#can’t beat a good priest fucking fic

[xdaddysprincessxx]

I’m very intrigued by Priest Ezra. The reformed catholic girl in me is squealing.

Okay so this is literally just an idea I have written down, idk when I’ll get around to this but I’m gonna!!

So it’s priest Ezra and reader is a nun in training. They meet at the nunnery where reader is working towards becoming a nun. Ez is already a priest there. The vibes are very much forbidden romance, the two sneak around, of course sex in religious places(most definitely boinking in the confessional 🛐 and on the alter) , inappropriate use of religious items (I’m thinking using a rosary to bind wrists together or to use for light choking 👀🤷🏻‍♀️) and this is pretty much all I got lol

[homopessimist]

Okay so I’m in the process of writing a fic comparing the binding of Isaac (the biblical story, not the video game) to Jason’s relationship with his father that’ll be uploaded on Father’s Day but it had me thinking about Isaac parallels with bare.

So to preface, I’ve pretty much been an atheist my whole life and wasn’t raised in a Christian environment. I even went through an annoying reddit phase when I was in middle school, largely in part to being gay, but in current day I have a lot of respect for religion and religious people. More on that later. The point is, despite my atheism, the story of Isaac has always fascinated me, and the fucked up nature of the story kind of reinforced my early dislike of God. What kind of loving God would make a father hurt his own child? And later I realized this hit very close to an experience many have. Parents hurting and disowning their own children for being queer and justifying their actions through religion isn’t a strange concept for many. 

In very early drafts of bare there are a few references to Isaac in the text. In Claire’s introduction in Epiphany in a 2000 workshop, she says:

Our first reading today is the story of Abraham and Sarah In which Sarah learns she's to bear a child

Referring to how despite their old age, (Abraham is about 99 I think?) Abraham and Sarah manage to have a child. As a result of the absurd circumstances of his birth, the child is named Isaac, which is roughly translated to something along the lines of “he who laughs” from Hebrew. This also reflects Peter’s firstborn and only child status, which is important to Claire because if he’s gay then she won’t have grandchildren. (Mind you, I’m not a fan of this Claire presented in LA 2000 because she’s written a lot less sympathetic)

In bare’s very early 1999 demos, Are You There and Confession are replaced by Cut From The Same Cloth, which changes the scene to Peter confessing being gay to the Priest. In this version, the Priest is gay and is conflicted about whether or not to give Peter the assurance he needs or to follow the doctrines of the church (much like how his future iterations would hide behind a screen, knowing how much empathy might mean to Jason). The song basically serves the role of God Don’t Make No Trash where Peter receives positive assurance from an authoritative religious figure. In it, The Priest uses Isaac as a metaphor for his struggle with what to do with Peter.

I still can feel young Isaac's fear as if I held the knife That'd slash the heart that beat for boys which I said was a crime He gave his plea on bended knee A young me in his prime

“That'd slash the heart that beat for boys” Incredible lyrics, thank you Jon Hartmere. Are You There and Confession make more sense for the overall narrative, and the Priest being an antagonistic figure to Jason in Cross makes more sense for the thesis and the Romeo & Juliet parallels, but this is still a really good lyric I can’t help but gush over.

Anyways, I know I’m writing a fic about Jason as Isaac, but the idea of Peter as Isaac is so fascinating to me. I can’t find the source for it, but one interpretation I found regarding the sacrifice of Isaac went something like, “The world will try to sacrifice you, but God won’t,” and it stuck with me. God stays Abraham’s hand at the end, after all. The fact that Peter remains faithful in God and keeps his idealistic outlook despite everything that happens in the opera is such an important message, especially for queer audiences who feel like Isaac, about to be sacrificed on the altar. His moment in Absolution where he forgives The Priest reinforces that his love for Jason isn’t sinful but is in fact the conclusion of his faith. I said before that I respect religion despite being an atheist. It is my utmost belief that what is most important is that you find something that you believe in. Whether that’s religion, or politics, or whatever. Something that makes you believe that life is worth preserving, and that happiness and kindness are things you should cultivate in others. And Peter does exactly that. In a world that’s so cruel and unkind to people like him, Peter sings. Peter’s unwavering optimism is so necessary and is a large part of why he’s one of my favorite fictional characters. 

He who laughs, indeed

[amlovelies]

Phantom Limb

fandom:fhr pairing: Ricardo Ortega/nb!sidestep (Vesper Bui) rating: M death, alcohol, grief, swearing, heavy angst with this one friends words: 1.1k read on ao3

a/n: here’s the funeral fic I’ve been teasing about. yall can blame @plotbunny-bundle for this one. they gave me a couple options for a prompt fill a while ago and it gave me even more ideas.

               Ricardo is well aware of what mask he needs to wear for the funeral. Somber, but strong. Can’t let the public begin to doubt. The media team has drilled it into him.

               We must restore public faith in the Rangers. In your leadership.  

               Well, he’d fucked that up.

               Compared to his long list of regrets, punching that pendejo is just a footnote. Brown had it coming for a long time; at least the rest of the press are keeping their distance. Already got their money shot, he knows they’ll have a field day tomorrow.

               The media team is going to have his hide. Fine. Let them have it.

               He can’t remember the trip to the cemetery. One moment he is outside of the church glaring as Brown is whisked away by paramedics, and the next he is waiting with the other pallbearers. The coffin is too light. Just an empty symbol, nothing left to lay to rest. Just like after the Nanosurge. Too many empty coffins, too many visits to graveyards, and too many ghosts watching disapprovingly from the shadows.

               Not even two years since that funeral. They’d all been in costume then, Vesper, wobbly legged as a new colt, standing at his right hand.  They’d leaned against him during the eulogies, unable to stand on their own for so long. Even let him wrap an arm around their shoulder on the walk to the car. No biting remarks or snide comments, the clearest sign of just how much stopping that tragedy had taken from them.

               Heartbreak had taken more.

               It’s hot, the Los Diablos sun is unforgiving. Too bright, his all-black outfit doing nothing to assuage the heat. Long sleeves, shirt fully buttoned. Too many layers, he wonders how Vesper manages it. No wonder they are—were more comfortable in costume.

               The priest is droning on. It feels like a joke having him here, more for other people’s sensibilities than any belief of those departed. Maybe that’s true about funerals in general. They’re about the living, not the dead.

               Was Anathema even religious? It had never come up, and why would it? They didn’t have to worry about God; they were supposed to be invulnerable. If only that had been true.

               Vesper’s opinions he knew. Knew how little they cared for religion and its trappings. How many times had he elbowed them for rolling their eyes when Mama made the sign of the cross? Not that it ever stopped them.

               Another memory, what was it, two years ago? Three? Vesper on their back, a boot to their chest, the would-be conqueror laughing with a gun pointed at their face, “Get ready to meet your maker.”

               “I already have.” Vesper’s laugh was wild, unhinged. “And I broke his fucking nose.”

               It had been distracting enough for Ortega to get close, to light her up before she could pull the trigger.

               He’d been quick enough then.

               Another swallow from the flask and Luis’ hand is on his shoulder.  

               “Steady, Marshal.”

               He’d almost swung on Luis when he’d pulled him off the reporter. Someone who would hit back, give him the fight he was looking for. Pulled his arm back ready to swing, Luis could have dodged, brought up his guard, but he hadn’t. Just… looked at him with disappointment and maybe a little pity in his eyes.

               Vesper would have punched him. A few seconds quicker, and Vesper would have been kicking the shit out of him, or at least trying to. They never had managed to beat him. Never would now.

               What he wouldn’t give for a good fight now. He’s pulled off active duty, but he knows places he could go. Villain bars in the bad part of town. Plenty of people with anger issues, mix it with a little alcohol. It’d be easy.  It’s what he’s good at after all.

               Really think that’s a good idea, Ricky boy? Vesper doesn’t need to be there for him to hear their objections. You’re too drunk to dodge. I’m gone for a few days and you’re already going to get yourself killed.

               A squeeze from Luis, time to move forward.

               The dirt is dry in his hands, no sign of the drought ending anytime soon; it falls apart, slips through his fingers, and he has to reach in for a second handful. 

               The familiar words, “ashes to ashes and dust to dust.” Is it his imagination or does it sound hollow as the earth rains down on the coffins? Maybe it’s just because he knows they are empty. Knows there was nothing left. No one to say goodbye to. Just emptiness.

               This whole empty spectacle. A city mourning its heroes. Vesper would hate it. Hate the attention and the performative nature of it all. What would they prefer?

               Not to die at all, idiot. It’s too easy to picture the roll of their eyes, the impatience in their voice. For you not to get me killed.

               A stumble, his steps faltering, be careful old man, can’t have you breaking your hip.

               His hands are filthy. He’d pushed the medics away when they’d tried to wrap his hand. His knuckles are bleeding again, the blood mixing with the dirt from the graves and the sight of it makes his stomach turn.  

                The gin from the flask stings as he pours it over his cracked knuckles. Their gin. Their favorite that he made sure to always have a bottle of, just in case. Wouldn’t be needing it now. It feels right to be drunk on it. Some small piece of Vesper he still has.

               He’d never liked gin, but he’s out of tequila and out of beer and maybe a little out of his mind.    

               No maybes about it, Ric. How long before they fire you?

                  It gets easier the more he drinks it. The sharp juniper mellowing or maybe he’s just going numb.

                He remembers numb, unable to feel, unable to connect.

               He can see his legs and scream and scream and scream at them to move but nothing happens.

               He can see Vesper on the ground, so small from such a distance. Is he screaming? He thinks he is. They aren’t moving. Of course, they aren’t.

               Strong hands on his shoulders and he remembers the impact. The bone shattering impact. Nothing would ever be the same anymore. A life left shattered on the ground even if he’s still living. What sort of man would he be if he hadn’t fallen? Would there be less graves here or more?

               Concern on Luis’ face, trying to lead him back to the cars, away from prying eyes, trying to salvage the ceremony.

               There is no fixing this, no medical miracle to bring ashes back to life. Nothing to do but swallow down the regret with another swig from the flask.

               Daddy can’t fix this one for you.

tagging(if you’d like to be added/removed let me know): @dinosaurfucker, @roses-and-roux @lilyoffandoms and @lord-king-saint

[the0verboss]

Jeffrey Combs movies I’ve finished so far (updated 12/02/23)

Reanimator Trilogy (Solid Fucking Gold. Even Beyond which is bad is good. I will never grow weary of Herbert West)

Castle freak (I’m glad I got this one out of the way early it’s a hard watch)

From Beyond (Crawford Tillinghast deserves better)

Doctor Mordrid (<3 this is my go to Jeff movie when I need to put on something nice)

The Dunwhich Horror

Frightmare (he’s so gorgeous in this. And so young. And a good. The whole movie is goofy)

Frighteners (Milton steals the show, much like Combs usually does)

Cellar Dweller (this one barely counts, but I still love the movie. They kill the owner of Nickelodeon)

Cyclone (Rick Davenport is a bottom, The blonde is a bombshell)

Hammerhead- Shark Frenzy (I’m an authority on shark movies and the fact that Jeff has done one completes me)

Night of the Living Dead 3D: Re-Animation (a waste of two great Horror Actors, Andrew Divoff and Jeff Combs. It honestly just needed there to be more to the story that was worth engaging with. They’re both doing what they can with it)

The Evil Clergyman (beat my priest kink to death. Also Barbara’s impression of Jeff is sooooo gooood)

Attic Expeditions (weird movie, cute combs)

Suburban Gothic (cute cameo, but short)

The Phantom Empire (🤤)

Motivational Growth (which everyone should see it was great)

Parasomnia (I feel like I need to watch this one again)

Lurking fear (dr haggis deserved better)

Death falls (this is the ugliest he’s ever been and I’m including post pineal gland Crawford in this assessment)

American Bandits Frank and Jesse James (I would def take more combs westerns)

Dark House (an absolute joy. Ham it up)

Masters of Horror-The Black Cat (watch the commentary its worth it)

Deadman Walking (he’s the second most important character why can’t our boy get better billing)

Howard Lovecraft and the undersea kingdom( cute but dark)

Felony (how is this not farther up the list of Great Jeff Movies)

Feardotcom (a waste of a perfectly good Jeff. Could have had him as the leading man and the whole movie would have been better for it.)

Time Tracers (I collect shit shark movies. This is still the worst movie I have ever seen. But Jeff does what he can with it. Worth watching if just because it’s horrendous. If it had been directed by Fred Olen Ray it might have actually been fun)

Voodoo Moon (I can’t even begin to review this one- zombie Jeff with a gun- I really just need to finally watch Fortress)

Age of Stone and Sky: The Sorcerer Beast (he was an adorable old man. Would have liked to see more of him, the hippie look killed.)

FORTRESS (finally, I’m glad I saved it for a rainy D-Day, this is a pun. I will now wait forever for the “everyone lives fix it fic” where D-Day runs a Mexican coffee shop)

Trancers II (more Jeff than I expected. Liked the goatee.)

Holiday Hell (I sorta love Thaddeus Rosemont, expect some art)

Beethoven's Treasure Tail (an older Combs as an inept villain. cute. worth it.)

House on Haunted Hill (a masterpiece, enjoyable even with so little jeff)

Return to House on Haunted hill (more Jeff, the only thing that makes this worth it)

Faust : Love of the Damned (guys he’s supposed to look like Elvis. Wtf. Not enough combs to make up for how weird this movie is)

The Guyver (not a lot of combs but what is there is cute. Just over all a decent movie)

Urgency (Jeff does what he can with bad writing and likely substandard directing. Sumner is pitiable, and you sorta wanna hug him right up til the end. Then you want to punch him before you hug him)

All Souls Day : Dia de los muertos ( just a quick scene at the beginning, but not a terrible movie once he’s gone. I’m here for some zombies)

The Digital Prophet ( one of 4 in my top 5 worst combs movies. This one is worse than time tracers)

Satanic ( hes cute but barely in this despite top billing. Coulda replaced the doctor with him)

Elf Man (I love a goofy Combs and this one is goofy)

Pit and the Pendulum (finally another Stuart Gordon. I was concerned about this one but honestly I should have known not to be with who was making it. I’m still haunted by the tights, but it’s now a fav)

I Still Know What You Did Last Summer (omg the false teeth and the bad hair. He’s a minor character. Loved Brandy though.)

Dillinger and Capone (a surprising amount of Jeff and a different role than we usually see. It’s a good look)

Abdominable (only a bit of Jeff and he’s sorta goofy.)

Would You Rather (lots of Jeff, the kind of screen time I beg for, in a movie I could have done without. It’s a solid performance, even if I didn’t love the movie.)

Onyx Fortuitous and the Talisman of Souls (hilarious. Fabulous effects. Jeff plays a fun credible villian. I actually want a sequel. Oh and Barbara Crampton is also here which is a plus.)

Jeffrey Combs Tv I’ve finished

All of Star Trek

Twilight Zone- Placebo effect

She Spies

Gotham (so much potential just stifled, he’d have been great in several of the parts in this series)

CSI- Jackpot (super cute combs here. 10/10 presh)

Criminal Minds- the Black Queen (needed more but the syringe shot was a little hilarious)

Creepshow- Bad Wolf Down

Freddys Nightmares- S2Ep7 Love Stinks (A+ campy Jeff)

Perversions of Science Ep. 4 the Exile (guys the pay off is huge, 26 min. well spent)

The 4400 (could have used more Jeff as he was the most likable character in the whole bunch. Kinda like Enterprise I anticipate a 5th season would have had a better quantity.)

Babylon 5 S1Ep16 Eyes (Mr. Grey is very pretty, and soft)

Star Trek: Lower Decks S2 EP 7 Where Pleasant Fountains Lie (ALL HAIL AGIMUS. welcome home Jeff)(as Agimus is now a repeating character just assume I'm seeing him every time. What an arc lol)

Stan against Evil S2 EP4 Girls Night (I love a silly jeff in a silly role. Let the man play folks!)

Extras (audiobooks/ documentaries/ etc)

Hp Lovecrafts Herbert West: Reanimator audiobook (available on YouTube)

Star Trek Rat Pack closing performance for STLV 2019 (also available on youtube)

Doug Bradley’s Spinechillers- Vol. 11

In Search of Darkness 1 and 2

Nevermore Audio Book

What we left behind (which I actually saw in theatres, so good)

The Skin of Our Teeth (it’s a filmed play, could probably go in the tv section, quite enjoyable. Would be interesting to see him play George Antrobus now that he’s older)

Reanimator Novel (Jeff’s on the cover so I’m counting it)

GALAXYCON 2 min MEET AND GREET! (i died during this)

The United Monster Talent Agency (blink and youll miss him in this short

Star Trek Online Campaign- Victory is Life

STAR TREK LAS VEGAS RAT PACK PHOTO OP (I could barely make eye contact, but guys he touched me >///<)

Re-Animator: Reunion Edition (Charles Band yur gross. Barb yur a queen. Jeff yur adored and yur impressions are goofy.)

I should get a degree at this point. If anyone can suggest where to go after this to continue my fix, that would be greeeeeeeat.

[whump-town]

Take Me to Church

Here it is: my religious!Hotch fic turned Bisexual!Hotch fic. I hope you enjoy my hard work, tears, and disaster bi-thoughts  

Warning: language, sex, homosexuality **there’s no real need for a warning for that but I’d just like to market this to my fellow gays**, religious trauma, Catholic guilt, child abuse, smoking, mention of AIDS in passing but no one has it, character death(s) **not anyone major**, Aaron Hotchner’s mega big boy grande sized guilt complex, ooc bc Aaron Hotchner has the proper emotions, and just general all around intense feelings 

The only Heaven I'll be sent to, Is when I'm alone with you, I was born sick, but I love it, Command me to be well

Word count:  5,794

Praying never made much sense to Aaron Hotchner. 

As a child, he’d prayed with crimson teeth and a bleeding tongue for his mother to be spared in his father’s rampant beatings. The priest always said that prayer shouldn’t be selfish. As he sat on his bruised knees and whispered between sobs, he hadn’t been thinking about himself. He’d been thinking about the little brother in his mother’s womb. About the pregnancy that wouldn’t survive if his father didn’t stop hitting on her. About his poor mother who looked sicker each day.

He must have done something wrong because when God had answered his prayers...

“Come on now son. Don’t be difficult,” the priest’s heavy hands pull him away from his mother’s grave. His suit hadn’t fit well that morning but logged with the rain pouring overhead, it now hangs from his bones. They make their way back home. Back to his miserable son of a bitch father. 

That night, the priest had tucked him into bed and Aaron rolls over in his bed to put his back to the man. As the old man turned to cut the lights, Aaron finally speaks for the first time all day. He’d found his voice deep within his chest and laced it with his father’s unhinged anger. “I killed her,” he whispers, hot tears running down his cheeks. 

The priest shakes his head. “No.” And, the old man could never know this, but what he said next would stay with Aaron for the rest of his life. “It was her time, son.”

God had killed her.

That day was the first time Aaron had ever seen his father cry. He’d stood in the hallway and watched his father sob on his knees, cursing God and swearing up a storm. At seven-years-old, he wondered if God had a sense of humor. He must, after all, to leave Aaron all alone. 

Ten-years later he stood in the same spot his father had kneeled in. He’d looked up at the ceiling and prayed again. He’d begged for his father’s life to be spared. “Just this once, okay, just this once---” but his father had never been a good man. A shitty excuse for a dad but Sean thinks he’s a good man. That’s what mattered: Sean. That’s the only thing that had ever mattered. “For Sean, please? He’s never done anything wrong.”

His father died two days later. A heart attack. The doctor’s called it mercy. For who? The man who beat him senseless for fifteen years before he just sold Aaron off to a boarding school. Calling Aaron’s inability to make friends and emotional outbursts the product of the devil and not his senseless beating. The same man who called Aaron writing with his left hand the simplest proof that his mother had been a whore. She had to have cheated to have created a bastard like Aaron.

Mercy? Is that really what he’d deserved?

He has bible scriptures carved into his back. Thin white lines left by his father’s heavy hand and the black belt he wore to court each Tuesday. The only mercy he’s ever known is the black surrounder right before he falls asleep. That twisted hope that maybe his dad hit him too hard. That he won’t wake up this time. 

It felt like communion-- Eucharist, standing to receive his bread and wine. 

The body of Christ.

“Daddy please-” he makes no sound as the belt comes down over his shoulder. Any noise is a symbol of greater guilt, a better reason to keep hitting. He doesn’t cry, he doesn’t move. 

Amen.

Remember, God is always watching. No bullshitting, he knows.

Aaron cums with a cry. A sob really. 

Sam lifts his head from where he’s buried it in Aaron’s neck, leaving the hickey he’d been sucking to die on its own. He sits up, his arousal forgotten as his heart pounds in his chest with fear. “Are you alright,” he asks, pulling them apart with a quick jerk. His hands are traveling down but he stops when Aaron’s hand grabs his wrist. “Baby, if I hurt you---”

Aaron shakes his head but the tears streaming down his face says otherwise. “I’m sorry,” he gasps. He buries his head in his hands, shoulders shaking as he can’t stop the tears. Sam moves out of the way of his legs, giving Aaron the space necessary to curl into himself.

Sam still has no idea what’s wrong. It had been fine. Things were fine. 

It occurs to him a moment too late.

“Fuck,” he curses, seething. Not at Aaron or the mood now officially lost--- but for the boy that Aaron never got to be. To the God that Aaron believes so feverishly and unwavering in. “It’s alright,” he soothes, moving along the bed to where Aaron is. He pulls his boyfriend into his lap, holding Aaron to his chest. “Nothing is going to happen, Aaron. It’s going to be okay.”

Sam has never been religious. It wasn’t something his parents had considered important. Standing at over 6’5 and two hundred pounds of just muscle, no one even suspects he’s anything but straight. People who do know… no one’s going to say anything to a guy like him. The same thing goes for Aaron. He may be a little on the scrawny side but he’s 6’2 and no one blinks an eye at the two of them spending so much time together. 

It’s not people they have to worry about. 

They can be cruel and unaccepting but AIDS is still rampant through-out not only the college’s campus but through-out the gay community. 

But Aaron’s a little too preoccupied with God. 

Sam’s not even sure if there’s such a thing.

“Aaron!” Picking him up by his shoulders, he pulls Aaron upright. They’ve passed sobbing and moved to a panic attack. “Alright,” Sam fails to soothe. He pulls Aaron off the bed, holding him close when his legs shake beneath him. “Easy,” he mumbles, his heartbreaking--- Aaron can’t walk. It takes a great bit of work on Sam’s part but with a grunt, he lifts Aaron off his feet.

Stumbling in the direction of the bathroom, he carries Aaron. “It’s gonna be alright,” Sam promises. This isn’t the first time this has happened. Sam would like to think he’s a good boyfriend (he is). He did as much research as he could. So that he would know how to help Aaron the next time one of these events started happening.

Into the freezing shower they go. 

Clutched, naked body to naked body, they rock until Aaron’s broken sobs die down. Until Sam can feel Aaron’s breathing steady out, hot exhales washing over his goosebump riddled flesh.

Against the bare skin of Sam’s shoulder, Aaron whispers Hail Mary to himself. His long fingers tapping against his thumb like counting rosary beads, “---of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners now---” It’s the only coping mechanism he’s ever learned. 

Sam presses a kiss to his temple. Aaron hates that he turns his head for more. Turns his head until Sam’s hands are tangled in his hair and holding him tightly. Sam kisses him softly, full of love. He doesn’t deserve that.

“Sodomy is a sin,” he whispers, against Sam’s lips. 

Sam smiles, shaking his head. He doesn’t care. “Did you like it,” Sam asks, voice husky. He wraps himself back around Aaron, shaking from the cold of the water still pouring down over them. Fingers moving up Aaron’s back, he tangles them in his hair. 

Aaron… knows the answer. He also knows that sin is often appealing. Sam is the sin that Aaron can never walk away from. What he always comes back for. “Yes,” he answers, honestly. He had liked it. He’d liked it a lot. Sex with Sam is gentle and overwhelming and--- sin. It’s still sin. 

“That’s all that matters,” Sam presses kisses back to Aaron’s neck. Smiling against his skin when Aaron arches into the touch. 

Aaron can never make Sam understand that this principle isn’t that simple. It’s a black and white morality. Heaven or hell. 

But, maybe… 

Sam reaches around behind him and cuts the water off, Aaron shivers against his chest leaning closer to the touches that are trailing down his body. Sam pulls him closer so that Aaron’s in his lap. With a grunt, Aaron allows Sam to push into him and mouth open in a silent cry of pleasure he falls into Sam’s shoulder. 

“Jesus,” Sam curses, pulling Aaron closer. “You---” he moans, tilting his head back. This time, Aaron’s sets the pace. Slow and steady. It hurts but it’s an ache he’s familiar with. The lube from earlier mostly washed away but he’s prepped and anything is better than thinking about Hell. 

His doomed eternity. 

“You’re so good, baby boy.” Sam holds him close, his fingers digging into Aaron’s hips. “Fu-Fuck---”

Why is it that the only thing that has ever made sense to him a sin?

Sam dies in the middle of first semester their Junior year. Though it’s never stated, it’s Aaron’s fault. Sam wouldn’t have been on the road that if Aaron just prayed harder or been a better man. Panic attacks are a product of a shaky relationship with God and Aaron wouldn’t have had one, he wouldn’t have called Sam freaking out, if he’d just… believed harder. 

Aaron knows it’s his fault. He never gets over that guilt. 

He marries Haley at the end of Senior year and they invite Sam’s parents to the wedding. No one knows the true extent of Aaron and Sam’s relationship but Haley knows something was going on between the two. They’d been high school sweethearts, separated by his years spent away at college. Separated by Aaron’s love for a man.

He comes home different but she loves him. She also knows that her mother approves of Aaron’s God-fearing ways. Religion is good in a man like him, her mother had warned, you can see the darkness in him. She bites her tongue and moves on. 

Until she sees the darkness too.

The divorce breaks him. 

He starts having panic attacks again, worse than the ones in college. No one notices. He knows they just write him off as a dick. He’s just a robot to them. Emotionless and he can work with that. So, he is a robot. Just marching through life and flying by the seat of his pants, hoping that it all goes well. 

But he knows… each night as the panic bubbles in his chest and has him falling to his knees that hell is the only place he’s going. It’s going to take more than prayers to save a sinner like him.

“Hotch?” He jumps at the sudden intrusion. Looking to his left, none other than Emily Prentiss is standing on the balcony. She’s grinning from ear to ear and shaking her head. “What are you doing up so late?”

The cigarette trapped between his lips should answer that well enough.

The thing is, he’s not as slick as he thinks he is. She’s noticed him pulling away. Dave has noticed--- hell, everyone has noticed something is wrong. So, when Emily Prentiss had been tossing and turning in her own bed and smelled the wafting, faint scent of cigarette smoke she’d gotten curious. She certainly hadn’t expected to find him.

“Mind some company?”

And with those three simple words she’d pulled him from the edge. 

That night they burned through four cigarettes. Sin, that night, had been just as he remembered it once being. For a moment, as he stood--- her leaning against him and him leaning against her--- he had managed a smile. With a cigarette between his teeth, he’d taken his first real breath in years. 

Foyet attacks him in his apartment and as he lies bleeding he hopes this is it. That the world will flicker out, he’s just a candle drowning it’s wax. Will there be a light or…

He wakes up in the hospital and he’s never been this cold in his life.

It’s Emily’s voice that pulls him from the white walls and the pain. She’s saying something about cigarettes and the seasons changing. He smiles, drugged and submissive, when she proposes the team go to Dave’s and get drunk. He doesn't’ even think about God, about the sin and the eternity in hell waiting for him. He just thinks about his team and the only family he’s ever really been a part of. 

He wakes up thrashing--- a broken sob on his lips. There’s so much pain and he can’t think about anything other than death. Death and Hell and sin and the pain, oh fuck the pain. 

Thin fingers wrap around his, squeezing and he looks up and finds JJ softly soothing him. Her fingers are ghosting along his forearms, rubbing circles into his pale skin. “Just breathe,” she instructs and he’s reminded of Sam and that freezing shower and the---

“Aaron!” she calls and the fortitude, the conviction in her eyes sobers him. “You have to stop,” she tells him, her touch turning hard and that he can focus on. That pulls him back down. “Breathe,” and slowly he relaxes again. She’s softened and he watches the tears pool in her eyes. “Don’t look at me like that,” she chides, softly.

He manages to squeeze her hand.

“We almost lost you,” she whispers and that hadn’t occurred to him. His death happens to other people. It’ll just be… nothing. He must be very high or maybe broken because he thinks of nothing. The nothingness that happens after death and not raging, flaming pits of hell. 

JJ presses a kiss to his temple and he closes his eyes. It’s a tender love he… he’s forgotten. “Don’t ever scare me like that again,” she says, her thumb rubbing against his hand. “I don’t like job hunting.”

He doesn’t know how to tell her that the team wouldn’t fall apart if Foyet had chosen to kill him.

She doesn’t know how to tell him that isn’t true.

Foyet does kill Haley and for a long time, it’s like he’s killed Hotch too.

“Hotch!”

The last he’d seen of Emily, she was displeased with his decision to decline his invitation to girl’s night. First, of all, he’s not that dumb. He knew damn well that they wanted him to tag along because Emily had told them about his date with the cute blonde at the coffee shop had gone tits up. Of course, she’d chosen to leave out that his date had failed because she’d entered the shop and wolf-whistled at the sight of him.

But, she has chosen to blame the entire thing on him because he should have told her.

Ah, silly him.

Now, he’s waiting on his front porch for Will to drop her off at his place. Does she have an apartment of her own? Yes. But she’s a clingy drunk and it’s custom for her to come to sleep in his bed. Besides, who else is going to hold her hair up while she pukes?

He smiles when he sees her. God… leave it to him to pick Emily Prentiss, of all people, to be his best friend. Well, he’s not really sure he chose or picked her so much as ended up within her mercy. “Emily,” he greets softly, smiling when she walks right up to him and headbutts his chest. She just falls straight into him. 

He shuffles to accommodate her weight but they do this little dance frequently. With one hand on the back of her head, he raises the other to wave to Will that he’s free to go. The detective nods and pulls the car into reverse, JJ and Garcia in the back shouting their own goodbyes.

“Alright,” Hotch rubs her shoulders, shivering from the night’s chill. “Pigging back ride?” 

She nods and it’s only with practiced ease that they manage this so easily. 

As he stands, he gives her a second to adjust herself before he starts walking back towards his porch. This is the exact reason he does squats at the gym, so his thighs don’t shake as he carries her up the stairs. 

“Oh,” Emily whines into his back, where her face is buried. “I hope I didn’t wake Jack.”

He’s overly careful to make sure he doesn’t hit her legs as he steps into the door. Stopping to shut the door behind them he tells her, “he’s not here.” He scowls with concentration as he moves down the hall. “He’s spending the weekend with his cousins.” He’d told her this earlier, too many times. It is one of the smaller reasons she’d invited him to girls night: so he wouldn’t have to be alone in his house. 

They share many secrets. He’d been the first person on the team to know she’s gay. He still remains one of the few who know. JJ and Garcia know-- tequila always makes her lose her grip. He also knows that she wants to have a family and about her giant crush on JJ. 

Just like she knows that sitting in his empty house stresses him out. He turns into the empty walls and all he can think about is being completely alone while Foyet was trying to hunt down his son and Haley. She knows this and… she’d left him here all by himself.

“Emily,” he whispers, feeling her hot tears soak into the back of his shirt. He’s not mad or even frustrated, he’s just sad. He can’t do anything about it just yet. So, he takes her back to his room. He helps her out of her blouse, replacing it with his George-town hoodie so she can curl her legs into. 

Only once she’s situated, his back turned so she can hiccup and dry her tears while she slips into a pair of her own shorts he kneels down in front of her. “Emily.” He shakes his head, she’s still inconsolable, so he pulls her to his chest. “Emily, I’m a grown man.” He rubs her back, “I can handle being in my own home.”

She only cries harder and it hurts him because whatever it is that’s really bothering her he can’t fix. 

“Would you love me more if I wasn’t a lesbian,” she asks, sobbing into his shoulder.

Well… he blanks. What is he even supposed to say to that? Now she’s really crying and he’s-- he can’t think of a single thing to say. “Emily…” he shakes his head. “I--I don’t care that you’re a lesbian.” And why would he? How many times have they had the ‘it would be like kissing my brother/sister’ conversation? Or the ‘even if I were straight…’? He doesn’t feel sexually attracted to her. 

He just… he loves her because she’s his family. 

“You don’t,” she asks, sniffling. She pushes his shoulders away from her so that she can see his eyes. So she can see if he’s lying. “You don’t hate me?” Because she’s certain that he does sometimes. Like he can stand the thought of her. 

He shakes his head. “It would be very hypocritical of me to hate you for being gay,” he says, without really thinking about what that means. At what he’s admitting.

Though she doesn’t say anything, the admission sobers her. With tender care he tucks her into bed. Smiling softly when she pulls him down beside her.

They fall asleep on their sides, facing one another. He falls asleep first. Too exhausted to wait her out. Between them, she gently reaches over and brushes her thumb over his cheek bone. Trialing it along the facial hair he’s let grow over the course of their long weekend off. 

He breaks her heart.

“So, are we just not going to talk about it?”

They’re watching a basketball game from earlier in the week because it’s Tuesday and she gets to pick what they watch on Tuesdays. Granted, it’s sports and he hates sports which means that he gets to pick whether or not they sit close. She knows something is wrong because he puts the entire couch between them. They’re not even sharing a blanket and he always lets her have some of his blankets.

She gets cold easily. 

“Talk about what, Emily?” The way he says her name… it’s not right. He always says Emily kindly, loving. He says her name and it makes her proud to be Emily but this time it’s a reprimand and she sees it for exactly what it is—- an attempt to push her away. To make her feel afraid to push on.

But she’s been gay for so long, openly gay. It takes more than a little bit of attitude to scare her off. “You,” she says, softly. “You’re gay, Aaron, and—-“

He flinches at the word gay. Recoiling. “Emily,” his tone shifts to pleading. 

“You—-“ she shifts too. She turns her body to face her, no longer relaxed. “Aaron, there’s nothing wrong with being gay.”

Sodomy, Aaron thinks. First and for most, there’s sodomy and it’s a sin to love a man. A sin to love men in a way he could never love Haley. Which Emily would understand if he told her about his sex life with Haley. Rather, his nonexistent sex life with Haley. He loved Haley so much but he could never love her the right way. The way God had intended.

By the time he manages to raise his eyes to hers, there are tears streaming down his face. He’s so helplessly broken and he can’t even hide it.

“Oh, Aaron.” Emily pulls him against her chest, rubbing up and down his back as he sobs. “I…” she doesn’t know what to say. She knows it’s the Catholisim here at play but her youth was so very different from his. Matthew had saved her from the fate Aaron had succumbed to. Matthew had shown her the churches many faults and…

Aaron had no one. 

No one but the Bible and a God who never answered back.

“There’s nothing wrong with being gay,” she whispers, rocking their bodies gently. “There’s nothing wrong with you Aaron.”

He sobs even harder. He wishes he could believe that. He does. He wishes he could but…

They agree to never talk about it. Meaning, Emily begrudgingly lets it go.

The universe isn’t ready for Hotch to shove it under the rug though.

There’s this barista at the coffee shop downtown--- more than a barista, he’s the owner, actually. He’s a giant. He almost makes Hotch feel small in comparison. In college, he’d been a football player but he’d messed his knee up pretty bad Junior year. He became dependent on the painkillers he’d received after surgery. He’d dropped out of college a few months later.

Hotch learns all of this only after two coffees.

One that he has Monday with the man’s phone-number and name scribbled onto the side of his cup. His cheeks had turned a furious shade of pink when Morgan had asked who Charlie is and if she was pretty. For some reason, despite coaching himself over and over in the mirror that he’d never go back--- Hotch goes back to the coffee shop Thursday. 

This time as Hotch is handing the other man a five dollar bill he adds his own phone-number and name attached with a simple sticky-note.

He’s not even out the door yet when his phone vibrates. 

“I thought I’d scared you off, mysterious FBI man.”

It makes him stop in his tracks. A smile tugs at his lips and there isn’t a single thought in his head about church or God or his father just this impossibly good feeling in his chest. It’s been so long since he’s done the flirting thing but he replies: “As good as mysterious FBI man sounds, I typically go by Aaron. Besides, it takes a little bit more than a phone-number to scare me off”

The texts keep coming and Hotch doesn’t mind.

Charlie tells him about college and Hotch tells him about the team. It’s out of character for him to be so open but it’s just coffee and flirting and a really hot barista. 

The feeling is very mutual.

“Kiss me, g-man.”

Hotch shakes his head, chuckling when Charlie throws his hips over Hotch’s waist. “You’d better---” whatever threat he’s making half-heartedly turns into a groan when Charlie starts planting open mouth kisses along his collar. Sucking a hickey under his ear where it will be painfully obvious to the team. 

When Hotch lets out a grunt, his hand grabbing at Charlie’s shirt and the other going to his hair Charlie laughs. He buries his face in Hotch’s neck, his hand traveling down to the front of his pants. “Is that your gun?” he pulls back with a smirk. 

Lightly, he pushes Aaron back on the bed. Charlie’s nimble fingers wrap around his jeans, pulling the tight fabric off of his ass. 

“I don’t remember asking for this,” Hotch grunts, fist clenched tightly in the bedsheets. It’s the only way he can assure that he won’t go bucking into Charlie’s palm the minute he starts touching again. He’s not going to cave like that.

To his credit, Charlie stops. He plants his hands on both sides of Hotch’s hips, his mouth sending a dangerous gust of warm air over Hotch’s straining cock. He lifts an eyebrow, “say the word, Aaron.” Say the word and it stops. They don’t dance along fancy lines like that. Charlie wouldn’t do that. 

Sitting up, Aaron wraps his legs around Charlie’s hips. He runs his fingers up through Charlie’s hair, kissing him. With a smile he pulls away and whispers, “fuck me, Charlie.”

And he’ll be damned if he doesn’t do just that. 

Sodomy is way better than Aaron remembers.

They’re about three months into this when Charlie learns that Hotch hasn’t told a soul about him. At least, not really. Not past the point of passing in conversation. Hell, he hasn’t even told them that Charlie isn’t some bombshell blonde woman but a 6’4 black man who owns the coffee shop. 

“Fine,” Hotch caves despite the anxiety leaving him so unnerved he’s shaking. “Do you want to come with me to Dave’s this weekend?” He’s got an edge to his tone. He’s hoping Charlie takes the bait and rolls his eyes. He almost hopes for a fight.

Charlie nods his head, “I would like to, actually.”

Fuck. 

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. 

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

It’s not okay. It’s far from it. 

He sits on edge for the rest of the week. Begging for a case. None come.

If Charlie has anything to say about Hotch letting go of his hand when they step out of the car, he doesn’t say anything. He does offer him a supportive smile, reaching between them to squeeze Aaron’s bicep.

“Dave,” Hotch breathes the other man’s voice and Charlie can hear the panic seeping into his deep tone. But then he just blanks. 

Charlie stretches his hand out, “I’m Charlie.”

Dave gets over his momentary shock very quickly. “Charlie,” Dave shakes his head with a smile. He avoids the hand being offered and pulls the younger man in for a hug. “I have heard so much about you! I was just a little shocked. I was expecting--”

Charlie laughs, “a woman.”

Dave claps him on the back. “Well, yes, I was.” He smiles at Hotch next, pulling him in for a hug too. Dave can feel just how unnerved Hotch is but he doesn’t comment. He just squeezes him a little tighter. “More so,” Dave says, “I was expecting a blonde. He really likes blondes.”

Charlie glances back at Aaron, keeping his smile in place even when Aaron can’t look up from his intense battle with the floor. 

“Well, come on in! I’ve got enough bourbon and food in here to feed a small army!”

Charlie steps inside first, Aaron hot on his heels.

Charlie turns around, to look back at Aaron. Calling the other man’s name for attention. “Aaron,” he calls softly, grabbing his hand. “Show me to the bathroom.” 

Hotch nods his head, eyes vacant as he moves on through the room. Ghosting. “It’s, ugh,” Hotch points lamely to the door. 

Charlie pulls him into the small room. Aaron making a small grunt of protest. “Look at me,” says, stern but not overbearing. “Aaron, please.”

It takes a moment but Aaron pulls his eyes off the floor. He grimaces when a tear falls down his cheek, ashamed of this display of emotion. This vulnerability.

With a sad smile, Charlie wipes it away with the pad of his thumb. “They didn’t know did they?”

Leaning forward, Hotch buried his face in Charlie’s blue t-shirt. It’s old and soft and it does nothing to slow his tears. He shakes his head. “They didn’t.”

Fuck. Charlie wraps his arms around Hotch, pulling him close. “Why didn’t you just say so?”

What other options are there? If Charlie hadn’t forced his hand Hotch would have happily died in the blissful lie he’d created. He could have died alone. No need to come out. Hell, if he’d just found another blonde woman he could have married her and died “straight”. 

Anything is better than this in-between. 

“Aaron,” Charlie breathes his name sadly. He doesn’t know what to say. His family had disowned him. So, he can’t just reassure Aaron it’ll be okay but Dave took it so well. “Have you even given them a chance?”

Well… Dave did take it very well and Emily already knows. 

“No,” he answers honestly. 

Charlie presses a kiss to his temple, asking, “maybe you should give them the benefit of the doubt?”

A knock at the door makes them both jump. 

“Hotch,” Reid whines from the other side. “I really have to go.”

Hotch smiles and that makes Charlie smile. “Good?” he asks.

Hotch nods, “good.”

The pair step out of the bathroom. 

Reid blushes and slides past. 

“You don’t think he thinks we were…”

Hotch nods, “more than likely.”

Heading back down the hall, Charlie leans into Hotch’s side. “Which one was that?”

“Reid.”

Charlie hums his understanding. Cuter than he’d imagined. Aaron had said tall and thin but it really did the genius no justice. He’s an attractive young man. “You didn’t tell me he was cute.”

Wrapping his arm around Charlie’s waist he pulls the other man closer. His heart is beating hard in his chest but he kisses the other man, closing his eyes and enjoying this moment. Separating just enough to say, “I think he said he plays for your team. If you’re interested.”

“My team,” Charlie repeats. He runs a finger along Aaron’s brow, sweeping his hair back. “My team is you,” Charlie rolls his eyes. “Doofus.”

Hotch’s jaw drops. “Doofus?” 

Charlie smiles, “my doofus.”

Emily stops at the mouth of the hall, having heard the dee rumbling sound of voices “That’s fucking adorable.”

Hotch groans, pushing his face into Charlie’s chest. 

“Don’t groan at me,” she says. “You’re the bastard that came out to me. Ghosted me. Then went and got a boyfriend.”

Hotch grimaces, “Emily…”

She waves him, turning her attention to Charlie. “You,” she sticks her hand out and they share a handshake. “You got yourself a good one. He can be an ass though.”

Charlie chuckles at that, “he really can be. Also, insufferable.”

Emily opens her mouth in happy shock. “Right? What about him being a know-it-all?”

Charlie nods, “don’t forget being a tight ass.”

Hotch feels a comment about their sex lives attempting to roll of his tongue. Something along the lines of Charlie saying he’d liked his ass last night— instead he just grunts. “Enough about me,” he grumbles. 

Emily smiles at both of them. She really is happy. Hotch deserves to be happy. With a smirk she motions for them to follow her. “Come on, drinks?”

Somehow, despite everything Hotch had convinced himself, everything is fine.

Charlie ends up wondering off with Morgan. The two deep into a conversation about a beam Morgan’s building around. Hotch had watched Charlie gag down Garcia’s awful shots and listen to Reid talk about thermodynamics.

And when Hotch’s anxiety started getting bad again, Charlie was right there. Hotch hadn’t said anything, he didn’t even close himself off. Emily had just excused herself to go yell about something with JJ, leaving him leaning against the bar in the kitchen. But Charlie had come up and squeezed his hand. Winking for good measure. Hotch’s anxiety, like his heart, melted into a puddle around his feet.

“Goodbye,” Emily wishes them a farewell. She kisses both their cheeks and holds on to Hotch a moment longer than she normally would. “So, does this mean we’re back on for movie nights?”

Hotch nods. He’s missed their movie nights. He’s missed hanging out with her. 

In the end, it’s the two of them and Dave.

Hotch’s anxiety rears it’s ugly head. Another painful reminder of the childhood he’ll never escape. Of God and sin and hell. The Catholic Church is solid force in Dave’s life and he’s askin Dave to choose. And Aaron knows he’s not going to be chosen.

“You boys good to drive home?” Dave hands Charlie a Tupperware container of leftovers.

Charlie nods, “we’re okay.”

Well, Charlie is. Hotch is little tipsy and one wrong word away from throwing up on the porch. 

“Be safe,” Dave says, pulling Charlie in for a hug first. He pats his back, lowering his head to whisper. “Take care of my boy, you here?”

It makes Charlie smile. They’d briefly discussed Aaron’s real father but Charlie can see exactly what Aaron had meant when he said Dave had been the man that raised him. He’s gentle and firm and Charlie is glad Aaron was able to find a father. “Of course,” Charlie responds. “Someone has to.”

That makes Dave chuckle. Damn right. 

“Come here, son.” Aaron’s always been bigger than Dave, not that he minds. He pulls him down into his arms, pressing a kiss to his cheek. Lowering his voice he whispers, “I’m glad you brought Charlie. He’s a good man. I’m proud of you.”

Hotch feels the dam break. He wraps his arms tighter around Dave, all of his youth and sexuality and feelings finally making sense. He doesn’t have to chose. He can be himself and be happy, it’s allowed. 

Aaron Hotchner didn’t kill his mother or his mother. He’s always done his best and that’s all he can do.

“You’re a good man,” Dave whispers, rubbing his back.

And… Aaron might just be starting to believe him. 

[first-and-last-neocount]

Whumptober Day 2

So much love to @theobscurepotato and @peregrinealpha, you guys are fantastic and I really appreciate the support, it means the world to know that I’m not the only one excited for this! <3

I have no excuse for this one. Pretty sure this is the purest definition of an id fic, because it just kinda wrote itself, and when I was done and went back to read over it the front of my brain was like ‘what the hell did I just create’ and my lizard brain was purring ‘yesss, good’ like goddamn Palpatine. This is definitely not a scenario that I think would actually have happened in canon, but apparently it’s a scenario my brain wanted to play with, and I definitely do blame it on Gerald canonically having way too much fun needling Damien for no obvious reason other than for the sake of winding him up. 

Much like day 1, this is right in the grey area where I wasn’t sure whether to tag it NSFW or not, but I’m erring on the side of caution because I’d rather be overly conscientious than not. I also wasn’t entirely sure how to word the content warning tags, so I tagged it for general self destructive behaviour, because uh - what Gerald is doing here is not how to have a healthy relationship, kids. This is ‘personal experience with adolescent trauma’ meets ‘horrifically bad coping mechanisms’ with a dash of ‘really really warped views on intimacy’. This is also a consent nightmare, because Damien is not aware that Gerald is intentionally provoking him. Please do not try this at home. 

Day 2 - Theme Chosen: Choking

Gerald Tarrant wasn't above using deception to further his own interests, but he preferred evasion to direct falsehood, and he certainly wasn't in the business of lying to himself. Thus, he was well aware of why he was engaged in his current endeavour – that being, inciting yet another argument with his companion, intentionally goading the priest he'd spent the last few months travelling with into a heated debate over the fate of the little girl they'd unintentionally absorbed into their group after encountering the Terata. The part of his mind that was coolly analyzing his actions, though, was smaller than the part which was focusing on the argument itself.

Both of those part combined were smaller still than the part of his brain that was fixated on what the priest's hands would feel like closing around his throat.

“For the last vulking time, I am not just abandoning her!” The Knight's fraying patience finally snapped, and the bulkier man took a step toward the adept, his eyes blazing. He was only letting go this much because Jenseny was well away from the cave that was currently their refuge, gathering sticks with Hesseth to make a fire; the rakh-woman had sensed the building tension, and had deliberately taken the girl out of the way so that the two men in the group could clear the air.

“I don't care if you think it would be easier, I promised to keep her safe -”

His hands were clenched into fists at his side, the force of his indignation expressed through the whitening of his knuckles, the corded tension in his arms as he held himself back from violence. Gerald fired back a retort on autopilot during an appropriate pause in the priest's rant, his own manner cool and detached, his mask of indifference firmly in place despite his mental preoccupation. God, the strength in this man – Damien Vryce was a fighter, and the proof of that was in every line of his body, the broad stretch of his shoulders and the thick muscle that layered his naturally-sturdy frame. His hands were large and strong-boned, the skin tanned and weathered by years of travel, thickly calloused by the tug of leather reins and the hilts of weapons. Fae-augmented healing or not, if Vryce hit him, it would hurt. It would leave a mark, at least for a while.

It would feel real, in the way things rarely did now, isolated as he was by his own carefully crafted cocoon of power.

The words of a past lover drifted through his memory, that long-gone voice dripping with disgust. You're pathetic. So desperation for attention, you don't even care what it looks like. I could make you bleed and you'd say 'thank you', wouldn't you?

“Are you even listening to me?”

Gerald snapped back into the present moment fully, his unnaturally slow heartbeat accelerating a little as he registered the building fury in Vryce's voice. His lack of attention had been noticed, it seemed, and the priest's handsome face was turning an alarming shade of red as his temper swelled. Pride simmered in Gerald's chest at the reaction he'd provoked from the normally level-headed man, satisfaction slithering through his veins even as he replied in a deliberately bored tone.

“It's not as if you're saying anything you haven't said before, Reverend. Given the intensity of our pursuit, the girl would likely be safer out of our presence than in it. Regardless, though, it comes back to the same point; our goals are too important, we can't allow ourselves to be sidetracked by one insignificant chi-”

He read Vryce's intentions through the fae before it happened, the sudden resolve bleeding off the priest in an unmistakable wave of crimson, but his own surprise at finally eliciting such a concrete and visceral reaction kept Gerald from responding in time – not that he knew, necessarily, what response he might have tried to make. In a single smooth movement, the Knight grabbed Gerald's shoulder with one hand, shoving him forcefully backward while the other settled around Gerald's neck. As the Hunter's back slammed into the rough stone of the cave wall, Vryce pinned him there, leaning in as he snarled out his words in a voice gone guttural with rage.

“Don't you dare call her insignificant.”

The vitriolic reply he would have given in any other situation died unspoken as Gerald's usually turbulent mind went utterly, blissfully quiet, only a single line of thought remaining to him.

Yes. That's it. Do whatever you want. Hate me.

Hurt me.

Just don't let me go.

A dark and twisted lesson it might have been, but Gerald had learned one truth of human nature early in life, and had never forgotten it even as centuries passed. People were more than happy to lie and cheat their way through life, and would deceive you at every turn; you could so rarely be sure of  where their real intentions, or attentions, might lie. They could talk, laugh, eat, fuck, and at every moment their thoughts could be elsewhere – but not when they wanted to hurt you. If they were that angry at you, no distractions existed.

Once you drove them over the edge enough to put their hands on you, you were the only thing in the world that mattered.

Gerald tipped his head back against the unyielding stone behind him, just to feel the way Vryce's hand was clenched around his neck a little better; he didn't technically need to breathe to sustain himself, but he was reeling and lightheaded nonetheless, from the heady mixture of triumph and adrenaline pumping through his veins. A sensation of mingled horror and satisfaction, so deep it made him nauseous, made him swallow reflexively against the way his mouth flooded with saliva in response – and then swallow again, when Vryce's grip tightened on his flexing throat, strengthening the whirl of emotions in his mind until Gerald felt a very real stab of fear that he might actually faint.

All of it lasted, however, for only the briefest moment.

He could see it as the Knight came to his senses; their faces were only inches apart, wide grey eyes staring into burning hazel, and he saw the exact instant that the blind haze of fury fell away and Vryce realized how far he'd lost control. A wave of horror doused the smouldering blaze in those warm green-and-brown irises, and Vryce wrenched himself away, his hands going lax and falling back to his sides as he stared at the Hunter in horror.

“I'm – I didn't mean – hell!”

Gerald drew in a ragged breath, now bracing himself against the cave wall intentionally as his head spun; there was a vague sense of loss echoing in his mind, but far louder was the roar of victory, the greedy hunger in his chest transmuted to a throb of purring satisfaction.

Yes, I can hold you, I can draw your focus, I can make you care...

Careful this time to show nothing of the emotional tempest in his mind, Gerald lifted one hand to rub lightly at his no-doubt-bruising neck, casting the Knight a sardonic glance.

“Don't flatter yourself, Reverend,” he muttered, with a icy steadiness that he most certainly did not feel. “I assure you, if I felt you posed a genuine threat, you would never have gotten that close to me. You couldn't truly hurt me if you tried.”

At least, not when I can make you look at me with that much fire in your eyes...

Vryce seemed to have registered his words as the subtle threat Gerald had meant them to be taken for, though, if the priest's thoroughly shaken expression was anything to go by. He opened his mouth as if to speak, then hesitated for a long moment, looking deeply conflicted and vaguely sick. Finally, he shook his head sharply, and bit out a curt few words.

“It won't happen again.”

With that proffered statement – surely meant to be reassuring, or perhaps pacifying, for no doubt he assumed the Hunter was furious about Vryce's presumption in laying hands on him – the priest turned and strode hastily out of the cave. Gerald stayed where he was, hands splayed out against the cold rock behind him, feeling his pulse beating forcefully in his throat as he closed his eyes.

Oh yes, it will. If that's the only way I can have your hands on me, I'll make sure it does.

[queensdivas]

Peonies Chapter 8

It has been a while since I've posted about Grigor or The Great. Y'all I have been busy with finals and another fic on archive that has been my favorite thing to write. If you've ever watched The Terror from AMC then you'll enjoy this.

But I haven't forgot about one of my favorite fics. Never.

Other than that! Here we go after weeks of not writing.

Previous Chapter

Masterlist

The idea of falling asleep after today just sounds nauseating. Seeing the horrors in front of me then coming back to my apartment for Peter wanting to kill me. Then for Grigor to storm off due to the fact that he thought I would lay with my own cousin by marriage. Yes I’m well aware that’s still a common practice amongst the Monarchs of the world but not in my book!

Turning my head to watch the flames slowly begin to die down before my eyes. The room was beginning to spiral into that infamous Russian cold. I didn’t feel like throwing another log on since part of me thinks I deserve to be in the wintry world that I have chosen to live in.

This plan for making Catherine the ruler of all Russia is becoming stale. What have we done that’s been achievable anyhow! Go to the front to feed a bunch of soldiers! You saw what happened when I alone tried to help Peter! Catherine influenced a new Patriarch yet the women of the court still find Catherine to be an annoyance. There has been absolutely no effort or somewhat change Catherine has done to make things more in her favor. God she is a child thrown into a world that she has no idea what she's doing. Although I should be guiding...but...

What good am I doing here! I feel as if I’m just now a fuck toy for Grigor to feel a womens touch since his wife is with the Emporer on a daily basis! Throwing the blanket off me to march over to the nearest vase and chuck it across the room!

A screech left my body as I cleared everything off the vanity onto the floor. I could feel the blood rushing through me for this anger to spiral out of control! This stupid country! Grabbing a book to throw it against the wall!

THIS STUPID COUNTRY!

HOW CAN ONE FUCKING BELONG TO THIS COURT!

HOW CAN ONE SINGLE HUMAN BE SUCH AN ABSOLUTE MORON! AND YES THAT HUMAN IS ME!

WHY DOESN’T HE TRUST ME!

I’M NOT HIS WIFE!

THIS STUPID GOD DAMN COUNTRY!

IT’S MAKING ME QUESTION EVERY SINGLE THREAD OF INSANITY I HAVE BECAUSE THE MAN I’M BEGINNING TO FALL FOR HAS MAJOR TRUST ISSUES! CAN’T HE SEE THAT I AM A ONE MAN ONE WOMEN SORT OF WOMAN!

YES I’M A WHORE TO A MAR….

Huh...would you look at that Chiara? All because he lit a fire under your own ass because everyone else around you stays clear of it.

I…..

I feel nothing….

Maybe the cold will make me feel something in this empty body. Grabbing the handles of the window to pull them out. They smacked against the walls for the wind to soar through my room. It flew through my hair for the first few seconds for it to stop. The cold swaddled me up but I didn’t move from the window.

I do not deserve the things I have been given in life. For I am a cold hearted bitch with almost no remorse in my actions. I could possibly kill a hundred people and proclaim it to be for the greater good. No sense of remorse or sadness.

How could Grigor want to love someone as vile as me..I am cold..evil. Someone like me doesn’t deserve the warm embrace of what love is. This lust is beginning to form into the most dangerous tool one can have in their life. For it can bring life and destroy it in a matter of seconds.

I miss his touch..the way his fingers would glide across my arm as we snuggled together on the bed. The way he kissed my forehead after a long time of making love. Him showing me his drawings and I know he’s drawing me in my sleep! It hurts to feel this sort of way! I don’t want to feel anything! This feeling is almost heart wrenching and...beautiful.

My breathing began to choke till the only warmth that was on my body was the singular tear that had escaped my eye. I’m not a crier. Though we Italians embrace our emotions and turn it into something beautiful, I think this tear is a sense of relief. If I didn’t feel anything. I wouldn’t be whimpering in front of an open window.

A gentle beat from the door echoed through my room as I didn’t even move. If Peter was sending his soldiers to kill me I get the feeling there would be no knock. Please let it be Grigor. I need to feel his touch and tell him the truth. Not all of it but at least enough that I don’t spoil my plans for Catherine.

I closed the window to hurry over to the fire and toss a log in. If it’s Grigor then he probably would prefer something a little warmer. Please him please. Grabbing my robe to put it on as I opened the door. My eyes expanded from the confusion of who was standing before me in my bed robes.

“Elizabeth?” Well if she was coming to kill me I imagine my room has some sort of secret entrance and would’ve done it in my sleep.

“I hope I didn't disturb you. I think we need to have a little chat.”

“We do?” Dear God if Peter opened his mouth about what he started and what I finished I’m going to go kill him myself!

“Yes. May I come in?” Taking a step back for the door to open. She was in her bed clothes as she noticed the mess I had made in my room.

“The work of Peter no less?” I kept my mouth shut for once waiting for her to say something more. She’s going to defend Peter as much as she can. Probably for his own father who I imagine she secretly loved. From my understanding Peter the Great was also quite promiscuous just like his mother. A family of harlots.

“I heard from Peter what happened here early today. I highly doubt that you called him a bastard since he can be quite over dramatic.” So she’s aware that he’s a sniffling bastard whose inability to rule is quite prominent.

“Not talking much tonight are you? Usually you have a comment to say if I were in here talking about Peter.”

“For once Elizabeth. I could truly give a shit about Peter and his antics. I’m not here to please him and make him happy. I’m here for Catherine and making her more comfortable with her new station.” Try not to think that we might kill her own Nephew in a good amount of time. If not by Catherine then by the military.

“You’re not angry that he was in here and wanted to kill you?” She sat down in front of the fire in the love seat for me to stand before here.

“Your nephew. My cousin by marriage is a harmless little bug in my life Elizabeth. His actions were not even worth a single drop of sweat from my brow.”

“Did the stabbing of a major General not scare you? As an outsider I thought it would have scared you horribly.”

“Not scared. More gasping which then leads to utter annoyance. I am more than capable of handling Peter when he’s in a state of anger trying to kill me. What do you even want because I would like some sort of rest.”

“Be more gentle when it comes..

“Just because his mother was a horrid woman does not excuse his actions Elizabeth! That’s saying Zeus should be considered a kind man even though he raped Leda because of his own mental state. Peter thinks of him as Zeus when in reality he is worse than Hades himself! Life is horrid Elizabeth and constantly blaming his issues on his mother is disgusting and you standing here trying to defend him holds you accountable for his actions.”

“What an interesting comparison. You are a very bright woman and that wicked tongue is able to strike anyone down.”

“I can strike down anyone with tongue and steel.” Taking in a sharp breath to walk over to a full bottle of sweet red wine.

“Would you like a glass?” Asking for her to nod. Popping off the court to grab two glasses then bringing two glasses over for us. Sitting down across from here to begin pouring her a glass. She motioned for me to stop for me to pour myself some as well.

“I apologise dear Aunt Elizabeth. I sometimes forget to catch my tongue before it falls out of my head.” We both took a long drink to the point when we were done I had to pour a little more between us.

“It’s quite alright. I’m just grateful you didn’t kill my beloved Nephew before it was too late.” Before I could answer the doors bursted open.

“Excuse me mam?” Turning to see a serf was standing by the door of my world. Did something happen to Fernanda?

“Zasha? What is it?” Elizabeth stood up from my chair to approach her.

“It’s the Emperor. He’s fallen gravely ill.” Well. That is going to solve our problems much faster than I thought it was going to happen. She wrapped herself around her robe as we began walking out of my bedroom.

“Why are you coming? I thought you despised him” She asked for me to nod but was still walking.

“We’re family by marriage. He is now my cousin whether I like it or not.” Turning the corner to see that Orlo, George...and Grigor were waiting outside the room. Splendid. I imagine his wife was ready to lay in bed yet stumbled into that mess.

“From what I’ve seen and heard it sounds bad. A lot of vomit and blood.” Orlo told us to stand next to Orlo. One of the priests that was in the room came out with the black mask on his face to then take it off before us.

“You may not enter the room. For it might be contagious till the doctor tells you differently. For he’s running a high fever, a lot of vomiting, and has been seeing strange visions. The Archbishop is there with him now. He’ll tell you more once he comes out.” Is...Is that vomit on his mask? Or...dear god. He walked past us heading down the hall towards the apartments.

“How is he?” Catherine came in with a very well detailed look of uneasiness.

“Very ill.” Elizabeth told Catherine for my eyes to drift over to Grigor. He was holding onto George but staring directly at me. Stupid man. Stupid man!

“Can we go in?” Catherine asked Orlo but I’m assuming not.

“Well everyones being kept out here.”

“In fear of contagion.” Finally looking at Grigor again for us to lock eyes for a brief instant till I turned to Catherine.

“He’s been vomiting continuously throughout the night, and he runs a high fever, and he has fits of wild delirium.”

“The Doctor and Archbishop are with him.” I told her to place my hands on her shoulder to give some comfort to this poor wife and my cousin. The door opened for a child to come out with a bowl filled with blood and vomit. Not to mention his entire body was covered head to toe in Peters upchuck...and from the smell..the back door was also used as well.

“Excuse me.” Oh the smell! Covering my nose for Grigor and I to look at one another again. He doesn’t look concerned. Is that a smile?

We all leaned into the doorway to see what was happening in there since we could only hear the sound of Peter vomiting and coughing more and more. I did the sign of the cross to hold onto my cross necklace. I don’t pray for Peter. But I pray for the Doctor inside the room that he stays safe from whatever disease has fallen upon Peter. Peter could go to hell for all I care, but I have to keep up appearances.

The Archbishop popped in the doorway for us to straighten our backs. He came out of his bedroom to close the door behind him. Grigor inched a little closer to me to the point I could sense the warmth radiating off him.

“How is he?” Grigor asked for the Archbishop to stare directly at us.

“Extremely ill. The fear is that it may be Cholera.”

“Cholera?” That’s a rough sickness. Even I wouldn’t wish that sort of death on my enemy.

“Which I suspect he will have caught from a possessed, nocturnal animal. Probably a badger.” If I ever get sick in this country I would rather just endure the ride home and die in a carriage. These doctors are not touching me with a ten foot pole!

“Where would he have come across a possessed badger?” Catherine asked thankfully. That sounds absolutely unrealistic and not how you even got Cholera. Not that I don’t know how you get Cholera but I imagine it’s not from a possessed badger.

“If it is Cholera, he will die, will he not?” Holding her a little tighter as a cue to sound a lot more concerned. You have to make it believable that you’re distraught that he might die!

“It’s a strong possibility that we must face.” Looking at Orlo who kept the same straight face he usually has.

“Oh my little man.” THE POOR BABY! I WILL WEEP WITH A BOTTLE OF WINE AND GLORIOUS MUSIC!

“The Doctor is working hard on cures. It may be something else.”

“Has he said anything? Is he talking?” Why would he be concerned if he’s talking? Grigor might as well give a shit if he truly dies or not.

“He speaks intermittently. Much of it is deranged. Said he was a wolf, and wanted to eat Swedish children for breakfast. And there was some talk of what he’d like to do to Chiara and with various ladies of the court. I’ll spare you the details.” My body ran cold for Catherine to turn and face me. The blood in my body felt as if it dried up as I wanted to vomit. Looking at Grigor as I felt so disgusted with myself.

“Before more bouts of diarrhea and vomiting.” The Archbishop went back in for Grigor to take in a deep breath.

“I will go in to see him.” Say what?

“Do not risk your life.” Elizabeth told him as he stopped in the doorway.

“I want to be there for my friend.” Bullshit! He could give an absolute shit about Peter at this point!

“I had no idea your husband was so brave, Georgina.”

“Oh yes famously so.”

“In more ways than one.” Adding into the conversation for George to turn and face me.

“Just being honest.” An angry snake she is when I add my own little comments. Settle down hypocrites.

Orlo, Catherine, and I huddled into our own group to see the expression of Catherines face change from the fake grieving widow to an excited future ruler. Must admit this is a little exciting for me as well.

“If this is Cholera, he could be dead within the day.” Orlo told us as Catherine was beginning to smile slightly but trying to control herself.

“Right. That means..”

“Yes. Yes it will be yours. You will rule Russia.” By God it’s going to actually happen.

“After all our planning..it just..”

“Falls right into your lap.” Orlo finished as the doors opened back up. The ArchBishop came out of the room to take off his mask. Remember when I said that this planning became stale? I stand corrected and I was completely wrong. This just made everything better.

“In light of this terrible situation, a meeting is being called to deal with the possible transition of power.”

“To me.” Easy Catherine. That’s a little too exciting for someone who's losing their husband.

“Indeed. It seems so. You are the next...should the worst happen.” Seems like the worst is about to happen right before them. If it’s going this quickly then I might be going home soon! Finally an end to this horrid nightmare and cesspool!

“Prepare with prayer, and the senate will be called.”

“I look forward to it.” Damn it Catherine!

“Not him dying. That is bad. And sad. And we hope for the best and a speedy recovery.” If I could slap my own face I would without making this seem like we’re excited that Peter is dying.

“God will be with us. He always is.” The Archbishop left the hall for Catherine and Orlo to talk amongst themselves. I need to talk to Grigor. I can’t stand being apart from him at nights for it is his warmth I believe that is keeping me sane. I don’t think I can tell him that I think I’m starting to love him but atleast telling him I need him is a good start.

*Grigors P.O.V.*

DIE! DIE YOU HORRIBLE HUMAN! YOU THINK YOU CAN SLEEP WITH MY OWN LOVE BECAUSE YOU’RE THE EMPEROR! DIE DIE DIE! I WILL KILL YOU AND WILL LIVE PEACEFULLY IN MY OWN LIFE!

Removing the pillow to see that he was still breathing! Bastard! Slamming the pillow back onto him to push down even further in hopes that I might finish the job! Just die! How hard is it to kill someone who's already dying! Talking about Chiara as if she’s just a common peasant!

“What are you doing!?” George yelled as I continued to push down harder and harder.

“What is right and you know it George! I have to do something!”

“Fuck!” George pulled me back as we stopped to see Peter was still breathing. Dragging me from his bed towards the middle of his room.

“I was given the choice to be a man or a child! I’ve decided to become a man for the sake of my sanity!”

“You poisoned him?”

“Arsenic. From the wall in his borscht!” Feeling the cold slap from George as she was in full rage of my actions.

“What happens to us when he’s dead? Think what Peter provides for us!”

“You...you..”

“You’re a stupid fool Grigor!” She took a deep breath to calm herself down.

“Our situation is complex. Yet also simple! We have a safe life with Peter! Luxury, security, a place in court. Who’s he gonna be replaced by? Catherine!? We’re nothing to her! What happens to us then? Not to mention Chiara is making it much more difficult to handle this situation. No thanks to you!”

“So you may have a lover but I may not!” I love Chiara and this marriage is non-existent!

“Grigor?” Peter called for me as I turned to see him barely awake and moving. Say something George! You hypocritical bitch say something!

“We’re here.” George, like a mother goose, flew to Peter's aid. Well. It’s very clear now on where my life stands now. George has made her bed and it is time for me to make my own with a Duchess who isn’t afraid to get the job done when it needs to be done.

Letting go of the pillow to march out of the room and slamming the doors shut. Taking in a few deep breaths to calm myself before scampering off to Chiara. Chiara? Where is she? Perhaps in her chambers!

It was like seeing a light at the end of the tunnel heading to her apartment! The outline of the room was glowing before my eyes. Chiara..my love. The only woman in this world that can make my knees buckle to bow at her feet. That fire is intoxicating to the point that I might die of happiness.

Slamming the door open to see Chiara was in front of the flames looking directly into them. Her head slowly turned to face me with a somber look. A bottle of wine sitting next to her looked thoroughly used. Oh my precious flame. Closing the door to sit down next to her as she went back into looking into the fire.

“I placed my blade against his neck threatening to take his life away. Why didn’t I slice it open? Tell me why I didn’t Grigor?” She asked for me to place my hand on her cheek.

“What happened before I came in?”

“He was mad that I helped Velementov at the front for strategy. He drew a sword on me and I fought back. I won and threatened him that if he were to ever draw his sword on me that I would win. I...I should’ve sliced his throat open and strung him up as if he was game to place on my wall.” I feel like I should tell her that I’m the one that poisoned him. That he is dying in his own bed because the world would be better without him! She was literally going to kill him before I even came into the room!

“Chiara. I’m the one who caused him to become ill. I poisoned him in the borscht while he was eating dinner.” Her expression was the same as before till it clicked in her mind. Her entire face went from a beautiful red to a ghostly white in a matter of seconds.

“Holy shit..” She whispered to turn her attention to the fire. Is she going to tell Catherine? Not that Catherine might care much but what if she does? Would she tell the court? No...no what have I done!

“I would ask why but that..oh my god.” Turning her head to face me as I gulped.

“If it helps, I did it for you. For us..for everyone in the court that his idiocy will go away.” Her lips were slightly open with her breathing beginning to rise.

That lovely color began returning to her cheek as she climbed on top of me and wrapped herself around me. Those entrancing lips striked against mine as my hands traveled up her back to pull her shirt. She stopped to place her index finger on my lips.

“For you committing such a horrendous act. Allow me.” Removing her finger to place a kiss on my lips, to my cheek, then right underneath my jaw line. I could see the stars from how well she was working those luscious lips. Her hand gripped my cock to start playing it through my pants. God her touch. It’s almost too delicious to even allow. My eyes rolled back for me to lay down on the rug for her kisses to start moving down my body.

I love her...I hope that she knows that I would kill an army for her without regret...

~~~

@mirkwoodshewolf @bonafiderocketqueen @johndeaconshands

@jd-johndeacon-or-jackdaniels @amethyst-serenade @radio-ha-ha@i-have-a-wonky-eye-too @deck-heart @actuallyanita @the-baby-bookworm @ewanmcgregors​ @panagiasikelia​

[peaches-writes]

bibingka

skz of christmas day 6: rice cakes with changbin

member: changbin  wc: 1.9k genre: fluff, comedy, slight idiots to lovers au, neighbour au, this is actually a binsung fic jk warning: explicit language  note: obligatory ben&ben christmas post duh + connects to the jisung entry + issa bit rushed just bc ive been busy da whole week im so sorry hnnnnnnng

day 3

Even with Changbin’s deadliest glare almost burning holes on his face and a stomach cramp threatening to explode on his lower half, Jisung wouldn’t stop laughing. In fact, other passersby are starting to momentarily look their way because of his cackles echoing as loud as the church bells tolling for the next mass.

“I fucking hate you.” The boy being ridiculed rolls his eyes and punches the younger boy on the arm. “Shut up.”

“I just—“ Jisung seemingly wipes away a tear in between his non-stop giggles, clutching his stomach again after as he slows his breathing down. “You’re such a—you’re such a wimp and it’s like the third year now!” 

Changbin wants to correct him by saying that it’s only the second but ultimately decides against it to avoid feeding the mocking laughter. “I’m not! I was just trying to be respectful!”

“Seo Changbin, you’ve been neighbors with Y/N since who the fuck knows how long. If anything, not holding their hand during the Lord’s Prayer is actually rude and disrespectful.” Jisung scoffs. “Like look, I scored a date with my neighbor yesterday and they’re only here during the holidays. Where’s your progress?” 

The last comment deepens Changbin’s glare and disapproving frown. “Well, what if—what if they didn’t want to? Not everyone likes holding non-family members’ hands during that prayer. And excuse you, you landed that date from stalking me.”

Jisung comically slaps his hand up to his temples this time, exhaling a very deep breath in amusement before shaking his head in disapproval. “Oh, Binnie, until when are you going to keep telling these things to yourself? Y/N literally had their hand up for you a while back! Just hold them for a minute!”

“Yeah, but—“

Before Changbin could fully refute, however, the two boys then see you pass by with your grandmother, a passing smile gracing your features as you wave at them politely with your free hand. “Good morning, you two!” You briefly greet before shifting your attention back to your grandmother again, your gaze lingering to Changbin for a second longer definitely not going unnoticed by a grinning Jisung. 

“Good morning!” Changbin and Jisung return your sentiments, the latter then elbowing the older boy as soon as you turn away. 

“I’m telling you,” Jisung whispers tauntingly after, leaning his face close to Changbin and placing a hand over his ear. “just hold Y/N’s hand. It’s not that hard.” 

Taking one last look at you right before you’re whisked away to your grandmother’s friends, Changbin sighs and mumbles, “Oh no, Sung, you don’t know shit.” 

day 5

Every time Changbin does so much as glance in Jisung’s general direction at the choir area in the middle of the service, the younger boy would wink suggestively or make the most comical kissy faces and it doesn’t help his case at all. Somewhere in the back of Changbin’s head, he hesitantly thanks whatever driving force there is in this universe that you’re mostly occupied with looking after your grandmother and passing the time with mindless gestures to notice.

“Just do it, man!” Jisung mouths to Changbin for what already seems to be the eighth time since the mass started, balancing his guitar on his lap to clasp his hands right in front of his face. “I got you!”

Changbin rolls his eyes before glancing over to you standing right next to him. To make things worse, the topic of holding your hand makes his attention wander over to the said body part that taps a noiseless beat on the pew in fromt of you. On your other side, your grandmother seems to have fallen asleep right after you made her sit down because of her weak knees.

Now would be the time, dumbass, The voice in Changbin’s head points out in a way that awfully resembles Jisung. Do it!

But when the familiar tune starts playing and your gentle tapping stops, Changbin’s quickly overcome with nervousness again.

The poor boy’s lifted knuckles knock against yours but fails to take your hand once more.

“Even Jesus can’t help this dude now.” Jisung sighs from across the church as he watches the helpless scene unfold. “Ah, whatever.”

day 8

“Dude, come on it’s been eight days. Stop staring the rice cake down, it’s going to burn up!” Jisung scolds, clutching Changbin by his nearest bicep and pulling him away from the rice cake stall. “Come on, let’s re-group somewhere else!” 

“Re-group?” Changbin furrows his brows, letting himself get dragged to a nearby corner right underneath the outdoor display grotto anyway. “What for?” 

Jisung, skidding to a halt once he’s reached a spot far away from the usual crowd of church-goers, rolls his eyes and faces Changbin belatedly as he answers, “Because you’ve been looking like a whole dumbass at church for the third year in a row now and I swear even the priest is starting to get frustrated!”

“No, I don’t!”

“Yes, you do!”

Changbin squints his eyes in annoyance now and crosses his arms in front of his chest, visibly unamused at the younger boy’s antics. “I’m...a respectful person.”

“You’re a coward.” Jisung argues back bluntly with a draamatic and disapproving shake of his head, taking ahold of Changbin’s two hands after and holding them up in between them. “Just hold their hand like this, chant the Lord’s prayer, and be done with it! We’re all friends, it’s cool!”

Changbin scoffs, wriggling his fingers out of Jisung’s death grip only to get caught immediately. “You don’t understand, dude.” He sighs in exasperation, frowning even more in annoyance when Jisung makes a judging face at him with pursed lips. “It’s Y/N.”

“Exactly, it’s just Y/N.” Jisung retorts in a gradually patronizing tone, making sure to drag out his words. “It’s not like you’re obligated to get married if you hold their hand! Heck, even the kids who sit two rows behind you are braver and those two are just making gang signs at each other during Mass.”

“I—“

And, as if it’s the way of the universe siding wholeheartedly with Jisung, Changbin hears you stifle a giggle with your hand from behind him. When the flustered boy turns around, he sees you and your grandma approaching with candles to offer to the grotto’s statues.

“Shit.” Changbin curses under his breath, quickly hiding it with a greeting to you and your grandmother. “Good morning, Mrs. Y/L/N! Hi, Y/N!”

“Hi, grandma! Hi, H/N!” Jisung waves with his hands still intertwined with Changbin’s, making the latter blush even more as he quickly lets go. “Ooh, scented candles! Are you guys out here to pray for wishes?”

You nod with a hum, pursing your lips quickly at seeing Changbin pretend to wipe his hands down the sides of his jeans. “Yeah, just the usual year-ender stuff.” You explain, helping your grandma up to the stone steps leading to the religious status. Glancing over the two as your grandmother goes ahead on her own, you then ask, “Were you guys in the middle of...something?”

“W-What? N-No, no! We were just...” Mentally, Changbin’s cognition is already shutting down under your genuinely curious gaze. It doesn’t help that you’re a step above him and Jisung too, giving you a rare opportunity to tower over them. “Jisung was just being weird!”

“No, I wasn’t!”

“Dude, you just held my hand out of nowhere.”

“Yeah, to tell you that—mmfffff!” Changbin interrupte Jisung midway by clamping his mouth shut and making you chuckle.

“Okay, if you say so...” You finally let out a laugh with ease at seeing their antics, waving goodbye once more and taking another step upwards again. “I’ll just see you two around later! Grandma and I still need to say some prayers for our relatives.”

“Sure. See you around, Y/N.” Changbin smiles up at you, returning your wave with his free hand.

Behind his other hand, Jisung tries his best at yelling out to you, “Pray for Changbin, please! For everyone’s sake!”

day 9

The first thing Jisung notices—well, the second thing since he noticed your rather sleepy expression prior—is how you walk in and sit down next to Changbin at your usual pew without your grandmother. Changbin, on the other hand, notices rather belatedly when he notices you only when you’re already seated.

“Where’s grandma?” He asks, whipping his head around everywhere for your grandmother’s familiar grey hair and white church veil. “Is she okay?”

“She just stayed up too late for a Christmas party last night so I told her I’ll go to mass for her while she rests.” You nod reassuringly, only at such point fully comprehending the unfamiliar atmosphere of only the two of you sitting on your usual place. “She’ll be around again tomorrow but, you know, as far as the legend goes, she won’t be able to make a wish on Christmas Eve.” 

Changbin chuckles at this, leaning back in his seat more comfortably now as you giggle along. “You still believe in that? We all know that parents only say that so we wouldn’t sleep at Mass when we were kids.” 

When the boy glances over to you, he sees you nod in between laughs. “Yeah but don’t you think it’s something nice to think about and believe in? Don’t you make wishes after the ninth Mass anymore?” 

“It depends.” He shrugs. 

“Then why do you still go, hm? Your parents don’t even come around as often.” 

To see you, Changbin’s mind immediately drifts off but he bites his tongue back quickly before he could accidentally blurt it out. “I just like hearing the choir sing in the morning.” 

“I doubt that.” You chuckle with a shake of your head, just as the choir begins to sing the opening song. “Speaking of which...” 

Changbin whips his head around in the same direction you avert your gaze to, finding the Mass already starting. “Oh, it’s starting.” He muses out loud, following the crowd and standing up. When he turns to you again, however, you’re still seated. “Aren’t you standing up?” 

“Will you help me up?” You ask rather teasingly, holding your hand up to him. 

“What?” His eyes widen, blinking twice slowly until he’s sure that your hands not moving back down to your side. 

“Changbin, just hold my damn hand.” You hiss under the loud music, waving your hand in the air until he finally and reluctantly takes it and pulls you up. “There. Wasn’t so hard, was it?” 

Changbin is quick to blush under the bright lights around you, fumbling around his words and even more when you don’t let go of his hand. “I—y-ya, you’ve known all this time?”   

In response, you simply shrug as you bring your hands down in between the two of you. “Maybe? Why do you think I’ve been making grandma sit here and not at the front as usual?” You explain sheepishly. “I was hoping, since we know each other and everything anyway, you’d...hold my hand at prayer. It’s silly, I know.”

“So you—” 

“I like you, Changbin.” You beat him right to it, clearing your throat immediately to ease the atmosphere. “I just...hold my hand at prayer, will you? If it isn’t weird or anything.” 

“S-Sure.” He awkwardly nods, looking away to hide an embarrassed smile. “I-I like you too.” 

Across the room, Jisung almost jumps up in his seat while playing the guitar and elbows his significant other rather harshly as they play the piano. “Ya, dude, it’s happened! Look!” 

The pianist hisses in pain at Jisung’s elbow on their sides before mustering up a chuckle once they’ve regained composure. “That’s good to see. Now, how many days will it take for him to buy the rice cake?” 

december 22 (lee minho)

skz of christmas (masterlist)

m.list

@skzwriternet

[yikesharringrove]

I both really want to read a conversion camp fic and really fucking DONT lol but I trust you to do it well and not absolutely destroy us so... I am asking for you to write the conversion camp fic please.

Oh, my plan is to absolutely destroy you all with this one.

This is modern bc it wasn’t gonna be but then I wrote a part and it kinda had to be lol

TW: religion, homophobia, transphobia (nd Steve), conversion camp, anxiety, depression, physical abuse, the word r*pe is thrown around, suicidal ideations, basically, it’s a DOOZY

Seriously, this shit gets DARK. I have A LOT of untapped emotions.

But it has a happy ending, don’t worry

-

Steve’s hands were shaking as they dug through his bag.

They had already pulled out the eyeshadow palette he had tried to sneak in, needed something to make himself feel okay in this inevitable Hell.

“Did you receive our guidelines?” They had found the lipstick he had shoved in one of his shoes. “We specifically outlined prohibited items.” He took a shaky breath. “Your perversion is much deeper than anticipated, Mr. Harrington.” He just nodded.

He was shuffled about, led to a cold blank room.

His first meeting with a conversion specialist.

“What is your infatuation with women’s things?” The man’s voice made Steve feel like there was cold water dripping down his back.

“I just like pretty things.”

“Why do you deny your manhood?”

“I don’t.”

“You say that, but you do. Every time you pretend you’re a woman-”

“I don’t pretend I’m a woman. I just like makeup and stuff.” He gave Steve a disgusted look.

“By denying your true self, you have turned your back on God. You have allowed the devil to infiltrate your soul, to convince you that these perversions are okay.” He looked down at the paper in his lap, the forms Steve had been forced to sit and fill out with his parents. “You were not close with your father, were you?”

“Um, no. Not really.”

“So you pushed away your male role model?”

“He pushed me away, more like.” The man pursed his lips.

“A father does not push away his son unless there is something evil within him. A father can always tell when there is something wrong, something disgusting in his offspring.” He stood up, towering over Steve.

“You are disgusting, Steven Harrington. You are perverse and foul. You turn your back on your Creator. But you are not without a savior. You can be saved. Denounce the devil that tempts you to this life. Follow your savior, and He will lead you to safety.” He held out his hand. Steve took a breath, and shook it.

-

Steve’s first day was a fucking nightmare.

He was led to his room, a small room with two bunked beds and no doors. He was told he’d have three roommates, and if they were caught touching one another, the punishment would be painful.

And then it was group therapy.

He sat in a circle with ten of the other boys from the program. They were forced to discuss every attraction they had ever felt to anyone besides women. They were forced to discuss sexual encounters they had had with men, and call themselves disgusting.

And as it was Steve’s turn, and he talked about wearing panties, and fingering himself, and sucking Tommy’s dick, and he felt disgusting.

At dinner he met one of his roommates, and his heart sank.

“Where’d they scrape you up?” The guy was fucking gorgeous.

“Indiana.”

“And you just a homo? Or...?” The guy’s voice trailed off as he looked Steve up and down. “You one a’ them crossdressers, too?” Steve flushed deeply.

“How, how did you know?”

“Because you look like they got to you already. Means they got something on you. Make you feel real bad about yourself.”

“How, how long have you been here?”

“Long enough. Seen plenty a’ boys come and go. Some cured, some just a lost cause.” He was so nonchalant about the whole thing.

“Why, why so long?” He grinned at Steve, sharp and beautiful.

“Because I’m immune, Pretty Boy.” Steve’s breath hitched. The guy licked over his teeth. “Can’t beat the gay outta me if they tried. And they fuckin’ have.”

“But why, why don’t you want to change? I mean, they’re, they’re right.” His blue eyes went cold.

“They got you deep. Damn, you might be the quickest turn around I’ve ever seen.”

“I just, I don’t want to be wrong anymore.” He leaned closer to Steve.

“You have never been wrong.” Steve felt like he was gonna cry.

A firm hand clapped down on Steve’s shoulder.

“William, I hope you’re treating our new guest nicely.” William’s face fell immediately.

“Yes, Father.” Steve looked up to see a priest holding onto him. His hair was greying and neat. His eyes were cold and dead.

“I’m afraid I’m going to have to take Steven with me.” Steve followed him, eyes downcast, all the way to his office. “Steven, my name is Father Andrew. I’m here to help you.” Steve didn’t like his smile. “We’re going to meet everyday at 8:30 pm for your therapy.”

He pulled out a folder from the bottom drawer of his desk. He placed a photograph in front of Steve with a flourish.

It was porn.

It was fucking gay porn.

He stood in front of Steve, leaning against the desk, off to the side of the image.

“Tell me what you see here.” One of the men had dark hair. He was being taken from behind by the other man, his blond hair and bright eyes stirred something in Steve.

“Two men. Having sex.”

He didn’t see Father Andrew’s hand, just heard the crack of it against his cheek.

His eyes watered, his cheek burned.

“What do you see?”

“Two perverts.”

“What are they doing?”

“Defiling one another.”

“Good, Steven. You’re learning.”

He placed another photograph down. This time, the man being fucked had a full face of makeup, tears making the dark eyeliner run as he was on his back, hands cuffed to the bed. The man fucking him was smirking at the camera, tongue between his teeth.

“How does this make you feel?”

“Disgusted.”

“Why?”

“That they, they would touch each other like that.”

“Do you have fantasies like this? Of being tied up by another man? Raped by another man?”

And the answer, the answer was technically yes. He had plenty of fantasies of being tied up, taken rough, taken dirty.

But rape. That’s a strong fucking word.

“No, Father.” Another crack. Another slap.

“Lying is a sin, Steven.”

“I, I don’t want to be, to be raped.” Another slap.

“Lying is a sin, Steven.”

“Yes, yes Father. I have had fantasies.”

“These are not fantasies, these are perversions planted in your mind by demons, by the devil trying to pull you away from Christ our Lord. Do not let these demons lead you astray.”

He pulled out another picture.

Steve’s heart fucking stopped.

It was a picture of himself. A nude he had taken for Tommy.

He was wearing pretty lingerie, pouting to the camera. He remembers taking it, remembers putting on his makeup, posing over and over until he took one he liked. They must’ve gone through his phone, through his texts.

“Why do you dress like a woman?”

“Be-because I’m disgusting.” And the thing is, Steve had been told plenty of times that day that he’s disgusting, and he had begun to believe it.

“Good, Steven. You are disgusting. Do you believe you’re a woman?”

“No, Father.”

“Then why have you been experimenting with women’s things?”

“I believed I wasn’t a man.”

“And are you a man?”

“Yes, Father.”

“God made you a man.”

“Yes, Father.” Steve still didn’t like his smile.

He switched the image.

And it was another one of his nudes. This time he was in a skirt, kneeling with his back to the mirror, one hand spreading his cheeks, showing off the silver plug in his ass.

He even remembers the text he had sent with it.

Tommy had been studying for a test, so Steve sent that picture and said but im lonely :( and Tommy had replied I’ll be there in twenty.

“Why do you have an obsession with your anus?” Steve could feel the blood drain from his face.

“I, uh, it feels good.” Another slap.

“How does spitting in the face of your Heavenly Father feel good, Steven? Sodomy does not feel good.” Another slap. Steve’s face felt like it was on fire.

“I’m sorry, Father. I am vile, and disgusting.” Steve was sobbing, felt so fucking pathetic, trying to look anywhere but the printed image of himself.

“I think that’s enough for tonight. I expect you here tomorrow after dinner.”

Steve fucking ran back to his room.

The other boys were asleep. He climbed into the top bunk, curling into himself.

He felt disgusting, he felt foul and wrong and bad.

He tried to stifle his sobs into his pillow, the scratchy case muffling his panic attack.

“Hey, Stevie.”

“I’m sorry. I’ll try to be quiet.” There was a sigh, breath fanning over his face.

And then the boy from earlier was swinging himself into bed with him, curling against him.

“They said-”

“I know exactly what times they patrol. I’ll leave your bed before then.” He sighed. “First night’s always the hardest. You just gotta get through. Tell them what they wanna hear, but remember that they’re fucking wrong. You are valid, and real. Being gay is not disgusting.”

Steve curled into him, letting himself be comforted.

“Thank you. Thank you, William.”

“Oh, Christ. Call me Billy.”

“Thank you, Billy.”

-

As time passed, it was easy to retreat into himself.

He met with Father Andrew every night, got slapped and hit when his answers weren’t condemning enough.

But each night, Billy would crawl into bed with him, would hold him when he broke down.

The kiss was inevitable.

It happened after Steve had an extreme day, the beating he received when he had admitted to being nonbinary, that he had asked his friends at home to use other pronouns.

And Billy had said you’re perfect the way you are, Sweet Thing.

And Steve kissed him.

And Steve wanted to die.

-

“Forgive me, Father. For I have sinned.” Steve took a shaking breath.

He was kneeling in the small confessional.

They had Mass every three days, and confession each Friday.

“It has been one week since my last confession.” He took a deep breath. He needed to get this of his chest, needed to get the punishment he deserved. “Father, I, the feelings have not gone away. There is, there’s a boy, and I, I love him. And I try not to. I try not to look at him, to remember the devil is leading me astray. But Father, I think about him. I think about him often.”

“This is an extremely grievous sin, my son.”

“I know, Father. Please help me. I want to, I want to be pure. To be free of this sin, this temptation.”

“I offer, as penance for your sins, to pray a rosary for each time you have had an evil thought about your fellow man this week. As you ponder the Mysteries of the rosary, consider how God created you, how Jesus died for you, and you wipe your feet on their love.”

“Yes, Father.”

“And our meeting will be arduous tonight, Steven.”

“Yes, Father.”

“Now please, recite the Act of Contrition.”

Steve’s hands shook as he recited the prayer, finishing his confession with Father Andrew.

-

“Now, Steven. You discussed having impure thoughts today.”

Steve’s knees ached from praying the rosary so many times earlier today. He hadn’t eaten, had gone straight to the Chapel after his confession.

He wanted to pray, to cleanse himself.

And he didn’t want to risk seeing Billy.

“Yes, Father.”

“And you mentioned that you love another boy.”

“The devil is trying to make me think it’s love.” Father Andrew smiled his empty smile down at Steve.

“That’s right Steven. Because love cannot exist between two men. Love is a beautiful thing created and given to us by The Lord God.” Father Andrew leaned over Steve, made him shrink back in his seat. “Which is why you are unlovable as you are. You are foul and vile. You may be loved if you change.”

He grabbed Steve’s hair, holding his head still as he slapped his face.

And Steve let him.

He was foul, he was vile.

He deserved the pain.

-

Two months.

That’s how long it took Steve to “graduate”.

He left the facility in clean khakis, a nice sweater his mother had sent him to wear home.

Billy had left a week and a half prior.

He was deemed a lost cause.

Steve’s mother was there to pick him up, hugged him tight and told him how happy she was that he was fixed.

He was quiet as they drove, watching the shadows the summer sun cast on the side of the plain flat road.

“Your father will be pleased. You’ve made such wonderful progress. Free of all those delusions.”

They passed Tommy’s house.

He felt sick.

-

The first thing Steve did when he got home was destroy all his make up.

He took everything feminine from it’s hiding spot in the back of his closet.

He scraped out the eye shadow, smeared the lipstick all over his dresses.

He cut up his lingerie, shoved everything into a black garbage back, driving into town to toss it in the dumpster behind the gas station.

He wanted it away, he wanted it gone. He wanted to be pure.

-

His hands shook as he zipped up the suitcase.

He didn’t have much in there, was planning on taking enough to get him through a little while, then maybe buying some things, some pretty things.

His parents were asleep downstairs, he was planning on being long gone by the time they woke up.

He put on his backpack, taking his wallet and tiptoeing down the stairs, his shoes in his hand.

He had a plan, would drive to the bus station, leave his car there.

Someone will find it, and at that point, he’ll be long gone.

He bought a bus ticket to Chicago, paid in cash and gave a fake name.

He was fucking out of here.

They were fucking out of here.

-

“As I live, and fucking breathe.”

Steve startled as a hand came down on their shoulder.

They startled again when they turned around, came face to face with a ghost from the past.

“B-Billy?” Billy’s hair was longer than it had been at the camp. His smile was lazier, his eyes brighter. Steve’s gut gave an excited little flutter as he looked them up and down.

“You look fuckin’ gorgeous, Pretty Boy.” Steve flushed, adjusting their dress. It was new.

It had been three years since the camp. One year of Steve living in pain, until they packed their shit, and moved to the Golden Coast. They left in the middle of the fucking night, ran away like a scared child, never looking back.

And here was the love of their goddamn life, in some hole in the wall coffee shop in San Fransisco.

“It’s uh, it’s not Pretty Boy, anymore.” Billy’s grin got even wider.

“Thank fuck.” He swung himself into the seat across from Steve’s, upsetting some of the papers they were working on.

“What happened to you, Billy?” Billy’s smiled slipped, just a little.

“My dad was tired a’ paying for that joint if I wasn’t getting better. So he said if I wasn’t fixed in like, a month, he would stop paying, and I would be kicked out. Stayed true to his word. Haven’t seen the bastard since.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. Getting kicked outta that place is the best fuckin’ thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“I graduated. Went through the whole thing. Took me a year to realize how fucked up it was.”

“Jesus. They got you deep.” Steve shrugged.

“I’m okay now.”

“Yeah? What’re you doin’?”

“Goin’ to school. Gonna be a counselor. Hopefully work in an elementary school, or something.” Billy’s eyes were bright.

“That’s amazing. Gonna tell all the little queer kids that they’re valid and all that?”

“That’s the goal.” Billy grinned. “What are you doing now? You with anyone?”

“I own a bar, actually. Kind of a dive, but it’s a good time.” He looked at Steve through his lashes. “You should come by, sometime. Be good to see you.”

“I’d like to see you too.”

“And to answer your question, I’m not with anyone. Not right now.” He smirked. “But I could be.” He leaned over the table, drawing one finger down Steve’s hand. “I like seeing you happy. Feel like I only ever saw you cryin’ in that joint.”

“Well, spent a lot of time crying there.”

“For good reason.” Billy took their hand. “It’s really good to see you.”

“Y’know I told Father Andrew I was in love with you. Got beat black and fuckin’ blue for it.” Billy’s face was grave.

“Why’d you do that?”

“Wanted to be fixed. Took me a year to realize I didn’t need that.”

“You stop lovin’ me in that year?”

“Not even in the two after that.” Billy took a shaking breath.

“You know, I uh, I love you too. Always did. It broke my fucking heart to leave you in that place. Was gonna wake you up that night, get you to run away with me. But they took me out, uh, forcibly.”

“Bet you put up a real good fight.”

“Broke Father Ryan’s nose.” Steve let out a burst of laughter, clapping one hand over their mouth.

“I was wondering about that. He had a splint for like, a month.”

“Yeah, well, bastard kept tryin’ to exorcise me. Headbutted him right in the face.”

“Good for you, Bill. Sometimes I wish I could light the whole place on fire.”

“Me too.” Billy took their hand, pressing a kiss to the back of it. “I gotta head, but I wanna see you. Soon. Later today, if you can.”

“Yeah, uh, I’m just doing some homework, but I could stop by the bar tonight? I don’t have shit to do tomorrow.”

“Lemme pick you up. We can go to dinner before I take you to the bar.” They smiled softly at him.

“I’d like that.”

[neverendingstories00]

Past The Point Of No Return (Ch.9/FINALE)

Pairing: Safin x F!Reader

Summary: You attempt to adjust back to your mundane lifestyle, but Safin still haunts you. Safin makes sure to let the world know that you are his and only his.

Word Count: 4.6k

Warnings: N/A

A/N: GUYS!! It's the final chappie...😖 Dw, there's an epilogue that is going to come very shortly. I know this has been short, but it's been a really fun ride. I promise to write more fics in the future. I might take a small break since school and that I've been writing non-stop for the past week and posting the chappies at like 3am. Anwyays, I stayed up until 2am to finish this for you guys. Your support and comments literally make my day so thank you once again! Hope you guys enjoy this ❣️❣️

MASTERLIST

Three months on that dreaded island, and the world hadn’t changed. M16 was still running, the protests still occurred, and you (surprisingly) were still alive. You returned to your old apartment and saw the desk where you had meet Safin, imaging the knife that was uncomfortable close to your neck. The way he had sniffed your hair and his nickname, clever girl, rolled off of his tongue. In your apartment, you always thought Safin was going to be waiting for you at every corner.

All of your family and friends were overjoyed seeing your alive. Your poor mother and sister sobbed as they held you close and gave a thousand thanks to M16. In those months you were gone, everybody was sure that you had died or were killed in a horrible manner. Your mother didn’t even want to know what you had gone through. Her arms were wrapped tightly around your body as her tears stained your shoulder,

“Just stay with me. Please.” Her broken voiced cracked. “I can’t lose you again, y/n.”

That had marked the first time you ever cried in front of your coworkers. You knew it was unprofessional, but after months of captivity, you were even more damaged then you were before. Being inside of your own body and clothes made you painfully uncomfortable. You constantly took showers and changed your clothes because everything reminded you of Safin. No longer could you wear in a braid since you lay on Safin’s chest and he’d unravel the braid, running his fingers as you two walked. All of the dresses in your closet you threw out, just looking at them made you think of the night after that dinner where Safin requested a kiss.

Even if it wasn’t there, he haunted you every second.

Safin had been locked away in M16’s underground emergency headquarters. Nomi reported that he was under constant surveillance. He was polite to most of the guards, requesting a copy of a Brave New World. It was absolutely bizarre, but they gave it to him. They tried to force information of out him, but he wouldn’t budge. No reason why he kidnapped you, wanted control over post-soviet countries, or any of the sadistic actions he had done. Upon seeing Bond, M, or any agent, he would ridicule and tear them down. It turned out the woman he had previously loved was Madeleine. He had attempted to create a clone with his and Madeliene’s blood but failed. Nobody had a single idea of what he was capable of. Not even you knew what Safin held. But all M16 knew was that he was a classified global threat that was taken down by his own prisoner. His downfall had begun after his capture. The protests had been contained by goverments and other international spy agencies. M had promised that he would never ever step within a mile of your location.

It all seemed too normal to be true.

The month following your return, you decided to get back into the line of action two weeks after your arrival. Your mother had voted against it, but you needed it more than anything. Anything to get Safin out your mind. Your first day in office was full of questions from all of your co-workers.

“What did he do to you?”

“What was Safin’s lair like?”

‘What was under the mask?”

You could never respond with the truth. The nights were he had fucked you with his tongue down your throat; your neck decorated in red marks. How he had married the two of you and took you on expensive shopping trips. The only people who knew of the truth were Nomi, Bond, and M. That was all. It all seemed like a drug trip gone wrong. After your first week back, the questions had gone down. Moneypenny would come to your desk with a report, a smile on her clear skin. “Welcome back, C”. It made you smile, taking the report and typing away. Being back to your mundane life was going to get taking use to it. No longer would you have nights of true pleasure in your life ever again. But it was for the better. You were utterly damaged beyond belief, but hid in deep in your body. Your broken, crippled soul.

Q had been one of your closest acquaintances in M16. Upon first meeting him, a rivalry was sparked between you two. Q had been deemed the smartest person in M16. With you, a stubborn and young recruit, he shook in his shoes. You thought he hated you at first, but he stated that he considered you a “boon companion”. The man spoke with such large words. You told him to simply call you a “friend”, and that is where your friendship that slowly began to grow.  

You knew you weren’t suppose to tell him, but you did. Every single bit of it. He would come over to your apartment every night with Chinese Food, listening with his Miso Soup as you explained your experience on the island. Q wasn’t one for gossip and you trusted him with all of the information you had told him. Not only was he a colleague, but a confidant.

The ring was minimanlistic gold band with thin, dainty diamonds. It was easy to miss. Q looked at your hand, examining the ring.

“You’re married to him?”

You nodded in response. “I am. He had a whole ceremony, and a priest held at gunpoint. I’ve taken the ring off…”

“Regardless, your still...married to him.” Q had seen some bizarre events over the years, but this was truly baffling. One of his friends was forcefully married to the world’s most feared anarchist.

“Do you think I wanted to be? I can’t forget about him. He’s still there..”

“In solitary confinement. He’s being guarded twenty-four seven. Safin isn’t going to be leaving anytime soon.” Q attempted to console. He was horrible with emotions. “I checked every database I could and tried to find any ties connected to him, but nothing came up. If they do, I’ll make sure to alert you of them.”

Holding the ring in your fingers, you spun it around. A sigh escaped your mouth. “Q, I...can’t. He..we..”

“He took advantage of you. All of the threats he had made were meant to scare you. I know you tried to fight back. Everything you had gone through...I apologize.” Q said, a hint of guilt in his voice. “Day and night, I tracked for your location. We thought Spectre had taken you. Safin had made sure there was no trace of you. Months prior, he had been planning this. He was obsessed with you. Only If I had kn-”

“I’m here now. I’m not leaving.” You confirmed, trying to sound confident. Safin couldn’t hurt you anymore. He was locked away, never to be shown to the world again. “Thanks to your and your little trick, I got out.”

“A prisoner bringing down her captor. That is quite impressive, C.”

“And I’ll do it again.” You promised. Q nodded in response, a sly smile on your face. He grabbed his Sake and the two of your cheered, drinking your sorrows away. Q wasn’t one for words. Whenever he grabbed his Sake, it was a silent reminder that your secrets were safe with him. Always.

-----

It all started with your period. Even before meeting Safin, your period was becoming spottier and came at late dates. You shrugged it out and thought nothing of it. But after your arrival home, not only did your mental health decline but so did your pyshical wellbeing. It all started with your frequent mood swings at work and home, causing sleepless nights. Your doctor prescribed you with bipolar medication, but it never worked. All it did was make you more paranoid and sensitive.

Your period came late. It was spotty and faint, and had disappeared two days later. Your heart beat was increasing, you breasts became larger as they ached, and you felt nauseous without getting sick. Those had been the major symptoms.

It wasn’t until you had fainted infront during a presentation that Q had decided it was best for you to go to a doctor. He had noticed the bags under your eyes, fatigue, and slight change in weight.

Inside of the doctor’s office, you looked down, rapidly tapping your foot. What the hell was happening to you? Were you truly going insane. Everything hurt so much.

Q placed his hand on your thigh, making the shaking stop. Looking over at him, your face was full of worry.

“He’ll put you on stronger medication, C. Your going to be fine.”

As you wanted to respond, the doctor opened the door and shut it behind him, looking at the papers as he tilted his glasses down.

Sitting up, you look at him, eager for an answear.  Your expectations were low for anything major. “What is the issue, docter?”

Sorting out his papers, he answered, “From your test, it appears that your...pregnant.”

The shaking stopped. Your breathing become lower as everything became blurry and muffled. Everything was numb. This was the last thing that you needed. It had to be a false test. There was no way you could be holding his child. It wasn’t possible.

“No...No…” You managed to mutter. Q looked over at you, pity in his eyes. “Please, I can’t do this,”

The doctor looked down at you, understanding your distress. He knew about who the father could potentially be.

“I’m sorry, I am..” He gulped as he shook his head. It didn’t seem like what he was going to tell you was good news.

“Your five months pregnant, y/n. It’s too late for an abortion.”

Everything dropped around you. Looking at your stomach, you felt disguetd with yourself. Inside your stomach, you were carrying his child. Safin’s offspring. Inside of your stomach was a growing monster.

The doctor interrupted, trying to make the best out of a positive situation. He said that you could give the child up to adoption and that he knew plenty of parents that wanted a child. All you did was want to leave the godawful place. A few short minutes later you had left with Q. Q barely spoke a word, seeing the disallief on your face.

Getting into Q’s Landrover, you close the door, looking straight foward.

“Q?” You muttered, turning to him.

He looked back at you, awaiting for your response.”Yes?”

“Is the office still open?”

Q furrowed an eyebrow, perplexed. “Why do you want to go at such a late hour?”

You looked at your stomach before looking back at Q.

“I have unfinished business I need to attend to.”

-----

Q had begged for you to reconsider, but you ignored him. You were furious, hurt, and upset. Not only at yourself, but Safin. He would always whisper in your ear that you were “past the point of no return”. After months of speculation, you finally knew why. Even if he was imprisoned, Safin had to mark you to let the world know that you were his and only his. It was all some sick and twisted plan.

Walking down into the emergency room, you entered the room and saw him, locked away in a glass cell. Safin looked the same, except he wore an nude jumpsuit. It had been two months since you had last saw him. His last, cold whisper with heartbroken eyes as he was dragged away. A subtle smile appeared on his face as he put his book down.

“My dear y/n, you’ve finally come to visit.” He greeted. “I was beginning to miss you.”

“YOU FUCKING ARSEHOLE!” You screeched like a banshee. Attempting to bang on the glass cell doors, the guards help you back. “HOW DARE YOU!”

Safin raised one of his eyebrows, confused. He scalded y/n’s body, seeing the tired face and somewhat noticeable bump. She still looked like her beautiful self. But there was something rather off about her appearance. When on his island, y/n looked happier. Like she had been sleeping more, letting down his guard. But when she returned home, all of the happiness had evaporated from her body. Safin could’t hate the woman that betrayed him. After all, y/n was his wife.

“What you mean?” He queried. “Isn’t this what you wanted? Did’t you say you needed me?”

“Do you want this?” Safin panted, looking down at you. Seeing him on top of him, he’s truly a stunning man. His velvety voice was making you wet. Instead of sounding pissed off, he sounded calm and even caring.

“Shut up, please.” Your hand traveled to his cheek, gently patting it. “I-”

Two of his fingers enter your clitoris, causing you to bite your lip. It was a painful reaction at first, but then became pleasurable. You could no longer hide your pleasure and let out a small moan. “N-need it.”

“I never asked to be pregnant! Especially with this!”

Safin simply shook his head, perplexed to why you had been acting so angry about your pregnancy. You were going to become his wife, it was bound to happen. “I thought you would have learned sooner. I don’t see why you are so distressed, my love.”

“Don’t fucking my love me, Safin.” You snapped back as tears began to prick at your eyes. “You used all these threats against my work and family for me to obey your little commands. Face it, you took advantage of me.”

“Took advantage of? What are you speaking of, y/n?” Safin stood up from sitting and walked close to the glass to get a better look at you. “When I first saw you, I knew you were going to mine. My wife, my companion, my light, forever. That child inside of you is our creation. Can you imagine what he or she will do?”

“Your carrying one of the elites. I know this transformation is painful, but they will be beautiful and smart like there mother. They will carry on for me and you, build a new world. Just like we will do.” Safin calmly stated in his silkly accented voice. He seemed so confident and calm in his wording as if the situation had been totally normal. “If you try to give him up, I swear on my life that I will find the child and you again. SPECTRE will want that child more than anything else.”

“This child or SPECTRE will never know of your existence.” You maintained, trying not to go emotional. Safin could never his child for thousnads of reasons. The last thing you wanted was to have another Safin running around the world. “It will grow up fatherless. It cannot be exposed to such a monstrous man.”

The calm composure of Safin quickly changed. His expression became more scrunched as his hands clenched into fists. “He is my child too, y/n. We bleed the same blood. I demand to see him. It is only fair.”

Stepping back, you shaked your head. As long as you were alive, that child was going to be far away from Safin. “It’s only fair to the child that they grow up normal.”

“Normal?” Safin quietly muttered, before booming. “HE IS OUR CHILD, WOMAN? HAVE YOU NOT SEEN ME? HAVE YOU NOT SEEN MY WORK? THAT CHILD IS NOT A FOLLOWER, HE IS A LEADER! WHAT DO YOU NOT SEE?”

You jumped back, startled by this yelling. The guards had turned to him, pointing there guns. The last thing they needed was a riled Safin.

“I see everything. You are going to be locked in here, forever. Charged for your crimes agaisnt humanity, and Myself?” You explained as you looked at your stomach before meeting the eyes of your husband. “Will raise the child as my own. Be a mother and raise them to be the opposite of there father. We may be married, but I am not connected to you. I’m breaking all ties with you. You hurt me, manipulated me, used me. That’s not what love is. I have never, and will never love you, Safin. Goodbye.”

Safin looked heartbroken and betrayed, unable to respond to such a thing. For the first time in forever, he looked defeated. The anarchist was so happy to have you as his wife and an offspring to call his own, but his dreams had been crushed. His own wife didn’t love him and his child would never know who he is. Safin would never see the only person he truly loved ever again.

Spinning on your heel, you walked out of the room with Q behind you. Tears fell from your eyes as you stopped at and looked at the empty office with a hand on your face. Safin’s child was growing inside of you. You were far past the point of return now as you carried one of the most dangerous men in the world’s child. But it wasn’t just Safin’s child, it was your as well. You were going to be this child’s mother now, whether you liked it or not. If SPECTRE or anybody had found them, they would be killed on spot. You refused to let an innocent child go through such pain. Just because it had Safin’s blood didn’t mean it was a monster. Evil was not born, but made. It was your duty as a former solider and new mother to serve your country and family.

Your child may bleed Safin’s blood, but it will never become anything similar to his father under your eyes.

-----

THREE YEARS LATER

Louis was the best thing that had happened to you. When you first saw him, held him, you knew you loved him. The child would always cry and fuss in everybody else’s arms but yours. After your difficult birth, the nurses tried to comfort Louis but he simply wouldn’t stop crying. When the nurses had given him to you he had stopped crying and slept in your arms. Holding Louis, all of the pain and anxiety in the world had gone away. He was the light in your darkness.

Everybody who had met the child loved him. Your closest acquaintances at M16 such as Moneypenny and Q knew about Louis. Moneypenny always offered to babysit while Q would bring his cats to be Louis’s first friends. Bond and Nomi had given him the nickname “big man” and Madeleine, to your surprise, thought Louis was a sweetheart.

You’re first week as a mother wasn’t the most ideal. It was full of crying, confusion, and uncomfort. Whenever you looked at Louis, he reminded you of Safin. Everything about him made Safin upon your eyes. But you kept telling yourself that they were two separate people. Safin was locked away, never to see your child or you ever again. You were safe.

Three years had gone by fast. You were no longer a girl, but a woman. You still continued your job at M16 as usual; encrypting, decrytping, helping the double oh agents with there missions. Nothing had changed, except you were a mother.

Your work shifts had gotten shorter due to your commitment. Instead of working to four am, you were strictly prohibited (Moneypenny’s words) to only work to Nine. It didn’t seem ideal at first. But as the days had gone on, your highlight would come home to Louis, running to your legs and hugging them. It brought a true smile to your face. It was the first one you had felt that was genuine in years.

Unlocking the door and opening it, Louis had ran up to your legs, jumping up and down that you were home.

“Mama! Home!” He smiled. You picked him up as he kissed your face, and you responded back with kisses as well. Louis had a minor speech delay and could only piece together certain words. Everybody had found it adorable.

[Y/s/n] came up to you, crossing her arms. “Let mama walk in the door and breathe for five seconds, Lou.”

“It’s fine, [y/s/n]. He’s just excited.” You reassured. Placing Louis down, you rub his head as he runs back to building his lego. Needing a drink, [y/s/n] leads you to the kitchen to make you one drink to ease your nerves.”

“How was work?” She asked, grabbing the glasses as she worked her magic.

You shrugged in response, “Same old shit. Glad to be home though, I got two days off.”

“Really? I thought you never got work off.”

“Thought so too. My supervisor gave me the weekend off. He wanted me to relax.” You explained. [Y/s/n] handed you a drink and you too toasted before gulping them down.

“You can get a break from him, if you want.” You offered. It was your only time to spend with Louis alone. Your sister smiled at the idea.

She had a growing family and life of her own as well. “Really?”

“Yeah, I need some time with him. I just want him to know what I love him..”

“Y/n..” Your sister patted your shoulder. “He knows that. Remember when he was a baby and James tried to hold him, but he got kicked in the face? When’s he around you, he’s calm. He loves you more than anything in the world.”

“Your not even a mother, yet you’re so motherly.” You smirked.

She chuckled back in response. “He’s one of the [y/l/n]’s. It’s my duty to be his aunt.”

Louis ran into the kitchen, bored with his project. All he wanted to do was be with his mama. Running up your legs, Louis grabbed the pant and tugged on them. “Mama?”

“Yes, Lou?” You looked down, moving his unruly dark curls out of his beautiful bronze face. He had Safin’s beautiful bluish-green eyes that always shined. Although nothing like his father, Louis was the copy and paste of Safin.

���Storytime..please?” Louis begged with his puppy eyes.

“Of course..” You smiled. Louis ran off to his bedroom to wait patiently for his story.

Your sister looked and smiled at you. “He’s amazing..”

“I know. Everybody knows..”

-----

Louis hadn’t even gotten through the first few pages without falling asleep on your shoulder. As you read through Beauty And The Beast, his little snores stopped your sighing. Looking down at him, Louis was truly a beautiful little boy. He had dark curly brown hair, bronzed olive skin, big bluish-green eyes, and chubby cheeks. You had gotten used to the fact that Louis was identical to Safin. He shared his blood, but Louis and Safin were two different people. Safin was a broken and misunderstood Anarchist while Louis was a sweet, little boy.

As hard as it was to believe, Safin was once a young childhood who didn’t know anybody better. His innocence had been stripped away from him at a young age, scarring him permanently with internal and external wounds.

You should hate him for he had done to you. What he had done to the world and the pain. But yet, a small part of you missed him.

You missed the way Safin gave you what no other man could give you. How he treated you not only with true obsessive love but spoiled you with endless gifts and kisses. How his fingers would play with your hair, his sweet nicknames, how he promised to kill and die for you. Safin worshipped you like a god. When he had kidnapped you, at first you hated him more than anything in the world. But as time had gone on and he became more vulnerable, you began to fall for him. You were a scared beauty who fell for the broken beast.

What if M16 had never come for you? Safin would have been your husband, whether you liked it not. Louis would have to grow up with Safin’s influences, trapped in a Submarine Pen. You didn’t want to imagine what Safin wanted with your child. What he would use it for in his sick game of Anarchy and Discord. Just the thought of Safin made you happy, sad, and confused. You pulled Louis close and stroked his curls, wanting to protect him. Maybe you should have slept with him to make sure he was safe.

Safin was locked away. He wouldn’t hurt you again.

Why did you miss someone you hated so much?

After taking off your prosthetic and rolling into your bed, you throw the covers over your cold body. Your whole life you had always felt alone. Connections were hard for you to make, no matter how hard you tried. In your thirty two years of life, you had always felt disconnected from the world. Something had to be wrong with you. The bed was big enough for two people, but there was only one person. As you make yourself comfortable, you notice a burning candle on the nightstand. It makes you think back to that night in Greece, with Safin’s hands travelling over your body as he passioantly made love to you. Safin wasn’t a man you had met everyday. He was an Anarchist who happened to be obsessed with you and your legal husband. The ring was still on your finger to this day. Looking at it made you subtly smile to yourself. Why were you so happy about him? Safin was unpredictable. One minute you symathized for him, wanted him, or hated him.

But then you realized it.

Safin’s love for you was unhealthy. He had stalked your whole life and pre planned your kidnapping to be his bride. You had thought you were going to be used a bargaining trip, but it was the total opposite. The more you learned (and obsered) Safin, you realized that he was human as well. He was a lonely evil man who yearned for love. The love he had experience was eithier negative or nothing. Upon seeing you, Safin wanted you, but didn’t know how to win you over. He made you a garden, gave you expensive items, a bedroom instead of a cell, yet you refused to love him. It wasn’t until Greece where you began to slighlty sympathieze with him. It would never justify his actions. When you had fucked, all you needed was a distraction. Both of you had been touchstarved. When that occurred, Safin had assumed you were in love. He did whatever he took for you to love him, even if it meant killing for freinds and family or forcing you into a loveless marriage.

It was for the better that Safin was locked away in a glass cell for the rest of his days. You and Louis could try to live a somewhat normal life. You would never experience a true connection again. But it was okay with you. If you could most of your life being confused and yearning, then you could do it for as long as you lived. Louis was the only reason you were going on with life. His smile and how his eyes twinkled in the light made you cry; he was truly a star.

You would never admit it to anyone, not even your cloest friends or family, but a small part of you did truly love Safin. You wanted to help him, but he was far past the point of the return. It was better if he was out of your life.

Looking into the burning candle, your eyes begin to flutter shut. You suddenly feel warm again, like your being held and watched over. It always felt like you were never alone. Safin was a lingering phantom that intrigued and haunted you. He was always watching you.

And yet, a small part of you truly loved Safin.

[holylulusworld]

Monster

Summary: He’s a monster, you are his prey…Right?

Pairing: AU Dean x Reader, former Carson Brady x Reader

Characters: Detective Jimmy Novak, Zachariah, Lisa Braeden

Warnings: angst, scared reader, characters death, murder, blood, kidnapping, violence, smut, unprotected sex, dub-con, cock warming, possessive Dean, lies, dark!fic, OOC Dean, obsession, mentions of cheating (not Dean)

A/N: Lyrics in italics by Walking on cars – ‘Monster’

Words: 3,6 k

Divider by @firefly-graphics​

Monster. Usually, monsters are face- and nameless creatures but the monster haunting your nightmares has a face and a name. 

His name is Dean Winchester, and this is the story of how you tried to escape him…

Eight months earlier…

A noise followed by the sickening sound of someone’s death screams wakes you from your dreams. When you finally blink your eyes open you can hear hushed voices and desperate sobs.

You can hear your husband beg for his life and someone chuckle at his words. Your hands are shaking, and your legs are like jelly, but somehow you manage to dial 911 to call for help.

For a moment you believe this was only a nightmare and you will wake soon but then a blood curdling scream let your breathing quicken again.

The voices grow louder, and you can hear someone get closer to the bedroom. Panicked you kneel to flatten to the ground and crawl under the bed. 

You know, anyone entering the bedroom can see the unmade bed, but you pray you can by yourself and Brady some time by hiding.

When the door creaks open you cover your mouth with your hand, barely breathing to make sure whoever is entering the room does not find you before the police arrives.

You can hear sirens in the distance and your heart beats faster. A man steps closer to the bed, looks around the room before he touches the sheets.

“We have to go!” A voice calls for the intruder of your home. “Let’s go. He got what he deserved boss, no need to wait for the cops to arrive.”

Your breathing evens when you watch the man leave your bedroom.

Someone slams the front door and you rush to the window, hide behind the curtains only to see Dean Winchester, ‘the Dean Winchester’ leave your house with another man.

This can’t be, this is a nightmare. There is no reasonable explanation why the notorious bachelor and billionaire came to your house to attack your husband.

“Brady…” Just now you find the strength to run out of the bedroom to call your husbands name. “BRADY!” Running into his office you fall to your knees as his lifeless body lies on the floor.

Someone rammed a knife into his heart. There is no life in his eyes and you start shaking, as the cops break through the front door.

“Ma’am…Mrs. Brady? We need you to come with us…” You feel hands on your body but the voices calling your name can’t reach you. “Ma’am…we need you to leave the room.”

“Mrs. Brady, did you see the attacker? Anyone?” A cop in a cheap suit asks and you nod. “Do you know the attacker?”

“I saw him before. We…we don’t know him; I mean I never met him in person but…” Sniffling you feel your legs give in and the cop needs to steady your body.

“It was Dean Winchester. There was another man, but he was too far away, already entering a car. I can only tell; he was taller than Winchester…”

Your eyes search for any kind of sympathy in the cop’s eyes, but they changed to cold orbs the moment you let Dean Winchesters name slip.

“Ma’am. I think you dreamed or something.” Huffing another cop check on you. “She was asleep and dreamed Dean Winchester came to her house and killed her husband, Jimmy. Can you believe this?” 

“Don’t make fun of her, Zachariah. She was asleep, heard someone hurt her husband and confused the attacker with Mr. Winchester.” The man named Jimmy pats you shoulder, but there is not compassion in his eyes either.

“Yeah…I…I think that’s what happened.” 

Your instinct tells you that there is no one in this room believing your story, even worse, you have the feeling none of the cops would start an investigation against Dean Winchester.

“I…I read a magazine and he was on the cover.” It’s not a complete lie, though.

The posture of the first cop changes, he seems to be more relaxed and oddly, he gives you a soft smile.

“This must be it, ma’am. I guess you saw two men leave your house and that’s it. Do you have cameras?” You know Brady installed three hidden cameras in the backyard and four in the front yard.

They are well hidden and only you and he know where to find the cameras, so you do the only thing coming to your mind – you lie.

“No. Unfortunately we don’t have any security cameras. I…I always wanted one, but Brady believed no one would ever break into our house…” Now the tears fall, and you grasp for a chair to sit as your legs give in. “I can’t help you…”

“That is not a problem, Mrs. Brady. We will do our best to find your husbands murderer…” You know the cop lies, just like you know that Dean Winchester came to your house to kill Brady.

“Of course, you will. You are the good guys after all…” The words leave a bitter taste on your tongue but you can’t scream bloody murder as you are surrounded by people protecting your husband’s killer.

“We are ma’am…” Helping you back up the cop named Jimmy leads you out of the room. “It’s better for you to wait upstairs. We need the forensics in here…”

“O…Okay. Do you need anything else? Coffee? My statement?” Sniffling you wrap your arms around your trembling body. 

“Not now, Mrs. Brady. We can talk about everything later…much later…”

Much later never came. Every time you called the department no one seemed to know anything about your husbands’ case.

Here you are now, at his burial. Not many people came. His parents died years ago, just like yours. Brady never made many friends on his way to one of the most important security companies CEO. It’s only you, the priest and three or four people who worked for Brady.

Over the last days you got to know the firm is reported to be bankrupt. Brady lost all your money, which means you’ll lose the house too.

“We are sorry for your loss, Mrs. Brady.” Before she goes Lisa Braeden hugs you tightly. “He was a great boss, not someone yelling at his staff. I packed all the cops didn’t take. I’ll send it to your house.”

“Thank you for coming. I know most of the people are mad at Brady, including me.” Giving you a sad smile Lisa shakes your hand before she follows her former colleague.

A man stands a bit further away. He’s wearing a black suit and a cold shiver runs down your spine when he turns to walk toward a black Impala - the car you saw that night…

“Another one?” The bartender asks as you slam the manila folder shut. “Hard day?”

“Where shall I start?” Huffing you point toward your black dress. “My husband got killed. I have to pay for his burial with money I do not have. The company my father helped him built is bankrupt. I have to move out of my house at the end of month and the killer…”

“Is still out there?” A man asks and you nod silently. “Didn’t the cops help?”

When you turn to face the man, you are close to lose consciousness. Dean Winchester sits right next to you, still wearing the black suit.

“No. I didn’t see the killer. Only two shadows…that’s all…” Lying you turn your attention back toward the papers in the folder. Your hands are shaking as you look at the big red numbers. 

“A pretty girl like you shouldn’t worry about money, Sweetheart…” His voice is smooth, and you must admit if he weren’t your husband’s murderer you would even call him sexy.

“I am not pretty or a girl. I am a widow with a huge amount of debts, a house which isn’t mine any longer and I found out that Brady fucked his assistant for over eight months…” Angrily slamming your glass onto the counter you stare at the bottles behind the bartenders back.

“Another one for me and the lovely lady.” Dean snickers, moving closer to have a look at the papers. “Maybe I can help? I am good at helping a pretty woman out.”

“I don’t think you want to help me, okay. You don’t even know me.” Closing the folder you turn to leave. “I’ll handle this…”

“Do you have any lead? Maybe footage of the killer?” Dean steps closer, into your personal space and you take a step backward as you get an uneasy feeling.

“No. I have nothing against the men coming to my house to kill my husband. I have nothing against anyone…” Meeting Dean’s eyes you feel his hand grab your upper arm.

“Sweetheart, you look so sad.” He’s stepping closer, strokes your cheek with his hand as he tightens the grip on your arm. “I could make the sadness go away.”

Your heart races, your stomach protests but your brain has an idea. If the cops will not help you find any proof to make sure Dean Winchester gets arrested, you have to do something.

“I…I don’t know how you could help me…” His lips brush over yours and you are suddenly too aware what he has in mind. “Mr. …”

“Call me Dean, Sweetheart. Now tell me…” His hands wander to your waist. “…do you want me to make everything better?” Aware that you throw yourself into the lion den you look up at the green-eyed man.

“How could you make things better? Can you make the man killing my husband rethink things? Can you make sure my husband does not bang his secretary and knock her up?” Huffing you try to step backward but Dean’s hands have a tight grip at your body.

“I could…” His lips brush yours and you need to take a deep breath to press your lips to his soft pillows.

“Make you scream my name tonight and tomorrow; I’ll pay for your debts and make sure that woman is out of your hair…”

“She wants to sue me to pay for her baby…” Now you swallow hard as his hands wander to your ass, groping it roughly. 

“How long since he fucked you properly, Y/N?” A shudder let your body go stiff.

You never told him your name…

“Months. Brady spend most of his time in his office, day and night. If he even came home…” It’s not a lie this time.

That was your life for the last ten months. It’s not as if you and your husband were still a happy couple but this doesn’t mean you can let his killer get away with what he did.

“Come with me, Y/N. I’ll give you the night of your life and more…” Self-confident much…

Your body reacts to his touch and you try to keep your mind somewhere else as Dean slips two fingers into your slit.

He didn’t wait until you reached his house. He had you pressed to the backseat, his face between your thighs the moment you entered his car.

To your shame, your touched-starved body craves his attention and the squelching sound of your pussy sucking his finger in is proof enough.

“So wet already, Y/N. I’ll make you writhe on my dick in no time. Fucking perfect…that’s what you are…”

Dean groans and you would even call the moment he crooks his fingers erotic as he looks at you with piercing olive eyes and you shudder under his gaze.

“Feels so good…” You don’t have to lie. Physically it feels good, but emotionally you are close to punch his face. “More…” 

“You’ll get all you want, Baby Girl. Damn, you are dripping for me. I bet Brady boy never made you feel that good…” Truth to be told, he didn’t.

“Brady was more the ‘get it done and work more’ kind of guy…” Your hands find purchase in Dean’s hair as he brushes his fingertips over your sweet spot.

“Shame you married that idiot. Always should’ve been with…” Dean clears his throat, pressing his thumb to your clit. “You should’ve been with someone like me, worshipping you and your body…”

You are a goner only seconds later but after your high, the shame and guilt fill your chest with hurting. Brady barely had the chance to rest in his grave and you are on the backseat with his murderer.

Only to find a proof he killed your husband… You replay in your mind. 

“Yeah…” Pressing the word out, forcing it to leave your mouth you look at Dean who slides his fingers out. “He was more into business and fucking someone else…”

“I’ll never cheat on your, Sweetheart. I’ll make you mine.” He’s covering your body with his tall frame, pressing his erection against your lower belly and you close your eyes before you spread your legs. 

“I want you, Dean…” Your voice almost cracks as you feel his cock nudge at your entrance.

Unlike your husband Dean slowly inches into you, takes his time to press soft kisses to your neck, your collarbone and it takes all your willpower to not cry as the intimacy is too much.

“You’re so beautiful, Y/N. Love the way you feel around me.” You barely realize Dean started to move on top of you. 

All you can do is to close your eyes and forget you are even there, but his lips press against yours and his cock hits the right spot force you to stay with him.

The coil inside your belly threatens to tighten and you wrap your legs around his waist to move with Dean. You hate it feels good, you hate that Dean will give you what Brady never even tried…another orgasm…

Your face contorts in pleasure before you can stop it. Your body gives in as you cry out Dean’s name and you feel another wave of guilt wash over you when he comes inside of you, moaning your name repeatedly.

“You’re mine, always were meant to be mine…” Your blood freezes when you feel Dean press his lips to yours. “I know you saw me, Sweetheart.”

Now your body goes stiff as Dean smirks, looking down at you in his arms. “It was too easy to get you. I thought you would fight me, scream and scratch me when I want to bring you home…”

“Home…” Lips quivering you look up at Dean, but his features soften.

“Home, Y/N. The place you belong to.” He’s nuzzling his face into your neck, humming as you are not able to move. “For two years I tried to make Brady see you belong with me. It was me; you know…”

“I…I don’t understand.” Scared you look push against Dean’s chest. “What do you mean?”

“The blind date, the day you met Brady. You were my date, but that bastard slit my tires open, I came too late and before I had the chance to ask you out again…” 

“You…you were my date? But my friend said…” Stammering you feel Dean rut against your, groaning as his cock twitches one last time. 

“Brady paid her, okay. I wanted to tell you, but that bastard made sure no one gets close to you and then you were married after your trip to Vegas…”

Your world seems to cave in realizing Dean killed Brady as he believed you are meant to be with him.

“Is that the reason you killed him?” Voice trembling you hiss as Dean rests his head onto your chest, still not pulling out. “Dean…”

“I came to talk to him after I caught him red-handed with his secretary, Y/N. I swear, I never intended on killing him. I gave him an ultimatum to tell you what he did and set you free.” 

Nuzzling your breasts Dean sighs. “Never thought you would come with me like that.”

“I…” You want to push him off you, want to scream but Dean killed your husband and he could lash out and do the same to you. “This wasn’t the plan…”

“I know you wanted to find proof I killed that bastard, but you must know, he never loved you. Brady only kept you around to torture me, to proof he won for once.” While your mind is racing Dean keeps on talking.

“I caught him with that whore. He promised her marriage, and that you will be out of his life soon.” You wiggle underneath Dean, try to force him off your body but he won’t budge. 

“Stop lying…Brady would’ve never…” Dean’s lips silence your protest, even when you try to bite him he slips his tongue into your mouth, making you pant for air when he finally breaks the kiss.

“I do not lie, Sweetheart. I have no reason to do so. I killed your husband, stalked you and yes, I would’ve taken you with me tonight against your will, but I do not lie, never will lie to you.” There is honesty in his eyes and words as he presses his lips to your temple.

“How can I believe your words…your lies…”

“That night, I came to talk to him like men should do. I offered to save his company, give him enough money for his whore and him. I only wanted you in return…” Huffing you press your hands to his chest.

“Lies…”

“No, Y/N. I told you I do not lie…not to you.” Weakly angling your hips you groan as his cock is still buried inside of you. “He made fun of me and my love to you. Brady said that no one should be that obsessed about a useless girl like you. That Lisa is…forget it.”

“He would never…” Sniffling you look anywhere but into Dean’s eyes. “Liar…”

“He was the liar, not me.” Dean gets angry, grabs your chin to force you to look at him. “I told him to forget about you, that he can have anything he ever dreamed off, but he said that Lisa wants you gone…and he meant gone.”

“Gone…I…oh…gone…”

“Your fine husband wanted to kill you to prove he only loves her. That monster had the guts to tell me you will be dead and gone soon. I lost my composure and…”

“Killed my husband…” Covering your eyes with your hands you try to process what Dean just said. Did Brady plan to kill you? Would have gone that far or is this a sick game Dean tries to play with you?

All you know is that you need to be smart, need to hide all you have in mind is to escape this dangerous man.

Months later you are on the run. One night you could sneak out of the restaurant Dean brought you to. Before you had to pretend to give in, to play his girl, even agreed to marry him to make sure you can find proof he killed your husband.

Unfortunately, there was nothing you could have used against him. – Not that the cops would’ve believed you this time.

Especially after you saw the cops coming to your house that night to talk to Dean at his office not days before you ran away.

Benny, Dean’s right hand confirmed that Brady tried to get rid of you, still, Dean is a dangerous man. He’s not the nice billionaire he tries to pretend. 

Dean Winchester is the kingpin of whole Kansas and you had no other choice than to run before you never get the chance to.

Before the engagement ring at your finger seals your fate…

Monsters are not real. They are residents of nightmares or urban legends. 

Monsters shouldn’t find you when you ran away.

Monsters shouldn’t call your name softly. 

Monsters shouldn’t press a shotgun to another man’s head as he tried to make money by calling your fiancè.

“Get away from my fiancé, piece of shit. Selling her position to me. Kidnapping her. Restraining her. Tossing her into your trunk.

While you shake in fear, glancing up at Dean he slams the handle of the gun into the man’s face.

“I’ve got you, Sweetheart. I was so worried when you ran away.”

He’s securing the shotgun before he removes the makeshift gag your so-called friendly neighbor stuffed into your mouth to make sure you can’t call for help. 

Check the locks, shut the windows down

This monster's back in town

The song replays in your mind as Dean cuts the ropes around your ankles and wrists open. He doesn’t seem to be angry, or in the mood to get rid of you.

Dean, the monster killing your husband gently checks on your sore wrists and ankles.

“We have to clean the sore skin, Y/N. I’ll have a first aid kit in my car. Never scare me like that again.”

This monster's back in town

Danger knocking at my door

He has you in his arms a moment later and you know for sure – Dean will never let you out of sight again.

“I’ve got you, Sweetheart. I know you were scared when the cops came to our home. Jimmy said you recognized him.”

“I thought you would hurt me…” Dean’s lips press a soft kiss to your hair as he carries you toward the waiting SUV.

“I would never hurt you, Y/N. You’re my girl. Jimmy came by as he finally had proof that Brady planned to kill you. I asked him to help me find Lisa. She admitted that Brady had a plan to get rid of you.” Shaking you hide your face in Dean’s chest.

“He did…” Your voice is weak as you know there is no way the man holding you in his arms will ever let you go.

“I will make you see there is no reason to be afraid of me. All I want is to love you…”

Check the locks, shut the windows down

This monster's back in town

>> Part 2

Tags in reblog.

[roccinan]

I'm risking sounding terribly egoistical by sending a public ask about my own url here but I'm doing it!!!!! I need the super graphic-details

Your ego is my ego, dearest nharidy. There's a reason the doc is named after you hahaha

[ 👉 My Wips ]

OK so the Absolvisti sequel's been sitting in my head since well, the week after I published it lmao. But I never got around to writing because I wasn't sure if it was being too self-indulgent (I'm feeling more confident about it now that I know you'll be pleased by it!). Also because I was having trouble deciding on a pov: should I continue with the Tatiana 1st person pov as always? Change it up to Martin 3rd person? or surprise: 1st person Don Juan?? Should it be a new chapter or new fic? (def. open to suggestions here!) Also I think it'd be Iconic to publish a story in the Dies Irae universe with our new cat profile pics.

Graphic detail time :D Prepare for a SUPER LONG answer LMAO. Most of the things I mentioned here and here will make their way in, with maybe a bonus ns/fw chapter from Martin or Andres' pov. The main story is SFW however, and there's like a hilariously high amount of hurt!Andres, who doesn't have demons to rely on anymore but still carries all the permanent damage the demons left on him:

It takes place some months after Absolvisti so Andres is doing better, but not fully well yet. He's not actively dying anymore but he does faint a lot and isn't exactly making a full recovery. Because I wanted to make things harder for Martin. Because he's not a young man anymore, the wounds were super extensive, and this is the result of years of accumulated damage + a form of "withdrawal" (the shadows/demons that used to feed on him were also the things that kept him alive so it's one big cycle that his body isn't leaving that easily).

This means every time Martin plans something nice for him like seeing a play or going out for a nightly walk, Andres can't go through the whole thing without feeling unwell. (Martin: "I over-exerted the love of my life. I am so SELFISH. what does Andres see in me??" Andres: "I disappointed the love of my life. I am the WEAKEST. what does Martin see in me??" Tatiana: feed me, bitches)

They manage to sit through one play though (not sure if I want this at the beginning or end of the fic LMAO). It's the one Bogota wrote, The Necromancer's Lament, a "biopic" about Andres' life. And it's every bit as terrible as Martin expected. Bad special effects, bad acting especially from Martin's actor, Andres' actor has a beard, and Tatiana looks like this:

Andres thinks it's the best play ever. Martin hates it and demands a refund. Tatiana hates it too but Don Juan's like, "mi amor, you are still beautiful to me, even as a deformed puppet."

Martin's 120-page complaints aside, Bogota runs the theatre troupe with his partner, Nairobi/Agata, and they're both going to start teaching performing arts at Santa Catalina because the last drama professor died lmao

Meanwhile, Santa Catalina has a new bad girl student, Tokyo/Silene! Sergio took her in as a charity case after some dark and mysterious events in her life. But Tokyo being Tokyo can't stay away from trouble, and she becomes obsessed with finding the demons that Andres expelled. Some bizarre possessions start happening again and the school's sponsors force Raquel to keep it under wraps. (Raquel: maybe if you increased funding, we wouldn't have so many problems!!)

In the meantime, Martin gets that letter from a long lost relative asking to meet him. Not sure about the order of this either. Anyway, Martin was planning to ignore the relative, but Andres insists he go. Either Tatiana or Don Juan accompany him. Martin learns that he's the sole heir of his dead parents across the sea (the will: “we forgive you for being a heretic, a freak of nature, and the alchemist of Palermo. also no hard feelings for leaving you to die as a baby xoxoxo”). There's one (1) condition though: he has to end his partnership with the necromancer. Martin: NO THANKS.

So while Martin's dealing with this unexpected drama, Sergio decides to call in Andres' expertise TM again because it's also a good excuse to talk to his brother. Martin is Very wary about this and rejects him. But Andres insists that it'll be fine. Plus, maybe he wants to turn a new leaf and help Santa Catalina for nothing in return this time. Not everyone gets a second chance at life and he doesn't want to be a bad person anymore uwu (Tatiana: "Andres was a pretentious piece of shit, surprising no one." Martin: "Nobody deserves Andres, not even me, and I'm like, the most amazing person in the world.")

Andres comes to do the exorcism with the random priest the school hired. And they discover there aren't any demons- it's just some ghost fucking around (maybe I'll make it the spirit of Gandia or Alicia since they haven't shown up yet lol). Anyway, it doesn't go very well but Andres gets rid of the creature or whatever. Not before it punctures a hole in his side though. Then Martin loses it, just full-on screams at Sergio for almost getting Andres killed again, makes a lot of threats against the school, etc. etc.

Raquel, being more useful, plugs up the wound. But the priest accidentally provokes Martin more by asking Raquel if he should mop up Andres' blood with holy water or something. What if the necromancer's blood is cursed?? And now it's all over the floor, so disgusting :/

Martin, already in a very bad mood, beats the priest up.

They go home. Martin's in a really sour mood and he just doesn't understand why Andres isn't mad at Sergio. Martin: "It's really emotionally damaging to me if you don't give a fuck about yourself." Andres makes him even angrier by bringing up the Berrote family will and having the audacity to suggest Martin leave him for money. He makes a huge case about how he literally has nothing to offer Martin except a body that barely works and a terrible reputation. Martin: "I lost a fucking eye for you??"

They fight and Martin storms away, and also kidnaps Don Juan, his honorary new soulmate who would never betray him like Andres.

A while after this, the Spanish Inquisition local clergy arrests Andres for "questioning." Because the shenanigans at Santa Catalina are still going on and that one priest suspects him of being behind everything just because. Raquel's the one who bails him out. She may not like Sergio's brother, but the way everyone else treats him is ridiculous.

Andres limps home, hoping Martin's still away. Surprise! Martin felt guilty and came back. And it's pretty obvious that Andres has just been tortured. Martin: "Say no more. I'm going to kill some people."

Andres gets Martin to not do anything stupid by dropping the thing with the will. He admits he was wrong for saying those things to Martin and he selfishly, genuinely wants to stay with Martin forever. Martin: "I'm still going to kill your brother. You may appease me with a kiss."

Does it end here? No! Because the shit at Santa Catalina is still happening. Andres and Martin solve it for good though. But it's all very dramatic. I'm vaguest about this part, but maybe Nairobi's injured saving Tokyo, and this gives Tokyo the wakeup call to move on from whatever baggage that got her into this mess in the first place. Then Andres' solution for saving Nairobi is to ask Martin to work that alchemist magic and transfer her wounds onto himself (at this point, we're just going overboard with the Andres whump but asdfasdf why stop??). Raquel: Sergio, tell your brother to stop dying. That's a bad example for the kids.

It takes a lot of convincing, but Martin relents in the end, only because he trusts Andres. At this point, Andres has been through so much that he physically cannot take any more damage. Like, he just can't lmao. So the whole process puts Andres into a coma or something. But we don't need him anymore because now we can revel in Martin's angst!

Martin spends the rest of his time crying and angsting and guilt-tripping Sergio, and just being very loud in general. He also writes back to his family and tells them to fuck off.

Once we indulge in enough of Martin's pain, Andres finally wakes up. Still very bad off but he's alive and not showing signs of dying any time soon. So that's good enough for Martin. They have a nice heart-to-heart, and idk, maybe Raquel comes to see them because Sergio's too embarrassed to. Until Andres insists, because he loves hermanito unconditionally uwu. Martin: "watch your back, Sergio. I might murder you in your sleep (:"

Then at the very end (I have no idea how long this story is LOL), there's some kind of family photoshoot between Raquel, Sergio, and Paula. Everyone's raving over this new invention called the "camera." Andres is admiring it from a distance until Raquel's like, "get over here. what part of FAMILY photoshoot do you not understand!?"

Andres is shocked pikachu face because good will towards him for once?? he's being included in something?? people want him around?? what is happening??

Martin's happy for him though. Then he's admiring from a distance until Raquel's like, "I said FAMILY photoshoot. Get over here, Martin!"

Tatiana didn't want to be a part of it, but Paula saw her favorite talking cat and like, grabbed her lmao. Don Juan photobombs it because he can't be excluded from an activity with Tatiana, especially when his former rival Andres is in the photo too. (His current rival is Casanova, an unworthy white cat vying for Tatiana's affections)

Sergio proposes to Raquel. The end! Yes, the kitty love triangle is also a central theme of this story LMAO Hope that satisfies you, nharidy! And I welcome any and all suggestions!

[hobiwonder]

crazy rich asians | 01

Genre: Chaebol!BTS. maid!reader. Smut, fluff. mild angst.

Pairing: Jin x reader, Jimin x reader, Hoseok x reader, Yoongi x reader. Possible future pairings.

Warnings for this chapter: language. brief mention of oral sex. Kissing !!!

Words: 9k+

Summary: You overhear something you shouldn’t. Now some of the country’s most powerful - and rich - men would do anything to keep you quiet.

a/n: i turned it into a fic as requested!!! ngl…. am worried how people will receive this lol. This will be a short series. no major angst so don’t worry. i hope you guys like it bc i really enjoyed writing it. please let me know what you think n feed my motivation bubble so i dont take months to finish this ajdubejekbfjk.

This was odd. Jin’s eyebrows furrowed – which he was strongly against since premature wrinkles were one of his biggest fears. He was closer to thirty than twenty so his concerns were valid. Jimin almost never visited his childhood home ever since their father got engaged to the secretary – another cliché – a few months ago.

“Hm… what changed your mind little brother.” Jin mutters as he passes the sleek Mercedes that belongs to his younger brother. Nevertheless, he can’t help the sly smirk that fights his muscles and spreads across his porcelain skin. He couldn’t wait to rub it in Jimin’s face that he finally returned when his bank account dried out. Most likely.

The plethora of house staff greeting Jin as he walked along the indoor fountain, trying to acknowledge most of them. They had too many servants and it wasn’t Jin’s fault that he didn’t care about most of them. But it was hard when they all looked so sheepish like they had some wretched secret they were supposed to hide but failed.

“Good Afternoon Sir, what brings you here?” Jin’s long legs are no match for the shorter man who usually took care of everything in the manor so he’s a little breathless as he Jogs besides him.

“To my own house? Where I lived for 20 years?” This really was becoming a strange day.

“A-Ah no sir. I meant no disrespect just wanted to be prepared to accommodate you accordingly.”

“Okay,” This was officially starting to annoy him and the furrow in his forehead was getting deeper. He would not get wrinkles because his servant annoyed him in to it. “Alfred… Anders… Andrew. Whatever your name is, I don’t need to announce my arrival at my own home. On second thought, maybe I should.”

The idea is very appealing as he swirls the thought in his head and it’s enough to make him forget the butler’s calls as he enters Jimin’s private wing. He isn’t surprised though when he already hears faint moans but not of a woman for once. It’s undoubtedly Jimin which is again – peculiar because getting off himself wasn’t something Jimin liked to do if he had ‘several other women ready to do it for me’ if quoting him directly. He guesses there is only one way to find out as he approaches the living area, looking at the back of his head resting on the enormous lounge sofa.

“Well hello there brother!” His tongue doesn’t form anymore words when he can finally see Jimin in his line of view – and his father’s fiancé frantically buttoning her blouse to retain some of her dignity. Jimin on the other hand is taking his sweet time tucking himself inside his slacks – shaking his head in disbelief as if Jin’s caused him immense grief.

“…and Amber.” Jin is no stranger to walking in on his brother – or friends really – indulging in all sorts of debauchery but this – this was quite interesting and to put it simply, messy. “Well, well, well. Did you come back to sleep with our step-mother or actually missed your family, god forbid?”

Jimin is no more rattled than a sloth as he runs his hands through his silky golden hair and smacks Amber’s ass as she’s still fiddling with her blouse. “A bit of both.”

“I-I didn’t know you’d b-be back so quick Jin-ah.” Her pearly white teeth that his father paid way too much for are almost blinding him. Yeah he’s not that bored today to play along with her games so he opts for just a dry smile. This was no surprise to him. Especially when the first person she had a fling with in this household was, well, Jin himself.

“Clearly. Thankfully you know father won’t be home until late. Run along now. I’ve got to catch up with your son.” Okay, that one’s on him. He liked to rub it in her face.

“Step-son.” She’s positively seething and Jin couldn’t be more delighted.

“Ooh. Naughty aren’t you? I knew you were always in a bit of incest.”

Jimin’s snort and Amber’s scoff come at the same time but at least it makes her on her way, heels clicking as she’s strutting away.

“I gave the staff one job and they couldn’t even do that.” Jimin walks towards the liquor cabinet, pouring himself a whiskey at 12 in the afternoon – bringing a smile to his face. He did miss his little brother.

“To keep me from finding Amber swallowing your unborn children?

“Thank fuck for that. I’m not ever going to be ready for kids.”

“Understandable. Considering you are one.” Jin’s shit eating grin makes Jimin pour another glass which he drowns in a second too.

“Please tell me how many ‘kids’ you know who’re worth half a billion dollars?”

Not a trick question.

“Almost all of our friends? Plus, we’re brothers you maggot. And I’m worth more.” His stance widens as he splays his feet out in some sort of power pose.

“What now? You want us sword fighting?” Jimin’s glancing to his crotch before he continues, “I’ll win because somebody didn’t let me finish.” Yes, very evident from the hard tent in his slacks.

“No need to resort to unsanitary methods. Talking will do.” He’s waving his hand in dismissal, watching Jimin taking a seat opposite – absolutely no attempts at hiding his boner. “So, what brings you back? Thought you were up in the Bahamas getting tanned and toned and weren’t due back for a few more weeks?”

“Correct but that was until father announced his surprise engagement.” Jimin is on his third glass of whiskey but looks more sober than a priest.

“Is there anything he does these days that isn’t a surprise? I found out I was moving houses from the real estate agent for god’s sake.” That makes Jimin snort out a laugh.

“Christ. He’s a bastard isn’t he?” Jimin had been in boarding school still when Jin had been effectively moved out of the manor in to a skyscraper penthouse because his father had wanted to ‘relax by himself and no kids’. As if he raised them on his own.

“Yup. Turns out he just needed the house to be snitch-free to fuck his secretary/future step-mom.” Plus he was still going through the divorce with their mother.

“I can understand why.” Jimin’s closing his eyes, heading leaning back again as a sultry smile spreads on his youthful face as if he’s reminiscing an irreplaceable memory. “Amber can make you forget you own name.”

“Right?” Jin is letting his inner, less sophisticated horny teenager alter ego slip through as he agrees with his brother about what a good lay their step-mom is.

“You already tap that?” When Jin just winks in Jimin’s direction, he’s clapping and chuckling like he can’t believe it.

“You’re no better than me brother and please, don’t take that as an insult. No offense at all.”

“None taken.” For a moment Jimin truly feels slightly happier. Looking at his brother and remembering sitting across from him while they talked about everything when they were younger and thought they had a chance at becoming people different than their father or their whole family. He had everything. They both had everything. There wasn’t one thing that either of them lacked or desired. So needless to say, their lives were a little grey and lacked excitement. Money though. That never failed to give him a hard-on.

Seeing his brother also made him happy, sure.

“Remember when we were playing in father’s office that one time he left it unlocked?” Jimin continues when Jin nods slowly, “And remember when we were rummaging through the drawers we found a safe and tried to break into it before Anderson caught us?”

“I knew it! He looked like an Anders.” When Jimin just blankly stares at him he mutters an apology and tells him to continue.

“Anyway. I went back and broke in to the safe.”

“Of course you did,” Jin is rolling his eyes but not finding it surprising that his little brother, ever the inquisitive little cat, went back to do exactly what he was told to notdo.

“No, listen,” Jimin’s eyes are increasingly growing frantic as he shifts forward, abandoning his glass of whiskey and Jin knew that this was something juicy. “There were papers inside the safe. Granddad’s will. I made copies.”

“Wait, you told me there was a bunch of cocaine and ecstasy. Nothing else.” Jimin shrugs once again to ask what was his point.

“And?”

“And you stole the papers but not the drugs? My teenage self hates you so much right now.”

“And that poor bastard should be thankful I looked in to the papers otherwise you would become penniless. Very soon.”

What was Jimin trying to say. “Get to the point Jimin. What about Grandpa’s will?”

Jin’s palms were becoming sweaty and a little tick in his left leg had already started and was about to become a full blown restless leg syndrome like a pathetic little office worker worried about losing a promotion.

“Well,” Jimin is moving across the room to sit beside his older brother, turning his lithe body to the side facing him as he starts to explain. “Grandad’s will stated that we were to receive 10% of our inheritance every year starting at the age of 35. Unless father remarried.”

The mention of money always sped up Jin’s heartbeat. It raced in his chest like he was about to win the lottery. Maybe he was?

“What then… ?” Jimin’s Cheshire grin slowly lighting up his whole face was never a good sign. Until now apparently.

“If he remarried before we turned 35, we are to receive our inheritance. In full. At once.”

Jin really felt like his heart would beat out of his chest. Because that was a lot of money.

“That’s-”

“$10 billion.” There was a slight pause as Jimin eagerly awaited his brother’s reaction.

“I think I just had a powergasm.” Jimin is chuckling as he slaps Jin’s back, shaking his older brother out of joy as they both start to gradually laugh louder. Is this how supervillains felt? Jin’s never laughed like this before and it’s no surprise that it’s money that’s doing the trick. Poor people wouldn’t understand.

That’s when another realisation occurs. “That’s why he kicked me out of the house. Because he was going to get engaged and couldn’t risk us retaliating and finding this bit of information out.”

“Precisely big brother.”

“Fuck…. We’re going to be rich as fuck.”

“If he doesn’t figure out a way to get that clause crossed from the will.” Jimin seems a bit nervous for the first time since he had started talking.

But Jin wasn’t. Not when he had people on his side who would love to make some money as well. Well, more money. He wasn’t friends with poor people.

“Don’t worry about it. You still in contact with Taehyung?” Jimin looks at his older brother with a ‘duh’ face.

“You still have a dick?” Jin’s just rolling his eyes as he calls the first number under ‘Y’.

“What?”

“Hello to you too, Min. Say, you want to become rich?” Yoongi on the other end is snorting before he speaks with his signature lazy drawl.

“I’m already rich, you bitch. But I’m having a down day anyway. Tell me more.”

Jin is smirking towards his brother, his body is buzzing and this is the most excited he;s been a while.

“Meet at my place with the other boys. At 2. Lunch is on me.”

“Yes because I desperately need someone to shout me lunch.” He’s had enough of Yoongi’s sarcasm so he just hangs up.

“Well Jimin, lets go get our billions.” Jimin hands his older brother a glass of whiskey before they make a toast.

“Amen.” Jin furrows his brows again.

“You believe in god now?”

“After seeing Amber’s tits? Yeah.”

“Oh hello there. Eavesdropping were we?” A man is leaning against the wall behind you, hands in his pockets while he looks at you head to toe, two small dimples appearing when he grins rather…. cutely you might add.

“U-Uh, n-no?” The handsome stranger is only shaking his head as he walks towards the door where the two brothers had gone in to only half an hour ago.

“Be careful next time little maid.” You hold in the scoff until he disappears inside the room.

“You guys have better discussed Amber’s ass and nothing else of importance because of the audience outside. The pretty little thing Anders hired.

“How does everyone know his name and not me? You don’t even live here Hoseok.” Jin’s scoffing while Jimin worries about the real problem.

“Fucking hell. The staff in this house is more loyal to our father than their own families. What do we do?”

“Leave that to me. Girls never kiss and tell when they’re with me.” with a wick, Hoseok is settling on the couch as well. “Just transfer me $50 million when you both get the money.”

Oh boy. Being rich was hard.

You were screwed. Or at least it looked like you were. Even though you'd been hired months ago - it was not usual to see the 'house Masters' (that's what Anders had called them anyway so you stuck with it). In fact you could count on one hand how many times you'd seen Kim Seokjin around the mansion. though he didn't live here so that wasn't too surprising at first but you did think that he would at least regularly visit his father. the numerous articles written about this family portrayed them as loyal as you can be to your own blood. What behind closed doors however, was a different story.

The eldest son rarely visited his father and his father, your employer, was even more of a rare sight around the Manor. In the three months you'd worked here, you'd seen Mr. Kim twice. And one of those times was when the annual Christmas dinner was hosted. But even for that, the youngest son, Jimin had not been present. So seeing the new face around the Manor today had confused you very much. But the way his perfectly sculpted features, luscious and shiny - oh god was it shiny - hair had told you that he belonged to this family. How close he was? You weren't sure. Until now.

Now that you'd been caught listening in to the scheming going behind the closed doors. He was the youngest son that was asked about a thousand times at the Christmas dinner and each time both, the father and the son, evaded the questions like experts. He was as handsome as the rest of the family so it didn't surprise you much when you found out his identity. Especially when the future house mistress had been lead in to the room by him, all smiles and charming demeanour. You'd naively thought that the step-mother and son - though she looked too good for her age as all rich people did - had quite a close relationship even though this was the first time you were seeing Master Jimin home. Until the moaning had sounded obnoxiously out in the hallway. Anders had tried his best to get to be anywhere other than cleaning the massive hallway that all the rooms connected to but in the end, you'd gravitated towards the noises. Knowing it was wrong for you to listen but not being able to help yourself. The young master's voice was so melodic, so serene, you were almost forgetting that the said noises weren't as innocent as the emotions they were evoking in you.

Your heart had sped up and your fingers had tugged down your uniform subconsciously at the erotic noises emitting from the room. Imagining yourself to be on the giving end of the scenario playing out in the room. But your fantasies had been broken when you'd hear Anders and Mr. Kim's older son's booming voice coming down the hallway. Quickly ducking back in to one of the rooms you were supposed to start dusting in, you'd only caught glimpse of the incredibly handsome Kim Seokjin reprimanding Anders for making him feel unwelcome in his own home. Though you felt for the poor old man. He was nice and looked after you more than you had expected. And the amount of work he had to see through was incredible and you were amazed at how he never failed to complete each and every one of his tasks. Except keeping Mr. Kim out of the young master's room that is. You'd heard the cheeky tone in Jimin's voice when he'd asked Anders to make sure that no one disturbs them. You'd thought stupidly that maybe they wanted to spend quality time with each other since Jimin was back home after a long time. And they spent quality time alright. The noises were a testament to that.

You were suddenly feeling the nervous butterflies in your stomach at the prospect of Jimin being found out by his older brother. And with his step mother no less. Like youwere the one doing something that scandalous. Craning your neck you'd tried to hear, maybe yelling? You'd assumed - wrongly, again - that the older master Kim would be horrified at finding out the debauchery going on inside the room but all you'd seen was a ruffled Amber - you think that's her name from the moans at least - and then joyous laughter which could only mean the brothers meeting. Rich people were bizarre. Did they not have any morals? Nothing settling uneasy in their conscience?

Not that you were any better because you were plainly eavesdropping and that was not how your mother raised you. Though she didn't raise you that much at all in all honesty. But she was quick to correct your mishaps or seemingly 'dishonest' activities. That was all she did really. Mostly your grandmother raised you until you were kicked out at the ripe age of 18 by your mother to 'find your own way' like her crack addicted self told you. She preached but never practiced her own self-righteous attitude more than when she needed to keep you under control. Though your visit down the memory lane is interrupted when your ears catch on to what the two men inside were talking about. The words 'cocaine' catch your attention - it was your mother's favourite at one point. Listening on further was just pure coincidence. But boy oh boy. What were you hearing? Were they going to possibly.... hurt someone for even more money? How much more could they want? They already had enough of it. You didn't realise the pout that had been on your face while you listened to the two brother calling a friend for some 'help'.

Not until someone was clearing their throat behind you, damn near making you knock your head against the wall you had been absentmindedly wiping for the hundredth time. Initially - for the millisecond of the reaction time you had available - you thought Anders would be the one to catch you and for some reason, you weren't as scared. Hence the sheepish smile on your face when you turn around to face whoever it was that had caught you so blatantly trying to listen to whatever was happening. Though your smile - as well as your heart - drops instantly when you see an unfamiliar face in front of you, yet again. And once again - the stranger is handsome, incredibly so. In fact, the toothy grin he's beaming your way is nearly blinding. His white teeth - definitely not natural, though you wouldn't be surprised if they were - smiling up at you as he leant against the wall besides you. How did you not hear him? His body was lithe and somehow you're not surprised that he snuck up on you so easily. Nonetheless, he did and you were in major trouble. He was good-looking enough for you to figure out that he probably belonged in the two master's circle.

“Oh hello there. Eavesdropping were we?” The man is leaning against the wall behind you, hands in his pockets while he looks at you head to toe, two small dimples appearing when he grins rather…. cutely you might add.

“U-Uh, n-no?” The handsome stranger is only shaking his head as he walks towards the door where the two brothers had gone in to only half an hour ago.

"No! Uh I mean. N-No... that's what I mean." You're hoping the desperation in your eyes gives him a hint that you rather not get in to trouble.

“Be careful next time little maid.” His smirk doesn't dissolve. In fact, it seems to get wider. Most likely being able to tell how hard you're trying to make it seem like you were doing the right thing. Definitely not eavesdropping. The handsome stranger is only shaking his head as he walks towards the door where the two brothers had gone in to only half an hour ago. Still watching you.

But alas, your mind malfunctions and the only thing you can think of is to get out of there. Too many good looking men you've seen to last you a decade. You're scurrying away back to the room you were originally supposed to be in and you can hear his chuckle even as you go further down the hallway to the room.

Slumping against the wall, your hand clutches just above where your heart should be. You were sofired. There was no way that whoever this was would not mention you lurking outside the room. Who was he anyway? Oh well, not that you would get to find out because you were stupidly caught eavesdropping. Eavesdropping! How cliché. It was impossible to focus on your work knowing that you will be in immense trouble. Pacing back and forth, rehearsing excuses and explanations to give Anders on why you were outside of your given area. And caught by a guest no less. From what you'd gathered about the older Kim son - he couldn't care less about your presence in the house.

One time he'd come in the living area, stayed for over two hours without acknowledging that you were even in the room. In fact, when Anders had called out to you to return to lend a hand at the kitchen is when he'd looked up at you as if it was the first time he was hearing a name that wasn't his own. Even then, he'd only looked at you for a mere few seconds before going back to the book he'd been reading.

But the newcomer - or old you guess, you'd only just started working after all - you weren't sure how he'd react to finding out your roaming outside his room. Surely, he would be just as aloof and uncaring of a mere maid as you, right? Maybe not if the handsome stranger told him about how well you'd been listening to the conversation inside. Oh lord. This was the only job that paid enough for you to send home and also keep a roof over your head. What were you going to do? You minded your own business but the one day curiosity got you was when you've been caught. Just your luck. Your mother was right. Your curiosity will be your end. And seems like it will be now as well judging from the sound of the doors opening from the young master's suite and several pairs of footsteps coming towards the room you were in.

Your limbs moving like lightning, making sure each and every one of the vases was picked up and dusted through thoroughly - it's obvious you're trying to look as occupied as possible. A few seconds later, the footsteps stop right outside the room you're in and your heart might as well have stopped pumping blood through your body as well with the way your temperature drops from the impending doom. Had they told on you already? Was Anders also outside the door? If he was alone you could've tried to weasel your way out of such a mishap but you doubt the you could even let out a squeak between the three intimidating men.

To your demise, when the men enter the room - Anders is nowhere to be found. The two brothers and the third stranger who had caught you stand in the doorway looking all too.... nerve-racking (for you). Instantly you know that theyknow how nervous you are. Nervous of losing the only source of income that was enough to sustain you. The older of the two brothers is looking at you up and down, slowly and calculating. Like it's the first time he's seeing you. Someone like you at least. Some who wasn't at the same calibre as he. Even his gaze makes you feel poor. Inferior.

Thought it doesn't seem to be intentional. He was inspecting you like you were an enigma when in reality he was the one clad in all sorts of bling you were sure you would only see in the movies. Being so focused and aware of Seokjin, you'd almost forgotten about the two other men in the room. While the stranger leant against the wall like he had earlier, Jimin had taken a seat on the large sofa a few meters away from you. Crossing his, muscular you might add, thighs. Getting comfortable with one of his arms splayed on the back of the cushions while the other rested on the hand rest - completely at ease. The exact opposite of you. While Seokjin was all curious eyes, Jimin seemed to be looking at you with sly eyes, blatantly checking out your frumpy uniform and the duster in your hand. The smirk you'd seen in the morning still ever present on his face.

Never having been in a room with an attractive man such as Seokjin himself - let alone three - you're about ready to faint.

"Are you boys going to start or shall I?" The stranger spoke first. Voice breezy like they were about to have a conversation about the weather with you.

your eyes must still be opened wide when Jimin speaks up. "Relax Hoseok hyung, let the girl breathe first. You okay sweetheart?"

His saccharine sweet tone instantly soothes some of the nerves and the smile he sends your way, the wrinkles appearing around his round eyes making you feel all warm inside.

"U-Uh, wh-what? Oh I-I'm-" The elder cuts you off however. Seemingly not being able for you to finish up your stuttering. Hm, he definitely wasn't as nice as the other two.

"Anyway, what were you doing outside master Jimin's wing, little one?" The nickname makes your face redder than it was, feeling your blood rush in your head suddenly. Never did you think that the sons of your employer would actually refer to themselves as 'master'. You definitely guessed wrong. At least Jimin hadn't. You reallydid like him better even if he was about to fire you.

And guess what you do next? Sabotage yourself even further of course. Your mouth has no filter when you're nervous because the words come stumbling out before you can stop yourself.

"I heard your plan to get money from your dad!" The words almost sound like a really long, poorly pronounced word. A breath leaves you in a rush like you' been holding it in for a while after your word vomit. "Or w-well I guess.... m-more money."

The last words are whispered almost to yourself but the way the men are now widening their eyes at you - you know they heard every word.

"Excuse me?" The handsome stranger - Hoseok, now you know - fills the defining silence with the most endearing laughter you've heard in your small life-time just as Seokjin's incredulous tone has you shrinking back in to yourself.

"And what do you suppose... you will do with that information, hm?" Jimin slowly gets up from his place on the couch, straitening his dress pants. The Cheshire smirk still upturning the corners of his mouth as he stalks towards you. Slow, with purpose, to undoubtedly make you more nervous than you were feeling surrounded by him and his older brother standing adjacent to you.

"I-I... I won't say a-anything." You're taking a deep breath before you say the next words - gathering all the courage that you were able to. About to do something you never dreamed you would have to. "If you don't f-fire me."

Even though you are outright blackmailing these chaebol brothers and with a witness present, you can't help the frown creasing your forehead at your unethical actions. Who were you blackmailing people that can probably have your existence removed from this earth?! They certainly had enough money for it.

"And if we do fire you, little one?" The screech that leaves your throat at the unexpected closeness of Seokjin as he leans his head down. Close enough that you instinctively take a step back as his deep coal orbs bore in to yours - challenging you to respond.

"I-I-I um," you gulp, looking anywhere but his intense eyes that won't let you breathe. "I'll tell y-your father!"

Your reply is defiant but nowhere near as threatening as you'd wanted it to be. In all honesty, you just want to keep your job. Seokjin's eyebrows shoot upwards at your feigned bravery and the bold claim. How would you even get in touch with his father?

You'd only ever seen him from a distance in person. Here's to hoping they don't call you on your bluff.

"Oh will you now?" His head tilts almost menacingly, still staring right down at you. The arms that come around to wrap themselves around you are purely in instinct. You were out of your depth here and desperately hoping they'd forget about this and ignore you. You were a mere house staff and a very lowly one at that.

Surely they won't fall to your words. This was stupid and you were doomed. You're about ready to apologies when Jimin speaks making your head snap towards him.

"Calm down, brother." His smile is then directed at you. "What's your name darling?"

"Y-Y/n." Your brain was on auto-pilot and you just wanted to be out of trouble.

"Well, y/n, don't worry." Jimin is close enough that you can smell his cologne. It smells heavenly and you almost want to sniff as much as you can to take in the smell while it's there. "Our mouths are barred," head leaning down just as Seokjin had been earlier, "as long as yours is."

Jimin was smooth. Slick and smooth with his hypnotic eyes, euphonious voice and tranquil words making sure you were listening. Comprehending every word. You're nodding along with him - actions a little quivery. Until another thought pops up in your head.

"W-What if h-he dobs me in?" Your head gestures towards Hoseok's animatedly in your nervous state. Completely missing the chuckle that sounds from the accused.

Jimin is biting his bottom lip, holding himself back from flat out laughing in your face probably.

"Don't you worry, sweetheart. We're all bounded in this contract. Deal?" He's nodding at you, prompting you to nod your understanding as well.

Seokjin is still scrutinising you, stepping back now that Jimin had taken over. You glance in Jimin's eyes before nodding once again - much more firmly.

"Excellent. Shall we seal this deal?" He looks around to Hoseok who just gestures with his hand 'as you wish' with a grin similar to Jimin's. It's like they're all communicating in some symbolic language that goes above your head. Seokjin doesn't respond but now stand besides Jimin.

When Jimin is looking back at you, a singular eyebrow raised - you nod as well. "O-Okay."

Hastily, you're wiping your clammy hands on your uniform to bring it forward and shake his hand. That's what he meant right?

The golden haired boy only smirks at your outstretched hand as his gaze falls back to your reluctant face. Your nerves are settling slightly when his arm is making its way to you as well - thanking god above that this was going to be over soon.

Until the said hands bypasses yours waiting to shake his and settles on the wall beside your head and your own eyes watch its descent. Before you can ask any questions or even make sense of what's happening, your head is tilted backwards slightly when a pair of voluptuous lips take their residence on your own. The noise of surprise leaving the back of your throat is the only other heard in the otherwise quiet room. Your hand instinctively going to grab at the arms caging you between them.

Jimin's kiss is all consuming, his lips gently sucking yours in the most unwavering embrace. Embrace is a bit of a stretch. While one hand had squashed any hopes of your escape, the other made it impossible as it held on to your face, caressing your cheek with his thumb as his tongue swiped over your lips. A whimper leaves your mouth when he does so and only a few seconds later, Jimin is pulling away with a wet 'pop' of his lips. His petal soft ones are moist and gently coloured with a natural deep pink.

You're barely breathing, eyes half closed when Hoseok has stepped besides the smirking Jimin.

"What a-"

"We're sealing it with a kiss, Darling. All of us." You felt like you were going to faint. Kissing one of them was this taxing - in the best way with the way the butterflies were going haywire in your tummy - how were you going to kiss all threeof them?

"I- Okay." You sound defeated and overwhelmed but ready to have someone fill the void that was left when Jimin stopped kissing you.

Hoseok has taken Jimin's place, swiftly pushing his head closer to yours, nuzzling your nose with his - an oddly intimate act - before his soft lips push against yours. Your arms have found their way to the top of his chest purely on instinct once more. Needing to hold on to something so your weak knees don't give out beneath you.

His kiss is more delicate than Jimin's. Much softer. Until he pulls back for the first time of course. Only to crash his mouth on to yours with a ferocity you were not expecting. Your hands are itching to tug on the silky strands of his hair but you resist. You're not sure if you should even kiss him back. What were you doing? Kissing strangers. It was a little too late to think about that anyway because there was no plausible reason you could think of at the moment to stopkissing him back.

"That's enough hyung. Let her breathe." Jimin's impish chuckle sounds from the room somewhere just as Hoseok's touch gets dangerously close to the curvature of your breasts.

He breaks away with a dramatic 'chu' as his lips part from yours. Sparkling from how shiny they were from your combined saliva. Jimin was right. You really needed to breathe before you fainted - especially with the way your knees wobbled, trying your best to rest against the wall behind you. Hoseok's eyes are still staring raptly at you, the knowing smirk still ever present. It briefly slips down to your heaving chest and even though the uniform was virtually shapeless - you felt almost naked under his scrutiny.

Evidently, your cheeks are reddening even further as he steps back, your heart skipping several beats and blood pressure spiking shortly after when you realise who was next - Kim Seokjin. Somehow, you'd expected the state of subtle arousal to dissipate to a certain degree. The substantial dislike you'd acquired for his tone whenever addressing you had been pushed to the side as he took his place in front of you. Your eyes lock, heart stopingly striking features making you breathless once again.

He, undoubtedly, intimidated you the most out of all of them. Eyes flicking back and forth between the other men and Seokjin, you're trying not to get nervous with each second that passes. Hoseok had not waited long enough to let the panic rise from deep down and you were thankful for that. Because nervous you was not appropriate. Not at all. But then again nothing about kissing your boss's sons and their friends was appropriate. You were way past that point. He places his hand besides your head, just as the other two had done. Bracing your hands behind you on the wall, you're ready for him to steal your breath away.

What you weren't expecting was the gentle press of lips against your cheek. A surprised gasp leaves past your - very lonely - lips. Trying to hide the disappointment that's trying to claw its way on to your face, you stay very still like moving even just an inch might be catastrophic for you. Just as soon as he kissed you, he's pulling away. You hadn't noticed his other hand that had been just shy of holding your waist - hovering besides it like he was uncertain. Which was a crazy thought to you.

"Nowit's a deal." Jimin speaks up from behind Seokjin. Seokjin's broad shoulders had almost completely blocked your view of the other two men in the room that you had momentarily forgotten about them.

Seokjin moves away just as fast as his little peck on your cheek. Which makes you wonder if you were that indigent to him, this unappealing, that he'd resorted to a little peck on your cheek. This was ridiculous on its own because your perception of reality was so skewed considering the events that had transpired in the past hour. A few hours ago you were getting ready to do your weekly thorough cleaning of the vast left wing - now you were internally pouting at not receiving a kiss from one of the three most handsome men you'd ever laid your eyes on. Not to forget - two out of three were your employers.

The realisation is enough to jolt you out of your thoughts and speculations, looking around at all of them. "I should go."

Your words are shaky, rightfully so with how much physical intimacy you received in the last hour than the last month. Neither of the three men stop surveying your tremulous tip-toeing towards the door, trying to get out of the stifling room that was feeling too small with all the bodies occupying it.

They don't stop you when you're fumbling with the golden doorknob, finally pulling open the door. Though why would this day get any easier for you, right? And what had you done in your previous life to deserve this.... predicament. Standing in front of you, was another man. That's right. Another one. Beautiful, incredibly so. He seems to be just as tall as Jimin, ivory skin with a healthy amount of flush.

"Well, hello... maid." His deep - puzzled voice sends shivers down your spine as you stare Bambi eyed at him. Why were all these men so, comically handsome? He looks just as puzzled as he sounds.

"Ah! Perfect timing Yoongi hyung." The loud, boisterous voice startles you once again, whipping around to face Hoseok while Jimin walks towards the newcomer.

"Is the another one of your role-play threesomes Jimin? Poor thing looks like she's going to cry. Unless you're a professional actress?"

The last question is directed at you as he looks into your eyes, his own lovely face frowning as he inspects your uniform. Before you can answer though, Seokjin is scoffing, taking a seat on the couch once again with the drink in his hand that he'd been pouring earlier.

"Please, I wouldn't be here if that were true. Come, have a seat. She won't cry." He waves his dismissal of you and once again - your face is heating. This time in irritation.

Yoongi just shrugs, eyes still watching you as he sits beside a lounging Seokjin who offers him a drink. "So, what's the little maid doing here?"

Jimin is smirking again as he looks towards his older brother. "Let me explain." he offers.

"Make my friend a drink, little one."

"Pardon?" Seokjin sighs, as if being greatly inconvenienced that he has to elaborate.

"Just because you got a few kisses from us doesn't relieve you of your duties, yes?" His narrowed eyes are condescending but you can't say anything. Because he was right. You were still a maid at their house despite the little stunt they pulled earlier (you were complicit).

"Y-Yes. Of course." Eyes downcast as you make your way to the liquor cabinet, taking out the bottle that Seokjin had previously to pour himself one.

"Wait, you guys kissed your maid?" Yoongi's unbelievable laugh makes the blood rush back in to your cheeks. They were discussing you like you weren't there and it was embarrassing to say the least. Though they definitely out-ranked you on the power spectrum so you doubt they really cared much about your input.

"It was a transaction, nothing much of it."

"Talk about yourself, mine was definitely more than that." Jimin is scoffing but you still hear the smirk in his voice. "Isn't that right, sweetheart?"

You know he's talking to you even if he doesn't know your name yet but you resist the urge to turn around, already too embarrassed at how easily you'd given in to their advances. Wiping your hands down on your uniform again to get rid of the sweat that's been accumulating, you carefully hold the heavy liquor glass. Hoping that it doesn't slip from your clammy hands otherwise you were in a lot more trouble than before.

Hands slightly shaking, you stop right before you reach the couch, bending forward to hand the newest face his glass of whiskey. You hadn't noticed before but all 4 of them had been watching you. Carefully examining your composure and the nervousness pouring off of your frame as you tried to keep your eyes on the glass. You make the mistake of glancing up at Yoongi and almost drop the glass like you'd been trying to avoid. Thankfully, he mercifully takes it from you - eyes still watching as he takes a sip.

"Sorry! Sorry..."

"That's okay little one. What's your name?"

"Wait yeah. we never asked her name." Hoseok muses from the opposite couch he's sitting on and Yoongi scoffs at them all again. But they did? Did they really forget my name already?

"Really now?" He's shaking his head mumbling 'egocentric fools' before his eyes turn back to you. "Go on."

Taking a deep breath. Wondering if you should give your real name or a fake one this time in case they try to have you fired when you're gone. You decide to be brave and tell them your name. Again.

"Y/n." No stuttering, thank god.

"How long have you been working here y/n? I would remember a pretty face like yours." Yoongi's tone is light, not flirty like his words suggested. He seemed like a person who just talked this way - complimenting people he deemed worthy of them.

"Three- Three and a half months now." Your voice gets quieter the longer your sentence goes on. The blush on your face is now permanent because of how intently all of them seem to be looking at you. you also need to fight the urge to shuffle your feet around like you were on trial for something bad you did and they were the judge and the jury. In a sense you guess that they were because you wouldn't be here otherwise.

"Hm. Somehow I'm seeing you for the first time today." You bite you tongue, wincing lightly at your own strength but you had to. Otherwise you would go on a tangent about how he really rarely looked at the staff in his own home. Seokjin just annoyed you! Biting on your lip - a nervous habit - you contemplate whether you should ask if you can go.

You were soclose before.

"Please, hyung. You would've if you stopped admiring yourself every chance you got." Jimin mocks his older brother.

"Not my fault I look like this." Seokjin is gesturing to himself like it's a great burden being that good looking. Then again you don't know. It could be.

"Settle down children." Yoongi rolls his eyes at the two brother bickering, checking his gold toned Rolex before speaking again, "so, what's this scheme I’ve been summoned for? Spit it out."

"That'll be all y/n." Jimin's charming smile is directed at you all of a sudden when Yoongi mentions the dreaded plan that you'd overheard. Nonetheless, the way your name slips off his tongue sends a small shiver down your spine, nodding at him before staggering towards the door.

"Don't forget our deal, little one." You can hear Hoseok snickering when Jimin calls out behind your retrieving figure.

Knees almost knocking into each other when you're outside the room, you let out the biggest breath that you were once again, unwarily holding. What had you gotten yourself in to?

Everything was coming crashing down onto your psyche. The gravity of the situation was settling on you and you could feel the hyperventilation lurking nearby. These were not just normal everyday people who happen to have more money than you. The Kim family was affluent and prominent. They didn't follow the normal dynamics of society like all the other wealthy and rich in this country. They made the rules that they wantedto follow. Remembering the incident from when you'd just started working here, you could feel your heart drop down to your toes.

It was your second week on the job and your timorous nature was taking a back seat slowly - getting a hang of your duties. Anders was kind and let you settle in and perhaps because you were just as old as his granddaughter he'd told you about. Minhyuk - another staff member that you'd seen around the Manor and quite honestly developed a small crush on - had been showing you the east wing and what your duties included. You didn't have much to do there as it was Mr Kim's quarters, including his study and office where he worked once in a while. Not everyone had access to that area of the house and you figured it was because of his work. maybe he was really particular about the way things were done. You just didn't think much of it.

"You will always be given your schedule of the type and duration of cleaning required the day before when it comes to Master Kim's rooms so please take note of that."

He smiles sweetly as he shows you around. The notepad in your hand, you're diligently taking notes because you did not want to risk leaving all of this new information to your forgetful nature. You swear you hear him mumble 'cute' when he's watching you but the sound of heels clicking on the marble floors distract you both. When you look up - your jaw is almost dropping to the floor. You's seen Mr Kim's partner a fair few times - on the news that is. In person she was even more... unreal. Tall, thin with equally bright and big bone structure. It didn't phase you when you learnt that she was indeed - a model.

"Good morning Am- Ms King!" Her pearly whites make a small appearance before she curls her lips in an almost sensual smile.

"Good morning Minhyuk. Who is this?" She doesn't spare you a glance when she questions, fingers lingering on his shoulder as she leans in a little close to him.

The blush lettering Minhyuk's cheek tells you that this isn't the first time she's been this close to him. He introduces you as the newest staff addition but she doesn't seem to be listening. What she does though is start to question him about his weekend. Making him almost forget that you're there. What does capture your attention meanwhile is the slight rustle - as if someone had walked away from around the corner. You're only able to catch the colour black and a suit comes to mind automatically.

"Everything alright y/n?" Minhyuk's voice makes you whip your head around back to him and you catch Ms King watching you as well.

"I-I just thought I saw someone." Ms King frowns at that.

"That must be Ryuk. Excuse me." She just smiles - one that doesn't reach her eyes as she steps away. Ryuk?

Sensing your confusion, Minhyuk answers your unanswered question. "That's Mr. Kim. His first name is Ryuk. Weird right?"

You just chuckle along with him - completely missing the underlying panicked tone. He continues the tour but after your run-in with Mr Kim's fiancé, he seems to be on edge.

The next day at work - Minhyuk is nowhere to be seen. Not the next day either. Then never again. A month later - you receive your new duties in the east wing. Minhyuk's designated area.

"Excuse me sir," Anders looks up from the sheets of paper he'd been handing out to the rest of the staff, "Isn't it M-Minhyuk's area? Am I temporarily-"

He doesn't let you finish. "He doesn't work here anymore dear. These will be your permanent duties until further notice."

Your heart clenches at his direct tone. He only spoke like this to you on your first day at work. He doesn't elaborate any further and you get the hint to not further question the change in staff.

You don't see Minhyuk again.

How were you so asinine that you didn't connect the dots before? Minhyuk's panic as he'd shown you to your duties after Mr Kim had possibly seen you three chatting with his Fiancé, him getting replaced - fired? - with you. He was simply removed from the Manor and you'd never heard his name from any of the other staff members either. It's like he never worked there. You were rapidly fading down the doomed rabbit hole. Already thinking of about a hundred ways Mr Kim's sons could have you disposed of. Maybe you were thinking too much? Not possible. With this family, anything was possible.

The tear that falls down your face has you bringing your cold hand up to your hot cheeks. Foolishly, you've forgotten to go much further away from the room you'd exited from. The panic clouding your senses as you fished for your phone from your pocket, hastily dialling your grandmother's house phone.

A few rings later, you hear your mother's annoyed tone. "H-hello Mama."

Her tone turns sickly sweet, dishonest you know but you try to trick your heart and your brain in to believing her concern. "Hi dear! Haven't heard from you in so long. Are you not at work?"

Her tone turns serious and worried instantly at the prospect of you not being at work. You also want to tell her that you called every two days after work but she never wanted to speak to you unless it was payday. But that doesn't hurt you nearly as much as her not even being remotely entered in your wellbeing.

"I am at work. Could you... could you put Nana on the phone please?"

"Um. Okay." That's it. your voice is cracking and you know she can hear you but she doesn't care enough to ask.

"Hello? y/n?"

"Nana." whimpering, you try to not burst out crying. Keeping the intense emotions at bay.

"What's wrong dear? Are you alright?" Hearing her perturbed tone at your distressed one only makes the tears fall quicker, making you slap them away so they don't blur your vision completely.

"Nana... I might be in trouble. I-I might get..." fired. You couldn't say it. Once you let her know you were a hundred percent sure your mother would be incessant in having her spill the bad news. She would make your grandmother's life hell and you couldn't do that to her. Your mother needed the steady money to keep her in rehab. You had hopes that since she was at least going to rehab - that one day she could be a good mother to you.

"What dear? You can tell me y/n." Pushing your hand over your mouth, you try and swallow the sob before it passes through the phone. Though you could already hear your mother asking your Nana what was going on.

"Be quiet Elizabeth! I'll tell you."

"I-I'm okay. I just miss you." You could do this. your grandmother didn't deserve this. No one deserved this just because you made a foolish mistake and you hope she doesn't question you further.

"We miss you too dear. So much. Will you be able to visit soon? Let her get back to work Ma." Your mother sounded angry and you wanted to scream at her through the phone that at least your grandmother cared.

"I'll let you know. I have to go now Nana. I love you."

"I love you too darling. So much." She stays on the line for a few more moments. Making sure you didn't want to say anything else.

Dropping your head down in your lap - you let the last few stray tears fall, trying to stay as quiet as possible. You needed to pull it together. Your family was counting on you to keep this job and you were going to fight for it. Even if you were several outnumbered. You had their secret and that should count for something, right? As long as you appeared strong in front of them - maybe they'll leave you alone.

Dusting off your uniform, wiping away at your face and checking it in the nearest grand mirror on the wall - you get to work. You still had a job.

What you domiss though, is the man who had witnessed your panicked tears. He hadn't expected himself to be this affected but the way his heart clenched and his hands curled into fists at your disturbed state - he'd never wanted to comfort someone this badly. Empathy. A foreign emotion indeed.

[pricemarshfield]

the darker side

A Deckerstar canon divergence fic, diverging after season 3. The sequel to can we surrender?. Chapter 7/10; blood of the convenant. Read on AO3 here, or the full fic here.

Dan barely manages to make it through ten seconds of explanation--a note in Ella's lab, Kinley spotted on one of the precinct's security feeds, some blood they're rushing through testing--before Charlotte's gotten the judge to call a recess and they're rushing out of the courtroom. Lucifer's eyes aren't bright red, but there's the slightest gleam to it that just doesn't look right.

"Dan, what does the note say?" Chloe asks. Lucifer's taking them farther away from the car, which Chloe would question if she didn't trust his reactions and opinions as much as she does.

"It says Uriel," Dan says, and when Chloe relays that to Lucifer, he closes up even further, expression as distant as it was back when they first met without the mask of amusement and debauchery for it to hide behind.

"I know where to go," Lucifer says. "Dete--Chloe. It's almost certainly a trap."

"Well, obviously," Chloe says. "But it's--Ella, I'm not exactly going to leave her with a murderous psychopath!"

Charlotte groans. "Ugh. Give me the address."

"Charlotte, much I appreciate your willingness to help Ella--"

"I'm not stepping into a deathtrap, thank you, but I can call backup. For Kinley at least, not your--you know."

Chloe shrugs. It can't hurt, probably. Lucifer recites an address off, some street Chloe's never heard of, and then holds his hands out for her to carry. Oh. They're off behind the courthouse, where there aren't any cameras or passersby, so she jumps into his arms and he brings out his wings.

Charlotte stares at him for a second before shaking off the trance. "Save Ella. And don't die." (In that order goes unspoken. Charlotte likes them all well enough, but Dan and Ella certainly take precedence for her.)

Flying is a unique experience. It's a little like riding a motorcycle (or sitting in a convertible that's going way, way too fast, she thinks wryly). The wind's cold and cutting but invigorating all-at-once, and while she knows they're going faster than a plane, Lucifer's arms are grounding enough that she doesn't feel unsafe. If she were just a bit braver, if the circumstances weren't so dire, she'd open her eyes to check out the view.

Lucifer sounds completely normal when he talks, as though the wind isn't affecting him at all. The closer she gets to him, the more she notices these little--quirks, the things that mark him as not-quite-human. "Pierce told me Michael had attempted to make a deal with him, but that he wasn't--and I'm quoting here, certainly not my personal opinion--that he wasn't stupid enough to do something that would harm someone he would feel guilty about."

"Ella," Chloe guesses, eyes still screwed shut. "What did the note mean? Uriel? Is that one of your brothers?" Lucifer's the only thing she's touching right now, and at every point of contact, he tenses. "We don't have to talk about it."

"He was," Lucifer says, and the wind stops all at once. Chloe opens just the one eye, sees that they've come to a stop in front of some old, abandoned church.

"I'm sorry," she says, because she's not sure what else there is to say. He lowers his arms, bringing her to the ground gently. She puts one hand to her hip; good, still armed. She gets the feeling she might need that.

Lucifer barks out a laugh, no humor in it at all. "Detective, I don't deserve your sympathies." Chloe frowns, immediately wanting to refute it, anxiety over Ella beating a too-quick rhythm in her chest. "Another time, then."

His eyes flare red, a grin she's never seen before on his face, not even when he had a blade to Pierce's throat. She should hate it.

But hey, going after Ella? Kinley's got it coming.

Lucifer walks in first, holding the door open for her. When he looks further in, the grin doesn't drop at all, but the line of his shoulders tenses even further. "Kinley."

"Is Chloe Decker with you?" asks Kinley. Lucifer's gaze flicks to her, which seems to be answer enough. "Excellent. Would you both come in, please?"

Chloe, safety already off, takes a few steps in. Ella's sitting in one of the pews, and Chloe can't see her face at all from the entryway. She can see the line of red dripping down her face, and if she couldn't see the gleam of silver in Kinley's hand, no amount of firearm safety training would have stopped her from shooting him.

Kinley doesn't look half as ready to fight as Lucifer, but Lucifer can't stop time, and Ella's so close to him. From a tactical standpoint, what they should be doing is trying to deescalate until a sniper can get a shot But no one will be here for awhile, even if Charlotte can convince someone to send as many cars as possible without any calls in or reasoning as to why. (Yeah, our criminal ex-lieutenant prayed to your consultant about it, so we can definitely trust that.)

"I want you to know," he says. "That I wish it hadn't come to this. Especially not for you." That last part is directed to Ella, who shudders just a little. There's a low growl in Lucifer's chest, distinctly inhuman, low enough that Chloe almost misses it. Kinley doesn't, standing further up. "And that I am doing this for the greater good."

"You're doing this because you're Michael's lapdog," Lucifer says.

Kinley nods enthusiastically. Jesus Christ. "What could be more for the greater good than enacting the will of heaven?"

"Hurting innocent people is the will of heaven? Believers, nonetheless?"

Kinley's arm doesn't shake, no doubt flickers across his face, but his tone isn't quite so firm. "To stop further evil from being unleashed upon the world? Yes. My life--a hundred lives!--would be worth that."

"Oh, zealots," Lucifer says. "There'll be so much to work with in Hell for you."

Chloe's gut twists at that, but she's sure to keep her face calm. It's not as though he doesn't deserve it, right? "Look, we're here. Let Ella go."

"Not until I explain," Kinley says. "There is a prophecy--"

"A prophecy?" Ella says with a little laugh, startling Chloe. Her voice is weak, thready, and Chloe hopes Charlotte had the good sense to call EMS, too. "Something else I don't know about?" What? "I don't..."

Her voice trails off, and Lucifer exchanges a worried glance with Chloe. It's a strange look with his eyes still bright red.

"Yes, Ella," says Kinley, and God, this would be awful for Chloe, hearing someone take that kindly, helpful tone in this context, but Ella--in a church, held at knifepoint by a priest? Jesus. "When the Devil walks the Earth--"

Lucifer starts to inch closer, silent and subtle enough that Chloe wouldn't notice at all if she weren't standing so close to him. Now, with Kinley's focus on Ella, he doesn't seem to be at all aware. Chloe wants to run forwards herself, but she's not half as quiet, and she can do more from a distance with this firearm than worth risking the liability of being in knife range.

"--and finds his first love, evil shall be released," he finishes, tone imbuing it with the weight of all his convictions. "So you see why I had to intervene!"

"And I assure you," Lucifer says. "That Miss Lopez has nothing to do with any of that kind of love whatsoever."

"Of course not!" Kinley says. "But I needed you both here. I needed--you to understand, Chloe. That Lucifer cannot be here. That the balance of the world itself depends on it."

Chloe couldn't give less of a shit about the balance of the world right now, especially when Lucifer doesn't look any more nervous at the mention of it than he does at Ella's fucking kidnapping. "We're here now," she tries. "Let her go."

"And let Lucifer fly you both away?" Kinley shakes his head. "I'm sorry. He needs to return to Hell."

Lucifer doesn't laugh or make any other snarky comment, which is a testament to the danger he must feel. "And why not have Michael attempt to take me there himself? Have his wings failed as well?"

"How dare you disrespect--"

Kinley rears back, just enough that the knife isn't so close to Ella, and Chloe takes the shot, hitting him in the meat of his shoulder--it'll disable the arm, hurt like hell, push him back enough for Lucifer to move, quicker than the eye can see, and shove him against the wall, stone cracking with the force of it. Ella throws her hands over her head, but gets up when Chloe yells for her to run.

"How dare I?" Lucifer says, voice low enough that it shouldn't be carrying all the way to the other end of the church like this. "You kidnap and hurt an innocent here, of all places, and you think my father would want anything to do with this?"

"I'm--" Kinley's voice barely carries, sounds choked. "I--"

"Lucifer," Chloe says, putting the safety back on. "This isn't--"

"This is, Detective," Lucifer snarls. "According to this vile waste of oxygen, I'm the evil that's waiting to be released anyway, so why not direct it at someone truly worth of Hell?"

His skin cracks, Kinley's face lit up with firelight from Lucifer's devil face emerging. Chloe's heart thuds heavy in her chest, but she forces herself through it. This is Lucifer, it's fine, if she self-actualized her rage right now she's sure she wouldn't look pretty too. Ella bolts out the door behind her--one long cut on her forehead, bleeding a lot but that's normal for face wounds, doesn't look too deep, a black eye. She still doesn't hear sirens, doesn't see red and blue flashing lights coming to the rescue.

Just her, the Devil, and a man who might honestly be worthy of hell. But they can't--she can't work like that. He has to be proven guilty--it's not like they don't have the evidence for it, especially with Ella's testimony--in a court of law, and then he'll serve his sentence.

As for after that sentence ends--well, then it's Hell's business.

"We don't even know if that prophecy means anything," Chloe tries, and Kinley drops, just a little, Lucifer loosening his grip, not dropping him entirely. The sound of Kinley's rattling breath is not as reassuring as it should be. "And how would killing him do anything but prove him right? Besides, we need to know how he found out about this, and how Michael got involved." Lucifer's still for a long, difficult moment, Kinley's inhales still labored. But then he drops him, the priest collapsing to the floor, unable to support his own weight. Chloe exhales. "Okay. Okay."

Lucifer's face is his own, expression dark but eyes--well, also dark, actually, no longer glowing red. The beginnings of a bruise are already forming around Kinley's throat, and Chloe--can't bring herself to care too much.

"You should check on Miss Lopez," Lucifer says after a long beat. "I swear I won't harm Kinley physically until you return."

Chloe, halfway out the door of the church, pauses. "Or harm him in other ways, right?"

Lucifer doesn't say anything.

"Lucifer."

"Fine, full Hippocratic oath standards," he says, petulant like a kid who just got told he couldn't get an extra candy bar at the store. The corner of her mouth quirks up in a smile involuntarily; it's a ridiculous situation, but Lucifer's never anyone but himself, and that's reassuring in its own way.

Outside the front door of the church, the California air's hot like  a hairdryer against the face. LA isn't usually too bad, but she's dressed for court, not being in the middle of nowhere, LA County. "Ella?"

"Here," she hears, in the shakiest, least-cheerful she's ever heard Ella. It sounds like it's from the other side of the church, probably where the shadow is, and Chloe heads over, sits down by Ella, who's hunched in the ground holding her knees, looking younger than Chloe can remember.

"Hey," Chloe says, gently putting a hand on Ella's shoulder, and Ella leans into her. There's tear tracks on her face. "Are you okay?"

"Definitely!" Ella says, though the hitch in her breath isn't exactly convincing. Chloe shifts the hand on her shoulder to around both her shoulders, tugging her in closer. "What's a killer priest working with an archangel! Who my grandma has a little statue of! By the way! It doesn't look like him at all!"

Chloe waits. Sometimes the best thing to do after a traumatic situation is to just let them talk it out. Granted, none of her handbooks or training have advice on this specific situation, but she's used to trusting her gut in situations like this, anyway, and she's not sure what she'd say.

"And--I don't--I thought he'd be like Amenadiel, you know? Sort of, like, wow! That's an angel! But he just--talked? And he doesn't act like Lucifer at all, and his power is--God."

"Lucifer told me Michael's power is fear," Chloe says quietly.

Ella tenses further. "And you didn't want to share that with me?"

"I--"

"I mean, what else are you keeping from me?" Ella pushes her away, glaring. "If you didn't think it was important to mention that--"

"Ella, I really didn't realize we hadn't," Chloe tries, hands up in a conciliatory gesture. Ella looks pissed; it's not something she'd ever expected to see, let alone directed at her. "I'm sorry."

Ella holds the glare for a beat longer before she relaxes, tearing up again. "Sorry. I just--sorry. He was just talking, I don't know what's gotten into me."

"Hey, don't beat yourself up," Chloe says, holding up her arms again. Ella leans right into the hug this time. (Damn, she gives great hugs.) "We're up against people who can get in our head, it's not your fault that they managed to for a second."

"Right, yeah," Ella says. "Stupid. Sorry."

"Not stupid," Chloe says. "Seriously."

Backup arrives, finally, and Chloe waves at them from the shadow. Someone brings over a shock blanket that Ella wraps around her shoulders right away before her nose wrinkles and she says, "Way too hot for this, actually, but can I get some water?" The unis, most of whom know Ella by reputation if not personally, oblige as quickly as they can. Kinley gets brought out in handcuffs, and Chloe's arm tightens around Ella. He doesn't look over once. He doesn't look insane like Jimmy Barnes either, but she hadn't expected Lucifer to break his word.

"We should probably get you to the hospital," Chloe says after the car with Kinley pulls away.

"It's a face wound, they just bleed a lot," Ella mumbles.

"Okay, and if I was the one who went through something this rough and had a head wound, you would say--?"

Ella groans. "I mean, of course I'd already be halfway to the hospital with you in my passenger seat. Fiiiine." She's not quite back to herself--her smile's weak and her stance is shaky--but the glimpse of normal Ella makes Chloe's grin back entirely genuine.

Lucifer doesn't lie, which means that Chloe's gotta be thinking about how to explain how they got here even as she helps Ella to another one of the cars. Dan's tip? There's no way they'd make it this far from the courthouse without Lucifer's wings. A C.O? (She thinks about Diana, who was found in a place as out-of-the-way as this, and the stab of guilt isn't easier the seventieth time around.) There's still the possibility that people will ask questions, but Ella's testimony should help their case. It's not as though they actually did anything wrong.

Lucifer steps out of the church, entirely confident as though he hadn't just almost crushed a man's windpipe with a single hand. Something in Chloe's gut twists, just a little, and she berates herself for it as she walks over to him. It's not his fault he had to rule over Hell for thousands upon thousands of years, and she'd had her moments of wanting a quicker justice than the courts, too. (She'd pointed a gun at her dad's killer, and known how easy it would be to pull the trigger even if it weren't for Maze and Lucifer both egging her on.)

"I see you kept your word," Chloe says, thankful that it comes out teasing and not relieved.

"Always," he says, offense probably only half-played up, and she takes his hand. He squeezes it once, as if to ground himself. She smiles, and squeezes back. "Is there a place we can duck out of sight of all the unis? Just for a moment?"

"Lucifer, I've told you, not at crime sce--"

"Give me some credit," he says, though the way he looks down at her shows it's not too far from his mind. "I wanted to explain who Uriel was."

Oh. She hadn't been expecting that for--honestly, months, if previous secrets are anything to go by. Her surprise has to show on her face, since Lucifer's expression shutters, and she starts to pull him back towards the shaded part of the church while the unis case the scene. "Sure. Let's go."

As soon as they're out of sight, she drops his hand, leans back against the wall, and asks, "So what happened?"

"Right," Lucifer says, and as he opens his mouth to say something, she hears the same voice call, "Detective!" from further away. Fuck, she should've been more careful, she's not--

Michael moves to grab her, and her gun would be useless against an angel even if she wasn't way too close. Still, she has to try, so she reaches for her holster, manages to get the gun out when Michael grabs her, tries to knock it out of her hand. Then she's flying, eyes squeezed shut, the invigorating air from before terrifying now that the person carrying her isn't safe.

But he's not quite so careful as Lucifer, and she manages to tuck it into the back of her pants without him noticing. She's not sure what good it'll do, but it's something. Hopefully he'll assume she did drop it, hopefully she makes him vulnerable too (gross, but would be very helpful), hopefully, hopefully, hopefully.

Lucifer, if you can hear me, she prays, and then there's an intense pain at the back of her head, and she falls unconscious.

[sleepdeprivedheretic]

Kill Me Hardly (Ch. 2)

Notes: Warnings are in the first chapter. It’s a dark fic, please heed the tags, and proceed with caution that this is a triggering fic.

Thank You, @youtubequeens for brainstorming with me! <3 

“It’s always been you.” Cold. His voice was so cold and empty, just as his pupils were, as he regarded you with a stone faced expression. This was a dream, you thought with dread. Please go back to happy thoughts. Anything! You were tired of reliving this nightmare.  

“There are no happy thoughts.” He said, as if reading your mind. No, no, no!

Sharp. Pain. Shock. It’s the only things that you could process as you let out a scream, alarming your sleeping parents who were sleeping in the next room. You held tightly onto your throat, blood seeping quickly onto the floor as you could only think about the fast pacing question of why, and if you were going to die like this, cold and empty on your bedroom floor.

“Hey!” The familiarity of the voice hit you. Wha-?  This voice didn’t belong here. Your vision faded to black as your bedroom, your brother’s fleeing figure, and the blurry images of your parents rushing towards you, had disappeared.

“Wake the fuck up!” Your eyes snapped open at the command. Blurry. Your vision was blurry as you tried to regain your focus. Your hands, although ethereal, could touch your own face as you felt the cold wetness littering your cheeks.

Blonde? You focused on the soft tufts, then realization washed over you. Taishiro was leaning over you, a look of concern and his usual annoyance was evident in his expression. It was the first time you’ve seen him without his villain getup, and at first, you secretly admitted to yourself, it was as if you were staring at the face of an angel. He was instead wearing a nightgown, of all things, and you kept your not-so-innocent thoughts to yourself as you avoided looking at well toned muscles and fat.  

“Hi.” You murmured instead, and he leaned back, and sighed.

“Holy shit, do ya have issues.” A rude, violent criminal of an angel who sort of wanted to kill you. You didn’t know, anymore. Nor, did you care. You sat up, surprised that you didn’t faze through the couch as he lit up another cigarette, staring at you.

“Those are bad for you.” You opted, rubbing the access tears away from your eyes.

“Shut up. Still not over bein’ pissed at ya. Damned stalker ghost.” He huffed out a puff of smoke with mock anger, seemingly calmer than last night. Sunlight filtered through the beams, the smoke dancing within it. You vaguely remembered your father calling it “Angel’s Hellfire” as he puffed out the disgusting smell into the innocent-looking beam of sunlight.

“You said you could use my help.” You broke the silence, instead. He hummed.

“What could go wrong with usin’ a pair of eyes from a body that can’t be seen? Not today, though. Meet here, tonight.”

“I don’t have anything else to do, though.” You pouted. His eye twitched.

“Fuckin’ find somethin’ to do, then!”

“No. I tried everything. Plus, you’re a sight for sore eyes. I think I can just hang around and stare at you, today.” You grinned sharply at his sudden wide-eyed expression, a small tinge of pink dusted his ears.

“Go peek on some porn industry, you fuckin’ pervert! I got shit to do that doesn’t involve ya! Bad enough ya know my identity!” He growled out, and you couldn’t help but eat it up. Who knew that a well-known villain would act this way? He wasn’t use to the attention, was your guess, but it didn’t matter.

“Nope~! You can’t get rid of me, Tai, so you might as well give up.” You shrugged, receiving a dark and murderous look.

“Yer over-steppin’ yer boundaries.”

“Says the villain who beats people bloody and steals their wallets. Who am I going to tell? The Ghostbusters?” You grinned, and he couldn’t help but snort out a huff of laughter.

“Touche. Fine. Can’t get rid of yer ass, anyway.” He grumbled out. You smiled in victory.

“Unless you get a priest.” You offered, and his eyes sparkled at the idea. Oh, this should be fun.

“Yeah. Maybe he can bless yer ass, an’ finally send you up to heaven or whatever. Don’t hafta deal with my secrets getting’ out.” He smiled at the prospect, and you frowned.

“Or I could wake up and tell everybody.”

He looked at you, unimpressed.

“Tch. Cheeky brat. Even if ya said anythin’, who’s gonna believe a comatose nut who just woke up, hm?”  

“Touche.” You repeated his words, and he sighed.

“Let’s get today over with.” He grumbled, stripping off his gown. You adverted your eyes, staring at the area around you for once since you’ve entered, and were in shock. Multiple unlit candles cluttered the shelves and desk, each one was either limited edition or a unique one you’ve never seen before. It didn’t stop there, no. He had wax warmers, one in the kitchen, and one in the living room, you counted at least fifteen different wax melt scents laying about.

“Thought you’d said that you’d stare at me.” He bit, breaking out of your rambling thoughts as he noticed you looking around.

“Only if you wanted me to. Consent’s important, Tai-chan. Besides, your place is nicer than what I’ve expected.” You hummed, looking at the three different laundry soaps within the kitchen.

“I’m a thief, not dirty. ‘Sides, that’s rich comin’ from a stalker ghost.” He quipped.

“Maybe Kami or whatever deity’ll forgive me. Although, I rather they beg for my forgiveness.”

“You an’ me both. C’mon, let’s get this shit over with.” He hummed as he opened the door, locking it behind him as he shut it. You followed him, floating through as you noticed his wear. It was different, far from villainous. Orange, white, and red decorated his form in the shape of a hoodie, while he sported lighter colored jeans and dark orange sneakers. He looked rather normal, not somebody who would punch somebody in the throat.

The first stop was a love hotel.

“Shut up.” He growled at your raised eyebrow.

“I didn’t say anything.” You replied.

“You’re gonna.” He quipped.

“Well, yeah. A love hotel, Tai-chan? Should I leave you to your privacy?” You wiggled your eyebrows, and he rolled his eyes.

“It’s only fer business. I get my kicks above the waistline, Sunshine.” He huffed, ignoring curious stares as he followed onward, letting the clerk check him in. The two of you stayed in the lobby in what had seemed minutes, him barely giving you his attention as you stared at everything, taking in the faces of people you barely even recognize.

“Ah, Toyomitsu.” A chuckle snapped you out of your thoughts as a strange man came out of nowhere to greet him without an honorific. Scars. Burn scars littered skin that wasn’t covered by a ragged t-shirt. You didn’t want to be rude and stare, but then you remembered that only Taishiro could see you. Toyomitsu? The name rang nicely within your head.  

“Yo, Dabi. This is fer the girls. Kai-san was a lil’ harder to deal with, but he parted with it rather graciously.” A dark grin sported on Taishiro’s face as he handed the money to “Dabi”. Said man smiled slowly, eyes crinkling with a pleased look.

“You never fail to deliver, do you? Anyway, this is more than enough to feed Ai-chan’s brat. I’ll let the boss know that you’ve done well. Good day, Toyomitsu.” He bowed.

“Likewise, Scarecrow.” Taishiro grinned out the nickname, repaying the pleasantries as he copied the bow, much to your surprise. After the man left, you turned your attention to the now scowling man.

“What…?” You offered, but he paid you no heed as he exited the lobby of the hotel, you following after.

“-the hell was that about?” You asked him when the both of you were outside.

“He has a clutch of girls who work fer him. Y’know, prostitution? The man an’ his boss’re hirin’ me to deliver money an’ goods to the girls, so they can continue workin’ in fine, safe conditions. I give’em half the cut I steal, an’ they keep the cops n’ shit at bay.” He offered, and your eyes widened in surprise.

“So...you’re not just a thief, but you’re a gentleman thief?” You asked, and he scoffed.

“Yeah, I guess ya can say that.” He bit his bottom lip in what seemed to be embarrassment, and you couldn’t help but find it endearing, oddly enough.

“How endearing.”

“Shut the fuck up.” He snapped.

“No, but seriously! You could, I don’t know, support drug addicts, or violent gangs who kill people, but you’re not.” You hummed, and much to your surprise, he turned to look at you.

“Who says I don’t? Stop it with your optimistic bullshit. I’m a villain. I don’t really care ‘bout others.” He said with a cold conviction, you stilled at the familiar lack of warmth in his irises as he bared his teeth at you.

 There was a lie within his statement, but you didn’t dare comment on it, for you both knew it.  

“You’ve got issues.” You repeated his words from earlier, and he just turned around, ignoring you as you followed him.

“I know everybody’s got their problems, but taking it out on people isn’t healthy. Neither is smoking. Nor beating the devil out of innocent police officers.” You rambled, counting your fingers as he sighed with pure frustration.

“When I find yer fuckin’ body, I’m going to strangle you.” He growled out.

“That’s nice and all, Tai-chan, but there’s an old granny standing behind you.” You pointed, not really caring.

He whirled around, and sure enough, there was an old lady fixing her spectacles as she looked up at him.

“You’re going to bangle me?” She put a hand to her ear, and you could hear a sigh of relief.

“No, no, Miss! I was talkin’ to myself! Gotta bang those bangles….uh, fer the band!” He gave out a sweet false smile. No way in hell was that going to-

“Ah! You’re in the band! Good luck, Dear!” She gushed, pinching his cheek, hobbling away on her cane.

He turned towards you.

“I’m gonna find a fuckin’ priest.”

“Please do.”

……..

It didn’t take too long to find one. Although he didn’t seem one for Buddhism, he knew where to find a temple, oddly enough.

“What can I do for you?” The monk asked politely.

“I need a ward against an evil spirit.” He bit out.

“Don’t forget to confess to your sins.” You added.

“A really, evil, dangerous spirit who’s been talkin’ shit an’ stalkin’ me.” He grounded, and the monk, ignoring such language, nodded.

He handed Taishiro some white pieces of paper with kanji written on them.

“These should do. May you find peace against this evil.” He bowed, Taishiro thanked him, grinning as you huffed out a laugh as the two of you walked away from the temple.

“Lemme see if this fuckin’ works.” He didn’t give you any warnings as he placed a ward to your forehead.

Nothing happened. He then sneered as you began laughing at his attempts to wave the paper through your form in anger.

“This is asshattery!” His eyebrows furrowed into exasperation. You tried to touch the sigil, but no avail.

“I guess it’s for evil spirits, not ghosts in limbo.” You shrugged.

“Kami! Damn it! Ugh.” He palmed his face, looking at you with an exasperated look through his fingers. You beamed.  

“Let’s go to the next place, then.” He gave in, and you smiled behind him, floating along to wherever else.

……….

“This should do it.” He handed the money to the administrator. Said man’s eyes widened at the amount as he bowed deeply, head resting on the floor with the utmost respect. The day crawled over slowly, and you began to notice that the villain was not who he all seemed to be.

“T-Thank you!” The man sobbed, and Taishiro scratched his head.

“Don’t worry ‘bout it. I’ll be here, next week. Take care, I guess.” He murmured. You were oddly quiet, observing his behavior and the places where he went to. Many surprised you, such as this one. He didn’t really care to look at the children, but his demeanor softened as he handed the main man in charge of the orphanage, money.

He confused you, that was for certain.

“You’re like a jaw-breaker.” You broke the silence as the sun was setting.

“Hah?” He turned to look at you, takoyaki sauce was scattered on his upper cheek. How cute, you thought, but then explained.

“Although you have a hard shell, you’re pretty sweet in all through the layers. Yet one wrong move, the candy can be lodged into somebody’s throat, choking them.”

He eyed you thoughtfully, chewing on the last bit of his supper.

“Yer really fuckin’ weirdly observant.”

“Thanks. Been dead for about a year.”

He hummed.

“A year, huh?”

“Yep.”

“Complete solitude and isolation?” He prodded.

“Well...there are other spirits, but they can’t talk. You don’t want to see them, for obvious reasons.” You pointed to your wound. His expression softened slightly, but you noticed it.

“Must’ve sucked. Seein’ others how they died n’ shit.” He said more to himself than to you as he looked down with an odd look to his face. Regret? Sorrow? You didn’t understand.

“You obviously put up a front, even sometimes your feelings are obvious, you deny them. Is it a pride thing?” You found yourself asking.

“Why is it of any of yer concern? Until you shoved yer nosy self in my home, nobody knew my identity, my business, or anything else!” He growled out. Use to his behavior you shrugged.

“Think of me as a diary that can’t ever be read. A secret keeper. Something to vent to. If by that twenty percent chance that I wake up, and if you feel threatened, you are more then welcomed to show up at my door. Not holding onto much hope of me staying alive, anyway.” You offered, and in return, you received one of those looks from him. The one that was calculating as he deciphered you thoroughly. He stared you down, taking in your lax expression with furrowed eyebrows.

“Twenty percent?”

“It’s what I overheard the doctor say. I haven’t really went back, y’know.” It was your turn to look serious as the images of your parents and other relatives had their own stricken faces of grief. A silence over took the two of you as he entered his house, locking the door as you fazed through it. He took out a lighter, opening a new pack of cigarettes thoughtfully.

“I am gonna kill you.” He said halfheartedly.

“I know.” You bluffed.

“Do you even fuckin’ care about yerself?” He stared at you.

“I did, once. You’ll only be granting me mercy, now.” You floated neatly on the kitchen chair that was behind the dining table, with him on the other side as he flicked the lighter, letting it burn at the end of the pack of full flavor smokes. He sucked on the stick, the embers at the end brightened as he inhaled the smoke, staring at you with a thoughtful expression as he exhaled it away from your form.

“Yer stuck with me, huh?”

“Till death do I part.” You quipped, but neither of you laughed. Silence followed after that.

“I made a promise that I would never kill again. Not what after happened to that fuckin’ kid.” He started. You said nothing as you listened in.

“I didn’t care what the people who I ran with, did. Murder wasn’t really my thing, but stealin’, violence, an’ destruction was. Was a brat straight from high school, ya know? Angry, hurt, an’ violent.”

“That’s not easy on anybody, especially one so young.” You murmured gently. He glanced at your more softer expression, drinking it in as he put the butt out. To your own surprise, he had decided to continue.

“Ma passed away, leaving a dead-beat ass dad. To this day, I still haven’t really talked to him. Fucker wanted me to start stealin’ to support his habits, an’ the older, violent kids got word that I was a prodigy. Ya can see where this is goin’, can’t ya?” He prompted, and you nodded. For the longest time, Fatgum, the notorious villain, was known to be within a gang of very violent and very deadly people. It was obvious that the large man didn’t really care for the murdering, but he wasn’t fully against it, either.  

“They disappeared.” You said, referring to the gang. He grimaced.

“Without a trace, huh? C’mon. I’m gonna take a nap, and then we’re gonna bust a few joints. Ya in?” He asked. Of course you weren’t going to pass that up. It was wrong, and villainous, but you remembered the smiling faces of the children at the orphanage.

“Yeah. I’m in.”

For the first time, you’ve met him, he let out a genuine smile, and your metaphorical breath was caught in your throat. No. You patronized your thoughts. You weren’t allowed to think of such things.

“Sour Patch Kids.” His voice broke through your inner dread. You stared up at him with confusion. He grinned, taking in your baffled look.

“First they’re sour, and then they’re sweet n’ chewy. Stubborn lil’ bastards get stuck between yer teeth, and ya can’t get rid of ‘em. That’s what you remind me of.”

You grinned.

 Maybe fate wasn’t so cruel to you, after all.

……………

Notes: I had to add candy metaphors I’m sorry. Less angsty than what I was planning, lol.          

[whirlybirbs]

⋆    —–   CARHOP COOL, 3 and a 1/2.

summary: it’s time for a two day vacation to the beach, aka lake tippecanoe. pairing: steve harrington x reader, au!post season three word count: 1.8k, mostly world building a/n: have some good ol’ establishing-the-au fic! and billy! and steve’s mom! things are gonna get a little freaky up at the lake. here’s a filler chapter. 

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Steve’s driveway is crowded.

Tippecanoe, two hours North from Hawkins, was home to the Harrington family’s lakehouse. His mom had asked, earlier in the summer, if Steve would be willing to ride up and make sure everything was alright between rentals -- she’d cheerily added, “Go up for a day or two. Bring Dustin, Robin, whoever -- you kids need a vacation after everything that happened, y’know?”

(Janine Harrington had, in recent weeks, become infinitely closer with her son -- when men in suits had brought a bloodied Steve home that night in early July, priding him as a hero, a lot of things changed. He’d opened up about everything in the days following, spurring Janine to reach out to Mrs. Wheeler and Mrs. Henderson and Mrs. Byers and even Hopper, whom her husband couldn’t stand, with kind words and promises that their children were allowed over anytime -- they were bound together now, by Government NDA’s.

It was a nice change, though, between her and Steve -- there was a lot more trust now.)

His mom is chatting happily with Mrs. Byers by the mailbox as Will grabs his towel and cooler, loading the stuff into the Wheeler family hatchback. Nancy unlocks it for him between chatting with Jonathan. Mike helps, grin turning upwards as Dustin arrives with Lucas on his heels, bikes dropped by the mailbox as the boys laugh and launch into one another’s arm.

“Vacation, baby!”

Steve, carrying his own towel over his shoulder, laughs when Dustin finally calls out, sneakers pounding across the hot asphalt of the Harrington home’s driveway.

They both meet half-way.

“Steve!” he gets a toothless grin, “It’s vacay time!”

“Oh, you know --” the handshake is quick, calculated, and well-practiced, “We’re gonna get our tan on --”

The roar of a Camaro startles the group from their laughter.

Billy Hargrove rolls around the cul-de-sac, pulling up behind the Byer’s car and the mailbox before promptly cutting the engine and the Judas Priest track.

Max, with dueling, flaming red braids, hops from the front seat with a beaming smile.

The boys give a victorious cry.

“Zoomer!”

Billy’s slow to exit the car, aviators perched on his nose. The Def Leppard shirt’s sleeves has been chopped off, really hammering home the whole ‘suns out, guns out’ motto the lifeguard seems to be living by this summer. 

After the Battle of Starcourt, a lot of things changed. 

The biggest change, though, seemed to be in Billy Hargrove -- post Mind Flayer, he’d been exposed to the world the Upside Down created, the world his sister and everyone else had been living in for the last year; he’d come out of the haze, out of the flayed, and cried into Max and Eleven’s arms, nothing but apologies on his mouth in the wake of the destruction.

Steve remembers seeing him in the back of one of the ambulances, holding Max’s hand, talking. 

Not fighting, not screaming, not... being Billy.

Steve and Billy shared a look, then. Truce was what it meant. 

At first, Billy tried to pretend the whole ‘Mind Flayer’ thing never happened. 

But pretending didn’t get rid of the nightmares. And soon, Billy Hargrove was knocking on Will Byer’s door mid-D&D game looking for help, for someone to talk to.

The apology had come a few days later.

Billy had strolled up the Family Video, scaring the shit out of Steve, before offering his hand and a genuine apology. Robin watched on, a bit slack-jawed.

“I was a fucking asshole,” the blonde said slowly, “I’m sorry, man.”

Steve blinked at his hand.

After a moment, he shook it.

“It’s cool, dude,” Steve said before he could stop himself, “You didn’t know.”

“Doesn’t excuse the fact I was a dick, though.”

A look of surprise fleeted across Steve’s face. “Fair.”

Billy smiled, then, different from every other time he’d seen it. It wasn’t for show. It was... real. When Billy left, Robin had made a sound of pure shock before asking what the hell that was about.

“He beat the shit out of me,” Steve said, watching him drive away, “Tried to beat up Lucas, all while we were being hunted by Demogorgans... Just, y’know, was a genuine shit-bag.”

“Seems like he’s changed.”

“No kidding.”

“Trauma,” Robin chirps as she moves to sort the VHS’s, “is a hell of a thing.”

The malice that was there before the Fourth of July is gone. Instead, Billy smiles as he hauls Max’s cooler from the trunk of the navy sports car, offering Lucas a causal knuckle-touch before clapping Steve on the back.

“Hey man.”

“Hey Billy,” Steve chirps, “Nice outfit.”

“It’s hot out, alright,” he battles back, clearly amused, “I gotta work on my tan.”

“You coming with?” Steve asks, lips pulled into a smirk as he crosses his arms and shifts from foot to foot. His white converse are stark against the dark driveway, “We’ve got room.”

“Naw,” Billy breathes, crossing his arms, “I gotta shift at the pool -- thanks for the invite, though.”

“Yeah,” Steve shrugs, “It’s cool -- You’re one of the gang now.”

Billy’s lips quirk. Steve can tell that means something to him. Another clap on the back. Billy begins heading to his car, calling out to Max as he does. 

“See ya, kid -- be safe, alright?” he waves his finger across the group, “All a’ you.”

She gives her brother a grin. “’Kay, loser.”

“‘Kay, brat,” he snaps his gum, shoots her a smile, and falls into the driver’s seat.

As Billy leaves, the familiar rumble of Chief Hopper’s Blazer arrives to the drop-off point. Jim makes the small-talk quick, thank god, he’s terrifying, citing that he’s late for work and Mrs. Johnson has already called the station three times about her cat getting out, but makes a point to shake Steve’s hand as he leaves, telling him to look out for El.

Eleven has her dad’s pair of aviators on and an old baseball cap. She’s grinning.

“Vacation,” she says.

Steve’s got his hands on his hips, eyeing the growing party, when Dustin speaks.

“Hey,” he says slowly, looking around, “Where’s your girlfriend?”

Steve stammers. “She’s not --”

“Robin?” Mike asks, confused.

“No, not Robin --” Steve makes a face. “That’s gross.”

“Ohhhh,” says Lucas, pointing, “The one with the hair.”

Will makes a face of genuine frustration. “With the hair?”

“Real specific, Lucas,” jabs Max.

“Y’know,” he waves his hands, “Roll-o girl!”

The group exhales “oooohhhhh” at once. Steve’s face is in his hands. 

He’s just glad Nancy didn’t over the conversation -- she’s too busy with Jonathan, chatting with his mom and saying good-bye. 

(Though things were fine between them, it was still awkward -- the break-up was a one-sided-sort-of-rough, especially with the Jonathan being thrown into the mix. But, Nancy was happy and that was really all Steve cared about -- she was nice and smart and kind and she deserved to be happy especially after everything, and despite the wound it had created in Steve’s chest, he couldn’t hold the break-up against her. 

That was a weird time... things were weird. Things sometimes are still weird, but to her credit, she still treats him like a good friend and he tries to do the same. Just... sometimes it’a a lot. Especially when Jonathan is around.

Steve just opts to keep a polite distance, y’know?)

“Can I just say, one,” Steve raises a finger, “She is not my girlfriend --”

“But, you like her, right?” says Dustin, completely serious, “She’s cool, she’s cute, she can rollerblade, all great traits in a girlfriend --”

Steve narrows his eyes, finger still in the air. “I’m talking right now, Dustin, okay, I’m talking.”

“Right, sorry.”

“She’s not my girlfriend,” he repeats, hissing, “And two --”

Steve doesn’t get to finish his sentence, because the blaring of Duran Duran’s Girls on Film fills the entire neighborhood as you pull into the cul-de-sac. Robin is in the passenger’s seat, sunglasses pulled down her nose as she dances and mouths the words into her suntan lotion. You’re driving, snorting at her moves as you park the car and pop the trunk, mimicking Robin as you get out of the car -- you can barely do it you’re laughing so hard.

The cabbage patch dance move has never looked worse. You don’t really care. 

Mostly because you see Steve and he’s grinning. You wave. He mirrors.

“She is cute,” says Max, leaning against Lucas and watching the exchange, “Your girlfriend’s cute, Harrington.”

“Shut up, Max.”

She mimics a zipping motion over her lips with her hand as Steve strides by. She tosses the imaginary key.

You move to cut the engine, spurring Robin to move up the driveway with a smile -- she’s quick to greet Steve’s mom with a hug. 

You’re quickly swept into a handshake by the older woman in question.

She looks like Steve -- they have the smile doe-eyes and dark hair, same nose and same excited demeanor -- and you can’t say you’re surprised when you give her your name and she sweeps you in a hug. 

“It’s so good to finally meet you,” she says warmly, “Steve’s told me so much about you!”

You’ve seen Janine Harrington around before at baseball games and after-school functions. Back then, though, you were dodging any interaction you could with her son. Now, you’re excited to him idle up beside his mom with a grin. He rocks back on his heels. 

“Ready?”

You nod. Robin pats your back, holding onto your arm before turning on her text-book parent charm. “Mrs. Harrington, is it alright if she drives, as well? We figured it might be better than all packing into Nancy’s car -- safer, too.”

“Of course,” she says with a smile, “Steve knows the way, he’s been going up there with us since he was a little baby --”

“Yep,” he chirps, cutting that off quick, “I’ll just, uh, I’ll ride with you -- Nancy can follow us.”

“Cool kid mobile, assemble,” Robin calls out, breaking from Steve, yourself and his mom, “We call Dustin!”

“Drive safe,” Mrs. Harrington offers as the group splits into the separate hatchbacks, “Call when you get there!”

“Alright, mom!”

“Bye, Mrs. Harrington!”

Robin shoves Steve into the passenger side of your car, winking, as you clamber into the driver’s seat. Robin happily sits between Dustin and Will, mirroring Steve as she drops her sunglasses down from her hair. 

The other car, quickly named The Couples Car, holds the rest of the party -- Lucas, Max, Mike, Eleven, Jonathan and Nancy.

It’s 10am by the time you all hit the road, ready for a night over at Tippecanoe.

Steve nudges your elbow.

You blink over at him.

“Radio?”

“Hit it, Harrington.”

GIRLS ON FILM!