to fall off any more roofs because, unfortunately, that is my business.” 

“Yes, sir,” Peter says, offering a nod as the two step out. 

“Consider going to a hospital, Peter,” Steve adds. “Maybe take your friend with you for comfort.” 

Yeah right, Peter thinks. Ned can’t even handle the thought of a needle without feeling faint. Still, he nods, if only to appease Steve, and then he’s closing the door and sinking against it with a low sigh. He listens for a long time until he can no longer make out their footsteps, and then he’s ignoring the pressure in his head and running to his room to don his suit. 

Concussion or not, Queens still needs the friendly, neighborhood Spider-Man.

[allegra-writes]

I’ve been meaning to write this since I first found your Hopeless Romantic series, and with the newest chapter I just absolutely have to tell you how deeply this story has shaken me to the core.

Billy as Jigsaw was always meant to be problematic but you’ve written him into a story where he isn’t the villain in quotes but something more. Beloved monster comes to mind, and yet I feel that the goal of the story wasn’t to romanticize the monster in him — rather have us question the whole dynamic of love (or what we think is love) and monsters (or what we think are monsters.)

Your story plays the fine balance between questionable motivations and unquestionable passions… and I like how it lets the reader decide which side to take. Billy isn’t sainted or sanitized, Y/N’s inner turmoil about him isn’t blind to his crimes and in fact holds him accountable; but she also sees him for more than the atrocities he’s committed. If she loves him, she isn’t being a fool; but the writing won’t explain that easily away. Your story goads the reader into thinking of how much knowing the fractured fraction of the man weighs against the beast he’s become.

I am utterly riveted by this series which also breaks my heart with lines like, “You feel like fucking Valhalla.” The betrayal is raw, and yet so is hope.

Will be eagerly, eagerly awaiting the next chapter. Cheers and all the very best to you.

I had tears in my eyes while reading this because this is exactly what I wanted to transmit, almost word by word. One of the reasons I fell in love with darkfic, or rather, the darkfic community here on Tumblr, is that, contrary than popular belief, they don't romanticised their villains. Them being hot doesn't diminish their crimes, if anything, it only makes them more terrible. Because beauty and charm is another weapon they know exactly how to wield.

No, they're very much villains, they're evil, their monsters. But in a more human way, they're not caricatures of everything wicked that you can't relate to or relate them to real people in the real world. They're scarier because we know them, we have met them, in the news or some of us even had the misfortune of crossing paths with them. But exactly because of that, because they're human, they are not only the monstrous acts they commit. Am I saying they are redeemable? Am I saying they deserve to be saved? No.

I am saying that, when you get too close to them, sometimes, just sometimes, it's difficult to remember the terrible acts they committed, because that's not everything they do.

Billy Russo is a Narcissist. Almost a textbook one in the show. And well, I happen to have some experience with those in real life. Narcissists can be oh so charming, so dotting, so manipulative... I'm not even saying their feelings aren't genuine, but they definitely know how to use them to their advantage. Billy probably could and would give the Reader the life he promises her, doing everything to make her happy and spoiling her rotten, all the better to tie her to him. A narcissist wants nothing more than being the only source of happiness in your life, your stability, your provider. It's all part of the trap, so you never leave them, so if one day you do, you find yourself alone in the world with no choice but to crawl back to them. There is a line that David Bowie says in the movie Labyrinth, "Fear me, love me, do as I say, and I will be your slave" that's exactly what a narcissist is and that was my main inspiration for this Billy's dynamic with the Reader.

Now, she isn't the usual preferred victim of a narcissist: She is experienced, fiercely independent, with iron strong connections and relationships in her life, with some psychology training, as a nurse or as an army medical personnel I let that to the readers' imaginations, so, on an intellectual level, she kind of can see Billy's MO. Does it stop her from walking straight into his trap? Well...

How many times do we know someone we're attracted to is problematic yet we ignore the warnings? How many times do we see the red flags and walk straight through them? How many times do we know the person we're falling for could probably annihilate us... But we go for it anyway? Maybe you're smarter or have better survival instincts than me. But if you're anything like me, or Halsey (just read the lyrics to "Graveyard"), or Taylor Swift (read what she has to say about her song "Treacherous") or Leigh Bardugho (her whole grisha trilogy), chances are you will look at the red flags and wave them as you pass them by at least once in your life. Some people are mad at Leigh because in her book "Shadow and Bone" there wasn't a big villain reveal for the Darkling: Her Alina never trust the Darkling so she wasn't surprised when he turned out to be the villain. Yet that didn't stop her, in the meantime, to start a relationship with him. That for me was the most realistic part of her characterization.

But she did fail in making the Darkling little more than a stereotyped, caricature villain, and that's exactly the template I used on what to avoid with this Billy.

Does this mean this story is a cautionary tale? Hardly. What I'm trying to avoid is exactly what she did at lecturing the readers. I would love my readers to take a message out of his series, tho, and that message is that they're not being judged and they are NOT ALONE, wether they've had some experience with real life narcissistic people or are just going through this journey with Y/N and feel as conflicted as her.

Thank you so much for sending this thoughtful ask, if this series totally flops, it would still be worth it to know it reached one person in this way💖💖💖

[alecmagnuslwb]

My Heart is a Haunted House

Read on AO3

The house before them is one of the more foreboding she’s ever seen. It’s the kind of sprawling crickety old mansions that would send Scooby Doo and Shaggy screaming into the hills. So of course they’re about to go inside of it.

“It should be easy, a quick in and out, grab the book and go,” John says entwining their fingers together and tugging her through the gates.

She’s heard him say that before, many times, and it’s almost always not true.

“Why exactly are we doing this instead of drinking all of Oliver’s free booze at the Justice league Halloween party?” she sighs trailing behind him using her free hand to keep her dress from getting too dirty.

She worked hard on her and John’s Buffy the Vampire Slayer inspired costumes this year. Her red dress and flowing coat are practically exact replicas of the ones Drusilla wore and John’s long black duster is an exact replica of Spike’s that she bought online for an amount of money she’s not too proud to admit to.

If this little outing ruins any piece they’re wearing she’s going to be so mad.

“Because I lost a bet to Richie,” he says when they reach the large door. He lets go of her hand and tugs on the knocker shaped like a lion’s mouth. She doesn’t know why he does it, it’s not like someone’s going to answer, no one’s lived here in years.

“Yeah, you lost a bet,” she says flicking her wrist and opening the door. “So why am I here?”

It’s not that she doesn’t want to help John, it’s just that this is the first Halloween in years where they haven’t caught wind of some death cult trying to sacrifice a bunch of virgins or a vampire gang taking advantage of the spooky evening to massacre a party of college alcoholics. It’s their own personal Halloween for the first time in a long time.

They get a free night to rock their kickass costumes, drink a little too much and dance borderline inappropriately together in a public space; it’s supposed to be a fun Halloween not a work Halloween and she wants to soak up every bit of it.

John chuckles looping his arm through hers and pulling her inside the dark foyer of the house.

“Because you love me and wish to support me in all endeavors,” he says conjuring a ball of light to his hand and sending it into the air to guide them to the library.

Zatanna sighs as he drags her along, “I love you. The second thing is questionable though.”

John doesn’t say anything just chuckles and runs a hand through his slicked back extra bleach blond hair. Convincing him to dye it for their costume had been easy a few kisses in the right spots and he was putty in her hands.

They follow the conjured light down a long dark hallway covered in cobwebs, furniture draped in white cloths. It all gives the house an even more spooky vibe than the outside has achieved. A few creaks and groans of old walls catch her attention, but she brushes them off continuing down the hall until the light stops directly in front of a set of large ornate double doors.

The doors are a deep dark wood, the only thing in the house that isn’t rotted, with gold sigils and ornate figure heads sticking out from them.

She recognizes some of the symbols, signs for magic and protection, a few others look a bit more dastardly and far more John’s area of expertise.

“Some of these don’t look too friendly,” she says watching as John runs his hands along the carvings.

He moves his hand in a sort of motion, “A few, but we should be fine I don’t feel any magic running through them, do you?”

She shakes her head still eyeing the door nervously and he smiles pulling the handles of the door and opening them wide. A gust of cold wind bursts out across them sending Zatanna’s hair flying back and the light that’s supposed to be guiding them sputters out. Not a good sign.

She looks at John about to say that out loud when a booming deep female voice washes over them.

“Who dares to enter my home?” the voice says and with another burst of air John and Zatanna are sent forward into the room barely staying on their feet. The lights begin flickering on and off and books start flying off the shelves.

“Fine, huh?” Zatanna says as a blur in black and white rushes past her knocking her to the ground. John attempts to rush to her side but is hit by the same blur. He’s pushed all the way back into the one bare wall groaning as his back slams into it and he’s lifted up. The boards of the wall creak violently turning and bending around his wrists and ankles keeping him in place. A rope slides loose from the curtains tangling around his face and into his mouth.

The blur zooms at Zatanna again and she rolls just fast enough out of its reach her back colliding with something hard and pointy. She lifts herself up and turns finding a stack of bare bones that are very much human and very much real.

They’re not the first people to come for a book in this library, they will however be the first to leave. First they’ll fight this entity, party their asses off and then they’ll go kill Richie for sending them in here blind.

The blur settles down in front of her and Zatanna can now see the essence of what was once a woman. Her long dark hair nearly touches the ground, her bare feet hover dripping wet and her flowing black dress whips in the air she’s circulating around them.

“You shouldn’t have come here little girl,” she growls her eyes lighting up a bright red before she reaches her long dark nails at Zatanna and sends her flying to the other side of the room. She does to her what she’s done to John securing her to the wall with old pipes and silencing her with a long curtain around her mouth.

She eyes Zatanna for a moment, Zatanna holds her star defiant and annoyed not even bothering with trying to break loose yet. The spirit hisses and averts her attention to John struggling against his bonds. She slowly hovers over to him leaving a trail of dark red water dripping from her feet as she goes.

“Such an attractive man,” the ghost says once she’s near him. She runs her long bony finger down John’s jaw her dark nails looking like they’re moment away from making a cut. “Yet, so disheveled and sad. How unfortunate.”

Zatanna works to free one of her hands. Her strongest magic may rely on the use of her voice, but she isn’t helpless like this. She focuses all her inherent magical energy to one point of her body sending it to her right arm willing it to move the pipes just enough to wiggle free.

She feels the pipes creak and move around her wrist slowly but surely working to give her space and time to get out of this mess.

It takes a moment, Zatanna’s eyes flicking up to see the spirit leaning in a little too close for comfort to John. Just as the spirit is putting one of her cold hands around John’s neck, her mouth open wide and leaning in she finally breaks a hand free from the pipes lifting up just enough to pull the curtain out of her mouth and off of her face.

“Esaeler em ylteiuq,” she whispers and she falls to the ground silently the pipes not so much as creaking as they let her go, landing on her feet like a cat. The spirit is too focused on John, taking a deep whiff of his hair that makes Zatanna cringe, to notice as she pulls an iron poker from the nearby unlit fireplace. She brandishes it like a baseball bat creeping up behind the ghost, she catches John’s eyes for a second and winks.

“He’s my disheveled, sad, attractive man,” Zatanna says earning the ghost’s attention. She turns around her dark stringy hair flipping over her shoulder. “So, hands off,” she says swinging the hot poker directly into her head.

The ghost screams and flicker in and out before disappearing altogether.

“That won’t take for long,” Zatanna says rushing to John pulling the rope from his mouth and releasing his bonds.

“Thanks, luv,” John says as drops to the ground not quite as gracefully as Zatanna had rubbing at his wrists. “Should I be offended you said disheveled and sad before attractive or am I reading into it too much?” he asks with a pout.

Zatanna shoves at his shoulder, “Shut up,” she says rolling her eyes. “We need to get this damn book, banish this spirit and-“

Zatanna freezes when she sees John’s eyes flicker behind her a look on his face that screams, oh fuck and not in a good way.

“She’s back isn’t she?”

John just nods and Zatanna turns quickly hands raising, she’s had enough of this.

“Gard siht ypeerc ssa tirips ot lleh!” she shouts flinging a black shinning burst of magic into the spirits chest. She screams immediately her body contorting and flickering in and out of being until soon enough she bursts into a thousand flickers of dark light. John grabs Zee as soon as she shatters and pulls her behind him to protect her from any gunk or dangerous feedback.

The blast leaves not a bit of proof the ghost was ever even there, just like that no fanfare or mess and she’s gone from this plane of existence.  Zatanna looks down happy to see their costumes still gleam in perfect condition. Zatanna smiles squeezing John’s hip before pulling out from behind him.

“Well now we know why Richie decided this was the favor I owed him, too scared of a ghost,” John says angrily straightening out his jacket. “Let’s find this bloody book and get out before we find out she had an equally space invading murderous sister,” he says walking over to one wall of shelves stepping over the pile of bones as he conjures another ball of light to guide them.

Zatanna heads to the far wall, she scans the spines finding the title Richie gave John and pulls the damn thing from the shelf. She stomps over to John and grabs him by the lapel of his leather jacket. She waves the book in front his eyes so he’s sees that they’re in the clear to get the hell out of there before he can even react.

“We have a party to attend,” she says pointedly dragging him out of the house so fast their guiding light can barely keep up. She seals the doors of both the library and the house with some heavy-duty magic as they go. Maybe this way if the spirit wasn’t the only thing in the house no one else will suffer the fate of those poor bones inside.  

“Next time, Richie can get his own damn book,” John says as they finally find themselves on the sidewalk again. He takes the book from her arms summoning up a quick portal and tossing the book through. Zatanna hopes it lands on Richie’s head, hard.

“Shall we?” John says holding out his arm for her, conjuring up another larger portal for the two of them. His ability, and her own frankly, to shake off attacks and monster encounters without a thought truly never stops astounding her. Zatanna smiles reaching up to fix a piece of his hair that had fallen on his forehead before linking her arm in his and happily stepping through the portal.

The party is already in full swing by the time they arrive, all the supers dressed to the nines in elaborate costumes, except for Bruce who’s wearing a tux, seemingly going as himself tonight. Zatanna eyes around the room admiring the work Ollie and Dinah, who were in charge of the festivities this year, have done. John eyes the room as well, looking for the nearest drink.

“Oh my goddess,” Zatanna says eyes glued across the room where Dinah and Ollie stand. John turns from where he’d been grabbing two large goblets of unknown liquor from a passing tray and follows her eyeline.

“Oh, I’m so glad we made it here tonight,” he says in absolute glee taking a sip from his skull shaped drink. Zatanna is too, because now for the rest of their lives they’re going to have something to hang over the heads of the great Green Arrow and Black Canary.

She grabs the second drink from John and tugs him along to greet the pair.

“Love the costumes,” Zatanna says once they reach them, John tosses his free arm across her shoulders and she leans into him with a smile. She takes a pointed sip of her drink as the pair turn to face them with wide eyes. Up close their costumes are even better.

Dinah is wearing fishnets just like she usually would, but instead of her usual blue and black tones she’s sporting a white corset and coattails and a dark wig over her usually blonde hair; Ollie’s trench coat is so accurate Zatanna is certain he stole it from one of their closets and his usually perfected goatee is gone in favor of an obvious stubble along his jaw. They make a pretty damn good Zatanna and Constantine, not quite original grade good, but good nonetheless.

“In our defense we never thought you’d show,” Dinah says recovering from her shock with a bright smile. She’s clearly nowhere near as embarrassed about this as Ollie is, which means it was definitely Dinah’s idea in the first place. “You never make it to these parties; you’re always stopping some snake demon death cult or zombie rat apocalypse.”

Zatanna and John both chuckle, both of those exact things have happened to them on Halloween before. “Finished off the death cult early this year,” she smiles. “I love the wig; you really should think about going back to your natural color.”

Dinah preens at the compliment tipping her top hat Zatanna’s way in thanks.

“You two look great as well, a perfect couples costume choice,” she smiles wrapping a hand around Oliver’s arm. “Well, second best couple’s costume.”

“Wouldn’t that technically still make us the best since we’re the genuine article?” Zatanna says with a smirk.

Dinah scrunches up her nose. “Touché.”

John snorts and reaches out pulling the cigarette from Oliver’s mouth and sighing.

“Fake smokes, come on now if you’re gonna perfect the look you’ve gotta let the chain smoking be a character guide,” he says with a teasing smile tossing the fake cigarette back at Oliver and patting him on the shoulder. Oliver finally breaks from his wide-eyed surprise and just glares.

“Come on you two, there’s a party to be had and you never get to enjoy them,” Dinah says tilting her head at the dance floor.

John tosses back the rest of his drink and then the rest of Zatanna’s before grabbing her hand.

“Eyeballs to entrails, my sweet,” he says altering his accent just slightly and quoting the character he’s sporting tonight.

Zatanna smiles a wicked smile tilting her head to John’s before pulling him out to the dancefloor, finally getting to really enjoy their Halloween.

[serararku]

The Black Adder Boys

It was sunset when K’thalen arrived at the outskirts of Gavin’s Gully. The bandit patrols on the lookout for both easy pickings and Immortal Flames’ agents sniffing around their turf never even noticed his presence, thanks to the cover provided by the ugliest and angriest dust storm this year. He wouldn’t mind putting these criminals into the ground, of course, but he preferred to keep his low profile for the time being.

He walked straight down the main street like he owned the place, keeping one hand on his hat to shield his face from the wind and sand, and the other firmly on his studded forge iron belt. The tattered ends of his long leather trench coat flicked up with each gust of wind, flashing the particular firepower he brought along with him. It didn’t take long for the sparse denizens of Gavin’s Gully to catch wind of his approach now that he was within the shanty town. Decent folk knew trouble was brewing and none of them wanted anything to do with it, wisely deciding to shut their blinds and retreat away from their windows; everyone else watched him with curious suspicion, already auctioning off whatever loot they would pry from this deadman’s corpse. He approached the biggest building left standing in the town, and turned to glance over his shoulder. The building across the street was completely abandoned- he would have to keep that in mind.

Creeaaak!

K’thalen swung the tavern’s doors wide open when he stepped inside, letting a dusty gust of wind rush in between his feet before the door closed behind him. His eyes darted across the room like an apex predator to make a quick count of everyone present: three men at the pool table, another four sitting at a nearby table playing cards, one man standing behind the counter, three leaning on the railing on the second floor, and two more keeping to the window on the other end of the room. It looked like a Keeper of the Moon Miqo’te family of three were being held captive: the father held at gunpoint behind the bar, a son crumbled on the floor after a recent beating, and a daughter at the card table- their plaything until they got bored of her sniffling. Everyone stopped what they were doing once they heard the howling wind and the creaking door, with wide eyes and skeptical glares burning holes in his face once he began to make his way to the bar. He kept his movements slow and deliberate in case any of them were trigger happy, with one hand gently pulling his hat off while he ran his fingers through his raven-feathered hair.

“Can we help you?” The man holding the pistol against the gut of the barkeep asked. K’thalen first dusted off the road from his sleeves and sat down on the only stool that wasn’t broken, then set his hat on the counter.

“Treehollow. As tall as you can pour it.”

Laughter ripped through the tavern like someone spilled firecrackers across the floor. Even the father nervously laughed along with his captor, until his side was jabbed with the pistol. “What’re ya laughin’ at?! Ya heard him didn’t ya!? Get ‘em a damn drink!” The man winced and swiped a tall mug from the back shelf, before fumbling with the tap. K’thalen slowly looked over his shoulder at the boy on the floor; he was still alive at least, but no older than twelve. Once these brigands had drunk this tavern dry, he and his father would likely not be long for this world.

“Are ya lost, boy?” The man huffed, hoisting himself onto the counter beside K’thalen. “Do ya not know who we are?”

“Don’t know your face.” He answered, studying the barkeep’s face. His eyes were glazed over and empty, yet still exhausted from the fear of death; the poor man was hopeless in his situation, knowing these thugs would have their way with his children until they no longer amused them. “But I know your colors. You’re the Black Adder Boys.”

“That’s right.” He gave his buddies an amused sneer before returning his attention to the stranger. “‘Course… the real question is, who’re you?”

K’thalen lifted a finger as he raised the mug to his lips. He made him wait for a full seven seconds as he downed his drink in a half-dozen gulps. When he finally set the empty mug down, he smacked his lips a few times before answering, “A visitor lookin’ for a friend.” His ears pointed behind him when he heard the pool sticks slap against the table, and the skidding of chairs sliding backward; he furtively slipped his free hand down into his lap and braced himself.

The man leaned down to eye level and whispered, "Ain't no friends o'yours 'round here, mister. So why don't you uhhh… disappear before we beat ya to death?"

With a slow nod and pursed lips K'thalen reached for his hat and slipped it back onto his head. "Aye, I'm gone. But I'm takin' the barkeep and his kids with me."

"You'll be lucky t’leave with your life." The friendly facade has melted away now that he was no longer amused. He placed a firm hand on his shoulder before saying, "You don't make demands o'us, ya hear me, cat bastard? Leave all o’your money on the count-”

K’thalen whipped his elbow into the man’s face with a wet crunch! He then swung his arm around and smashed that tankard against his head so hard the wooden mug split in two- he shot up to his feet and pulled his revolver from its holster and spun around to face whoever stood behind him. His ears flattened against his head when he saw how many barrels were pointed at him. If it weren’t for a Hyur standing by the door with his arms crossed, he would be dead already.

“That’s enough of that, lad.” He chuckled, his eyes snapping to the barely conscious man with the broken nose. “Put ya gun down, nice and easy. Ain’t nobody need to die in our own turf.”

He was reluctant to drop his custom six-shooter, but he obliged all the same, keeping his other hand hidden. “You the one in charge ‘round here?”

“I am. You can call me Alfric.” Once the revolver smacked against the floor, he raised his hand to signal his buddies to lower their own weapons. “... you sound familiar. Do I know you stranger?”

The last thing he needed was someone recognizing who he was before he was ready. “Just passin’ by, lookin’ for a friend.” K’thalen’s ears perked up to the sound of subtle footsteps on the upper level over his head. “He goes by the name of Turold Two-Shank. Your boss.”

“Was my boss.” Alfric slipped his thumbs into the loops of his pants. “Poor bastard bit off more than he could chew, and now he dines with the dead. We answer to Jack now.” He paused to study the stranger one last time. “I’m only gonna tell you this once. Empty your pockets and leave that shiny piece on the floor there, and you’ll only walk outta here with your life and some bruises. Can’t have strangers makin’ fools of my men, especially my boss. You underst-?”

“Fuck that!” The man with the smashed nose gurgled out. “Someone shoot this sumbitch!” K’thalen saw him reaching for something in his peripheral vision, and that was all the excuse he needed.

Tha! Like lightning his hidden hand shot from his coat and fired! Blam! Blam! Blam! Three shots, one for the loudmouth, and two more at the man in charge. -thump! He leapt backward up and over the counter, rolling his fingers across the steel hammer to unload the rest! Blam blam blam! The barkeep covered his ears and dropped down behind the counter with K’thalen, as a hail of bullets ripped through the bottles on the back shelf and busted the wooden barrels overhead. “He got Alfric!” He heard someone shout under the chorus of gunfire. “Kill that cat bastard!”

K’thalen laid low against the counter as he fished out a fistful of bullets from his pocket, his heart beating against his chest like a drum. The barkeep was screaming as malt liquor showered them from above, but at least he was flat on his stomach and unharmed; slowly but surely the barrage from the Black Adder Boys died down once they were out of ammo. “Did we get em?!” Someone shouted, with the familiar sound of several people reloading- it was now or never! “Oh shi-!”

He rolled out of cover for round two. Six muzzle flashes made six falling corpses. He dropped the smoking gun and jumped for his prized revolver, popping the hat off a man above him with a single shot; he then spun around on his heel and struck the man using the daughter as a shield in the groin, allowing her to drive her elbow into his nose and break free of his grasp.

“Grab the boy and get back behind the counter!” He ordered, spinning his empty revolver before sliding it back into his lucky holster. “Them boys outside heard that commotion!”

“W-what are we gonna do?!” The father pleaded, throwing his arms around his children. “There’s dozens of them! You ain’t got the firepower for them all, mister!”

“Don’t I?” K’thalen pulled off his coat and let it drop to the floor. He reached for his prized possession on his back and pulled it over his shoulder; the magitek rifle unfolded and clicked into place, with ceruleum canisters glowing on its underside. He leapt behind the counter with them and pointed the strange weapon toward the door, and metal bars drove into the wooden countertop as a small half-visor dropped over his right eye. “Cover your ears!”

SHOOM! SHOOM! SHOOM! SHOOM!

As soon as he saw silhouettes and shadows rushing toward the door and windows, K’thalen made them disappear. Superheated ceruleum-propelled slugs punched fist-sized holes through the front entrance of the tavern, and the building across the street, and the building behind that one, and the one behind that one too. Glowing red shells littered the table and floor to his left, as he fired over and over again; it wasn’t until the barrel was shimmering and white-hot did he finally stop, but not because he wanted to; he was out of rounds at last.

The rifle slowly collapsed back into itself, but he wisely kept it anchored to the counter instead of putting it on his back to give himself second and third degree burns. The father slowly lifted his head to see the aftermath, and the daughter soon followed. The front door was gone, as was most of the wall; they could see across the street that the other building was completely toppled over and in ruins. “Menphina’s madness… what was that?!”

“Magitek.” K’thalen slowly rose to his full height, slipping more bullets into his favorite revolver as his rifle began to automatically cool down. “Stay behind the counter. I gotta have a chat with a friend of ours right quick.” Slowly he made his way around the counter, stepping over corpses and broken bottles to reach the man he neutered- he was still clutching his bloodied crotch, whilst he struggled to breathe. When he noticed his approach, a scornful grimace spread across his pained face.

“W-what do ya fuckin’ want?!”

“Looks painful, lad. Real painful.” K’thalen pulled out his revolver and crouched beside the man. “Tell me where Jack is holdin’ up, and I’ll put you outta your misery. Bleedin’ out from what’s left of your balls is a bad way to die.”

“H-he’s gonna skin ya alive…!” The man spat, in between his groans and wincing. “He’s g-gonna… turn you int-to a coat… y-ya filthy… cat bastard!”

“Suit yourself.” K’thalen slipped his gun back where it belonged and bounced up to his full height. He glanced over at the family watching him; seeing a man- even a worthless bandit- squirm around and slowly die in his own blood was not something he wanted to put them through. With a sudden change of heart, K’thalen pulled out his revolver and turned back around to finish the job.

“W-wait…! W-!”

Blam!

[multi-fandom-inserts]

“See You in a Minute” Part 2

Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader

Here is Part 2, this will become a three part otherwise it’ll be far too long!

If you haven’t read Part 1, read it here!

SPOILERS ARE INCLUDED, NON OVERLY MASSIVE. ENJOY.

__________________________________________________________

For the first time in years the Avengers Facility was alive with the people that had once called it home – plus a few extras. Fairy lights hung from the large windows as the stone tiled patio from the back of the facility to the large lake was decorated with glowing candles and beautiful flowers. Everyone stood at the edge of the lake in silence as they watch the reef of black and red flowers float across the surface.

No one wanted to speak, instead they all stood collectively – well, everyone except you – instead you had your black heels digging into the soft grass as you rocked gently on the home-made swim Nat had helped you build for Morgan a few years ago – back in the days you prayed Tony would visit the facility again.

You watched in a zombie-like-state at the water rippling in reaction to the reef and small lanterns placed on the surface, slowly distributing the calmness.

“Does she have any other family?” Tony's voice cut through the silence, his usually strong and authoritative voice came out no more than a saddened whisper. You could feel everyone’s eyes slowly drifting to look up from the ground at their feet and over to you, their gaze burrowing into your skin like hot needles.

“No, just Y/N,” Clint's voice signed heavily, “They were all each other had.”

Hearing Clint's reply causes your breath to hitch as you swallowed down a sob, it still surprised you when new tears swelled in your eyes, you'd thought that after these last few days of crying non-stop your body would of ran out of tears. You twisted and played with the necklace that was fastened around your throat, pulling it tightly making the metal chain dig into the back of your neck sharply. It was a small locket, no larger that an inch or so, black with Gothic carvings, at the centre of the locket sat a petite ruby jewel – it was a gift from Natasha on your honeymoon.

One by one, people left the patio and headed inside from the incoming cold of the night; Tony and Pepper were the first to disappear with Morgan, shortly followed by Rocket, then Scott, Bruce trailed along with his shoulders hunched forwards, one by one they all disappear until there were only two of you left in the dim light.

Steve approached you carefully as not to alarm you, he knew better than to sneak up on you by now – not that it was possible ninety percent of the time – but the knife scar on Steve's right shoulder mirrors what happens when you do. Oddly the memory of that evening brings a slight smile to your lips.

“Hey Snowy,” he mulls, touching your shoulder affectionately.

You couldn't help but let out a small chuckle at the nickname, “My real name will work just fine, Steve.” you smile.

“Well it made you laugh, so mission accomplished.” he replies with a wide smile as he sat down on the soft grass beside you. Snowy was the nickname Nat had given you, Leo or Leopard was your superhero name based on your feline ability to climb, hide and fight – plus no one saw you unless you wanted them too, much like a Snow Leopard – the moment she said it, it stuck with everyone on the team.

The pair of you sat in silence, Steve's hand laced in yours as the pair of you watched the reef disappear more and more into the lake every minute. The light still illuminated the faint surroundings, Steve was one of the only members of the Avengers to stay at the facility, it wasn't rare for the three of us – Nat, Steve and yourself – to have film nights, cook dinner for each other or just to keep each other sane.

Now it was just the two of you and even lonelier than ever.

“There's got to be a way to bring her back.” you whisper in the silence. Steve looked up at you, his eyes soft with sadness as he took in your face, “For us to bring them all back, everyone who turned to dust in the snap.”

“Y/N, I don't think we –” Steve started but you cut him off.

“Don't think we can what, Steve?!” you snapped harshly, standing up quickly to tower over him, anger made your vision red as new tears formed in your eyes, “What?! Because she didn't die in the snap we can't bring her back?!” you yell, knees shaking as your heart rate picked up.

Steve stood up quickly to grab you before you fell into a ball of tears and anger, and as the super solider cradled you tightly to his check, gently rubbing the small of your back, all that filled the air was your sobs and pleas.

The star-spangled man knew this routine too well, he kept you close as you cried before scooping you up in his arms like a small child and carried you inside the facility, ignoring the looks from the other team members as he took you into your bedroom, over the past few weeks since Nat's death this had become a routine when you broke down.

He gently placed you in your bed, Nat's sweater remaining on her side of the bed, he tucked you in and place the jumper in your arms before he turned the bedside lamp off and exited the bedroom, closing the door behind him.

XXX

The moment of truth was upon us, as Tony used a model gauntlet of his Iron Man suit to place the gems carefully in the correct places, Bruce stood by watching gingerly as Rocket jumped up and down like a hyperactive teenager, you smirked at his eagerness and ruffled the fur between his ears as you approached the chamber to watch the last stone be placed. The stones glowed in unison as they accepted their new home, a sign of relief flooded everyone as we smiled at each other. Rocket had other plans and whooped loudly, scaring the shit out of Tony which made you laugh out loud.

Tony glared at the animal before ordering FRIDAY to release the gauntlet, the three geniuses worked a little more on the glove, making sure it was stable and the stone were set securely. “It's all ready,” Rocket confirmed before looking back at the rest of us, “Question is; who's going to snap their fingers?”

“I'll do it,” Thor said proudly striding towards the glove.

Steve stepped between him and the stones, Clint kept me behind him like a protective older brother.

“We haven't decided who's going to wear it.” Steve said, pushing Thor back gently.

“So we should wait?” Thor snapped, half drunk.

Scott stood closer to the God, “We should at least have a discussion.” he said.

Thor chuckled darkly, “And what? Wait and talk before bringing everybody back?”  

Your heart clenched as you watched Thor's face clench in sadness, his breath quivered as he looked at the team, “Please... just... let me do something good.” he speaks, his voice breaking in sadness.

Tony tried to explain that the glove was so powerful compared to Thor's condition right now but the God of Thunder didn't seem to understand. The bickering continued for a few minutes before Bruce took a step forward and for the first time in years, he's expression was dark and serious.

“It's got to be me,” he stated, taking a step forwards towards the glove, “You saw what those stones did to Thanos, they almost killed him. Non of you will survive.” he says picking up the gauntlet.

“How do we know you will?” I pipe up.

Non of you will survive, the words of the God echo through your mind eerily. 

As Bruce holds the gauntlet, ready to place on his hand you step forward wanting to see.

“Now remember, everyone Thanos snapped away five years ago, bring them back to today, don't change anything in the last five years.” Tony said clearly.

Bruce nodded, the gauntlet took in his measurements and expanded to the right size, Tony grabbed me and pulled me between him and Clint as we all ensured our suits were active and ready. Tony brought up a large shield in front of us as I pulled out my knives, Clint ensured his bow was loaded and everyone else was ready.

As the glove slipped onto Bruce's hand, it became alive with energy, beams of light shot out as well as trailed up his arm, the large green man groaned in pain as the light and power travelled up his arm, destroying the shirt he wore as his veins bulged with the new power.

If it wasn't for the coldness, you never would of noticed Tony clamping a metal band around your wrist, but you assumed it was nothing of importance as he said nothing throughout.

“Bruce... talk to me, are you okay?” you say loudly over the electrical vibrations and his own moans of pain.

“Banner!” Tony yelled.

“Get it off him.” Thor said angrily.

Steve held his hand up to the God telling him to wait, “Bruce, come on what's happening.”

Bruce nodded, “I'm okay.” he breathes as the rainbow of electricity spread up his arm and to his neck, burning small areas of his skin. His screams fill the room as he brings himself back to his feet, you watch in agony as he raises the glove high, his screams and yells getting more and more pain filled but then he brings his fingers together and...

SNAP.

For a few moments you are blinded by the hot-white light that flashes before you, your deafened by the high pitch screech that assaulted your senses but just as quick as it came, it was gone. You watched in horror as Bruce faints, the gauntlet loosens and falls along with him, as the others attended to Bruce, you kicked the stones away but stood over them in awe.

“Did it work?” Scott said over the shouts.

I shrugged as the doors from the testing floor opened.

Suddenly the sound of a phone vibrating fills the air, silencing us all, then the sound of birds tweeting and flapping. Unable to keep your feet still, you walk out of the testing area to look out of the large windows, the once lifeless tree that stood outside was alive with birds and insects. Clint stood next to you, his phone in his hand as he stared at the screen, you peered over to see a name you thought had been long forgotten but one you and Clint had prayed you'd see again... Laura.

Clint was unable to stop the tears before they started flowing. You touched his arm as he pulled you tightly into an embrace, tears brimmed your eyes as you pushed the phone closer to his ear, begging him to answer it.

Then suddenly... the whole building exploded beneath your feet.

XXX

Dust. Blood. Sparks. Darkness.

It took several minutes for your vision to settle, the warmth of blood covered your forehead as the cold of the night air brushed your skin. The echoing voices of your team-mates ghosted through the air but you couldn't call back, not until you were certain it was them.

Suddenly, a pair of large hands gripped you under your shoulders and pulled you free of the rubble, you instantly go into flight or fight mode, swinging your hands towards them as their echoed voices continue to speak but suddenly it all cleared and you recognised the voice as Steve.

“Are you okay?!” he half yelled at you, grabbing your face to access the damage before patting down your suited up body to check for any injuries. “Y/N? Tell me you're okay.”

You rubbed your eyes like an infant before giving him an 'OK' nod. That's when you noticed the rubble around you, the entire building had be turned inside out, the place you'd once called home turned to a pile of concrete, ash and fire. Steve took you back to the other's he had found – Tony and Thor, thankfully we had all linked up comms and could confirm that Clint was alive with Scott and Rocket. Nebula remained unaccounted for.

That's when you noticed him, sat in the dark in the middle of the rubble, his weapon plunged into the dirt as he shattered rocks with his bare hands – Thanos.

“Where are the stones?” Steve asks.

“Somewhere buried beneath all this.” you replied.

Thor raised his arms taking in the full power of the thunder, bring his weapons from the dirt and suiting himself up. Steve took the lead as him and Thor descended into the pit where Thanos sat proudly, you stayed high to keep an eye out as Tony crept along the peak, keeping close.

“You could not live with your own failure.” the monster spoke, “I thought by eliminating half of life, the other half would thrive.”

As he spoke, the memories of that day flow your memory, Bucky disappearing into ash in your arms, Wanda clinging onto your shirt as she morns Vision. You imagined the horror Tony endured watching as Pete slipping through his fingers, the heart break Clint endured not knowing what the hell happened to his family. All the devastation this creature created because he thought it was for the greater good.

Anger flooded your body, your swords to your side as your holsters hang heavy with your guns and your electrified staff on your back.

“You have just proved that if those know what happened, are unable to accept what could me.” Thanos spoke, pulling on his helmet, “But that's okay, because you won't be alive to tell them.”

Steve took the first hit, luckily his shield taking the full force of Thanos weapon, Tony grabbed you by the arm as he flew down, sending you flying into Thanos, your sword impaling his armour before you were thrown off into the gravel, you scampered to your feet as he threw the weapon back at you, missing you by centimetres before he threw his double ended sword towards you, it spiralled like a fan towards you, it missed – mainly – catching your upper arm opening a fresh wound as the giant sprinted towards you.

Tony opened the back of his suit as Thor charged him with lightening, sending beams to knock Thanos to the ground giving you time to escape but not enough time for Tony has he's slung like a rag-doll to the ground knocking him unconscious.

“Tony!!” you scream through comms as the same fate came to Steve as he's thrown backwards, Thor attempts to hold off the monster but isn't met with any luck, you manage to climb onto of Thanos, wrapping your remaining sword around his throat, managing to cut the skin at his throat before a large hand reaches over, clasps your throat and throws you over him with ease.

You can hear bones fracturing and cracking on impact, your skull throbbed as your side ached, new blood leaked from cuts and gouges you hadn't noticed before, the pain of the air knocked from your lungs halts your reaction time as you watch Thanos attempt to plunge Stormbreaker into Thor's chest. The whoosing sound above your head brings you to stand as you watch Mjölnir knock Thanos from his position ontop of Thor and whiz back into the hand of... Steve Rodgers.

“I knew it!” screamed Thor and yourself as Steve wields Mjölnir with ease.

Smashing the hammer into Thanos jaw, you sprint over to Thor as we watch in awe, Steve summon the power of lightening and smash it through the ground, the vibrations and power break the ground with ease and lifts Thanos from his feet, flinging him backwards.

Suddenly Thanos leaps up from the ground, gripping Steve by the throat as he smashes him back into the ground, as you lunge towards them, sword ready you manage to hold him off until Steve is up on his feet again but Thanos is far stronger than you as he hits you with the blunt side of his weapon, sending you once again, flying into the gravel.

Mjölnir is discarded somewhere in the rubble as Thanos swings his sword towards Steve, he frantically searches for his shield, holding it up in front of himself just in the nick of time as the sword breaks through the vibranium. A moment of silence cuts through the battlefield but Thanos doesn't stop there, he repeatedly batters Steve's shield until no more than a third remains,

“In all my years, it has never been personal.” Thanos spoke in the silence, “But this,” he said taking a step towards us, “This, I am going to enjoy, very very much.”

You manage to pull yourself to your feet as the skies opened, blue lighted portals appear behind Thanos and through them emerge his army; creatures crawling from the ships, the skyward animals you fought in New York appear in the skies, their crackling howls fill the suddenly silent air as you stumble towards Steve.

His strong arm clamps around you as he makes sure you're okay, his face his busted, bruised and covered in dirt, the same as you, a large gash travels from your forehead through your right eyebrow and to your cheek, your bones scrape together as the adrenaline pumps through you.

“I don't think we can take them all, Steve.” you say, your voice no more than a whisper as you hold the hand of the arm wrapped round your waist.

Steve doesn't respond as we watch the scene of Thanos army unravel in front of us.

Then, your ear piece crackles, Steve hears it too as we press the ear pieces in further and then the voice appears.

“Miss me, Doll?”

Your heart stops as the magical whirling noise echoes behind you.

“On your left,” another voice speaks.

We turn, almost not wanting to see what was happening behind us.

Orange rings appear out of nowhere.

And out of the circle steps Bucky.

Then Sam flies through.

One by one,

They all appear.

[patchwork-panda]

If A Moment Is All We Are (Ch.1)

This is the Dazai x OC/”reader” with bits of Kunikida x OC/”reader” fic I created.

I’m just gonna post the entire text of first chapter below the cut bc even tho it’s at zero hits, I still feel there’s people out there who might want to read it...

OC is based off “The Story of Your Life” by Ted Chiang, the basis for the movie “Arrival” w Amy Adams.

Shout-out to @discoten for Beta-ing this first part :)

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Pale gold. Rose red. Dusky purple.

My eyes traveled from one brightly colored glass panel to the next, finally landing upon the deep azure blue of the Virgin Mary’s veil. I kept my eyes trained on her face, trying to stay focused on the massive stained-glass windows, the beautiful art shining all around me, anything to pretend I was at this gallery under different circumstances. Shafts of colored light as bright as shattered gemstones danced across the floor in the late afternoon sun, flitting over the black-clad bodies of the two men who lay prone nearby, their silent forms looking unnaturally still against the vibrant carpet.

I swallowed uneasily, a familiar sort of nausea creeping up from the pit of my stomach as I watched the dark pool of liquid around them grow wider and wider, the smell of iron heavy in the air...

Squeezing my eyes shut momentarily, I wrenched my attention away from them, trying to go back to staring at the windows but found myself looking once again into a pair of steel-gray eyes. There, at the entrance of the gallery, standing so still he may was well be a statue himself, was the young man who’d slain the two security guards lying on the floor nearby. With his pale face, stark-white cravat, and torn black overcoat, he reminded me of a vampire, or maybe even a god of death—his very image called to mind a painting of the Grim Reaper I’d passed on my way into this room. If only I had heeded the warning...

If I had, then maybe I wouldn’t be staring into a pair of piercing red eyes right now—the eyes of a shadowy monster attached to the back of this man’s cloak. As if sensing my thoughts, the demonic creature bared its dagger-like fangs and growled, its bloody, gaping maw stretching wide.

I kept my hands in the air. My cold, sweaty palms trembled on either side of my face as I returned my attention to the stained-glass windows around me. I’d had my hands in the air for so long that my arms were getting tired but I couldn’t drop them—I didn’t want to think about what would happen next if I did. Then the headlines tomorrow would read: “Attack at the South Pier Art Gallery. Three dead: two curators and one visitor.” In perhaps a day or two, they’d identify my corpse as “Kusunoki Kyou, aged twenty, a college drop-out and local shut-in.” They wouldn’t be able to get a hold of my parents; they were overseas and I hadn’t seen the rest of my family in so long, I wasn’t even sure if they were still in Chiba any more. Maybe the reporters would interview one or two of my former classmates... But would they even be able to find anybody who still wanted to talk about me after I shut myself away so abruptly?

“Hey, how have you been? Akutagawa-kun?” the man behind me called out brightly, the lilting tenor of his voice jarring, given our current situation.

I kind of figured he was crazy from the moment we met, but not this crazy.

What kind of man tries to play catch up with a friend (acquaintance? I honestly had no idea how they knew each other) while holding a gun to somebody’s head—my head? Even though I couldn’t turn around to see his face, I could picture his cheerful smile, the twinkle in his intelligent brown eyes, the layers of bandages wrapped around his neck. I could practically hear the gears in his head turning behind me as he watched Akutagawa and calculated his next move, the tone of his voice giving absolutely nothing away.

There was a tiny click—the sound of the safety being shut off—and I grimaced as I felt the metallic chill of the handgun’s muzzle pressing more firmly against the back of my head. Akutagawa immediately shot a dirty glance over my head at the person holding me hostage. He spat out a single name:

“Dazai-san.”

I went back to staring at the windows.

I really shouldn’t have left my apartment this morning.

***

Ramen.

Instant ramen was the reason I decided to venture out of my glorified broom closet for the first time in probably weeks. Had I known that the craving for convenience store food would lead to my being shot to death in six hours’ time, I would’ve ignored the growling of my stomach and taken my chances with starving at home instead.

Maybe.

I’d stayed up far too late the night before binge-watching the latest season of a new anime I’d picked up and my best guess for when I’d finally fallen asleep at my computer was probably around three in the morning. When I finally woke up (sometime around noon), I had Pocky crumbs in my hair, my pajamas were sticking unpleasantly to my skin and my stomach was grumbling from the lack of real food in who knows how long. Unfortunately, my pantry was empty, so I did what any normal person in my situation would do: put off going outside for another couple hours by picking another anime to watch. I only realized I really needed to get going when I finally reached into my giant bag of snacks and found it empty.

Dread building in the pit of my stomach at the mere thought of going outside, I threw off the pink bunny pajamas that I hadn’t changed out of in a while and tossed them on the growing pile of clothes on the floor. I hadn’t done the laundry in weeks and it was anyone’s guess which pile was “clean” and which was “dirty” (I’d lost track of which was which days ago). However, I didn’t have a real need to distinguish between the two until today... I stepped into the bathroom, walking right past the tiny cracked mirror above the sink without really looking into it and pulled the shower curtain closed. I knew what I would see: a greasy, dead-eyed otaku version of the creepy girl from The Ring, with long black hair and reddish-brown eyes, only instead of a haunted child, I’d see an adult who failed to get her life together after just two years of moving out of her relatives’ house.

Half an hour later, I’d dressed myself in an old pair of jeans and a large sweatshirt emblazoned with the logo of a magical girl anime and was desperately fishing around in my kitchen drawer for the thing I needed most: a pair of gloves. I hadn’t needed to go outside in so long that I’d forgotten to stock up on nitrile gloves and it was with an enormous amount of relief that I finally retrieved an old pair at the bottom of the drawer.

I was too tired and hungry to notice the small hole in one of the gloves when I pulled them on, nor did I notice when I put on my face mask and tied up my hair. Honestly, I was just lucky the torn one didn’t rip completely away from my hand when I was putting on my shoes but maybe it would’ve been better if it did. Maybe then I wouldn’t have ended up at the art gallery...

But I wasn’t thinking about my gloves when I prepared for my short trip; I was thinking about food. After all, it was supposed to be a quick trip, just a short walk through the hallway and down the street to the nearest convenience store, then back. It honestly might not have been so bad if everything that happened after hadn’t gone so horribly wrong.

The first thing that went wrong happened the moment I stepped out of the building. Blinded by the sudden appearance of sunlight, I smacked right into an old lady walking in front of my building and immediately fell on my butt.

“Oh my, Kyou-chan!”

I groaned as I slowly got back to my feet.

“Is that you, Kyou-chan? Nobody’s seen you in weeks; it’s been so quiet on your end of the floor that we thought maybe you moved out!”

“No, I’m still here, Yamazaki-san,” I replied, recognizing the woman’s face before her voice.

Mrs. Yamazaki lived on the same floor as me and was kind of a busybody, but a caring one. The evening I’d first moved into the building, she’d knocked on my door around dinner time and asked if I knew how to play Mah-Jong. One of her friends had canceled on their group last minute and they’d needed a fourth. I’d declined as politely as I could but was still somehow dragged out of my room by the boisterous old woman and forcibly socialized over a cup of hot genmai-cha. I’d meant to return the favor by dropping by with some kind of snack in hand but never got around to it.

I could feel the guilt curling in the pit of my stomach as I took in her tiny form, her smiling face but all I could do was smile weakly as she remarked on how malnourished I looked and how long my hair had grown since she’d last seen me. Then she spotted the tote bag in my hand.

“Kyou-chan! Are you going shopping?”

“Not really, just getting some ramen at the convenience store.”

Mrs. Yamazaki’s eyes widened.

“Is that all you’ve been eating these days?” she asked, sounding concerned.

“N-no. I’ve had...”

I thought back to my box of strawberry Pocky.

“...Other things.”

She frowned.

“That won’t do,” she declared.

Without waiting for me to respond, she grabbed my arm and pulled me towards the nearest crosswalk.

“Yamazaki-san!” I tried to wrench my arm out of her grip but she was surprisingly strong for her age. Or maybe—I cringed—maybe I’d just become extremely weak after months of being a shut-in and not getting any proper exercise. Drawing commissions hardly worked the arms.

“This isn’t the way to the convenience store! Yamazaki-san!!”

Before long, we were inside an actual grocery, Mrs. Yamazaki chatting away merrily as she pulled vegetables off the shelves and tucked them away into her own basket (I’d run into her just as she was about to go anyway). Occasionally, she’d grab something green and leafy and stick it into the basket she’d forced into my hands, and she kept doing it until she’d buried the thick layer of ramen and junk food that lay at the bottom of the bag. When she was satisfied with the composition of my groceries, she nodded approvingly and hurried me towards the cash registers.

“There now,” she laughed once we were outside and I was carrying a very heavy bag of things I hadn’t actually intended to buy. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

She stepped off the sidewalk and two things happened very quickly: one, a truck ran a red light, barreling towards her as she attempted to cross the street, and two, as I dropped my groceries and rushed forward to save her, my right glove caught on something sticking out of my bag and finally ripped.

“Yamazaki-san!”

I reached out—my fingers stretched towards her.

“Look out!!”

Several onlookers screamed as I seized Mrs. Yamazaki by the back of her jacket and yanked her back. We fell to the ground, crashing down onto the sidewalk just as the truck sped through the intersection, honking madly as it flew by. Somebody behind us was yelling for the cops, several people had taken out their cell phones and as one of the grocery store employees rushed over to help us up, I felt an odd stinging sensation in my right hand.

I looked down and saw that my right glove had been completely shredded. Though I still had coverage on most of my fingers, much of the pale blue nitrile was hanging off my right hand in thin, ragged tatters and there were several long scratches on the palm of my hand from where I’d scraped it against the sidewalk when I fell.

The store employee, a stout, middle-aged man with bulky arms, helped a very shaken Mrs. Yamazaki to her feet, and though I could feel her trembling as she clung to me, I tried to shift my posture as she leaned on me. I couldn’t let her touch any part of my bare hand.

“Are you alright, ma’am?” the man from the store asked.

“Y-yes, I’m fine,” Mrs. Yamazaki answered, her voice quavering as she looked up at the man and then at me.

Tears sprang to her eyes and before I could stop her, she got down on her knees and bowed deeply, touching her forehead to the ground in gratitude.

“Y-Yamazaki-san?”

“Thank you!” she whispered, her voice cracking. “You saved my life, Kyou-chan!”

“Yamazaki-san, please,” I dropped to my knees as well and tried to help her up. “You don’t need to do that. Please, get up.”

As the store employee and I raised Mrs. Yamazaki to her feet, she chuckled, her eyes wide with wonder as she looked at me.

“And to think, if I hadn’t met you on your way out this morning, I might be...”

She shook her head slowly and I exchanged a worried glance with the man who’d come to help.

“I don’t know where I would be if you weren’t here, Kyou-chan,” Mrs. Yamazaki breathed. “From the bottom of my heart, thank you.”

Though she seemed to be completely fine, with no broken bones or serious injuries, she continued to cling to me, and I felt her grip on my arm tighten as the employee informed her the police were on their way and we may want to stay to give a statement. Panic slowly rose in my chest as I felt my uncovered wrist coming out of my sleeve but as I carefully began to extricate myself from Mrs. Yamazaki’s grip, she suddenly turned to me and looked me up and down. She gasped.

“Oh, Kyou-chan!”

Her eyes had fallen upon my scratched palm.

“You’re bleeding!”

I yanked my hand away.

“I’m fine, ma’am.”

“Let me see it,” she demanded, grabbing my wrist. “I insist.”

As the store employee ran inside to get some band-aids, Mrs. Yamazaki gently picked up the edges of the ripped nitrile, pulling it away from my bloody, scratched-up palm, oblivious to my attempts to get away. As the glove gradually peeled away from my hand, I felt the warmth of her wrinkled skin brush against my fingers.

And then it happened.

The sound of canned laughter echoes throughout the room. Flickering green and white light casts odd shadows upon the walls. The cat-shaped clock above the television reads half past eleven in the middle of the night but there is another sound that is audible over the muffled noises from the TV. It beats in time with the clock and it sounds like something dripping, something liquid and warm.

Tick.

Tick.

T i ck.

The clock cat’s eyes shine with unnatural green light— light reflected from the television screen. They are blank , open, and staring, just like the eyes of the woman draped oddly over the side of the television set, her eyes wide with fear and shock.

Mrs. Yamazaki clutches at her chest. Blood dribbles thickly from between her fingers, her breath comes in wheezes and gurgled gasps as she slumps further and further down the side of her TV set. She leaves a bloody hand print on the side panel and falls to the ground.

Someone is laughing.

I am laughing.

The sound is deep, unfamiliar. There is a large, bloody kitchen knife held fast in my fingers, which are thick and hairy. I move my arm to check the wound Mrs. Yamazaki had inflicted on me and I see the vivid tattoo of a monstrous green snake, its fangs sinking deeply into a cracked human skull.

The television returns to its regularly scheduled programming. A time stamp appears in the upper right hand corner...

I came to, to the sound of somebody calling my name and immediately let out a sharp hiss of pain. While I was out, I had dropped to my knees, scuffing my jeans, and I could feel the thin skin over my kneecaps bruising horribly against the concrete sidewalk. Thankfully, that was all but my hands were shaking and I had a massive headache. Looking alarmed, Mrs. Yamazaki, not a single knife wound visible on her body, held my hand in both of hers with a troubled expression on her face. She had been the one calling me.

“Oh my goodness! Are you alright, Kyou-chan? You’re as white as a sheet.”

I immediately ripped my hand away and stuffed it into my pocket, just as the store employee returned with bandages. As he stuck out his hand to give me the bandages, I took a step back, shrinking away from the two of them.

“I’m fine.”

I stuffed my hand deeper into my pocket, ignoring the stickiness of the drying blood.

“Are you sure?” Mrs. Yamazaki asked, worry clouding her voice.

“I SAID I’M FINE!!”

That came out way louder than I’d meant it to. The people around me looked startled. I could hear the whispers. My Ability, “The Story of Your Life,” the curse of seeing visions of the future of those I touched, had manifested at the worst possible moment. I picked my bag off the sidewalk and ran.

[loki-hargreeves]

Loki’s 12 days of X-Mas - Tony’s Christmas Party

A/N: I’m so sorry for taking so long. Being sick is the worst. Anyway, I’m catching up on these. Hope you like them! :) Loki’s 12 days of Christmas Warning: just fluff, a bit of alcohol, this is such a cliché  Word Count: 2,3K Summary: You and Loki attend one of Stark’s iconic Christmas parties. It doesn’t take long until you find yourself under pressure with no other than Loki. The entire team has gotten enough of your flirting going nowhere. You’re in for a wild night...

Third POV

“...It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas....” The infamous tune played softly on Y/N’s lips, filling the room with melody. It was already dark outside, but the New York lights made it easy to see the cold snowflakes falling down from the sky. The Avengers were all gathered for once to celebrate Christmas. Tony Stark had hosted a party and he even invited Loki. Sure, Tony said it was only out of kindness and because he didn’t want Y/N to kick his ass, but unbeknownst to Loki and Y/N, the man of iron had other plans. 

Loki was going to pick her up from her room at the compound, not expecting to hear her sing along to a song so jolly. So far, she hadn’t even noticed him as she walked across her room, her hips swaying in her crimson red dress. Loki could harly believe how beautiful she was. In his eyes, Y/N was a goddess in disguise. It was almost a shame that they were just friends. Deciding not to be a creep, Loki cleared his throat which made her jump.

“Loki! I didn’t see you...” Y/N seemed flustered, which was just adorable. She was quick to brush it off with a beaming smile. She was ready to go. Even though the pary was a few floors up, it felt appropriate to go there together. 

“I can’t blame you, now can I? Sneaking up on people is my specialty,” Loki teased her lightly, earning a giggle from her. He noticed her black heels now and how beautifully she had done her makeup and hair. Her look was so contrary to her armour and tight suits. She looked great in anything. “You look beautiful,” Loki let her know smoothly, hoping he didn’t sound too much in awe. 

The compliment made her roll her eyes, but little did Loki know the words went right to her core. “You’re such a gentleman sometimes, I swear...” She mumbled and grabbed her small purse and then closed the distance between them. As a Prince, Loki had manners and he had not forgotten about them. He offered her his arm to hold on which she gladly did. “You look good in that black suit, by the way.”

A gentleman, indeed, but not for everyone. Most people treated Loki like the plague - they avoided him and believed his touch resulted in a painful death. Y/N was different. She welcomed the Trickster with open arms and made him feel like a person. It had taken time, but eventually Loki let down his walls when he was with her and he could be himself. For her, he was his truest self, a prince who would treat her like a princess. Nevertheless, they were just friends and he kept reminding himself of that. 

They entered the elevator at the same time as Natasha and Clint. Y/N greeted them happily, which they returned. But when it came to Loki, the duo didn’t seem as happy. “Do you think Tony will pull off any crazy stunts this year?” Y/N wondered innocently, remembering the parties from previous years. Tony was known to go overboard quite often. 

“We’ll just have to wait and see, Y/N,” Natasha smirked with mischief in her voice. Loki noticed. Natasha glanced at Y/N and then at Loki and her smirk grew. It wasn’t that obvious, but it didn’t escape Loki’s sight. He knew right then at that moment that they were up to something. 

As the elevator doors opened, the four of them were welcomed with drinks. They walked further inside the party and separated as different people got up to greet them. Thor made his way to Loki and Y/N. “Brother! Lady Y/N! I’m so happy to see you arrived,” the blonde prince beamed of joy. Y/N let go of Loki’s arm to hug the God of Thunder.

“It’s good to see you, Thor,” She said as they parted from the hug. Loki didn’t like the jealousy that formed in the pits of his stomach. He knew very well Y/N wasn’t his, but he didn’t want Thor to take her. It was his biggest fear - to lose what he loved to his brother. 

“You came just in time. Stark said the food is ready. Come, I’ll show you to the table,” Thor offered in a friendly manner. Y/N grabbed Loki’s arm and they followed Thor to the long tables on the other side of the common room that reminded them more of a nightclub right now. 

So when they entered the dining hall, it surprised them. It was so cozy and it smelled delicious. Tony and Pepper had only invited some friends and of course, the Avengers. They would feast before the true party. Y/N already knew that it would end up a drunken mess before midnight. 

The host himself spotted Y/N and Loki and he just had to welcome them personally. “Finally! I thought you wouldn’t come,” Tony pulled Y/N into a friendly hug which was well returned.

“I couldn’t ghost you on this day, Tony, now could I?” Y/N chuckled. The two of them were close, everyone knew that. Even when Y/N and Loki became close, Tony never cut ties, although everyone knew what he had initially thought about the Trickster getting close to Y/N - the sweetheart of the team. 

Loki and Tony simply shook hands. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’m glad you came, Reindeer games.”

That nickname. Loki had no clue what it meant. Reindeer games? It wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon, so Loki ignored it. “Well it would’ve been quite rude not to show up,” Loki shrugged, playing it cool. After all this time, there was still tension between the two of them. 

“Well, take your seats. I hope you’re hungry because the food is ready. Pepper made her iconic, absolutely fantastic roasted potatoes. God, I can’t wait to dig in,” Tony seemed excited for once. 

Just like that, everyone sat around the table. Y/N and Loki were sat next to each other, which was just what they hoped for too. The food was served and luckily everyone seemed hungry.

                 An hour later, everyone had eaten. They moved from the dining hall to the common room where the actual party got started. Drinks were downed and people got drunk very fast. Eventually, they gathered around the couch because someone suggested they’d have a drinking game. 

Loki knew he wouldn’t get drunk on Midgardian alcohol, but Thor had thought of that beforehand. He had booze from Asgard which the brothers shared - Thor a bit more than Loki. 

Y/N sat next to Loki on the soft couch, a little bit too close perhaps, but neither of them seemed to mind. After all, they were a little bit tipsy already, not drunk but it was enough to make them more comfortable. 

“Okay, okay...” Tony raised his hands up, making all heads turn to him. “What if, hear me out, what if we played truth or dare,” the billionaire suggested, making some people laugh. 

“What are we, 14?” Bucky joked which made Steve giggle. 

Tony simply rolled his eye, “come on! It can be fun. Besides, if someone doesn’t do their deed, it costs a shot.”

That’s how a bunch of super soldiers, gods and avengers ended up playing truth or dare. It began with silly dares and truths that embarrassed people. Eventually, a very drunk Sam had his turn to pick a victim. “Y/N!” The falcon pointed at his friend who was cuddled against Loki by now. Just friends, Sam thought as a smirk grew on his face. “Truth or dare?”

Even Loki was curious now. What would she choose?

“Dare,” Y/N chose confidently, having no clue what could possibly happen. 

People seemed surprised and some even gasped in surprise. For some odd reason, everyone in the room seemed too interested in this. Loki was worried something stupid was about to happen. 

Sam had a devilish smile on his face and his friends refelcted that just as well. “I dare you to kiss whoever you like in this room. Now.” 

Was he for real?

Y/N’s heart jumped to her throat as the words sunk beneath her skin. Sure, she had had two or three drinks, but she was sober and she knew how dangerous this could be. Suddenly, she became very aware of just how close she sat next to Loki. “Sam, are you kidding me?”

“It’s a dare, Y/N,” Sam shrugged and had the audacity to look Loki right in the eye.

The god was tense. He was worried Y/N would get up from the couch and smooch someone else. It would be humiliating! Although, he hated the crowd, he kind of wished she would kiss him - if anyone. 

“I swear you guys are so childish. How can you be so sure I like anyone?” Y/N crossed her arms and pouted. She was flustered again and she tried to hide that desperately. 

A bunch of ‘come on’s and eyerolls erupted in the room as she said that. Everyone under the same roof knew she must’ve fancied Loki. Their chemistry was obvious, it radiated to every inch in whatever place they occupied. Sometimes, it was sickening that they didn’t act on it. So the avengers had come up with a silly plan to bring them together. If not now, when?

“Y/N, we’re not blind. Come on! It’s just a kiss,” Sam urged her on.

Just a kiss?!

“Or do you want to take a shot? I mixed hot sauce in it - delicious,” Tony suggested and held up a shotlgass of something that looked very nasty. 

Y/N’s nerves were burning up. Sure, she had wanted to kiss Loki for ages now. She wanted nothing more than to embrace him and make him feel happy. But she was so scared of rejection. Perhaps, if it all went south, she could blame it on peer pressure and alcohol? 

After a few deep breaths and being encouraged by everyone in the room, Y/N turned to look at Loki who seemed oblivious to the situation. Whether it was a show he put on or if it was really him, no one knew. Their eyes met and shame burned through Y/N. Why was she doing this? She wasn’t sure, but it was too late to stop now. “Do you mind? I-I just want to get this over with...” Y/N wondered shyly, her voice barely carrying above the chants of people cheering her on. 

Loki’s heart swelled in his chest. She wanted to kiss him? He could hardly believe it to be true, but he was not going to let this chance slip through his fingers. Perhaps the small amount of booze was enough to make Loki comfortable enough to push through as well. Under normal circumstances, he wouldn’t be so persuaded by such foolish games. “Not at all,” He smiled and hoped it would help her relax. 

Just like that, Y/N wrapped her arms around Loki’s head and closed the gap between their lips, bringing him into a long-awaited kiss. Their lips locked warmly and both hearts began to beat a little bit faster. Adrenaline rushed through the two of them as they finally kissed. Y/N closed her eyes and closed out the other people. For just a moment, it was just the two of them. Loki’s tender hand held onto her, resting on the back of her head as his other hand held onto her jaw, cupping her face ever so gently. 

He couldn’t believe what was happening, but it felt so good. He couldn’t care less about people watching right now. Finally, he was kissing Y/N and it sent his mind to an euphoric state. 

After a while, their lips parted. Both of them wanted to pull in for another kiss, but for now, they could only look at each other in awe. They were stunned. 

Natasha decided to break the silence, “God, finally!”

Both Y/N and Loki turned to look at the crowd that had seen that. Suddenly, Y/N felt a little bit embarrassed, but truth be told, she was so happy that it didn’t really matter. “I..I need some air. Nat, you can take my turn,” Y/N cleared her throat and got up. Joy and realization were overwhelming Y/N’s mind and she needed a moment without all these people around her. 

Silently, Loki got up and followed Y/N outside. They were on a balcony together and the cool air around them felt good. 

“I can’t believe that just happened,” Y/N admitted nervously, her smile bright as ever. 

Loki wished she didn’t regret it. “Does that mean you have feelings for me? Or was that simply a dare?”

Did he have any idea what he was doing to her? Y/N was shocked, honestly. How did he not know how deeply and foolishly she had fallen for him? Did he think, after all this time, that she would kiss him with no true feelings attached? 

“Loki! I would never...I mean, gosh! This is embarrassing, but I really like you,” There, she finally said it. 

Hearing her vocalize her feelings meant the world for Loki. He felt like the happiest man in the nine realms as she admitted that. “I thought I’d never hear it, love.”

The petname lit up Y/N’s pretty eyes. “Wait- does that mean...?” She seemed to shy to finish the sentence, but Loki saw the hope on her face. 

“I care for you too. Never would I have thought I’d let you know of this in this way, but I suppose it’s better than keeping it a secret,” Loki decided to be completely honest with her. He knew he had nothing to lose now. She just admitted she liked him. What could possibly go wrong anymore?

It surprirsed Loki when Y/N leapt into his arms. He caught her, wrapping his arms around her waist, just in time before she would’ve slipped with those heels on. No words were exchanged as their lips closed into a passionate kiss once more.  This time, it was for their eyes only and it felt much better. Joy, love, relief - everything they felt became so evident in the kiss and it felt magical. It was definitely long-awaited.

Who would’ve thought a silly game of truth or dare would’ve led them to confess? 

A/N: As I’ve said before, I don’t know how to do fluff, but for you I really tried. Also, I just want to write happy!Loki for now, he’s suffered enough. This is such a cliché, but after iw and endgame, I’ve learned to love that. A classic avengers truth or dare, I hope you liked it! :)

[yourdeepestfathoms]

a bear, coughing. an owl, singing.

Prompt: Claustrophobia

TW: Panic attacks

———————

Cathy wasn’t exactly sure how she got locked in a storage closet with the show’s bassist, but now she’s locked in a storage closet with the show’s bassist.

They both tried to doorknob to no avail- it seemed like the damn door was jammed or something. Bessie then moved onto pounding on the thing and shouting at the top of her lungs, but the only thing that achieved was giving Cathy a headache.

“Bessie.”

The bassist’s can’t hear her over her own knocking.

“Bessie!”

She doesn’t miss the way Bessie flinched and jerked her head around to look at her. For a moment, it almost looked like she was cowering, but that quickly faded away and was covered by sharp thorns along her exterior.

“What?” Bessie snapped.

“This is going nowhere.” Cathy said.

“What do you suggest we do?” Bessie growled, as snarky as always. “Sit here and wait?”

“Yes.” Cathy replied. She picked up one of the cleaning supplies and began reading the label. “I’m sure we can find some very interesting things on these chemicals.” She laughed.

But Bessie did not. In fact, in the dim light of the closet, she looked a little pale. Scared, even.

Don’t freak out. She said to herself. Don’t freak out. Come on. This is stupid. It’s just a storage closet, not the-

She needed space. She needed space badly. She needed to leave the closet. The sudden onslaught of panic overwhelmed her, and Cathy was way too close. (Would she press herself on her? Would she feel her up in the privacy of this closet?)

One thing you can smell, Elizabeth. She reminded herself of this technique she’s been trying to teach herself. That was easy enough- the smell of Cathy’s perfume.

...Okay, that only rattled her further. Did Cathy put on that perfume just to show herself up for Bessie? To lure her in? Was this all a trap?

Would Cathy do something like that?

A sharp pain in her back interrupted her train of thought. Moving on.

One thing you can see.

That didn’t work either. The closet lights were absolute rubbish. Even if they did work, everything was bleeding together, anyway.

One thing you can feel.

Hands. All over her body. Touching her and rubbing her and feeling her and-

Bessie backing up into one of the corners and sinking to the floor with both hands tangled in her hair caught Cathy’s attention. She put down the bottle of Bleach she had been looking at and crouched down next to the bassist.

“Bessie? Are you alright?”

The sound Bessie made didn’t seem like something someone like her would ever make in the presence of another person. The strangled, kicked-puppy whimper completely crumbles her tough persona and lets Cathy know that she was, in fact, not ‘alright’.

“Okay, hey, shh...” Cathy sat down next to the bassist. “It’s alright.” She reaches to touch Bessie, but the bassist flinches away and stared at her through her arms and a black snarl of hair, and the look on her face was like one of a cornered animal’s. Terrified, but dangerous. “No touching. Got it.” Cathy quickly drew her hands back.

Bessie dug her face into her knees, curling her fingers tighter in her hair. The sting in her scalp was the only thing keeping her grounded, but even then it was barely enough. She could still feel herself descending into complete panic, starting with the hot, iron bands that clasp tightly around her lungs and restricted easy breathing.

“You’re claustrophobic,” Cathy said. If she had the air, Bessie probably would have snapped, ‘Oh really? What told you that?’ but she didn’t, so the only reply she got was a watery growl and the whorls of embarrassment that light up on Bessie’s exposed ear. “Hey, that’s okay. Nothing to be ashamed of.”

Bessie doesn’t answer or give any indication that she was really listening at this point. However, Cathy does see her shoulders lurch slightly and her fingers twist tighter in her hair.

A certain tenseness fills the closet as Cathy can only sit there and watch the poor bassist descend deeper into her own fear. She would have tried holding her or even stroking her hair if it weren’t for the fact that she was sure Bessie would bite her fingers clean off if she even tried to make a move to touch her. But as the poor thing started to struggle with her breathing, she knew she had to do something before she suffocated.

“Bessie, Bessie, listen to me-”

Cathy tried to touch Bessie’s shoulders so she could coax her to look at her, but this just causes the bassist to frenzy. Bessie’s legs kick out first, then her arms, and, suddenly, there’s fingernails raking across Cathy’s face. If she hadn’t closed her eyes, she was sure the nails would have taken one in their swipe, or at least blinded her.

Bessie is up on her feet at an alarming speed for someone having a panic attack, but she stumbles and careens into the wall almost instantly. She scrambles into another corner quickly and huddles back up, staring at Cathy with impossibly wide eyes. She really did look like a scared wild animal.

“That could have gone better.” Cathy muttered. She tentatively touched her face and winced. The scratches lay on the right side and stretched from her temple to the bridge of her nose. The streak over her eyelid wasn’t bleeding, but the other three were, although the blood was more of pooling in the fresh openings and just lazily drooling out when they were too full. She scrubbed away a few thin streams and winced again, finding that rubbing just made the cuts sting even more. But she could deal with that later.

“Bessie,” Cathy said softly. She slowly approached the trembling bassist and sat down next to her. “It’s okay... You’re okay. I’m sorry I startled you.”

Bessie doesn’t answer. She doesn’t even growl, just wrap both arms around her legs and press her face back into her knees.

“I know you’re scared,” Cathy went on. “but I need you to trust me. Can you do that for me?”

Bessie hesitates for a long time, but then she nods ever so slightly.

“Wonderful.” Cathy smiled. “I’m going to take your hand now, okay? It’s just me. No one else.”

She moves slowly, carefully taking the hand nearest hers. The fingers twitch in her palm, like they were trying to decide whether or not they should claw up her face until it was unrecognizable. But then Cathy started to trace gentle shapes against the top and they stilled.

Cathy did this in silence and once she was sure Bessie was completely trusting her, she raised the hand and pressed it to her neck, where the beat of her heart could be felt.

“Can you feel that, Bessie?” Cathy whispered. “That’s my heartbeat.”

Bessie doesn’t answer. Cathy gently brushes the top of her hand with her thumb and then went on.

“You’re here, Bessie. You’re real. And you’re safe. I know that you’re probably feeling pretty terrible, but I promise you you’re safe. And you’re so strong for being in here, you know that?”

After a moment of hesitation, there was a tiny nod. Cathy smiled.

“Good. Because you should know that.”

Another nod, this one with more power behind it. Bessie lifted her head slightly. There’s tears stained on her cheeks and she’s breathing through her mouth like a frightened animal would, but at least she was looking up.

“Hey.” Cathy murmured to her. She went to release the bassist’s hand, but nails curl into her neck and she quickly readjusted her grip, seeing as Bessie wasn’t ready to pull away yet. “Feeling a little better?”

“Yeah.” Bessie managed to croak out. She swallowed thickly and a dark blaze of red appears on her already flushed cheeks. “I’m...I’m sorry.”

“Shh, it’s okay.” Cathy pats the hand she’s holding with a finger. “You were freaked out. I understand.”

“But-” Bessie winced. “Your face.”

Cathy blinked and then remember how she was scratched. It had been stinging this entire time, and yet she was just now really realizing it.

“No worries!” She said.

“But-”

“Really, it’s alright.” She said. “I’ll make the story sound a lot cooler when people ask about it.” She laughs. Bessie doesn’t, but she at least manages to smile thinly. “Now, we gotta find a way out of this room. Think if we both ram this door it’ll open?”

Finally, Bessie laughs. It’s gravely and watery and weak, but it’s a laugh.

“Worth a shot.”

[breadcaaat]

part one

Jeongguk x hybrid!reader

| part one | part two | part three | part four | part five

Words: 2.5k

Warnings: violence & gore, human trafficking, bad language, abandoned ramen??

There are few things more liberating than running from your empty, dingy little studio apartment to eat ramen at midnight post break-up. Something about it makes the noodles taste better.

The little shop was quiet this late at night, the sort of modern Gothic quiet that made Jeongguk wanna drink wine and brood at ominous-looking treelines. Not that he likes wine or is particularly good at being handsome while brooding - it's just a concept. There's plenty of room for concepts this late at night. Daydreams and stuff. Night dreams? No, that'd just be a dream. I'm not asleep, so how does that work? Is there a word for daydreams at night?

He's got his nose buried in his phone when two salarymen - off late - slip into the little store and sit down. Google says there is no word for a daydream at night. Lame.

The waiter sets a few bowls of food in front of him and he thanks the old man quietly, setting his phone down and clicking his chopsticks together. What if humans had straight fingers? Like, just five chopsticks a hand.

Two more guests enter. They sit with the two salarymen, and he takes that first hot mouthful of noodles. Wait - if they were fingers they'd be made out of skin, right? So, like, skin sticks.

That's basically like having tiny, hard dicks for hands. Or no-knuckled fingers.

...Gross.

He takes a break from eating (momentary loss of appetite) and takes notice of the table for four.

It's an interesting group - individually, they were mundane as a cup of black coffee - but together they were unlikely. The salarymen seemed poorer now he was looking at them better. Greasy hair, bumpy skin, untailored blazers, slightly off-shade ties. One had a goatee and the other a mustache, neither really solid. Pubescent, kind of, like... like ironed pubes... I'm never growing a beard. Across from them sat a dude with bleached hair and heavy jewelry. He had a yellow smirk on his face that gave Jeongguk the feeling that he hadn't earned those shiny chains without a bit of underhandedness.

The last guest was covered head to toe in baggy clothing. He couldn't see their face, their fingers, anything. They kept their eyes down and their hands to themself.

Mustache - he looked a bit more intelligent than Goatee - smiled at the old waiter as he served them some drinks, and then pulled out a cigarette and held it to him. The old man looked puzzled, to say the least. "It's been a long day, hasn't it?" Mustache prompted, holding it a little closer. "You should take a smoke break. We'll be fine here." He smiled, and Jeongguk noticed his tongue was yellow with nicotine.

The old man's shoulder's stiffened, but he took it without a word and - after shuttering close all the blinds in the room - exited out the back. It took Jeongguk no more than a hot second to realize he should probably do the same.

He started to quietly gather his few possessions, and was about to get up to go for the door when he realized something rather inconvenient; the door was on that group's side of the restaurant. He'd have to pass them to get out. Where he was - at a booth tucked away on the other side of the restaurant, behind the serving counter in their perspective - they hadn't seemed to notice him yet.

He slid back into the booth and held his breath.

Mustache sat back, sighed, tugging at his labels a little. Goatee was putting off some serious I-hate-the-man-I’m-looking-at vibes, and the man he was looking at, Bleach, was receiving them with a smug sort of glee. Jesus, his teeth were yellow.

“Needs some whitening strips or somethin’,” he mused under his breath, and that’s when he got a look at the last one in the group.

At his whisper, she - they were a she - peeked at him from behind her hood with grey-hazel eyes. Like, completely. The color of her iris totally spanned across where the whites of her eyes should have been, and the pupils were huge in the shadow of her hood. They both froze as their eyes met.

What fresh hell?

The hair behind his neck prickled and gooseflesh rippled across his skin. He realized then that this group was more than just a dysfunctional business get-together - this was something completely out of his depth and something he needed to get away from now.

I have ramen at home, he thought, and with that shifted to the end of his booth to break for it, ramen abandoned.

He stopped though, as Mustache stood up and walked around the table until he was stood next to the girl with grey eyes, saying: “Stand up.”

She did, without a noise. Wordlessly, Mustache reached up and flipped her hood off. Her hair had the kitchen-scissors treatment and was matted in places, hanging loose. She was wearing a wide headband, too - this he took off without any permission to touch her, and she didn’t react.

Underneath the band, two ears flicked up - like, legitimate fucking cat ears. Thick, furry, rounded a little and black with a white spot on the back the size of a thumbprint. She bore Mustache’s probing with a dangerously quiet, docile attitude. He took a thin flashlight and checked the insides of her ears, lightly touched the tips to see if they’d flick. “She’s dirty,” he muttered, and Bleach pulled out his phone to play a mobile game. “Nothing a q-tip can’t clean,” he replied. Goatee growled a small warning.

He shined the flashlight in each of her pupils and she flinched, sensitive to light. He seemed satisfied with the reaction, however, and tipped her head up to check inside her nostrils, then pulled her jaw down to check her mouth. “Say ‘ah,’” he said, and she complied, and he shoved a finger in to prod at her teeth. They had some sort of fanged, metal retainer on them; he popped these out for a second and then popped them back in after checking her real teeth. He moved down then and unzipped her hoodie to reveal nothing underneath - Jeongguk flinched and glanced away, then glanced back.

This is a slave trade, he noted mutedly as the examination continued. I’m witnessing a real-life slave trade. Mustache did a couple more things after that - had her jump (holy shit she could jump - her fingers tapped the ceiling,) tested her arm strength and looked at her hands, checked down the back of her pants and reached in to touch something (ew,) probed at her feet and ankles and knees. She bore it all with the patience of a saint. His final move to was to tug at a thick collar on her neck - a pinkie-nail thick band of leather about half a thumb wide.

When he was done - the whole process took about three minutes - he took a step back and just looked at her. Bleach’s eyes flicked up from his game, audio still playing, and scrutinized Mustache with red-rimmed eyes.

There was silence.

Bleach heaved a sigh then and clicked his phone off. “Shit - you buying? I got a kitty at home in bed and I’m fucking tired.” Kitty?

“How much?” Mustache asked.

“Seven million won, in cash.”

“That’s double than what you offered the first time!” Goatee finally speaks, and it’s with barely contained anger. He looks like he’s holding in the fart of a lifetime.

“Tigers cost more than dogs.” Bleach shrugged.

“Aish,” Mustache muttered, and stood and looked at her again. A tense moment passed, and both Bleach and Goatee got progressively broodier. Neither of them had attractive brooding expressions.

With a stretch and a scratch at his chin, Mustache heaved a sigh, picked up a filled purse from beside his chair, and said - "Half now, half by Thursday."

"Deal. Stripes, c'mere." She padded closer to him - that must've been her name - as he took the purse. He then pulled something out of his jacket pocket - it looked like a TV remote but only had two buttons and some print in silver sharpie at the bottom. He handed it to Stripes.

Mustache and Goatee both visibly flinched, and as the remote passed hands Mustache started to protest but Bleach interrupted him by loudly sucking a hiss through his teeth.

"Jungsu-shi," he started, more patronizing than anything else. "Can't give it straight to you or you'll kill me and take your money back, yeah? So just wait until I'm outta here and then she'll give it to you. No problem." This very much seemed to be a problem with Mustache (Jungsu-shi?) and Goatee - now they both looked like they were holding in massive farts from fear and anger, respectively, sweat misting at the temples and red in the face.

The door chimes jingled as Bleach left the restaurant.

Jeongguk was holding his breath and it seemed like everyone else was too. Stripes stared down at the remote, eyes unmoving. A minute passed. Two.

"He's gone now, so give it to me," Mustache said. There was a barely contained waver in his voice.

Stripes looked up from the remote but did not hand it to him. Jeongguk could read a lot of things in those alien eyes. Indecisiveness. Defiance. Calculation.

It was in that moment that Goatee's anger-fart burst forth with all the gusto of a night after Mexican, and as he stood up with a yell commanding obedience and force enough to send his chair screeching and Jeongguk startling in his seat, he read in those grey-hazel eyes something else: anger. Pure, unadulterated anger fueled by bitter blood and killer canines. Which she bared then, sharp grey metal to match her eyes.

When Jeongguk was a kid, he did about nine years of tae kwon do. He took part in a handful of tournaments, too, and one fist fight in middle school. God knows how many action movies he's watched. Fight scenes are cinematic. People get hit and they get back up despite blows to the head and broken bones because they're passionate characters - or whatever. Grunts go down after a punch from the protagonist. People like fight scenes because they're full of energy, not malice. Even the fight scenes that try to be realistic - there's always something held back, always something inaccurate. The fight scene he witnesses is over before he processes it's a fight scene.

He's pretty sure Goatee makes the first move, but Stripes reacts so fast that it looks like they both launch at each other in sync. She tosses the remote away and they tumble down to the floor snarling, Stripes on top and mostly out of sight behind the serving counter. There's a struggle, some kicking, the sounds of flesh hitting flesh, a growl, a gurgle. He stops kicking and she disappears behind the counter. A pool of blood rapidly crawls across the floor. The remote skids over to Jeongguk's feet and Mustache follows it.

They make some really awkward eye contact.

On impulse, Jeongguk grabs the remote and runs for the kitchen. Mustache yells some choice words and chases him.

Shit shit - they crash into the kitchen and he yanks a steel rolling table across his pursuers path, only to take a pot thrown to the head - fuck, ow! Shit! He stumbles, and it's just enough of a delay that Mustache vaults over the table gracelessly and stumbles in front of him, whipping out a butterfly knife. His panting was the loudest thing in the room.

"Listen kid - " he cuffed him over the ear because he looked too dizzy " - Hey, listen - if you don't give that to me right fucking now she's going to kill us both, hear? So fucking hand it over - !" He never finishes his sentence, cut off when a knife enters one ear and pokes out the other.

Jeongguk chokes out what might've been a sob.

Everything's slowed down now. He follows the hand at the knife's handle up to Stripes's face, which is covered in blood up to her eyes and down to her neck, dripping off her chin. Between her teeth, she's holding Goatee's throat, which she lets dribble out with a plop. She lets go of the handle. Mustache sags to the floor. Jeongguk thinks he's choking but he's not really sure; there's a buzzing in his ears.

She shifts so that she's crouching in front of him then, and he tosses the remote at her defeatedly. I'm going to die, he thinks, but she simply grabs it and then crawls towards the pot Mustache threw. Setting the remote on the ground, she takes the pot and smashes it. The effect is immediate.

Her hands fly up to her throat with an agonized cry and she sags to the ground, writhing in pain. Jeongguk's confused but still impulsive. He crawls over before he can think not to, just like before.

"What's - what's wrong?" She bats at him with a clawed hand distractedly and he dodges it " - Hey, I'm trying to help! Show me what's wrong!"

She does so, unintentionally - that same clawed hand joins the other at her throat, tearing and prying at the leather there. "Get it off," she chokes. "Get it off!"

"I will, I will!" How?

He could see the willpower it cost her to take her hands away, instead bunching the fabric of his hoodie in her fist. It was the first good look he got at the collar: thick, ungiving, brutal. And electric, apparently - off to the side there was a plastic box bolted firmly into the leather, with two prongs branching off of it and to the skin of her neck, like a dog's shock collar. He yanked on this, trying to pop it away. "Shit," he murmured when it didn't budge at all, "Okay, not gonna work - roll over - is there a latch? How do I get it off?" She rolled over and pointed at the remote before letting out another sob.

"But that's broken," he hissed, moreso to himself than her but it earned him a pinch to the side with a very sharp pair of fingers. She whimpered something about numbers, moving her hair to reveal where the collar was latched with a three-digit padlock.

...a remote that only had two buttons and some print in silver sharpie at the bottom...

Scrabbling for the remote, he looked at the broken shell and there he found it: 825. "Here!" he said, and then entered it and yanked out the padlock. The heavy leather sagged off her neck and onto the ground.

She rattled out a sigh of relief. Her sobbing quieted to soft whimpers, then to nothing.

Jeongguk must've sat there for a minute or two digesting both his ramen and the events of the night, when police sirens wailed - muffled by the shop front, down the street. Both heads swiveled in their direction.

He heard a pair of car doors thunk shut and turned to look at her with wide eyes, only the tiger girl wasn't there. All that was left to say she'd been there at all was a broken leather shackle and an open back door.

Also, a pair of corpses he'd rather not smell or look at anymore.

A/N: uhhh first fic?? I’m riding a wave of impulsiveness posting this right now. No fucking clue when the next one comes out but if ya’ll berate me the notifs will prompt me into finishing. I am incapable of motivation.

Tag List: (fuck it i’ll make one of these too) @feed-my-geek-soul thamks for beta reading 😘

[thewanderingknight]

Aside the Outlaws, Ch. 4

Life with your newfound family among the Van der Linde Gang is pretty rough and tumble, but your modest skill of riding sidesaddle could benefit the gang while infiltrating a wealthy Lemoyne estate.

Chapter I | Chapter II | Chapter III | Chapter IV | Chapter V

The day has come. Time to saddle up Godiva and show everyone that you can do this. Hopefully, the garden party heist goes off without a hitch.

Arthur Morgan & Reader Warnings: Cursing, blood.  Word Count: 4,373 Oops.  Notes at the end!

Where have you been darlin’, what have you done? You were out findin’ trouble again; there’s a fire in your eyes & there’s blood on your hands 🎵

((still mad that tumblr took away the line!)) 

One more night in this cot til the heist, you thought. Your eyes remained shut, hoping that the longer you stayed in bed, time would cease to move forward. You felt the weight of Arthur’s arm sprawled across your torso. He shifted in his sleep, his short scruff scratching your shoulder. You sighed, unable to drift back into a twilight rest. Maneuvering away from Arthur’s weight, you rose from the cot and dressed to face the day.

You rubbed sleep from your eyes as you shuffled towards the campfire and poured yourself a cup of coffee. The cicada song was quiet as a few people were shaking off sleep and beginning to tend to chores. You ambled around camp, finally resting against a large tree, watching Godiva graze next to Brown Jack. Feeling unsure, you quickly drained the hot liquid and rose from your spot, making a bee line for the log on the shoreline. The gentle lapping of water only irked you, so you shot up from the log and walked back to your tent. Arthur had only just gotten up, legs dangling off the side of the cot. He watched you dart from one corner of the tent to the next, opening your chest then closing it, rearranging the keepsakes on the table, organizing the camp’s ammo stock. He stood, silently pulled you close to plant a long kiss on your forehead, then pushed aside the tent flaps to start his day. Deciding to deal with the nervousness that possessed your body, you marched towards Godiva. If you had to look like a society woman, well then, so did she.

Godiva thoroughly enjoyed the attention. You spent the morning on the lake shore with your sleeves rolled up, covered with soap and Absorbine until her brown coat shined. Her ears and bottom lip drooped, hip cocked and relaxed while your scrubbed. You were almost jealous at how much she relished the care, not knowing what would be happening tomorrow. You covered her black hooves with an oily polish and combed out her mane and tail. She looked regal, while you were left looking like you had crawled from the depths of Flat Iron Lake.

It wasn’t fear that kept you moving around camp. Rather, it was anticipation in the wake of what you had assumed was a huge event. Robbing someone like Amos Pilot, right under his nose, isn’t this something huge? For the rest of the gang, it was just another day. You would have almost preferred to have volunteered for this job the day of, just so it would be over and done with, instead of enduring the dreaded slogging of time, filling up your mind with every possibility of what could go wrong.

Arthur strolled up to you as you hitched Godiva. “She’s lookin’ real good. You’ll blend in for sure on ‘er. You, however…” he gestured to you.

“Oh, go on an’ say it. I need a bath.” You rolled your eyes, snapping a dirty towel in his direction.

“Lemme take you into town, getchu cleaned up. Buy you a drink. You sure seem like ya need it.”

You huffed, “Actually, Arthur, that... sounds lovely. Thank you.”

He smiled, extending a hand for you to take. “We’ll take my horse. Don’ wanna mess up all the work you put into yer mare.”

He led you towards Britomartis and climbed into the saddle, holding out a hand to help you mount up behind him, both legs on tucked on the left side. You wrapped your hands around his waist as Arthur ushered Brit into a nice clip towards Rhodes.

*****

The sun burned hot in its descent to the west. You shielded your eyes with your hand as you looked on a dusty Rhodes, glowing with the dying rays.

You followed close to Arthur as he jogged up the steps, waltzed up to the bar, paid for the whiskey, and escorted you up the spiral staircase. You walked passed the Black jack table towards the veranda that overlooked the railroad out of Rhodes. A slight wind shook the ivy leaves that clung to the lattice fencing. Arthur tossed his hat onto a small table in the corner and heavily sunk into the chair.

“Now, Lenny ain’t here, so no gettin’ into trouble,” you teased.

He grumbled under his breath, “It weren’t that bad, really.”

“Oh, the money I’d pay to see something like that,” you shot back, tapping your chin and laughing.

Arthur just raised his eyebrows at you and stretched an arm out behind your back, fingers idly playing with your hair. You fidgeted with the shot glass in front of you, taking in your surroundings. Arthur’s solid warmth, the breeze that blew a few strands of hair into your face, the songbirds chirping in the trees across the rail line. Arthur caught your attention, sliding his glass across the table to meet yours. You smiled, raised your glass to clink with his, and downed the whiskey, feeling it burn on the way down.

“Maybe I don’t gotta make a big deal outta this,” you started, “you boys do this all the time.”

“‘S’your first, normal to feel nervous,” he returned, “He’s got minimal guards, and you’ll be covered on all sides. Nothin’ to worry ‘bout. I wouldn’ send you into the lion’s den if you couldn’t handle it, or if you weren’ prepared.” He tapped your shoulder that his arm was around.

“An’ Dutch would?” you shot back.

He sighed. “Well, no, but-- I don’t think that’s fair.”

“You’re probably right,” you looked back out at the rooftops of the main street. The sky was leaching into a saturated violet. “I don’t mean to sound angry at him. Or that I’m not with the gang. I’ve been a part of it for years, now. An’ he’s the man who raised you.” You glanced back at Arthur; his eyes were already on yours. “It surprised me, is all, when he said I couldn’t arm myself.”

“But you will be.”

“Thanks to you. An’ I know how he is, always preaching about keeping the faith.” You grabbed his hand in yours, and brought it to your chest. You were sure he could feel the nervous pounding of your heart. “But Arthur, I have faith in you, ya hear me?”

You could feel his fingers curl into your top. He said nothing, but moved his hand from your shoulder to the back of your head, gently ushering you forward to meet your lips to his.

“Woman-” he started.

“Just let me be silly and romantic, you fool,” you smiled at him and held his hand in your lap. You looked up to see his blue eyes searching your face. “I’ll be alright,” you sidled up tighter to his side. “Now I do believe you promised me a bath, Mister Morgan.”

Another shot of whiskey found you in the bath and Arthur sitting on a stool nearby, scribbling in his journal. You sunk your head down just enough to submerge your ears beneath the water. You closed your eyes, listening to the muted tones and tinny scrapes of your body in the water.

You opened your eyes and peaked at Arthur, still keeping his eyes locked inside his journal. You moved in the water, leaning over the edge of the tub closest to him. You called his name softly, and he looked up. You reached a hand out, silently asking.

He smirked and sighed, but stood from the stool and placed his journal and hat atop the seat. You bit a finger as you watched him undress, smiling as you felt the water shift when he stepped in behind you. When he settled, you pressed your back to his chest, laying your head on his shoulder. He looked down to steal a single searing kiss from you.

With whisky in your veins and your man behind you, steeped in the steaming bathwater, the edge of anxiety that poked your stomach had rounded, and you were finally able to relax.

*****

The next time I’m in this cot, I’ll be done with this business.

Morning had come, and brought a fierce sunshine upon camp that morning. The girls surrounded you, helping you look like a lady of distinction you were trying to be. You took Karen’s top hat and tipped it forward, the lip of the edge just touching your brow. For good measure, Mary-Beth had attached a cloth of sheer black lace that covered your face and criss-crossed your vision. Tilly had loaned you a pair of white kidskin gloves. Molly had even given you some red rouge to dab on your lips, and Abigail slipped an old brooch into your hand for good luck, which you clasped to the front of your high collar. Miss Grimshaw left a pair of her pearl earrings on your bedside table.

“Oh, it’s so romantic, isn’t it?” Mary-Beth crooned as you hugged them each in turn.

“Sure is, even if you rob’em blind,” Karen rolled her eyes.

“But that just adds to it!” Mary-Beth argued, “a gentlelady thief! That can be dark and romantic, and fun!” She giggled.

You pulled Karen aside as the girls left to carry on with their day.

“Karen? Arthur told me ‘bout a job you did with them a few years back; something ‘bout you dressin’ up as a nun?”

She snorted, “oh, yeah! That was fun. They weren’t expectin’ ‘sweet Sister Karen’ to be packin’ a shotgun ‘neath her habit!”

“I guess, it just sounds an awful lot like what I’m doin’,” you continued. “I guess what I mean is, how’d you do it? You were so sure when you left to rob the Valentine bank. Weren’t you-- don’t you get nervous?”

“I dunno, honey. I guess I just knew they’d have my back. We’d be okay. Arthur was there. That helped a lot. A shot a whiskey before don’t hurt, neither!” You smiled at that.

*****

You rolled your shoulders and straightened your back, waiting for the boys to arrive at the meeting place, just into the treeline a ways before the Pilot Plantation. You could see the top of the stoic house peeking out from above the foliage.

The high collar of your shirt was stifling in the shimmering Lemoyne heat. The faint, whispering breezes seemed like a godsend. Suddenly, velvet seemed revolting to you. Godiva shifted beneath you. You leaned forward and patted her neck. Nervously, you rearranged a part of her mane that had flipped over to the opposite side. She turned her head as she heard a horse approaching. Arthur arrived and slipped off his horse, the sawed-off shotgun hanging from his shoulder.

“You ready?”

“I think so. Can you do it, Arthur?”

“‘Course.” His hands slipped under the drapes of velvet. He gave your calf an encouraging squeeze that made you look down, suppressing a smile. “Okay, all set.”

The shotgun weighed down on your leg, you adjusted yourself in the saddle.“M’okay. There’s a slug in each barrel. Let’s hope you don’t gotta need for ‘em.” He looked up at you as you saw Dutch trotting up on The Count, flanked by Micah on Baylock.

“Is everyone prepared?” Dutch boomed, swinging his leg over the horn and walking towards you.

“Jus’ look at her,” Arthur stated proudly. You sat up straighter as Dutch circled you and Godiva. She curved her neck slightly and into the bit; always the show-off, your horse. Her blood bay coat gleamed in the shadow of the trees. The black points on her legs and hooves shone like the curves of your velvet skirt. Your hair had been put up in a delicate plait on the back of your head, and Godiva’s tack had been oiled and cleaned. You and her were a team of radiance.

“My dear, I do say, you were born for this,” Dutch nodded once. “Now, the boys have already started on the road around the plantation, you should see them from time to time. Arthur n’ Micah will stay here with a scope on you, to make you don’t get into too much trouble.”

“Don’t go drinkin’ too much of that fancy wine, Lady Godiva,” Micah interjected. “We’ll be watchin’ who you end up flirtin’ with.”

You whipped your head to shoot him a glare, but Arthur had moved closer. You reached your hand down, he took it and gently squeezed your fingers,” You’ve got this, sweetheart. And I’ve got you.” “I know you do. Alright, time for me to go. A lady of distinction such as myself can’t be seen runnin’ with a bunch of outlaws,” You squeezed his fingers in return then let go, and gathered Godiva into a trot, leaving the peripheral safety of the tree line.

Your mind blanked as your approached the gate. You glanced down at Godiva, her mane a black sheen of waves, undulating in time with her steady trot.

“Afternoon ma’am,” he said sternly. You noted the sun glint off his repeater. “This here’s private property.”

“I’m very much aware,” you coiled. “I was asked here by an Amos Pilot. He’s expectin’...my company.” A pearl of sweat slid down your back. You watched his eyes follow your hand as you reached into your waistcoat to reveal the invitation Trelawney had recovered for you. He walked forward and snatched it from your gloved hands, then peered at it suspiciously.

He waited for a moment before conceding. “Right this way, ma’am.”

“I should say,” you ruffled his way as he moved to swing the iron gate that yawned a screech. Godiva pushed into a light trot down the pea gravel path that weaved through the property.

The trimmed bushes stood stoic on either side of the white gravel path before the large two-story house. Tables with white cloth fluttered in the wind, and strings of lightbulbs criss crossed through the low hanging trees, whose droopy branches skimmed the red dirt. A small string ensemble sat in a corner of the ivy, bellowing out rolling melodies. Horses and people of all colors and sizes strolled about. You could see some heads bobbing above the straight hedges off towards the property’s edge. The faint sound of a gurgling fountain dipped between the music and conversation and horses. Godiva nodded at the new noises and smells, but quickly calmed down. You stroked her neck, unsure if it was for her nerves, or your own. You looked towards the property line, and noticed Javier and Boaz, looking like they were taking a leisurely stroll; Boaz’s head hanging low and swinging in-time with his strides. Godiva seemed to notice as well, and let out a shrieking whinny at the sight of Boaz. You quickly shushed her, hoping to blend in with the crowd.

“My, what a lovely mare you have.”

You looked up to see an older woman sidle up to you on a large dappled gray Hungarian Halfbred, his mane roached.

“Oh, thank you. She’s my pride,” you replied, continuing to stroke her neck.

“What is her lineage?” Her sharp eyes followed the well-knitted lines of Godiva’s conformation.

“I do know she has a strong Thoroughbred connection,” you started, not wanting to start a lengthy conversation. “Unfortunately, all her papers were lost in a fire. Very tragic.”

The woman frowned a bit. “Shame, she looks so regal. And you’re riding aside. Very traditional of you.”

“I could say the same of you,” you retorted.

She smiled at that. “Can’t seem to shake it! My mother was very insistent on it. Now I can’t get rid of the damned thing. And, Augustus takes to it well, he’s a good chap.” She patted the horse’s shoulder, then looked back at you. “What is your name?”

“Helen. Helen Callahan,” you extended a hand. “My mother insisted on it, as well.”

“Ebba Griffin,” she gave your hand a firm shake. “Care to accompany on a ride around Amos’ gardens?”

“I would be delighted to,” you replied, and followed her on the outer path that snaked around the house.

Ebba turned out to be a fair companion, you thought, as she rambled through stories of her adventures throughout India and China, the men she’s been with (and details that made you blush redder than a shepherds sunset), the sights she’s seen. The rides you took with Arthur were mostly shaped to the comfortable silence that you both enjoyed, but Ebba kept a hold on your attention, and you gasped and nodded at all the right moments, prying more stories out of her. She eventually slowed down after the death of her third and final husband, to where she was currently touring America at her leisure.

“So, my dear, what husband are you on?” she threw you a jesting smile.

“Oh, well actually-”

“Not married yet?” you nodded in response. “Quite unusual, I should say, but I would know, since I myself am quite unusual,” she answered her own question, and you just smiled. “But you’ve got the look of a young woman with something behind those dashing eyes. Must be some kind of love, hm?”

You fought the smile on your face and glanced over at the treeline. ”Yes ma’am,” you answered her, emboldened by the concept of talking about Arthur while he could see you, without hearing what you were saying. “I’ve got quite a man, Miss.”

“You are smitten, aren’t you?”

“Oh, quite. I tell him every day, yet he doesn’t believe me. He’s strong, and silent, and good.”

“What’s his name?”

“Arthur,” your smile widened.

“Good name, strong name!” she raised her hand in the air, and Augustus quickened his stride. “Let’s ride back, I need a drink. Let’s toast to Arthur!”

You laughed, trotting behind her.

Ebba called over attendants holding chittering glasses of champagne on sparkling silver platters. One of those could earn you a new dress, you thought as you delicately plucked a coupe from the platter the waiter had lifted to you and Ebba, still seated on your horses.

She raised her glass to you. “To men like Arthur… and my second husband!”

“To Arthur!” you echoed, and downed the glass in one swig, feeling the bubbles dance down your throat.

An attendant came and helped you dismount Godiva, leading her to a line of posts where other horses were being hitched. Ebba handed you another coupe, and you followed her towards the light and sound emanating from the party that had begun to grow as the night faded into a violet twilight.

Following Ebba became a game of catch, either catching the glasses she idly tossed the more she consumed, or catching her before she fell into bushes or other people. Your cheeks hurt from smiling, finding it great fun to be in the company of someone who seemed so opposite of everything you remembered.

You finally coaxed her to sit in a wrought iron chair, finding an attendant to fetch her some food. Over the sound of her broken giggles, you heard someone urgently whisper the name of Amos, and looked over to see a rotund man with a dark beard leaning towards an attendant who whispered in his ear, then strode towards the house, trying to hide the hurry in his step. You patted Ebba’s shoulder, then quickly followed the man.

You flitted towards the rear entrance of the house, where the road was barely visible through the trees, on the other side of the fence. You slid into the shadowy mudroom, hearing the clunk of footsteps on the second floor. Your body moved, focused, forgetting your earlier anxiety. Creeping up the staircase, you noted a flickering golden light cut into the hallway. Lightly tiptoeing forward, you crept along the walls, closer towards the open door. Peeking your head to just see through the doorway, you spotted a man, hunching over an ornate desk, pressing his knuckles into the wood.

“Amos, darling, please return to your guests! It’s rude to keep them waiting!” A female voice echoed from an adjoining room.

Amos sighed and called out to the voice, then left through the other door. You breathed out, and scurried over the desk that was littered with paper. You sorted through them, some letters, some banking notes, and one heavy handed letter from Cornwall.

“I know your name, Mr. Cornwall,” you muttered as you plucked it from the pile on the desk and began searching for the bonds Dutch had described. You slid the heavy drawers towards you, rummaging through the contents. You found a thin leather envelope that had a money clip in it, and tossed it on the rug. There was some jewelry: a pearl necklace and a few pocket watches that you tossed into the envelope.

The other side of the desk opened as a cabinet, and when you flung it open it revealed a small, burly safe. You let out a breath, and tried to remember what Arthur had taught you about opening these blasted safes.

You got down on your hands and knees, pushing your head into the cabinet and up against the cool metal, listening for the clicks.

“Shit,” you whispered, when you heard the mechanism lock, and twisted the knob a few times to restart. You closed your eyes, listening again for the clicks. On your third attempt, the safe coughed. You gasped when you pushed down on the handle and the little door swung open, revealing sitting stacks of bound bonds.

You picked one up and flipped it through your fingers. It was too much too count. Too many bonds. You smiled, stuffing the bonds into the envelope until it bulged with its contents.

Footsteps were echoing through the hallway outside. You deftly shut the safe door closed, and carefully latched the cabinet closed, tucking the envelope under your waistcoat and scurrying to the door Amos had exited from, hoping it was another way outside.

Once outside, you couldn’t stop the growing smile on your face. Was it really this easy? No wonder they did this all the time! When we return to camp Arthur is gonna get the best--

You stopped mid stride, there was a strong grip on your arm, and a cool pressure on your neck.

“Not good to wander alone in the dark, pretty lady,” you winced away from the scratchy voice in your ear, warm breath on your skin. “Ah! Don’t fight me, if’n you wanna live,” the words slithered around you, as he pushed you towards the crowd.

Ebba, still slumped in the chair, saw you walking back and waved to you. A shot rang out nearby, followed by gasps and screams. Another voice boomed above the commotion.

“Good evenin’!” A man rode through the tables on a stout Appaloosa. “We are the Lemoyne fuckin’ Raiders, an’ we are gonna relieve you of your personal propertah!”

More men on foot began to surround the patrons of the party. The man holding you pushed you forward. You found Ebba, reaching out for each other. You grabbed her arms and held on as the circle around you became tighter. You could feel the shotgun resting against your leg.

A raider holding out a sack began to weave through the crowd. Women were already reaching up to unhook necklaces; men reluctantly tossed money clips into the sack.

One raider roughly grabbed Ebba’s arm, trying to pry a gold ring from her hand. She screamed out. “No, you can’t!” she begged, “it was my late husband’s, please!”

You reached for the raider. “Let go, she don’t wanna be touched!” you yelled, trying to release his grip. Another man came up and struck his hand around your throat. You tried to claw yourself free.

“We take whatever we can get,” he spit in your face. “Let go!” you choked out.

Another shot cracked through the air. The man before you was now crumpled on the ground, blood pooling around his head. You glanced back at the darkened trees before noticing the surprise on the man still gripping Ebba.

“Ebba, get down!” You reached for her head with one hand, and with the other, snaked under your skirt and gripped the handle of the shotgun. You flung it out, aiming it into the raider’s chest and pulling the right trigger. He fell backwards, and chaos consumed you.

Raiders and patrons ran in every direction. You reached for Ebba, but she was grabbed round the shoulders by a man in a disheveled tuxedo, whisking her farther into the commotion. You ran for the rear entrance of the house, hoping someone was there already, ready to cover you. You bumped and clashed with people trying to get away. Someone grabbed your arm, and you screamed with adrenaline, ripping your jacket off to reveal the white sleeves of your shirt and ran faster, still clutching the shotgun. You whistled for Godiva, hoping she didn’t run too far when the shooting started. You scrambled under the fence to see Godiva trot up right after where John and Bill were waiting in the underbrush.

“Where...where are the others?” you huffed between breaths, leaning on your knees.

“Dunno,” Bill replied. “They shoulda been here by now. We came ridin’ when we heard the first gunshot.”

“Damnit,” you huffed.

John dismounted Old Boy and brought Godiva to you. You took her reins and pressed your forehead to her brow, holding her head close.

Micah appeared, charging up on Baylock. He swung his leg over the horn. “That was some fuckin’ mess,” he drawled, and looked at you. “Saw you enter the house. Did’ya get the bonds Dutch asked for?”

You looked around for Brit’s jagged blaze in the darkness, but neither she nor Arthur had yet appeared. You peered around Micah.

“Where’s Arthur?” your heart clenched.

“I thought he was right on my tail, princess,” Micah sneered, glancing around him.

“After he let out that rifle shot, we heard ah group of them movin’, so we started to move.”

“No, no, no, no,” you repeated, marching towards him. You pushed him with the flat of your heels. You grabbed his lapels. Tried to shake him hard.

“Micah, where is he?” you cried. Hot tears outlined your cheeks.

“Micah!” you cried again. “Micah! Where’s Arthur?”

Notes: Anon, this one’s for you!

Sorry (not sorry?) about the cliffhanger. Y’all, I’m excited. Sometimes I feel I have to streamline out all the detail I want to put in. But I’ve got a spicy epilogue brewing! Also, sometimes I’m burning the candle at both ends when I write this, and I don’t realize I’ve changed the tense. If you notice anything, please feel free to leave a comment or message me!

Also, I could have SWORN there was a piece of conversation with Karen where she describes robbing a bank dressed as a nun, but I can’t find it on youtube! Seems like something she’d do, so I kept it in. You’ll just have to take my word for it. 

[maiuoart]

I’m curious now. What’s your version of the Underfell, Underswap and Horrortale bros like personality wise? What’s their soul traits? If you don’t mind me asking that is.

Okay, alright, lets do this. I had everything down for this before, but stupid me made a large mistake. ANYWAYS! Feel free to ask any any of them, though I won’t be too prone to really think about them much? Cause, my heart belongs to the Swapfells; But I still wouldn’t mind doing things like this for the other guys!!! ♥

Ask any and all questions you’d like of anything; Thank you for it!!

I’m going to give you how I see them after coming up to the surface~

UnderFell;

UF!Sans/Red; Unlike others in the fandom, I can see Red as one of those types of guys who’s really chill and relaxed… 

Cept, y’know; He has no patiences. At all? He’s our hot-headed, ill tempered, little flirt of a gremlin who enjoys to play around with words and sayings. He has no filter, and is a huge sailor mouth! He’s a prickly little smart ass, but he’d more than likely flirt or try to gross someone out who doesn’t vibe right with him… Cause, y’know; 

“Whats life is ya gotta fight 24/7? it’s funnier t’gross the fucks out than gettin’ their juice on ya from punchin’ too hard, them damn jelly-bags.”

But, he still has a tsundere side to him that not a lot of people know… Because of his habits of irritability and jumping the gun, he may jump to accusations and if proven wrong or said the wrong things, well… He’ll try and make up for it. Without ruining too much of his pride, but he’ll still do something nice behind their backs. Or, awkwardly try to outright show he doesn’t want to lose them somehow or whatever. Y’know, he doesn’t fuckin’ care either way, but it’s hard to find some good pals, alright? ...Stop looking at him like that, y’fuck.

What I really like with this Red? He is the king of word plays. Constantly getting hit and degraded from his brother to stop being so vulgar lead him to become a huge flirt ‘Under The Table’, meaning he can say anything to make your mind sink right into the gutter, but if called out on it, he will play the innocent card and will point out that his wording is innocent; You’re just the fuck with a perverted mind. 

And he revels in that. Red had gotten to call his brother out on it more than once, and even though Edge KNOWS THAT’S NOT WHAT HE MEANT, he began to ignore it after some time.

It still irritated him, but Edge can’t do a damn thing about it… And it’s actually quite hilarious to him secretly to watch others have reactions to his brothers horrible humor.

All in all, Red is a Deviant, Devious, Perverted, Hot-headed, Careless, Prideful, but very-... Loving. Protective... Okay, so he might have a few nice soft and good bones in his body; But not like he’ll outright say it! Get off his spine, dammit!

...Red’s a mother fucking cat that loves attention but will attack you if you outwardly point it out. Don’t point it out and you won’t get bit.

Red’s Soul Trait is; Rage.     It can be mistaken for Determination; But the difference between the two side by side is that a Rage Trait is a lot brighter in hue than a DT.

UF!Papyrus/Edge; Our Egoistic, Narcissistic, Loud, Angry beanpole… But, there is something I have found quite enjoyable in my version than others in the fandom.

Much like in the fandom; He is still that boisterous asshole… However, he has a more different approach when going into an area unknown or an unknown being comes into his area. He is observant, quiet, and will take in a situation in front of him; If one is going on.

Once he is done observing, he will snap at everything he deems need be. Either to help or hinder a situation… But if there is none? Well, call him the Drama maker; Cause there should be. He’s prone to try and test people around him; See how his words can affect them, if he can push any buttons, and pretty much see how tough the ones around him are. He likes to test people’s patiences, after all.

But he does know how far to go before it gets too heated, stopping and bringing up other points in a situation or saying something about himself to get the person’s mind off his ‘Almost’ mistake; Which, it always seems to ease a situation down, allowing them to have some type of word before ‘He gets mad and walks off’. 

Edge, honestly; Doesn’t care what anyone thinks or says about himself. He knows that they have seen only his worst, and the fact it’s a front and a fake personality really makes him prideful of how easy he can hide his true self more. Being in the Guard, one had to train themselves to be something completely different, after all. 

You can say… Edge has a switched personality; His true one?Some days, not even He knows what it really is anymore… 

‘Fake it til you Make it’ was seriously made to be true to him, and at some points, Edge doesn’t remember what is real or not for his feelings. Red will occasionally see his true personality come back… His caring side, his side that’s actually much more relaxed. But with his Soul trait, it’s rare to see anymore. But deep down, Edge knows; He just wants the best for others... Likes to help, even if it’s not wanted from him!

....And maybe stir the pot up to keep things lively.

When it comes right down to it, Edge is; Observant as all hell, Dramatic, Egoistic, Speaks his mind, Teasing, Can be Rude, Low-key Caring... Actually, he’s more of a Romantic than his brother... And he’s actually super sweet when you get passed his sour exterior... Did I mention this boy is great to have to talk about troubles with? High-key LOVES to talk trash about any problems... And he’s protective as all hell. 

Is that friend who is; “WHO MADE YOU CRY? I WILL BEAT THEM UP.”

...I think I’m falling for this PapaBear. That's exactly what I’m thinking his true personality is. 

Edges Soul Trait is; Wrath.   This color is much deeper and more blood related, clear that between a DT Soul and his, it is easy to tell by how much darker his Soul is. Crimson, honestly.

UnderSwap;

US!Sans/Blue; Still the hyperactive, loveable, adorable Magnificent Blue! Never a dull moment with him, his energy doesn’t allow it!

Though he is mistaken for a child almost all the time due to his bright and more than positive outlook on life, similar and if not a mirrored version of UT!Papyrus, he makes due with it! Energetic, eccentric, and good for his works due to his mature side shines brightly; He still can’t help but be very put off when someone says he’s ‘too young to date’. 

He won’t lie when he gives his best motivational talks that make people’s eyes boggle and question his age, however. It always makes him laugh, either good heartedly or questionably is unknown.

Blue uses this to his advantage though, ironically. Might be considered more of a creep thing and that is; Using his childlike personality to be able to get close to someone for a bit. Meaning; Gets really friendly. Will hold their hands innocently, ask to sit in their laps, and cling to the person he likes like glue.

….Did I mention he has a bit of a possessive personality? Cause, he does.

What’s really funny? Is people will automatically think he’s innocent. I’m going down the sin train with this boy; He is a SIN-nimon. Though he barely has any experience in the bedroom, maybe once or twice with a one nighter, which he will not talk about, for reasons… It’s more of the fact that he had to learn things and is more prone to wanting to do everything he does with such a talent, it’ll leave them breathless. He loves to try new things, after all! ;) Unless reasons.

He’s amazingly smart and will be able to tell if someone is using him or taking him for granted. Though, he will allow it to pass for a while, believing that they just don’t know better or believing they’ll change given time! 

However, his patiences is run thin when even his Brother tries to keep him sheltered. He’s not blind to things like that, he sees it. He gets angry with it. Some fights will even come from it given the subject or mood both brothers are in; But still, it doesn’t change his brothers views at all. And that-.. Can kind of ruin his mood for a good while.

Above all, this dude is just purely; Considerate, Caring, Observant, Hyperactive, Goofy, Manipulative, Possessive, and might be a bit pervy when behind closed doors.

Blues Soul Trait Is; Patiences!   Like his Cyan color, he is amazingly patient with a LOT of things… Being so positive does have it’s downside though, and that tends to make his eccentric side shine a bit more…

US!Papyrus/Stretch; Hnnng, this is a hard one because all I’ve ever seen of this boy is how ultra overprotective and how much of an asshole he can be??? Like, I just. I really can’t for him? But i’m going to try.

Much like UT!Sans, he is very laid back and relaxed. He has a good bit of paranoia, some obsessive behavior, and minor possessive traits he shares with his little brother; But, he plays it all off with a chill atmosphere. 

He’s more prone to picking someone's brain apart and putting it back together to know exactly what's up and going; Sometimes it’ll even come off as rude, but nothing too hostile. 

He enjoys to prank the every loving fuck out of everyone and anyone; That's his form of puns. Jokes and japes are his favorite. I do know he enjoys to gross people out or even disturb them a little bit with gross pranks.

...Honestly, that is all I really have for this fellow. Really; I just want to call him an ass. ndskjgh If I can come up with something different, I will come back and redo this; But for now-... I just can’t get over my high horse in saying he’s an absolute fucker...

Stretch’s Soul Trait is; Justice with Bravery!   It’s a mixture between the two, both fighting for the main trait. It’s why his color is a Honey glow!

HorrorTale;

Please, someone tell me where these names come from; I’m not lazy or anything, but I read so many fanfics now that I can’t recall who came up with what names anymore; But I absolutely adored these more than Axe and Crooks; Which are more of names I can see as insults? So, I can see the other AU’s calling them that... But what they prefer to be called? Mars and Jupiter FTW! 

HT!Sans/Mars; He’s actually a very relaxed version of his old self. He can’t get too startled or else he may go into a panic. Due to his head injury, his reaction time is slowed down. It hurts when he thinks too hard, so he’s more just allowing everything to flow past him.

Forget and Forgive is what he goes by anymore. Somedays, that saying is hard; Only when the memories begin to turn and rupture in his mind like crashing waves does he feel the need to try and get himself to cook or work on easy projects to help ease distract himself. 

He’s forgetful, so Mars has to constantly write himself notes when he can; In his phone, on stickynotes, random pieces of paper, hell; He even carries a small notepad just in case something happens. His brother has the better memory, so he’ll ask Jupiter to recall something for him- Sometimes it’s repeated to the point Jupiter will gently remind his brother that; “Yes, You Have Told Me Already, Don’t Worry So Much! I Got Your Back, Brother!”

He’s quiet, spacey, but still holds his smarts to an extent. His mental ability is a bit staggered; But he doesn’t get violent or hostile unless its triggered by something... That something is if he holds wet meat that gives for too long, or the heavy scent of copper roams in the room for more than desired. 

He might have a bit of animalistic instincts piled into him due to what he ate back to survive... But it’s not like he had a choice, or the others. He knows that all he needs is Food; To get food, to gain food, for him and his brother. To take care of his kin when he has his episodes; All he can think about is Food, Food, Food.

So, what Mars’ personality holds?; Easy-going, Chill, Relaxed, Skittish; Please don’t startle the poor dude, Empathetic, Closed off.

Mars’ Soul Trait Color Is; Dulled Integrity.   Due to all the stress his universe gave him, he is dulled and almost void from have losing his Hope. Feelings of betrayal has seeped into his Soul, causing his once brilliant Soul to dim to a sick and pale blue.

HT!Papyrus/Jupiter; He is still his Glorious old self; But yet with an aura of both Maturity and Self awareness, he has turned into his shell quite a bit, much like his brother. He hates scaring others, and just wishes to enjoy his new life! But how can he do that when-... No, he will enjoy his new life!

Jupiter, the ever once Social butterfly, now is more closed off from others. He will still actively begin to open up faster than his brother if someone shows they don’t fear him; But he will remain distant if someone so much as stares at him wrong or hears that someone dislikes him just because of his looks or he’s intimidating. 

Yes, he has had dental work done on his crooked teeth. And yes, that had helped him gain more of his confidence back. However, he can’t help but always flinch at loud noises as they grate his hearing, squint even with his glasses to try and get his magic to focus in his sockets, and even to the point that he’s more prone to-... Walk, maybe too quietly for a lot of people to notice.

It’s not his fault his magic makes his bones lighter to stealth around... It was a need and a must back in the Underground, after all!

With his need to keep his mind distracted and preoccupied, he stays away from his signature dish unless absolutely need be. The smell can send his Soul flaring-... With the need to continue to cook and the absolute need to make it perfected. Most times if he cooks his Spaghetti, he has to hurry up and cook something completely new, just so it mixes with the scent and doesn’t send him spiralling to cook everything in the house for a huge feast.

His personality consist of; OCD, Quiet, Perceptive, Considerate, Easily Joyful, Excitable, Can become controlling; For good reasons though!

Jupiters Soul Trait Is; Dulled Bravery.   Much like his own brother, betrayal has dimmed his once glorious Soul... It’s no longer the vibrant Orange it once was; But that was alright! Because now, he neither fears nor wants to stand up to most things. Unless pushed, he will stay where he is; Content in the space. 

It’s safe. All safe. Just stay put and it’s all safe. Safe, Safe, Safe.

Thanks for asking, Darlin’! Some of these might change in the future, because I never gave any of them a real chance to shine in my mind; But I feel like I’m on the right track! ♥ 

If memory serves right, the Horrortale brothers are heavily reference from Lulu-Writes; Bones, Picked Clean. But I might be wrong!! So let me know if I am!

[idonthaveanaccent]

Experimental Book Chapter— 11/20/19

My eyes were glued shut, no amount of force could pry them open. All I wanted to do was to see again. Of all my senses to strip from me, this was one I could not bear to live with. Sight guided me through the world. I wanted to see. I needed to see. Especially right now.

One sense I was not stolen of was the sense of touch. I could feel the metal chains griping my body, holding me tightly against a rough pole. The splinters pushed through my skin, igniting the pain receptors. It wasn't enough pain to distract me from the burning that coiled around my feet, gingerly rising up to my waist. 

I could smell it. All of it. It burned. It made me cough. The smoke. It filled my lungs, stripping me of oxygen. I hacked up some liquid, and my sense of taste immediately ignited, filling my mouth with iron. Another scream ripped through me as my skin sizzled, the fire destroying my limbs. Was I dying? I couldn't tell. I knew what death felt like but it wasn't this—no this, this was life. But why was I alive? Wasn't I dead? Shouldn't I be dead?

There was darkness, my mind clouded, I couldn't see, it hurt to think, to move, to breathe, to exist—! Adrenaline pumping, coursing, and building. Something pushing, clawing, and scratching. It hurt. My insides were being ripped open, destroyed, pulverized. My mind was weak, frazzled, and fried. I couldn't move anymore, the fire hurt so much I wanted to scream, to scream louder than I already was! I thrashed and pulled and cried and growled and yelled and pushed and clawed and bit and—

And I died.

I couldn't move. I couldn't feel. I couldn't hear. I couldn't see. I couldn't taste. I couldn't smell. I was dead.

But I didn't feel dead. It felt more like I was waking up. Like something was pulling me upward. Yet my mind was still broken, pieces laying on the ground and I couldn't pick them up. I wasn't good at puzzles. I wasn't going to be able to fit the jagged pieces together again. I watched as they began to fade. Why wasn't I picking them up? Shouldn't I try? Yet I can't because I can't feel. And why can I see them? Wasn't my sense of sight taken from me? I turned my head upward a I saw the soft amber light. Fire. I burned alive. But why? Who did that? But I didn't, that's not how I died. I swear it wasn't yet I couldn't remember. Who killed me? Who was I? What was my name? Was I important? Loved? Forgotten?

I blinked. Sight was back. My mind felt like jelly, the empty spaces rolling around, my vision blurred. I saw figures. Hoods. Cloaks. Dark. Angry eyes. Happy eyes. Smiles. Smirks. Books. Symbols. Fire. Torches. Light. Black. White. Small. Tall. Old. Young. Not old but not young. Alive, maybe. Dead, potentially. Strange lights. Moonlight? Not sun. Maybe starlight? Dead? Alive? Who's to say. I don't know.

Smell. Smoke. Ash. Flesh. Char. Burnt. Crispy. Iron.

Touch. Heat. Pain. Wood. Metal. Liquid. Blood. Flesh.

I couldn't hear. Their lips moved. They smiled, clapping their hands together in prayer. But why? Who were these people? Dark cloaks, dark clothes, strange symbols of red and splattered with blood, smoke, curling, coiling, and mixing, pain building, pushing, screaming—!

My mind was shattered, broken, mush. Like glass being smashed against stone, pieces scattering, imbedded in the soles of feet, blown under a cabinet, swept up by a broom, thrown into a trash can only to be carted away to a dump where it’s buried by tons of debris that rots and rots and rots till there is nothing left, years and years and years later they find the glass shard still intact yet the bottle is long gone and will never be pieced back together, No—!

Pain in my chest. Surging towards my throat. A lump, I’m choking. Burning eyes, burning tears, pain, pain, pain, pain, pain. Fuzz. Static. I’m blind again.

No, not blind.

Everything is red. Darkened. I can’t move. I can’t speak. I can see. Metal snaps. I’m free. My feet burn against hot coals, pain, pain, pain, pain. Cheering. Clapping. Applauding. I look up.

No, not me.

I’m not in control. Robotic. There’s someone else. There’s someone here. I’m not there. Feet move. I’m lunging. My hand closes around their neck, pain, pain, pain. Screaming. Crying. Running. I am dead.

No, not dead.

Life runs through me. Adrenaline. Emotions move faster. I’m so angry. Enraged even. I’m pissed. My claws tear into a chest, pain, pain. Bloody. Messy. Loud. I am happy.

No, not happy.

They are all dying. Quickly. They are running. I’m so fast. Lightning fast. I’m killing. Heads rolling all over the floor, pain. Dead. Demise. End. I am silent.

No, not silent.

There’s something moving.

My eyes open. I’m floating. It’s cold. It’s wet. A river? No, not a river. A lake. But that thundering— a waterfall! Behind me. Or above? No, both. Behind and above. All at once. I’m laying on my back. Water, crystal clear. Yet red. Crystal clear water running red with blood. Not mine. Theirs. Who’s? I don’t know.

Not together. Lost the pieces. I’m lost. Where am I? Where’s the fire? The cloaks? The blood? I’m not here, or there, or anywhere for that matter. Where is here? Am I here? Are they here? Was there ever any ‘here’?

Rambling, stop it. You’re rambling again.

Who said that? Not I. Not them. They’re dead. But are they? Did I kill them? I don’t recall.

No, I did.

But that wasn’t me. It was him.

Who’s him?

I’ve not had the chance to meet him.

Yet he killed them?

Yes. You can ask him.

Where?

Well certainly not here, mind you.

Then where, good sir?

By him, naturally.

Aye, certainly shall we talk to him now, find out who he was and who he killed.

Men in cloaks of black with hoods pulled far up their faces, symbols of red so twisted and cruel they make the holy men cry, blood splattered along the black, turning the darkness into a criminal, lurking within the shadows makes a sinner out of anyone, though of the contrary it makes a holy man better should he find those sins and repent them to all that is above.

But is there a god?

Yes, you’ve met him. At least, his children.

Have I though? And who are you?

Shattered, broken, glass. Crushed beneath the feet of those cloaked figures. Worshippers of the devil, yes. They claim to be the followers of the savior but who is a true savior but a man chosen by the true creator? Such a man doesn’t exist, else I would know of him. They all would.

Shattered, broken. Disheveled lies the broken, forced upon the streets to beg those more fortunate for scraps to get by. Was I a beggar or an ignorant? Which would I rather be? Someone dumb the the bad of the world or someone all to familiar with misfortune? I would know. They all would.

Shattered. Dreams are an escape from the earthly world, a vision of a better life. Nightmares exist to shock a person back to reality, pull them from the high of ecstasy and tell them what to truly expect. Which would I rather have, know of a world so good yet it doesn’t exist, or experience so much and by at least know it’s real? I would know. They all would.

I.

Am.

Dead.

[rise-above-the-grave]

voices to murder the nightmares

written for @stargatedrabbles​‘s Week #19 prompt: Disgrace. definitely turned out to be more than a drabble, but...ehhh who cares. also, be forewarned, this is unedited and was honestly just vomited onto the page and left there... I know it’s not my best work, I know there are gaps and things missing, but I’m tired and want this done and posted, so have a half-assed attempt at mediocrity.

voices to murder the nightmares

Disgrace.

The word pounded through Sam’s head, all sharp edges and sharper corners. It echoed against the corners of her skull, reverberated between each crevice of thought, resounded inside bone and flesh and tissue.

You are nothing, the voice continued, cold and cruel and slick, like black ice, like bloodied steel, like stained silk. You will be nothing.

Captain Samantha Carter, second-in-command of Earth’s foremost interplanetary exploratory team, SG-1, crawled onwards. The earth was cold against her palms and bare feet, the leaves dead and wet and rotting beneath the towering fir trees overhead. She shivered, the wind cold as it blew between the trunks as big around as five men, her skin prickling beneath her t-shirt and BDU pants as the voice whispered again.

You are a disgrace, Samantha Carter. You failed your Jolinar. You failed your father. You failed your team.

I haven’t failed them yet, Sam thought, as fiercely as she could, and crawled on.

The sky was overcast, deep grey and churning with clouds. The air was cold—colder now, even, than it had been when SG-1 had arrived on the planet, and they had been able to see their breath cloud before them even then—and the wind colder as it whistled through the trees, leaping and laughing down to the earth to tussle the curling, brown ferns and leafless bushes growing up through the hard, frozen ground.

You have already failed your team, the voice went on. You failed Daniel when you left him alone on the planet for dead. You failed Teal’c when you did not embrace him with open arms when he first arrived on Earth. And you failed O’Neill worst of all.

How? Sam demanded of the voice. A rock caught the palm of her right hand, and she slipped on the wet stone, splitting her palm open. Hot, hot blood ran down her fingers and smeared across the dead leaves, leaving a gash of red against the brown.

An image rose up in Sam’s mind, like a window opening amid her thoughts and memories. It was her, sitting in the chair before the Za’tarc-reading machine. It was O’Neill, being escorted down the hall under heavy guard. It was O’Neill, sentenced to death for the sake of her own mind. It was—

No, Sam thought savagely. No, I saved him. We figured it out. He didn’t die.

Are you certain?

We weren’t Za’tarc!

Are you certain?

Yes!

And then another image, another window opening in her mind, and she was falling, falling, falling through it.

Janet stood at the head of an operating table, O’Neill lying before and beneath her. His eyes were closed as if in peaceful rest—but his head…

Oh, God, Sam thought, and she suddenly retched, pausing in her relentless crawl to vomit miserable bile onto the frozen loam.

See? the voice whispered. See what you did?

You’re lying, thought Sam.

Am I?

“Yes!” Sam shouted, and then clapped a hand to her bitter mouth.

Satisfaction and glee washed through her, starting from her head and crashing down into her curling toes. It was not her satisfaction and glee, however.

Sam pulled herself to her knees before the pool of her bile, then staggered to her feet. As soon as she reached her full height, however, it was as if a heavy weight—an impossible weight, as heavy as stone and iron and concrete—fell on her head and back and shoulders. She gasped for breath, and stumbled and nearly fell.

No, she thought stubbornly, starting to walk—and then to run. No, you won’t win. You won’t—

Ah, said the voice, but I already have.

Sam’s head was down, watching the earth beneath her stumbling feet. She dodged a pointed rock, she broke her way through a screen of bushes—she tumbled down a sharp incline and into a shallow creek at the bottom of a culvert. The water was nearly frozen, and Sam broke through a film of frost on the top of the still surface. Her hands and arms and knees and feet soaked through in an instant, the water frigid, and Sam choked.

How laughable.

Sam looked up—and froze. Standing above her on the creek’s culvert was a filmy, shadowy creature. Humanoid in shape, it had no hair. No clothes. No face. It was simply the blurred outline of a human, made of nearly-translucent fog and mist.

“No,” Sam whispered, and reaching out for the bank of the small creek, she levered herself to her feet.

Found you, the voice whispered gleefully.

“No,” Sam whispered again.

Yes.

The creature moved with blinding speed, rushing down the bank on unmoving feet. Sam lifted a hand and arm, braced herself for impact—only for the thing to pass through her defenses and run straight through her body.

She fell.

Pain. Pain and more pain. All-consuming, never-ending.

Each nerve was afire. Each bone was splintered. Each muscle was shredded.

Sam screamed.

Fire. Fire before her. Fire behind her.

Fire within her.

There was fire everywhere. There was nothing but fire. She breathed of it, her heart beat of it, her voice screamed of it. She could do nothing but burn, burn, burn…

No. Sam pressed her lips together, bit down on the scream bubbling up through her chest and throat and teeth. No, this isn’t real.

Not real? a gleeful voice asked. Ah, but what is reality but what you are experiencing?

Then I’m not experiencing this, Sam decided stubbornly. This isn’t real. Therefore, according to your logic, I’m not experiencing this.

I see… Well done.

Sam gasped and opened her eyes. She was lying on her side in the middle of the half-frozen creek, her clothes soaked, her hair sopping, her skin crusted with ice. The water was crawling into her nose and mouth, half-choking her, and she coughed and spat as she sat up.

So, said the voice. You are…stronger than we expected.

I would have thought that was obvious, Sam retorted, but tiredly. I’d already escaped from you once.

Only because we underestimated your sex.

You underestimated me again, Sam told the voice, and once more levered herself to her feet. The weight returned, pressing down on her even harder than before—and Sam bowed beneath it.

You will not escape, said the voice. You are too weak to escape us. Too frightened by us. Too—

You’re wrong. I’ll get out—and I’ll save my team too.

It is already too late for them.

I doubt that.

Why? You have no proof we have not already killed them—have nothing but my word.

Sorry, but your word means jack shit to me, Sam thought at the voice. All you’ve done is lie to me.

Have I?

Another window opened, and once more Sam felt herself falling through it.

She was back in the white-walled, white-ceilinged, white-floored room she had been awakened in that morning. The air was crisp and clean and sterile, like antiseptic, like chloroform, like death. Sam wrinkled her nose.

There were four beds in the room, two along each opposing wall to her left and right. One of the beds was empty. The other three were filled with her teammates. All three of them were bound tightly to the bed and were unconscious.

The door to the room opened, and in came a stream of what Sam assumed were doctors and nurses by their garb. They crossed to the beds of the still-captured members of SG-1, and three needled syringes were produced.

“Never fear,” said the doctor standing over Colonel O’Neill’s bed. “This will not hurt a bit.”

The needles were slid into SG-1’s arms, the syringes depressed. For a second there was stillness, silence, the expectant breath of waiting—and then O’Neill screamed, his back arching up from the bed’s mattress. Daniel followed suit a second later, Teal’c a split second after him. The doctor by O’Neill’s bed smiled, nodded, and took a step back.

It was over in a moment. Abruptly, O’Neill’s screams died, and he fell flat on his back, utterly still and silent. His chest did not rise and fall with breath; his pulse point did not throb with his heartbeat. He was—

Dead, said the voice. They died painfully and oh so alone, far from home—far from you, who abandoned them.

I went to go get help, Sam replied, opening her eyes to the creek and the trees and the overcast sky. I didn’t abandon them.

And look how well that turned out for you.

I don’t believe you that they’re dead.

And why not?

You’ve done nothing but lie to me, Sam thought again.

I’m not lying.

Yes, Sam thought fiercely. You are.

She began to stumble down the creek, numb feet splashing through the water. She slipped on a wet and mossy stone and crashed into the creek, spraying her face and chest with water—and climbed to her feet again.

You aren’t going to win, Sam thought. I am.

You have no hope. You are nothing but a disgrace.

This again?

Look at all the times you failed your people. All the people you’ve been responsible for dying—for killing.

No.

Yes.

I’ve done nothing but what I had to.

Of course. But people have still ended up dead. Like your wingman.

No, I—

And then she was drowning in thought and memory.

“Permission to fire. Command, permission to fire!”

“Permission denied, lieutenant.”

“But—”

“They’re attacking, Carter.”

“Shit, fuck, damn. Hold on Emmerson. I’m coming.”

“No, don’t, there’s too many of them. Finish the mission objective.”

“But—”

“NOW, Carter.”

Air rushing past her, the roar of engines, the shiver of the jet beneath her seat and feet and hands. Dark spots in front of her, darting around a shimmering silver one. Faster, Sam thought, pushing her jet farther, faster, harder. I have to get there. Stupid, stupid, stupid of me to suggest breaking up to finish the objective faster. Stupid me, stupid me, stupid me. I have to get there, I have to help, I can’t let him die, I can’t—

A blossom of red fire. Orange fire. Gold fire. The crackle of static on the radio. Then: silence.

“NO!”

Sam immediately clapped her hands to her mouth. She stood in the midst of the creek, trembling and bowed nearly double by the weight pressing on her shoulders and head and back. She retched for a second time, miserable and weak, and spat out noxious bile mixed with sour spittle. It swirled away down the stream between her ankles, disappearing into the barely-rippling waves.

You cannot escape us, the voice went on. You cannot escape the inevitable. You cannot escape your DOOM.

At the last, shrieked word, Sam looked up. And there, bearing down upon her, were several faceless, humanoid forms made of fog and mist.

She turned and ran.

It was nearly impossible. The weight bearing down upon her shoulders, back, and head was enough to crush her to the ground—had been enough to crush her to the ground, not an hour before. It had forced her to crawl, and Sam feared it would force her to crawl again once her stubbornness was used up.

The weight was nothing to the shrieking in her mind, however. It was nails against slate, glass against stone, metal against metal. It was a thousand wailing choruses all singing in agonizing disharmony, a thousand strings breaking, a thousand flutes shrilling discordantly. It echoed and reechoed in Sam’s mind, battering her skull and brain, shredding her thoughts. She lifted her hands to her ears as she stumbled, as she fell, as she picked herself up again and forced herself onwards.

Her hands came away bloody.

And still she ran—and still the faceless forms pursued her.

She gasped, staggered, tripped and fell with a splash and a cry of pain. Stones bit into her knees, into her numbed feet, into her elbows as she landed face-first in the water. She stumbled, choked on frigid waves, clambered to her feet once more, dragging in shallow, wheezing breath after shallow, wheezing breath.

I have to keep going, she told herself. I have to keep running. I have to—

You are nothing. The wailing abruptly resolved into words, pointed and clear and painful. You are nothing but a failure. But a disgrace. How many people have died at your hand? How many have suffered?

No, Sam thought, and pressed her bleeding palms to her bleeding ears once more. No, I’m not listening to you.

You cannot hide from the truth, Samantha, the voice keened. You cannot hide from those you’ve KILLED.

Emmerson, dead in a flash of orange and gold and red fire.

Martouf, dead on the embarkation room floor.

Daniel, dying on the floor of a Goa’uld mothership.

Teal’c, dying from the insect sting that had nearly transformed him into a dozen of them.

Colonel O’Neill dying amid the dripping, mossy trees of the Nox’s homeworld.

A dozen, a hundred, a thousand more: Jaffa dying beneath her bullets, Turghan’s blood staining her hands, Seth crumpled and broken in the tunnel floor beneath his mansion.

Not my fault, Sam thought. Not my fault, not my fault, not my—

Oh, whispered the voice with a thousand strains, but it is…

The creek swerved to the right, then to the left, and then, abruptly it emptied out onto a wide, sprawling river. Sam staggered to a halt at the mouth, then whipped around to look over her shoulder.

The faceless creatures came on, slow but steady, their feet unmoving, their forms rippling with the wind.

Sam turned, and plunged into the river.

The current grabbed her and swept her away, dragging her down, down, downstream, her numbed footing lost in an instant. She went under, choking on a stream of bubbles, once, twice, three times. She clawed her way up to the top, coughing and retching against the choppy, half-frozen waves, gasping for breath.

NO! the voice shrieked. NO, YOU CANNOT GET AWAY FROM ME THAT EASILY.

Dumbass, Sam thought. Did you really think I wouldn’t do what I had to do?

You are going to die! the voice wailed. You are going to—

A rock reared up in front of Sam. Too late for her to try to swim out of its way, WHAM, she struck it side-first. Something in her ribcage snapped, and Sam screamed out another stream of bubbles as she slid under the waves once more.

BAM.

She hit another rock, and felt another rib give way. CRACK. A third. SMACK. A fourth.

Cough, retch, gasp. Water poured down her chin from her lips, her tongue, her throat, warm and laced through with spit and bile. Sam dragged in one shuddering breath—and then choked as water flooded over her teeth, cold and sharp and clear, and down into her stomach.

You stupid girl! the voices shrieked. YOU STUPID GIRL. Would it not have been better to live beneath our rule than to die in pain and loneliness?

No, thought Sam. No. It wouldn’t. Besides, I’m not going to die.

A roar came to Sam’s ears. She spun in the current, haphazard and crazed—and caught, for a split second, a glimpse of empty air and mist.

Shit, she thought.

YOU STUPID GIRL, the voices wailed.

And then: emptiness.

Sam fell. Fell. Fell over the edge of the waterfall, plummeted through the air for ten feet, twenty feet, thirty feet. Sam screamed.

CRACK.

She hit the surface of the water beneath, felt her body break.

And then: darkness.

 When Sam came to, it was to mud and cold water. She blinked, looked up at the churning sky, then looked down at herself.

Blood and mud and water soaked her through, staining her clothes and skin a mismatched smear of red and brown. She groaned, then used her one good arm to shove herself up into a sitting position. Her entire body throbbed, protesting the movement, and for a moment the world danced a spritely jig around her, swooping and hollering in a shrill, piercing whine. She leaned over and vomited for what felt like the hundredth time that day, and only straightened once more—with stars popping in her vision, with colors dancing over her eyes, with fire racing up and down her ribs and spine and dislocated shoulder and hip—when there was nothing left in her stomach to throw up.

“Fuck.”

So.

“Shit.”

You survived. Impressive.

You’d be amazed at what the human body can withstand, Sam retorted silently.

She levered herself to her feet using her one good arm and leg. She tottered for a moment, on the brink of falling over or screaming—or maybe both—before she clenched her teeth and her stubbornness and forced herself to stand tall. She hobbled once pace from the water’s edge, two paces, three paces, to the forest’s edge. There she stooped, and picked up a stout tree branch that had fallen from the tree above her.

Using the branch as a cane with her good arm, Sam began to make her way through the forest once more. She was lost, the stream having whisked her beyond her ability to maintain direction, and now only hoped that she would prove lucky in her search for the Stargate.

The walking slowly grew easier, her steps lighter, her mind clearer through the pain. Sam sighed a breath of relief—and then froze.

No, she thought. No, this is bad.

She turned—and immediately it felt as if she was walking into a wall. The weight returned to her mind, to her back, to her shoulders and head. And the voice—God, Sam thought, despairing, not again.

Disgrace, the voice whispered in her ear. Failure. You are nothing but damnation.

Sam gritted her teeth and began to walk.

 The night was somehow even worse than the day.

Mind clouded with pain, with the beginnings of fever, and with the voices constantly reminding her of her about her darkest pains, the only thought left in Sam’s mind was Find the Stargate. Once there, she could dial the Alpha Site, and they could get her home. Home, where she could get help, both for herself and for her team.

One step. One step. One step at a time.

Left foot forward. Hobble a step. Left foot forward. Hobble a step.

The farther Sam went, the harder it grew. And as the forest darkened around her, so too, it seemed, did her mind.

You will never succeed, whispered the voice. And, This will be nothing more than another failure in a long line of failures.

You’re a disgrace.

You’re an embarrassment.

You’re nothing but a curse to those around you.

The sun set behind the clouds, leaving the world cold and dark and desolate. Sam wound her way through the darker shadows that were the trees, stumbling and staggering and tripping and falling time and time again. She screamed more than once, as her dislocated hip or arm were jostled, and she wept bitter tears of frustration and pain and despair as the night wore on, endless and seething.

The sun is gone.

The sun is gone, the voices repeated. Gone. Eaten by the night. It will never shine again.

The sun is gone, Sam thought, despairing. And, I’ll never make it. I’ll never find it. I’ll die out here, alone and afraid and in pain, and my team won’t survive either, and what little hope they had will be gone, and—

Gone, the voices whispered. Gone, gone, gone…

It was nearly dawn by the time Sam noticed the figures following her. They were grey, mist and fog, faceless, hairless, featureless. Their feet did not move, but still they glided forward, passing through tree and bush and fern alike, as if they were nothing more than smog.

“No,” Sam whispered, upon seeing them. “No, please…”

She tripped, paying too much attention to the forms and not enough to where her feet were going. She fell, crashing painfully onto the forest floor, and yelled as her dislocated arm took half of the brunt of her weight. Darkness swept over her, stealing her eyes, thieving her heart for one, brief second of time.

And then her sight cleared, and her heart returned, and she could see and feel once more.

She tried to stand. She grabbed onto her tree branch, and planted it in the frozen loam. She sought to hoist herself upright. She attempted to heave herself to her one good foot.

She failed.

The weight was too much. The voices too strong. Her fear too palpable.

Fine, Sam thought, turning over. Fine.

She began to crawl.

It was agonizing. She either held her injured leg up, off of the ground; or she dragged her wounded knee along behind her, carving a furrow into the frozen leaves. She could only use one arm, and so hobbled her way along, all the while holding her dislocated arm against her chest.

Five feet. Ten feet. Twenty feet.

It was excruciatingly slow. Sam wondered why the figures did not catch her and stop her.

In her mind, the voices laughed.

Oh, Samantha, they crooned. Oh, Samantha…

The sun rose. The morning waxed, and waned.

And still, Samantha Carter crawled.

She was hungry. Thirsty. In more pain than she could remember being in for a long, long time.

But still, Samantha Carter crawled.

Stop.

No.

I said stop.

And I said no.

Samantha…

Don’t call me that.

Very well. You have made your point. Now stop.

Never.

A sigh.

You are killing yourself.

And is that not what you wanted?

Yes, said the voice. It is what we wanted. Once.

Once?

Yes, once.

But not now?

A hum, as if thought made sound. Perhaps not.

Perhaps not?

You are delirious.

No, I’m not.

You are close thereto, then.

No, I’m not.

Another hum, this time one of disapproval.

Stop, Samantha.

I said not to call me that.

Stop, or you will run head-first into the Stargate.

Sam blinked, then looked up.

And yes. Yes, there was the Stargate, hulking and round, a black shadow against the shadow of the trees.

Oh.

Now rest.

But my team—

“Carter? Oh, God, Carter!”

We tried to kill you, said the voices—every thousand of them suddenly harmonious where before there had only been discord. We tried to kill you, because that is what we do to every person who desecrates our land by stepping onto it.

Then why am I still alive?

Because you proved more tenacious than we anticipated. Because you earned our respect when you survived the waterfall, and not only did you not give up, but returned to face us again, even knowing what you were going to suffer.

“Carter! God—Daniel, dial home. We have to get her back to Doctor Frazier ASAP.”

It has been many centuries since someone earned the right to live from us.

Any one of us would have done the same.

We believe that, said the voices. Somehow…we believe that.

Farewell now, Samantha, whispered the voices. If ever you are in need of us, you know where to find us.

“It’s going to be okay, Carter. We’re gonna get you home.”

Then there were hands beneath her, lifting her, and the smell of Colonel O’Neill’s soap and aftershave permeated the haze swallowing Sam whole.

“It’s okay, Carter. I’ve got you.”

Farewell, Samantha. Until we meet again…

 Sam blinked her eyes open to the SGC’s yellow-lit infirmary. She turned her head, and saw Daniel and Colonel O’Neill both sitting asleep in chairs pulled up to her bedside. Teal’c sat in a chair on the other side, eyes closed in kel nor’eem.a

Suddenly, Teal’c’s eyes opened. He looked at Sam, and smiled one of his half-smiles that meant more than a thousand sunrises.

“Hi,” Sam croaked.

“Greetings,” said Teal’c. “How do you feel, Major Carter?”

“Like I’ve been kicked by a horse,” Sam replied.

Teal’c inclined his head. “That does not surprise me.”

“What happened?” Sam asked.

“We had hoped that you might enlighten us,” said Teal’c.

Sam frowned. “What do you mean?”

“One moment, we were asleep—and then the next, we were being led by the protectors of the planet’s peoples to the Stargate. There we found you, half-dead and pulling yourself along with one arm toward the Stargate.”

“Oh,” said Sam. “I don’t…really remember that part.”

“I am unsurprised,” said Teal’c. “You are suffering from a concussion, as well as severe internal bleeding, multiples broken ribs, lacerations, contusions, and two dislocated joints.”

“Right.”

There was a pause. Then Sam asked, “Did you hear any voices?”

“Voices?” Teal’c canted his head to one side, then said, “No. I heard no voices while on the planet.”

“I see,” said Sam. “Okay.”

“Why do you ask?”

Sam shrugged—and then regretted it. “No reason,” she said. She smiled at Teal’c. “Thanks,” she added.

“For what are you thanking me?” Teal’c asked.

Sam shrugged again—and again regretted it. “For sticking with me,” she said. “For not abandoning me. For being here when I woke up.”

“You are the one who did not abandon us on that planet.”

Sam raised her eyebrows. “It sure seemed like I did.”

“You were going for help, were you not?”

“Well, yeah.”

“Then you were not abandoning us. Quite the opposite in fact.”

Sam smiled again. “Thanks, Teal’c.”

“You are most welcome, Major Carter. Now sleep.”

Sam closed her eyes, and listened to her teammates’ breath even out as Teal’c reenterd kel nor’eem. She thought of the voice—the voices—whispering to her. She thought of the pain. She thought of the harsh words, and the visions, and the memories.

Sam drifted off to sleep, the voices’ final words echoing in her mind.

Until we meet again…

[mijongsuk]

.mark of the beast

PART TWO of a REWARD SOLO for PROMOTION TO SECOND-IN-COMMAND 

tw: death, branding, mutilation

“To prove that you would die for the gang and more importantly, for me, I had to get a little creative. Because I can’t make you die for me… That’d be fucking nuts. You can’t work for me if you’re dead, can you? I also considered making you cut off your hand or some crazy shit like that but… It’d be messy, and then it’d make you vulnerable and you still might die on me, then all of this drawn out shit will have been for nothing. But! I can’t just sit here and do nothing! One of our very own was a god damn traitor and I have got to make sure that doesn’t happen again. I need someone who is willing to fight for me, not someone who is looking to take me down. Whether it’s because you’re loyal to someone else, or because you want to be on top…” He pauses, a smile forming on his lips though the laughter that accompanies it is full of venom. It’s sarcastic and laced with annoyance, as if the very thought filled him with anger. “Because let me get one thing straight real quick… No one is taking my place.” By the time he finished his statement, the smile was gone and his expression was cold and stern. However, in the blink of an eye, he had bounced back and once again wore a smile and seemed to be playful, finding everything to be much funnier than it actually was. “So then it hit me… A good, old-fashioned branding. Because who the fuck would want to walk around with a Hydrus brand if they weren’t dedicated to Hydrus? Not to mention, it’ll show me that you’re willing to sacrifice something for me, and you’re willing to endure intense pain for me. It shows me where you stand without me having to kill you! A total fucking win-win situation right here. Now, let me just say, I considered telling you that we were going to do it somewhere really visible, like your face. But damn, you’re just too fucking attractive for that. I mean… No one would want to mess with you, that’s for sure! You’d look scary as shit, but that’s not what we’re going to do. I’ll tell you what… You choose.” 

The warehouse floor is wet with blood. 

The bodies of the men Jongsuk executed still lay where they fell on the cold concrete before him, forgotten the moment that the gunshots finished echoing from the steel walls. The crowd around him is restless now, excited from the bloodshed and eager for more. Drifter’s betrayal has wound the members of Hydrus into a frenzy. Spilling the traitor’s blood hasn’t satisfied their lust for revenge, and this execution only incited that bloodlust further. 

If Jongsuk isn’t careful, his body could very well join the others on the warehouse floor before the night’s end. 

He’s all too aware of Woobin and the others scattered throughout the crowd, watching the events unfold with narrow eyes and stiff shoulders. Should things turn south, they certainly won’t be going down without a fight. 

Jongsuk doesn’t believe for a moment that the executions are the only test that King has in store for him tonight. 

He isn’t disappointed. 

The crowd rallies as King announces his decision to prove Jongsuk’s loyalty with a branding. Their cheers do little to help the uneasy curl in Jongsuk’s stomach at the announcement. It isn’t dread or fear settling in-- not really. He’s been hurt worse for less. 

The thought of this many people seeing him vulnerable, though. 

That thought makes him a little ill. 

He isn’t about to back down, though. Lifting his chin, he gives King a lazy grin. “I get to choose, huh?” he says, pretending to mull over his options rather than balk at the branding as so many of the men gathered surely thought he would. After a moment, he tilts his head to bare his neck. “How about right here?” 

Just in case the implication wasn’t clear enough, he even taps a finger against the bared column of his neck. 

It’s nowhere near the reaction that King half-expected to receive from Dante, but he was also aware that his hopeful soon-to-be Second-in-Command was someone that didn’t scare easily. King loved that. A mixture of surprise and amusement overcame him and was visible from his expression, a huge grin forming on his lips. “Holy shit. You’re one ballsy son of a bitch, Dante. I give you the chance to choose… and you go straight for the jugular— literally!”

The crowd grows rowdy again.

This little show may be a public display of Jongsuk’s loyalty to King, but that doesn’t mean that Jongsuk will let these people see him bow.

He’ll serve his King-- he’ll just do it his way.

“You’re fucking nuts and that’s one of the main reasons I wanted you to be in this position. Somehow, you never disappoint.” He pauses, staring at the other male for several moments before quietly chuckling and stepping away to retrieve the iron. “Well, let’s stop bullshitting around and get this done.”

As King nears with the red-hot brand, Jongsuk is sure to hold the older man’s gaze until the leader stands directly before him. After a loaded pause, he tilts his head and bares his neck for King once more. 

His eyes only close as the brand nears his skin. 

The pain of the searing metal meeting his flesh is blinding. Jongsuk’s eyes clench shut tighter as he fights back the urge to scream, refusing to give the crowd the show they so desperately seek. His teeth grind tightly together as a sharp hiss tears its way past them, but it’s the only sound he allows, the only concession. His hands curl into tight fists at his sides. 

It’s over in a moment, but it feels so much longer. 

The pain only surges once the brand is removed from his skin. As air hits the seared flesh of his neck, the pain flares, morphs into a new kind of agony that Jongsuk is careful to keep smoothed from his expression. His jaw remains tight, but he forces himself to open his eyes once more, to raise his chin and meet King’s gaze unflinchingly. 

The leader thought that Dante would have passed out from the pain. Hell, maybe he was even a little disappointed that he didn’t. However, above all of that, he was impressed and incredibly proud. The smile that he’s almost always wearing grows wider as he slightly shakes his head in disbelief. “Wow.” The single word is dramatically and softly exclaimed, filled with awe. “You took that like an absolute champ. What a fucking badass… I still can’t believe that you chose your neck. I almost want to ask that you don’t try speaking… Actually, I will… You don’t need to say anything, just listen. I want everyone to listen.” With his last sentence, his voice is raised as he addresses the entirety of the gang that is gathered around them. “Dante has just proven to us all that he’s loyal, respectful, tough as shit, and probably a little insane… Which I think is incredible. Not only did he accept my terms in an instant without putting up a fight, but he did so fearlessly, and perhaps even a little cockily… And I fucking love that. So, I don’t think I need to tell you all that this is the new Second-in-Command, because I think he’s fucking proven that shit on his own.” Once he finishes, he returns his attention to Dante and beckons for a medic. “We’ll take care of that for you. Welcome to the top, killer. I have a lot of expectations… But I don’t think you’ll let me down.” He pauses, his expression turning sterner as his entire body stiffens. “Don’t prove me wrong.”