#but that FUCKING doorway was too much of a hassle to not post

[termitarylurker]

[wolfoftheblackflames]

Hello misfits! Your favorite sass master here with another fic! Well I've got several I'm working on but its been awhile since I've posted one to here eh? Enjoy!

Living through Hell: Hazbin Apocalypse AU Pt.1

“Reginald stop the car!” A female voice cried as the driver who was named Reginald looked back at his mistress briefly.

“Of course, Miss Morningstar!” He replied as he soon brought the large black truck to a skidding halt in front of a lone store. “I suggest hurrying, m'lady. we don't want to linger for too long with the hoarde of zombies nearby!” He watched as the tall blonde woman exited the 2015 Knight XV.

Out of the corner of her eye, the woman spotted a grey camo Hummer with wings painted on the hood and the letters U.S.H painted on the sides speeding off with two people laughing, flipping the building off. “Assholes..” She muttered but went inside since her radio picked up a distress call.

The building used to be what looked to be a sub fast food place named Hellway. The blonde looked around and spotted the back room with a trail of blood leading to it. “Shit, they might be hurt pretty bad…”

The groans of zombies outside made the woman move quickly and quietly as her black combat boots trekked along the broken debris. “Mierda…” She blinked hearing a voice. “Bet those fucks didn't notice I snagged their fucking radio, ammo, and supplies..”

A soft groan escaped the owner as they soon turned their head towards the door opening. “Oh shit… You look worse than I thought.” The owner saw the blonde in the doorway and moved back wincing. “Hey, I'm the one who got the distress call, I'm here to help.”

“Gracias…”

The blonde looked over the wounded figure, a woman who looked to be in her early twenties with beautiful short brown hair, and a soft light brown eye since the other one had been gouged out. “This should do, for now, but I'm going to get you outta here ok?”

“Don't forget the backpack over there too, it's got stuff for you..” The brunette wheezed, pointing to the grey army backpack to the side.

“Thanks, I'm Charlie by the way.” The blonde replied, wrapping the bleeding socket with bandages and a gauze. This earned a slight yet very cute smile making Charlie blush a bit.

“Vaggie… I know sounds dumb right?” The brunette winced, but the sound of glass breaking made her move into Charlie's arms showing there was more wounds on the back. “We gotta move now!” She whispered growling.

Charlie shook her head to clear the gay thoughts as she soon grabbed the heavy army back with one arm, and the smaller woman with the other showing how strong she was underneath her tattered white button up. She soon bolted with both. “Reginald, start the truck now!” She shouted, making the elderly man in the driver seat nod. “Right away Miss Morningstar!”

Two dogs both being beautiful black border collies jumped and opened the side door, letting their owner jump in without much hassle. “Nicely done Razzle and Dazzle!” Charlie cooed at her boys.

Reginald soon punched the gas pedal as a hoarde of zombies rushed them, he managed to shake three that managed to latch on off. “Not bad old man.” Vaggie smirked a bit but looked really weak. She was perched in Charlie's lap in the backseat since the latter tossed the bag to the side.

Charlie fished out the first aid kit that was hidden in the back compartment underneath the luxurious display of a flat screen TV, a gaming console, a DVD player, and an inner radio set up. She started using a cloth to apply pressure to the wound on the back, making Vaggie hiss. “Just stay with me, okay?”

“Those look like hooked machete cuts, m'lady. The blade is jagged, so those wounds won't be easy to heal without major scarring.” Reginald replied, making Charlie growl.

“Assholes, why would anyone do this?”

“You're sweet, but listen, word of advice? Don't go helping everyone you meet, you'll be bled dry in this hellhole..” Vaggie winced but due to blood loss she passed out.

Charlie blinked but gave a soft look. “I know but if I can help someone I will..” She muttered as the drive was a long one.

----

Her mind drifted to the people she tried to help. Some brushed her off and snapped for getting in the way; others straight up demanded the goods she was carrying. It saddened her that she had been forced to use violence on multiple occasions, giving her the reputation and the nickname The Demon Princess for her prowess.

Those eyes drifted out the window as her eyes watched the rocky landscape go by as Reginald made sure to keep the drive quiet and comfortable.

On the drive back, Charlie's mind wandered to before the Apocalypse four years ago, she and her parents were happy and out on a hunting trip. While she hated the fact they killed cute animals, it meant spending time with her mother and father who were always all over one another. Her father Lucifer was the head of Pentagram City, a place where each district was named after the seven deadly sins, as a way to get back as his old friends since they casted him out when he decided to help his wife Lilith, a well known crime boss who refused to bow down to anyone.

Charlie smiled remembering her aunts and uncles, they were so nice to her if some were a bit strange. Though when Lilith disappeared one night, the whole world went to shit. Some blame Lilith and Lucifer for unleashing an apocalyptic nuke on the world, others revered them as gods of worship. Both sides left a bad taste in the blonde's mouth. One hand others scorned her and her family, trying to dupe, outwit, or possibly kill them, while the other half were creepy cult fanatics who acted like the seven sins forming new communities within the old ones.

Reginald was one of the old servants of the Morningstar manor, a kind elderly gentleman who felt like a lovable grandpa. He taught Charlie to shoot, scavage, and survive the new world when her own father went into hiding. He was often dressed in a casual black suit with a white shirt, and black bowtie. His wife Ester had died of old age prior, but was Charlie's nanny. The old man often spoiled Charlie too, saying that she was like his own grandchild, and was very protective much like the dogs Razzle and Dazzle.

The butler looked sadden seeing his mistress deep in thought, and yet she was being so caring despite the trauma she had. “M'lady it seems we've possibly gained a new ally. At least it won't be just us four anymore.” He piped up, making Charlie come out of her thoughts. “Makes this old man happy to see you have a friend close to your age..”

“Mhm… I hope so..” The blonde replied with a soft look. Her eyes were a rare trait. They shined like rubies alongside her beautiful platinum blonde hair and pale skin. She resembled someone with albinism to some degree. It made other children steer clear of her despite how friendly she appeared.

Reginald was the first outsider to call her cute and charming, he remembered how he found her curled up in his black suit jacket one stormy night since her parents were away that weekend. He smiled fondly at the memory. Another memory was Charlie's first suit since she wanted to dress more masculine and be seen as more like herself than some prissy noble doll. He smiled watching the teen wear a very cute red suit which mimicked what Lucifer used to wear. “You've grown so much M'lady, it makes me very proud and teary.”

Charlie giggled as the truck drove up to a small abandoned red brick house that was their base. The dogs easily jumped out first as Reginald carried the backpack inside alongside the rifle his mistress used. “Well I do have the best grandpa.” She teased carrying in the unconscious Vaggie.

He smiled at the comment and went to gather the medical supplies to help the patient. “I assume you'd like to handle it, Miss Morningstar?” He asked as Charlie nodded. “Alright then, I'll go cook us something.” He left the small bedroom leaving his mistress alone.

---

Charlie got out some water that had been purified and poured it into a small bowl, she then dipped a cloth into it. “This might sting a little..” She spoke while gently removing the blood soaked bandages on Vaggie's face. She winced seeing the empty socket but carefully wiped around it since an infection there could prove deadly.

The latter hissed as her good eye opened slightly. “Sorry!” She heard Charlie say as the blonde flinched back. “So how bad is it?” Vaggie asked as her stomach churned from the headache.

“W-well..” Charlie scratched her cheek a bit. “There's a few jagged marks since an x was carved into it, it seems like whoever did this was brutal, Reginald says it was the work of a machete.” She sheepishly stated, though, applied rubbing alcohol to a clean cloth. “I need to disinfect it…”

“Do what you gotta do. I can't move anyway..” Vaggie groaned, closing her eyes, making the x on her left eyelid seen even more. Charlie felt bad seeing it, but she then rolled up a free cloth. “Hmm?”

“Bite down on this..” The blonde offered since it was better than biting the tongue.

“Gracias…”

The process of cleaning the wounds was long, but the pain did keep Vaggie awake, though she was grateful for the cloth she was biting down on. Charlie got to the smaller woman's back and blinked, her eyes widening in horror. “Fuck…” She breathed, seeing the lacerations. “You're seriously one tough woman since you've managed to survive with these wounds…”

This earned a soft chuckle from Vaggie, who then winced feeling Charlie apply a medical gauze to her back. “I used to live with people from my military days, and was also the youngest female soldier there too.” She replied looking back. “They were not the nicest to say the least…”

Charlie winced at the last comment but then blushed a bit. “Sorry but um… Could you move your arms up, please?” She asked as Vaggie chuckled.

“Aren't you polite.” The Latina playfully teased with a soft smile, though she did move her arms to the best the wounds would allow, since Charlie had to wrap her torso. “Wh-what, it's only natural to ask when doing this?”

“Unless the person is out cold?” Vaggie smirked, teasing her some more.

“Hey, you were bleeding from the eye! I had to do something!” Charlie defended looking like a pouting puppy. She soon re-wrapped Vaggie's left eye again with a fresh gauze and bandages. The two were seen laughing a bit as Reginald came in with dinner as it was almost nightfall.

“This is my butler Reginald, he drove us here.” Charlie gestured to the older man.

“A pleasure my lady. It seems M'lady has done quite well patching you up too.” He smiled seeing the handiwork.

Vaggie eyed him a bit, but found he wasn't a threat since he didn't look at her with that gross objectifying gaze Adam usually had. “Vaggie..” She replied, but looked away since he reminded her of the elderly couple her old gang had bullied.

“A lovely name for a young miss. Now please you must be hungry, so eat up.” Reginald commented with a kind smile to his warm green eyes.

Charlie smiled and took a bowl from the tray Reginald was holding. “First bowl is yours, Vaggie.” She grinned, making the smaller woman blink. “Oh uh thanks..”

Reginald took his food with him as he left the girls seeing how Vaggie looked a little uncomfortable around men. “Poor girl.. Though I have to wonder why that Hummer was there in the first place.” He pondered and decided to look into it.

That night the girls rested well with the pair of dogs beside them, though Reginald gasped at his findings while using the high powered radio. “United Sanctuary of Heaven?” He blinked since his master Lucifer had belonged to such a place. “The Exorcists Platoon?” He nodded hearing that it was the group that drove the army issued Hummers. “M'lady I hope you know what you're doing…” He decided not to report this to his mistress just yet, as he trusted Charlie's judgement.

-----

The info weighed on Reginald during the month it took Vaggie to heal fully. He wanted to ask the girl about it, but saw she was still a little skittish around him. Charlie and the dogs not so much. “Miss Vaggie, I found this in the basement awhile ago. Would you like it?” He asked, trying to make friends with her.

Vaggie blinked as in his hands was a powerful 12 gauge Ithaca 37 shotgun. “No way!” Her eye lit up seeing it. “That's a 1933 model, where the fuck did you get this?!” She actually smirked holding the pump-action gun.

“It seems the owner of this house loved his guns, I've found a 1982 AutoMag .44 magnum as well.” The butler smiled, showing the gun on his belt.

Charlie blinked, looking over after hearing that adorable squee. She had her mouth agape hearing Vaggie going off about guns and weapons and finding it fun to discuss with Reginald, who was smiling. “Huh…” The blonde found this to be really cute as her blush deepened. “Ah fuck, I think I might have a crush..” She watched the short haired brunette with a ramble on with a beautiful grin. “No c'mon Charlie, you've only known this girl for a month and your lonely ass got attached.” She muttered and scolded herself.

She remembered the month that had gone by clearly, from the cleaning of the wounds while sneaking a peek at that gorgeous lightly tanned skin with small freckles along the back, shoulders and nape, to the quick catches and gentle touches she had given to Vaggie's skin when the woman was about to fall. Charlie grumbled remembering how focused and hot she looked when test firing some BB guns to get back into shape. She sighed and went to do some light training in the backyard as a way to clear her head.

Vaggie soon looked around for Charlie to gush and show her new shotgun too like a kid with a new toy. But what greeted her lone eye was a sight to behold. Charlie kicked the bottle that was placed on a dummy clean off with her right foot. She looked like she barely broke a sweat and super focused. “Dios mio…” Vaggie watched since she only ever saw the friendly puppy dog side. Reginald noticed and playfully walked away since he didn't want to spook Vaggie.

----

Charlie kept at it for an hour and easily left the dummy she was beating up a huge mess. She sighed with her mind still filled with gay thoughts. She grumbled and went to practice her shooting not knowing her crush was watching her from inside the house. “Towel m'lady?” Reginald came over after another hour holding up a small red towel.

Charlie sighed and took it gratefully, she wiped the back of her neck since her long blonde hair made it heat up a lot. “Sorry for the mess.” She replied sheepishly since due to her practice she left the backyard disheveled.

“No need to apologize, I'm just glad you're using the facility I've made.” The butler smiled as he walked past Charlie. He was at least a few inches shorter as his mistress was tall for her age. He smiled, remembering how the little princess was so small.

Reginald thought back to his time at the manor. He smiled when he thought of the first friendly grin he got from Charlie when she was little. He chuckled, cleaning up as more memories surfaced. Her giddy face when she went on a date with Seviathan since their fathers got them together, then her tears when the fuckwit broke her heart since he made her feel unwanted and ugly, and then the emo phase, what a sight that was. Reginald sighed as he tried to help her with the pain since her father seemed so distant with her as was her mother. He managed to coax her out of that phase as he reminded her of who she used to be.

He spotted Charlie in the present helping him with the chore. He smiled softly seeing that kind hearted girl he knew, however he couldn't help but feel saddened when he remembered how lonely she was. He sighed softly since for a time before the apocalypse happened he had been retired with his wife, which left the girl alone for several years as he wanted to take care of his family first. She understood but was still sad. However when the two were brought together again in this hellish world, he couldn't have been happier to return to her side. “M'lady you don't have to do this.” He replied though winced since his back was getting bad.

“Nonsense! Your back has been bothering you lately so this is the least I can do to help you Reginald.” Charlie replied seeing her butler rubbing a sore spot on his lower back.

“I blame myself for getting old.” He chuckled trying to make a joke. “You're too kind to an old fart like me.”

----

Vaggie blinked having gone inside the house as she looked from the window seeing them, she felt a soft twinge inside as the two reminded her of her family back home, and the old platoon she cared for despite what the general and his lieutenant did to her. She moved away from the window as a tear threatened to escape. “Wasn't I one of the best there was, so why did they betray me? All I did was spare some survivors from their raid…” Her mind drifted to that day.

----

“Hey Vaggie, check this out.” Adam smirked, pronouncing her name with a hard g. “A raider camp of filthy bastards prime for the picking. Shall we go see what we can find, eh Vagasaurus?”

“As long as I can test out this badass new machete, I'm good.” Lute replied, holding up what looked to be a thin bill hook blade.

Vaggie smiled at her two friends and then back at the squad of seven black and grey camo dressed soldiers, most being women. “Another set of raiders off the map is a good enough reason to me.”

Then it happened. The squad took down the ‘raider’ camp, which turned out to be innocent survivors who didn't pay Adam's ridiculous tax that made their area safe. Vaggie's stomach churned, seeing the glee the others took, taking down the small six man encampment. She spotted a woman and her child running into the Hellway and followed, not knowing Adam and Lute were behind her. “P-please mercy, we're not fighters at all!” The mother pleaded, holding her baby boy close.

Vaggie winced a bit, removing her grey camo helmet, which had a face mask painted to resemble a frowning demon. “I'm not here to hurt you, but you can't stay in here either. So run now, there's a miata three blocks down from here with half a tank of fuel left.” She ushered and watched the family bolt with a tearful thank you.

She sighed softly watching them go, but blinked hearing a bullet whizz past her head and nail the woman in the back. “What a bad thing you've just done…” A male voice spoke, making Vaggie's blood run cold. “Shame too, you were one of our best.”

“Stop!” She pointed her old military rifle at Adam. “Let the kid go now, or else a bullet goes through your fucking head!”

Adam laughed and shrugged, he did as asked so that Vaggie would drop her guard enough for Lute to swing that machete cutting both the old gun in half and her left eye in the process. “See I let the kid go since we're old friends. But now we got a problem, see?” His finger jabbed to the zombies approaching.

Lute grinned and turned Vaggie's face and carved out that eye causing the smaller woman to howl with pain and sent it flying for the zombies to catch the scent. “You'll be perfect zombie food since you caused this unnecessary commotion you little bitch.”

“Lute why..” Vaggie asked since Lute had been like family to her when she lost her own.

Adam laughed seeing Lute stomp on Vaggie's back. “Be sure to carve up those little wing tattoos on her back. I can't have anyone finding an exorcist dead.” He smirked as Lute was all too happy to tear up the mark of the Platoon making Vaggie suffer even more.

The two turned their backs to a wounded Vaggie, but she growled, refusing to die right there. She took her bowie knife and slashed the grey army bag off of Adam's back, and grabbed it swiftly when Lute ran out to start the Hummer. Adam, hearing only his loud laugh and zombie snarls, didn't notice it at all.

“He was always such a giant dumbass…” Vaggie huffed softly and soon used the radio in the back to call for aid.

-----

Vaggie shuddered coming back from her memories, she panted softly, her body trembling with cold sweat. “How am I still alive..” She muttered though quickly changed her demeanor when she heard the door.

“It's gotten dark out, but the clean up is done.” Reginald chuckled, retiring to his cot. “Good night ladies.”

“Night Reginald.” Charlie replied smiling. She soon lightly tugged at her shirt collar. “Man I'm sweaty, I think I'll go wash up.”

Vaggie blinked watching the blonde leave. She wanted to reach out but her hand stopped midway as her mind sneered at her. You've killed so many innocents, do you really think you deserve comfort? Those words sent a shudder down the brunette's spine.

---

Upstairs Charlie used a wet cloth to wipe herself down, water was getting scarce in the area, same with food as she sighed. “We might have to move soon.” She looked over the list of supplies. “Medicine is also low, and the report of increased zombie activity is worrying me.”

While Charlie looked over the notes and jotted down more in an empty notebook, Vaggie was sitting downstairs trying to keep her mind off of the horrible daydream-like memory. The brunette sighed, closing her right eye as the other one had been sealed shut due to the scarring. “Hmm?” She opened her eye to see the two border collies looking at her. “Hey boys..”

The pups saw that tired strained smile, Dazzle nudged his brother Razzle to go get Charlie while he soon laid down on the couch beside Vaggie, plopping his fluffy head on her lap.

Razzle barked in affirmation, and dashed upstairs making Charlie yelp. “Razzle, you scared me!” She sighed, placing a hand over her racing heart. “Why are you up here boy?”

Razzle tugged on her sleeve, asking her to follow him, which the blonde did out of curiosity.

Charlie's heart sank seeing the tired gaze Vaggie had as the brunette looked up hearing footsteps. “Are you ok?” She asked coming over to sit down beside her while Razzle laid on the floor. “Sorry for saying this but you look like shit.”

“I feel like shit..” Vaggie replied not even hiding it since she was a terrible liar.

Charlie looked at her dogs, she knew animals had a keener sense for when something was wrong. She then smiled softly and got up, making Dazzle move as well. “I think a good night sleep in a soft bed will fix that, for a whole month you've been on that couch!” The blonde explained then she gave a cute devilish smirk. “Up we go!”

This made Vaggie yelp as she was scooped up by the taller woman. “Hey! I don't mind the couch, honestly!”

“Nope, you're coming with me.” Charlie started to walk towards the stairs. “And I won't take no for an answer especially since you look exhausted!”

Vaggie was about to open her mouth but closed it with a soft grumble. She was soon plopped down on the big comfy bed. “Dios mio, you're so stubborn..”

“Someone has to be since you've been pushing yourself ever since you were able to walk two weeks ago!” Charlie replied and gave a cute pout. She soon climbed into bed and held Vaggie close making the brunette blush a bit. “Besides you're cold aren't you, I'm seriously like a furnace so this works out too.” She lightly nuzzled into Vaggie's hair trying to hide her own blush.

Vaggie never really had been this close to anyone, even back with her old group, everyone slept in shifts to keep an eye out for zombies, and raiders. She had taken it upon herself to repay Charlie back by being her own watch dog since her senses were used to it. “I guess…” The brunette muttered but couldn't ignore that pleasant apple scent and warmth that came from Charlie. It put her at ease as she leaned in lightly nuzzling those breasts.

This sent Charlie's mind into a bi-panic as her blush darkened as much as it could since she was like an albino. “Night Vaggie..” She smiled softly with her heartbeat quickening.

It felt so right to hold her, more than it ever did with her ex boyfriend as Charlie soon fell asleep hearing that soft reply. “Night Charlie…”

---

Somewhere in the early morning Charlie awoke slightly feeling a bit of fidgeting in her arms. The scent of lavender clued her in as to who it was. “Mmhn?” She opened an eyelid and looked down.

During their sleep, Charlie had moved from laying on her side to laying on her back taking Vaggie with her as she saw the smaller woman nuzzle closer into the crook of the blonde's neck. Her tired eyes stared at the beauty cradled in her arms with a dopey smile. “She sure is cute, even when asleep.” She muttered giving a soft kiss to Vaggie’s head. That sleepy motion instantly awoke Charlie who had an ‘oh fuck’ look. Relief went through her as she saw that Vaggie hadn't woken up. “Calm your lonely ass down girl..” She laid back on the pillow mentally kicking herself.

It was another hour before Vaggie would awoke with a soft groan and very cute yawn. “This isn't the couch..” She mumbled, blinking away her sleepiness. “Too cozy and warm..”

“Um thanks?” Charlie replied awkwardly as Vaggie blinked only to look down at the cheeky blonde. “Ack!” She backed up, moving to the foot of the bed making Charlie laugh.

“How long were you awake?!”

“An hour, I couldn't move you since you kinda just nuzzled into me?”

Hearing that Vaggie blushed and groaned, hiding her face with her hands. It was so awkward but a part of her was annoyed she left that cozy spot. “It's your fault for being a good pillow!”

“Why thank you.” Charlie kept that playful grin showing her teeth with slightly long canines. “How would you like to rate your sleep, Miss?” She teased.

Vaggie whacked her with a pillow making Charlie laugh and snort. She couldn't resist laughing along since that smile was infectious. “Jerk… But fine, it was honestly the best I've had alright?”

“The best huh?” Charlie smiled but then gave a softer look. “You do look a lot more refreshed. But if I may, why are you pushing yourself so hard every night to keep watch for zombies? Razzle and Dazzle plus the jingling cans we've set up are already doing that job for us so we can relax.” She asked, since she's seen the dark circles under Vaggie's eyes.

Vaggie shifted awkwardly, lightly playing with some of her hair since it had gotten a little longer than the short bob she had previously. “I used to be a watchdog for my previous group and it's just a habit by now. But if it helps protect you princesa then I don't mind being alone at night.”

Charlie puffed up her cheeks with a cute growl. “Well then break that habit please, you're not my personal guard Vaggie, you're my friend, best friend if I'm honest..” She replied poking Vaggie on the nose.

The brunette blinked, though a soft smile graced her lips. “I’ll try but no promise though. Never know when it could come in handy.” She chuckled but squeaked when Charlie brought her into a big hug.

Vaggie chuckled a bit and patted Charlie on the back, she however started to feel her stomach twist with guilt. However the taller woman moved back and got up with a grin, and started to move away from the bed. Vaggie watched her get ready but had to look away since when Charlie bent over, she got a nice view of that cute butt. “Fuck she's really cute.” She mumbled but couldn't help it as she looked back again seeing the light framing Charlie's figure.

“Thank you!” She cooed nuzzling Vaggie.

---

Though that was short lived as the dogs started barking. “M'lady! We've got a problem!” Reginald called, making Charlie pick up her Hawken rifle and dash downstairs followed by Vaggie with her shotgun.

“Shit, how did so many get past the cans?!” Charlie hissed seeing several zombies banging on their makeshift fence, she soon spotted why as the set up had fallen apart. “Great…”

“If we use our guns it'll draw even more, so let me handle this!” Vaggie growled then smirked, grabbing a harpoon off the wall. “Perfect..”

Reginald blinked seeing Vaggie easily jump onto the platform before the fence and started stabbing at swiping with reckless abandon. “That crazy girl…” He growled as one went for a bite on Vaggie, he had no choice but to shoot it with his pistol. “M'lady grab everything we can take, and get to the truck!” He shouted as Charlie nodded whistling for her dogs.

Vaggie danced around the grabs but stumbled as the platform crumbled. “Shit!” She tried to get back as a zombie with a huge gaping jaw and jagged teeth tried to bite her. “Get away from my granddaughters!” She heard Reginald roar and blasted the zombie in the head while pushing Vaggie behind him.

Charlie gulped but pushed her foot hard on the gas pedal making the truck rush forward as she ran over several. “Sorry!” She called hearing the crunch. “Now's not the time for that!” Vaggie replied watching the house disappear from view.

He was bitten on the forearm making Vaggie's eye go wide. “Reginald!” She yelled but watched as he fired his gun at the zombie and jumped down. “Don't worry, just run!” He pulled her along as the duo jumped into the truck. “DRIVE M'LADY!”

(Heyo! Hope you enjoyed my 5K word chapter ^^)

[broiunno]

License to Steal - Act IV

License to Steal

ACT IV

Act I // Act II // Act III // Act IV

---

summary: Min Yoongi is your new protection detail upon your return to your father's side after being sent away during a bloody gang war. Now the dust has settled, you've been called back to your old controlled life, and leaving you an unwilling participant in your family's plans. You don't know what they are but you are no longer willing to be the obedient, protected daughter. You don't really care in the least of it makes Yoongi's new assignment hell on earth- So you'll carve your own life out back home on your own terms.

-rating: 18+

-pairing: min yoongi x reader

-word count: 5.8k

-warnings: swearing, gang activities includes drug mention and eventual drug use, the slowest of burns, organized crime, toxic af family dynamics, BEWARE IN THIS ACT: graphic family abuse (father initiated verbal and physical assault- does not fade to black), violence, blood, graphic descriptions of torture, and graphic sex scenes will be included in this work.

-authors note: @chelsea-chee leading the au as usual. I love her the appreciate her as my love, writer, and my beta. Her works are *chefs kiss* Thank you again beautiful <3 PLEASE NOTE: I AM REALLY NOT EXCITED TO POST THE NEXT FEW ACTS. They deal with heavy subject matter and I don't fade to black at any point so please note my works are for mature audiences, warnings are there for a reason and in bold. You are an adult if you are reading this work (per the warnings) and you are responsible for the content you consume. Thank you. ILY all and I love asks about the characters. And that's all I have to say about that...I'm sorry for the wait. I've had covid. I'm back on a better schedule now.

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You fumbled with your hair as you tried to rip your fingers through the still damp strands to assemble it back into a semi-presentable pony tail as the door slid open to your father’s office. You really did wish that you had been able to go upstairs and shower. Or at least change your clothes from the workout gear you currently felt sticking to your skin from the cooling sweat. As a breeze drifted from the vent as the air kicked on, you shivered violently, shaking your head and shooting a hateful stare in Yoongi’s direction as you stepped into the office. Appearances were everything in your family. They were the first level of protection to ensure threats stayed at a minimum. A show of strength and cohesiveness discouraged any hair-brained ideas from a weaker or less organized opposition.

Your father raised a dark, thick brow, turning from the man was speaking quietly to, his expression unreadable as you inclined your head slightly in greeting. “You asked to see me?” you said quietly, keeping your eyes downcast. Since Yoongi had mentioned your father was summoning you, you knew it couldn’t be anything positive. This soon after your arrival? Nothing good would come of this. You had just grabbed onto the distraction of Yoongi until you both stood in the office, feeling stripped bare, awaiting whatever admonishment was about to be delivered.

“You couldn’t make it a full forty-eight hours without causing me a migraine,” your father said sharply and you kept your eyes trained on the floor, as you replayed yesterday in your mind.

“Father, I don’t know what you-”

“Y/N, you weren’t even back a day and you spent how much?” he said, aggravation lacing his tone. “I had to call in Kim to look at your accounts immediately. You’re a fucking hassle.” He huffed and your eyes finally lifted to the stranger that stood next to your father, noting that he stepped away from your father and bowed quickly.

“Nice to meet you, miss. I’m Kim Namjoon. I’ve been handling your accounts and will continue to do so.” You felt your lips part in a soft ‘oh’ as you studied the broad planes of his face, full lips and intense eyes. You felt like he was picking you apart in that moment as you took your time to absorb his ash blond hair in a relaxed, but carefully crafted style. His skin tone was golden; a contrast to Yoongi’s milk-like skin. He glowed, and you couldn’t tell if it from his melanin or the fact that he was radiating intelligence.

“N-Nice to meet you too,” you stammered and managed to close your mouth as he pushed up the rolled sleeves of his white button-down shirt. You swallowed hard and tried to claw through the mental fog that had overcome you. With the teasing from both Jungkook and Yoongi, being presented with another god-like man was the last thing you needed. “I will admit I’m a little confused; my spending was never a problem when I was away? I mean, it’s not like I bought a car.”

Your father barked a laugh and threw up his hands. “You have no grasp on what I do to make this money that you just piss away Y/N! And you COULD have bought a car with the amount you spent yesterday! Like I said: a god damn burden!” he hissed and you flushed slightly, taking a step back unconsciously as you watched his neck flush. Yoongi hadn’t said a word, but you knew you could still sense his dark presence in the corner of the room, not looking at him to notice his eyes narrowed slightly as the scene unfolded.

“Y/N, I’ve had an idea. You’re a daughter. I can’t do much with you. Your brother who I could actually have used is dead. Your mother-” He stopped as he watched your eyes bulge and he shook his head. “I can’t have more children. I’d consider it disrespectful to her memory,” he mused, a hand running along his chin and you couldn’t help the scoff that escaped you, but your jaw snapped shut audibly as your teeth clacked together after the noise passed your lips.

Your father’s eyes flared to life in challenge and he glanced at Namjoon, lip curling. “Did you calculate her estimated cost of living and monthly expenditures? Do you have solid numbers?” he said shortly and Namjoon just nodded, eyes flicking between the family members silently. “And did you adjust for a profit at the margin we discussed?”

“Yes sir,” came the deep steady voice, Namjoon’s eyes traveling your figure, his gaze not heavy with lust or desire, but full of curiosity. “The monthly amount that you should request for that profit is in the proposal if you would like to review it.” He finished and cleared his throat. “I can return if you want me to look over the contract,” he said softly, clearing fishing for a dismissal and your father granted it, offering his hand and you felt your mouth tighten in confusion.

“What contract?”

Namjoon grabbed a briefcase and inclined his head to you stiffly in farewell before his long legs carried him out the doorway. Your father’s gaze didn’t leave your eyes as he spoke. “Yoongi, see him out.” Yoongi nodded and started after the tall man in silence, not sparing you a second glance on his way out.

“I asked you what contract?” you said softly, struggling to keep your voice even as your father stepped closer to you.

“Well, you went out. Spent a lot of money that you’ve done nothing to earn, and caught someone’s eye in the process. Someone worth a lot of money and who would be an asset to have closer to the family at this point in his career.” Your father clasped his hands behind his back as he continued to close the distance between you, each step he made, you felt your heart plummet further.

“Father… what exactly are you implying?”

“I’m not implying anything, Y/N. I’m telling you. Someone’s made a bid for your hand, and it’s the only thing you’ll be good for at this point. The shopping sprees, your lifestyle. I can maintain them, but if someone else is willing to do so, and the marriage benefits me in my business, I’d be stupid not to pursue it. Do you think I’m stupid, Y/N?” he said, voice getting dangerously quiet as he reached out to tuck a piece of hair that had escaped the rapidly put-up ponytail behind your ear.

“You can’t sell me off like fucking cattle!-” you said, flinching away from his touch, and his large, calloused hand shot out to grab your chin tightly. He forced your face back towards his as you tried to jerk away, squeezing hard enough to make your eyes begin to water. Your heart thudded out a dangerous irregular rhythm as you breathed hard through your nose.

“I can’t? Y/N, you seem to be under the delusion that you are free from the responsibilities that come with being in this family. I suppose that may be my fault. I was too soft on you, pitied the losses I caused you to have. I always had your brother anyway; there was no harm in indulging you. But now, you’re the only one with my blood in your veins. You’re home to do a service for this family. Everyone else has given their lives in some way. Did you think you were special?” His words were measured and cold as he studied you, grip not loosening on your face. You would be bruised tomorrow as you felt the throb set in from the pressure he was applying.

“You may order me to do it, but I don’t have to go along with this,” you hissed, barely able to open your jaw, but clenching your teeth to get your words out, rage licking up and down your body. He had taken your entire life as a child, as an adolescent. Did he really think giving you a few years of freedom put you back in his debt so far that you owed him the rest of your life?!

No sooner than the words were out of your mouth you heard the sharp crack, and felt yourself stumbling backwards into the wall. You blinked quickly as you registered the pain in your head, immediately starting to pound as the metallic taste of blood filled your mouth. You barely had time to regain a semblance of your bearings before your father was upon you again, face chillingly blank as his ringed fingers gripped the base of your ponytail, ripping your head back at an awkward angle, a scream breaching your bloody lips. The noise was cut short by another blow, snapping your head to the side before he jerked your face back to center.

“Who do you think you are, you little bitch?” he said with a lilt to his tone as you choked out a sob, unable to keep it from escaping your lips. “You really thought you weren’t going to do shit to replace that money you spent?” When he finished speaking he gave your head a violent shake, as if to scramble your thoughts further. It was completely unnecessary, as your head felt as if it was splitting with the pain he had rocked through you with his blows and harsh grip. You felt the start of a purely hysterical giggle break through, spitting out the fresh rush of blood that ran in your mouth due to the cuts in your cheek from your teeth. You noticed a piece of the skin from inside your mouth flapping loosely that made you nauseated if you dwelled on it.

The laugh was probably the worst response you could have had.

You heard a soft hiss, and your father stepped into your space further, hands darting from your head to wrap themselves around your throat and squeezing. As your hands scrambled to scratch at his hand, his arm, his face, anything, you wished you were surprised at this. You wished you were hurt because you were shocked, but you weren’t. There was blood in the water and he was a shark. He built his life this way.

“You don’t have to go along with this…” he said softly, voice void of emotion, “but you also don’t have to keep living here either. How long will you make it without this family? You’d never make it out of the city.” He mused and continued to squeeze, your vision starting to spot as you tried to draw in any bit of air within the hold he had, the choking heaves under the weight of him making the blood that had pooled in your mouth from his blows spill over your chin grotesquely as it began to stream onto his hand. “So will you behave for once in your fucking life?”

You were hyper aware of the tears streaming down your face as you managed the smallest of nods. You supposed he was right; you had never imagined you would be used in the family in any way. Your entire life had been lonely, and even though you hated it, you had resigned yourself to it. His hands unwrapped themselves from your neck, letting you inhale a burning gasp of air as you slid down the wall, and onto the floor. You coughed and rocked forward onto all fours as the shaking of your body didn’t allow for much more than consciousness.

Your father pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped the crimson of your blood off his hand before tossing it to you on the floor. You could barely recognize the quick but unhurried footsteps coming back down the hallway to the office before they stopped short.

“Yoongi, take her upstairs.”

==

The flush from hustling back to his boss’s office drained from Yoongi’s face as his eyes widened at your figure hunched forward onto your elbows on the floor. He watched you hack as your body tried to clear your airway. Yoongi stayed silent as he reached down, crouching next to you and attempting to offer you a hand so you could stand on your own, for which you were thankful. You felt the physical pain, but no emotions as your mind sluggishly screamed at you to just accept his hand and stand. You needed to walk out of here on your own. You knew you wouldn’t make it all the way to your room after the assault, but you didn’t need to. Just to the elevator.

You reached out your hand, shaking hard, as you clasped at his large palm and hoisted yourself up, letting him pull lightly as he stood with you, noting that he was still silent. You tried to ignore how your vision swam before you, willing your knees not to buckle. You couldn’t pinpoint if the unsteadiness was from the blows to your face, the lack of oxygen, or the tears that had thankfully stopped streaming down your face but still filled your eyes.

Yoongi seemed to read your mind, shifting his grip from your hand to your upper arm, nestling in your underarm and gently steered you to the door, but let you support most of your weight on the way out. You walked in silence as he didn’t rush you down the hallway, both of your eyes trained on the lift door as he typed in the code. As you waited for the door to open you felt your shaking legs betray you and start to bend. You glanced away from him, the movement of your eyes causing a piercing pain to shoot through your head. “Please,” was all you rasped wetly as you put more weight and started to sink, but the pressure holding you up immediately doubled, Yoongi’s support forcing you upright, even if it made your shoulder raise. It would be almost imperceptible from your father’s office if he was still looking in your direction, but you doubted he would. He had already received your submission; he didn’t need you for anything else.

Yoongi didn’t seem to want to take the chance that he was still watching, stepping into the elevator and continuing to only hold you in one place. His grip was still disguised as if he was walking you out in the same way he may escort an associate who was no longer welcome - in such a manner that would deter any further escalation. No one would be able to tell he was the only thing keeping you upright.

As the door slid shut to the elevator the facade crumbled, you lurching forward and gasping out a sob of pain, tilting your head down to let the blood that had been collecting in your mouth pour out onto the floor. You forgot how much mouth wounds bled. Yoongi was not bothered with the grotesque display as he swiftly adjusted his grip to wrap around your shoulders, his other arm sweeping at your feet as he lifted you with apparent ease. You shut your eyes as the tears began to flow once more, unable to restrain the moans and whimpers of pain that escaped between gasps as you cried. He still hadn’t said a word, even as you turned your face into his suit jacket, inhaling jaggedly as you tried to focus on the scent permeating from him, trying to place it through your snot-filled nose. The only thing you could recognize was the warm, woodsy scent of patchouli as you reached a shaking hand up to hold onto his jacket tightly. You knew he wouldn’t drop you, but it grounded you all the same.

You tried to slow your breathing, but failed as the elevator door opened and Yoongi strode quickly to your bedroom door, bending at the knees and somehow using his crook of his elbow and his body to turn the door knob, the only change in your positioning being that you tilted slightly as he spun it. He kicked the door with his foot gently as he stepped in, by-passing your bed as he carried you into your bathroom, carefully getting on his knees as he lowered you into your large bathtub as he placed you there. You continued to breath quickly, your gasps becoming sharper as your gentle shaking soon became uncontrollable. You released his jacket as he stood and you pulled your knees to your chest, shutting your eyes finally as you heard the tap briefly run before a cool rag brushed your chin, eyes flying open as you flinched away.

“Shh, I need to see your face. I have to get the blood off,” Yoongi whispered, and you finally looked at him, noting his face was still paler than normal. “Princess, I need you to take a slow, deep breath okay? Can you do that? Your lips are turning blue; you’re hyperventilating. You’re safe,” he murmured, brows pinching together in a pained expression you had never seen on his face as you tried to nod, attempting to take a long breath in but ended up gulping in air multiple times on the way, the blurring of your vision worsening as Yoongi grimaced, your breathing speeding up again, your shoulders shrugging with the effort to take in air. The last thing you heard was Yoongi’s tense exclamation of “Shit!” before you blacked out.

==

When you awoke, you were under the covers of your large bed. You sat up quickly before groaning from the ache in your head, then realizing that opening your mouth made you want to scream from pain. Between the squeeze on your jaw and the cuts inside your mouth, it was safe to say you would be saying very little for a while. You glanced towards the window, noting it was inky black outside.

“How long has he hit you?” came a cool voice from beside your bedside and you turned to face the source, seeing a figure standing beside the small table, casting a shadow with the aid of a lamp. Had he even left? Yoongi had shed his stained suit jacket, but still wore the white shirt and same suit pants. You only knew it was the same shirt due to the blood stain from where your mouth must have painted him. Instead of attempting to speak, you shrugged in an attempt to get his gaze off of you. It was piercing and unnerving. You felt as if this was the beginning of an interrogation, and you didn’t fail to notice the color had still not returned to his normally pale face. Now that your mind was a bit clearer you were able to recognize why it registered so deeply with you. He was the embodiment of white with fury. “How. Long?” he said again with such harshness you swallowed hard, ignoring the fire that licked down your throat as you did so.

“That’s a joke right? He’s always been like that. I just normally am better at avoiding it,” you forced out; your words were almost incoherent as you tried to move your jaw as little as possible as you spoke. That was bearable. Good. Not that you had expected it to be, but at least your jaw wasn’t broken; that would have been a pain in the ass. “What time is it?”

“It’s three am,” Yoongi hissed as his eyes glimmered in the near darkness, pushing off the wall and grabbing a glass of water off the table and sweeping a few pills into his hand. “Take these.” You took his offering and a small sip of the water before carefully throwing the pills to the back of your throat and washing them down, sighing softly. “They’re pain pills. They’ll help and you’ll be able to go back to sleep in a bit.”

You didn’t answer but pulled back the cover of your bed and slid out, noting that your bloody shirt had been changed but you still had on your sports bra and leggings. And your ponytail had been taken down, which was probably a good thing since your scalp was still aching from the hold your father had you in.

“Y/N… don’t.” Came Yoongi’s voice, still unemotional but a bit gentler than his earlier tone. You didn’t turn back to him but stopped your path to your vanity, obviously trying to look at your reflection in the mirror to assess the damage.

“Is it that bad?” you grumbled, turning to him and you watched him shrug.

“It’s not good. Don’t worry about it tonight. No bones are broken from what I can tell. I wiped you down the best I could. Just change once I leave and get back into bed.”

You let out a deep breath but finally stepped towards your closet instead to grab an oversized t-shirt. You could work the bra off under it and slip your pants off once you had it on. “Why did you even stay?” you said softly as you set to work, your muscles aching as you attempted to change modestly. You don’t know why it even mattered, but in this moment it did.

“I needed to know if he had done this before. I needed to know if this was the first time. When we were kids, you weren’t around all the time. Sometimes, I’d go months without seeing you. I didn’t know if this was a part of it,” he spat out, visibly tensing as he took a loud steadying breath.

You shrugged as you pulled off your leggings, successful in stripping your bra off under the shirt, and padded back to your bed. “There were a few reasons he kept me separated from everyone. It wasn’t all because he thought I was too precious to see any of this.” You climbed back into bed and tried to settle back into the plushness. Yoongi took a step closer to you, his mouth slightly open as he watched you try to get comfortable, seemingly unable to stop himself.

“Y/N…” he said softly and reached a hand towards you and you stiffened, eyes narrowing, and he took note, dropping his hand slowly.

“Yoongi, I never asked for your fucking pity.”

“I know, and it makes me want to help you even more.”

You blinked and tried to register what he was implying. “Help me?” you repeated, shaking your head as you felt the same hysterical laugh bubble up that had made your assault that much worse in your father’s office. “No one can help me!” You laughed, eyes widening as the smile twisted your features. “This is my life, this is what I was born into. This is what all those shiny things cost, Yoongi! I always knew it but I forgot.” You watched as the pained expression from earlier slid back over his features, and you raised your eyebrows in response. “I appreciate it, but unless you’re willing to put a bullet in my fucking head there’s no saving anything.”

“Who says it has to be your head, Princess?” he said gently and you swear you felt the world stop.

“Don’t say shit like that Min,” you hissed, baring your teeth and shaking your head. “Even if we don’t always get along, I don’t want you dead too.”

“Whatever you say Princess,” he said, a smile tugging at his lips as he cocked his head to the side. “Are you alright to sleep? You don’t feel like you’re going to vomit?” he asked seriously, watching as you shook your head.

“I don’t have a concussion,” you grumbled but as you watched him smirk and go to grab his jacket you felt your heart speed up. “Yoongi- w-wait.” He immediately stopped, as if he was anticipating your words. “Can you stay here the rest of the night? I know he won’t do anything but I-”

“Let me go change my clothes. Is that okay Princess?”

“Yeah… I just don’t want to be-”

“It’s fine Y/N. I’ll be right back.” You stayed sitting up, watching him as he dismissed your attempts at explanations and justification as he walked out.

You sighed, leaning against the leather headboard and let your breathing even out, even as your heart still raced. The pain began to slowly ebb as the medication took effect; what had you even taken? It had to be something strong as a comfortable fog began to cloud your thoughts.

You didn’t know why you felt the need to have him here. Did you even need to explain? He was technically your bodyguard. You had known each other most of your lives. You had just suffered through an assault; staying with you was reasonable. Even if the assailant wasn’t unknown, nor were the motives. At the end of the day, Yoongi’s presence made breathing a bit easier. His presence made you feel safe.

The door opened again and you sucked in a breath as Yoongi re-entered your bedroom, one hand carrying his gun and holster, the other a hanger with a clean pressed suit. “I’ll wake up before you,” was all he said in response to your surprised expression as he studied you. He mistook the shock on your face as being accredited to the suit. He was an idiot if he thought you cared about the fact he would dress here. You were too busy drinking in the sight of his lean figure in low-slung grey sweatpants. You tried to rip your gaze back to his face but you got caught on the black ribbed tank top and the swirling black tattoos covering his shoulder and chest before disappearing under the material.

“I didn’t know you had tattoos,” you choked out, feeling your face flush and mentally slapping yourself. He may look like sex on legs, but you looked like you just had the shit beat out of you. Which to be fair to yourself, you actually just had the shit beat out of you.

“Oh, I forgot,” he said, a small smirk tilting his lip up but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. He draped his suit over the chair to your vanity and carried his gun with him towards the plush armchair in the corner of the room.

“The bed is big enough Min. I won’t touch you,” you said breathlessly, trying to force away the blush that was deepening across your face. He seemed to freeze and take a few steadying breaths.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea Princess.” His voice was controlled but quiet.

“Please Yoongi…” you said just as quietly. “It’s just for tonight. I won’t feel safe if you’re all the way over there.”

It was definitely an over exaggeration. You hadn’t really expected him to even agree to stay in your room with you. The chair was the reasonable option. You knew you were pushing it.

“Princess, I-” He breathed, the airiness of his tone making your belly somersault and it gave you a tiny shiver.

“Yoongi, please. I need you next to me. Just tonight.” You shouldn’t be so worried about getting this man into bed with you, but now that he was here in front of you and it was so close to happening, you felt you might cry if he denied you.

You watched his back muscles rippled as he tensed and tried to relax. He turned wordlessly and walked to the opposite side of the bed, setting his holster down and climbing into the king-sized bed with you. “Go to sleep Princess.”

The drugs had to be prescriptions, not that you really expected a member of an organized crime family to just take a regular aspirin when they were in pain. “Is the oxy working yet? It should start soon if it hasn’t.” You hummed your assent as you squirmed down into the bed and tried to keep the smile from your face as you reached over and turned out the lamp. You took a deep breath and shut your eyes, savoring the heat that quickly built from having two bodies under the covers of your bed, ignoring the slightly annoyed sigh from the other side of the bed.

“Be quiet Min, I’m trying to rest,” you said softly and a soft dry chuckle cut through the silence as you let sleep take you.

==

Yoongi’s POV

Yoongi listened to the soft sounds of your breathing as they lengthened and deepened, the pain pills having done their job perfectly. If only he could have done his job in such a manner. He had been given a job: to keep you safe, and he took it seriously. Even if the one assigning his work was an abusive piece of shit. Yoongi let out a sigh, glancing over at your figure in the dark to make sure his huff hadn’t disturbed your slumber. It didn’t. You were still laying there, eyes closed and unaware, your face turned towards him to afford him a view of what exactly your father had done in his absence.

He felt his teeth grind against each other as even in the dark, he could make out the near black bruises covering your neck in the clear shape of hands, a bloom crossing your smooth cheek as well. Even your chin and jaw were dark from bruising; evidence that your father had held your face to force submission. It had worked. He opened his mouth and stretched his own jaw to try and stop himself from continuing to grind his molars down to nothing in rage. He didn’t know if he would ever be able to forget how you looked and how he felt when he entered the office, watching the blood drip onto the floor. How he wanted nothing more than to simply pull out his gun and lodge a bullet into your father’s knee before proceeding to swing the butt of his gun down onto him until he shattered every bone in the pig’s disgusting face.

Until he begged him to stop. Until he begged his daughter to tell Yoongi to stop.

The daydream made Yoongi smile a full gummy smile and chuckle for the first time today. He would stop when you told him to. If you told him to. Now that he knew your father had put his hands on you before this, he wondered if you would just let him continue until his mania at seeing what had been done to you was sated. He knew it wouldn’t be until he heard your father’s death rattle, knowing it had been at his own hands.

You stirred slightly to readjust in your sleep, drawing his attention back to the present as you moved closer to him in the bed and he sucked in a breath. Even beaten and bruised you affected him. Even carrying you in that elevator down the hall as you clutched onto him. He had been spiraling down into violence but as soon as you grabbed his jacket, he knew you wouldn’t withstand even him raising his voice to anyone without shattering. You were normally so fierce and seeing you broken made him want to tear apart this entire society you both lived in, even if it was all either of you had ever known.

It was then he had decided he would be what you were asking of him with your sobs and how you clutched onto him; he would be as gentle as could be and give you whatever you needed tonight. Tomorrow he would begin the undertaking of dismantling your father piece by fucking piece.

He had watched over you after you passed out; you had woken up briefly for him to get you to take pain medicine once before you actually were able to speak to him. Before you asked him to stay with you. He wanted to pretend it didn’t make his icy heart crack, the way you tried to explain and justify his presence. He would never ask you to in this kind of situation. When Yoongi returned to his room, he attempted to steel himself for a night of sitting in that uncomfortable chair, and a sleepless day tomorrow. He had gone more than twenty-four hours without sleep before.

But when your eyes, even if they had started to become glossy and dilated from the drugs, began to run over him, he had to try and think of every unsexy thing he could fathom. You had just been fucking violated and just with one look he felt the blood travel away from his brain and pool below his waist. Why did he think he would be able to wear sweatpants while staying with you? You destroyed every semblance of self control he had. He still hadn’t forgotten your teasing in the elevator prior to this shit show.

Then your soft drowsy voice had called out to him just as he had regained his mental fortitude and continued to the chair. You would be the fucking death of him and he didn’t think he would really mind. Now, as he laid here in bed with you trying to ignore the fact that you were shifting closer to him in your sleep, seeking his warmth, he closed his eyes. He had anticipated the pure fury of tonight keeping him awake, but instead it was the fact that he could feel your breath on his neck, that if he turned his head back to you he could still make out your absolutely gorgeous feminine form from under the blankets. The dip in your waist and the curve of your hips, sloping into your soft thigh. Yoongi’s eyes shot open as he let out a soft hiss as he felt his member stiffen in his sweats, one large hand reaching down to palm himself, and he willed his hard-on to disappear.

He dropped his eyes again, confident he would get his bulge to go down without waking you, and as he tended to it, a soft small hand reached across his middle, making his forehead furrow. He tried to take a steadying breath, and tried to not imagine that the events of last night weren’t the reason he was in your bed. That you had just invited him to bed because you wanted him there, not for security but because you wanted him as a man to share your bed and body. That he could roll over to face you, slip his own hand up that oversized shirt and rub soft circles into your skin before slipping his hand down in-between your thighs.

Yoongi felt his cock twitch and himself harden further, forcing another deep breath in and out as he circled back to try and think of grotesque things to make his longing subside. You at least had stopped wriggling in the bed in an attempt to get closer; he was thankful for that. He squeezed his eyes shut tighter and tried to calm his heart and regulate his breath to make it possible for him to drift off.

This was going to be a long night.

[too-gay-for-marvel]

one of us

a/n: I LIVE! listen. listen. yall know me well enough at this point to know that i make no promises about posting more stuff. i might post something in a few months. maybe next week. lets spin the wheel of fate and see what happens, shall we?

Request:  hi!! do you think you could write a prequel of sorts to i don’t need a hero? it’s one of my absolute favorites and i was wondering if you could write something angsty for the mission where the reader gets shot protecting wanda? <33 thank you!!

Word Count: 2546

Warnings: swearing, canon-typical violence

Pairing: Wanda x Reader

She hated you.

Wanda Maximoff absolutely, unquestionably, without a doubt hated you. There was not a single thing about you that she didn’t hate, from the stupid cocky look on your face to the way you refused to be of any help. You were supposed to be an ally now, not a nuisance.

And yet there you were.

Sitting across from her at the table and shooting her a look that made her want nothing more than to throw some magic right at your face. If she was lucky then maybe it would even knock you on your ass and she could wipe that stupid smirk from your face. It would almost make this meeting with you worth all the hassle.

“Does everyone understand their jobs?” Maria asked, bringing Wanda back to the table and forcing her to pay attention.

“Blow shit up and have fun doing it?” You asked even though that most certainly wasn’t your job and you knew it.

Don’t let them out of your sight. Maria’s voice rang in Wanda’s mind and, after a silent look, she gave a nod of affirmation. It didn’t seem as if you had noticed, and that gave Wanda a feeling of superiority. Technically it wasn’t a competition, and she already knew she was better than you, but to know that she could scheme about you in front of your face was something that gave her more joy than she would ever openly admit.

The meeting concluded without a hitch. You had even admitted - rather begrudgingly - that you were to do nothing other than keep the attention off of Wanda and Sam. In Wanda’s mind, that was a good start; you usually argued until you were blue in the face.

But with you agreeing, all Wanda had to really worry about was the upcoming mission. And whether you would keep to your word or not.

----------

By all accounts, and much to Wanda’s and Sam’s surprise, the mission had been going well. You had launched fireworks on one end of the building to cause a commotion while they had snuck in through the back. She had used her powers to distract the few guards left inside, and within minutes they had found what they were looking for.

In fact, the mission had been going so well that Wanda had been on the verge of asking if you were okay. There was no way you could have behaved for as long as you had, not without a proper motivation. But right as Wanda had lifted her hand to start her comms, an unusually loud explosion sounded off, quickly followed by guards running and yelling.

Heading in their direction.

“I knew it was too good to be true,” Wanda mumbled to herself.

Only seconds after Wanda had muttered her lack of surprise at the situation, the same guards she had heard appeared in the hallway behind them. Directly between them and their exit.

Of course, she heard Sam think. Very loudly.

It turned, very quickly, into an all-out brawl. Unlike you, they didn’t exactly aim to kill; if it was avoidable then they would. But that didn’t mean there weren’t still plenty of bodies lying on the ground, continuously making it harder and harder for them to leave.

“To the roof,” Sam ordered during a short lull in the fighting. “We can get an emergency evac from there.”

And before Wanda knew it, they were once again fighting and trying to make their way up the stairs. It wasn’t the most difficult thing in the world, not with her powers and Red Wing. But that didn’t mean it was easy either.

“Leaving already?” You asked over the comms, causing both Wanda and Sam to roll their eyes at the lack of seriousness in your tone.

“Just get to the roof,” Sam replied shortly, refusing to say anymore on the matter.

“When I’m ready.”

Wanda swore if she hadn’t promised Bucky not to kill you, she would have done it then and there.

It didn’t take long after that for Wanda and Sam to make it to the roof. He told her he was going to fly around and scope a potential landing, and Wanda agreed to hold down the fort until he came back. They both ignored the fact that you were nowhere to be found.

In typical Avengers fashion, the guards came back not long after Sam had left her alone. She wished she could have been surprised, but when it happens nearly every time, it loses it’s shock factor.

But this one was worse than usual; Wanda was, unfortunately, feeling overwhelmed. She knew the horde would run out of bodies eventually, but would that happen before or after Sam showed up? She had no clue, and that was something that terrified her.

Needless to say, she got her answer when an entire army made it up to the roof.

“That’s my cue,” your voice came over the comms, a little too cheery for the situation, but Wanda wasn’t going to answer. At that moment, she hoped you burned along with the rest of them.

An explosion rocked the building underneath her feet, sending more panic racing through her veins. Fucking idiot, she thought, you’re going to destroy the building with us still in it! More explosions followed suit.

“You’d better hurry, Sam, Y/N is gonna blow the building,” Wanda spoke clearly, but rushed. As terrified as she was, she knew it would do no good if Sam didn’t even understand her.

“Just a bit longer, I’m almost there.” She didn’t like that Sam sounded more panicked than her.

“Need a hand?” Your voice came through again, but it was drowned out by a roar that grew increasingly louder.

It was a missile. A missile that was going to hit the roof. The roof that she was standing on.

“Just move!”

Wanda was too transfixed by the missile heading her way to notice someone running toward her. Someone who quickly wrapped their arms around her waist. Her body tensed as her feet were lifted off the ground and she was suddenly launched off the side of the building right as the missile hit the spot where she had previously been standing.

Wind rushed past her ears, along with something that sounded like a scream. She couldn’t tell who it was coming from. The trip to the ground took only a moment, but felt like it was never going to end. Well, not until she forcefully met the ground, that is. The air was knocked out of her lungs and the person on top of her didn’t help.

“Get off me,” she grunted as she pushed the person off and sat up. Only when she was up did she notice it was you, new scratches on your face and blood dripping down your ears.

“You stupid Avengers, always in the way,” you mumbled just loud enough for Wanda to hear. Or maybe it was just muffled because of the deafening ringing in her ears.

“What the hell were you thinking?” Wanda shouted, pushing herself onto her feet and watching as you did the same.

“What do you mean, what was I thinking?” You shot back. “You were the one who didn’t move!”

“I didn’t need your help.”

“You almost got hit! By a missile!”

“And yet you were the one who launched it!” Wanda stepped forward, her finger jabbing into your chest as she talked.

“I saved your life!” You shouted back, throwing your hands up in indignation.

“You pushed me off a building!”

“Don’t criticise me! No one else was helping!”

“I didn’t need help from some wannabe hero!”

“I’m not trying to-” you were cut off by the sound of a gun, and your eyes widening. You both looked down to see a dark red spot near your hip, growing larger by the second.

You hit the ground before she could catch you.

Wanda looked past you to see one lone guard, his shirt still on fire and his skin singed beyond recognition. His arm was still up, gun pointed where you had previously been standing. She didn’t have to bother with finishing him; he collapsed, his body slowly burning.

She crouched down immediately, her hand moving to the spot on your hip. Her hands went to press on it; something she had learned from Maria and Natasha, something she hadn’t thought she would ever really need to know.

You groaned ever so slightly when she pressed harder, but aside from that you were silent and still.

“Coming in hot,” Sam said. She didn’t bother looking up, but felt the wind from Sam and the evac landing behind her.

Sam was quick in assessing the damage. He picked you up and carried you to the quinjet, getting you stabilised for the trip back. Wanda thanked the gods that it would be a short trip.

She hoped you would be okay.

----------

Technically, it wasn’t the worst injury someone had come back from a mission with. Tony always came back with multiple contusions, sometimes broken bones if he had been careless. Natasha and Clint were always a mess, having been absorbed in trying to keep the other safe. Hell, you had come back with worse injuries.

So why this one had taken so much out of you, Wanda had no idea. All she knew was that it had been four days and you were still unconscious. Even the doctors couldn’t understand why you hadn’t woken up. Sure, trauma could keep someone in a coma, but you had seen much worse. So why this one?

“Time for food.”

Bless that man.

Wanda looked up from her book to see Clint leaning in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest. A signature look for him, she realised. But she noticed, strangely enough, that he did not come with food. Extremely rude.

“Making me scavenge for myself now?” Wanda teased as she closed her book.

“You could say that,” Clint shrugged. “You gotta get out of here for a few hours, Wanda.”

So that was his purpose.

“Not yet,” she answered simply.

“They haven’t woken up yet, won’t wake up while you’re gone.”

“You don’t know that-”

“-Wanda,” Clint interrupted, “they’re not waking up. Get some food, take a shower, maybe a nap. It’ll be fine.”

She looked over to you and just stared. Your face hadn’t really changed since they had gotten you back to SHIELD. No sounds, no movement, nothing. Maybe there was a new crinkle between your brows, but nothing to really indicate you were going to wake up. No matter how much she wanted you to.

Damn you for making her worry about you of all people.

And damn Clint for being right.

“Two hours.”

“Make it five,” Clint shot back, a smile tugging at his lips.

“Three.”

“Four.”

Damn him.

“Fine. Four. But not a minute more,” Wanda sighed. But, and she hated to admit this, Clint was right; she needed some time to recover. She hadn’t even left herself recover from the mission, instead coming straight to the medical ward with you.

Clint nodded once and waited for her to leave before heading into your room. Sweet of him to take her place while she was resting. It would at least give her some respite to know that someone was watching you while she was gone. Now she just needed to take care of herself and get back.

Well. Maybe after a bath.

----------

“Wanda wake up!”

Not the best way for anyone to wake up from a nap.

Wanda shot up out of bed and tried to blink the sleep out of her eyes. She was sure she looked like an absolute mess, and she could feel the knots in her hair. Oh god she felt terrible. Two hours was not enough time for a recovery nap. They better have a good reason for waking her up.

“Good, you’re up,” Clint huffed from the doorway. “Y/N’s gone.”

Okay. Pretty good reason.

She didn’t bother brushing her hair; didn’t even bother changing into clean clothes. It was fine though, she had slept in her mission clothes anyway. What was one more day, right? Besides, it gave her a bit of comfort that she at least wouldn’t be running through the hallways half-naked.

It was, for lack of a better word, pandemonium in the halls. The assumption was that everyone was looking for you; and that assumption was correct. If you hadn’t been such a damn nuisance to SHIELD in the past, maybe they would’ve just let you go.

So really, this was all your fault.

But that didn’t stop Wanda from making her way to where she felt she knew you had gone. There was no proof, but it was a feeling. A feeling that was similar to when she had known whenever Pietro had gotten into trouble. Not quite as strong, because nothing could beat twintuition, but it was still there.

And it was right.

Wanda didn’t know what to really expect you to look like after a few days of rest. But you looked a mess sitting in the dark cell. You were still in your hospital gown, and the gauze was still wrapped around whatever wounds you had sustained. The worst part? You sat curled up in the corner.

“Y/N?” Wanda stepped closer to the cell, but was met with a beeping sound that she was terrifyingly familiar with.

A proximity bomb.

She jumped back and waited for the explosion that never came. Instead, the beeping stopped, and you continued to sit in the corner. Her eyes searched for the bomb, but she knew she wouldn’t be able to find it. If you had hidden it, then you would be the only one who could get to it.

“Everyone is looking for you,” Wanda whispered, just loud enough for you to hear.

“Leave me alone.” Your voice was hoarse, and you let out a series of painful-sounding coughs.

“They’re worried about you.”

“They can worry about themselves,” you shot back, “I’m fine.”

“Y/N,” Wanda urged. She didn’t like seeing you like this. She hadn’t cared for you much, hadn’t even liked you, but this… this wasn’t you. “What happened?”

And then you turned. She could see the bruises on your face, the bags under your eyes, a look on your face that she couldn’t quite place. But your eyes… your eyes pierced through her soul in a way she hadn’t thought possible.

“You fucking heroes happened,” you replied, your eyes never leaving hers. “Couldn’t fucking leave well enough alone, had to bring me into all this fucking mess.”

“Y/N-”

“You wanted me in this fucking cell, now I’m here.” Wanda could tell you were running out of breath. “So leave me the fuck alone.”

With that you turned and stared back at the wall, your back to her. She couldn’t go to you, couldn’t help you. That bomb of yours would blow the both of you up if she got closer. And she just knew you were finished talking to her. You had made your decision, and she would just have to accept it. It seemed the team was right.

You would never be one of them.

[yellowocaballero]

Continuation of Human Relations (Oh My God, They Were Roommates)

This is a 16k story that’s a bit too short for AO3 but a bit too long for Tumblr that acts as a continuation of my Archivist!Sasha and Immortal!Jon fic Human Relations. I recommend that you read that before this. This story takes place between S2 and S3, and is about Sasha and Georgie’s roommate adventures. I’m uncertain if I’ll continue this and post it on AO3, post it on AO3 as it is, or what, but for the time being I’ll at least post it here. 

Serious content warnings for discussion of abusive friendships, gaslighting, discussion of 19th century racism, implied transphobia, and discussion of police brutality. Nothing more serious than what we saw in Human Relations, but it does have a much more explicit investigation of Jon and Elias’ relationship. Rest under the cut. Happy Birthday, @magickko. 

EDIT: HAHA READMORE DIDN’T WORK, YIKES. 

Sasha dreams, every night.

Nightmares, mostly. Statements given and Statements stolen run endlessly through her head in a scrolling loop, crying out for mercy, as its figures cry and scream. Sasha looks at them through a camera, pushing the button and clicking the shutter again and again and again, searching for that perfect shot frozen in time. 

A woman, trapped under a thousand pounds of dirt and crumpling metal. Snap. A woman, chewing keycaps, eyes riveted on a flickering screen. Snap. A woman, lost in her fiance’s grave, pleading for someone to find her. Snap. 

A man, eating canned peaches, alone. Snap. A man, swinging an axe with a frantic strength born of terror. Snap. A man, and the look in his eyes, betrayed. Snap. A man, gunshot wound leaking blood out of his chest, eyes rolling in the fluorescent lights. Snap.

When Sasha wakes up she is always surprised to find herself in a guest room, always out of place and out of time as she stares up at an unfamiliar ceiling. Maybe the worst part is those two seconds after waking, where she doesn’t know where she is, adrift in time and space. Then she remembers, and she’s faced with the situation all over again. 

Namely, the fact that she was couch surfing in the Grim Reaper’s guest bedroom. 

Sasha dreams, every night.

Nightmares, mostly. Statements given and Statements stolen run endlessly through her head in a scrolling loop, crying out for mercy, as its figures cry and scream. Sasha looks at them through a camera, pushing the button and clicking the shutter again and again and again, searching for that perfect shot frozen in time. 

A woman, trapped under a thousand pounds of dirt and crumpling metal. Snap. A woman, chewing keycaps, eyes riveted on a flickering screen. Snap. A woman, lost in her fiance’s grave, pleading for someone to find her. Snap. 

A man, eating canned peaches, alone. Snap. A man, swinging an axe with a frantic strength born of terror. Snap. A man, and the look in his eyes, betrayed. Snap. A man, gunshot wound leaking blood out of his chest, eyes rolling in the fluorescent lights. Snap.

When Sasha wakes up she is always surprised to find herself in a guest room, always out of place and out of time as she stares up at an unfamiliar ceiling. Maybe the worst part is those two seconds after waking, where she doesn’t know where she is, adrift in time and space. Then she remembers, and she’s faced with the situation all over again. 

Namely, the fact that she was couch surfing in the Grim Reaper’s guest bedroom. 

Georgie Barker wasn’t a mystery, and she’d be the first to tell you.

Of course you’re welcome to stay as long as you need, honey! I always love having Jonah owe me a favor. Don’t worry about the cops and the law, nobody will ever find you here. Seriously, the entire department’s in my pocket. It’s no hassle having you here, it’s a big flat! It’s been years since I’ve had a roommate, this’ll be fun!

The one thing she hadn’t understood was Sasha begging her not to let Jon in to see her. He knows exactly where you are, Georgie pointed out. He knows you’re not actually a murderer, Georgie said. He might be able to help explain some of what’s going on, Georgie hinted. Jon would respect my wishes, but if Jonah really wants him to talk to you, he’ll definitely do it...

“Please,” Sasha had croaked, the uncomfortable morning after she had stumbled into Georgie’s flat. The Admiral wove around her legs, purring up a storm, and Georgie was munching on avocado toast and sipping pomegranate juice. “I just - I just need some space.”

“Why?” Georgie asked obliviously. That was something that Sasha was rapidly learning about Georgie - she didn’t hold back with impolite questions, or her opinion. She seemed to be regarding Sasha’s life as her own personal Youtuber Drama, which Sasha really didn’t know how she felt about. Her life wasn’t a spectacle, but she guessed even the warfare and tragedy of ants were of obscure and strange interest to humanity. “He’s feeling, like, totally bad about framing you for murder. I can tell he super wants to apologize to you about everything.”

Martin’s words echoed through her mind, from what felt like a decade ago: Jon had ruined Martin’s life, but to him it was as simple as a momentary inconvenience. “I don’t want his apology,” Sasha croaked. “I want not to be on the run from the police. I want to go back to my flat. Unless he’s going to make me human again I don’t want any stupid apologies. They’re useless.”

“Hm. Well, you’re free to stay here as long as you need to, of course.” Georgie sipped at her tea. They were sitting around the breakfast table, Sasha desolately shoving eggs into her mouth as Georgie drank her tea that Sasha was reasonably sure was spiked with brandy. Rich people were literally never sober. “It’ll be so much fun, like a sleepover. We can do each other’s nails and talk about boys!”

“My boyfriend thought I was a monster for the past month and now thinks I’m a murderer,” Sasha said flatly. 

“Oh, I see.” Georgie tapped her lips thoughtfully. “We have to get you laid, huh?”

“I am literally on the run from the cops.”

“That’s very sexy to some people,” Georgie assured her. 

After that, Georgie waved goodbye and swanned out of the house, either going to her studio to work on her podcast or doing some work for her real estate empire or writing a best-selling book or schmoozing with celebrities or attending parties at exclusive nightclubs or working part-time as a bartender just for gossip or devouring souls. Just from Sasha’s one day at Georgie’s flat, she knew that she did all of these things and then some. It was a stunning contrast to Jon’s laziness, or Elias (Jonah’s) single-mindedness. 

Maybe you lost the energy to be so productive after your two hundredth year. Sasha didn’t fucking know. Hopefully she would never know. Or maybe Jon just appeared to be lazy, and every moment that he was complaining about being bored he was secretly manipulating world leaders. Maybe Jonah’s dedication to spreadsheets and dress code was a front, and he was secretly pulling the puppet strings of her entire life…

In the empty spaces of Georgie’s spacious flat, it was easy to be paranoid. Sasha lay on her luxurious couch, hands folded across her chest like a corpse, trying not to think of anything, thinking of everything. Thinking of Tim: of his smile, of his scowl, of his cold looks given to someone he had thought was a stranger. Thinking of Martin: his warm smile, his sharp looks. 

She struggled to think of other friends, other family members who gave her comfort, but drew up a blank. Her parent’s faces were blurred after ten years of no contact, not so much forgotten as repressed, and her baby siblings were likely unrecognizable to her now. Almost as unrecognizable as she was to them, probably. Tim, her boyfriend who hated her, and Martin, her subordinate who she had almost never had a conversation with that wasn’t about work or Jon...that was it. All the friends she had in the world. She was sleeping in the guest room of a podcast host/Grim Reaper whom she had met once, and that was all she had.

Loneliness was Sasha’s constant companion. In a crowd, in her family, in the world - no matter how many people she had been surrounded by, she had always been alone. She had never had anybody in the world to rely on besides herself, and for the first time in a long time she was achingly aware of it. Nobody who loved her was going to help her. She was alone now.

After an hour of lying on the couch and crying, Sasha desolately watched Netflix cooking shows on Georgie’s gigantic flat-screen TV, trying very hard to think of absolutely nothing at all. She only moved to pet Georgie’s silky long-haired cat whose name she had already forgotten, and even he left quickly once she lost the energy to give him attention.

That was how Georgie found Sasha when she came home: lying on the couch, still dressed in borrowed silk pyjamas, watching idiots on television fuck up cakes. Georgie’s arms were laden with shopping bags, with names of exclusive London boutiques sprawled along the side, her deep black pits of eyes hidden by designer sunglasses. She burst through the door happily, her cat running up to her and winding through her laps as he purred, and easily kicked off her red pumps. She stopped in the doorway of the living room, looking strangely excited. 

“Sorry I’m back to late! Utterly bogged up at work, there was a plane crash and I was processing corpses for hours. I had to do some serious retail therapy just to deal with the tedium - darling, have you moved?”

Sasha grunted. 

“You look like Mikey Crew threw you off the Shard,” Georgie said sympathetically. “Utterly disastrous. Don’t worry, Aunt Georgie’s here to make you feel better.” She lifted her bag triumphantly. “I bought you new outfits!”

Sasha eyed her warily. 

“You get no say in this,” Georgie said kindly. “Chop chop, we’re doing face masks too.”

That’s how, somehow, Sasha found herself playing an unwilling dress-up doll for the Grim Reaper. Georgie had taken Sasha’s casual mention that she had no clothing besides her work pantsuit to heart, and had hit up her favorite boutiques for ‘cute outfits that accentuated her figure and made her eyes pop!’. Or something. Sasha wasn’t much one for fashion. 

As it turned out, Georgie Barker had a walk-in closet. Because of course she did. 

The looks ranged from Sasha’s usual, as Georgie put it, ‘sexy librarian’ look, to ballgowns, to tennis outfits, to moddish, to vintage, to wintery. It was February, the seasons lingering in British chill, and according to Georgie the perfect solution to this was a mink coat that was probably worth a month’s rent on her flat. 

Strangely, all of the outfits fit perfectly - and Sasha knew that her measurements were difficult to find. Georgie took it in stride, clapping enthusiastically each time and suggesting accessories and how to mix and match the outfits. 

She would have thought that she was too dead inside to actually enjoy it, but so far as distractions went it actually worked pretty well. Georgie chatted about everything but their actual problems, and Sasha had absolutely no input or choice in what Georgie decided to dress her in, and by the time they had transitioned from nail painting to watching Legally Blonde and eating ice cream from the carton Sasha was actually feeling a little relaxed. 

“The musical’s better,” Georgie informed Sasha imperiously as Sasha dug around in her carton for chunks of cookie dough. Georgie was clutching a glass of wine in one hand, while Sasha was contenting herself with ice cream. Best not to drink when she was this sad. “Reese is such a doll, though. Allergic to shellfish, poor dear, but I told her not to let Leo pick the restaurant.”

“What I’m wondering,” Sasha said carefully, teeth cracking into the frozen chunk of cookie dough, “is that half the time when I see you, you’re dressed like a 2008 goth in jeans and t-shirts.”

“Oh, honey,” Georgie said pityingly, patting her hand. “I used to spend two hours getting dressed each morning. I’m never doing that to myself again. You, however, clearly have never had nice clothing in your life. It’s written all over your face. People’ll walk all over you if you always look like you’re straight from a charity shop. We gotta buy you some self-confidence.”

“Thanks. I think.” On screen, Elle flourished and achieved her dreams. Sasha tried not to feel jealous. “It’s not really as if I had a lot of girly sleepovers as a kid…”

“Word,” Georgie said sympathetically. She patted Sasha’s hand again. “Jon was the same way, you know. I can’t count the number of times I’ve had to renovate that boy’s wardrobe. He has no idea how to dress to impress.”

“Do we have to talk about Jon right now,” Sasha groused. “He’s the last person I want to think about.”

“He means well,” Georgie soothed, as Elle Woods proudly proclaimed on television how she, yes, she, was a strong independent woman - who didn’t need a man! “It’s not his fault he’s stupid. He’s just so helpless on his own, you know, he needs girls like you and me to make sure he’s not wasting a decade fixating on obscure Bolivian religious practices or whatever.”

“Helpless? He’s a two hundred year old man.” Sasha spitefully grabbed the bottle of wine from the coffee table, pouring it into a spare glass and drinking it quickly. It probably cost thousands of pounds, but it just tasted like wine to her. “It’s not my job to make sure his little feelings aren’t hurt.”

“Of course not,” Georgie said, but Sasha had the sense she was being calmed instead of listened to. “But Jon’s...you know.”

“I don’t, actually.”

Georgie made an interpretive hand gesture. Sasha stared at her blankly. 

“...I still don’t.”

Georgie sighed. “He’s delicate. Jonah babies him, honestly.” She patted Sasha’s hand for the third time, making her skin crawl. “Don’t worry, I won’t let him see you until you’re ready to forgive him. Every woman has the right to some time to herself after a guy fucks her over. You two’ll patch things up, right as rain.”

There was nothing Sasha wanted to say to that, nothing she wanted to think about, and she kept drinking her wine and watching the movie, out of lack of any other options.

That night, she drunkenly tipped into bed, so blasted that she slid immediately into sleep and did not dream. It was the first relief she’d had in what felt like a very long time. 

It wasn’t Sasha’s job to fix Jonathan Sims. 

It really, really wasn’t. It wasn’t her job to make him feel better, or forgive him, or save him from himself. If Martin wanted to waste his time and energy doing that, then god fucking speed, but Sasha had other priorities. She had been profoundly fucked over and had her trust abused by three different men lately, and she wasn’t going to be the one to patch things up.

Two of them she had no desire to patch things up with at all. Two of them she’d be perfectly happy if she never saw again. The last one...Sasha didn’t know what she felt. But that was nothing new. 

That being said, as Sasha chewed her way through hangover medication and an acai bowl the next morning, Georgie’s inane chattering about tricking some celebrity or another into taking her to Hungary for authentic Hungarian food didn’t register nearly as loudly in Sasha’s mind as her words about Jonah and Jon. 

Jonah babies Jon. That was what she had said. It...it was accurate, right? It had to be. Georgie had known Jonah and Jon for a hundred years, and Sasha had barely heard one authentic conversation between them. She’d known them for a year, and known Jonah’s true nature for maybe a few days. There was no way Sasha understood their relationship better than Georgie did. It just didn’t make sense. 

Finally, she put her spoon down, cutting Georgie off in the middle of her ramble about the majesty of Hungarian food made by genuine Hungarian grandma hands. “What did you mean, ‘Jonah babies Jon’?”

Georgie blinked at her, clearly barely remembering the conversation, before recognition dawned. Then she shrugged, sipping her protein smoothie. Which may or may not be spiked. It seemed as if her solution to hangovers was to just not stop being drunk. “Oh, you know how those two are. Jon swans around the world doing whatever he wants, Jonah holds the fort down at home. That’s why Jon’s fun, you know.” She sighed nostalgically. “Romantic cruises to the Bahamas for two months, we tear up the Bahaman government and start a minor military coup, then we take a tour of the beaches. You haven’t lived until you’ve dug your toes into Bahaman sand.” 

That was something Georgie said frequently: you haven’t lived until you’ve done X, Y, or Z. It seemed as if Georgie was very intent on living, and very intent on defining it in discretionary ways. To Sasha, living was simply the act of not being dead, but Georgie was almost fanatical about experiencing life. 

“If he’s so much fun, then why did you break up?” Sasha asked, before she realized what she said. “I mean, it’s really none of my business, feel free not to answer that -”

But Georgie just laughed lightly. “That’s just how Jon and I work. We spend a few weeks together in bliss, and then we go our separate ways for six months or a year or whatever. Work’s always taking us different places, and seeing each other all day would make us hate each other. Some people work best when they’re not in each other’s pocket.” She took a long drag of the smoothie before speaking again. “Besides, he’ll always be second in my life to having fun. And I’ll always be second in his life to Jonah. It’s just how we work. It works for us!”

It seemed to. Last Sasha checked, Georgie and Jon seemed to be very amicable despite being exes. Lackadaisical, on-and-off, passionate yet going years without seeing each other - it was a relationship uniquely in the providence of workaholic immortals. 

It wasn’t until Georgie had already waved goodbye, making Sasha promise not to spend all day on the couch again, that she realized that Georgie hadn’t quite answered her question. 

An image flashed through Sasha’s mind - Jon’s face, as he dared to disagree with Jonah, and was utterly ground into the dust for it. 

There was something more to this. Something that wasn’t obvious on the surface, something that was so well hidden maybe nobody even knew it was going on. Or maybe it was deeper than that, more insidious: maybe whatever was going on was so well-known and pervasive that it simply wasn’t spoken about. Not polite, not the kind of thing you say about your friends, not normal. Not in polite company. Not vocalized. Utterly taken for granted. 

Sasha walked into the guest room, pulling out her phone from her bag and staring at its blank screen. Holding her breath, she hesitantly turned it on, staring at it blankly as it slowly booted up. 

She shouldn’t be turning it on. She was perfectly aware of how, given a warrant, the police could track cell phone location, texts sent and received, everything. She could do it herself. The crushing weight of surveillance, the fear of being found and seen and rooted out, settled over her shoulders like an old, familiar friend. A comforting blanket to wrap herself up in at night: where, even if the fear was terrible and awful, at least it was familiar. 

You could get used to anything, Sasha thought. Any behavior, any fears, any horrors or tragedies - anything could become normal, given enough time. A year. A hundred years. After two hundred years, maybe you wouldn’t even recognize it as happening at all.

Like a flood, the text messages poured in. Notifications chimed in a cacophony, as text after text after text popped up on her phone. Missed calls. Emails popped up, notifications from the doorbell camera, reminders from her fucking Duolingo...

Dizzily, Sasha scrolled through the texts. Lots from Tim, as expected, and a few from Martin, as expected. Some texts from her mother, which - which wasn’t expected. At all. Sasha hadn’t even known that she knew her number. 

Sasha’s brain stuttered over the Spanish, having been years since she spoke it. Her brain also stuttered over the gratuitous misgendering, which was also blissfully novel yet just as uncomfortable and upsetting as ever. Translated, it was a slightly accusatory question about why the police had been calling them about her whereabouts. What had she done? Had she gotten in trouble?

No matter what you did, the text read, God will forgive you. Just call them back. 

Sasha stared at the texts, brain buzzing. She felt sick. Forgive her? They’d forgive her? They thought she’d done it? They thought she was capable of -

Horribly, awfully, tears pricked at her eyes. Maybe she was wrong. Maybe you never really grew accustomed to pain, even if it was felt a thousand times. Maybe some pain you never acclimated to, never scarred over or calloused. Maybe sometimes the more you were hurt, the worse it hurt. The pain her parents gave her - how they cut off contact, the misgendering, the coldness - hurt just as badly at thirty six as it had at twenty six, at twenty, at fifteen, at nine. It had always hurt. 

So stupid. Sasha deleted the text messages. She didn’t have time for this. She wasn’t a child. She was thirty six goddamn years old, that was way too old to still care about your parents. To still need them.

She clicked on Martin’s texts next. The first one had a timestamp before the murder, the rest afterwards.

Martin: where are you?? I found Tim (he tried to kill me w/an axe but we’re ok now) and were trying to get out of here. I explained everything to him. We’ll meet you in the archives. 

Martin: Police are looking for you. I know you didn’t do it so call me back. Tim’s worried. Jon doesn’t seem that worried...

Martin: Shouldn’t text you anymore. Please be safe & careful. 

Jesus. Jesus, she had been terrible to Martin. She was a rotten friend. Sasha hiccuped, rubbing at her eyes. She needed to get him a gift basket. Five. He was a freak, but he was her freak. Maybe. 

Finally, almost holding her breath, she pressed on Tim’s messages. There were a lot of them - more than was safe, Sasha distantly registered. The first five were from the same time Martin had sent the second text. She guessed it was right after the police finished talking to them. He had called her slightly before - likely when they found the body - but there were also two texts from two am last night. 

Tim: pick up your phone

Tim: pick up your phone are you okay im so sorry

Tim: baby please please pick up

Tim: we need to talk & im sorry & i hope ur safe

Tim: dont text me back 

Then two texts from two am:

Tim: to warn you im drunk but im sorry (AND DRUNK) but in my defense im a shitty boyfriend. If you want to break up its fine but id like to make it work but i get if you cant because cops i guess. Bitch tonner wont stop bothering me make her stoppp

Tim: I love you and I wish that was enough. 

Sasha rubbed at her eyes, exhausted. She wished it was enough too. She knew it wasn’t. Strongly, like burning, Sasha wished so desperately that she had never met Jonathan Sims. Maybe, in that world, things were okay. She and Tim were happy. 

She scrolled through the rest of the notifications. Strangely, she even had two texts from Melanie. 

Melanie: Hey, I heard what’s going on. I know you couldn’t have done it. A LOT of cops are bothering me - Hussein and Tonner have called like five times. I think you know them? For legal purposes I’ll say that you should turn yourself in or whatever. 

Melanie: oh and Martin said to tell you that Mr. Bouchard’s been asking me a lot of questions about what im doing and my job situation - dunno y tho

That….probably wasn’t good. 

No texts from Jon. She wouldn’t know what to do if he had. She doubted he knew her number, or how to work a phone. The last thing she could deal with emotionally right now was an apology. She didn’t know what to do about Tonner or Hussein or Melanie. Those were all problems she couldn’t fix right now. 

Really, there was only one problem she could fix right now. She walked over to the door to the balcony, carefully stepping out onto the 20th story balcony. She carefully ejected her SIM card, snapped it in half, looked underneath her to make sure there were no passerby in the exclusive London neighborhood, and forced her fingers to release from the phone so she could watch it fall twenty stories onto the concrete. 

She imagined a smash, a crack, but it didn’t make any sound at all. Sasha forced herself to step back inside, leaving the past behind her. 

There was a lot Sasha had to force herself to do that day. Georgie owned a few laptops, but she hadn’t given Sasha permission to use any of them yet, and she didn’t want to intrude. Despite Sasha’s own...reservations about her personality, she really was being incredibly kind by letting her stay and trying to cheer her up. She did, however, have a great deal of antique books, and Sasha eagerly cracked open the first edition copies of fiction novels from the 19th century. Was that a first edition Pride & Prejudice? Oh, score!

She wasn’t hungry, but she forced herself to eat. Food tasted like ash in her mouth, but that always happened whenever she was upset. She forced herself to take a shower, impossibly intimidated by Georgie’s small army of hair care and hygiene products, and even cautiously let herself take a bubble bath with a bath bomb. It was...weirdly luxurious, but maybe not surprisingly. Georgie’s bathroom was like the Queen’s, and you could practically swim in the bathtub. It was intimidating and weird and uncomfortable, but Sasha forced herself to appreciate it. How many people got to take a shower in a stall with five different showerheads?

Halfway through the day the housekeeper came in, terrifying Sasha deeply, and she retreated to her guest bedroom to let the woman work. She inspected her newly painted toenails glumly, halfway through Pride & Prejudice, forcing herself not to think about how Jon could have been a background character in the novel. Wasn’t he in his twenties in this time period? Wasn’t that when he and Jonah Magnus had -

Sasha drank more wine, and put on another cooking program. She hadn’t watched telly all day, so technically she could tell Georgie that. Besides, it wasn’t as if there was anything productive to do. No work, which sucked when she was a workaholic. No computer to waste time on. No friends she could talk to without the police investigating her. She couldn’t go outside, again due to the aforementioned cop situation. Her life was her work, and her bosses had just framed her for murder. 

Somewhat buzzed, Sasha stole several pieces of intricate stationary and wrote down everything Leitner had told her before he was murdered. It wasn’t nearly as much as she wanted, yet far more than she knew what to do with. Halfway through her notes deteriorated into a bizarre sort of mind map, lists of cases connected together and obscure monsters and figures pointing to each other. Salasea and his endless array of dangerous trinkets, mysterious yet lonely ship captains, Michael and his gently twisting deceit, Gerry Keay and his bizarre heroism, Leitner and his ruinous imprints, Agnes and her desolate fate, and the oft-mentioned yet barely understood man, whose name was whispered by shadowy figures entrenched in  the supernatural world, Jonathan Sims…

Did he know? How often his shadow stained her statements? Did he care? Did he know how thoroughly he had ruined her life? 

She scoured her memory for hints, writing down everything she could remember of his cameos in random statements. Of Leitner’s testimony, the immortal figure who so easily attained what Leitner and Mary Keay had spent their entire lives grasping for. Was there a hint to his true nature, his true allegiance? 

In the corners of the cute stationary, Sasha doodled a small eye. She stared at it, and couldn’t help but fight the notion that it was staring back. 

She scratched it out, feeling paranoid, not feeling paranoid enough. 

A few hours later, Georgie came home, and Sasha fought the pathetically hopeful trepidation. When she heard the front door rattle she left her room, intending on welcoming Georgie back and proving that she hadn’t been watching telly all day, but she stopped short in the hallway when she heard the loud sound of voices. Specifically, the loud sound of Georgie’s still slightly unfamiliar voice, and the quieter tones of a voice that was far too familiar to her.  

“ - if you’ll just let me talk to her, she’ll understand.”

“And she said that she’s not seeing you,” Georgie said firmly. Sasha held her breath, pressing herself up against the hallway wall. Next to her was a doorway that led to the living room, that led to a foyer. If she craned her head she could just barely see Georgie standing in the foyer, arguing with a figure holding a leather briefcase that made Sasha’s heart leap into her throat. “You really did screw her over, you know.”

“I know,” Jonathan Sims whined. “I want to apologize. It’s not my fault. Jonah got pushy again, you know how he is.”

“Ugh, tell me about it.” Georgie scoffed. “Did something happen between you two? Sasha was asking all sorts of weird questions.”

“Just Jonah being his usual insufferable self,” Jon said, so carelessly and casually that if Sasha hadn’t known better she would have believed him. “It probably alarmed her, seeing how that man really is. I’m sure she’s feeling very overwhelmed right now.”

“She really is, the poor dear,” Georgie said sympathetically. Sasha’s hands clenched into fists. “But you aren’t getting past this foyer, honey. I’m sure she’ll want to be friends again once Jonah gets the cops off her case.”

“Martin’s giving me a hard time,” Jon sulked. “Says this is all my fault that the dreadful little wolf girl is sniffing around. It’s not my fault. If my Archivist just let me explain, she’d see that it’s not my fault.”

“That Blackwood boy’s always giving you a hard time,” Georgie sniffed. “I don’t know why you’re so obsessed with him. He’s overly moralistic and doesn’t know how to have fun. You spend too much time with him.”

“Don’t tell me you’re jealous, Georgina Barker,” Jon teased. He stepped forward a little closer, and although Sasah couldn’t see his face she had the feeling he was smiling. “It’s a bad look on you.”

“Idiot,” Georgie said fondly, “everything’s a good look on me.” She stretched up on her tip-toes to kiss him on the cheek. “Ditch him and come party with me, darling, I’ll show you a wonderful time. Maybe after all of this nonsense blows over.”

“Judging from what I can make out of Jonah’s monologuing, we ought to get our parties in while we still can,” Jon said glumly. He opened his briefcase, passing a manila folder to Georgie. “Give her these. She’ll be getting hungry. Tell her that the top one is from work, and the second is from me.” He hesitated for a second. “You really think she’ll forgive me?”

“If it’s not your fault, then why do you need to be forgiven?”

Jon was silent for a long minute. Finally, he said, “I’ll talk to you later, Georgie. Love you.”

“Love you too,” Georgie said easily, casually, as if she had said it a thousand times, a million times. “Take care of yourself.”

She stood in the foyer after he left, arms folded, one delicately manicured finger tapping against her arm. She eventually turned around, poking her head into the living room. 

“You can come out, darling, I don’t bite.”

Sasha guiltily stepped into the living room, crossing her arms defensively. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop.”

But Georgie just rolled her eyes. “Please. My best friends are Jonathan Sims and Jonah Magnus.” She looked thoughtful for a second. “Well. My oldest friends. Anyway, if you’re in the same house as one of those Beholding types you aren’t getting a private conversation. I’m super used to it.” She held out the manila folder, and Sasha cautiously stepped forward and took it from her. 

“Beholding types?” 

“Oh, you know, you and your lot,” Georgie said dismissively. “Can’t do anything about that annoying little megalomania the Eye gives you. Have fun with lunch, I have to freshen up. It takes ages to get the scent of Jon’s musty old books off me.”

But Sasha was already tuning her out, because in the manilla envelope there were two Statements. They thrummed under her fingers, charged with energy and power and fear, and Sasha could feel herself gripping them. The first one was a classic Magnus Institute Statement, just like she would have read at work, but the second was what looked like a photocopy of a piece of paper. Judging from the ornate script, it was old, and when Sasha’s eyes wandered to the date her eyes widened. July 21st, 1823. 

She looked up, already frantically searching for a tape recorder, and immediately saw one sitting on the coffee table. She didn’t think twice about it, already sitting on the plush white couch and setting the papers out. Which one first - oh man, they were both so exciting - her fingers drifted to the one Jon gave her, and she picked it up. That one, then. 

Sasha James pressed play on the tape deck, feeling a familiar thrill go through her at the gentle whirring. She cleared her throat. 

“Statement of Sasha James, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, regarding a letter sent by Barnabas Bennet to Jonah Magnus. Statement begins.”

And, as Sasha’s blood ran cold, she began to read. 

My dearest Jonah,

I hope you are well. It was an absolute pleasure to vacation at your estate this summer. I’ve never had such interesting conversations with a like-minded individual, and since returning to my own estate I have been sorely missing your company. You have introduced a great deal of brightness and acute interest to my life, and without you the luminescence of Heaven does not thrill me. How I wish you were around to thrill me again!

Do not concern yourself - I have maintained my studies. The library you loaned me is of great interest, and I have been spending many a quiet night bent over one of your occult tomes. I have never felt so enlightened. A world is opening up before us, Jonah, one of richness and wonder, and for the first time in many years I find myself excited to rise each morning. I thank our Heavenly Father each day that I was so fortunate as to cross your path. You must remind me to discuss with you the report by Smirke in detail - fascinating! Theoretical, of course, all theoretical - but the concept of classifying the devils that so bewitch man into fourteen unique taxonomies fascinates me. We must discuss it. 

Jonah, I trust that this letter reaches you in private, and that you shall not betray my confidence by discussing it with anyone. I have a private grievance I wish to address with you. It is regarding your boy, the one kept so close in your confidence and trust. 

I would never hasten to question any of your decisions, for I trust they are made with great deliberation and forethought. But I must question why you keep that boy so close to you. His air is strange and fey. While summering at your estate, I would frequently see him awake at late hours, pouring over some tome or report or another (I would swear that he reads better than I!). I know he’s somewhat of a project of yours, bringing him into Christianity and your charity, which will surely be rewarded etc etc, but I cannot shake my strange trepidation. 

If I were to be quite honest, my fear of him. 

He always asks questions. Disturbing and distressing questions. And when I deign to answer them, he acts as if he truly understands. Moreover, that he understands more than me - that he possesses some secret knowledge that only he has obtained. I catch him listening at doorways and around corners frequently, and no matter how many times I box him about the ears for it he will not cease. You encourage it, allowing this behavior. Even after I reported to you the pagan rituals which I am confident he is performing, you brush me off. You two are strangely close. I’m simply concerned for you, Jonah. Please heed my advice: that boy is trouble. I fear that he will bring you into trouble also. Do not allow this paganism to steer you away from the light of our heavenly Father. I understand that the occult is of great interest to all of us, discovering the secrets of the world and its many mysteries, but it is only an academic interest. I would never go so far as to partake of these devilish rituals myself, and you ought to dissuade yourself of such a notion also. Do not allow that John to lead you astray. 

I wish you most well. I am encountering some trouble of my own - debts and such - but do not concern yourself with them. The situation is well-handled. I hope to write to you again soon.

Yours, faithfully,

Barnabas

...supplemental.

Jon. Why did you show me this?

Is this your definition of vulnerability? Of honesty? What, are you trying to justify your decisions to me? I get it, it’s disgusting. These people were disgusting to you. I can’t know how you feel, but I think I - my parents -

What I mean is, I can’t understand. I can’t imagine how hard this must have been. I understand how Jonah was the only one to… ‘get’ you or whatever. How he was the only person to see how brilliant you are, how much you have to give. 

But, Jon - I don’t think Jonah thought any better of you than Barnabas did. He was just better at hiding it. I don’t know, I didn’t know him and I still don’t know him - but you get that the way he talked to you back then wasn’t right, right? You get that it was fucked up, right?

I don’t know. I don’t think you get that. I don’t think anybody does. Georgie’s too close to it, too used to you and Jonah’s ‘quirks’ or whatever. I...don’t know anything Martin thinks, but I feel as if you’d be pretty invested in keeping this from him. But I’m close enough to you to see it, and I’m far enough away from this that I understand. Something’s really fucked up about this situation. I’m worried I’m the only person who sees it. I hate being that person, the person who Sees it all, who knows it all, but is powerless to do anything about it. You understand, right? You understand how much this is hurting me?

I’m not sure you do. If you’re showing me this, trying to show me how hard you had it, how misunderstood you were, just so I forgive you...I don’t. And it’s manipulative, so cut it out. I’m not sure if you’re consciously doing that, I really don’t think you’re emotionally intelligent enough.

But you aren’t dumb, Jon. I know it’s a defence mechanism or whatever to pretend that you are, to act childish, but you aren’t. 

Ugh, listen to me. I sound like Martin. Disgusting. I don’t give a shit about this, I’m not your therapist. But you keep on making your problems my problems, and I’m not tolerating that. We’ll talk when I’m not fucking wanted for murder for something you were complicit in. 

Get your act together. I don’t forgive you. Statement fucking ends. 

As if Sasha’s life wasn’t hard enough, Georgie wanted to go dancing. 

“I am literally wanted by the police.”

“The nightclub’s so dark, nobody’ll even see your face,” Georgie promised. 

“Shouldn’t I be spending my time working on my conspiracy theory board?”

“Honey, no offence, that thing is so tacky.”

“I hate clubbing.”

“You’ll like the way I do it!”

“I really don’t want to -”

“Tough nuts.”

So, of course, that’s how Sasha ended up shoved into a tight dress, heels, and makeup, pushed into a taxi, and quickly deposited in front of a warehouse looking building. There was a long line out the door, of women with straightened hair dressed somehow identically, yet way worse, than Sasha, all looking very cold. Georgie looped her arm through Sasha’s, white teeth flashing as she grinned widely, and escorted them both straight through the doors and past security. 

She, it seemed, was a known quantity. Sasha, who had spent the last year working in a mill to feed evil psychic vampires and the ten years before that locked in academia, which was basically the same thing, was not a known quantity to any nightclub. She had not been clubbing since uni, which was approximately five lifetimes ago.

“I’m still not sure this is a good idea,” Sasha said into Georgie’s ear as they transitioned from the furiously cold February air into the swelteringly hot club. It was dim and smoky, the noise overwhelmingly grating at her ears. After so long in a quiet office, in a silent flat, she could barely handle it. 

Georgie said something to her. 

“What?” Sasha yelled. “Georgie, I don’t want to be here!”

Georgie frowned at her, and unlinked their arms so she could reach up on her tiptoes and clasp Sasha on the shoulders. “You have been accused of murder! You just split with your boyfriend because of clown trauma! You haven’t had fun in years! You deserve this, queen!”

You know...maybe she did. 

Georgie pressed a drink into her hands, mysteriously procured from somewhere, and without thinking too hard about it Sasha downed it in one gulp. Georgie whooped, clapping her on the back, and directed her towards the bar. She flashed her platinum credit card at the bartender, and suddenly Sasha was MVP of the night. 

You know, Sasha thought dizzily as she was given a toxic blue drink and pushed onto the dance floor, maybe she did deserve this. Didn’t she deserve to have fun? After the way things ended with Tim, couldn’t she just act like a normal girl and go clubbing with her friends to dance away the pain? She was almost forty, way too old for this, but maybe she could forget for a little bit. She had never had the opportunity as a teenager, not even as a young adult. Couldn’t she do this, before she died?

Maybe women closer to forty than thirty dealt with this with - with book clubs, with sisterhood, whatever. Maybe women closer to forty than thirty were married, had kids of their own. But Sasha was just Sasha, stuck in a literal dead-end job, going nowhere good, and this was all she would ever have. 

Maybe Georgie was right. Why not live, before she died? Everybody on earth died - everybody, that is, except for a small group of people who were willing to sell their soul for the privilege.  At least maybe this way she could have whatever joy she could fit into her life before all opportunity was lost, and she was lost. 

A man sidled up to her, asking for a dance, and she evaded him. But then there was another one, and another one, and Sasha found herself fleeing back to the bar and ordering another drink. Too soon. Way too soon. She found herself digging in her borrowed purse, searching for her phone, wanting to call Tim or talk to him or ask him if they really were broken up so she could have rebound sex with random dudes in bars, but the purse was empty of both a phone and a wallet. That’s right - she had destroyed it. Because the cops were after her. 

Next to her, out of the corner of her eye, a man sat down at a barstool. He said something to the bartender and leaned towards her, mouth spilling something obscured by the crush and heat and sound of the club. He seemed to be asking if he could buy her a drink. Sasha shook her head dizzily, confused and lost. Then he leaned in closer, and Sasha could smell the alcohol on his breath. 

“Are you sure? I’d like to dance with you!”

Sasha shook her head no again, frantically. 

“Aw, come on -”

Then, as if by magic, Georgie was at her elbow. Unintimidating, not more than one hundred and seventy centimeters, with teased hair and sharp black lipstick and eyeliner, she raised an eyebrow at the guy. But there must have been something in her eyes, or a lack of something, because the guy rapidly slipped off the barstool and melted into the crowd, leaving the drink the bartender slid onto the counter behind. 

As if she had planned it, Georgie easily stole the drink and knocked it back. She tugged Sasha down, yelling into her ear. “Come with me, darling, let’s check out where the real party is.”

Without taking no for an answer, Georgie grabbed Sasha’s hand and tugged her through the outskirts of the crowd, ducking and weaving between small clusters of people and women dancing the night away. Sasha’s vision swam, details and faces lost in the endless ripple of flashing lights and sound, until all she felt was Georgie’s cool hand in hers, and it wasn’t until they emerged from the choppy sea of people into a small hallway off the main room that she felt like she could breathe. Sasha’s head swam with movement and smoke, and she was barely cognizant that they were in a hallway for a bathroom or something. 

But Georgie walked confidently past the bathrooms, into what appeared to be a storage closet. She confidently opened it, halting at the door frame to glance backwards at Sasha. A smile quirked at her bow lips. 

“You coming?”

Sasha, slightly intoxicated though she was, couldn’t fight the skepticism. “This is where the real party is? A supply closet?”

“Oh, my dear Archivist,” Georgie said, smirking slightly. “The world is full of far more delights than you could understand. Follow me, and stay close.”

Then Georgie stepped forward, disappearing into the closet, and as little as Sasha wanted to step inside more dubiously supernatural hallways she wanted to be left alone in this club even less, and she ducked after Georgie into the unknown. 

The unknown, as it turned out, was another club. 

Or, more accurately, a pub. It was a nice pub too, all smoky yellow lights and burnished wood booths. The booths were upholstered in soft and cushy looking brown leather, and the sound where nowhere above a quiet murmur. It didn’t seem to be abandoned, the shadows at some booths deeper than others, but for the life of her Sasha couldn’t puzzle out the faces or figures of anybody at these shadowy corners. There was a single bartender, wiping a grimy glass over and over. He nodded at Georgie when he walked in, and Sasha was forced to wonder how many dubiously physical supernatural bars and hang-outs existed in random back rooms of mundane stores. Were these things just everywhere? Or were there only a few, and so long as you had the right key any door could be an entrance? It was just Sasha’s intuition, but she felt as if it was the latter. 

What would, could Georgie open up for her? What power, what majesty? What world of power and control could Jon give her, that Jon was trying to hard to give her that she kept refusing? Nobody was telling her the cost. Nobody was letting her make a decision. She was being swept up in the wake of giants, and Sasha was just trying to keep her head above water. 

Georgie was still walking confidently down the aisles, and Sasha stumbled trying to keep up. Finally, she came to a stop in a back corner, utterly secluded with a booth that stretched the entire corner, large enough for seven or more people. Georgie turned to Sasha, smiling broadly, and Sasha tried not to feel intimidated. 

“Honey, these are my friends. Girls, this is my new roommate, Sasha James!”

With a flourish, she made a little tah-dah motion, and the smoky yellow lamp above the table flickered on. 

The table was crowded with women, or women appearing people. Absolutely none of them were familiar. No - in the corner, there was one person who was familiar. Michael, blonde hair hurting her eyes in curly ringlets, hands in his coat pockets. He smiled crookedly at her, jarring her adrift. 

“Uh,” Sasha said, confused. Who were these people? “Hello?”

A short East Asian woman in a white tank top and black jeans scowled from where she was slouching in her seat. “One of those Beholding patsies? Please, Georgie, they’re so insufferable.”

“I like this one,” Georgie said cheerfully. She slid into an empty seat, and Sasha cautiously sat next to her. “Play nice, everyone.”

“You’re such a grouch, Jude,” a woman said, leaning forward and looking interestedly at Sasha. Her eyes were dark and big, her head cocked, giving her an almost insectoid air. “It’s a pleasure to meet you in person finally, Archivist. I’ve heard so much about you. You’re really making waves in our little community.”

“Patsy Archivist,” a tall and burly white woman with cascading brown hair said shortly, taking long gulps of a pint. “What’s impressive about that?”

“I’m impressed with anyone who puts up with Sims and Magnus long enough,” the insectish woman said. “No offence, Georgie.”

“Oh, they’re insufferable,” Georgie said cheerfully. “Have you heard how those two like to socialize? They go to galas. With those awful little Fairchilds and Lukases and whatever. It’s just tragic.”

“Word,” the insect woman said, raising her glass. The rim seemed to be coated in cobwebs, making Sasha feel vaguely ill. “Much rather have a pint at a nice little pub with friends. But we haven’t introduced ourselves, have we? My name’s Annabelle Cane. I’m sure you’ve heard of me in all those little stories you like.”

Anabelle Cane. Sasha swallowed. “Yeah, I’ve heard.”

“A proxy Archivist she may be,” Michael said serenely, “but perhaps our most successful yet. She’s already coming along so much further than Gertrude ever did.” He winked bizarrely at Sasha. “Michael, but you already know that. They and them, if you please.”

Oh. Sasha blinked at them. “Thanks for...saving my life back there. And Tim’s and Martin’s.”

“My pleasure,” Michael said affably. “You’re the most fun I’ve had in awhile. Always nice to have the Eye owe me a favor.”

“They’re just mad they didn’t get to kill Gertrude,” the brunette said evenly. “Julia Montauk. You should know me too, I think. Is it true you killed someone?”

“I definitely didn’t,” Sasha said heatedly. “It was a set-up.”

“Relax, we’re all killers here,” the woman in a tank top said. She scowled at Sasha. “Jude Perry. What the fuck do those old money ponces think they’re doing, installing another patsy Archivist this late in the game? I would have thought that they learned their lesson after that bitch Gertrude.”

“Archivists are quite slow learners,” a woman piped up. She sat in the corner, strangely oddly. Her skin was shiny and strange in the dim light, almost plasticish, and her dark eyes hadn’t moved from Sasha’s face since she walked in. “Nikola. A pleasure, Archivist.”

“Are you guys all…” Sasha trailed off uncomfortably. “You know?”

“Serial killers?” Julia Mauntauk asked flatly. 

“Inhuman monstrosities of plastic and flesh?” Nikola inquired. 

“Daughters of fear entities that control our every action?” Annabelle said. 

“Embodiments of unknown concepts made sentient, forced into a shape that cannot suit them, locked in flesh and fractal prisons, always screaming in endless turmoil, unable to understand the horrors of the concepts of ourselves, always searching for the sweet release of death that can never quite be obtained, because that which does not live can never die?” Michael said serenely. 

“Assholes?” Jude Perry said flatly. 

“The sexiest Avatars around?” Georgie asked. 

How did Sasha’s life devolve to this point. 

“...yeah,” Sasha said. “Hey, where can I get more drinks?”

Unsurprisingly enough, the drinks came very fast. Service was excellent when you hung out with eldritch women, Sasha supposed. 

The conversion flew thick and fast after that. In Sasha’s experience, joining a new group of established friends meant being ignored for favor of pre-existing dynamics. It was always uncomfortable, and no small part of why she just didn’t join new groups. Tim had never had that problem - he had a loud and persistent personality, the kind that made you pay attention to him. He dominated any room he entered, by force if necessary. It always seemed exhausting to Sasha, but Tim didn’t really seem to have anymore real friends than she did lately. His personality was like an ocean, overwhelming and everywhere, but when his mood turned sour it was just as intense. Gulfs of pleasure, intense pain - it seemed exhausting, to feel so deeply. God knows Sasha didn’t. 

But today, in this group, she seemed to be novel. Maybe new fear avatars were a rare enough thing, or at least ones with Georgie’s seal of approval. They aimed a barrage of questions at her, and Sasha did her best to keep up with each one.

How did Sasha know Georgie? Mostly through a mutual enemy. Oh, fuckin’ Sims, right - you guys friends? No, I hate him. You guys fucking? Ew. Right, right, Sims is a giant prude - actually I heard that he doesn’t really - no, Jon decided a while back he doesn’t do that, and we all respect his decision - ew, though, nobody wants to imagine that. So why are you two friends? We’re roommates, mostly, I’m kinda on the run from the cops. Who’d you kill? Nobody. Who’d that old fucker Bouchard kill? Jurgen Leitner, mostly. 

“Cheers to that!” Julia said abruptly, raising her glass. “Hate that fucker.”

“Good riddance to bad rubbish,” Annabelle said, downing her own drink and what seemed like an improbable quantity of spiders. She leaned over the table to where Sasha had hastily been stuffed in, beetle-black eyes gleaming. “But really. What are you doing here?”

“As I said,” Sasha said uncomfortably, “I got framed for murder -”

But Annabelle just waved her hand. “No, no, we know that. I’m asking what are you doing here? With people like us, in a place like us? You’re just a sexy librarian. Your highest goal in life was owning your own cottage house one day. How’d you get wrapped up in the tangled web of our world?”

Sasha’s mouth ran dry, her head spinning in a way that didn’t really seem to have anything to do with the alcohol. How had she ended up like this? Who was to blame?”

“Jonathan Sims,” Sasha said dizzily. “He -”

“Didn’t know you Beholding types were in the process of lying to yourselves,” Annabelle said, casually yet brutally. “No, really.”

Sasha opened her mouth, then closed it. Finally, she said, “I guess I just asked all the wrong questions.”

It was a pretty way of dressing up the real answer: that Sasha didn’t know. 

Maybe her thoughts were obvious, because Georgie cooed sympathetically and slung an arm around her shoulders. “Cheer up, honey, it’s not so bad. Not everything happens for a reason. Sometimes it’s just your own rotten luck.”

“Speak for yourself,” Jude called, lifting her glass. “I love my fucking life. It’s hookers, coke, and blow from here to Scotland. The life of a woman with power’s a thousand times better than the life of a woman without, James.”

“What is with you people and hedonism,” Sasha muttered. 

“Why not?” Nikola asked, tilting her head strangely. “Life’s so short when it’s this long. It’s just bread and circuses, Archivist. We all need...entertainment.”

“Humans are always trying to make sense of it all,” Michael said arily. They were digging their fingers into the table, scoring long grooves in it. “When you know there’s no meaning, no purpose, then everything else just...falls away.”

Sasha didn’t know if she believed that, but she bit her tongue. Instead, she said, “What about those Avatars like Magnus or Raynor? They seem really...driven.”

Georgie giggled, light and airy, and leaned in. “That’s because they don’t know.”

She shouldn’t even ask. She shouldn’t - “Know what?”

Georgie smiled, sharp and wicked. “That there’s no point.”

And that was all she would say on that for the night: conversation after that devolved into parties, restaurants, drugs, and conquests. Maybe the women were right, in their own clearly demented way: that without death there was no meaning, when when there was no meaning only pleasure held any significance. If there was no afterlife, no reward or punishment - which Sasha didn’t believe, but they seemed to - then there was no reason not to do what you wanted. To have fun. To take revenge. 

If all Georgie wanted was to have fun, and if all Jon wanted was revenge, then what did Jonah Magnus want? Sasha didn’t know. She had the feeling that if she didn’t figure it out, she wasn’t going to live much longer. 

Why had Jonah Magnus done this to her? What was the point of framing her for murder? She couldn’t do her job like this. What’s the point? 

Half-drunk, head spinning, she found herself vocalizing this. Somehow, Annabelle Cane had ended up sitting next to her, letting spiders run along her slightly too long and too jointed fingers. Annabelle Cane just smiled at her, jaw slightly slacking open to expose teeth. 

“Maybe it’s just to fuck with you,” Annabelle posited. “Why not? Do you think he has another reason?”

“I don’t know,” Sasha groaned. “I don’t know anything. Everything’s confusing and terrible. I could never understand those psychopaths.”

“You won’t make it very far in this line of work if you never ask why,” Annabelle scolded. She paused a second, spider running thoughtfully across her eyeball. “But too many questions damns you just as effectively, I suppose. Hm. Jonah’s quite good, isn’t he.”

“Why me,” Sasha groaned. “Everyone’s trying to keep shit from me, it fuckin’ - it fuckin’ sucks, man. It sucks. Nobody would tell me what’s going on, but I don’t think anybody knows what’s going on. Not even Jonah, or Jon, or - or anyone. Nobody but me.”

Annabelle blinked at her, somewhat curiously, before leaning in. Her perfume lingered in the air, a heavy rosy scent. “Do you know something that Jonah doesn’t?”

“Yeah,” Sasha slurred, world fading in and out. “Jonah doesn’t know that Jon -”

Then the world faded into black, and Sasha fell asleep. 

If she had felt too old for this at the nightclub, she definitely felt too old for this hangover. Sasha spent twenty minutes crouched over a toilet bowl, reluctantly shoved the Eggs Benedict in her mouth that Georgie insisted was a hangover cure, somehow, and refused the Bloody Mary that Georgie also insisted was a hangover cure that her Mum used to feed her. The thought of Georgie’s Mum filled Sasha with a deep fear, incapable of imagining somebody who was both likely born in the 1800s and who had raised a hellion like Georgie. 

When Sasha mumbled this to Georgie, she didn’t look offended. She just smiled, strangely fond. “Oh, none of this is my Mum’s fault. She was a darling, her and my Da. My childhood was positively idyllic. All things considered, you know.”

Yes, Sasha thought, struggling to imagine 1910s London in her mind, idyllic. She took another look at Georgie, squinting slightly as her head throbbed. She definitely seemed younger physically than Jon, but Jon had a particular way of carrying age about him that had nothing to do with his appearance. “When did you stop aging?”

“I forget, honestly,” Georgie said airly, sipping her own bloody mary. For some reason, Sasha didn’t believe her. “It always takes a while to notice, you know. I suppose, logically, it would be about when I died the first time.”

That, more than anything, alarmed Sasha. “I thought you couldn’t die.”

“Not permanently,” Georgie said, as if this was somehow obvious. “Eat your eggs, they’ll get cold.” Sasha frantically shoved eggs in her mouth, desperate for the story. But Georgie just sighed and propped her chin on her hand, eyes distant. “You know how it is. Small town girl, grew up in North Birmingham, Alabama - back when it was just a tiny little thing, you know. I wanted to be a star. I always did. Scared of dyin’ in the dirt. If I was gonna die young, I wanted to do it where everybody knew my name. So long as they remember you, it’s no kind of death at all, really.” She sighed, lost in memory. “I could sing so good...so I went to Harlem, ‘cause all my friends and I always had dreams of going to Harlem and making it big singing in the jazz clubs. They didn’t get so far, staying at home with their babies, but I did. Wasn’t really made for babies and such, I think.” Something strange emerged in her words, the last vestiges of a Southern accent. “I was pretty, and I could sing, and I took to the spotlight like a duck to water. It was tough, but man - if it ain’t tough, it ain’t worth it. I worked so hard. Like I was working myself to death, almost.”

She trailed off, birds softly trilling outside, and Sasha was silent. 

Quietly, Georgie began speaking again. “Got into some trouble. You know how it is. I spent dozens of years wondering if it was my fault, if there was something I coulda done differently, zig instead of zag...but now, I don’t think so. Just my own rotten luck, you know. Put my trust in the wrong people. Had the wrong sentence whispered into my ear.” She shrugged listlessly. “Couldn’t handle the truth. Just another girl who couldn’t handle the limelight, that was what they said. But I was set up to fail. All those jazz clubs were ganger run, you couldn’t avoid it. Every girl in that golden age fell prey to those men, same as I did. I just wanted to feel again. Tried everything once, just to feel something.” She sighed, taking another drink. “Got shot. Got back up. I remember it, clear as day. Must have been 1923. I scrubbed the blood out of my show dress and went back on stage that night, cuz you can’t get a rep as a flake. They said, that day...that day was my best performance.”

She trailed off, Sasha finally alert. She wanted more details, almost desperately, but she kept her mouth shut. She didn’t want to risk putting the whammy on her host, even if she wasn’t sure that she could. If Georgie was being purposefully vague...well, Sasha wasn’t entitled to her pain. 

Instead, she said, “I bet you were good.”

Georgie smiled at her wanly, eyes far away. “I was the best.”

They sat in silence for a little while, eating their food, Sasha’s head ringing and mind buzzing. What about this picture was she not understanding? What was so important that she was missing?

Finally, Sasha carefully floated, “I bet you must have met Jon soon after.”

Georgie looked up from her bloody mary, surprised. “Oh, yes. Just a few months after. He must have caught the word on the wind, you know, of that singing girl who got back up after getting shot in the lungs.” She sighed, propping her chin on her hand again. “Saw him in the front row of my club. He was so handsome, and so finely dressed. But there had been something strange in his eyes, you know? Like little marbles, reflecting the lamps. He caught up to me afterwards, and I figured he was just another fan to squeeze dry, but he told me in his funny little accent I’d never heard before that he could help me.” She swallowed, looking away. “That he could help me understand what was happening to me. Why I was having those strange dreams, seeing those strange tendrils. I guess he was right. After I met him, I understood it all. Things moved fast after that.” She smiled weakly at Sasha. “I suppose you know the rest.”

She really didn’t, but Sasha understood the dismissal for what it was. “Yeah. Thanks for telling me all of that.”

“It’s no secret,” Georgie said dismissively. She smiled cunningly. “A hundred years later almost exactly, and what I did to those gangsters was still my finest work. They say that if you pass by an old building on St. Nicholas Avenue, you can still hear the screams. Anyway, I have a meeting with my land development company in an hour, must run, ta!”

On that distressing note Georgie swanned out the door, and Sasha was left alone with nothing but a stack of conspiracy theories, an opulent flat, and bad memories. 

Time seemed to move quickly, yet sluggishly, after that. After another day of writing down literally every Statement she could remember off the top of her head and trying to fit them into the weird and seemingly kind of arbitrary categories that Leitner had given her, she had hit a roadblock. She couldn’t remember any more Statements, she didn’t have access to them, and the ones she did remember she either already sorted or couldn’t dredge up enough memory of them to sort them in a satisfactory way. Either that, or the Statement itself was just incomprehensible - Sasha still didn’t know what the fuck was going on with Tessa’s problem. She tended to have a better memory of the ones that seemingly mentioned the Avatars in the background, just because it had been so startling to actually meet them - and a few even mentioned Jon, usually in context of Salasea or any Eye Statement. 

When Georgie came home that night, they watched another movie and they both studiously avoided mentioning anything supernatural. Best not to take work home with you, even if Sasha had never quite been good at that. 

The next day Sasha did what she should have done in the first place, and hacked into the Magnus Institute server. 

It was seriously, comically easy. Sasha had installed a backdoor connection to the desktop of her work computer from her laptop ages ago, and all she had to do was borrow one of Georgie’s laptops and redownload the program. With an easy virtual desktop she was already in. It was somehow satisfying to see all of her work programs pop up on the borrowed laptop, and it was almost a relief to access the Archive drive that connected all of their computers. More importantly, where they all put their research follow-ups and the spreadsheet that documented the debunked, uncertain, and verified statements. It had gotten to the point where if the statement refused to record on the computer they automatically put it on verified, but what Sasha really wanted from that spreadsheet was the one sentence description they had all put for each Statement. 

From there, it was much easier. Sasha, sick of the disorganized conspiracy theorist aesthetic, made her own spreadsheet and began categorizing the verified Statements that way. Much more reliable than working from memory. 

If only she could actually access the Statements...Sasha’s life would be so much easier if everything could be digitized. The debunked ones were typed up, filed, and recorded, but the verified ones only existed on paper. Couldn’t be typed up, couldn’t be recorded. It was so stupid. 

Sasha checked the clock. Eleven am on a Wednesday. They were definitely all still working. Maybe…

It was an invasion of privacy. Did she actually care about that? No. Was she worried about apparently being locked into an employment contract with an...entity of some sort that preyed on invasions of privacy? No, although she felt like she should. Was she concerned that Jon and Jonah were trying to turn into her a conduit of this entity’s power into the world, probably gradually turning her, if not evil, at least into a giant dick? Somewhat. 

Words echoed through her mind, and Sasha’s fingers halted over the keyboard. Her powers manifesting differently than Jon’s...her unique skill with hacking…

Well, that was just kind of offensive. Sasha had worked hard for her skills. They weren’t given to her by Jon’s weird god. Also - seriously, a god? It was just a malevolent eldritch entity living in a separate dimension that encroached tendrils into Sasha’s life. There was nothing divine about it. That was just offensive. Sasha was a good feminist, transgender Catholic on the run from the law and didn’t worship false idols. 

It was only then that Sasha noticed a folder on the drive that she hadn’t created. It was labelled ‘For the Archivist’. Despite herself, she clicked on it. 

It held a few pdfs. Sasha clicked on one curiously, and saw that they were photocopies of statements. No - of Statements. She was already recognizing this one as one of those spider ones. She quickly printed them all out, conscientious of how easily supernatural files corrupted, and quickly exited the drive and the virtual desktop.

It wasn’t until Sasha was already in the kitchen and pulling down a bottle of Jack that she realized what she was doing. She sighed, replaced it, and fetched herself some sparkling water instead. She drank it slowly as she returned to her laptop and logged remotely into the police database, which she already had a backdoor into. 

It occurred to Sasha, perhaps belatedly, that if the police found her laptop and the incredible variety of highly illegal programs meant explicitly for accessing secure servers she was probably triple going to jail. This time, for something she had actually did. 

All of the hacking had never felt illegal. It had just felt...well, fun and necessary. It had never been about whether or not she should, it had been about if she could. 

Was that how it had started for Jon? Collecting household secrets because he had to, so secure the money and influence he desperately needed, because he could, because it was fun? 

Whatever. Sasha shook herself. She could have her moral crisis after she was no longer on the run from the cops for murder. This wasn’t the time to be squeamish about something that wasn’t hurting anybody. She knew, as Jon probably did, that just because something was illegal didn’t make it wrong. 

It was easy to log onto the police database and check out her own open case. She frequently checked out open homicide cases for fun, but it somehow hit a little different when it was her they were talking about. Incident, Senior Citizen, Offence: First Degree Murder, Location of Arrest: N/A, yeah, yeah, yeah…

One victim, a John Doe. Foul play was suspected...yes that’d be the gunshot wound. No witnesses. Reporting officer’s narrative...Elias Bouchard and Jonathan Sims the Fifth had walked into Head Archivist Sasha James’ office to discuss work with her when they found the body. Both were shocked and called the police...gun found at the scene had her fingerprints and the ballistics matched...suspect still at large. Friends and family had been contacted, everyone denied knowledge of where she was. Suspect had a noted history of mental illness...great…

The officers dispatched had been Alice Tonner and Basira Hussein. Sasha found that strange: Basira had history with one of the witnesses and the suspect, wouldn’t it be unprofessional to send her out? 

There couldn’t be that many sectioned officers, Sasha reasoned. Even if the incident hadn’t officially been sectioned, because the police report still existed, as a general rule if something happened at the Magnus Institute it was sectioned until proven otherwise. Even if the murder itself was seemingly mundane. 

Out of curiosity, she searched up Detective Tonner’s records. Been on the force for a long time, worked her way up the ranks. Very, very few cases and incident reports for a detective who had been on the force as long as she had. Sectioned, obviously, but even Basira had more official cases than she did. When Sasha clicked on the incident reports, they were extremely spotty and strange. Obvious details were omitted or censored. 

Something cold began to creep down Sasha’s spine. She found the arrest records of the latest four people with official records of Detective Tonner arresting them. 

Almost all of them had entered custody with bruises, cuts, and in one case a broken limb. They all had records down as ‘resisting arrest’. Sasha felt sick. 

There was one case that stopped strangely short. A clear perp, a rapist but one with little evidence, who Tonner had quickly caught. That was where the case ended: the report that Tonner had found his hiding spot, but no arrest, no trial, no prison sentence. When Sasha investigated the perp, she found that he had unceremoniously vanished shortly after Tonner had reported that she had found his hiding spot. A month later, a death certificate had been filed. 

Sasha stared at the death certificate, nauseated. This was who she was dealing with. A vigilante, some batshit pig who had obviously decided that the law was best taken into her own hands. Couldn’t have happened to a nicer guy, but...if anybody looked at Sasha’s case on paper, they’d say the same thing. 

And that was just the cases on record. It was the only obvious instance Sasha could see of Tonner having offed someone just because she felt like it, but cops were good at covering shit like that up. How many other arrest records had fallen in the cracks? How many other dead perps that nobody gave a shit about? How many sectioned cases? 

God, Sasha was fucked. 

She begged off hanging out with Georgie that night, instead staying in bed with the covers pulled tight over her head as if that could ever protect her. Why was Jonah doing this to her? What did he have to gain? If he wanted her to die a mysterious death in the bottom of a ditch, why wasn’t he man enough to do it himself?

Tonner was going to murder her, Sasha thought hysterically, and she was going to pat herself on the back for keeping another monster off the streets. 

And Jon knew. The fucking hypocrite. He wasn’t going to help her. Nobody was. But, god, she was so alone…

The next morning, as if she knew, Georgie slipped Sasha a burner phone over the breakfast table as they both robotically ate quiches. 

“It should be untraceable, but just know that anybody you call you’re putting at serious risk,” Georgie warned, before her expression softened. “This’ll all be over soon, honey. I promise.”

“Did Jonah tell you that?” Sasha asked bitterly. 

“Nah. I just know those two.” Georgie delicately ate a forkful of quiche. “They get bored of terrorizing humans pretty quickly. Now, Michael’s a different story. They’ll terrorize someone for decades. I’ve seen them do it!”

“Great,” Sasha said. 

It seemed to be at this point that Georgie realized she was actually making Sasha feel much worse, because a slightly panicked expression crossed her face and she quickly reached out to pat Sasha on the hand. “But I’m sure they won’t do that to you,” Georgie said quickly. “They love you! Jon especially. Jonah’s just on another of his little power trips right now, he’ll get over it. And Jon, like, feels really bad about this whole thing. He’s been super annoying about it, actually -”

“See,” Sasha said, standing up to clear away her dishes, “I would rather handle an enemy who obviously wants to kill me than a friend whose good side I always have to be careful to stay on, who I can’t afford to ever make mad. I guess that’s the only difference left between me and you people.”

She angrily put her dishes in the sink, where the housekeeper would do them, and stalked to what was rapidly becoming her room, slamming the door. 

Flopping down on the bed, she stared at the burner phone. Tim wouldn’t be at work yet. They could talk. They could - 

Do what? Get back together? Split up? Could he explain, beg for her forgiveness? Did she have to apologize too? Sasha didn’t understand. 

That was rare for her. She understood a lot of things, or at least she thought she did. Maybe she had been lying to herself, about everything: that her and Tim were a good idea, that Martin was sketchy,  that Jon was evil, that Jon was kind, that Georgie just wanted to help her, that there was nothing that Jonah Magnus would do to her, that she was safe and human and a good person. 

God, her capacity for self-delusion was ridiculous. But maybe people needed a little bit of self-delusion to survive. Nobody could live in complete honesty, in full sight of their flaws and shortcomings. You could burn away, living like that. 

No. No time or space for fear. Sasha wasn’t afraid of anything. If she kept telling herself that, maybe it would be true. She desperately punched in a number that she didn’t remember memorizing, holding the phone desperately to her ear, her one connection to humanity. 

It rung, and rung, and one, and Sasha’s heart thumped in her chest. 

Finally, the ringing stopped, and a slightly sleepy voice punctuated the dead air. “Hello?”

“Tim, it’s me,” Sasha burst out, everything she wanted to say to him rushing through her throat and choking her, and she burst into tears. 

Distantly, through the sound of her crying, she could hear Tim on the other side losing his shit, and eventually wrangling himself to calmness. 

It was almost funny, how they could work each other up like that. Eventually, by the time Sasha had managed to wrangle her own crying, Tim had calmed himself down enough that he was able to clumsily try to cheer her up. 

“We’re all fine. Everyone’s perfectly safe. Martin’s gotten, uh, even more annoying since you left, and we’ve technically hired Melanie, which is - not good but it’s funny? Are you still crying? Please don’t still be crying.”

“I’m fine,” Sasha hiccuped. She rubbed at her red eyes. God, she’d missed him. “Tim, what happened?”

The line was silent for a while. Finally, he said, “Is this line secure?”

“Uh - probably? I mean -” Sasha quickly checked herself. She didn’t want to mention Georgie. The less he knew the better. “ - it’s a burner, if that’s what you’re asking, and I’m not the one who bought it.”

“Where are you living?” Tim asked harshly. “Are you homeless? You have to come stay with me, I can -”

“You mean the first place Tonner will look?” Sasha shot back. “No. I’m safe, I’m dry, things are fine. That’s all you need to know.” She softened her voice. “I promise, if it was safe I’d tell you more. I want to see you again. Tim, I - I’m really sorry.”

Tim laughed hoarsely, without humor. “Shouldn’t it be me saying that? I’m the one who thought you were a monster.”

“...yeah, that one’s on you.” Sasha sighed miserably, lying down on her bed, wishing Tim was next to her. “I am, though. A monster, I mean. Tim, I - I’m definitely not entirely human anymore.”

“God, Sash, that’s the least of our problems right now,” Tim said, laughing slightly again. “Can you just tell me what happened? I know you didn’t fucking do it. That dick Bouchard keeps playing dumb and his shitlead lackey keeps on avoiding the Archives. I bet Sims killed that old man, right? He totally did. Martin keeps on saying that his precious Jon wouldn’t let you take the fall for something he did, but I’m not so sure.”

“I...it’s more complicated than that.”

Sasha explained in short order. For once, Tim was totally silent the entire time, letting Sasha dispassionately recite the entire sad story. She finished it at Michael helping her escape, not detailing where she had been dropped off. 

Finally, after a long silence, Tim said, “So this is my fault.”

“No, it’s not,” Sasha said harshly. “You were manipulated, same as I was.”

“I’m the idiot who -”

“Yes, you were being an idiot. You should have talked to me, talked to anyone. You should have done anything other than your homicidal partner in crime. You definitely shouldn’t have been buying a fucking black market gun when I know for a fact you have no idea how to shoot. But you tried playing hero and you played straight into Magnus’ hands. You fucked up. Okay? Now let’s try to do better.”

More silence, until Tim sighed. “Can’t believe the Douche’s Jonah Magnus. Explains why Sims is always playing lackey for him. Can’t wait to spill to Martin how his boyfriend framed his boss for murder.”

Sasha chewed her lip, uncertain. She hadn’t shared the details of Jonah and Jon’s conversation too closely - it had seemed private. “See, I’m not sure this is...entirely Jon’s fault.”

Tim groaned. “Not you too! Why is everyone but me and Melanie a fucking Sims apologist?”

“Jon and Jonah are...they’re weird, okay?” Sasha moved to chewing her hair, uncertain of how to describe it. If it should even be described. It seemed so private, so unsuitable to name...but maybe everybody thinking that was how these things stayed perpetuated for so long. “I think Jonah’s kind of, you know, abusive?”

The line went silent again. 

“Wow,” Tim said finally, “Martin’s going to be so disappointed his boyfriend’s taken.”

“They’re just friends! I think. I’m like, ninety percent sure. But you didn’t hear them, Tim. They’re really...it’s messed up. Trust me.”

“Jesus, Sash, why are you defending someone who fucked all of us over like this? Sims is a big boy, he’s responsible for his own shitty decisions and the shitty company he keeps.” Tim snorted. “I’ve heard them talk, anyway. If anything, Magnus is the one always giving into Sims and his little tantrums. Jesus, I just want to throttle the both of them.”

“Maybe you need to get over your anger issues and focus on actually solving the problem for once,” Sasha snapped. “Nobody has time for your revenge fantasy, Tim! We need to fix all of this.”

“Which one is it, Sash?” Tim asked coldly. “Was I manipulated, or was it my anger issues and hero complex? Are you going to decide if this is my fault or not?”

Sasha’s heart stuttered in her chest. She didn’t know how to explain to him what she knew - that it was everything, that it was all of the above, that he was manipulated through his anger issues and hero complex, that Tim had been pushed in a direction but he had taken the steps all by himself. But she couldn’t blame him entirely, because Sasha had been manipulated the same way, and so had Jon and Martin and Georgie, and if she started thinking like that then she would have to start hating the whole damn world. 

“Tim, are we going to stay together?” Sasha whispered, broken-hearted. “Can we even still be together? I love you. I want you here with me. But there’s so much ugliness that’s growing between us. I don’t know if this can be fixed.”

A long silence again. Sasha wanted to be there with him, to read his face, to see what he was thinking. She had always understood him so well, or at least she thought that he did. 

“I love you too,” Tim said finally. “I want to fix this too. I - I don’t know, Sasha. I love you. The thought of you alone, in danger, and not even knowing where you are, is fucking me up. It’s like Danny all over again, Sasha, I can’t handle this. Can we have this conversation again when I know you’re safe?”

“Okay,” Sasha said, and she knew that this was probably the best both of them could do right now. “Are we staying together?”

“...I don’t know.”

“...are we breaking up?”

“...still don’t know.”

“Okay,” Sasha repeated again, and sighed. “I won’t call you from this phone twice. I’m doing the best I can here. I’m safe, I think. Things will be okay, Tim.”

“Sash,” Tim said, “I don’t remember the last time things were okay.”

And neither did she, and they both knew it, and she hung up on him without saying anything further. She lay on the bed, listening faintly to the sound of the housekeeper vacuuming, staring up at the fan as it beat in a steady rhythm on the ceiling. 

Was Tim right? Was she reading too much into Jon and Jonah? It wasn’t her job to fix Jon, to puzzle out his weird psychology. Maybe he was just an asshole without a spine,and there wasn’t anything more to that.

No. Sasha didn’t believe that. This was a puzzle that she hadn’t solved yet, and she had the feeling that at the heart of this puzzle was the key to finally keeping herself and Tim safe. She couldn’t abide a mystery, couldn’t trick herself into thinking that the truth wasn’t important. The truth was all Sasha had. She couldn’t close her eyes to it, that awful and ugly reality. 

Tim...he had been such a bad idea. But he had always been her favorite one: the way he could always cheer her up, his bright and bold smile, his courage and heart and sensitivity and vulnerability. He had loved her, truly and wholly, for who she was. He knew the ugly corners of her and loved them as much as he loved her best attributes. 

Was that still true? Was Sasha turning into a person that Tim just couldn’t love? Was Tim turning into someone that Sasha couldn’t love? 

People changed. Sometimes they changed apart. And for some strange reason, Sasha just couldn’t bear the thought of that. 

Lying on the bed of a grim reaper, crying like a broken-hearted teenager, Sasha didn’t notice that the housekeeper’s vacuum had stopped running. She didn’t notice the knock on the door, or the creak of the door opening, or the gentle rise and fall of voices. She only heard it when there was a soft knock at her own door, and she was forced to roll off the bed to open her bedroom door. 

Standing in front of her, looking nervous, was the housekeeper. Standing behind her was Jonathan Sims. 

He looked pretty bad, Sasha noted clinically. Eye bags, even more pronounced than usual, stood starkly under his eyes, and his hair wasn’t as cropped short and styled as it usually was. It had grown out a little, making Jon look more like a tired modern guy walking the streets of London than a centuries old immortal psychic vampire. He was still dressed in a suit, as he always was, but the suit jacket was off and his dress shirt was rolled up to the elbow.

He stared at Sasha, probably registering every minute change in her appearance as she did his, before glancing down at the housekeeper. “You’re excused for the day. Thank you for your time.”

He passed her something - probably neatly folded bills - and nodded at her as she shakily nodded back and escaped the flat as quickly as possible. Jon stepped backwards in the hallway, gesturing for her to come out, and walked back into the living room. Because Sasha was just slightly too prideful to barricade herself in the bedroom, and partly because she wasn’t sure that Jon wouldn’t break into a woman’s bedroom, she stepped out into the grandiose yet cluttered living room with him. He stood in the center, hands in his pockets, looking over the flat with a clinical eye. 

“Georgie’s sense of interior decoration is as immaculate as ever,” Jon noted clinically. “She used to spend months getting every house we ever lived in just right. Said it was her job as lady of the household. She had never been a lady of any household, of course, not in the way that Jonah and I had once known - but her fun’s important to her, and it doesn’t hurt anybody important.” He sniffed slightly. “You coming to stay here was for the best after all. She’s been lonely, I think.” 

“I’m staying here because I’m homeless,” Sasha said flatly. For the first time, she noticed a small manila envelope under his arm, tucked slightly into his back pocket. “Because of you.”

“I’ve kept your flat for you,” Jon said eagerly, stepping forward, and letting his cold mask fall. In him now was something eager, something almost pleading. Sasha forced herself not to step away. “All of your possessions are intact, and I can get your bank accounts unfrozen easily enough. Once all of this blows over, your life can be right back to normal.”

“Wow,” Sasha drawled, crossing her arms, “how kind. Were you so busy being this nice to me that you forgot that Georgie barred you from this flat because I don’t want to fucking look at you?”

“She’ll get over it,” Jon said dismissively. “She’s been wanting us to make up, anyhow.” He stepped closer again, fluorescent green eyes fixed on her large and warm brown ones, and Sasha fought the tingle crawling up her spine. “Sasha, I really am sorry. Jonah was out of line in what he did. But - but you know, he really does know best. Even if it doesn’t seem so. What we’re doing now, it’s for the best for your development. I promise this will all blow over soon, and things will be better. For all of us.”

“For a subject of a truth god,” Sasha said, voice dripping sarcasm, “you have a unique ability to lie to yourself.”

Jon puffed up, scowling down at her. “That’s ridiculous. I -”

“Does Jonah Magnus respect you?” Sasha pressed. 

Jon...hesitated, and they both saw it. Jon frantically tried to cover, quickly saying, “Of course he does. I’m his partner, and we’ve been partners for two hundred years. There’s nobody on earth he respects more than me. There’s nobody he respects but me.”

“Then why does he talk to you like you’re an idiot?”

“He talks to everyone like that.”

“Because he doesn’t respect anyone but you. You just said that. But if he respects you, then wouldn’t he talk to you differently?”

There it is - Jon’s shoulders hunched slightly, unconsciously on the defensive. “Does he give you equal input on decisions?”

“I always give my -”

“Does he listen to them?”

Jon was silent. Finally, slowly, he said, “Jonah was right. He said you’d get like this.”

Fuck. Sasha’s heart sank, even as her jaw dropped in incredulity. She had lost him. “You must be kidding.”

“He said you’d get jealous.” Jon crossed his arms, turning slightly away from her, but what he clearly meant to be a closed-off stance just seemed defensive. “He said that you’d get upset that I’m more loyal to him than to you. What we’re doing now is for your own good, Miss James. You’ll see one day that this - this unpleasantness is helping you grow.”

Unpleasantness? Unpleasantness?! Putting her life at risk was an inconvenience? “I’ll see, huh?” Sasha said bitterly. “Just like you saw? Just like how you changed your mind from this being cruel and traumatic to it being a momentary unpleasantness?” She barked a short laugh, not very humorous at all. “I was there. He called you stupid, he said that you couldn’t trust anybody but him, and he called you an idiot. Are those the words of someone who respects you? Of someone who even likes you?”

Jon stiffened, mouth tightening, and he broke eye contact and looked away. “Don’t concern yourself with the private business between Jonah and I.”

“When you’re having the conversation over a cooling corpse that you framed me for then you’re making it my business, you absolute shitheel!” Sasha yelled, finally losing her temper. “Your bullshit is ruining my life! Your complete inability to stand up to that sack of shit is ruining my life!”

“Shut up!” Jon yelled, seemingly having taken her losing her temper as permission to lose his. Distantly, Sasha was aware of his stupid this must have looked: two fully grown adults, yelling in a living room like children. “You’re a spoiled child who doesn’t know anything! All I’ve ever done is try to help you, and you spit in my face! You’re no better than Martin!”

Abruptly, strangely, Jon stopped short. He seemed almost embarrassed, almost in pain. 

And just like that, Sasha knew. “He’s not letting you see Martin, is he.”

For just a split second, Jon’s expression crumpled, but he forced it back into his haughty mask. “I decided that it was best I didn’t waste my time with manipulative traitors.”

“Was that your idea?” Sasha asked flatly, abruptly extremely tired. “Or was it Jonah’s?”

Jon was silent. They both knew the answer. 

“If you walked up to Jonah now and told him that you wanted to start dating Martin, do you think that you’d leave that conversation still wanting to do it? Or would you somehow decide, all by yourself, that you’ll end up doing what Jonah wants anyway?”

Jon didn’t say anything.

A strange mix of emotions swirled in Sasha’s stomach. Anger and disgust mixed with pity and sadness. What had Jon been like, before he met Jonah Magnus? Had he been a good person?

But maybe that wasn’t so important. Maybe the question that had to be asked was - what kind of person would Jonathan Sims be without Jonah Magnus in his life?

All at once, the fight seemed to go out of Jon. His shoulders sagged, and he abruptly deflated. He looked down at the ground, ashamed and aware of it. He had always been aware of it. He had just been lying to himself. Maybe it was impossible to live without it. 

“I don’t know what to do without him,” Jon said quietly. “I’ve never - I need him.”

“You don’t,” Sasha said, abruptly exhausted. “You want to help me, Jon? You want to protect me and Martin? You can’t do that while staying friends with Jonah Magnus. You have to choose. So long as you stay close to him, you are going to stay within his complete control. That’s what he does. He controls everybody and everything. And you’re letting him. You’re justifying it. You’re doing his work for him. Everybody around him is - even Georgie. There are two people in your life who are trying to get you away from him, and he’s trying to convince you to cut them out of your life. You think that’s a coincidence?”

Jon opened his mouth, then closed it. Weakly, he said, “You’re wrong.”

“I need your help, Jon,” Sasha whispered, and to her shame found her voice cracking. “I need someone on my side. I can do it alone, but - but I’m scared. And I don’t want to. I need help. I’m scared.”

But she knew, even as she said it, that Jon was scared too. He couldn’t reach out a hand to her - not now, not here. Jon had carried around his fear for hundreds of years, pushing it down and pretending it wasn’t there, and it informed everything he’d ever done. Scrambling for power, exerting that power, desperately dominating even as he was dominated - it stemmed from that fear, all of it. And Jonah Magnus kept those flames fanned, because a Jon who was afraid was a Jon who could be controlled. 

A Sasha who was afraid, who was isolated, who was trapped, was one who could be controlled. 

The realization was dizzying. Somehow, the thought that kept running through her mind was - who’d do that? Who was such a terrible person that they’d go through all that trouble, all of that plotting, just to make someone suffer? Not because they disliked them, not in revenge, not because of any human emotion - but just because it was convenient? Useful?

Because you could?

So this was what power did to a person, Sasha realized. So this was what power and immortality and money and supernatural gifts did to you. It made you someone who Sasha could never hope to understand, whose depths of depravity she could never truly rationalize. To Sasha, who prided herself on knowing people and being able to understand them and their motives - it was almost a relief, almost a blessing, that she couldn’t possibly understand the motives of Jonah Magnus at all. 

Jon stared at her, fluorescent green eyes wide, and for just a minute she could see the fear that she knew was there written all over his face. For just a minute, Sasha and Jon were scared together, both trapped in tumultuous waters that they couldn’t control. For the first time Sasha empathized with Jon. 

Jonah Magnus was somebody that Sasha could never understand. But Jon was, and for the first time Sasha knew what Martin meant when he said that he felt as if Jon had been a good person, a long time ago. 

You can’t understand someone and hate them. Not really. You could be angry, upset, betrayed...but if you really understood someone, backwards and forwards, true hate was difficult to find. 

“I have to go,” Jon said, almost dizzily. He shoved the manila folder at her, both of them having forgotten that it was even there in the first place. He glanced at it, frightened and guilty. “Be - be careful when meeting Jude Perry. Don’t take her at her word. I have to go.”

He fled, as if the hounds of hell themselves were snapping at his heels, and Sasha was left standing in an opulent hallway, clutching a manila folder as if it was a time bomb, completely certain that it was meant to hurt her and cause her pain and damage her, completely certain that she was going to read it anyway. 

Like Jon - what choice did she have? 

But as she stumbled back to her room, as she sat down on the comfortable chair and thumbed on the tape recorder that sat at the desk, the words of Jonathan Sims ran through her mind. His warning. A clumsy attempt at protection. At the very least, a signifier of desire. 

Sasha knew, as she sometimes knew things, that Jon had started out somebody who deeply desired to protect others like him. To take revenge, to grab power, yes, but also to spread that precious knowledge and resources around. He had never stopped thinking of himself as one of those vulnerable people, people who society had stepped on and ground into the dirt. Deep down he had just wanted things to be fair, wanted some justice in the world. Jon, at one point, had only wanted to help. 

Maybe she wasn’t so alone after all. 

“Statement of Sasha James, Head Archivist…”

[unsteadyimagines]

Deceitful (Spencer Reid x Reader) Part 2/2

SUMMARY: Spencer helps Amanda (a recovering victim of domestic violence rescued by the BAU) by spending time with her, which makes Y/N mad because he barely had time to spend with her originally because of his job. Now, argument after argument, Y/N has suspicions Spencer’s intentions may not be so pure after all.

WORD COUNT: 3k

WARNINGS: Implied smut

NOTE: This is my first time ever posting any of my writing so please bear with me!! I also have to thank @moonlit-martyr​ for giving me the motivation to start writing again!!

***Feedback is always welcome for future improvement!

*** Part Two ended up being a lot longer than Part One which was not what I was expecting, but nevertheless, I hope you enjoy!

-------

I wake up to hear pots and pans hitting each other in the kitchen, seeing that it was now early evening and the sun was beginning to set. Hesitantly approaching the kitchen, Spencer is cooking dinner for us, much to my surprise. When he turns around and notices me standing in the doorway, he quickly averts his eyes away from mine and clears his throat, breaking the awkward silence.

“I, uh, didn’t want to wake you, so- so I thought I would make d-dinner,” His voice trembles slightly, looking anywhere other than at me. I can already tell we are in for a long night.

“We need to talk” I say, sitting at the table waiting for his response. I don’t think we’ve ever been so awkward in front of each other like this before, maybe besides when we first met.

“Yeah… yeah I know,” He says, sounding disappointed.

“I’m just gonna tell you straight up how I feel without holding back because honestly, I think its time for you to finally hear it.”

By this point, my insides have turned to mush and I’m dreading telling him how I truly feel, in fear of what is to come. I don’t want him to grow even more annoyed at me or even leave but what choice do I have at this point?

“You’re never home, you don’t have time for me anymore,” I start and notice Spencer’s mouth open in protest. I put my hand in the air, signalling for him not to interrupt me which shuts him up fairly quickly.

“You’re never home, you don’t have time for me anymore. I get your job dominates your time and focus and I would never want to meddle in that… but you also have a life outside of work. When you do have free time, you’re either spending it sleeping or out with Amanda when you should be putting time into your relationship. It’s not fair on me and – “

“Amanda?” Spencer interrupts, chuckling to himself and shaking his head in disbelief.  

“This is about Amanda isn’t it? This is all about Amanda,” Throwing his hands in the air, it seems like he’s already come up to his own conclusion as to why we’re having this conversation.

“This isn’t just about Amanda, Spencer. There’s so many other things wrong here, how can you not see it?!” I exclaim, already fed up with his reaction.

“I’ll tell you what I see. I see my girlfriend being insecure and selfish. You know how much I love my job and being able to help people, so I’m sorry if you feel like we don’t see each other enough but you also knew how strenuous this job is before we got together.” He defends himself, not bothering to even just consider how I feel. I can’t beat around the bush any longer, so instead, I decide to just ask him straight.

“Are… are you cheating o-on me… with Amanda?” I quietly ask. Looking at the ground, I can’t bear to look him in the eyes anymore, terrified of his answer. I hear Spencer let out a scoff.

“Pfft, you’re fucking crazy if you think I’m cheating on you Y/N, why would you say that?” Now that I’ve looked up, his eyes are burning into mine and his hands are red, clenched on either side of the dinner table.

“Y-you’re always with her during your work b-breaks when you could be using that time to spend it with- “

“Y/N do you realise we helped her escape from her abusive husband? She needs someone right now and she chose to confide in me. Show some sympathy” He spits, getting angrier and defensive. Is he right? Am I being completely heartless?

Refusing to cry in front of him, I leave the table and head upstairs to bed, my throat tight and strained with sobs threatening to leave my mouth.

Just as I was about to fall asleep, I feel the bed dip slightly, Spencer’s soft hands running up and down my back as he presses kisses to the top of my shoulder and onto my neck. I don’t move or respond to his touch, he sighs, “I’m sorry about earlier baby, I really am. I love you.” He whispers. Once again tears threaten to escape. It felt so good to hear him say those words again, but in a way, it feels like he doesn’t really mean them when he says it. I shamefully accept his words, missing his touch too much to reject him.

I turn around in the bed to face his eyes staring deeply into mine.

“I love you too.” He takes both of his hands to either side of my face, leaving a heavy kiss to my lips that I can’t help but to kiss back even deeper. I let out a small moan, running my hands through his hair as he lays me back into the mattress hovering over me. Spencer then starts to move his sloppy kisses down my neck, causing my hips to involuntarily rise up and meet his, resulting in groans of pleasure from both of us. Deep down in my heart I know this isn’t technically the right thing to do, but I miss him so much that his touch is too much to resist.

“Mmm fuck baby,” He lets out a deep groan, beginning to slowly remove every inch of my clothing.

This feels somewhat wrong, but I don’t care anymore. Spencer hasn’t shown me this side of him in god knows how long and I can’t even begin to describe how much I miss this. I wrap my hands around his neck, bringing his lips deeper into mine, feeling ashamed yet so lustful.

The sunlight glaring into my eyes is what woke me up, the sun rays bouncing on the walls, creating shadows over every corner. I stretch out my arms and feel the bed empty beside me. Spencer already having gone to work, it left me by myself and my mind won’t stop overthinking everything about last night. Was it a mistake? Should I have been so quick to just jump into bed with him? Does this mean that we’re back to normal now?

Although we didn’t exactly resolve our issues or get to the bottom of the whole Amanda situation last night, our late night activities had me feeling just that little bit more hopeful about Spencer and I, so much so that I decided I was going to visit him at the BAU and take him out to lunch this time, hoping I could shoot my shot first before he made plans to meet Amanda again or suddenly became busy.

Getting through security hassle free, I make my way through the all too familiar doors of the BAU, people scattered everywhere clutching papers, taking phone calls, drinking their body weight in coffee. The first familiar face I see is Luke’s, who puts down his coffee cup and makes his way towards me, grabbing the attention of the rest of the team to make my presence known. Surprisingly, even Spencer’s.

“Hey guys!” I greet, hugging everyone individually. When I finally get to Spencer, we both give each other a somewhat awkward smile, hugging each other loosely with a light peck on the cheek. I take a step back, clearing my throat and see the whole team glancing at each other curiously. After making small talk and catching up with everyone, they all return back to their desks and begin working on endless amounts of paper. It felt nice to actually be able to have a conversation with others and smile and laugh, and not feel like I’m on thin ice with every word I speak. Leaning on Spencers desk, I fiddle around with his stationary while he grabs another coffee from the machine, but my mind won’t stop thinking about last night. It seems to be consuming me.

“So, what are you doing here? We didn’t have anything planned, did we?” I give him a tight smile, shaking my head.

“No, we didn’t have anything planned but I thought I could maybe take you out to lunch? The café around the corner is meant to be really good I’ve heard, and – “

“Spencer, hey!” a woman’s voice interrupts. Spencer and I both turn around at the same time to see a woman walking through the door with the biggest grin on her face. I’m smart enough to have a fair idea as to who this is, and I get confirmation when I see the look on Spencer’s face. As she makes her way closer to us, I can see his hands fidgeting and he refuses to look at me.

“Amanda, h-hey… what are you doing here?” He nervously asks, giving her an awkward hug, while she wraps her arms tightly around his neck. Her attention must have captured the rest of the team because when I look behind me everyone is looking between Spencer, Amanda and I.

“I know we don’t usually meet up here, but I figured this time I would be the one to come see you” She emphasised, placing a hand on Spencer’s shoulder. I’m sorry, what? Usually? Is this more regular than I thought?

“Oh – um, uh” Spencer laughs nervously, he can’t even conjure up a sentence and he looks guilty as hell. Here we go.

“I’m sorry, I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Amanda,” Amanda turns her attention to me, extending her hand out. I look to Spencer, confused. Did he not mention me… ever?

“Uh – I-I’m Y/N… nice to meet you” I say cautiously, extending my hand out for a handshake. I take a step back and look between Spencer and Amanda.

“Likewise,” She smiles at me, then looks back to Spencer.

“Anyway, do you want to leave now or- “ She asks, but I’m quick to interrupt.

“I’m sorry, uh, to interrupt but what do you mean leave?” I give her a nervous chuckle. Surely not.

“Oh! I just assumed Spence and I would be having lunch again today like usual and – “

“Spence?” I repeat, looking to Spencer, waiting for him to say something. Amanda looks between Spencer and I, probably just as confused as I am. Meanwhile, Spencer gulps, looking down at the floor. Coward.

“Am I missing something here?” I ask him, which only confuses Amanda even more.

Just before I start demanding Spencer to explain himself, Amanda interjects.

“Wait, are you two like… together together?” She asks, a shocked look on her face, and I’m certain my reaction gives away the answer.

“Oh my g-god, I am so sorry, I thought – I thought Spencer was single! I had no –“  She stutters, genuine shock written all over her face.

“S-Spence? Is… Is this true?” I say softly, my heart breaking into a million pieces in front of everyone. This is not how I wanted things to go, but on the other hand I never thought I would ever hear the truth either.

I’ve never seen Spencer look so nervous and lost for words.

“I – I just wanted s-something d-different, but –“ .

“You wanted something different?” I repeat his words back to him, raising my voice perhaps louder than I should have, considering how we’re surrounded by his colleagues and the rest of the BAU.

“Y/N… I’m sorry, I– “ Spencer tries to explain, but he’s done more than enough.

“Don’t you even think to try and explain yourself! I-I can’t believe you. All those nights you said y-you were called in for w-work and had to stay longer for case r-reports… you were really with h-her” You tearfully ask. Both Amanda and Spencer open their mouths to say something, but Penelope beats them to it.

“Wait… we haven’t been called in for extra work in months. Spencer… you told Y/N you’ve been here with us? Working?” Penelope utters, pure disappointment and shock painted on her face. Locking eyes with me, she frowns. I look back to Spencer, who is already looking at me, reaching out to hold my hand. I shake my hand from his, letting out a sad sigh and turn my attention towards the team.

“None of you knew?” You ask, praying to god for an honest answer. Staring at everyone one by one, they all look just as shocked as I do, probably not expecting someone like Spencer to ever betray anyone like this, let alone his own girlfriend. Emily’s face is the last one I see. She maintains eye contact with me, yet shares the same frown as Penelope.

“Em…?” I whisper, loud enough for her to hear. Taking a small step towards me, she closes her eyes, releases a deep breath and looks at me again.

“I… I had a small inkling Y/N that maybe something was going on… but if I had known for sure I swear I would have said something. I’m so sorry Y/N.”

I don’t even know what to think anymore. I turn away from Emily to look at Spencer to try and get some answers. By now I can feel my cheeks getting wet and my eyes become slightly blurry.

“L-last night, I let you… w-we…. How could you do that… how c-could you let l-last night happen after what you’ve d-done…” I’ve never felt so devastated, ashamed and embarrassed as I do right now, especially since we have an audience, some staring at me with sympathetic expressions and others with guilt plastered on their face. It’s one thing for Spencer to indirectly admit he’s been unfaithful to me, plus Amanda had no idea he wasn’t single, but to lie and involve his work colleagues too. I’ve never seen him act in such a way before, to lie, cheat and deceive someone he claims to ‘love with all of his heart.’

I can hear Amanda apologising profusely but I’m too focused on Spencer, his eyes softening, and eyebrows furrowed when he sees the tears sliding down my damp cheeks. The thought of standing here with numerous pairs of eyes gawking into mine is too much, so I take off into one of the conference rooms, hoping that it isn’t already occupied. Opening the door, thankfully I’m alone. I shut the door behind me, sit down and put my head in my hands, staring down at the table. I want to go home but I’d have to face everyone again in order to leave the building and I’m way too embarrassed for that.

There is a soft knock on the door. I assume it is Spencer walking in slowly and taking a seat a few feet away from me. The tension in the room is high, an eerie silence in the air.

“Why?” I simply ask. Still sitting in complete silence, I look up as he rubs his face and lets out a big sigh.

“Why?” I ask again, loud enough for him to finally look at me. His eyes are red, and his cheeks are blotchy.

“I don’t know Y/N… I really don’t.”

I chuckle, shaking my head. His response is nowhere near good enough.

“Well, you better come up with something good, Spencer. Fast.” I snap. I keep my eyes on his, waiting for him to come up with some excuse.

“I-I was stressed and tired from work… and Amanda was just… there. I swear Y/N, I never intended to cheat on you, y-you have to believe me. I love you so much it hurts.” Spencer tugs at his hair, tears now pouring down his face, his voice cracking.

“YOU were stressed? YOU were tired? Fuck, Spencer… you weren’t the one waiting up all night for you to come home. I was. You weren’t the one to be completely ignored and treated like shit. I was. You weren’t the one to love you so much it hurts. I was.” As soon as that last word came out of my mouth, Spencer’s eye snapped to mine, his mouth agape and stuttering incomprehensible sentences.

“Was? Y/N, no please don’t leave me- “ He rushes to grab my hands to lace them with his, but I’m too quick to notice and pull my hands away.

“I can’t do this anymore; I can’t waste my energy and love on you when you were giving it to someone else. You made me doubt myself, you made me feel as if I was being paranoid and stupid for ever thinking you could deceive me like this. You actually had the nerve to call ME crazy and selfish. I know your work was going to be a big part of your life when we started dating… I know that. I love you Spencer, but I also didn’t sign up for you to be unfaithful to me.” I rant, feeling somewhat lighter now that that was off my chest, some things I had been aching to say for weeks.

Getting up from my chair, I leave the room, Spencer desperately yelling at me to come back, I can hear his heavy footsteps trying to catch up to me. Walking past the team and Amanda, they all try and get me to stay, to talk things through, but I’m done talking. I walk out of the bullpen, out of the main door, and into the elevator. Once the doors close and I’m alone once again, my throat lets out heavy sobs, gasping for air and the tears are once again endlessly streaming down. Squeezing my hands on my the fabric of my sweater, I don’t know what to do with myself. Leaning against the elevator wall, I slide down till I hit the floor, sobs raking my body over and over till my throat is sore and my face is hot.

I realised I should have trusted my initial gut feeling, that something was wrong. I should have confronted him earlier. Maybe if I had, he might not have felt the need to give his love to someone else. Instead, not knowing where the hell I go from here, I’m left broken-hearted, confused and numb, sitting on the cold ground of an elevator, hoping I never have to set foot in it again.

Tags: @emmalvei-blog​

[charincharge]

Cruel Summer, Part 6

cruel summer masterlist

AN: Today was ~dramatic~ -- I woke up to learn that someone was posting this fic on AO3 and passing it off as their own. It was a BUMMER, to say the least, and it really threw me off. I haven’t posted fic in a decade, and I was really using this as a fun way to remember how much I loved writing (since doing it professionally can seriously zap the fun out of it). And hearing that someone stole my work made me incredibly upset and feel generally violated. I know it’s just fic, but... I work hard to write it and don’t think it’s too much to ask to receive the credit for it? I hope this chapter doesn’t reflect that because I was really excited for this one! Anyway. TL;DR, I ended up creating an AO3 page, so no one can post FOR me moving forward. I’ve updated my Masterlist page accordingly. And please don’t plagiarize, guys, it’s not cool. Okay. Enough of that negativity. Let’s get back to the important things. Like Rowan.

Rain pelts against Rowan’s window, casting a dark, ominous hue over his bedroom. His first real day off from work, and it’s storming outside, naturally. He’d planned to take it easy and go to the beach, maybe go for a long run. But it looks like that’s not happening now. He knows he’s being punished. This is the universe’s way of intervening and letting him know how shitty he is. Rowan can’t shake the image of Aelin’s hurt face. It is seared into his brain. And there’s only one way to get it out.

Rowan lounges back into his pillows and opens his laptop before typing in Aelin Ashryver into his internet browser. Her Facebook profile pops up immediately, but it’s set to Friends Only, and Rowan definitely isn’t brave enough to add her as a friend. Her Instagram appears next, and Rowan nearly jumps for joy that it’s a public profile.

The first picture is of the back of her head, her blonde hair piled high on top of her head in a messy bun, with tendrils curling around the nape of her neck, overlooking her balcony and the view of the ocean beyond. She’s back, bitches the caption reads, and Rowan can’t help but chuckle. Next is Aelin with her entire family at the head of Ashryver Playland in a picturesque pose with the caption Favorite place with my favorite people (minus @dorhav118 who gets in TOMORROW!!!!). The corners of Rowan’s lips curl downward as his curiosity gets the better of him, and he clicks on Dorian’s profile.

Rowan rolls his eyes at Dorian’s bio: “Hot as a pistol, but cool inside.”

His heart tugs at seeing the first picture. It’s from the pool party the other day, when Aelin was still in her white dress. She’s laughing at something Dorian said, her eyes closed tightly, glass of champagne in her hand, while Dorian smizes into the camera. Reunited and it feels so good <3

“Who kicked your puppy?” Manon asks from the doorway, and Rowan slams his laptop shut.

“No one.”

A wicked grin appears on her face as she stalks into Rowan’s room and slides onto the bed next to him. “I have a pretty good idea.”

Rowan sighs as Manon reaches over and opens the laptop back up, her long nails clacking against the keyboard. “Just as I thought.” She looks Rowan over, from the bags under his eyes to his hair, messy from constantly running his hands through it. “We’re going out.”

Rowan looks out the window at the torrential downpour and gray skies. “Out? In that? Where?”

“I don’t know,” Manon admits, “But I’m not letting you mope and stalk Aelin all day. It’s pathetic, and below you, to be frank. There’s got to be something we can do in this godforsaken town when it rains.”

It turns out there’s not that many options for what to do when it rains in the small beach town. Mostly everything is outdoors or beach oriented. But Manon decides that the aquarium is a good indoor activity, and it happens to be next to a brewery – for when they get bored. The pair Uber there, not wanting to deal with the hassle of worrying about sobering up. If Rowan’s not allowed to mope and be pathetic at home, he’s going to do today right. And do it drunk.

Despite it being one of the few indoor activities available, the aquarium is fairly deserted when Manon and Rowan arrive. It’s dark and damp and cool and strangely soothing, and Rowan lets Manon lead the way. She heads immediately for the reptile room, thrilled to see the alligators and lizards and snakes. Somehow Rowan isn’t surprised by this development.

They branch off into a small Amazon Rainforest room, filled with frogs and fish and even more snakes on low hanging branches, and Rowan nearly jumps out of skin when a large bird caws in his direction.

“I fucking hate birds,” he grumbles as Manon cackles in delight. “Can’t we see… cuter animals? Like, turtles and seals or some shit?”

Manon rolls her eyes and leads him straight to the shark tank. It’s open, so they can lean over it and look at the giant creatures. Rowan grits his teeth, only slightly terrified at the image of the fin cutting through the surface of the water.

“You know what you’re feeling is totally false,” Manon comments casually.

“Huh?” Rowan says, trying to maintain his calm façade.

“Sharks aren’t predators of humans. That’s the Jaws effect in action. It completely changed our perception of sharks and actually sparked a hunting frenzy that has put sharks in danger, even though they were just an important part of the ecosystem. Fuck you, Spielberg.” 

Manon purses her darkly painted lips and twirls her white blonde hair, leaning over the tank further. Rowan shakes his head at his roommate, who looks like she wants to reach into the water and pet the fucking things. He’s never seen her so affected before. 

“Why are you like this?” he asks, and she laughs.

“You’re not thinking about her anymore, though, are you?”

Rowan flicks her off. “I wasn’t.”

“A few more rooms will get you right back to that terrified place and not thinking about her at all. Don’t you worry.” She winks and leads him into an incredibly dark room, which is only lit up with glowing jellyfish. Manon is right, and within a few minutes, Rowan is feeling calm again. He lets the dark and schools of weird underwater creatures soothe him, and after they finish at the aquarium, Rowan is grateful he let Manon drag him out of the house.

“Beer?” she asks, and Rowan nods readily.

“I think I earned it.”

“Shut up, you fucking loved it. Think we should get a fish tank?” she asks, and Rowan shakes his head immediately. Manon is strange enough without tending to creatures from the deep in their apartment.

They brave the rain, realizing they both forgot umbrellas, and make a mad dash down the street. Rain soaks Rowan’s shirt, but he feels light. They duck into the brewery, and Rowan shakes out his hair, spraying water all over Manon, like a wet dog. He’s never seen her look so horrified.

“You’re lucky I set my makeup, so it’s immoveable every day,” she says with narrowed eyes. “First round’s on you, asshole.”

Rowan orders them two beers fairly quickly, despite the brewery being packed with patrons (he guesses this is where everyone goes when it rains). But when he turns around to hand Manon her drink, he’s surprised to see her mid-conversation with the very last person he wants to see.

“Rowan!” Dorian calls him over with a wide smile, and Rowan grimaces as he joins them. “I was just introducing myself to your stunning roommate,” Dorian says, and Manon rolls her eyes. But Rowan knows she’s beaming internally with the praise. Manon knows she’s beautiful and doesn’t let anyone forget it, despite her lack of interest in men.

“Uh, hey, Dorian, right?” Rowan says, pretending like he wasn’t just browsing the man’s Instagram profile merely hours ago.

Dorian laughs heartily. “Rowan, come on. We’re friends. Any friend of Aelin’s is a friend of mine.” He grins again, and Rowan can’t help but stare at his incredibly white teeth. He wonders if he whitens them. He must, because no one’s teeth are that naturally white. Or straight.

“Come sit with us!” Dorian points to their table where Aelin sits with the same two people from last night.

“Sure!” Manon says, the same time Rowan says “NO!” emphatically.

“Come on,” Dorian pleads. “We have a big table, and the place is packed. You’ll be lucky to find standing room otherwise. Please, Aelin would be horrified if I let you leave without saying hi.”

Rowan’s stomach churns, but he feels trapped. He can’t say no. “Lead the way,” he says, and Dorian smiles another blinding smile.

“Great.”

He leads them to their table, and to say that Aelin looks shocked to see Rowan approach would be an understatement.

“Look who I found!” Dorian exclaims, gesturing to Rowan and Manon, who stand next to the table awkwardly. “Chaol, Nesryn – these are two of Aelin’s friends, Rowan and Manon.”

The brunette dude, Chaol, gives Rowan a tight smile and short head nod, but the woman, Nesryn, stands and shakes both their hands politely.

Rowan and Manon slide into the two empty seats, and of course Rowan is directly across from Aelin. She looks at him curiously as he takes a large sip of his beer.

“So, how do you know Aelin?” Chaol asks, breaking the awkward silence.

“Rowan works at the park,” Dorian explains. “And Chaol is Aelin’s ex-boyfriend and my other best friend,” Dorian chuckles.

“It’s not as awkward as it sounds,” Chaol says with a laugh.

Aelin squints her eyes and looks at Chaol. “Mmm… it kind of is.”

Manon snorts. “You’re a handful, aren’t you?” she says, leaning toward Aelin, and Aelin flips her golden hair over her shoulder and shrugs.

“Two handfuls, thank you very much,” she says and feels herself up, showing how her chest spills over her hand, too much for one to grasp fully.

“Aelin!” Chaol chides, and Rowan can feel heat creep up the back of his neck as he stares at Aelin’s ample cleavage as she lifts it up.

Dorian cackles, his laugh piercing through the room as he tips his head back. He reminds Rowan of Manon when he does it, so amused with others’ discomfort.

Rowan glances back at Aelin’s chest, and when he looks up, she’s staring back at him, one brow raised in question. He immediately finishes the rest of his beer, downing it in one gulp.

“I need more beer. Anyone else?” Rowan asks, and to his surprise, Chaol stands and offers to come with him.

The pair stand side by side at the bar, waiting for their drinks, and Rowan is unsure of what to say to his current crush’s former paramour.

“So…” Chaol begins, and Rowan cocks an eyebrow at him as he leans against the bar. “You were at The Mason Jar last night,” Chaol says, naming the dive bar where he’d met up with the guys the night prior. “Aelin booked it to the bar when she saw you,” Chaol continues. “You guys, like, a thing?” he asks, curiosity seeping through his anything but innocent question.

“What?” Rowan says, bowled over. “No. Uh. Not at all.” Rowan is more than flustered. “I thought she and Dorian were…”

And at that Chaol tips his head back and guffaws. A deep, full-body belly laugh, erupts from his mouth. “Dorian?” he gapes, his brown eyes wide with disbelief. “And Aelin?” He shakes his head. “No. No no no. Never.” Chaol pauses. “They kissed once when they were thirteen, but other than that. No. Dorian is her person. Which is why it could never work between us, even though we tried for five fucking years,” he sighs and scratches the back of his neck uncomfortably. “But, no. They’re definitely not.” Chaol looks at Rowan, and Rowan feels like he’s seeing through him completely. Chaol smiles softly. “You really thought? Hmmm.”

Rowan is stunned. Seriously stunned. He has no idea how to react. Or how to process this new information. Dorian and Aelin are not dating? They’re just… friends? So, Aelin is available? And has been flirting with Rowan for the past week, and Rowan just shot her down? Rowan rubs his forehead with his hand, which he thinks is the only thing stopping him from banging his head against the bar in shame. Rowan is an idiot.

An idiot who needs to apologize to Aelin. Immediately.

“This was, uh… enlightening,” Rowan says as he accepts his drink from the bartender, and Chaol can’t help but laugh again.

“Did you do something stupid?” he asks cheekily.

“So stupid,” Rowan says, shaking his head.

“Yeah, she was kind of in a mood after she came back from talking to you,” Chaol says, and Rowan groans. Chaol holds up his hands in surrender. “Just trying to help!”

Rowan turns to him fully and examines the brunette with his concerned brown eyes and has to ask, “Not to be rude, but why?”

“Because Aelin deserves to be happy,” he says resolutely. “And I kept her from being happy for a really long time because I’m a selfish bastard,”Chaol admits way too freely. “But, how could I not?”

“You still love her,” Rowan says, and Chaol shrugs.

“I think once you love Aelin you always love her. For better or worse.”

Rowan motions to the table. “I’m gonna…”

Chaol smirks. “Yeah, get to it.”

But back at the table, Aelin and Dorian are nowhere to be found. Manon sighs, obvious to Rowan’s distress.

“She went to sign up for karaoke.”

“Oh no…” Rowan groans.

“Oh, yes,” Aelin says, bounding back to the table, exuberant.

“Don’t worry. I signed you up, too, Rowan,” Dorian says with a grin.

Aelin frowns, her eyes filled with apology. “I told him not to.”

Dorian rolls his eyes. “And I told her that if Rowan wants to hang with us this summer, he’s gotta get initiated.”

“It’s fine,” Rowan says, smiling in what he hopes is a nice and not creepy way to Aelin. She looks momentarily confused, but she doesn’t have time to think about it because she’s called up to do her song with Dorian almost immediately.

The pair sing “Shallow” flawlessly. And now that Rowan knows they aren’t dating, he can see their friendship all too clearly. Aelin and Dorian love each other fiercely; their passion rages through everything they do, but it lacks a spark. It’s platonic, Rowan finally realizes. He’s been such a fucking fool.

Rowan’s name gets called next, and his stomach is is knots, wondering what song they’ve chosen for him. When he gets to the front, though, he nearly laughs. They’ve chosen a song he could sing with his eyes completely closed.

Shorty get down, good lord… baby’s got ‘em up all over town…

Strictly biz she don’t play around, cover much ground, got game by the pound

Getting paid is her forte

Each and every day, true player way

I can’t get her out of my mind

Think about the girl all the time…

He knows the song is comeuppance for calling Aelin friendly last night, but he crushes it nonetheless, singing his heart out, performing for the masses. When Rowan finishes, the crowds go wild, applauding like crazy.

He sees Aelin bolt from the table before he can get back off the stage, and decides to follow her. She heads down the long hall back to the bathrooms, and his long stride helps him catch up quickly.

“Aelin!” he shouts, and he’s grateful that she pauses, but her arms are crossed over her chest, a clear defensive stance that tells him to keep his distance.

“What?” she snips, obviously pissed. They haven’t actually interacted with each other since last night, and Rowan knows she has every right to be angry with him. “I thought you wanted nothing to do with me? What are you even doing here, Rowan?”

“I’m an idiot,” he blurts out, and he can see Aelin’s face morph from pissed to amused. She bites her lip to hold back her smile.

“I mean, I know that, but why do you think that?” she says, her blue gold eyes glowing with challenge. He takes a step closer to her, and she backs up until she can’t back up anymore, pressed against the side of the hall. He pauses his approach, not wanting to make her feel cornered. If she wants space between them, he’ll let her have space.

“I was so out of line last night,” Rowan apologizes. “You were right. You were just trying to be friendly. I was being a dick. I thought…” Rowan pauses. He doesn’t want to be this tongue tied, but she flusters him, and he can’t get anything out how he wants to. “It’s not harassment when I want to be touched. By you.”

Aelin’s eyes narrow. She looks suspicious as she examines him. 

“I knew I was good at karaoke, but damn, I didn’t anticipate this kind of turnaround…” Aelin smirks and takes a breath, and Rowan risks taking another step forward. She holds up a hand and presses it against Rowan’s chest. He didn’t realize how close he’d gotten to her. Warmth from her palm seeps through his shirt, and he breathes heavily. She looks up into his eyes with curiosity.

“Seriously, what changed your mind?” she asks.

“If I say Chaol’s name right now it’s just going to make things weird,” Rowan says, dipping his head slightly, and he can’t help but notice her tilt her head up to him. He zeroes in on her lips, leaning down to get even closer.

“You’re right,” she says with a soft laugh. “You were still a jerk.” Her eyes flick to his lips, and Rowan darts his tongue out to wet them. 

“I know,” he breathes softly. “And I mentioned I was an idiot, right?”

Aelin nods and leans in to close the gap between them, the charge, the magnetism between them now palpable, strumming through Rowan’s body, pulling him downward. 

“Hey guysss,” Dorian drawls as he walks past them quickly, and Rowan straightens up suddenly. Aelin darts under his arm, freeing herself from being backed into the wall. He sees her take a large breath. “I was wondering where you’d gone.” Dorian looks between them, and then grabs his stomach. “I have to pee so bad. Don’t mind me!” He continues down the hall. “As you were!”

Rowan goes to finish his apology, but the moment is gone, and so is Aelin. He needs a moment to compose himself, and when he makes it back to the table, she’s already deep in conversation with Manon and Chaol and Nesryn about the latest karaoke performance. Apparently in his absence someone murdered “Bohemian Rhapsody” and not in a good way. But Aelin acknowledges Rowan’s presence with a flash of a smile, despite not breaking her conversation.

Manon side eyes Rowan suspiciously, and Rowan brushes her off. He’s not ready to talk about whatever just did or did not happen in that hallway.

Their chatter is aimless but pleasant as afternoon bleeds into evening, and eventually they all decide to disperse and head home. Rowan never gets a chance to speak to Aelin alone again, but when he and Manon are in their Uber heading home, his phone flashes with a Friend Request from Aelin Ashryver.

“Hmm,” Manon hums pointedly as Rowan bites back a smile. He spends the rest of the night in bed, scrolling through Aelin’s social media. As he’d originally planned to do with his day. Only now, he doesn’t feel as mopey or pathetic. He lets the rain, still relentless, lull him to sleep.

~*~*~*~*~*~

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[royallyjoon]

red light magic ii

“in my heart I have but one desire...

and that one is you,

no other will do...”

-

Two weeks passed by successfully. You found your classes fairly easy, all except for chemistry. Nevertheless, the professors were proud of your progress.

You chatted with your upperclassmen friends more and more in Psychology. Namjoon would steal your notebook to add little facts he remembered from past research to the gallery of notes you already took, while Hoseok would doodle smiley faces and stick figures when you were bored in class.

You found yourself leaving one side of each page blank to leave room for their additions. Between the two, they kept you entertained and educated.

They even frequently asked you about Jungkook, and you were shocked they knew him.

“He’s our dongsaeng,” Hoseok explained cheerfully. “We live together with him and five other friends.”

You nodded in understanding. “Would two of those other friends be Jimin and Taehyung?”

They paused. “Yeah, how did you know?”Namjoon asked.

 You felt flustered from suddenly having both of their attention. “Jungkook introduced me to them after the freshman activities at the end of the first week of school.”

They smile and went back to their respective notebooks before the professor started chastising your trio.

After class, they waited for you to pack your bags and started walking in the same direction as you.

“Where are you guys headed? You usually have class by now, right?” You hiked your bag up higher on your shoulders. You weren’t even a month into the term, but your bag already almost weighed so much from the force of your books.

“Aww, look at that, Joonie. (Y/N) memorized our schedule.” Hoseok threw his arm around your shoulders and you squeaked.

“It’s not that I memorized it, you told me when you left on the first day of school...and common sense says it’s where you go every Tuesday...” you muttered.

“Cute...” The two thought to themselves.

“Our teacher emailed us that he wouldn’t be able to make it, so he canceled the lecture. We’re up to date on the material, anyway.” Namjoon said.

You were finding it a bit difficult to focus on what he was saying with Hoseok’s arm on your shoulders but nodded along.

“What do you usually spend this period doing?” He asked.

“I read under the willow tree by Marie Pond with another sunbae.” You said.

The boys looked at each other. “What?” You asked.

“Sleeps a lot?” Hoseok asked.

“Yeah...”

“Pale, not too tall, blue hair?”

“Yeah!”

“Yoongi hyung.” They said together.

“He’ll hate us for coming with you and being loud, but as long as you don’t mind, we’d love to tag along.”

Your mind was reeling over how small your circle of friends was but you shook your head and smiled. “Of course I don’t mind, the more the merrier.”

-

“What are these two idiots doing here?” Yoongi grumbled upon your arrival. He was already positioned with his bag under his head, one wire earphone in and one out. 

“They’re in my Psychology class, sunbae. I heard you already knew each other.” You stated as you smoothed your skirt behind your legs. It was somewhat chilly out, but you left the house in an oversized green sweatshirt and jean skirt.

“Of course.” Yoongi rolled up his headphones and stuffed them in the outside pocket of his bag. “In sophomore year, Seokjin hyung forced me to join the Freshman Activities Board. I was trying to take a nap when these two loud ass kids came pestering me about ‘what is it like to study forensics?’”.

“You study forensics?” Your eyes widened. “What’s that like?”

Yoongi rolled his eyes as Namjoon and Hoseok burst into laughter. “There goes another one.”

He shifted around on the grass before settling in for his usual nap. “(Y/N), you know the drill. Namjoon, Hoseok, if you wake me up I will personally slaughter you.”

You giggled as you leaned against the tree. The two shifted away from Yoongi and towards you as you pulled out your chemistry textbook.

“Last minute homework? That’s so unlike you, (Y/N).” Namjoon noted. You sighed, “It isn’t last minute. Chemistry lectures are so difficult for me that I try to read ahead and get a gist of the material.”

Yoongi shifted onto one shoulder before turning his head slightly in your direction. “...If you want, I could tutor you in Chemistry. Callahan’s a softie, but most of his lectures are nonsense. I managed to pass his class with high grades.”

“You would tutor me, sunbae?” Your eyes widened a fraction. “I would love to be your student, as long as you aren’t too busy...” 

Yoongi grumbled before rolling to one side and sitting up. “I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t want to do it. C’mere.” He tugged on your bag, so you switched places with Hoseok and sat with your back to the tree next to Yoongi. 

The sophomores looked on with slight envy. 

Yoongi took your notebook and started pointing out concepts that the professor would absolutely put on the exam. You nodded at his explanations and found that the gibberish the professor spoke about when matched with Yoongi’s words, made complete sense.

“I understand! Thank you so much, sunbae!” You grinned at Yoongi. The senior felt himself blush. “It’s no problem. We’ll keep meeting up like this every week, yes? If you need the help, don’t be afraid to ask. I find I have way too much time on my hands this semester.” Yoongi smiled back and your heart softened.

“Hyung, did (Y/N) tell you? She knows Jungkookie as well.” Hoseok cut in.

“You’ve met our maknae?” He raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah, Jungkook and I share an English class. I didn’t really expect it, considering his major but he told me his program put him there so he can become a better scriptwriter.” You beamed.

 Your excitement at finding your one freshman friend outside of your roommates seemed to match Jungkook’s that Wednesday morning you walked into English. He picked up his bag and you two found seats in the middle of the room next to each other.

“(N/N)’s such a diligent worker.” Hoseok mused.

“(N/N)?” You asked.

His smile dropped. “I mean, I just thought it fit well with you, and your personality...”

You broke out into laughter. “You can call me that, it’s fine! Thank you for the nickname.”

Hoseok perked up again. “That’s good. I’m glad!”

Your cheeks burned and Yoongi waved him off, threatening to kick someone into the pond if they didn’t shut up and let him sleep.

-

The next morning, you woke up late. Your roommates were already gone, but they made breakfast and left you a plate. You’d have to remember to thank them when they returned. 

Wednesdays were your favorite yet least favorite for the same reason: English class. Yes, you got to see Jungkook and spend time together in class. But there was one person who managed to distract and infuriate you in the hour and forty-five minute period.

Christopher Harl.

He was funny, cute, and sometimes sweet. Yet he ignored your very existence and when he did pay attention to you, it was to call you out in front of everyone.

Jungkook obviously didn’t like him. If it hadn’t been for your intervention, they probably would have fought by now. You sighed as you ate the cut-up left for you. Today would be a hassle, alright. But it was only for two hours.

You got changed into flowy, black pants with a red shirt and red sneakers. You swung your packed book bag on your back, grabbed your phone, and strolled through the door.

-

Upon arriving at the classroom, it dawned on you that you’d forgotten multiple things. 

Your keys, for one. Your headphones (your lifeblood), for another. And most importantly, your assignment. 

The teacher had assigned an essay that was worth 40% of the term grade, the first part of which is due this morning. 

You hadn’t printed it out, forgetting it in your exhaustion as you’d only finished it this morning around 3. Unlike your other professors, this teacher would not accept online submission and made the students print it out.

It was now, as you stood in the doorway of the classroom on the verge of panicking that Christopher walked up behind you.

“Well, if it isn’t the slacker, (Y/N) (L/N)-”

“Shit!” Your face crumpled all at once and you accidentally turned to slam right into Christopher’s chest. He stumbled backward, grabbing your shoulders for balance.

This was the scene Jungkook turned the hall to.

All the freshman could focus on was the clear distress and panic in your eyes. You were on the verge of tears as Christopher fucking Harl had his hands on your shoulders and a sneer on his lips.

Jungkook tried. He truly had. He wanted to make you happy, and if he had to restrain from giving someone a royal ass-whooping to do that, he would.

But Christopher Harl made you cry.

That was the last straw. 

Jungkook threw his bag down and raced down the hallway.

You turned your head at the sound of rapid footsteps. Jungkook was racing towards the two of you, and a crowd of incoming students gathered to watch the inevitable.

You pushed Christopher’s hands off your shoulders, rapidly wiping tears away. “Jungkook, wait! Stop!”

He made no move to a stop, and lightning-fast his fist came up and punched Christopher in the jaw. 

The other boy flew, landing harshly on his back. You winced. “Jungkook!”

Your friend was about to climb on top of Christopher and show him just what he thought about his teasing, but he walked over at the sound of your exclamation. “Did he tell you something? Did he put his hands on you? Are you alright?”

Your voice was trembling. “No, I just-I’m such a dumbass, I forgot to print the essay and Yealman is such a bitch, I-she won’t give me any extra time and class is about to start-”

Jungkook exhaled. “That’s all you were worried about? Did you not get the announcement?”

You blinked tears out of your eyes. “What?”

“Yealman posted that she can’t make it to class. We’re having a sub, but she’ll collect the essays in person on Friday.”

You stood in shock. 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” You said at the same time as Christopher. He rose, rubbing his jaw. “I didn’t do anything to her, Jeon! Why the fuck would you punch me?”

Jungkook frowned. “You think you’re hot shit, walking around and insulting people genuinely better than you. Kiss my ass, Hurl.”

Christopher tugged Jungkook’s shoulder to make him face him. You figured it was about time for you to step in. 

“Guys, stop! Jungkook, you didn’t have to punch him, you were in the wrong. Christopher-”

“What is going on here?” The presence of a new voice made all heads turn.

The most beautiful man you’d ever seen walked into your midst. He held a folder and a computer. He was simply dressed but outshone the rest.

“Hyung?” Jungkook whispered. You snapped your head back and forth between the two.

“Jungkook, this isn’t a great impression you’re making not even a month into the school year.” The Adonis in front of you claimed. “Everyone else, please usher yourselves inside the room as quickly as possible. I will be right back with your three classmates.”

“Hyung? Who is that?” You whispered to Jungkook.

The man extended his hand towards you. “Seokjin Kim, at your service. A pleasure to meet you.”

-

“That’s essentially what happened.” You finished explaining the matter to Mr. Kim, who was calmly perching on the desk in Professor Yealman’s office. 

“So, it seems you do owe Mr. Hurl-”

“Harl, sir,” Christopher grumbled as Jungkook snickered.

“Yes, my mistake. You owe Mr. Harl an apology, Jungkook.” Mr. Kim sighed. 

“I apologize for punching you when you didn’t deserve it,” Jungkook said. “I’ll be sure to do so when appropriate.”

You gently slapped his arm and Christopher bristled.

“Now, Ms. (L/N), as you have heard the essay will be collected Friday. Feel free to use my computer to print your assignment here.” Mr. Kim held out his device.

“Oh, Mr. Kim, thank you so much but it’s really okay. We have a printer back at the do-” You were about to reassure him when it occurred to you that you were currently locked out of your room, the panic from this morning ruining your entire day.

“On second thought, thank you so much.” You shyly took the laptop and waited as he entered his password. 

“It’s my pleasure. We wouldn’t want you having a repeat of today on Friday morning.” Mr. Kim smiled and you nodded, not looking into his eyes. 

“Hyung, what are you doing here?” Jungkook asked.

“When we’re in school, I’m Mr. Kim. And I’m here because your teacher is absent. Karu likes to call on nearby alumn for substitutes instead of other teachers.” The man said, rolling his eyes.

A couple of minutes later, your paper was fresh in your hands.

“Thank you again, Mr. Kim.” He held the door open for the three of you as you walked back to class. Jungkook pulled you aside and let the other two go down the hallway.

“What’s wrong with your dorm?” He asked, brows furrowed. 

“I forgot my keys at home this morning too, with my headphones. My roommates won’t be back for a while, they all have clubs today. I don’t really have anyone else to stay with at the hall.” You muttered.

“What time does your last class end?” 

“...around 4:30, why?”

“Come and meet me outside of the Elizabeth Juno Building; my last art class is there.”

“Why?”

“You’ll see!” Jungkook started walking faster to get back to the classroom. Outside of it, Christopher stood with his hand on the back of his neck. When he saw you two approaching, he glared warily at Jungkook. 

The other boy gave him a look of warning as he entered the classroom. Before you could, however, Christopher stopped you.

“Is there something else you need?” You asked him. 

He stood there staring at you for another minute. It was starting to get uncomfortable. But Christopher was just trying to find a way to gather his words. 

When he saw you break in his arms this morning, he realized how childish he was being. And he also realized he never wanted to see you cry over school again.

“I...just wanted to say I’m sorry for the immature and unnecessary things I’ve said to you. They weren’t true, and it’s about time I grow up. I’m also sorry that you had such a stressful morning...”

Your jaw almost dropped but you held it up to avoid looking like a fish. “Um...that’s really nice of you to say, Christopher.”

“Call me Chris.”

“...Chris...thank you.” You gave him a quick smile and entered the classroom before Jungkook got suspicious.

Christopher came in right behind you and closed the door. He failed to notice two sets of eyes piercing his back the entire time it took him to return to his seat.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Witness : 29

Dispossessed

Character(s): dark!Bucky, dark!Steve, too

Masterlist

Warnings: this is a dark!fic, it contains non/dubious-consent elements. Some violence as well at the beginning. It goes without (and with) that this is 18+.

In this chapter: just usual Bucky.

Summary: Things starts moving too fast for the reader.

Notes: Alright, since you all asked so nicely, you get two series today (part 3 of Happy Together was posted earlier). So here you guys go. Hope you enjoy this chapter. Some interesting plot so forgive the lack of smut but I hope you have fun with it. <3

Please, reblog and or reply with your thoughts!! I’ll see you in the next one. :)

The distant melody of your alarm rang in your head. Slowly the haze began to clear as you felt yourself ascending. A warmth on your shoulder, your name uttered next to your ear. “Y/N, wake up. Come on.” Your eyes shot open and you looked up in the dim, Bucky sat next to you on his large bed. He was still naked, as were you, and by the wrinkle of the sheet and duvet next to you, you could guess that he had slept next to you. You couldn’t even remember falling asleep and assumed that you had passed out during your nocturnal activities and been shuffled aside thereafter.

“What?” You croaked, reaching up to touch your forehead. You were sore all over. Every inch of you was screaming with the weight of the night before. “Grrmph.” You grumbled as Bucky helped you to a sitting position.

“You have to work,” Bucky said, his face clearing through your vision. “I went by your apartment and grabbed some clothes after you nodded off.” You shrugged his hand away from your shoulder, “You should get washed up.”

“I...should,” You agreed dumbly. You turned slowly, groaning as your legs thrummed. You bent forward and held your head. “Goddamnit.” You could still feel the layer of sweat and cum clinging to your skin. Bucky moved to sit next to you, his hand on the small of your back.

“Isn’t this what you wanted?” He asked in a low voice, “Hmm, take your body and leave everything else?”

“Fuck you,” You sat straight, your head spinning, “You’re disgusting.”

“You like it,” He smirked, “Just a touch and your soaking wet.”

“Where’s your shower?” You stood, holding in another grunt. You crossed your arms over your bare chest.

“This way,” He rose and squeezed your ass as he passed, heading for the door.

You sighed as you watched his naked ass disappear through the doorway and followed him reluctantly. The faster you showered, the sooner you’d be gone. He opened the second door along the hallway and waved you inside. He watched you intently as you neared and entered ahead of you. He closed the door and pressed himself against you as he guided you towards the large shower, a sliding glass door already open and waiting. He was hard again and you shuddered.

He parted from you and stepped away, reaching into the shower to crank the faucet on. The water sprayed down, steam rising around the downpour and you yearned for its hot embrace. You almost forgot about Bucky for the promise of cleansing. You were disappointed however as he entered the shower, realizing you would not be left alone. You rolled your eyes and dropped your head a second before kicking yourself into action. He beckoned you in ahead of him, right under the waterfall, and you couldn’t help the breath of relief that escaped you.

You found the soap upon the shelf, reaching for it even though it smelled of thick sandalwood. You squeezed some into your hand and Bucky reached over your shoulder to steal the bottle. You heard the bottle deflate and inflate, the lid flipped shut as he hovered it beside you, waiting for you to replace it. You set it back on the shelf and began to scrub yourself with just your hands and nails, content enough to do that. When you lathered your hair with some of his shampoo, he helped the process, his erection poking you in the back as his fingers played with your hair.

“If we weren’t running against the clock…” He purred, turning you so that your head was under the stream and he began to rinse the shampoo from your hair, guiding the bubbles down the strands. “You were very good last night but it will be a while before I can trust you.”

“I know,” You said grimly. “I think I’m done.” You gesture to your hair, “May I?” You gestured to the shower door.

He grinned, his hand tracing the line of your clavicle before he pulled away. “Go ahead,” He stepped back and slid open the door, “I’ll be out shortly. Your clothes are on the sofa in the bedroom.”

You grabbed a towel from the rack as the door slid closed behind you. You walked back to the bedroom as you dried yourself off, wrapping the towel around your head. You dressed, realizing he had refrained from grabbing panties for you. You couldn’t help but think it deliberate. You pulled on the knee-length pencil skirt and retrieved your bra from the floor. You buttoned the pale blue blouse while you searched for your tights. Great, there was run right up the length of the left leg. Well, the fall weather would not be kind to your bare legs.

Your rubbed dry your hair and brushed it out in front of the mirror hung on the wall. You looked decent considering, though your eyes were dark with fatigue. You heard footsteps and Bucky followed, a towel at his waist as he opened his dresser and searched for clothes. “Could you throw on a pot of coffee?” He asked over his shoulder, “Machine’s along the counter right beneath the microwave.”

“Uh, sure,” You hid your scowl. It was odd. You hated when he spoke to you like this. When he pretended that this was normal relationship. You turned and left the room, opting to focus on brewing caffeine as much for your own sake as his. You could be annoyed with him later.

After Bucky had dropped you off at work, you spent the day trying to keep yourself awake at your desk. Pepper was halfway down your throat about a booking at some venue or another and you were trying to find a caterer who did bacon-wrapped shrimp for Tony’s birthday. You suspected you’d not be invited nor partake in the delicious-sounding appetizer. Either way, it distracted you from memories of the night before.

When the day was over, you yawned and departed for you own car. You were almost elated to drive yourself and dared to be hopeful that your night would be quiet. You stopped by the liquor store, a bottle of wine paid for, and headed to your building. You dropped your bag and kicked off your shoes as you entered your apartment and dragged your feet over to the couch before flopping on it. You uncorked the wine bottle and drank straight from the neck as you flipped on the television. Every hour passed and your stomach fluttered as Bucky made no appearance and your phone remained entirely inert. You fell asleep when the bottle had barely a gulp left to it, deep into alcohol-laced splendour.

Wednesday. Middle of the week, halfway to the weekend though for you it Saturday was rarely a day of rest. After spending your night in a drunken stupour, you felt just as poorly rested as the night before. Your work didn’t help as your eyes drooped and you sucked back your third cup of coffee. The caffeine fueled your lingering paranoia. You wondered at Bucky and Steve’s absence since Monday night. It wasn’t peculiar, they weren’t there every day, but you still felt uneasy.

You drove home in silence. No radio, just the engine and your own thoughts bouncing around. You didn’t speed, patiently waiting at stop lights as you glanced around the busy New York streets. You were feeling wistful. As if mourning your past once and for all. You were so tired, so worn out, it was all sinking it. You didn’t know if you longed for those lonely, boring nights, but the life you lived now made it seem a distant dream.

As you pulled up to your building, you stopped short. A large moving truck sat centre and blocked most of the spots, empty or otherwise. You huffed and parked your car on the street, tiredly grabbing your purse and heading for the salvation of your apartment. The stairs seemed too steep to climb and you were nearly out of breath as you reached the top. Your door was wide open. The hairs on the back of your head stood up and you entered cautiously. You could hear hangers sliding along a metal bar as you entered, the noise of someone rummaging through your closet coming from the bedroom.

Your clothes were stacked on your bed and Bucky was tossing more on the pile. You stared at him and gaped, the rest of your room stripped of all but the furnishings. No…

“What the fuck?” You hissed.

“Finally,” Bucky set more blouses atop the mound, “Start putting these in boxes,” He ordered, merrily continuing his work.

“Woah, woah, woah, what are you doing?” You crossed your arms, your purse sagging annoyingly down to your elbow.

“Moving,” He said as if it was a perfectly acceptable explanation.

“Jesus,” You dropped your purse and grabbed a handful of hangers, moving to return them to the closet. Bucky stopped you, his hand on yours as he backed you away from the folding door.

“I was thinking about it,” He took the clothes from you, tossing them without looking on top of the rest. “It’s a hassle having to run over here to get you clothes. In fact, I’ve wasted a lot of time driving back and forth across this city. So I figured it would be easier if you just stayed at my place. Less expensive, too. No rent for you.”

“I’m not doing that,” You growled, “You’re fucking insane.”

He scoffed before carrying on. “And since you’ve shown me how I can’t trust you, it would be all the better to keep an eye on you.” He leaned down, lowering his voice as he spoke in your ear, “Keep you nice and close so you can’t go sneaking around.”

“I won’t go,” You snarled, trying to back away but he latched onto your arms and held you in place.

“Fine, but you won’t have much longer before you have nowhere to go if you do,” He smirked, his expression startling, “I already gave your notice. You’re out at month’s end and the landlord’s set to auction off all your furniture. Proceeds are yours, of course.”

“You’re fucking kidding?” You sputtered angrily, trapped in his clutches.

“When do I fucking joke?” He released you with a shove and turned back to the closet, pausing to bark over his shoulder, “Well, get to work. We still have a lot to go.”

+

tags:  @they-call-me-le @holylulusworld  @petit-funsize @ladyofmyst @kellyn1604 @thelostallycat @grayxswan @collette04 @butteryoptimisticpeanut @buckycaptspideypool @blackpantherimagines @lilithhellfire @captainfreecandyvan @spaghettirogers @phoenix21love @sathlens @iheartsebastianstan @bethanyzed @breezy1415 @alexakeyloveloki @beautiful-and-strange @momc95

[winterysomnium]

post graduation roommates/getting together Todobaku tho

this is what happens when I’m too lazy to write but also have an idea

- they’re not even sure how it happens, this whole living together thing, but after graduation Todoroki wants to move out permanently because as much as Enji’s trying, they still see each other all day at work and Todoroki just needs his peace and Bakugou doesn’t wanna commute ‘cause it’s a hassle and it’s better to live closer to where most villains operate, right? right

- they get a small, cramped top floor apartment with a tiny balcony, joint kitchen and living room, an old fashioned bathroom and two tiny bedrooms

- they spend a better part of a week cleaning and fixing it up and Todoroki is infuriatingly good with setting up Ikea level furniture and decoding the manuals to Bakugou’s eternal irritation because this is the guy that doesn’t even know how to cook a medium rare steak?? but somehow cryptic fucking language makes sense to him?? how??

- and where did he even get the tatami mats from stop pulling all-nighters just so you can set up your dumb manga shelf, you goddamn nerd!!  (Kirishima gets a lot of annoyed texts like that that week. Todoroki will be good for Bakugou, he thinks.)

- Bakugou’s pretty much in charge of the kitchen and all hell breaks loose if Todoroki does the thing where he just puts stuff away randomly (as he tends to do) because why would you put rice to your tea ?? do you even have a brain up there?? Todoroki: it’s breakfast food Bakugou: that’s not how you fucking sort -- just get out, oh my god 

- but he still makes enough for two bentos even if he just leaves the food on a plate or in the fridge for Todoroki to put into his bento box, which Bakugou also got him because he’d found out that Todoroki didn’t have one and just bought lunch at random places and geez first of all: do you even know what a budget is and second of all: it’s not healthy so shut up and eat your damn fried shrimp rice

- Todoroki has incredibly steady hands. Bakugou learns this when he gets his first bad face injury; it creeps up from his cheek across his eyelid to the edge of his brow and there’s necessary aftercare and a few days off work which leave him frustrated and irritated as hell. His face itches and he can’t really touch it too much besides redressing it and he keeps want to rub his cheek aggressively and his hands keep getting sweaty when he tries to fix the bandages so he almost bites Todoroki’s head off, snaping at him when he grabs the salve and wound dressings  out of his sweaty explosive hands but Todoroki just offers “Eye injuries is something I’m familiar with,” as explanation and he treats Bakugou so so tenderly it almost feels like a punch and grudgingly, Bakugou lets him.

- They help each other out after that, regularly, with small scrapes and scratches or hard to reach lingering hurts and not once, not even after gruelling days of work and nearly sleepless nights and bad endings and the feeling of not having done enough, not once do Todoroki’s hands tremble.

- Bakugou cuts the back of Todoroki’s hair after he finally stops laughing because that’s the most impressive fucking sinusoid he’s ever seen in hair form and maybe. just maybe Todoroki looks a little embarrassed when he hands the scissors over which counts as a win in Bakugou’s book

- two am is their talk hour, in the liminal space of Torodoki’s gentle treating hands and sometimes in the crook of Bakugou’s mouth when they sip on Bakugou’s Dad’s special ‘bad day’ tea and the cups somehow feel more and more full the more they drink, emotion and exhaustion and doubt soaking the ceramic and Bakugou’s voice goes soft and quiet and in exchange, Todoroki bumps or simply touches his shoulder, as if he’s trying to amplify his voice again and sometimes, Bakugou will grudgingly admit, it even works. (Todoroki’s hands don’t tremble, but sometimes, his voice does.)

- they get a little ( a little) drunk on Midoriya’s birthday and pass out on top of each other in Bakugou’s bed and one of them might have held onto the other’s fingers and pressed their whole body against the other, flush and warm and there’s a lot of non-utilized bed space left but they’re stubbornly ignoring any opportunity of using it and just pretend there’s nothing beyond the border of their own bodies

- it’s a close call on both ends about a year and a half into being roommates, when a good chunk of the bay tears itself apart under the hands of a villain group and there’s a surgery, a couple of broken bones and ironically, they share a room at the hospital as well. “Maybe it really is a curse, me messing up people’s hands,’’ Todoroki says and there’s a wry, hurt smile and somehow it hurts even more to look at, so Bakugou knocks his cast against Todoroki’s bruised ribs ‘cause it serves him right. As if he’s the only one worried here.

- Bakugou stays in the hospital a day longer than Todoroki and when he comes back Todoroki has managed to nearly destroy their second best pot but the curry’s not as burned as the pot made it look out to be and it’s hot, burning in the way Bakugou likes his food to burn and if he tears up it’s the big chunks of chilli peppers Todoroki put in there that’s not how you do this, candy cane face,  haven’t I taught you better?? (and then Todoroki reveals that he has also bought Bakugou’s guilty pleasure take out as a fail-safe because he’d thought he might actually set the kitchen on fire despite Bakugou tutoring him on cooking and that tight press of anxiety snaps and falls off from around Bakugou’s chest as he scrubs the burned bottom of the pot, thinking of Todoroki, and why does this put him at ease, out of all things?)

- and yes, Todoroki has definitely set fire to several things in their kitchen in the name of reheating something or just probably wanting to piss Bakugou off because he told him he hates that and don’t you dare stick your grubby fingers into or anywhere near my drink, I’m getting my ice from the fridge, you freak

- Bakugou’s lip gets split the next time he’s back on duty and Todoroki keeps looking at it, his eyes drawn to the cut relentlessly and his looks are like an itch; Bakugou corners him in the middle of sorting out their fresh laundry, presses him against the washing machine and asks him what the fuck are you doing? and Todoroki just clenches his jaw and his eyes drop to Bakugou’s mouth again and heat rises inside of Bakugou like a shock wave and then Todoroki licks his own lips and Bakugou shoves him, just a little, what the hell are you thinking, giving a guy a look like that? he asks, voice rough but he feels a flush on his face and with slow, deliberate hesitation Todoroki’s fingers cup his face, and he leans in, kisses Bakugou softly and barely there and like a tease but Bakugou knows Todoroki’s dating expertise is zero and it’s not like either of them have time to date anyway -- yet, he kisses Todoroki back, presses him some more into the uncomfortable plastic of the washing machine and when the beat of his heart stops engulfing the whole of his heart, his being, he notices something else: Todoroki’s hands are trembling against his face, imperceptibly.

- and because they are a couple of dumbasses they don’t really talk, just make out, occasionally, on slow afternoons and after long long painful days, and sometimes, sometimes Bakugou kisses Todoroki after breakfast and before bed, but never on the same day. 

- one night, Todoroki stands in Bakugou’s bedroom’s doorway, shoulders so tense he’s probably pulling a muscle and they stare at each other for a long moment, before -- can I sleep here with you, tonight? Todoroki asks and he seems to be so vulnerable in the faded light and with his sleep clothes on and his bare feet; and Bakugou nods and scoots, but I’m keeping the right side of the bed, he growls as a warning but it’s half hearted at best and they both know they’re gonna end up pressed against each other in the middle of the bed anyway, arms and legs tangled, and the moment Todoroki’s under the covers Bakugou pulls him in, doesn’t ask and closes his eyes; he won’t ask. But Todoroki offers it anyway, sinks into Bakugou’s bed and Bakugou’s arms, fingers curling against Bakugou’s own; “My father is an asshole,” he says angry and bitter and sad and Bakugou knows enough to not pry and just kisses the back of Todoroki’s neck, once, asks: “Wanna forget about him?“ and Todoroki’s breath hitches but he nods and when they’re done, hours later, Todoroki’s silhouette stays relaxed, pliant under Bakugou’s palms. 

- it becomes a thing, and it grows underneath and between them and sometimes they’re hungry, sometimes they’re hurt and angry, sometimes they’re tender and scared and because Bakugou thinks it’s pathetic that Todoroki made all the first moves before, and because he thinks Todoroki needs to hear it, more than Bakugou, more than most of them, probably, he tells him; says, “Shouto, I love you, but that shirt is fucking hideous.” and Todoroki looks up, startled, and so what if Bakugou said it in the middle of an Abercrombie and Fitch store, both are true and both needed to be said and they’re definitely worth the smile Shouto gives him, and -- “Don’t know if I should take fashion advice from a guy that still shops at Hot Topic, Katsuki,” Todoroki teases and yeah, yeah, it’s good. They’re good and -- (’I love you, too,’ Todoroki says, the moment they step into their tiny hallway and the door is shut behind them.) Yeah, they’re great.               

[thirstiswet]

butterflies

this is my post for the winter challenge by @helplessly-nonstop ty cassie for making this!

i chose “sure we’re best friends but I’d fuck you if you’d ask. what? they said they’d fuck you if you’d ask!”

elias x reader. you’d both been friends for years and always flirt but never really do anything about anything for fear of ruining the friendship. and then you go and say some dumb shit and have a moment(?) idk it’s some fluff tho <3 let me know if anything is funky

You’re currently backstage sitting on some unused road cases waiting on Elias while he gets his hair and beard trimmed. You don’t have a segment for the night, having done your video promos earlier in the day, so you decided to tag along. 

“Sure, we’re best friends. But I’d have sex with you if ya asked.” You casually state, folding one of your legs under you trying to get In a better sitting position. You’re too busy looking down at your phone, otherwise, you would have seen the shock and blush that began at the tips of his ears and ran down his face and neck. You’d been continuing a conversation that you had both been apart of earlier in the day with some of the other superstars. 

“Wait— What?” Confusion laced in his voice, and maybe hope, but you didn’t want to dwell on that too much. 

“She said she’d fuck you if you’d ask!” Renee hollers from the other side of the room, causing both of you to look up and turn towards her. She scrunches up her face and tosses you a wink. 

The two of you had danced around each other for the longest time. Always flirting but never really following through with anything for fear of ruining your friendship. There might have been a few drunken make-outs here and there, but who among their group hadn’t done that. Hell, that had pretty much been what the conversation from earlier had been about. The night before the two of you were caught making out in a corner booth at some bar, and Seth and Bayley had come to hassle you both earlier in the day about it. Now after yours, and Renee’s statements you were left with a dumbfounded musician, and the entire glam squad, in front of you, waiting for you to continue. 

Freezing, now with all eyes on you, “HA—! Just kidding!” You're trying to stamp out the awkwardness that you most definitely feel now.  You look over to Elias and it looks like hurt flashes across his face. It’s quick, so you almost missed it but it was there. Oh no. Your heart squeezes in your chest. “I’m going to go get some food!” You quickly make your exit, trying to get out of there as soon as possible. 

———

Later that night back in your hotel you found your self feeling guilty over what you said earlier. Changing into your pajamas of a baggy t-shirt and shorts you send a quick text off to Sasha and Bayley asking them to come over to help you forget about your embarrassment. Why did I think that was a good thing to say in public? Thinking to yourself as you settle under the covers on the bed and turn on some Netflix. Just because you’ve been slowing pining after him for years doesn’t mean he has the same feelings.

You had spent the rest of the RAW trying your hardest to avoid Elias and you had done really well; Until it was time to leave, then, as you were walking out you ran right into him, falling back onto your butt. He helped you back on your feet and before he could say anything you give him a quick thank you and practically ran away. 

KnockKnockKnock

”That was quick, I just sent y’all the text.” 

NOTTHEGIRLS!

Elias stands in front of you back to the door as you open it, almost as if he changed his mind and started to walk away. 

“What are you doing here?” There’s a hitch in your voice, uncertain of what his reaction would be. Turning around to face you his green eyes don’t quite meet yours. His brows are furrowed as if he was trying to find the right words to say, which is probably what was happening. Unsure of what to do you stand motionless in the doorway taking a chance to get a good look at him. He’s dressed in just jeans and a t-shirt, his hair up in a bun. You think that no matter what he’s doing he still tends to look good in anything. 

Finally, with a sigh of determination, his lips part and ask, “What did you mean earlier?”

Womp womp

Stepping back you motion him to come in the room. You definitely didn’t want to have this conversation halfway in the hall. Elias walks in and takes a seat on the chair, still not making eye contact he leans forward, claps his hands together and rests his elbows on his thighs. You take a seat on the edge of the bed, unsure of what exactly to say to him. You can’t just outright say you’ve more or less been in love with him for years. So you go with playing oblivious. 

“When?”

The glare he gives you leaves no room for interpretation. It almost makes you chuckle, you would if your entire friendship didn’t hinge on this conversation ending well. 

What if this goes wrong? What if he laughs in your face and calls you ridiculous? What if he never speaks to you again? 

Your internal conflict was causing all kinds of butterflies in your stomach, and not the good kind. You wiggle with nervous energy on the bed folding a leg under you and shaking the other as it hangs over the edge. 

But what if you actually tell him you really really like him? That you don’t want to just make out with him. But you want to actually be him. What if he smiles, and he has those adorable eye crinkles. What if he blushes and you get to explore how far it goes?

You stop fidgeting, you’ve decided. Taking a determined breath, you sit up straight, look him right in the eye, and begin, “Elias, I—“

BANGBANGBANG

“Girl answer your phone! What movie did you want?” Bayley bellows as she continues banging on the door. Jumping off the bed you run to shoo them away. 

Opening the hotel door a smidge you peak out and give Bayley and Sasha a harsh whisper, “Guys! I’m a little busy, something came up I’ll—“ 

Sasha pushes her way in completely deflecting what you had to say with Bayley right behind her. They’re carrying m&m’s, popcorn and a couple of movies in their hands, “What do you mean something— Oh!” “Elias!” Finally seeing Elias in the corner has them coming to a halt and you rushing up behind them. 

“Yes, see, busy. Please go.” Grabbing their arms you push them back to the door, “I’ll text you when I’m done. I will definitely need to vent later,” You whisper to them so that Elias couldn’t hear. You get them there and before you can push them out Sasha says loud enough for him to hear, “Oh no! I’m sure he’ll keep you all night! You guys have fun!” She tosses Elias a wave over your shoulder and gives you a wink and like that they’re gone. 

Closing the door you rest your head against it. Hoping the coolness will help calm you down because after that you are flushed red. You take a couple of deep breaths and prepare yourself for what’s next. 

“Darlin’?” You didn’t hear him get up from the chair but you can feel his presence directly behind you. He gently grabs your arm and turns you around. He’s so close, so very close, you feel his breath fan your face and you can feel the warmth coming off him. He always feels so warm. It’s like you could cuddle up next to him on a cold winter night and be fine. And god do you want too. You see his eyes sparkle as they rake over your face. You can never tell quite what color they are. Always changing. But it doesn’t matter, because you just want to get lost in them all the time. 

In a whispered breath he asks, “Darlin’ can I kiss you?” 

And you reply, “Yes.”

[avocadopomegranate]

IN WHICH Jamilla is just scraping by and scared of commitment, and Jack just wants to be there for her a.k.a Tinder hookup turned serious.

High school drop out, living in a crammed, deteriorating apartment in one of London’s tougher areas, broken family and too much baggage. Jamilla hates these labels, so when her Tinder hookup seems to become something more than just sex, she dreads him finding out... she just wants to feel normal, for once.

—

He was a year older, lived in London and looked cute enough from his profile picture. Honestly, Jamilla wasn’t thinking too hard when she swiped right on the match - it was a stressful week, she was sick of bickering with her younger brother, sick of her two jobs, sick of that bitch hassling her on Instagram... she deserved a night where she could enjoy herself and “Jack” seemed alright. When he proposed she meet him at a decent South London club she was sold. Alcohol, sex and some sleep sounded like the ideal night’s activities.

Under the coloured lights in the club, his eyes shined and his smile was breathtaking. Jamilla was impressed at what she’d pulled, surprised she hadn’t recognised just how... beautiful he was from the selfie on his dating account. She pushed it to the back of her mind, tugging at her second-hand party dress and giving him a friendly wave.

It wasn’t that awkward between them. She felt comfortable enough, he spoke respectfully although his tone was somewhat flirtatious, and wasn’t shoving his hands up her skirt like a sleeze. A plus, she guessed. He was slightly tipsy, she could see that, but nowhere near drunk enough to jump into a meaningless fuck. He bought her drinks which she consumed hungrily, continuing their small talk until it disintegrated into slurred sentences and hysteric laughs. The alcohol coursing through her made her buzz, and soon Jamilla had her hands on his thigh, lips beside his ear and a suggestive smirk painted on her mouth...

“Let’s get out of here?” Jack spoke huskily. “My place or yours?”

The idea of her shitty apartment almost sobered her up for a second. She pictured the bleak reality she was hiding from, as well as the disgust Jack would feel at her living state and shook her head wildly. “Yours.”

—

She woke up the next morning before he did, slipping into her clothes as the sun filtered pale light through the cracks in the blinds. Jack was buried under the warm quilt, blonde tips splayed across the pillow and a muscular arm cast beside him. She admired the tattoos she had barely noticed last night and smiled, for a moment losing herself in a daydream of comfort, belonging, love... imagine if waking up like this could be normal.

Jamilla blinked, breaking the trance. She was too busy for serious shit like that, too selfless and too stubborn to believe for a second that something that perfect could happen to her. Hurriedly she took her phone from the bedside table and picked her shoes up from the ground, all the while contemplating whether it would be inappropriate to leave a note... she’d enjoyed last night, he was charming and much better company than previous matches. What was the harm? The worst scenario was she’d never hear from him again

Enjoyed your company x If you’re up for it again, text me.

**********

Jamilla

—

Jack texted her just over a week later. Jamilla had let it float to the back of her mind, other areas of her life forcing themselves as priorities. But when he texted, it sent a cheeky grin to her lips.

They met several times across a few months, hitting the club and then heading to his becoming almost a ritual. His company became one she looked forward to at the end of a chaotic day - not just the sex and the alcohol, but everything in between that. It was comfortable, familiar. Maybe that’s not what hookups were supposed to become, but Jamilla was happy with it. There were no strings attached but a mutual connection between them. It was okay.

“My brother gets home tomorrow morning, any chance we can go to yours?” Jack inquired one night as they left the club, his hand pressed to the small of her back as her guided her through the crowd. Jamilla felt his hot breath on her ear, the risqué edge to his words. She couldn’t invite him to hers even if it wasn’t a shitheap and an embarrassment as her three siblings and uncle lived there. “I live with my family.” She hissed back, feeling the guilt pool in her stomach at always going to his and not hers. “Sorry.”

“Fuck,” Jamilla watched as he ran a hand through his growing hair, worried she’d ruined the night. After a moment of consideration he glanced at her again. “Fuck it, his flight will probably be delayed anyway.”

His lips found her neck as they tumbled into an Uber and she couldn’t help but smile, pushing any worry away.

—

Jamilla stirred at what felt later than her normal hour, smothered under Jack’s arm and comforted by his warmth. She was almost tempted to snuggle closer into him, let her eyes flutter closed and drift back into a calm slumber, but knew better. Wiping away the sleep from her eyes, she rolled over to grab her phone. Fuck, it was several hours later than she usually woke up when she stayed overnight. Thinking back, she hadn’t slept well at all that week - she was probably catching up on sleep while she was comfortable.

She didn’t notice Jack lifting his head beside her, bleary eyes squinting at her sitting beside him, so she jumped a little when he addressed her. “Hm, you’re usually gone by the time I wake up. Please don’t tell me it’s sparrow’s fart or something.”

As Jack rolled onto his back, Jamilla huffed a reply. “Nah it’s later, I must have slept in, sorry.”

“No, no problem!” The boy hurried out, voice husky from sleep. “I mean, you’re welcome to stay as long as you want.”

“Thank you.” She murmured back. It might not seem like much but his offer was touching, it showed a human side to him that she sometimes missed when they were caught up in a whirlwind of lust and intoxication.

Jamilla pulled the covers off, wincing as she was greeted with frosty air. “Shit it’s cold.” She swore. To find some temporary heat she wrapped her arms around her body which was protected only by undergarments, as she searched for her jeans and top from yesterday.

“Fucking hell, it is.” Jack grumbles as he clambers out of the bed himself. She watched as he pulled a hoodie over his torso, occupied for a moment before focusing her attention elsewhere, mulling over bus timetables and her sister’s whereabouts.

“Here,” Jamilla glanced up in time to catch the jumper he threw her way. “You must be freezing.”

It smelt like him, she observed as she tugged it on, murmuring a thank you as he headed towards the door with phone in hand.

Jamilla followed him out, recounting the many times she’d done this walk alone and enjoying his presence. He shot her a smile over his shoulder as he recounted some sort of joke he’d been talking about last night. I couldn’t help but laugh, loudly, feeling at ease.

“Jack?”

That was an unfamiliar voice, she thought, slow to process. Fuck, his brother. Her brain finally caught up and she caught Jack’s eye. He grimaced.

“Motherfucker, I forgot he was here.” Jack said quietly.

Jamilla shrugged. “Oh well. I’m leaving anyway.”

With a sigh, Jack traipsed into the main living area, expression somewhat sheepish. “Hey, Conor, forgot you were back.”

Conor was perched on a bar stool Jamilla discovered as she walked through the doorway, wringing her hands together out of nervous habit. “Hi. Uh,” he flashed her a quick glance, uncertain. “Did I miss something? I’ve only been gone for two weeks.”

“No! Tinder date.” She jumped to correct him quickly in an effort to save Jack some embarrassment.

Conor had a ghost of a smile on his lips. “Ah, right. Sorry.” She chewed on her lip. What should her next move be? Should she say something? Just leave? Was that rude?...

“Well, there’s coffee if you guys want to help yourselves.” Conor piped up again before his attention was once again captured by his phone. Jack and Jamilla shared a quick glance.

She ran her tongue over her teeth, pondering her words. “I should get going.”

Jack’s blue eyes found hers and her breath caught for a moment, Jamilla didn’t know quite why. “You should stay, for breakfast.” Jack’s words surprised her a little and she can’t hide her confused expression. “If you want. You’re not in a hurry, right?”

“No,” she breathed out. “I guess I could stay. Coffee sounds good for my hangover.”

Surprisingly it was Jack’s brother who hopped up from his seat and walked to the kitchen. Jamilla sensed there was a moment of brotherly telepathy between them as Jack cocked an eyebrow and Conor smiled back as he grabbed the brewing coffee.

“Thank you.” She said brightly when he handed her the steaming mug, black as she requested. “No problem...”

“Jamilla. Sorry, I didn’t even say did I?”

Jack slid into the stool beside me, wedging me between him and his brother. “How was Dublin?” That was directed at his sibling.

Conor perked up at this as Jamilla wracked her brain remembering that he was some kind of musician. “It was cold, but the shows were good. I met up with Chris and we got some writing done.”

Their interaction was worlds away from what she’d have with her family, but the genuine conversation between brought back memories of better times for her. It was, heartwarming almost, being a part of a calm, genuine morning conversation between the two. Maybe she didn’t belong here but she felt... alright.

“I saw the video you posted, man, Mikey really copped it.” Conor laughed, Jack joining in. Although clueless as to what the topic was, she smiled along, sipping at her almost empty coffee. A Tinder date was most definitely not supposed to conclude like this. But, fuck the system, hey? This was good.

—

She didn’t have much time to think about treating herself to a night out that week. It was downright horrid, filled with work issues, extra shifts, back pain and family arguments. Jack hadn’t texted her and she was glad she didn’t have to turn him away. She just felt like shit.

Jada was her closest friend, living at home with her parents after become a single teen mother. They didn’t see each other enough because of conflicting schedules, but she was always there for her through a text. Jamilla opened her phone to vent her problems.

Jamillla: fml! bro started another fight at school and got suspended. seriously I’m sick of his shit. plus, got laid off work today bc pubs closing down. where tf am I going to get enough money to cover rent? 🤬

She sent it with a sigh, realising too late that it was to completely the wrong person. Of course it fucking Jack. Fuck.

Jamilla: shiiiiit that wasn’t meant for you sorry!

Jamilla hoped he wouldn’t get the wrong idea, praying he’d just leave her on read so she didn’t have to negotiate any strange conversations. But her wishes weren’t granted, with only minutes later her phone vibrating against the bed.

Jack: Ahah that’s okay. But shit, that sucks ☹️I’m sorry to hear that.

He came across sympathetic in his texts even though she knew he wouldn’t think she had it this bad. Nevertheless, her heart swelled at his care for her before she shook it off as absurd. Her phone buzzed again.

Jack: You know, if you want to destress or forget hmu 😉

Fuck. Normally she’d kill for a way to run away from her problems, to relieve her storm of stresses. But she felt awful, too lethargic and drained to bring herself to want to do any of that. She’d be honest with Jack, she guessed, he deserved that much.

Jamilla: Normally I’d jump on that but I’m not feeling it at all. Honestly just feeling too shit. Sorry x

Jack responded to my message within moments.

Jack: Don’t be sorry, if ur not feeling it ur not feeling it.

Jack: If you want you can come over anyway. I have wine and Netflix and I love gossip.

Jamilla had to read that message twice. What? Was he inviting her over to hangout and drink and watch TV? No sex involved? Was he hoping she’d change her mind...? He wasn’t like that, though.

Tinder, she sighed. Sex, not friendships.

Jamilla: R u hoping to get lucky? Bc seriously, not in the mood.

Her text was snappy, to the point and probably rude but she sent it before she even thought it over, her muddled brain thinking too many things at once.

Jack: I swear to god that is not my intention. I know we’re just hookups or whatever, I just thought you might appreciate some company after ur shit day. If it’s too weird nvm.

Jamilla stared at her phone for a minute. She considered just leaving him on read and going to sleep, but now her mind had latched onto images of ranting it out to Jack, drinking wine, chilling out and chatting, his familiar touch...

Shit, she was in too far. But it was just what she needed, she thought, so screw it being weird. She needed someone to lean on.

Jamilla: Fuck it I’ll be there in 15. Don’t drink all the wine without me.

—

Knocking on Jack’s door was a new thing. So was showing up here so early, and by herself. Jamilla felt uneasy for a second before the door swung open.

Soon she was swaddled up on his couch, glass of red wine in hand and legs stretched out across the sofa. Jack sat close, arm stretched out along the top of the sofa behind me.

“Tell me your drama, your problems!” He exclaimed brightly, his white teeth making an appearance.

Jamilla cast her gaze down. She couldn’t tell him she was barely scraping by as it was, lower class and looking after a family. Shit, she didn’t want this - whatever this was becoming, sex, friendship? - to end right here. She was too ashamed to admit to what her life was.

She shrugged as she swished about her drink. “I don’t know, where do I even begin?”

“Are you seriously not going to be able to pay rent?” Jack asked. She felt a sense of dread flow over me, thinking maybe this was a mistake, coming here. “I thought you lived with your family?”

“I do, I mean I was being a bit dramatic.” Jamilla attempted to cover up the extent. “I won’t be able to cover my share of the rent. I chip in.”

“Ah,” Jack sighs, taking another sips of his drink. “That still sucks, getting laid off.”

“You know all about it huh?” She teased back with a cheeky smile. “Youtube kicking you out?”

“Fuck off.” He laughed back. She liked this. She really liked this and she really liked him, Jamilla thought as they continued their conversation.

Soon they were several glasses in, tipsy and full of giggles despite the frustration behind Jamilla’s stories. And fuck, she’d accidentally just blurted out that she was a high school drop out. Fuck.

Despite the alcohol in her system she felt a sense of shame rush through her mind. Jack looked at her unwaveringly, not judgemental but Jamilla couldn’t help but feel nervous. “Sorry, not too attractive is it?”

Jack, whose knee was now pressed against her thigh, somehow shuffling closer during the extent of our talking, tilted his head slightly. “I wouldn’t think any less of you.” He admitted candidly, not tearing those blue eyes away from Jamilla. And then, fuck, before she can even think or react, Jack slides his arm around her shoulders, bringing his face close and pressing his lips to hers.

They’d kissed before, Jamilla had enjoyed it, but this was different - not lust driven, rushed and feverish. No, this was gentle, sweet and fucking hell she swore it melted her heart in places. Shit.

It made her feel warm, secure, bubbly... she felt so right yet she pulled away.

Jack looked guilty, removing his hand from her body. “Damnit,” he sighed “sorry, it’s habit.”

Jamilla laughs it off. But fucking Jesus Christ, what has she got herself into... is she getting too attached? Is this fucking fair? What does she want from it... and why does she feel so good when she’s with him?

—

Her neck was cramped when she woke up, and she winced in pain as she turned her face on the pillow. But it definitely wasn’t her pillow she realised as she opened her eyes. Shit. She was at Jack’s.

Jamilla sat upright on the couch, pulling the blanket away from her. She couldn’t recall the last moments of her evening, only remembering watching some Netflix show with a funny name? Some guy shooting some one and...?

She must have dozed off during it. Fucking hell, what was she doing? At this rate she’d spend more time at his then at her own home. She’d look like a real gold digger if he found out her situation.

Throat dry and feeling dehydrated, Jamilla walked to the kitchen, filling a glass with water from the tap and sculling it eagerly. She almost dropped it though when two hands landed on her shoulders.

“Shit, Jack,” Jamilla cursed when she spotted the perpetrator. “That gave me a heart attack.”

“Sorry.” He doesn’t sound sorry at all. His hands brush across bare skin for a moment, distracting. She sighs.

She felt bad for staying over, a arrow of concern stabbing at her know what this looked like... but maybe his bed was comfortable, his Wifi worked and he had a supply of food and drinks, but she didn’t come for that. It was him, she fucking swore, she liked his company and not his possessions.

Jack of course made no fuss about it, not appearing even mildly worried about her spending time here. “Whenever you need it.” He smiled, and for a second Jamilla worried he knew, knew she was poor and on the verge of losing her flat. Fuck, don’t be dumb, she thought, of course he didn’t. He was just being kind.

Jack Maynard was... shit. She was smitten.

—

She found her thoughts shifting to the Brighton boy more times than she’d like to admit that week. She pictured him teasing her about her black coffee when she got up each morning, laughing at her clumsiness, the way he’d listen to her stories attentively unlike that dumb coworker. She wanted to detach herself, yet she couldn’t stop him popping up in her minds. In her lunch break - barely half an hour - Jamilla even hacked the Wifi and went to his YouTube channel and holy sheezus he had 1.5 million subscribers. That terrified her, not quite aware he was that popular. Shit. She considered maybe letting it simmer for a bit, having a few weeks off seeing him - but on Friday a reminded pinged on her phone saying otherwise.

Jack Maynard: DJ Set @ London Club

Time: 8.00pm, Saturday the 4th

Shit. Jamilla had some feint recollection of discussing his work, a memory somewhere of him saying he had a show... she didn’t know he entered a fucking reminder in her phone.

Later that evening she got a text.

Jack: Be there or be square? 😊

Jamilla would have to go straight from work, onto the bus across town to make it just at eight. Her uncle probably wouldn’t be too impressed but she was 22, she deserved to let loose right? To have friends and go to events? And Jack seemed so excited... she couldn’t even begin to think of a disappointed Jack before she’d made her decision.

It was epic. She’d got there just on the dot of eight, rushing to the ticket booth praying she had enough cash or else it’d be embarrassing. When she slid her ID over the gateman pushed it back. “You’ve got a pre booked ticket, paid and everything mam.”

That bitch, Jamilla grumbled, taking the ticket nonetheless and heading inside. The beats were sick, the sweaty people jumping up and down in the same mood as her - hyped, excited, energised - and watching Jack’s face while he worked made her heart throb. He thought he spotted her, eyes falling on hers but she couldn’t be sure. She smiled anyway.

Jack: Thx for coming. Meet me backstage?

Jamilla receive this message from him just as the show had ended, unsure what to make of it. A booty call? A chat?

She went anyway, the couple of security guards seeming to know she was all good to come through. Jack was just striding into the dressing room when she entered.

“Jamilla, hey.” He grinned widely.

And then his kissed her, out of nowhere, his hands pressed against her jaw, her waist, kissing her deeply. This was no fucking mistake, no ‘habit’ and oh Jesus fuck.

She couldn’t help but reciprocate at first - it was intoxicating, drawing her into him - but she pulled away after a minute.

“Are you trying to get me in bed?”

Jack seemed stunned by her words. “No, no.”

He was fucking getting attached, like she was getting attached to him. This was bad, this was what wasn’t supposed to happen from a tinder date. Hookups not relationships and - she was going to have to walk away, more for his sake than hers.

“Shit, Jack,” she began, hand tugging at her hair. “This was supposed to be a hookup and the fuck knows how we screwed it up so bad. Look, I can’t really do seriously commitment stuff, I’m not up for that and I think we’re both getting too attached. This isn’t... right, I’m not right for you anyway. I think...” she watched his eyes scan across hers, betrayed, puzzled. God damn you Jack Maynard. “We should probably leave this here. You’re show was awesome, thank you.”

And she turned on her heel and exited into the hallway, her lips still buzzing from their kiss and a loud curse echoing down in the distance. Jamilla let a single tear drip from her eye before sucking it up. Walk away.

—

Jack called the next day. Jamilla let it ring out and was grateful he didn’t leave a voicemail. He did text though.

Jack: Jamilla can’t we even talk about it? You don’t have to cut me off completely.

She felt guilty but wouldn’t let herself reply. It was over - the sex was good, he was good, but it was never going to work. Yet that lunch break she found herself watching one of his videos on his channel, watching that smile, his Brighton accent, the shine in his eyes and she knew she was in deeper than she’d thought, that’d it’d hurt more than maybe she expected. There was some dull throb somewhere that ached, longing, missing, regretting.

He called a few times over that week - sometimes while is was at work, others at home which she left unanswered anyway. Her sister Greta even saw it one time, almost answering it before Jamilla called out to leave it. Her younger sibling smirked at the heart next to his name so she deleted it. It was over. But it was like each time he called it made her more emotional, know, shit, he actually cared about me. He actually cares.

She was going well, she was going strong for almost a month? when she finally cracked. It was after anything fucked up day, she was just finished screaming with her brother about staying in school and searching the house for loose coins, her boss wouldn’t give her more shifts and her uncle was late home, meaning she had to cook. And she was so angry, so emotional, that she walked off down the almost desolate urban streets to clear her rage. But when he called, tears already threatening her eyes, she snapped, sliding her finger across the answer button in a quick, fiery motion.

“What do you fucking want Jack? What the fuck do you want from me that you keep calling for, huh? I think I made myself clear.”

There was a pause on the other end - fucking hell, he was probably more than baffled by her sharp, angry voice. “Uh, shit Jamilla. I didn’t know we ended on such bad terms, I must have read the fucking situation wrong again.”

There was some malice to his words, probably riled up by her uncalled for, spitting tone. Fair enough, in hindsight. She knew he was hinting at something, not subtlety, such as him playing him along.

Jamilla rebutted with no lapse in her fury. “Maybe you did, Jack. But what do you want me to say, huh? What do you want to hear?”

“I just want some fucking answers, I want to know why you just cut it off, cut everything off after... it was fine. Don’t you get why I’m confused?”

“I gave you fucking answers!” She spat back. “I gave you plenty of fucking answers - we were getting too attached for a goddamn hookup, I don’t fucking do relationships and that’s what it was becoming... I’m not even good enough for you. Isn’t that enough Jack? Or would you like to hear the detailed fucking truth and not in so many words? Do you want to hear that I’m a fucking sleaze, a high school dropout with two minimum wage jobs about to loose the drug dealer flat I live in with my fucking family? That I work too many hours, that I try every fucking day to keep my siblings in school so they don’t end up dirt poor like we are, that my uncle is has depression because he works too much and I put more stress on him everyday I can’t get a better paying job? That I drink too much to fucking forget and I bitch to my one friend because my life’s so fucking hard? Do you fucking want some poor scum, some shitty gold digger of a girl in your fucking life? For Christ’s sake, Jack, do you want me to be so fucking selfish that I throw it all away to make myself happy?”

She was out of breath when she finished. There were salty tears slipping from her eyes but she was too exhausted to stop them. She’d given up on hiding tonight, her emotions had control and her feelings had been laid bare.

Before he could say anything she hangs up, finding her way to a graffitied park bench and letting herself drown in her overwhelming stream of thoughts and emotions.

Her phone rang beside her. She hadn’t expected him to call back right away, she thought she would’ve scared him off for a little longer maybe. But fuck, she let out a sob when she saw his name across the screen in a matter of seconds. She answered with no thought.

“Yes?” Her voice has a softer, subdued sound to it now, the anger long disappeared into the night.

“Jamilla,” Jack spoke, strained but laced with a whisper of something else. “Jamilla, you’re so strong. You’re so strong - it doesn’t matter that you’re poor, it doesn’t change anything, not to me. You’re not poor because you-you don’t work hard... it’s because you’re in a shitty situation, that’s all. How could I judge you on something so far out of your control? Jamilla, you’re so busy worrying about other people that you- you’re allowed to do things for yourself - it’s not selfish, it’s fucking self-care. ...isolating yourself isn’t okay, you need people, you need support, you need friends... everyone does, Jamilla, it’s normal. I want to be there for you. Please...”

Fresh tears pricked at her eyes, the Brighton boy on the other end of the phone speaking something so genuine and meaningful, touching. As he trailed off she wiped at her sticky tears.

“... just think about it, okay? Call me anytime. Please don’t cut yourself off again. I’m here.”

“Thank you.” She whispered back.

—

She didn’t know what to expect when she arrived at his flat a few days later. But it was okay. Jack greeted Jamilla with a warm hug and she felt welcomed, wanted, and he told her he’d missed her. She didn’t think too hard about what this was, what they were, because she made a pledge to herself to just let it happen. But when he kissed her sweetly against the kitchen counter she knew that he wanted something proper. He wouldn’t press it, but Jamilla couldn’t help but smile at the thought of having aboyfriend. Heading out to lunch, holding his hand and slipping past Conor in the lounge room, Jamilla glanced at her phone and thought about deleting her Tinder from her phone... it didn’t seem like she’d need it. He was there for her, she was there for him - it’d be okay. She deserved it, she deserved to be happy, she told herself. And he made her happy, for sure.

[writingwithadinosaur]

“Cautious” - Part 4

“Cautious” - Part 4

(Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3)

My Masterlist - Here

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 3,985

Key: Y/N = Your Name, L/N = Your Last Name, H/C = Your Hair Color, E/C = Your Eye Color

Warnings: Some cursing, but nothing else that I could tell.

Summary:  Bucky is now pretty much rehabilitated and able to be part of the group. He has nightmares sometimes, but not nearly as much as he used to. Reader was taken by Hydra and made the subject of experiments due to her having powers (something similar to the force, but not the force). The team rescues her after a mission and takes her in. She struggles with control sometimes, is very skittish sometimes, and hasn't talked to anyone since arriving at the tower. She only talks to Bruce Banner. Soon enough, Bucky takes an interest in her. Let’s see how this unfurls.

Author’s Note: Welcome to Part 4! This is a more lengthy part because I really liked this section and wanted to write a lot. I do write stuff like this to be therapeutic, and this helped. I hope others get enjoyment out of it. I have the next couple of parts planned out too. The next few parts are also going to be on the lengthier side.

This is my interpretation of the characters and the reader is one of my own creation. I leave the names and such open so you can put your own name and features in or you can create your own. I know this may not please everyone, but I’m writing this for myself. I hope people will enjoy this fanfic, but I know that you can’t please everyone.

I also want to say thank you to everyone who has shown so much support with the past pieces I’ve written. I didn’t expect to get such a great response from writing. I hope this storyline doesn’t disappoint!

Special shout out to @goodnightwife for being a wonderful beta reader and wonderful person in general! Please go check out her page for some cute fics as well!

If you would like to be tagged in any future pieces, please let me know! And as always, feedback is greatly appreciated!

<3

- DreaSaurusREX

Tags: @luciebell-writes​ @goodnightwife​ @bexboo616​ @bicrypt​ @mayfeather27

The team was loading their gear into the jet as you made your way into the hangar with Bucky. You wanted to say bye to everyone, even if it was just waving. Bucky went to talk to Steve, you saw them hug like the best friends they were. When Bruce finished securing his stuff, he brought you into a large hug. You had hugged him a few time before, but this was by far one of the best. He pulled away but held your arms.

“I will try to update you whenever we figure out our ETA back home. I have that comm link set up in your room. All you have to do is press the call button and it will direct you to me. If anything happens, let me know and I will do my best to help. I know Bucky seems intimidating sometimes, but I trust him to take care of you. He knows the consequences if he doesn’t.”

You chuckle a bit at that part before hugging him again and saying “I’ll be okay. Just make sure to stay safe, please.”

“I’ll try my best. I got the team to help too, they won’t let anything happen. We gotta get ready for take off. I’ll check in whenever I can.” He kissed your forehead and lightly squeezed your arms before turning his attention to Bucky, who was now standing a couple of feet behind you.

“Be patient with her, and keep her safe.”

“I will do my best, Banner. I’ll update you when needed. Be safe out there.”

With one more wave goodbye to the group, you and Bucky began your walk back to the tower. These next few days were going to be an adventure.

~~~~~~~~

A couple of days ago, Bruce convinced Tony to have your stuff from your apartment in Chicago be shipped to the tower. Since you were going to live with them now, it only made sense. You were still in the process of unpacking it all, and being on crutches didn’t help. Not being able to move with much in your arms was challenging, and you didn’t want to bother Bucky with such a small thing. Sure you had your powers, but they weren’t as strong as they should be. You were focusing more on healing and getting back to normal before really building up your strength with your abilities.

So you sat at your desk and began opening a box that was labeled “Electronics and Miscellaneous”. Your Navy Pier mug with your pens and pencils, a stack of your favorite books, some dvds, your laptop, and a few knickknacks. You pulled your laptop out and thankfully saw the charger next to it. Finding the extension cord, you plugged your charger in and waited for your laptop to boot up. The first thing you did was look at your music. You hadn’t realized how much you missed music until now.

Music was like your own personal time machine. It could take you back to a specific moment in your past or make you think about the future. It could make time fly by or just serve as background music. When you sang along, your thoughts weren’t cluttered or all over the place like usual. You were enveloped in the lyrics and the instruments. You were content, even if only for a brief moment.  

You found a playlist of songs that sparked that flame again. You pressed play and began to unpack the rest of the box. At first, you were just humming along to the instruments, then you found your voice. While still kind of quiet, you began singing. No belting or anything, just soft singing in time with the artist. You were surprised at how much of the lyrics you actually remembered. At the end of the song, the box was unpacked. 1 down, 8 more to go.

Little did you know, Bucky had stopped in your doorway and listened in a little bit. He knocked on the door when the song was over. You gasped a bit and jumped back in your seat. “Sorry, doll. I didn’t mean to scare you. I knew you had a lot of boxes to unpack. I was wondering if you wanted any help.” He had that kind and perfect grin on his face that made you swoon. You thought about it and then shook your head yes. “Great! Just let me know what to do, boss.”

You realized that you didn’t have many clean clothes. This was going to be even more difficult if you didn’t speak. “Just fucking go for it, (Y/N). Just talk!” You thought to yourself before speaking out loud.

“Well, I need to find any boxes that are labeled ‘Clothing’ and hang that stuff up or put it in my drawers.” After finding two boxes of clothes, you tried to hang some shirts and dresses in the closet, but the crutches got in the way. Bucky put a hand on your shoulder and suggested that you just sit and fold stuff to put in the dresser next to your bed while telling him what needs to be hung. Being crippled sucked, but you were thankful for Bucky stepping in.

Once both boxes were unpacked and the contents were put away, you looked at your watch. 2:45PM. Bucky usually went and trained at around 3:00. He shouldn’t skip a day of training to help you hang clothes.

“Hey, Bucky? I think I am gonna stop unpacking for today and just rest. You don’t need to stick around all day. Don’t you usually go work out at this time?” You realized how creepy that probably sounded. “I mean- That sounds very stalker-ish. But I’ve seen the schedule posted in the hallway of when everyone trains. I know Steve is at 9AM, Wanda at 2PM, you at 3PM, and I’m just going to stop now…”

Bucky let out a small laugh before sitting next to you and putting a hand on your knee.

“You’re fine, (Y/N)! I know how observant you are. It’s not creepy or weird. I am going to go train though. As long as you’re okay and don’t need my help for the next two hours.” “I’ll be fine. I’m just gonna lay here and watch some videos for a bit.” A nap sounded very nice right now. You had been up since 4AM because of a small nightmare, but you didn’t tell anyone. You were going to talk to Bruce, but then there was the meeting and the sudden departure. You didn’t want to be more of a hassle in a stressful time. Plus, it wasn't a very bad nightmare, you could brush it off.

“Okay. I’ll have my phone on. Call me if you need anything.” And with that, he was off to get changed and train. As much as you would have loved to watch him (as you sometimes did when you were bored), your bed felt very inviting.

~~~~~~~~

The next two days were filled basically waking up, unpacking with help from Bucky from time to time while you found ways of using your powers to help yourself, and bonding with Bucky. You were getting pretty comfortable talking with him. He told you a lot about his life in the 40s and in the present time. You told him about your life before your abduction. You weren’t scared. You actually felt great. Talking and venting to him was amazing.

After these couple of days of unpacking, you were finally on your last box. It was simply labeled “Walls.” It had a poster from a movie premier you went to in your freshman year, some tickets from various movies and concerts, and a few printed pictures that you recognized from your camera.

There was also a colorful tapestry folded at bottom. You got this tapestry during your first week of college, you saw the colors and designs as an interpretation of new beginnings and freedom. Looking at it now, you could see your ability to determine auras was present, even if it was just detecting symbolism in art.

You needed to hang it up on your wall here. The colors still represented those messages to you, just not at a college level anymore.

Bucky was probably getting ready to go train, so you decided to try to hang it by yourself. Without even thinking, you knew you wanted it to flow behind the headboard of your bed. That’s how you had it in your dorm room and how you had it in your apartment when you moved. You grabbed some hooks that stuck to the wall and put them on your nightstand, then you tackled the difficult job of standing on your bed. Somehow you got up and stood up straight without putting too much pressure on your ankle. It was doing better, but still healing.

“There has to be some way I can make this work.” You thought to yourself. Adjusting your focus so part of it was on staying balanced, you felt your powers take hold of you. It felt like little, invisible, stationary cubes were lined around your body. They would shift to form to you, but they would be solid and not move too much. It helped you stay upright without putting your injured ankle down on your bed. No pressure on that ankle, no pain.

Once you felt secure, you kept this line of focus while also making the hooks raise up to your level. You placed one hook on the wall when a very loud voice broke your concentration and balance. You felt all of the invisible cubes suddenly disappear and you started to fall backwards towards the edge of your bed.

“(Y/N)! What the hell are you doing?!” Bucky quickly walked over to the edge of the bed in time to catch you. He sounded so worried, this was new. You knew he cared about making sure you were safe, but never to this point.

“I was trying to hang my tapestry. I was doing okay until you broke my concentration.”

“That looked really unstable. Just… Let me hang it up. I don’t want you to make your ankle worse.” Bucky sat you down in your desk chair. You’ve learned that there really isn’t any debating when it came to Bucky. You wanted to explain how you were using your powers to help yourself, but you were kind of tired from holding your focus that well for that long on your entire body.

~~~~~~~~

It was around 5:45PM, you knew Buck changed his workout time tonight to start at 6:00PM instead of his usual 3:00PM. So right now he was probably getting ready for at least two hours at the gym, a shower, and then dinner.

Dinner. You had an idea. You looked at a black and gold binder in your small bookshelf. You wanted to try your abilities again. The only way that you were going to get stronger and have more control over them would be if you practiced them more. It was just like the water bottle in the jet. You focused your eyes on the binder, held your hand out to grab it, and made it quickly move out of the shelf and into your hand. You forgot how big it was, so you quickly brought up both hands to catch it. Gazing down at the binder in your lap, you had a moment to be proud of yourself, and then began to go through it to try to find one of your favorite recipes.

As soon as you found it, you heard a knock at your door and a familiar face poke through into your room. You shut your binder so Buck didn’t see what was inside. He gave you a funny look but assumed it was nothing and spoke anyways.

“Hey (Y/N). I’m gonna go workout. Do you need anything before I head out?”

“Nope. I think I’m good. I’ll let you know if I change my mind. Thank you.”

With a flash of that great smile of his, he headed out. Time to get your plan in motion.

~~~~~~~~

When you left for college, your mom made a binder full of recipes from your life. Everything from simple chocolate chip cookies to the perfect marinated steak and veggies served with herb butter. Tonight, you were going to keep it on more of the simple side. Your mom used to make these chicken panini sandwiches that you loved. It was just putting a piece of fried chicken between two pieces of french baguette with this marmalade on it, then heating it on a stove top with some sort of press to make it as flat as possible.

You decided to try out your powers again. These new tiny squares were interesting. You got everything out that you would need and put it on the counter. You heated up the stove and found a cast iron presser to put on top of the sandwiches while they cooked. You had also brought your laptop out to play music while you cooked. You had a certain playlist stuck in your head. Why not listen to it while you work in the kitchen?

Once everything was laid out, you took a deep breath, focused on using your powers to hold you steady. You felt them start to line up around your leg and then make their way up to your chest. You left your neck and arms free for obvious reason. The moment of truth, you put your crutches off to the side. There you were, standing straight next to the counter, perfectly balanced.

After a brief minute of adjustment, you got to work on the sandwiches. You forgot how much you missed cooking. The enjoyment your got from the action, the music was easy to sing along to, and the general calmness of the atmosphere overtook your thoughts. You didn’t even hear Bucky go into his room to shower and change, nor did you hear him make his way into the kitchen.

It was a good thing your timing worked out perfectly. As soon as he came into the kitchen and began to lecture you about how it's dangerous for you to do stuff like this with no one around, you held a plate of food out in front of him.

“Did you make this for me?” He looked shocked but kind of happy.

“I don’t see anyone else around. You’ve done more than I ever thought you would for me, so I figured I should try to at least say thank you in more than words.” You pause for a second, taking a deeper breath in, realizing that you felt yourself slipping. The cubes shifting away one by one. “Please take it, I feel myself losing my grip on my balance.” You admitted. 

As soon as you said that last part, Bucky took the plate from you, put it on the counter and grabbed your crutches. As soon as you touched the crutches, the cubes vanished and you suddenly felt so exhausted. Once you adjusted yourself on the crutches, he put his hands on your arms to help really stabilize you and shot you a worried look.

“You really shouldn’t have done that without anyone here, doll. You’ve obviously worn yourself out with how much focus it took to not only hold yourself up, but to also cook and such. That being said, this looks amazing. I’m going to grab us some drinks and then take both of our plates to the table. Go sit.” You tried to protest, but Bucky stopped you before you got a word out.

“I’m not gonna argue this, sweetheart. Go sit down.”

You sigh a bit and mutter “fine” under your breath as you make your way to the table. He watched you to make sure you didn’t fall over or anything. Truth was, you were actually super exhausted after all of that, but you didn’t want him to be right.

The first few minutes of dinner are quiet. Both of you eating while you played some instrumental music quietly in the background. It was a soundtrack from a show that you saw as a kid. You were looking down at your laptop to chose a specific song when Bucky looked at you.

You were beautiful inside and out. He loved everything about you. Getting to be close to you these past couple of days just made his thoughts and feelings for you flourish. But he also knew that you were still adapting to this new life and that a relationship would probably do more harm than good right now. He could also tell how much energy it took to do this, and all just to thank him? He really didn’t do much because you’re stubborn and try your hardest to do things for yourself. Did you really not realize that he was doing this all because he wanted to? Because he really cared about you? “(Y/N)? You know you don’t have to thank me for any of what I’m doing right? Now I don’t want to make this weird or uncomfortable, so I apologize ahead of time if it comes out like that. But I volunteered to stay here and help you out as much as possible. To be honest, when I saw you have that mini episode on the jet after we found you, I knew I wanted to help you. I remember what those bastards did to me, and I can’t even imagine what fresh hell they had at that lab. But I do know how hard it is to come back from that. I wanted to get close to you and show you that you can come back. I honestly want to see you grow and become part of the team because I truly care about you.” You honestly didn’t know what to say. He had taken you by surprise with all of that. Another example of you knowing that he cared about you, but you didn’t really know how much. You spend a few moments trying to think of something to say in response.

“That wasn’t weird or uncomfortable. I just… I know you volunteered for all of this, I know you care, but I didn’t really think it was for you. That doesn’t make sense. Give me a sec.” You thought about your words again. “I thought you were volunteering and helping out because you thought the group wanted you to or like it was expected of you. I don’t know if that made it any clearer.”

“I understand you. I also understand that what you said is the totally opposite of what everyone else thought. Everyone thought Steve or Sam would be the first to win your trust after Banner, and that my experience with Hydra would make it more difficult for me. I am pretty glad I can now prove them wrong and say that I beat Steve to it.” Bucky let out a small chuckle at his last remark. You smiled a bit before thinking about what to say again.

“I’m glad it was you first instead of anyone else.” Both of you sat there for a second, processing everything that was said.

After this pause, Bucky started conversation and asked some questions about your powers and your interests. He was really intrigued by the idea of auras. He asked about what auras the rest of the gang had and what they meant. You loved how interested he was and gladly explained to him what auras were and what everyone’s symbolized to you. You guys just sat there and talked for a good 30 or 40 minutes.

You let out a pretty decent sized yawn and then looked at your watch. 10:45PM. You needed to get some rest. After everything you did today, your mind and body were exhausted. But you knew you left a bit of a mess in the kitchen sink. So dishes, clean your face, brush your teeth, then bedtime.

“I think I’m gonna head to bed soon. I’m really tired.” You said as another yawn escaped your body.

“Yeah, it is getting pretty late isn’t it. Go head to bed, I’ll probably be up for a little bit, gotta do some work before bed.” Bucky grabbed your crutches and helped you stand up on them. Once you were stable, he placed his hands on your arms, leaned down to kiss your forehead and said “Thank you for dinner. It really was amazing.” Flashing that brilliant, toothy grin to you, he turned, grabbed the plates and cups, and headed to the kitchen. You followed.

You knew he was going to do the dishes, but you wanted to help. As soon as he saw you come into the kitchen, he got a sort of facial expression that said ‘Really?’

“What are you doing, doll? You need to get some rest.” He knew you had a good heart, but he wasn’t going to let you work anymore tonight. You needed sleep.

“Well, I didn’t want you to do all of the dishes. You do too much for me as is.” You started to make your way closer to the sink. Bucky stopped you about halfway.

“You cook, I clean. It's a rule. Now go, your room is that way.” Bucky pointed to the hallway and then turned towards the sink and started scrubbing one of the plates. You puff out a little sigh and keep moving towards the sink.

“It’s a stupid rule.” You hobbled over next to him at the sink and started to pick up one of the cups and wash it with the sponge. Bucky was wiping his hands on the dish towel before he turned to you. He had a small smile that was a bit mischievous.

“(Y/N), put down the cup and put your crutches to the side.” He didn’t sound worried or demanding or anything.

You were curious as to why he would ask such a strange thing, so you did what he asked. As soon as your crutches were leaning up against the counter and you turned around to face him, your feet were lifted off the ground and you were in Bucky’s arms.

“Bucky! What the fuck?! Put me down!”

“Since you were having a hard time finding your room and wouldn’t leave the kitchen, I figured I’d help you find your way.” He had that stupid smile on his face because your reaction was priceless. You thought it was funny, but you also were surprised and playfully angry.

He opened your door, placed you on your bed, found a pair of your leggings in your drawer and a tank top from your closet. He then quickly went back to the kitchen and grabbed your crutches.

“Now, you have pajamas and you’re in your room. I’m going to go do the dishes and you are going to sleep. I’ll see you in the morning. The team should be getting back tomorrow at some point. Goodnight, sweetheart.”

“Ugh. Why are you so wonderful, Bucky Barnes? Goodnight.”

He shut the door behind him and you could hear the dishes clanking and the water running a few seconds later. You changed into your leggings and tank, brushed your teeth, and went under your covers.

You were falling hard for Bucky. He understood you, he cared about you, and he was such an incredible human being. There really wasn’t anything to dislike about him. But you figured he wasn’t the type of guy that wanted a relationship. So you just kept those thoughts to yourself as you drifted to sleep, hoping they would influence your brain to come up with some enjoyable dreams.

Apparently your mind had its own plans for what you would be seeing in your sleep that night.

Part 5 - Here

[19-reason-why-im-trash]

Day 2: Dear One

Here it is~ All my stuff is going to be posted later each day so... but anyway here is a one shot for day 2. *A week after canon events, the kiss, the fight w/she li, etc.* --------------------------- "He Tian, that was an amazing shot!" "He Tian, could you perhaps teach us how to shoot one day?" He Tian wiped the sweat from his forehead as he turned towards his 'admirers'. He smiled towards the six or seven girls who crowded one corner of the basketball court. It was early in the morning so classes hadn't started yet and some of the early risers decided to play a small game of basketball. Soon the small game turned into a slightly bigger deal. Due to boredom before school hours, a crowd had formed in hopes of some entertainment. It just so happened that a majority of the crowd were female and a handful of those ladies were He Tian's followers. He Tian had noticed the number of his fans had dwindled recently. He wasn't surprised but rather curious. Especially given the day's significance. Though he was never one for Valentine's Day. He would have expected the hopeful females to flock towards him, handing him confession letters that would be sadly returned and chocolates to be thrown away once home alone. He wasn't complaining though. Playing perfect was easy for him, yes, but it was also just a hassle during the free hours of the day. On the one side, he loved the attention he was given and on the other, he despised his charisma. He Tian replied in a cheerful voice he chirping, "Sometime when I'm free, I'll help for sure." To which the group quickly exchanged giddy squeals and hurried comments. Some flushed at the excitement of being close to such an amazing boy in their class. And to have him teach them how to shoot like a pro! How dreamy! He Tian smiled dreamily a few times before being called back into the game by his fellow teammates. After fifteen minutes of gameplay He Tian's side won. The group of fan girls cheered whiled the rest of the crowd began to make there way toward their own corners. The teams dispersed a few minutes after as well. He Tian greeted his fans properly before heading towards the locker rooms, he just needed to wash off his face and he'd be fine he had informed. As he walked away from the group he let out a small annoyed huff.Though he had some silence now he knew it wasn't going to last very long. It never did. Reaching the hose outside he quickly doused his hair with water. He wiped the water from his face cooling down slowly. He Tian ran a hand through his soaking hair as he exhaled. It was only Tuesday, he still had three days until he could just be completely alone. Too many days he decided. He Tian then looked towards the digital clock along the school's wall. It was early eight. Thirty minutes until first began. It was also five minutes until his day actually started. He Tian strolled towards the entrance near the locker rooms. It was the 'back entrance' so not many came through usually. However, there was one student that came through due to where he lived. It'd be more work to walk all the way towards the front entrance so he simply came through the locker room entrance. Just as He Tian arrive he spotted a familiar figure approaching. He Tian waited in the shadows of the locker room building as the other passed by carelessly. He Tian then curved around the corner, swinging an arm around the ginger. The other hunched his shoulders before glancing to his side. Seeing He Tian the other allowed his shoulders to fall slightly. He Tian smiled down as the two walked. "Heyo, Don't close Mountain~" Mo Guan Shan grunted in response as he began to chew the inside of his lip. He Tian watched him as he continued, "So you have my gift?" Mo glanced at He Tian, annoyed. "What are you talking about?" In return He Tian gave a sly grin. "It's February 14th isn't it?" He Tian watched Mo's face scrunch up into a nasty expression as he griped, "Don't be gross, He Tian." He Tian laughed to himself as he continued to walk alongside the ginger. They two were oddly quiet afterwards as they approached one of the entrances to the main building. Arm still draped across Mo Guan Shan's shoulders He Tian looked around. Inside the hall were decked out in at least twenty shades of red and pink. Hearts were strung from the doorway, all along the hall, and continued further around a corner. They even had some of the lights covered over with a thin red colored paper. If he was going to say anything about his school staff, He Tian had to say it was a firm believer of "Go big or go home". The two walked down the fuchsia colored hall silently. As expected, most students were still outside chatting in the courtyards rather than in the halls. Within a few minutes everyone would shuffle to class. The hallways were just as silent as the two teens were. The only noises audible were the slight scuffling of sneakers against tile. He Tian let his mind wander as he walked. He noted random things such as how his arm hasn't been shrugged off yet, that the tape holding up some of the hearts were peeling, and that classes didn't start for a good minute. He also noticed that the hallway where the two usually parted, was just up ahead. He Tian slide his arm from Guan Shan's shoulders as he readied himself to turn right. Before departing, Mo Guan Shan grabbed his shoulder. He Tian looked back and rose a brow, watching Mo retract his arm and open his book bag. Within the bag he pulled out a smaller bag. He then tossed it lazily towards He Tian. He Tian caught the bag glancing at it then back at Guan Shan. Mo rolled his eyes as he explained, sounding peeved. "Don't act like you don't know. It's just your lunch fucker, you told me yesterday to make it." He Tian couldn't help the slight upturn of his mouth. He had indeed joked yesterday about wanting a special lunch made for him. Mo had gotten flustered and stormed out of course. It was amusing to say the least. Quirking a playful brow, He Tian replied. "So what did you make anyway?" Mo waved his hand in a shooing motion. "You can find out when you open it at lunch. Now leave me alone," He Tian smirked noticing the lightest blush on Mo's face...Or maybe it was the lighting. "Alright," He Tian replied as he watched Mo turn, starting down the opposite hallway. Before he was out of earshot He Tian called, "Oh Mountain boy you're coming over to my place today." Mo stopped turning slightly."Why can't you ever eat leftovers you fuck," He griped crossing his arms. "Firstly, I do eat leftovers. What do you think I do with them over the weekend? And second, you might want to wash that dirty mouth of yours." Mo rolled his eyes, "Whatever." "Mhm," He Tian hummed watching the other walk away before turning around a corner, out of sight. He Tian then started towards his own class, lunch in hand. —————— "What am I making this time?" Mo asked lazily placing his book bag on the opposing kitchen counter. He Tian followed him, as per norm, and sat on a bar stool behind the island. He looked sideways thoughtfully before smiling. "Something...romantic~" Mo crossed his arms over his chest, rolling his eyes. "Which would be?" "Cook my favorite?" He Tian purred, resting his head on his palms. Mo sighed moving towards the cabinets. "If we have the ingredients." And of course He Tian had the ingredients. After he had learned every single ingredient Guan Shan used to make beef stew, he had begun stock piling. Just in case, you know. He couldn't help it really. Truth be told, he was hooked on that stew. "You already had meat thawed out?" Mo questioned glancing behind him at He Tian. He Tian shrugged, watching the other roll his eyes and begin to gather everything needed. "He Tian, make yourself useful and go get a pot." He Tian grinned, "Yes mother~" Then he pushed off of his seat, walked towards the China cabinet. Retrieving the item, he returned to the stove. Plopping the pot on one of the burners. "Here." Mo grunted in return, already cutting up vegetables. Mo worked swiftly, he'd made this dish many times already in this apartment. He Tian had an obsession, if Mo was to be so bold. Within a span of thirty-some-odd minutes the beef stew was done. Both boys made their own plate and began to eat. He Tian sat in his bar stool and Mo Guan Shan decided to sit atop the counter behind him. Mo swung his feet slightly, ever now and then, hitting the cabinet below with a gentle thud. After a few minutes Mo had finished and he had begun to pack up leftovers. He placed his own bowl in the sink with the few dishes he had left the previous day. He waited for He Tian to be finished with his bowl so he could start to cleaning. Within five minutes He Tian had finished. He stood from his seat bringing his bowl and silverware towards the sink. Dropping the items in the sink he stood a small way's away. He leaned up against the At first he had thought He Tian was waiting for him to fuck up. A chance to beat him more like it. After awhile he had gotten used to it, the staring. He had just assumed that He Tian was bored and was just mindlessly watching him clean. Turns out He Tian was actually observing him. He had pointed out one day that, apparently, Mo always started it the forks and ended cleaning the spoons last. Guan Shan himself had never really noticed it, he just cleaned. As he did every time he came around. Cook, clean, shop, repeat. He couldn't complain as much as he wanted though. He Tian did pay him and the pay wasn't bad. Maybe that's why he kept coming around. For the decent amount of money he received. "I appreciated the meal by the way, Guan Shan," Mo looked to his side. He Tian was meeting his eyes, still leaning against the counter. Mo puffed mockingly. "That's new." "Hm? What's new?" Mo dried his hands off as he turned towards He Tian. "The fact that you appreciate something." He Tian smirked oddly as he replied,"Carrot-top, I appreciate a lot of things, I'm just not vocal about them." "And when are you ever vocal?" He Tian grinned, a hidden slyness underneath. "Only when it's from you, Red." he purred. Mo felt his face heat. Instead of saying anything else he decided it best to focus on other things. He stacked the dishes and carried the arm full towards the China cabinet. He rested them along the table in front of the cabinet and began to put the dishes in their designated areas. This was when he was in peace, mindlessly cleaning. That is until. "Why'd you run away, Guan Shan?" Mo jumped as arms wrapped around his waist. Looking to his shoulder he saw He Tian's dark hair laying atop it. Staying silent Mo stood still. He Tian tilted his head. His nose was a few centimeters from Mo's  neck, his breathe floating across the skin there as he spoke."C'mon don't get tight lipped on me," In the corner of his eye Mo could see He Tian tilt his head up some, he could see that he was staring at him."Guan Shan?" Still Mo kept silent. He Tian nuzzled his nose into Mo's neck trying to fish out a response. Which he received, a red faced ginger. He Tian stopped and looked up at him again. He gave an odd expression as he replied in a, very poorly attempted, flustered tone. "You're not going to make me say it are you?"  Mo looked down at his shoulder annoyed. "He Tian, why do you have to be so--" "I love you." Mo feels his eyes widen to the size of plates. His mouth suddenly runs drier than the Sahara and his brain has gone silent. As his brain malfunctions he manages a weak, "..What.." "I love you," He Tian states again. Mo feels himself be pulled a little closer to He Tian chest. Still not being able to form some more intelligent sentences he barfs out a, "...He Tian, you can't just...say shit like that," To which he received a, "It's true." 'Just what the hell does he think he's saying? You can't just..' Mo sputters to himself. He doesn't have a clue where to attack this from. "C'mon now, don't leave me here--" He Tian starts. "You can't just fucking say that!" Mo shouts, shaking He Tian off him violently. He moves away from He Tian gripping at his hands, feeling them run cold. He Tian stares at the back of Mo. he'd seen this before. He didn't like where this was going. He didn't want to see this again. Just as he feared he watched Mo Guan Shan tremble slightly. His shoulders began to shake and he began to rub his face. There it was. There was that little ping again. It was small but painful. He Tian would never mistake it. This wasn't like the other times he had seen Mo cry. The other times hadn't been full of true sorrow. He had only seen that cry once. But he had regretted it immediately after. He Tian carefully walked towards Guan Shan. He walked around his back coming to see Mo's head down, tears staining his face already. He Tian sighed. "..So emotional, Red." He then did something very uncharacteristic. He outstretched his arms patiently. "Here." Rubbing at his eyes MO's glances at He Tian's arms. He bitterly remains still. Looking away from He Tian to make his point clear. Instead, He Tian shakes his head. He moves forward and gently takes Mo into his arms. "Just cry. I won't see you and you don't have to worry about anything." Mo stays silent and He Tian prepared to be thrown off again. But, instead, Mo huffs sadly before laying his head on He Tian's shoulder, his face against He Tian's t-shirt. He Tian holds Mo closer to him as the other lets out an audible sob. He Tian stands stiffly. He obviously wasn't used to consoling so this was another new experience to him. Opting to be caring, he awkwardly pats Mo's back. Mo lets himself ease into the touch. Seeing this He Tian continues gently. "Why do you do this?" Mo croaks out from He Tian shoulder. "What Guan Shan, I do many things." "This..." Mo tilts his head his head away from He Tian's neck. "You pounce on me and then you're all gentle afterwards." Now it was He Tian's turn to be silent. He knew exactly why he did this. In fact he did it for so many different reasons he could pinpoint a single one. He just...did it. But he knew that wasn't going to give Guan Shan the closure he needed. Instead he close the reason that seemed to fly through his mind quite frequently. "I don't know boundaries. And as soon as I step over one I feel the needs to show..." He hesitate. How exactly was he supposed to put this? Mo knew he wasn't capable of caring. Or at least he believed he wasn't. He Tian lowered his tone, calming his voice to soothe the other. "I was taught that talking wasn't what left people remembering you. That actions speak louder than words." Slowly he began to rub into Mo's back absent minded. "And all my actions are sloppy and impulsive." "Liar." Mo sniffled. "You charm practically the whole school? Why are your actions pre-thought out then?" "Because they don't distract me." He Tian answered truthfully. Mo leant back in He Tian's arms. Coming eye to eye he gave a sour expression. "So then..what? I'm distracting?" "Yes." "Compared to what? I'd think all those girls gnawing at your ankles is more of an distraction than I am." Mo hissed giving another sniffle. He Tian gave an earnest look. "They don't distract me with the way they talk, or the way they act. They are all the same no matter their appearance." "I don't follow." Mo complained looking away from He Tian. "Look, it's like reading the same book over and over again. The second time you may caught something you didn't the first time. And the third time you take it slowly so you can truly imagine the picture. The fourth, fifth, and sixth time it gets repetitive and you can no longer enjoy it. You've seen it to many times before." He Tian made sure to look straight into Mo's eyes. He had his full attention and he continued, "Then you get a new book you might finish. New chapters, new thoughts, new words. Something fresh and mysterious." He Tian paused allowing Mo to shift but not move away. "I've gotten my new book. And I've skipped some chapters sneaking glimpses that I shouldn't have. Trying to understand the story without reading the vitals." He Tian watched Mo's face for an clue as to what was fogging behind his eyes. Mo slowly closed his eyes, shaking his head. "Your metaphor is weird. In short, you fuck up." "I did." "Out of impulse." "Yes." "Because I'm distracting." "Indeed." "You're so fucking complicated." Mo replied dully, planting his head against He Tian's shoulder once again. He Tian stayed quiet. He wasn't sure if Mo had noticed himself but the dampness on his shoulder had ceased. Then He Tian felt arms come up under his own. Strapping him into the embrace. Mo allowed himself to pull the other close. He Tian was about to question when he heard Mo speak in a whisper. He felt his own face heat up as he heard Mo softly say, "But I can handle complications."

[ecotone99]

[HR]/[RF] Hue

The Red kept coming.

Everything pouring out as if you just sliced open a bag full of water. Except it came out with more of an ooze, a thickness that looked really fun to play with. He wanted to stick his hands in it. To feel the texture would send him into a state of euphoria, but unfortunately he doesn't have the time. It hasn't even been a minute since he sliced his sister's throat open with the nail file he grabbed from on her desk, and his parents should be coming up to say their good-nights soon.

He's lost in the moment, not knowing what to do. He looks around the room to take it all in. Everything happened so fast that there wasn't much of a struggle. There seemed to be just a small tussel at the desk and a thick splatter of blood from the initial stab to her throat. Blood trailed from the tipped over chair to the bed. His sister kneeled over onto the bed with a red and blue blanket clotting at her neck. It was time to leave, but the way the blood colored her long blonde hair was entrancing, Nonetheless he had to leave. He turned into the doorway and saw the horror on his mother's face.

Red and blue Sirens shot through the night drawing attention from his whole neighborhood. He was fucked, and knew it, but kept unnaturally calm. Two knocks at the door got him wondering who called the cops? He looked over at the bottom of the stairs. His father was slightly contorted: a broken arm twisted up and around his back while a leg was twisted 180 degrees with sharp blade of bone sticking out of his shin. His parent's didn't have time to call the police, so apparently he was too loud and was unaware of it.

Two more knocks and a call from someone outside drew his attention back to the door. "Police, Open up!" What else could he do? He opened the door and took a step back, as if giving them permission to enter.

[End of Story] I'm typing all of this because of the rule that I require 500 words for a short story. I like lurking Reddit but posting is a God damn hassle. Why isn't there a Subreddit that is for short stories and writing with no had damn rules except it has to be actual stories or writings? I wouldn't mind making a Subreddit for this but I don't know how to. I mean, I know how to get to the "Fill out" Sheet to make one but I don't know how to make the side bars and what not it was talking about on the sheet. I also don't know how to add automatic bots to a Subreddit even if I were to make one. Don't take me complaining to personal, I'm just trying to fill the word gap I have between my short story and the 500 word count. Redundancy is key. I repeat, redundancy is key. I wonder if this is good enough now.

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