#crash is absent until i can fit him into the story

[coolbeanzeaglbones]

Fan ficcy fic time part two *victorious fanfare*

(A/N, orange text is thinking green text is emphasis)

Chapter two, good frickin luck!

He was right about that. He looked worse. In fact, when he walked through the door, Ricky, who had been strolling the halls, kinda…punched him in the face, “Sorry!” Ricky exclaimed, “you kinda look like a zombie.”

And he really did. He was pale, looked dead on his feet and had blood running down the entirety of his left side, his shoulder was slumping a bit down from where it would normally rest, “What happened?”

His legs chose that moment to give out, and Ricky was just like holding him up, “Uhh…Jimmy?!” he shouldered Eaglebones’ left arm. Eaglebones winced and that's when Ricky noticed the blood.

Everywhere.

He was only looking at Eaglebones’ face before, but now the blood was on him. On his rash guard. His only shirt until they got their laundry back the next day.

Ricky let out a tiny whimpering noise, “Jimmmmyyy!” He elongated the word, hoping Jimmy would hear. He decided, oh carrots, we gotta find Jimmy now.

He looked down the hall before deciding Jimmy was probably in the lab. He shifted his lanky friend, who was now sort of dazed, to have a grip on his other shoulder and sorta half dragged him down the hall to Jimmy's lab.

XXXXXXXXXXXlinebreakXXXXXXXXXXX

“Commander, I already told you, I'm sorry.” Jimmy said, losing a bit of his calm collectedness. The commander was being childish, but he did have a point. It was Jimmy's turn to do the dishes, but he didn't, and the commander dropped a stack of plates off the counter while trying to reach the chips off the top shelf. It was both of their faults, but neither would admit it. “Sorry doesn't bring those plates back!”

“And arguing does?!”

“Yes!”

Their squabble continued until the sound of the door swishing open caught their attention.

They turned to see Ricky, awkward braces smile on his face, supporting a bloodied up half conscious Eaglebones, “Your fight can wait, Jimmy I've been calling you for like an hour.” Ricky said, his voice abnormally high pitched.

Jimmy grabbed Eaglebones’ other arm and they both arm carried him to the makeshift triage area in the lab.

It was really just the other lab table, “Alright, up.” Jimmy gestured to the table. After some struggling, Eaglebones has managed to get onto the table. The commander and Ricky left. Ricky had to change out of his bloodied clothes and use like six hundred wet wipes to clean the germs away and the commander, well, no one had cleaned up the plates so…. he just wanted to see if that's how eaglebones got bloodied up.

Jimmy started to ask a barrage of questions, “How did you hurt yourself?” He asked more to himself because he was quite sure Eaglebones wasn't aware enough to answer. He took off Eaglebones’ anti-negativity cap and was probing the back of his head, feeling for fractures.

There was none, lucky for that. Eaglebones was barely conscious at this point, “Hey, wake up.” Jimmy said, snapping his fingers in front of his face. He opened his eyes and was clearly confused. Jimmy took no time in being an asshole and shining a light in his face. I know it was to test pupil dilation, but it really hurts when you're acutely sensitive to light.

Jimmy finished his examination and figured that Eaglebones had a mild concussion and pretty bad stab on both sides of his shoulder. Jimmy was too frazzled for this, “Why can't you be normal?”

Because he wasn't. That was the answer. And it wasn't like he accidentally hurt himself, he was literally attacked.

(A/N, this is filler because I have writers block and am just trying to get through a scene)

Jimmy patched him up and told him to go to bed. They didn't know that this was going to be the start of a few complications.

[triplexdoublex]

We cannot say Megan was the first celebrity he linked up with but while before all he cared about was NETWORKING and living the glory - to one day tell the story-, with Megan he started putting into consideration the clout he can instantly get.... and for this I really BLAME TRAVIS BARKER, that man.

All this circus for pop punk and his 'has-been' drummer career to come back AND for his label mogul career to take off. I'm sure he was in Kells ears telling him how this would benefit his rebrand and help him get away from 'Bad Boys' as Interscope would be more willing to focus on him and back him up (yes, he was always signed with them, but he REALLY started teaming up with them around 2018 and it was only for that staged Eminem beef, allegedly).

I also believe with Sommer Ray, something NEW about celebrities 'hook ups' like never before must have clicked and that is EGO. During that time, as many IG 'fitness' 'models' were out there, Sommer was the ONE no teenage boy or young man in America- black, white or other - could shut up about. Notice how even the guys were so invested in her- especially Rook who would later advice him to be in that Z-list movie with Megan. Sommer situationship really walked so Megan's could run; her 2009 role was peek 'young average male' fantasy woman.

Usually PR main gain is an UPGRADED image: Jay Z himself, R. Kelly associate, was only allowed to seat at certain tables after he associate himself with somebody so GREAT it over-shadowed the image of the crack dealer from Marshall project who shot his own biological brother at 12 yo over some deal. What's odd about the whole Twin Flame PR scheme is that it achieved the exact OPPOSITE for Kells. Megan is too insecure and talentless to team up with her partner to build eachother up.

The hate he gets on the daily has nothing to do with any sense of social envy but has anything to do with HER. That woman made sure to latch onto him as she won't land anything better (I'm sure his 'size' and looks helped and sponsoring vitamins on IG won't pay the bills, three CS checks and the divorce settlement). And to really secure him, she had to destroy his image from the start: gain levarage on him - so that, if he ever was to leave- she would be the victim.

In the private sphere she made sure to discover all weaknesses, feed his addictions (lines of coke on plastic tits and ayahuasca trips) and dig into his childhood (disgusting for her to use a poetry book to out 'one of her pretty boys' as a childhood S Assault survivor and blame their absent parents for everything and upbringing, yuck).

His last project gave me hope maybe he finally realized SHE is his BIGGEST enemy. Hopefully he's toxic enough to actually make run her away: for once in his life RUNNING AWAY PEOPLE MIGHT actually BE his BIGGEST BLESSING! Otherwise I don't see her ever letting go. She is too clingy. She's the type of person you actively need to cut off from your life.

HARD DISAGREE about Travis!! Especially saying he’s a “has been” that man is a fucking LEGEND!! I was a Blink girl wayyyy before I was a MGK girl. He’s always been drumming and producing and working on something. The only times he’s probably even has a break when when he was he was recovering from a plane crash he somehow survived despite having 3rd degree burns over 65% of his body , and he still came back strong!

The rest …in a nutshell, yeah this PR bullshit definitely hasn’t worked in his favor at all but let’s be honest he was already getting hate before she came along too , but she’s definitely increased it by playing victim. And yeah she’s an absolute trash human being for outing the SA in her “poetry book” especially since it heavily suggested it was kells who was abused because she mentioned the “history of family curses” he’s always said his family was cursed and even says in new songs how his family is cursed for 7 generations.

Yeah I had hope too until the were at stagecoach together, whether it be a pr stunt or them actually getting back together who knows? I just want her gone for good .

[sol-the-otter]

did someone say OCs? Meet Sol'oya Haa'runi.

i have played a little bit with some headcanons about things like. Varactyl family structure and anatomy etc. mostly coming from a biological standpoint.

full story under cut.

It began on a day just like every other day. Until it wasn't.

It was a normal battle against the Empire, routine in its own way, nothing special or remarkable about it.... until it wasn't.

Just a normal fucking day. And then it all came crashing down in just one moment. That's all it ever takes isn't it. Just a moment in time and everything changes forever. A galaxy turned to shreds. The Force thrown off balance in the seconds that followed this moment. And then silence. Blessed, cursed silence.

Sol wasn't always a mandalorian or a "traitor". He wasn't always Sol, and he wasn't always alone.

His birth name has been lost to the winds of time, blown away with the rest of the ashes following Order 66. For him, like so many others, that was a great turning point in his life.

He was born on Utapau under unfortunate circumstances and remembers very little of his life before the Jedi Temple. His parents were problematic at best, and absent at worst, so when the enigmatic and powerful Jedi came to claim him, he was only too happy to leave. He had spent much of his time prior in the plains of Utapau, communing with the wildlife there, as much of his power in the force attuned him to beasts.

Sol was a willful and chaotic child, strong in the force, who took to combat like a fish to water. He questioned the Jedi code often, but never blatantly enough to be forcibly removed. He was paired eventually with an Iridonian zabrak named Ahkeema Sukrii, who he bonded with immediately in their distaste for the basis of the Jedi code. Ahkeema was a fair master, who taught him well. His death at the hands of his loyal clones in the battle for Utapau was an unmeasured loss for Sol, who was unimaginably attached to all of them in a way that the Jedi would have frowned upon. In a fit of rage, anguish and pain, Sol used the force to shove the clones in their squad that did it off of the edge of the pit that the fight had been around, and fled into the familiar plains, grabbing Sukrii's saber on their way. There had been no time for final words, the clones were good soldiers who followed orders and Ahkeema was given no warning before they gunned him down.

Sol vowed in that moment never to harm another clone, as he had been close as brothers with the squad. Many a day and night had been filled with their shenanigans and laughter, in the quieter moments of the war. The leader, and Sol's best friend was Scout, and his heart broke when the order was given. The only consolation, was that Sukrii's partner Kai would never have to live with the guilt of gunning down his lifemate and Jedi.

The padawan-no-longer , having lost everything that had ever been important to him, fled to the sparse savannahs of the planet, far from the majority of the clone controlled pits, and hid in a varactyl nest until he felt that the clones had given up chase. His affinity for beasts served him well for the next period of time, as he lived with this particular family of varactyl, helping to hunt and provide for the young.

He was not alone, but he was lonely. After the bustle of the temple and the chaos of war, life had slowed to a grinding halt. With the last vestiges of his life as a Jedi hidden deep in the nest, he knew nothing of what had happened, if anyone was left alive, or what had become of the Republic. He grieved for his lost love, a clone medic, most likely lost to the Order. And so it remained for a difficult few years.

No measure of peace can last forever, of course, and on yet another life turning day, Sol was confronted with the loss of yet another family. You see, varactyl feathers are a prized commodity on the black market and there will always be poachers and trophy hunters willing to kill for them.

Sol's tentative peace once again came to an abrupt halt when a group of these poachers came to their nest in the night, and the majority of the family he lived with were slain. The poachers were surprised, however, when faced with a living breathing Jedi initiate, awoken, pissed off, with lightsabers at the ready to defend the small hatchlings that were cowering at his feet.

Sol managed to take down two of them in their surprise, but the rest fled before the angry padawan could finish them off.

Sol gathered what he could carry, the hatchlings and his sabers and fled into the night, once again on the run. He ran far and fast and escaped into one of the many pits on the surface of the planet, finding a small village to collapse into. Fortune finally turned for him when they were found by, not an enemy for once, but a friend.

Raxxus was an escaped slave of a twi-lek, only a few years older than Sol, and had made a hideout in this small village in this small unknown pit, a haven for the lost. He ran a tea shop that fronted for this space and brought Sol and the hatchlings in without a thought. The next chapter in the life of this force wielding Mandalorian had truly begun.

there will obviously be more to this....

all of it has been fleshed out in my head.

They are ahipped with kix. They will eventually find him.

Raxus and his tea shop

most of the clones and Ahkeema.

the varactyl.

their saber (a saberstaff built from the hilts of theirs and their masters. they are a Grey Jedi and their once blue blades are now purple)

etc.

more pictures! most of these are commissioned. Sol has been a work in progress for years now.

fun fact, Sol'oya basically means YOLO in mando'a. (it means one life/one hurrah/etc)

if y'all have any questions for me pls feel free lol.

@thenonsensebatch and @starborncyare because you asked to be tagged. *i love you lol*

PART 2 - Physical presence and movements questions.

Part 3! - "My Hero" the story of a Jedi and his Medic

He's a Jedi, is this even legal?

[averagegtenjoyer]

Bless. I have a little more p5 g/t for you. Akeshuake focused because i LOVE THEM.

These are all taken from my little idea folder thing, so some of them have dialogue/are story based and some of them are just little concepts.

(P5R SPOILERS)

⭑ “Here, you’ll have to stay in my pocket today.”

“What…?” Akechi growls. “I am not doing that.”

“You dont have a choice, Akechi. You have to come to school with me somehow.” Akira huffs.

“B-but can’t I just… can’t you hold me, or something?” The brunette adjusts his clothes anxiously, but he still glares tiny daggers into the giant.

Akira shakes his head. “I cant risk you getting crushed, or someone seeing you. I’m sorry. Its just for today, until we can get the group together to fix this.”

Akechi hesitantly agrees and Akira helps him climb into his chest pocket. All day at school, Akechi can feel the boom of Akira’s voice, the way his hand clutches his pocket every so often to ensure Akechi is still there. He feels so protected, and he’s never felt that way before. Eventually, in the middle of class, Akira opens his pocket to see a tiny, tiny akechi asleep in there. He audibly awwwwes until Morgana and Ann ask him what he’s looking at.

⭑ Akira being referred to as a gentle giant is the best thing ever like yes! He is a pretty giant boy! Giant Akira gazing downwards, his big eyelashes, his powerful, strong fingers that could crush with little effort, but his gentle touch. His feet crashing into the ground and sending people stumbling, but so incredibly careful not to crush anyone accidentally. Gentle boy with his tiny leblanc family and his tiny thieves and his tiny rival

⭑ Akechi picking up tiny Joker and mumbling “Now, what am I going to do with you…?” Is SO GOOD

⭑ Akechi chooses against killing akira au. He realizes Akira can be a great help in taking down Shido. However, he needs to get him out of that damn interrogation room. Years of work on a certain device has given him a solution.

“Hello. Im here to rescue you.”

“Akechi…” akira breathes, dumbfounded. “You came for me.”

“There’s no time for your brainless sentimentality. Sorry for this.” He aims a strange looking ray gun at him, before-

Akira blinks, groaning. “What…” he tries to gather his bearings, before realizing that a giant, gloved hand is coming towards him. He screams in horror as he realizes that he’s been shrunk!! The hand wraps around him tightly, the leather rubbing against his skin as he kicks his legs in a panic.

“Quiet, you little thief! You’re going to get us found out!” Akechi puts a finger to Akira’s mouth. Akira weakly nods in pure fear, before Akechi drops him in his pocket.

⭑ On that note. Goro with a shrinking function in his ray gun!

⭑ Giant goro petting akira absently without even realizing he’s doing it, or, pretending so. Telling him he’s a cute little thing. Akira leaning into his gentle, but enormous touch. His hand batting goro’s enormous finger away when he starts poking and prodding him teasingly. Akira sleeping in goro’s glove. <3

⭑ Tiny bullets ricocheting off of Goro’s black mask gauntlet because he dropped his enormous hand in front of Joker and Violet to protect them from shadows in Maruki’s palace ^-^

⭑ Staying on the Maruki thought, Akechi showing up to Leblanc in that first little bit of the third semester, except he’s absolutely enormous, to the point where he can barely fit a foot into the tiny alleys of Yongen-Jaya. He gets Akira’s attention by knocking on his window with the back of his knuckle. Akira practically leaping out of his window to see him, and Akechi picks him out of his window by the back of his shirt. Blah blah Maruki made him big so Akira would be obsessed and too happy to reject the false reality blah blah I would be happy with a giant akechi too

⭑ Satanael Joker with clouds circling his horns because he’s just so big. Scooping all of the thieves into one hand because they’re so small and pressing them ever so gently to his chest in a hug. He laughs softly and it feels like an earthquake to everybody around him. Shooting Yaldabaoth in the head himself YAY!

i have majorrr anxiety so This is so scary but i feel so validated in my ideas thank you all mwah mwah <33

[simpforherlove]

Never Far

Natasha Romanoff x Reader

A/N: Title is from When the Sun Loves the Moon by Reinaeiry, no warnings that I can think of but let me know if you do

Word Count: ~3k

Gif/Art not mine; It’s actually by James R. Eads and Chris Daniels as a collaboration and is part of a series called The Glitch. Check the rest of ‘em out if you like this one, they’re real neat.

Joining the Avengers had been a dream come true. You’d always wanted to help people. You had joined S.H.I.E.L.D. to do just that and when it came crashing down when it was revealed to have been HYDRA all along, you were…lost. Adrift in a sea of uncertainty about what comes next. Earth’s Mightiest Heroes had disbanded, for the moment, and the rank and file of S.H.I.E.L.D. was nowhere to be seen, either dead, snapped up by other agencies, or just as lost as you. So when a small group approached you about doing something more, about remaking S.H.I.E.L.D., you’d readily agreed to join them, minimal questions asked.

Which was a mistake in hindsight. Your eagerness blinded you to the little nuances your training had told you to notice and by the time you clocked on to their true intentions, it was too late. They had you, and others like you, and there was no escape. 

Not at first anyway.

No, at first it was all tests and experiments and being pitted up against your ex-colleagues and the certainty that if you failed you would vanish, never to be seen again. No one knew quite what happened to those who disappeared during the night; there weren’t even any ominous screams to give you a hint of what might be your fate. They were just gone wholly and fully until it felt like you were the only one who remembered them, their names and memories stolen from the others just as the people they belonged to had been. You don’t know why you remembered, how, or what it meant, but you did. So you endeavored to keep remembering them.

Their voices became your bedtime stories, their eyes your rising sun, their faces the reason you got back up again and again. 

Until the one time you couldn’t and it was your turn to be forgotten.

…

..

.

Only you weren’t. 

You didn’t know what they did to you, what they did to the ones who came before you, you just knew it worked. And you’d make them regret it. 

The Avengers found you then. You and the few others that still remained at that place after you were finished with the ones who had kept you there. They offered you all safety. A job with their new facility. They needed agents to back them up, to be where they couldn’t be, to see what they couldn’t see. Not everyone accepted, and not everyone could, but you did. And it didn’t take long for them to realize you were…different. Changed. 

So they offered you a spot on the team and you, of course, agreed. With a little hesitance this time but probably not as much as you should have had, considering the last time you accepted a proposal that seemed too good to be true. 

And it was good. The Avengers were…a team getting better at actually being a team, filled with good people that you loved getting to know. Tony was the mother hen of the bunch, though you’d never dare to tell him that as he quite literally ran away from big emotional talks. Clint, though one of the most absent was also the most present. He left objects behind like it was a job, little trinkets he’d hoarded and left on display like it was a test, and a litany of light pranks just waiting to be uncovered whether he was there to see it or not. Bruce was the quietest, the most uncomfortable with the team, but there was a look in his eyes that drew you to him, a silent longing you could identify with. To fit in, to have a home. To care. Steve, the de facto leader, cared the most. You wouldn’t quite say he had the biggest heart- all of them seemed tied for that actually, in their own ways- but when he wasn’t training and still trying to get accustomed to the times, he was out taking care of stray animals or talking to kids in the park. He never seemed to go looking for that; in fact, he often seemed to be trying to avoid others entirely and that’s why it stuck out to you so much. Others just seemed to gravitate to him and it was always those in need of a little help that found him. Thor only ever appeared like the flashes of lightning he was the god of but it was an apt name as his very presence did light up whatever room he was in. His energy was…infectious, like static electricity. It just built and built until you were shocked by it and then vanished entirely.  Natasha was…a lot of things you could never seem to verify for yourself.

Tony called her scary, Steve competent, Thor a mighty shield-maiden, Bruce distant but caring, and Clint, in the strictest of confidence lest she find out, compared her to a house cat. Slightly aloof at times but fiercely caring and just as likely to mess with you for fun as spend a relaxing moment with you. But, for whatever reason, your schedule just never seemed to line up with hers. You’d met her, briefly, when you first met the others but in the few months you’d been with the Avengers you hadn’t spent any time with her beyond that first meeting. It was…really odd.

You’d thought nothing of it at first. She was busy, the only real spy in the group and the best in the business, and you were busy with learning your new powers and going on your own missions. Only, after a while, it wasn’t just that the two of you were busy, it’s that you kept missing each other. You’d walk into a room she just left, catching only a glimpse of that vibrant red hair as she turned a corner, or she’d check in with Steve after a mission just after you did, seeing only a fading glimmer of the faint sparkles that accompanied the use of your powers. Tony and Clint liked to joke you were the sun (Natasha, because of the hair) and moon (you because of your powers), orbiting each other but never quite meeting. However apt you might find the comparison, you were quick to shut it down by teasing them about their lack of originality (“at least if we were ships passing in the night I could have a cool name! Hopefully not the Titanic though”). 

Despite never quite getting to meet, you did come to care for Natasha like you did the others though. Her presence, much like Clint’s, was felt long after she herself was gone from the area. Whether it was a calmed Bruce after an early morning yoga session or a worn-out Steve after hours of sparring, you could see her influence everywhere. It was rather compelling. Likewise, though you wouldn’t learn of it until she told you herself, sometime later, she saw remnants of you everywhere. An irate Clint at a prank going ever-so-carefully wrong as to be turned back on him or Tony fidgeting with some new puzzle or trinket you’d picked up on your latest mission to keep him occupied with, she saw traces of you everywhere. 

At eight months in you just sort of threw up your hands and said ‘fuck it’. Not even team meetings or gatherings specifically meant to finally let you two meet happened that way (something always went wrong and one of you couldn’t make it/had to leave just before the other appeared). You figured you’d get to spend time with her eventually. Until then, there were other ways to get to know someone. You’d already had a good start, talking to your team members and seeing her effect on them, so you just…sort of expanded on that. You started leaving notes around the tower for her. Nothing important, just little messages to let her know you (“I hated the movie Clint made us watch last night, I wish I’d missed it too” paired with a bag of popcorn for instance).

Natasha returned your notes in kind. You left her a goodnight message, she left you a good morning one with a cup of your favorite morning drink. Or you left her an energy drink for when she was done training and she left you a protein bar for when you were. On and on it went like that (Clint, in particular, was very insufferable about it, even going so far as to try and set up ‘meet-cutes’ for you two. Natasha would roll her eyes and he’d find his favorite bow missing later when she was on the receiving end of it. You’d just call up Darcy Lewis, one of Thor’s favorite humans and the only woman besides Natasha that Clint seemed genuinely afraid of (something about her bedazzling his gear in retaliation for a lost iPod? You didn’t know but you did find and send her the iPod at some point, out of respect) and get her to tease him with you). It was still a bit weird, how you two just genuinely could not seem to get to spend time together but it was also…nice. Strangely freeing. Natasha wasn’t a stranger, not by any means, but there was that bit of distance between you that never meeting brought and you found your notes getting more and more personal as time went on.

And to your surprise and delight, so did hers.

A message with a bar of her favorite candy after a hard mission from you turned into a confession of nightmares and a cold glass of water from her. A candle with her favorite scent and a note about the grief you felt on the anniversary of your parent’s death was her getting you your favorite baked good from that heavenly bakery all the way across town and a memory of a sister she’d long since lost. Rather quickly and yet all too slowly Natasha became one of, if not the most, important people in your world. You hardly knew what she sounded like but you knew she hated licorice and could probably outdrink Thor if she wanted to. You just…you just loved her and you knew the team knew. The days you spent cooking her favorite meals to leave for her to eat told them that; you didn’t mind cooking but you didn’t love it and wouldn’t do it unless specifically asked to until it came to Natasha. But they didn’t say anything about it and neither did you. After all, you still hadn’t even properly met her. Just that one quick greeting that had happened over a year ago. 

Natasha, as you would later learn, was just as infatuated and just as frustrated by your apparent inability to occupy the same space together. What had been amusing at first, and relieving later on as she never had to see your reaction to the things she revealed, was rapidly becoming a major annoyance.  She wanted to hear your smile for herself, to see the way your eyes lit up like stars when you used your powers, to make you laugh in person and not with a note left out for hours in the hopes you’d stumble across it. So she worked with Clint and Tony on a plan to finally get you in the same room as her, at the same time.

…

..

.

You squinted at Clint suspiciously as the archer did his best (read: worst) to look innocent. 

“You want us to do Secret Santas? There are like seven of us and three are spies for a living. It won’t be a secret. And Thor and Bruce don’t celebrate Christmas. Plus you know how I feel about Santa Clint! A jolly old guy using his temporal manipulation powers to leave a select number of children gifts according to his arbitrary standards is-“ Clint cut you off before you could, once again, go off on your anti-Santa tangent. He’d heard it a good few too many times at this point. 

“Yes, yes, I know. You hate good ol’ Saint Nick but hear me out. You love giving people presents. Just think of it as a gift exchange.” He pleaded, his acting still just on the side of bad that let you know he was up to something. Clint was a fantastic spy but a terrible pretender outside of work. You kept staring at him with narrowed eyes, relishing how your gaze made him the tiniest amount uncomfortable at the moment. You knew from experience he wouldn’t cave but it was good for the soul to have him squirm around a little bit. Just so he knew that you knew whatever it was he was doing. 

“You only give out one gift at secret Santas’ though. I’ve already got presents for the entire team, plus some of the agents at the base. I’m not gonna pare that down to one after all the time and effort I’ve spent getting things together.” Clint let out a groan. 

“C’mon. Work with me here.” He did his best at a pout for a few seconds before abandoning that tactic altogether as he saw how unmoved you were by it. “Fine. Just think of it as an extra gift for whoever you’re given. You can never have too many presents.” You tilted your head to the side, considering him.

“One, that’s not true. But two, fine, whatever. I’ll do your secret Santa-“ You held up a hand to stop Clint’s premature delight. “Wait. I’ll do it, but only if you get Tony to go to that charity fundraiser he’s been dodging Pepper about. They want him to dress up as Santa and do something for the kids and I, for one, would love to see that. Make it happen and I’ll go along with whatever harebrained scheme you’ve cooked up with, no questions asked. Deal?” You asked, holding out your hand to shake on it. Clint hesitated just long enough for you to hope he’d drop the matter altogether but then agreed, shaking your hand firmly. 

“Deal.”

…

..

.

Alas, as so often happens, things didn’t go to plan. Aliens invaded, again. It was something about Thor’s brother causing trouble just because and being unable to handle the consequences and so sic’ed them on Thor and ‘his merry band of idiots’ something. You weren’t really listening. You know you should’ve but also- Natasha was confirmed incoming with Steve to help fight and you were probably far more focused on that fact than you should’ve been. What can you say? A spy-turned-hero has to have some hope y’know. 

…

..

.

You were exhausted. The fight went from the night into the early morning hours and dawn was just breaking when the Hulk sent the last of the aliens flying. Like literally flying as he tossed them into what seemed like the upper atmosphere with a roar. You allowed Tony’s weary, but victorious, commentary to relax you out of your fighting stance and almost immediately collapsed to the ground in a boneless heap. 

“I could sleep for a week.” You complained, your body sore and aching from all the fighting. A voice, one you hadn’t had much chance to hear, answered. 

“Well, that’s a shame. I only just got here after all.” It was close, incredibly so, and your eyes opened to see a sight you’d never forget. You’d remember it forever, just for yourself. Natasha stood above you, haloed in the rising light of morning, the smile on her face somehow outshining the sun. “Oh.” You breathed, eyes wide. Your burgeoning smile fell into a frown as you took her in, however. 

“No wait, hang on. You were supposed to be here hours ago!! I’d murder you and Steve if I could find it in me to move at all. But just wait, soon as I get some sleep and food, I’m coming for you two.” You warned, mostly joking. Mostly. Natasha laughed, head back and hair catching the dawn’s light. You stared, mesmerized. She held out her hand to help you out and just as you reached up to take it you saw it- the aliens were coming back. You reacted without thinking, up and in front of Natasha in a moment and, a little reluctantly, ready to rumble. “We’ve got incoming!” You called out to the others, cutting off whatever chatter they’d had going on that you’d tuned out the second you saw Natasha (though you suspected it was about you and Natasha; the team had been looking forward to your meeting as much as you had). 

…

..

.

It was like that one meeting had opened the floodgates. You saw Natasha regularly now, though never for more than a few minutes at a time. You entered a room to find her leaving and you both loitered in the doorway as long as you could or she left on a mission just as you were coming back and you helped each other put on/put away gear. On and on it went, your lives overlapping just that slightest bit more which made it truly agonizing how unable you were to stay in the same place for longer than a quick chat and a lingering look. 

It was driving you mad. Really and truly insane. You wanted more time with her and it was clear she wanted more time with you but you just…couldn’t seem to get any. And then you remembered Clint’s scheme. The Secret Santa. It’d fallen through last year due to the aliens and the cleanup of the fight with the aliens and then the diplomatic meetings with the aliens because it turned out they weren’t actually hostile, they’d just been after Thor’s brother and aside from that they wanted to set up an accord with Earth and- time had just gotten away from everyone. But this year…you were determined to make it work.

In the meantime, however…you kept stealing those moments with Natasha, relishing in every laugh you drew out of her. In the warmth her smile evoked in you. In the light that shined in her eyes. Stars above but you fell more and more in love with her every day. 

…

..

.

Okay, so Christmas was out when you went and got captured by an overlooked HYDRA cell which was not fun to say the least.  Especially when your recovery time happened to coincide with Natasha being so deep undercover she was virtually unreachable. You were still determined to make it work though. You took a deep breath and then began making some phone calls.

…

..

.

This was it. It was time. Your plan was set into motion. Night was rapidly approaching and you’d pulled in every favor you had to pull. You were off, Natasha was off, and everyone and their dog was positioned to make sure nothing could interrupt you two. All you had to do was wait for Natasha to arrive.

Arrive she did, looking resplendent in her silver dress. Your breath caught in your chest and Natasha noticed, as she always did. “You don’t look too bad yourself.” She admired, gaze very clearly drinking in every inch of you in the dwindling light of the day. 

“Thanks, I-“ You paused, collecting yourself. “I’m glad you came.” You gestured to the meal laid out on the table beside you. “Dinner, as promised.” Natasha walked closer, brushing past you to reach one of the chairs where you hastened to pull it out, and then push it in, for her. 

“So it is. Tell me, is that all this date entails?” Your eyes flashed to hers, hopeful and questioning and she smiled in answer. You smiled back. “Well, I had hoped to have this happen last winter where we’d then go ice-skating after dinner since someone told me she hasn’t been but as you can see,” you gestured to the snowless and in fact, very green and disappointedly hot, environment around you,” it didn’t work out. So I don’t actually have a plan after this. I didn’t believe we’d get this far really. But I do have something for you.” You pulled out a small box that was wrapped as neatly as you’d ever managed it.

“A present?” Natasha’s eyebrow rose as she spoke and you nodded. She opened it carefully, not allowing for a single tear in the wrapping paper. You bit your lip, focus narrowed down to Natasha and only Natasha as you waited for her reaction. 

After a few excruciatingly long moments her gaze met yours. “I love it.” She said, and then she laughed. You blinked, confused. Natasha waved your confusion off. “Nothing it’s just- I’ve never wished for anything on my birthday but last year Clint goaded me into it and-“ She shrugged, eyes locked on yours. “It came true.”

-

A/N: Thanks for reading, if you have!! Is this the end? Yes, for now. I was browsing the tag and it’s mostly full of angst; I was working on this last year as a Christmas fic which I very much did not get out on time. So now it’s a quick Natasha birthday one. Is it good? No. But it’s not sad so- anyway, some things are left purposefully vague for self-insert reasons but some are vague bc I don’t have the time to flesh it out. Will I get to that? Probably. One day. One can only hope. Anyway, I hope it’s fun to read bc it has been nice to write again. Also, my entire reasoning for this being a birthday fic is because I originally titled it Rudolph and Frosty’s Christmas in July, and along with the sun/moon imagery I was gonna throw in some Rudolph and Frosty stuff and have the story end with someone, the reader probably, saying Happy Birthday as Frosty does in his tv specials bc that’s amusing to me. But again, lack of time. Hopefully, someday though I can come back and do that, entirely for me. Though I do hope you like it!!! The story, not the joke…although. Maybe also the joke. 

[aerinkate]

Six Year Lesson

23rd January 2016, 10:38pm

I am falling astray, in desperate need of leadership.

Little else could explain my presence tonight, listening to the ramblings of a false authority as he looms over his devoted followers.

Ben passes a can of lager to a mate just gone empty, before taking a seat on his overcrowded bed and continuing with his story. I remain absent-minded, it had been too filled with exaggerated half-truths to hold my attention. Still, I remain silent; he’s the sort of guy that summons respect through just a look. Perhaps that’s what I admire so much about him, I see confidence even if it is misplaced. 

He’s different around his mates. More assertive, his presence taking up more space. I can’t say I like who he is around them but I know it’s not their fault, they’re an alright bunch if I’m completely honest. But another side of him comes out, and I didn’t think tonight would be an exception.

“When we getting on with the night then?” He hollers, cutting across the conversation.

“Ain’t you the one who was picking up tonight?” Replies one.

He slaps his hands against his knees, leaning forward. “I am indeed.”

Taking a moment to dig around his pocket, he pulls out a bag. Like the ones that come with coats holding extra buttons. I screw my face up, “The fuck is that, Ben?”

“This, Chloe,” He pulls out his keys and I watch him scoop and inhale, “This is life itself.”

Chuckles cascade around the room, followed by the bag and the keys. It gets to me and I hesitate.

“Come on Chlo,” Ben cheers, an encouraging smile splashed across his face, “You might actually like it.”

All eyes on me, I’m awkwardly frozen, holding the bag half an arms length away from my body. “I don’t know-”

“Come on, Chlo.” His tone switches, smile drops. He’s leering toward me, hands clamped together. Pressure building up, I drop my gaze and copy exactly what the others did. It stings and leaves a nasty taste. 

Why the fuck did I just do that?

24th January 2019, 1:41am

I am consumed by meaningless distraction.

Mercilessly the flames wrap around butt end of my cigarette, hunting it down until it recoils, trapped. I watch it burn with nonchalance, leaning closer to the heat beating against my outstretched palms, fire abating the winter chill. 

Pure, teenage chaos. A fitting description for the party inside. I kick open the kitchen door and a wave of noise crashes into the night; music blasting through the house with hollering and cheers floating over it. Joy implodes within, I see my friends enjoying themselves and there is nothing else I’d rather be absorbed in.

“Chloe!” I hear Ryan bellow from across the room, his voice easily distinguishable over the music. “Come join next game!”

“Next time,” I slur, “I’m smashed.”

An arm around my shoulders steadies me, simultaneously pulling me into an embrace impossible to escape. I relish in his scent, even if he’s slightly drenched in beer.

“Hey, you.” His gaze falls into me as though I’d been missing me for a lifetime. A rush of emotion passes through me; I’m saturated in adoration of him.

“Where have you been?” He sounds pissed.

“I was outside-”

“I’ve been looking for you, Chlo.” 

“I was only gone a minute, Hugo. Let’s play that game with Ryan and that or something.” 

“You can’t just leave me at a party with your friends, Chlo, it’s not fair. How do I know what you’re off doing? Who you’re with? It’s as if you don’t even think-”

“Excuse me?” 

He pauses, the shrillness of my voice bringing him back to reality.

“Come on, I didn’t mean anything by that.” 

The words slipped out before I could catch them, alcohol fuelling unwarranted confidence. “Besides, it’s not as though I’m the one running off with other people as soon as you're not paying attention. How am I meant to know what you’ve been doing for the last twenty minutes?”

I watch his eyes shoot over to Nadia.

My heart drops.

Everything pauses. His silence speaking volumes.

“Chloe-”

I turn on my heel and tunnel through the crowd. I’m small enough to make it through without much resistance, I don’t care to see if he follows.

The bathroom door clicks shut behind me and I rush to the toilet, heartache rolling over me with waves of nausea.

I drag a hand through my hair, matted by hours of drinking, panting with despair and anger.

Why must he find fault with me as though I’ve done anything but care for him? He’s the one that can’t keep his hands to himself-

I slam the lid shut.

When will I be enough for him?

I take out the baggy.

It can’t be all my fault.

I erupt with frustration. 

At Hugo.

At myself. 

Why must it always come back to this? 

This pitiful distraction. 

Both euphoric and exhausting. 

Brief pleasure to cover pain.

I inhale anyway.

The eyes of heartache stay watching me, waiting on acknowledgment.

But then excitement rings through my chest, the effect immediate. 

Worthy distraction. 

24th January 2022, 2:27am

I am immersed in self-deceit. 

Lost souls are drawn together here, darting between darkened rooms in the pursuit of pleasure, a mere temporary distraction from the creeping weight that is a lack of purpose in life. But it feels good to pretend, and in youth we remain fortunate enough to stay immersed in our freedoms, ignoring the beckonings of adulthood even when they call louder and louder each day.

 Everyone with a wavering sense of purpose will find themselves here at one point or another - chasing distraction, chasing pleasure. Heavy bass seduces those lost to its doors, dim lighting swallowing us up, blending us into a crowd of strangers and rendering any individuality meaningless. This is where you come when you need to forget for an evening. To drown yourself in cheap liquor. To separate from life outside, from friendships lost and debts unpaid. From absentee parents and empty futures.

And so I dance, captivating heavy beats pulsing through my body, basking in flickering strobe lighting, catching short glimpses of strangers under the same compulsion as I find myself. There’s an unusual comfort in losing yourself for an evening.

And then my love surrounds me, arms enveloping me tightly. I tilt my head back into his shoulder and it’s as though we are meant to piece together; stubble rubs against my cheek telling me I’m home. 

Immediately we synchronise. 

His fingers trail up my arms, making their way to my jaw as I roll my shoulders back into him and laze in the heat of his breath against my neck, heart warming as he pulls me into him. He is the one distraction I refuse to find guilt with.

But maybe that’s the booze talking. 

I need to see him. To see the pure, honest love that hoods his eyes. To press my forehead against his and stay locked in the bubble we create that separates us from entire crowds, to shrink the entire world to just him and I. 

I go to move, but something is wrong.

I try again and his arms lock, pinning me against him. 

The haze of the club breaks. 

My lungs inflate with the onrush of panic.

The stranger wraps his leg around my shins and locks me into place. I attempt to twist away, though the crashing of my heart against my ribs is weakening. I don’t understand what’s happening i move to shout but then his hand grabs my mouth and i freeze. The other begins to move down my front he’s cupping my breast and i’m frozen there are so many people around and it hurts and i don’t want to think about daniel right now why aren’t they helping me he’s squeezing my ass and i don’t understand why this is happening and i’m frozen and he’s grabbing my face and it hurts it hurts i can’t breathe and i don’t want to think about daniel daniel daniel-

The stranger lets me go I run.

I am outside but my mind is frozen. 

There are people everywhere my mind is frozen.

“Chloe?” It’s his voice.

I am outside and surrounded by cigarette smoke and strangers.

I am outside but his hands are still on me.                        

“Chloe?” His voice again, more persistent.

I am outside. I don’t want to think about Ben right now.

“Chloe!” Finn goes to cup my face but I gasp and he pulls away. I’ve stopped breathing, I should exhale. I see him. I see him… The reprieve is temporary.

By the time my mind has caught up, I have rummaged through half of my bag. 

“Chloe, what’s happened-”

“I can’t speak right now, Finn.” Frustration boils through my eyes. His face screams worry but I’ve lost concern. I can’t find the baggy. I can’t ignore him but I need to find the baggy. Irritation flares before I can contain it, “Please, Finn, just- give me a minute.”

It’s not in my purse either. I’m really crying now, shaking all over. I can feel strangers' eyes on me, their indifference grabbing pinching hurting…

My head drops into my hands and I slump into Finn; he envelopes me tightly, shielding me from their eyes and massaging the back of my head in an attempt to calm me, we rock steadily.

He holds my face in his palm. “Breathe, Chloe. Just breathe.” 

I lean into it, it’s warm and safe and Finn. I look up at him, and though his face is shadowed and my vision is blurry I can still make out his eyes, warm and brown and filled with love and worry. 

“I can’t find it…” A cracked sob escapes. “I- I just need-”

“You don’t, Chloe,” He pauses, squeezing his eyes shut, the moment straining him. “I promise. Let’s… Let’s just go home.”

And for the first time in my life, I try to believe it.

— A.K.D

[heli0s-writes]

lights up*

A/N: Stucky (primarily Steve)/Reader. 2k words of idkwhatthisisi’msorry. There was a prompt from six months ago that I wrote this for but I lost the message and I can’t remember! All mistakes are my own, please stop reading if you are not 18+

brooklyn after dark masterlist

You wake up in scattered shock.

Knee-jerk reaction to fast hands sliding between your thighs, fingers carelessly ticking sensitive skin.

You wake up to a groggy voice, slurred with sleep and raspy-raw.

“Baby,” it croaks from between your legs, “Honey, sweetheart, sugar. Please, please, please let me eat your pussy.”

Wha—

A few disbelieving blinks as you scrabble for your bearings—can’t see shit—still dark—head throbbing.

“Oh god, I wanna sosososo bad,” and then hands are between your knees, spreading your legs apart. “So… damn... tasty. Uh-huh… Come to daddy.”

Who the fuck is—damn it, Bucky.

In the dead hour of four-something when nothing should be moving so intentionally, an unsteady moan tumbles out of him when he starts groping for your ass.

“Buck!” You whisper, kicking your leg to shake him off. Grabbing the covers with one hand, you reach under with the other, swatting his head and trying to get a firm hold on him. Slippery fucking man.

He pauses for a second before his body goes limp, half hanging off the foot of the bed and you groan at his weight. Idiot boy. Two hundred pounds of horny somnambulist dropping like an anchor on your poor legs.

Fiddling now with how to get him back up to his regular spot, you try to do it quietly, the warmth radiating next to your left shoulder a compelling incentive. Even with your wits barely about you, you know better than to wake—

“Whassit? Whas goin’ on?”

Steve. Ah.

“Nothing,” you sigh, reaching over and stroking his arm absently, one foot tapping against Bucky’s waist to urge him upward. “He’s just sleep-talking again.”

Steve makes a groggy noise of comprehension. “Sleep-talking or sleep-fucking?”

“Just sleeping now. Ugh… didn’t mean to wake you.”

He’d come in late again—meetings and paperwork keeping him well after hours. Not even able to do it from home, which would have been nice. At least here you could make sure he was eating, or drinking enough water, or at least be in the presence of good company.

Instead, you and Buck watched a movie, took a few rounds of shots (because he likes the taste and how you look dancing all over the coffee table), fooled around in the kitchen, and turned in around two—Steve nowhere in sight. Some jobs were Captain-Only, which meant you’d have to make peace with being useless.

That’s generally not a task that goes over well. The amount of untamed energy Bucky exudes without Steve’s guidance is… close to being categorized as a natural disaster and trying to stay up with him is always a double-edged sword. Lots of fun, sure, but he requires less sleep than you do and can finagle you into getting piss drunk with a single smirk.  

“Wish you’d been more responsible.” Bone-tired and Steve’s still bossy. His arm is heavy as it snakes over your tummy. “You know he needs direction.”

“Hey, I tried.”

“Issat right? That why your panties’re on the counter? Shirt in the sink, too. Come home close to four and still gotta clean up after the two of you.”

His raspy breath tickles, plump lips crushed just below your ear—enough to start a chain reaction of shudders.

“Go back to sleep,” you huff, embarrassed. It was only a few hours ago so your head’s still a bit fuzzy—vague memory of playful touches before hearing, hop up, baby, from Bucky. And you, tittering and zealous the whole way, kissing him like he’d never been kissed before.

YouTube blinking on the T.V., stuck on some ad because the streaming’s a snail’s pace from when Steve set up the internet and tried to pinch pennies at the same time. Bucky’s specially crafted “Wine, Dine, and Sixty-Nine” playlist refusing to load even half a song afterwards so neither of you could spare your neighbors from hearing all the noises.

Hopefully the laughter was loudest, and not the primal fucking, or the crashing when you slipped off the counter and knocked Bucky on his ass.  

You giggle at that. Years and years together and some nights still feel brand new.

“Have fun without me?”

There’s no real jealousy in Steve’s voice, but there is greed behind the question. A single night away and he acts like he’s never been kissed either.

Your eyes start fluttering when his fingers curl around your hipbone. Je-sus. Hell. It’s too late—early—for this.

You grumble his name, asking him to save it for a couple more hours when your brain doesn’t feel pried free, but, Captain-Only mode activated and he’s not deterred. A bloodhound on a fresh trail.

The hand on your hip turns inward and you’re suddenly aware of him pressed against your body, that hot line of him, pulsing on your upper thigh. He tilts forward, one knee rubbing up your leg. Bucky stirs a little and makes another declaration about how he’s fit for the CEO position of Eating Your Ass, but nothing more after that.

“He do you good?” Steve wonders, apparently not giving a fuck about whether Bucky’s dead or alive down there and instead only worried about repositioning you, rolling you on your side, “That why you’re so happy to get me out of the house? So you two can fool around unchecked as much as you want?”

“Steve, you know damn well—"

His hand slips around the side of your neck, four thick fingers drumming over the ridges of your throat. “Watch your mouth,” he whispers, “before you get yourself into any more trouble.”

He gets mean without enough sleep. And no one would ever guess, but other than working over some poor punching bag that’ll never see the light of day after he gets his hands on it, Captain America likes to fuck it out. You and Buck have properly come out of a few sessions barely alive, feeling like two ends of a slinky that’s taken one too many tumbles down a flight of stairs.

You squirm as he palms your bottom with his free hand, kneading the bare flesh a flimsy pair of sleeping shorts can’t cover.

“Gotta be quiet,” he tells you gently, “Can’t wake him, can we.” Christ help you. What a time to play a game. You mumble under your breath, “Do I have a choice?”

A prod at your already sore entrance, and Steve says, annoyingly convinced, “I think you’ve already made your choice.”

He stills for a second when Bucky flops around on the mattress and then he starts pressing his mouth to your back, your shoulder, other hand holding you steady with expertise. It’s Steve’s favorite position when he wants to be in charge—you, writhing and turned away, usually leaned about 50 degrees and pawing at Bucky’s chest—this morning, feebly snatching sheets instead.

It doesn’t take any buildup. He’s achingly ready; you’re willingly wet. Clothes moved just enough out of the way and his two fingers slide upward, pushing barely to spread you before he quickly replaces it with something much thicker. It’s only been a few seconds. He’s too fast for you to get a word in edgewise, your brain still muddled, body cooperative.

“Huh,” Steve mumbles, slowly feeling his way into position, “A bit fucked loose, aren’t you?”

“Steve,” you hiss in reply, clenching up reflexively the same time mortification bursts across your scrunched- up face. “Don’t say that.”

“Hush, baby.”

“I’m trying—”

“Try harder.” And he’s evil incarnate, you swear. Satan himself packaged up in the neat body of a demigod. He rolls his hips slowly until the tops of his thighs are pressed against your ass, fingers holding so tight you think he’s going to spear right into bone. “Stay still or you’re gonna knee Buck in the cheek.”

You twist your head around, instead, shaking your chin free from his hand, hoping that once he sees your pitiful expression, he’ll find it in his heart to maybe not pound you into oblivion with bells on.

Of course, Steve’s not looking anywhere but down the line of your back and further to where he’s opening you up, bottom lip tucked into his teeth.

You constantly rib him about how he’s making up for all the years he spent with the two working eyes of a mole so now he’ll break his neck to watch. Bucky’s confirmed it multiple times to Steve’s chagrin, cackling at the way Steve goes purple defending himself. You love the stories they tell and retell; you try to spend most your time making up for all those years you weren’t there to find out.

Who isn’t in this relationship? Violently horny like teenagers, the three of you, spending every idle hour mishandling for each other like it’s the first time. Excitement primeval like animals in heat, apparently instinctual enough for one of you to do it in his sleep. Years and years and it still feels brand new.

The bed’s rocking surprisingly moderately for Steve’s usual pace, and it’s a bit heartwarming to know that he’s doing it because he really doesn’t want to wake Bucky, but he ramps up his game. He starts whispering again, meaner, hotter, the damn mouth on Steve Rogers continuing to give you hell this early morning.

He pinches your nipple hard, letting you gasp at the brief sting before he goes back up to your chin, your mouth, and then he puts the entire hand over it.

“Quiet. Not another fucking word out of you. Gotta teach you how to behave this morning, don’t I?” He’s working himself up, working you over, even pulling you back on him by the hips and then wiggling you up and down on him like he’s adjusting you on a saddle. Motherfucker.

Your toes curl, knees grinding, legs folding up to get simultaneously closer and away from him and it feels—it feels so excruciatingly good—the effortless glide of his cock, the burn of friction dragging itself out the more you wriggle. Whatever indelicate sounds falling out of your mouth are getting mashed back in, Steve ramming himself into your body, shaking your brain further loose.

He’s probably louder than he intends to be—you know how he gets when he’s close— bombs could be dropping two feet away and Steve Rogers would hear nothing but the roar of his own wanting, chasing it until he crashes into bits. You’re chasing too, both hands clamped around his wrist, arching your back to near breaking.

“Yeah,” he rasps out, “That’s it, that’s good, baby. Ugnn—back up on me, stay—right there.”

More uneven jerking, he releases your face and starts rubbing your clit, saying, you like it like this? Like me givin’ it to you good like this? And you’re shaking in his arms, the both of you tipping over the edge.

-

“I wasn’t serious,” Steve says later after a few moments, lips all soft and gentle on your neck, rather than fierce like before, “Bout you bein’—” you can feel him shrugging, “Y’know… fucked loose.” He whispers the last part like it’s a sin.

You snort, “You turning decent on me? After railing me to death?”

“You sound pretty lively to me.” He pokes your side, “I just… woke up and remembered how much I missed you last night.”

“I’m not going anywhere. You’ve got both of us here—shit!”

“Steeeeeve,” and the sound of it slaps both you back to reality. Sleep-smashed, more tipsy than any alcohol could make him, Bucky’s giggles break the steady pattern of muffled conversation. His vibranium hand pats around for a new destination, undeterred by the disruption of his previous mission.

You can’t believe it. He’s still asleep.

“Steeeevie,” Bucky mewls again, “Lemme— lemme suck your dick, sweetheart.”

What a menace. Your shoulders start quivering as you poorly hold it back, pfffftppblffpt’s kickstarting Steve into a tizzy right alongside you.

Bursting laughter finally wakes him up. Bucky yelps once, twice, flailing like a cat caught unawares and rolls himself right off the goddamn bed.

Two hundred pounds of newly conscious pervert wallops the hardwood floor and you’re sure the entire apartment complex—if they didn’t hear the ruckus last night—certainly heard it this morning.

[simplee-dreaming]

The Wendybird is ticklish?

A/N: I am SO sorry this took so long but hopefully it was worth the wait!

Word count: 998

Summary: Wendy is nervous when she first arrives in Neverland but Peter is determined to cheer her up.

----------------------------------------

“Wendy? Wendy?” Peter called out. Wendy had been absent from the group for a while and Peter was growing concerned,

“Surely she can’t have gone far, It’s not like Wendy to wander off especially in a strange place,” John said.

“Wendy!” Cubby’s voice echoed from the hole in the wall that he had squeezed his face into.

Peter decided to take one last look around the hideout. He gently flew between the rooms, careful checking every section. It may only be a small hideout but it has a lot of hiding places.

“Peter?” A small voice came from the corner of the room Peter had just entered.

“Wendy?”

“Oh Peter, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to run off. I just got…well, you know,” she trailed off.

“Know what?”

“I just got a bit shy. I’m not very good with new people, especially so many of them. And in a new place it was all just a bit overwhelming. One moment I was at home with John and Michael then flying through the sky and now here on a strange island and Tinkerbell not liking me and….”

“Whoa whoa whoa, slow down there,” Peter interrupted. “Tink gets jealous, most girls are like that around me,” he shrugged.

“Oh? Is that so?”

“Of course! Besides, the lost boys love meeting new people…though they’re not exactly used to having a girl around…”

“I don’t know if I could cope with that. I don’t even know if they like me,” Wendy blushed.

“Well sure they do! Just takes a bit of getting used to.”

Wendy bowed her head.

“Hey now, where’s that smile you had when we were flying over London?”

“I believe that was more nerves than anything.”

“That was still a smile. Where’s it gone?” Peter stepped closer. Wendy furrowed her brows.

“Come on, where is it?” Peter had a teasing tone to his voice. Wendy gently shook her head.

“I’ll get it out of you,” he warned. She still said nothing.

“Fine, let’s do this the hard way.” He moved closer to her, forcing her to take a step backwards and collide with the wall.

“Peter…what are you doing?”

“This,” he grinned and quickly started squeezing her sides. She yelped instantly.

“Peheheter stop!” She giggled, doubling over as he continued attacking her sides.

“A-ha! Gotcha smiling!” He teased. His fingers danced round to her belly and she collapsed onto him in a fit of giggles.

“Nohoho plehehease!” She pleaded. He laughed along with her and continued to tickle her midriff until she fell to the floor. He backed away but continued laughing.

“That was mean!” Wendy huffed, standing up.

“Said I was going to get it out of you,” he shrugged. She reached out and gave his side a few quick squeezes and he flew backwards.

“Hey!” he exclaimed. Wendy laughed.

“Watch it, miss Wendy. I’ll get you again, you mark my words.”

She giggled and followed him to the main part of the hideout, where everyone was relieved to see her,

-----------

A few hours had passed and Wendy felt a lot more comfortable in Neverland. She read a story to the lost boys and they taught her some of their games.

They had all come out of the hideout to help Wendy, John and Michael to fly better. Tink had given pixie dust to John, Michael and the lost boys but was refusing to give any to Wendy.

“Oh, I knew she didn’t like me,” Wendy huffed.

“Come on Tink, just a little. Wendy isn’t going to bother you. Besides, no one can fly as well as you can anyway,” Peter said. Tink looked over her shoulder and thought for a moment. With a little stomp, she gave the tiniest bit of pixie dust to Wendy before giving a smug look to Peter. He thanked her and watched as Wendy slowly started to float.

“Up, up and away!” John yelled, soaring into the air. Michael giggled as he floated up after his brother.

“Alright boys, who can do the best flip?” Peter showed off, spinning in circles. All the lost boys attempted one by one but ended up crashing into one another, making Peter howl with laughter.

“Alright, alright…Wendy, how about you?” Peter wheezed.

“Me? Oh I couldn’t I-whoa!” She was cut off by Peter grabbing her arms and spinning her around gently.

“Come on, I bet you can do a fantastic one!”

“No, no, I seriously can’t…I don’t know how.”

“It’s easy! Like this,” Peter demonstrated another perfect flip. Wendy shook her head.

“I’ll help you,” Peter floated next to Wendy and took hold of her waist. She shrieked as his fingers made contact with her sides.

“What was that?” Slightly asked.

“O-ho yeah!” Peter chuckled. He squeezed Wendy’s sides again and she screamed, flying backwards.

“Peter!” She scolded.

“The Wendybird is ticklish?” Cubby asked, followed by a sudden shriek as Slightly tickled his tummy.

“She sure is,” Peter laughed. He flew over to Wendy and started tickling her ribs. She instantly burst into laughter and swatted him away.

“Ow! Hey!” Wendy accidentally slapped Peter a little too hard and he retracted. She seized the opportunity and shoved her hands in his armpits, eliciting bright laughter from Peter.

“Ah, Peter Pan is ticklish too!” She exclaimed, a little too excitedly. He kicked and squirmed in the air as she wiggled her fingers in his armpits. He managed to reach out with one hand and tickle her tummy, the two of them then ending up in a tickle fight mid-air. The lost boys, Michael and John started play-fighting with each other too until they all floated back down to the ground, completely out of energy.

“So, are you more comfortable now?” Peter asked.

“Indeed. This place truly is beautiful…and I guess the company is alright too,” she sighed. Peter squeezed her side once more and she giggled.

They decided it was best to go back to the hideout to recharge before Hook would come looking for them.

[toosicktoocare]

Omg omg!! 9-1-1 prompts!! I’d really love a Buck x Eddie (either romantic or platonic) where Buck gets stuck in a building for a bit too long and gets super woozy from smoke inhalation and Eddie is having to help guide him to help after hauling him out of the building. Obviously only write it if you want to!! —withstarryeyes

Sorry for the delay on this, @withstarryeyes I’ve actually had this written for, like, 2 weeks now? Maybe 3? I just forgot, lol

When the last family member stumbles out of the building with Bobby, Eddie expects to see Buck trailing behind, but he’s not, and Eddie’s gut twists hard. Tension sets his jaw tightly. and he grips his radio to keep his hands from shaking. “Buck,” he calls into the device. “Status update?”

He’s met with static, and he doesn’t hear the others approach him from behind; he doesn’t hear anything aside from the roaring fire warming his face.

“Buckley,” Bobby tries, voice steady at Eddie’s side. “You want to maybe get out of the burning house now?”

“Uh, trying, Cap, but-”

There’s a crackling crash from the second floor, and it takes every physical ounce of will power to keep Eddie planted in place and not rushing head first into the fire.

“Buck?” Bobby tries again, and it’s the very subtle flick on concern that edges his words that has Eddie shoving his radio close to his mouth.

“Evan,” he growls, desperation thick in his tone, and then the radio’s crackling, and Buck’s breathing that comes through is harsh and heavy.

“I’m kind of stuck.”

It’s exactly what Eddie did not want to hear, and he can feel the blood drain from his face, leaving him terrified down to his very core. His eyes find a bedroom window on the second story, and then Buck appears before it, waving down sheepishly at them.

“Where’s his oxygen mask?” Eddie asks, more to himself, and Hen gestures toward one of the kid’s propped up in the back of an ambulance, an abandoned oxygen mask lying at her feet.

“Shit,” Eddie curses under his breath. “I’m going up.”

“You are not,” Bobby interrupts, falling in step beside Eddie as Eddie all but marches toward the ladder truck that’s already stationed with the aerial aimed to the roof. He’s slipping into full gear, but before he can start the climb to the top of the truck, Bobby’s in front of him, promptly blocking him.

“Bobby-”

“-You have a dislocated shoulder, Eddie. It’s not happening.”

“I’ve worked through worse,” Eddie fires back, eyes briefly flicking toward the roof to see Buck still at the window, looking, for the first time tonight, mutely scared.

“And that’s a poor reflection on me, so from now on, injuries stay on the ground.”

Eddie’s clenching his teeth, struggling around crumbling composure, but then there’s another roar of shifting fire from the building. It’s just enough to capture Bobby’s attention, and Eddie takes his chance to slip from his sling and yank himself up to the top of the ladder truck. He barks out a few orders to the others manning the aerial, and then he’s being helped into the remaining gear and starting across the ladder at a dangerous speed.

“Diaz, get back down here.”

“Eddie, what the hell?”

“I’m not popping that shoulder back into place again, Eddie. You’re on your own this time.”

Eddie ignores his radio, considers tossing it all together, but then he makes it to the window, and Buck, who’s swaying on his feet, coughing into his fist, is shooting Eddie a worried look. He motions for Buck to move back, and in a quick motion, he’s breaking the window and helping Buck onto the ladder.

“Your shoulder,” Buck wheezes, and he tries to pull away, to not cling to Eddie’s bad arm, but he’s staggering, light-headed, and Eddie snakes said bad arm around Buck’s waist, grounding him.

“Move,” he growls into Buck’s ear, and the two make their way back to the truck, Eddie supporting Buck’s weight, guiding him back to the truck then helping him off the truck, and it’s not until Buck’s feet are hitting cold, solid ground that Eddie can breathe fully.

“Diaz!”

Eddie will take Bobby’s scolding; he’ll take it at any hour or any day, but right now, Buck needs oxygen. Luckily, or not, depending on how one looks at it, Bobby’s anger dissipates to clear concern when he stops before them and eyes Buck, who, with every passing second, is seemingly struggling more and more to remain standing.

Buck’s head lolls to Eddie’s shoulder, and though the gaze Bobby shares with Eddie is sharp, indicating a silent more to come, he nods, and takes Buck’s other side, helping Eddie get him to Hen and Chimney.

The next few minutes are a blur. Buck’s fitted with an oxygen mask, and though he’s cleary drained, he’s still whipping out quick jokes and jabs with Hen and Chimney, and Eddie desperately wants to cling to that, to the normalcy, but as much as he tries, he can’t. He can only focus on the way Buck’s hand absently rubs at his chest, or the way his face briefly flicks to pinched pain with each inahle he drinks in. For a moment, all he sees is Buck standing at the window, and all he hears is the masked, crackling fear in his voice over the radio, how he tried to sound calm, but Eddie knows him better than that.

“Earth to Eddie. Did you hit your head, and I not see?”

Eddie blinks slowly. Buck’s in front of him, swaying faintly on his feet and frowning, and Eddie shakes his head, hand reaching out on instinct to feel Buck’s steady, thumping pulse against his neck. “Are you okay?”

“Are you?” Buck fires back quickly, Eddie’s abandonded sling in his hand. “Bobby’s three seconds from losing his shit, you know.”

Eddie looks over Buck’s shoulder to see Bobby frowning deeply at him, and he offers a sheepish half-wave before he turns back to Buck, trained eyes studying  Buck’s poor pallor, the soft wheeze that accompanies each rise and fall of his chest, the way he’s shaking his knees, most likely to hold his balance.

“Do you need to go to the hospital? You were in there for a while.”

“Hen said she wants to look me over tomorrow before our shift, but otherwise, she said I should be fine. I just need to keep an eye on my breathing throughout the night.” Buck lifts one hand, palm spreading softy over Eddie’s injured shoulder. “You should get Hen to look at-”

“-Stay the night tonight,” Eddie interrupts, and Buck’s jaw falls slack.

They’ve been exclusive for a few months now. It’s been clumsy, both working to find a new type of balance, but it’s been nice, and Eddie’s been wanting to ask Buck over for the night for a while now. While Buck’s stayed over before, on the couch after late shifts, this, Eddie thinks, is different, and he can’t think of a better time.

“What?”

“I can watch over you- make sure you’re okay so you can rest.”

“Eddie, that’s not-”

“-Please,” Eddie presses, and whether or not it’s the desperate weight behind his tone, Buck nods, his resolve giving in, and Eddie slips his arm around Buck’s waist, supporting him as he leads him back to the truck. Buck stumbles, and though Eddie’s shoulder is throbing, he tightens his hold.

“Are you sure you don’t need to go to the hospital now?”

“Yeah, Hen said I’ll just be a little light-headed for a bit.”

Eddie’s not wildly satisfied with that answer, but he drops it as he helps Buck into the truck now that another station’s pulled up to work on dousing the remaining flames. He keeps quiet when they get back to the station, sticking wordlessly close to Buck’s side, keeping an ear to his breathing, a hand to is back, and he’s just about to hop into his truck after having changed and gotten Buck settled into the passenger seat when Bobby pops up in front of the truck.

“Eddie.”

Eddie meets Buck’s sympathetic gaze, shrugs, and turns toward Bobby. “Look, Cap-”

“-You disobeyed direct orders.”

“I know, Cap, but-”

“-You aren’t one to normally do that, Eddie. That’s Buck’s job, not yours.”

“Cap, I understand that, but-”

“-Did you even consider the risk, Eddie?”

“Of course I did!” Eddie shouts before he deflates against a sigh, dropping against the front of his truck and running the hand of his good arm down his face. “But, Buck... He outweighs any risk, Bobby. He always will.”

“If you keep this up, I’m going to have to put you two on seperate shifts, and I really don’t want to do that. You two work too well together, so make sure,” Bobby steps a little closer, clapping a gentle hand to Eddie’s good shoulder, “this doesn’t happen again.”

“I can’t promise that it won’t, Bobby.”

“Just, shut up and nod, Diaz. I’m too tired to think anymore about this tonight.”

Bobby’s tone is light, a soft smile coloring his lips, and Eddie nods, his own smile pulling through the stress.

“Take care of him, okay? Call if you need anything.”

“Yes, Cap.”

Eddie hops into the truck when Bobby walks back into the station, and he can physically feel Buck’s almost dopey smile piercing the side of his face. “Don’t say it,” he groans, turning a tired gaze toward Buck, but Buck’s already batting too long lashes at him.

“My hero.”

[jooniyah]

Poison Apple

Pairing: Kim Taehyung x Fem Reader ; Min Yoongi x Fem Reader

AU: Yandere!au, Moneylender!Taehyung 

Genre: Angst, Mature, Smut

Warnings: NON CON, Hard Yandere behavior, forced witness, kidnapping, implied forced pregnancy, emotional abuse, violence, character death, voluntary starvation, degradation and physical abuse, manipulation, profanity, smut, blood, knives, guns, and murder. 

Word count: 22.35k

I was angry with my foe: I told it not, my wrath did grow. And I waterd it in fears, Night & morning with my tears: And I sunned it with smiles, And with soft deceitful wiles. And it grew both day and night. Till it bore an apple bright.

                                                - William Blake

Disclaimer:  This is a work of fiction and I do not condone any of the actions of the characters in this fiction. This is to be treated as pure fantasy, and should not be misconstrued to be demeaning the idols in any way. If any of the above warnings cause you discomfort, kindly refrain from reading. 

This is a non-consensual setting, please proceed only if you are not triggered by the warnings. I repeat, please be sure to read all the warnings carefully.

 Author’s note:  This is the longest fic I’ve ever written. I’ve been mulling it over in my head for years now. Please don’t come at my throat, it is non-con yandere. Enjoy!

*****

“Baby?” you chirped, watching your husband absent-mindedly stare at the windows. You huffed, turning off the stove and brandishing the ladle at him.

    “Honey? You didn’t tell me if it tasted good.”

He didn’t respond, clutching the half-eaten pork rib, lost in thought.

    “YOONGI,” you called out, shaking him by the shoulders, “Look at me.”

He snapped out of his trance, looking at you with bewildered eyes.

    “Huh?”

The confusion on his face served to make him look even more lost.

  “So, you never listened to my rant about Hoseok’s pork ribs?” He looked blank. “What happened to you, Yoongs?” you asked, clearing out the counter and perching on top of it next to him.

He sighed heavily and hung his head with a faint “Nothing.” As you stared at the soft whorl of his thick black hair, a rising panic bubbled up in your chest. It had been so long since your husband had talked more than five syllables with you. You had jumped out of bed on finding him missing one night, only to find him curled up on the terrace in the biting cold. Over the course of days, his eyes had become bloodshot. He had suddenly become a light sleeper, waking up startled on the slightest of noises. Now, looking at him, you found he had become gaunt and morbidly pale. What was it that ate away at his soul like this? He hadn’t been to his office in days, and he had switched off his work phone. You drummed your fingers nervously on the counter. Was he… was he trying to hide something from you? If so, what was it? You couldn’t help biting your nails in apprehension. Was it an affair? Was it guilt that had made him unable to look at your face? Had he cheated on you? No. You couldn’t think of marriage-killing stuff like that ever happening between you guys.

  “Baby,” you tried again, reaching out to entwine his bony fingers in yours. “You can tell me anything, you know that, right? Just tell me, baby, it is killing me to see you like this.”

He remained silent, the only acknowledgment of your words being a slight squeeze of your fingers. You waited in companionable silence, holding his hand and looking at the rays of light flooding in through the windows. As you were watching little particles dancing in the sunlight, there was a harsh squeal of tires outside. Like a bullet from a gun, Yoongi jumped off the counter and dashed to the windows. He looked out and jumped back as if he were electrocuted. He tugged the blinds harshly and ran to you, clutching your hand and dragging you off the counter.

“Baby, wha…”

He turned around and you saw his countenance had grown paler than ever, all the blood drained from his face. He urgently shushed you, pulling you flush against his body and sprinting to the door. Just as his fingers circled the doorknob, the door flew wide open, crashing against the wall with a heavy thud.

Men kept storming in, all heavyset and brawny. As they closed in on you both, Yoongi slid himself in front of you, shielding you as much as he could. The men advanced towards him, causing him to back further until you were pressed against the wall. Suddenly there was a hush inside the room, and you peeked out to see a tall man entering your home in unhurried strides. The men parted like water, allowing him to amble easily towards Yoongi. He had a shock of dark hair, which was long enough to dance on his eyebrows as he walked. He was dressed all in black, his suit contrasting with his pale complexion and lending a mysterious air to him. He had broad shoulders and a slim waist, accentuated by the perfectly fitting suit.

One of the men brought him a chair, which he turned around and placed about an arm’s length from your husband. He draped his legs on the sides lazily, holding on to the top of the backrest and resting his chin on his forearms. He looked innocently at your husband, his dark eyebrows suddenly shooting up as he caught sight of your lithe body shielded by Yoongi’s lean frame. You had no idea who all these men were, but something told you they were not good news. You closed your eyes and held on to your husband’s shirt, wishing they would all go away quickly. There was a tense silence in the room that hung around like dark clouds. A rich sonorous voice cut through the silence, causing you to peek again to see who owned it. To your surprise, it was coming from the stranger seated on your chair, it was unbelievable that such an orotund voice could emanate from the willowy man.

 “Well, well, Min Yoongi, you seem to not own a calendar.” The man tsked in lazy irritation. “You know I hate irregulars.”

You could feel your husband tense up, and his chest heaved with his sigh.

“ I need a few more days, Taehyung.”

The stranger addressed as Taehyung threw his head back in mock surprise, widening his eyes and cupping his cheeks.

“Oh! I would have never come if I knew I could count on your word.”

The mockery in his eyes instantly morphed into a dangerous glint, and he pushed the chair away violently as he stood up. He moved forward and bunched the collar of your husband’s shirt, leering at him with rage. His eyes moved over to your terrified ones, and he whistled.

“Look what a doll we have here.”

He thrust his arm behind Yoongi and yanked you out, clutching your forearm in a painful grip.

 “No! Leave her alone!”

Yoongi was screaming, trying vainly to catch hold of you. The Taehyung guy was stronger than you thought. He never budged as you jumped and thrashed about, trying to get his hand off your arm, where you knew bruises were stirring. Yoongi charged forward with gritted teeth.

“This is only between you and me.”

Taehyung smirked. “I beg to differ.”

Two burly men clasped their arms around Yoongi’s shoulders, throwing all their weight on him to keep him locked in place. You turned to see your husband struggling against their hold, mouth snarling with his exertion. Long fingers circled the collar of your soft white nightshirt, bunching the material up and pulling you closer to their owner’s body. Taehyung’s tall frame dwarfed you, his long black bangs brushing his eyebrows as his fiery eyes stared at you. He leaned over, his nose nuzzling against yours.

“How is this just between me and him,” he breathed, eyes never leaving yours, “-when he has such a doll of a wife who clearly needs explaining?”

Your eyes quickly darted to Yoongi’s figure, when the man in black cupped your jaw and shifted your focus back to him.

“Whatever is your problem with him?” you spat at him through clenched teeth.

There was a deep hearty chuckle, which reverberated throughout his body. His eyes crinkled in amusement and he leaned back a little to survey your face.

“You don’t even know what your husband has been up to behind your back?”

You drew a sharp breath, which felt like cold ice slicing through your innards. What had Yoongi done?

  “Y/N don’t look at me like that. He makes it sound so bad. It really isn’t,” Yoongi pleaded in a hoarse voice.

  “Shut him up,” Taehyung ordered, and the command immediately earned Yoongi a box to the ears and a knife to his throat. Pulling the overturned chair back upright, Taehyung sat down in front of you. His slim legs were too long for the chair, which caused him to slide further in the seat with his legs jutting out, making him look like he was made up entirely of legs.

“Wanna sit on my lap while you listen, sugar?” he asked, patting his pants.

You crossed your arms, glaring at him. His casual tone was really riling you up.

  “Just get on with it. And don’t call me ‘sugar’ ever.”

There was another deep chuckle. He leaned back and stretched lazily, causing two legs of the chair to hover mid-air.

  “Alright, sugar. I would love to tell you all of it, but I’m in a bit of a rush.” He winked at you as he drawled, “ Pity I am not free tonight.”

Your eyes narrowed in impatience and he loved the way your face twisted in annoyance.

  “Long story short, your husband owes me 50 million dollars.”

Your mouth fell open, disbelief coursing all over you. No, this had to be a mistake. Yoongi hadn’t ever mentioned being in debt. He hadn’t even been having trouble with his company. Or had he?

  “You look surprised, honey.”

You were still frozen in place, not quite comprehending why Yoongi would have borrowed so much money. You looked at your husband, hoping that he would say that it was all a misunderstanding. But Yoongi had gone silent, his eyes were downcast.

“Yoongi?”

Nothing but a small nod to prove that Taehyung was indeed telling the truth.

  “50 million dollars, Yoongi?” you asked, your voice incredulous. “What were you even thinking?”

    “I hoped I could pay him back,“ Yoongi mumbled softly.

Taehyung crossed his legs, one hand ruffling his long unruly hair and the other gripping the chair. He gazed at you; he could almost hear the wheels turning in your head.

  “Well, sugar? Which of you two is going to give me my money back?” He flicked his wrist and looked at his watch. “I want it now.”

    “I … We don’t have that much money with us right now.“ Sweat blossomed on your forehead. “This is the first time I’m hearing about this.”

  “Sorry I broke the news that your husband doesn’t trust you, love. But I don’t give a fuck about your trust issues. I need my money. Now.”

  “Please, just give us some more time. We will pay you back somehow.”

  “And how would I trust you, considering your man is already penniless? How would you pay me back?”

  “We will … we will figure something out. Please, just trust me.”

He pursed his plump lips like a playful child, crinkling his eyebrows at you. Something about your doe-eyes softened him. He had almost skipped coming; the original plan had been to send only his men to your house. But now, watching your wide eyes pleading to him, he was glad he had decided to come himself. He remembered the loaded gun inside his coat pocket, which he had intended to use before he had set his eyes on you.

  “Alright. Let’s see how trustable you are. You have three days.”

You heaved a sigh of relief.

  “But I’ll take the bastard with me.”

The relieved smile was instantly wiped off your face.

  “But…” you sputtered, hands flailing wildly. “I don’t have any idea how I…”

  “He hid his debt from you. Now he has left you to clean up the mess all by yourself, huh sweetie?” He tilted his head to the side. “Are you really willing to do it for a man who didn’t even trust you, his wife?”

   He could see your face flinch as his words cut through you. He decided Min Yoongi was a fool to have fallen headfirst in his trap, especially with you not knowing. But then, Yoongi would probably not have borrowed as much if you had known and stepped in to curb the snowballing of his debt. It would have foiled his trap. He smiled. He was happy that Yoongi had managed to get neck-deep in trouble.

“Don’t worry, Yoongi. I will come fetch you as soon as I can, honey.”

Taehyung’s eyebrows shot up as he caught the moment’s hesitation before the word ‘honey’. He knew it was uttered for his benefit. The word was your shield, a magic circle you drew around yourself, thinking it would help ward off his flirtatious advances. Underlining you were Yoongi’s, a taken woman. You really thought you could hide behind it? His heart warmed. You were too adorable.

Swinging his feet off the chair, he rose and strode to Yoongi. He stared at the bloodshot eyes that glared back at him.

  “Let’s go, loser.”

You helplessly watched your husband being dragged out by the collar.

   "I love you, Y/N. I am sorry,“ Yoongi shouted across his shoulder, as he was manhandled roughly out of the door. All the men poured out of the apartment, leaving you standing alone. Your eyes welled up as you looked at the empty doorway.

   "I love you too.”

*****

You had no idea where to start. There were only three days to get all the money ready. Frankly, you were clueless. Yoongi had never been intent on saving. Almost all his earnings went back into his business. Your job as an interior designer paid well, but nowhere near millions of dollars.

It was a stupid idea, to begin with. Borrowing 50 million dollars from a goon? What even had got into Yoongi? How were you expected to pay all of it back within 3 days? It was absolutely impossible. That Taehyung guy was evidently setting you up to fail.

Your brain felt like it had stopped working. Nothing you thought of seemed to make sense. ‘Okay okay, Y/N,’ you told yourself, ‘fucking get it together.’ Your head was pounding. Every minute reminded you that you were getting closer to the deadline. It only made you even more nervous.

Your stomach tightened in a knot. It felt like you were going to be sick. ‘No,’ you muttered, ‘think of something that’ll help.’ You closed your eyes as you massaged your throbbing temples. You could visualize the sands of time rapidly falling down your 3-day sand clock.

Back at his office, Taehyung couldn’t stop thinking about you. He had never been a man of romance; his only encounters had been with easy women looking for hookups in bars. As a unique exception, he found himself obsessing over a woman who was neither easy nor available. He twirled his pen in his hands as he thought about your beautiful doe eyes. He could swear he could still smell the faint berry scent of your hairspray.

As he looked out the window, lost in thought, your visuals came rushing to him. He remembered your high nose, your slender neck, and the sharp angle of your chin that could cut his heart to shreds. Your full figure that the thin nightshirt had done little to hide. The faint gloss on your lips that had allured him. He couldn’t remember the last time that he had ever noticed another woman this much. Was it because he hadn’t been laid in weeks? He didn’t think so. There was something about you that not only inspired lust but also made him fiercely protective. He had never felt that way with any other woman. He was a man who fucked once and then closed the door on the woman for good. But with you, he wanted to own your pretty eyes. He wanted to be the man your eyes searched for in a crowd. He wanted his hand to be the one you reached for. He wanted to worship you and protect you with his entire being. Your heart, your smile, your soft hair, your lithe frame, he wanted all of it.

He looked at the gardener watering the lawn. As he eyed the little droplets of water spraying from the hose, his mind wandered to the fantasy of seeing you wearing that thin nightshirt, drenched in water so he could see everything you had to offer. A heady sensation overtook him so hard that his eyes rolled back in his head. He shook his head and looked down at his pants. Just thinking about you had brought on a hard-on.

*****

If someone had told you two years ago that Yoongi would fall in debt and lose all his money, you would have laughed in their face. Yoongi was not a newbie to the business. He was the son of the richest businessman in the county. His family was old money, and they were wildly popular in elite circles. There was not a party that his mother wasn’t invited to. People stood in respectful silence if his father walked past them. As the only son and the heir of the Min family fortune, Yoongi had a lot of expectations to live up to.

He had been burdened with expectations ever since he had been born. While other children went out on hikes and summer camps, he had the best tutors in the nation mercilessly hounding him with business tactics. While his friends read Rowling and discussed magic, he was forced to read dry books on management and debate with his tutors. He had found early on in his life that there were two kinds of people around him. The ones who wanted to be friends with him to bask in his achievements, and the ones who genuinely liked him for who he was. Like the boy who came every day to play Chess with him. No wait, there was only him, no one else was on that list. He wasn’t sure which category his university friends fell into. No one felt genuine, at the same time, no one felt utterly fake. That was one of the reasons Yoongi had a hard time trusting anyone. All that was set to change one day, thanks to his mom.

Yoongi had never kissed a girl in his life. It was not something he was proud of. Not that he wasn’t interested though. He had a bevy of girls swarming around him all the time, trying their best to catch his eye. To them, he was a gold mine that assured them a luxurious future. He was also exceptionally handsome and that sealed the deal. But he found none of them were really interested in him as an individual. He had once found an attractive girl in a frat party and had thought his first kiss was going to be with her. She had seemed smart and funny too. Until she had flashed him a gorgeous set of pearly whites saying “… so I heard you’re going to inherit the whole of the Min family estate, huh?”

It was on a late evening that Yoongi stood in his porch, nursing a Baccarat wine glass and wondering if he would step into his 24th year on Earth never having kissed a woman. That was when a car skidded to a halt before him, and you stepped out. He watched you alight and smooth your pencil skirt, an unhurried look on your pretty face. You reached again into the car to fetch your sleek briefcase and looked at your watch. A smile graced your features. Yoongi was impressed. A punctual woman. You walked with the brisk tap-taps of your heels and sailed past him without a glance. As you crossed him, he could smell the lingering flowery notes of your perfume. His phone dinged in his pocket announcing it was time for yet another overseas call. As he turned back to reach his room, your perfume lingered in a corner of his mind long after the traces of the scent had vanished.

Yoongi’s mother was an elite socialite. Her name was uttered with reverence in the high circles. She had a web of powerful friends which she relied on for anything of importance. Like when she wanted to re-decorate her office in alignment with the latest trends. She had asked Mrs. Park for ideas, and the lady had provided her with your number. You had been struggling to land a project fresh out of your apprenticeship. Mrs. Park had tried you out for her daughter’s new apartment and had found your work commendable. She had readily advised Mrs. Min to hire you, whispering conspiratorially into her phone, “She doesn’t charge as much for her work, but I think she should. She really is a steal at her price.” And so, Mrs. Min had called you to her place.

And that was the start of your new project. Mrs. Min was not a person who traveled to offices that didn’t belong to conglomerates. So, it came about that you visited her once in two days, bringing your designs and seeking her inputs on them. You found her very friendly, she listened to your explanations patiently without trying to interrupt like a know-it-all. She hadn’t any airs, contrary to what you had expected when you had first met her.

Yoongi hadn’t seen you on your previous visits. Understandable, considering his jam-packed schedule. But one innocent question to his mother told him who you were, and on what days you were expected to visit. It started as a mild curiosity on his part. He simply thought you were interesting and wished to see more of you. Increasingly, his schedule adjusted to your visits, and he often walked in on you, dropping business news to his mother while sneaking a look at you. He lived in a condo, away from his parents. But he needed to meet his father and discuss business several times a week. And given his sudden interest in you, it was a pleasure for him to drop by at his parents’ home.

Things came to a head on a stormy Friday night. You had stayed far too long in Mrs. Min’s chamber, poring over the plans and jotting down her suggestions. She had caught you staring at the empty glass on her table and had excused you to fetch yourself a drink.

  “Ask the maid to hand you wine, my dear,” she urged, “We have a splendid collection.”

So, you found yourself wandering to the cellar in pursuit of a drink. Maybe it wasn’t necessary to bother the maids, you were sure you could get a glass yourself. You reached the pitch-dark cellar and felt around for the light switch. When you switched it on, the lights lit up all the shelves in a wonderful ambiance. Rows and rows of bottles were stacked on the shelves, the light catching on their glossy bodies and illuminating them. Taking all of it in, you whistled under your breath as you saw bottles dating back decades.

  “I’ll be damned.”

Picking an elegant Chateau Latour, you poured some of the crimson liquid into a crystal glass and set it on the marble counter. There was a stool that you pulled and sat on, kicking off your heels. You were not a woman who wore ridiculously high heels, but the heels that day had not been exactly comfortable. You bent down, massaging your slightly sore feet, when a shadow fell on you, darkening your vision and casting a long shadow on you. You raised your head and saw a man standing before you. He hadn’t seen you; he had come in to pick a bottle for himself. You quickly rose to your feet and the sudden movement caught his attention. With a swift turn, he swung around to face you.

Yoongi had never seen you up close. It felt like a dream to him. The dim light from the shelves fell on you, highlighting your cheekbones and lending a captivating air of mystery to your features. Your eyes glinted and sparkled, the light from the bottles making it seem like you had swallowed all the stars in the sky with your eyes. He cleared his throat, running his hand through his hair as he racked his brain for a suitable line to say.

“Mr. Min, a pleasure meeting you.” Stepping forward on your naked feet, you offered him your hand.

“Likewise,” he said, giving your hand a firm shake. He smiled at you, little gummy smile and all.

“A fine collection you have here,” you ventured, nodding at the shelves.

He nodded proudly, gesturing to another row of shelves at the far back.

“We have our finest wines here, dating back centuries.”

You smiled politely, suddenly remembering your haphazardly strewn heels and the bare state of your feet. He saw you shuffling awkwardly, and his eyes landed on your feet. His eyes widened. He had never seen such dainty little toes before. With a sheepish smile, you bent down and picked up the heels, slipping your feet into them and effectively disturbing his appreciative gaze on them.

“Well, I’ll leave you to it then,” he muttered, reaching out to pick a bottle. When he turned and left, you found you had held your breath the entire time. Sighing, you finished your drink and proceeded to return to Mrs. Min’s office. A good two hours later, it was pouring with rain outside. As you filed all your papers and returned them to your briefcase, you worried about having to drive through the pounding rain. Mrs. Min seemed to read your uneasiness.

“Would you be able to ride in this downpour, dear?” She craned her head to watch the sheets of rain. “I think you’d better stay the night here.”

“Oh, that’s alright Mrs. Min, I’m sure I would be fine.”

“At least, let me send one of my people with you.” She paused and decided it wouldn’t do to send a maid or manservant with you at that hour of the night. The drivers had retired to their beds already. Wait-her son was still home.

“Let me find Min Yoongi and send him with you.”

Without waiting for an answer, she went off to her husband’s study where Yoongi usually stayed up till the wee hours of dawn, working on company matters. She was back in a couple of minutes, with Yoongi in tow.

“Allow my son to drive you,” Mrs. Min patted her son’s fine back. He nodded at you, not an over-enthusiastic nod but a crisp let’s-get-on-with-this nod. You started to feel he didn’t want to do anything with you, and it made you feel awkward.

The short ride to your apartment happened in two moods. You were nervous that Yoongi was miffed at having to drive you; Yoongi was nervous that you seemed cold and imagined you hated being alone with him. Neither of you guessed that the tension in the air between you had nothing to do with annoyance or hate.

As Yoongi nosed his car into the parking lot, you worked up the courage to say in a small voice, “Uh, would you like to come in and wait the storm out?”

Yoongi’s grip on his steering wheel tightened. He could feel his heart hammering away. The moisture in his palms started to make the steering wheel slippery. What was this? He was completely baffled. Did you want him to go in and sit with you? Or was this one of those cheeky invites to-, he shuddered, - to go in and kiss? Your intent gaze, as you waited for him to respond, was not helping his confusion in any way. Before he could think more, he found his voice saying “Sure.” He was surprised at how calm he had sounded because on the inside he was anything but.

Once inside, you made straight for the couch, nothing about your face suggested flirtation. He exhaled and calmed himself down, sitting across from you, watching you as you kicked your heels off happily. He looked around at your apartment, everything was neatly arranged, not a thing was out of place. His eyes were drawn to your biggest asset that occupied a large portion of your hall: your bookshelf.

“Virginia Woolf?” His eyebrows shot up as he scanned the shelf.

You said nothing, words refused to come out.

“Language is wine upon the lips.”

Your eyes widened in surprise, hearing those words from him, of all people. The word 'wine’ instantly took you back to that cellar, where he had stood before you, framed by that insanely beautiful light as if he were a revelation.

“Y/N?” His lips curled in a grin. “I never thought quoting Woolf was the best way to earn a woman’s reverence.”

Your cheeks flushed crimson, and you racked your brains for a witty reply.

“When you consider things like the stars, our affairs don’t seem to matter very much, do they?”

His grin widened, breaking out into a hearty chuckle. He nodded dramatically, eyes shining in amusement. You regarded him with an interested gaze.

   "I never thought you’d have read Woolf.“

He rolled his head back lazily. “Ah, you’re the first and last person to know.”

  “I’m honored.” You smiled at him as he scanned your shelf again.

  “Charlotte Bronte.” He jerked his head at you with a raised eyebrow.

  “She’s my favorite. I am crazy about Jane Eyre.”

He pursed his lips comically, pressing his index fingers together as if he were meditating.

  “She wasn’t beautiful, Rochester was not handsome, they had a 20-year age gap,” he counted out on his fingers, mischief on his face.

  “That’s the beauty, isn’t it? Heroes and heroines are usually described as beautiful and handsome respectively, but this time the book focused on love, just between two normal people.” You paused and looked ahead, stars in your eyes. “Helen was my favorite character; she was wise beyond her age. I feel so strongly drawn to such peaceful tranquility.“

He closed his eyes and decided that you were the smartest woman he had ever come across, second only to his mother. As both of you discussed more about literary characters, he found himself wishing that the storm would never abate. He wanted more of your presence, he wanted to hear your voice talk about things he had secretly loved all his life.

The time came for him to leave, and he grumblingly got up to bid good-bye.

” I’ll ask one of the drivers to fetch you your car in the morning,“ he said, slipping into his coat. “And allow me to say that this was the best night of my life.”

Blood rose to your cheeks, making you feel feverish. “That makes two of us,” you said, heart brimming with happiness on seeing him smile.

Long after he had left, you found yourself staring at the doorway. With a sigh, you closed the door, knowing that you loved every moment he had spent with you, but there was no doubt you would have loved it, even more, had things gone a little bit differently.

*****

Ever since that fateful night, Yoongi found himself making pleasant small talk with you whenever you visited Mrs. Min. And each time, he found himself wondering if he was more than just interested in you. He could feel the way his pulse quickened on seeing you, the way all the hair on his arms stood up when you brushed him accidentally. He started noticing your little habits. He loved the small twist of hair that fluttered while you walked, the little tear-shaped earrings you wore, the small jingle of your metal bracelet when it hit the table as you worked. He was amused at the way you wrote the number 5, starting at the bottom and ending at the top. The lone dimple on your left cheek that flashed only when you grinned in genuine pleasure always left his knees weak.

Yoongi had no experience with women, and he found it maddening that he didn’t know how to properly flirt. So, he turned to his chess-mate for help. The guy was quite helpful, but Yoongi was doubtful if his suggestions were a bit too cheesy. He began to panic, unsure if you preferred the corny lines his friend fed him, or the poetic ones aplenty in the old literary gold you were clearly fond of.

So, it was a very confused Yoongi that was sitting with you a few days later on the stone bench in his mother’s lawn. His mother had gone out on an urgent errand. You had already parked your car on the porch when the news of her being away reached you. It turned out you were at a free end that evening, which Yoongi decided to benefit from. The stone bench felt warm from all the sun’s rays that had fallen on it throughout the day. You had been talking about your work day, and he had been listening happily.

Suddenly, without even knowing it happened, he dipped his head down, capturing your soft lips in a hesitant kiss. It was pleasant for a moment until he realized he was supposed to deepen it. He started panicking. He knew tongues would be involved, but how on Earth was he going to achieve that feat? Sweat started running down his neck, and his breathing became labored. You noticed his discomfort and leaned back, opening your mouth to form “What…” He saw your mouth open and took the chance to dive in again, relaxing thankfully when there was no opposition from your side. When both of you finally broke the kiss, he was so embarrassed that he couldn’t bring himself to look at your eyes.

He was certain you had hated it. He knew he had been sloppy, and he vowed to blame his kissing abilities if you never wanted to see him again. While he was internally kicking himself, you put your little hand in his large ones, with a mild “Are you alright, Yoongi?” When he didn’t answer, you added wickedly, “That was a hell of a kiss.”

His head shot up, indignant at first, the annoyance quickly morphing into merriment as he took in your coy wink.

  “Trust me they’ll get better.”

When there was no reply, his confidence plummeted again. He started to stammer “I didn’t imply-” before he was silenced with another searing kiss.

*****

It was the night of your sixth date when both of you were cuddled up in one blanket, feet dangling from the roof of his balcony. Yoongi was content with you at his side, your sweet-smelling hair cascading down your shoulders and brushing against him. He wanted to say something and seal the moment. But what should he say? Taking your index finger in his hands, he started tracing the delicate bones as he worked up his nerves.

Closing his eyes, he blurted out, “Design our home.”

You looked at him, startled. “Do you want me to be your designer?”

He shook his head, pressing the bridge of his nose with his thumb. “No. I am asking you to own my home and make it beautiful by being in it.”

He was screaming at himself for not phrasing the words better. He made a mental note to go kick his chess mate’s balls off for suggesting the damned line. There was a heavy silence, so heavy that it suffocated him. He slowly opened his eyes. Just as he decided he had lost you forever, a tinkling giggle reached his ears, leaving him dumbstruck. The giggle amplified into more giggles, finally breaking out into peals of joyful laughter. As the laughter subsided, you wiped your streaming eyes and replied: “Only if you promise to remain this cute.”

*****

The next day, Yoongi took you to his parents and announced the engagement. He had proposed again properly, with a beautiful ring, but you had told him you really preferred the first version of his proposal. Mrs. Min took the news very well, she smiled as she hugged you and pecked you on the cheek. “I knew it was just a matter of time before he fell for you,” she whispered with a twinkle in her eyes.

After four glorious months of being engaged, you had a beautiful white wedding that Mrs.Min organized with aplomb. You had no parents, so your best friend Hoseok happily agreed to give you away. Your friends did everything they could to soothe the pain of your parents not being there to see your happiness. There were festoons engraved with Yoongi’s and your initials, adorning every nook and corner, declaring your love to the world.

As you walked down the aisle with a proud Hoseok beaming all over his face, Yoongi felt like he could choke with happiness. You grinned at him as you reached his side, tilting your head to allow Hoseok to peck your cheeks. Hoseok then shook hands with Yoongi, winking at him and slapping his back. And then the magic moment arrived.

All the words that the minister said felt like cotton candy. It all just blew away, and only the sweetest words remained- “I do.” You had tears in your eyes as you accepted Yoongi as your lawfully wedded husband. Yoongi’s mother passed down her own mother’s wedding ring, a beautiful solitaire diamond ring that glittered and shone. Yoongi smiled through tears, whispering “In case you ever foolishly forget: I am never not thinking of you,” as he slipped it on your finger, claiming you as his own. The wedding kiss had tears from Yoongi’s cheeks and yours falling onto the lips, strangely tasting sweeter than the choicest nectar.

As he walked out of the church, he was filled with a deep pride. You loved him. You were his. You were Mrs.Min.

*****

The Min family welcomed you as one of their own with open arms. As a wedding gift, Yoongi’s parents gifted you a charming house, a skeleton of a house really. It was yours to design and furnish, yours to apply all your designing skills and turn it into your home. Your days passed happily, enjoying the lavish affection your husband showered on you, and doing what you loved when he went away for the day.

Your clientele grew, as you were now part of the elite club. There were commissions from Mrs. Min’s friends to help alter and redecorate their offices and homes. Yoongi worked all day, managing his father’s businesses and clients. But when he came home, all his stress evaporated away, leaving only fierce embers of love. He was doting, sweet, animalistic, feral, subtle, blunt, all thrown into one perfect balance, leaving you gasping and deliciously wanting for more.

Just as life seemed that it was all sunshine and happiness, tragedy struck. Your father-in-law was involved in a bad car accident, which left him severely injured. The days were filled with frantic phone calls from investors, grim faces of doctors, alcohol-sprayed hospital rooms, and the slowly fraying nerves of your husband. Your mother-in-law never lost her composure, she went about her duties robotically. She tended to her husband, watching as his body struggled to recuperate. She witnessed his body slowly shutting down one part at a time. She read to him, prayed at his side, slept at the bedside, never leaving him. But on the day she saw him breathing his last, your mother-in-law broke.

Min Sung-Hee had been a proud woman, who had defied societal conventions and broken ties to marry the man she loved. His demise was a severe blow to her, she had never thought her husband was even capable of dying. She had clung on to the gossamer hope that he would recover, and when he failed to do so, the thread snapped. She was left unhinged.

You brought her to live with you, but nothing was helping her steer towards sanity. Each night, you were kept awake with the heart-breaking howls and sobs that reverberated through the walls. Her eyes lost their luster, tired wrinkles covered her face the way moss silently creeps on rocks and obscures them. On a particularly desolate night, you found her holding a knife, face impassive. When you tried to call her name, she paid no heed. Suddenly, with a blood-curling yowl, she hurled herself at the mirror, shattering it and sending shards flying all over the place. You screamed for Yoongi as she kept banging her head on the broken mirror. Your screams disturbed her and she flew at you, knife aimed straight at your throat.

There was a rush of footsteps behind you, and a strong hand pushed you to the side. Yoongi wrestled his fragile mother as softly as he could, prying the knife away from her and locking her in a tight hold. You were trembling when you ran down to fetch a glass of water, the eyes that had looked at you had been devoid of any recognition.

It was very painful but Yoongi knew he had no choice but to send his mother to an institution. He didn’t want you to be afraid in your own home. He was scared for you, and for his mother’s safety too. He wanted her to get the best care, and an institution seemed to be the best way to go. He reasoned with you, telling you it had to be done. It was not an easy decision, but when Yoongi saw his mother’s cold manic eyes looking back at him on the way to the institution, he knew he was doing the right thing to protect his family.

*****

Yoongi inherited his father’s businesses and everything his parents owned. Financially, you were richer, but emotionally you felt poorer. You had grown to consider Yoongi’s parents your own, and their absence scarred you deeply. The playful Yoongi was gone, replaced by a serious man who had to suddenly take charge of his father’s legacy and shoulder responsibilities that were thrust upon him.

Gone were the days when he would rush home from work to lift you as if you were his precious child. As the days passed, he became more and more trapped at his office. You longed for those magical days when there were four of you at the table, when Yoongi’s eyes had been filled with mischief and fun. It was hard to focus on your designs, but you trudged through them zealously. Yoongi still loved you, and you just had to wait for him to get a hold of his business responsibilities.

Indeed, there was a brief period when Yoongi returned early, brought you flowers, and even took you out on dinner dates. That was after he had hired Wo Bin, his new manager. For months, Yoongi was all praise for his manager. He left Wo Bin in-charge whenever he had other pressing matters to attend to. He grew to trust the man, even letting him handle a few acquisitions all by himself. He once brought Wo Bin home, and you were amused at the shy, bespectacled man who your husband had often spoken so highly of.

But it was just a matter of months before the relaxed Yoongi disappeared again, and an even more stressed husband returned to you each night. You tried asking him gently, but he remained silent, not even trying to explain. You assumed it was a deal gone bad, which your husband would surely recover from. But weeks rolled by, and Yoongi’s moodiness showed no signs of abating. If anything, he had only grown even more remote, stubbornly refusing to answer your questions, and skipping meals several days a week. You prayed and begged, but he simply shut his mouth tight, refusing to respond. That was when panic set in, gnawing at your chest. Was he guilty of something? Had he cheated on you?

Many such tumultuous thoughts had been flittering in your mind as you had grilled pork ribs on that fateful day, trying to cheer your husband up. That had been the day your world turned upside down: Taehyung had stepped into your house, tearing your husband away from you, giving you just three days to pay him fifty million dollars.

*****

“What?!”

Your scream echoed through the small glass-paneled office. Seated across you, nervously twiddling his thumbs, was Bong Ju, Yoongi’s legal advisor.

“Yes, Mrs.Min. The Min corporation has indeed filed for bankruptcy.”

You felt as if all your blood had evaporated and clouded around your face in a red haze. This was the worst thing to ever happen. Your husband was not around, the company was dying, your only relative was in an institution, and you had to cough up 50 million dollars within 68 hours. Three hours had already been wasted in Bong Ju’s explanation of the debts, there was no more time to lose.

“How the heck did the company fall so deep in debt? Last quarter’s reports were so good!”

Bong Ju shook his head vigorously. “Yes, there is nothing wrong with our company.” He paused and scratched his head. “ In fact, we would have still been an incredibly profitable company, if it weren’t for Wo Bin.”

“Wo Bin? The executive manager? What did he do?” Your knuckles were white from gripping the handles of the chair too hard.

“He struck deals with ridiculously high prices, there were so many useless acquisitions for millions of dollars. He also embezzled millions of dollars in company funds. He absconded with all the money.”

“You couldn’t trace that bastard?”

“No, Mrs.Min. He well and truly vanished. All the investors found out and they threatened to sue the company. Mr. Min had no option but to settle and avoid a legal battle. He had to file for bankruptcy, that was the only way he could pay them off.”

“And how did Taehyung come into all this?”

“He loaned Mr. Min most of the money to reach a settlement with the investors. Kim Taehyung charges exorbitant interests, but Mr. Min went ahead and borrowed huge amounts of money. He never expected to be dragged this deep into the mire.”

You buried your head in your hands. There was a serious urge to tear at your hair, which you controlled with the last of your patience. How on Earth were you expected to save the company? There was no way in Hell you could raise all the money and still salvage the company.

The man stayed mute for a few minutes, scared of setting you off again. He saw you chewing on your lip, horror written all over your face. Timidly, he cleared his throat and adjusted his glasses.

“You could… ”

“I could what?”

“Er… Mrs.Min, you could uh… try mortgaging the Min estate?”

He wiped the sweat on his forehead as he watched your face in apprehension. He was almost ready to jump out of the window than sit in that stifling atmosphere with the wife of his employer shooting daggers at him.

“Do you think that will cover it? It’s 50 MILLION dollars!” you yelled.

“Maybe, you have other assets? Like your home? I am sure you could mortgage your home too.”

You slid down a bit on your chair, massaging your temples. Your home? This man was asking you to mortgage your home? But it was your dream home! You had designed every tile on that building with love. You fanned your hot cheeks. This was about Yoongi, not the house. You could always design a new house. Swallowing the bitter taste in your mouth, you nodded. You remembered something else too.

“I have two million dollars in my savings deposit.”

You bit your lips and controlled the tears that were threatening to fall. You had put aside some of the money you earned in a deposit. It was meant to be used when you had babies. Every month, you had giggled happily while transferring money to the deposit. It had been your secret; you had never dreamt that you would be required to withdraw all of it for a reason other than your babies. It was all you had saved, just for your future children. You sniffed, deciding it had to be done to save Yoongi.

“ Withdraw the money, and start the work to mortgage our home and the Min estate.”

The man obligingly stood up, nodding.

“I will start on the course of action, Mrs.Min.”

You watched as he bowed to you, turning to leave. A thought struck you out of the blue.

“Just a minute, Bong Ju.” The tone made him turn abruptly. “Why did you not suggest mortgaging the property before, to my husband?“

There was a heavy silence. He took out his handkerchief, wiping his bald head as he licked his lips.

"Well, you see Mrs.Min,” the man advanced to you in slow steps, “Mr. Min didn’t want you to know about the financial crisis. He had hoped to resolve it before it snowballed into a full-blown nightmare.” He saw the uncertainty on your face. “You… uh, you would have come to know if he ever mortgaged the estate or the house, your signature would have been necessary.”

You deflated, wishing your husband had just believed in you and told you about his monetary struggles. Taehyung’s words repeated in your head. Had Yoongi really not trusted you enough? You shook your head. No, that couldn’t be the reason. You couldn’t lose your head over this; time was running out.

“Well, there’s one more thing, Bong Ju.” You looked at your hand, a deep sorrow weighing your heart down. With tears blurring your eyes, you slid your wedding ring off. The diamond glinted at you, looking even more radiant through your tears. You extended the ring to the man.

“Mortgage this too, it is a family treasure.”

The man looked uncomfortable. He eyed the ring on his palm warily. “Are you sure, Mrs. Min? I think-”

“Just go.”

He left without a word, leaving you alone, swirling in the emotions that were choking your lungs.

*****

You were pacing around your study, wondering what was happening to Yoongi. There had been a phone call exactly at midnight. A low raspy voice had said, “You have two days,” before cutting off abruptly. The call had left you wide-eyed and worried.

Now, as you paced impatiently, you wished you could turn to someone for help. Your mother-in-law was sure to have stowed away some money in security deposits. But how could you ask her? She barely recognized you, she would surely have no recollection of her deposits, whatsoever. On an impulse, you dialed the number of the institution in which she was housed.

You listened to the dial-back tone, nervously biting your nails. God, you smelt like a tramp. You hadn’t showered, hadn’t eaten a morsel, or even had a sip of water. The line crackled and a high-pitched voice answered.

“Klammer Institute.”

You sucked in a deep breath. “Hi, I am Min Sung-Hee’s family. How is she?”

“Oh, Good morning Mrs.Min. I am afraid she has been catatonic; Dr. Stevens upped her dosage last night to see if she responds.”

“Oh.” Your heart fell. But this was to be expected. “Is it possible for me to speak to her?”

“Let me see if she will talk, hold on.”

You waited; the answer already clear as day. It was the most foolish thing ever to expect any good outcome from this. Were you losing your mind too? It wasn’t like you to cling on to fruitless threads like this. You heard the woman speak to your mother-in-law, announcing your arrival. There was a rustle, and then silence.

“Hello?” you ventured after a few seconds of the deafening silence.

“Hm?” the voice sounded painfully feeble.

“Hey, Ma. I am Y/N. How are you?” You held your breath.

“Y/N? I don’t know any Y/N.”

“I am your daughter-in-law,” you began to explain patiently before she cut you off.

“Where is Min? Give the phone to him.”

She was asking for her husband, the poor darling. You didn’t have the heart to tell her that he had died. You were an idiot. What had you expected? A miracle?

“He… He isn’t around right now, Ma.”

“Tell him I am so lonely. Why did he leave me here? I feel so…” There was a pause. “Who are you again?”

“Never you mind, Ma. Please rest. Let me speak to the orderly.”

After inquiring more about your mother-in-law’s health, you cut the call with a sigh. There was no possible way you could ask your only relative for help. You felt even worse than when you had placed the call.

*****

There were only 12 hours left for the deadline to end. You had not showered in three days. There were tired dark circles around your eyes. You hadn’t slept in more than 30 hours, and it was making your eyes sting to look at any light. The same white nightshirt you had been wearing when Yoongi was dragged out by goons clung to your famished body. You had moved out of your house and had taken up a room in a mediocre hotel. Luxury hotels charged so much it made your ears burn.

There was an urgent knock on the door, and you sprinted to open it. Bong Ju was standing outside, a big black suitcase weighing his arm down. You practically ripped his arm off, pulling him into the room and banging the door shut.

“Well?”

You could hear your pulse throbbing in your ears. He nodded swiftly, rushing to the bed and heaving the suitcase on it. He threw it open, wiping his eyebrows in the crook of his elbow. There were stacks of crisp banknotes, arranged neatly and secured with elastic.

“There’s 50 million dollars in here, Mrs.Min.”

You looked at him with a faint sense of foreboding. “Did everything… did it all just fetch- only 50 million dollars?”

You had mortgaged your entire life. And it had all amounted to just covering your ass?

“I naturally had to avoid much negotiation, you see. Time is of the essence here and we couldn’t possibly waste it in bargaining.”

You nodded. Everything felt like water slipping through your fingers.

“And the ring?” you managed to whisper.

“It fetched 75 thousand dollars, Mrs. Min. And solely because it was an heirloom.” He lowered his voice and added, “The appraiser was an old friend of mine.”

You huffed in impatience. Who cared if he had pulled strings to get you the money? It was his job. Also, he was partly responsible for the mess your company was in. What kind of legal advisor couldn’t advise the CEO not to trust a stranger too much? You narrowed your eyes at him. It sickened you to see his greasy smile. Did he expect you to appreciate him or something? Dick.

“There’s only 11 hours and thirty minutes left.” You leaped to the bed and clamped the suitcase shut. Lugging it behind, you bolted through the door. You heard the man mutter something behind you. No time to listen. If you had turned and lent an ear, you would have heard him hiss at you:

“Mrs.Min, you are in your pajamas!”

*****

You hailed a cab, not caring in the least about the stares from all around you. A cab screeched to a halt in front of you.

“Where to, miss?” He took in your disheveled appearance. “What the hell, lady? Problems with the family?”

You jumped in and slammed the door shut. Your knuckles were aching from your hold on the suitcase. It contained your whole life.

“I need to go to the South Boulevard.”

He turned from his seat, eyeing you warily.

“That’s not a very safe neighborhood,” he shrugged, “not a place for a young woman like yourself.”

“That’s alright. I need to go there.”

“Where exactly, if I may ask?”

“Uh, Kim Taehyung’s mansion. Do you know it?”

“Oh, him.” There was a long pause. “I know that place.”

There was no more conversation after that, and you rode in silence. You chewed your nails, wondering if you should have actually counted the money for yourself. What if that sleazy Bong Ju had tried to steal some for himself? Wiping your eyebrows, you looked out the windows. Now you had no way of knowing if you really had 50 million dollars in your suitcase. It would not be safe to count the money inside the cab. You looked at the driver’s face in the rearview mirror. Suddenly you were filled with distrust that spanned to every living thing around you.

The cab ground to a halt in front of a sprawling mansion. You stumbled around with trembling fingers for change to cover the fare. As he reached his palm out to take it, the man suddenly stilled. He opened the door and stepped out, much to your alarm. He removed his coat and extended it to you.

“Take this.” He raised an eyebrow in the general direction of the mansion. “Can’t go in there in just your pajamas, lady.”

The suspicion rolled off your body and evaporated into thin air. You wrapped yourself in his coat and stammered your thanks. You stood watching the cab pull away, and shook yourself as it disappeared out of sight. 'Okay, Y/N. Time to go into the monster’s den.’

Dragging the suitcase, you charged through the gates, not paying attention to all the armed men walking around. They paused and stared, but didn’t stop you. You wouldn’t lie, all your nerves were tightly wound, almost to snapping point. You walked with your calf muscles burning, storming through the lawns and making a beeline to the enormous oak door. On reaching the door, a man with a rifle thrust his weapon at you, blocking your way.

“Where do you think you’re going, sweetmeat?”

Disgust rolled up your throat and you gritted your teeth. The man’s sweaty odor was enough to make you want to puke.

“Let me through. I need to go in to pay up my debt.”

He ran his eyes all over you, making you squirm in your nightclothes. With a sickening smirk, he lifted his rifle and allowed you to pass, calling behind you, “Boss is on the second floor. Also, nice ass.”

*****

Puffing and heaving, you reached the second floor. There were a lot of guards outside the first door, and you decided that was where Taehyung probably was. Not paying heed to the guards, you pushed the door open. Sure enough, there was the devil, his legs propped on his table, his eyes scanning a file. A gun was strewn on the table carelessly.

Taehyung looked up and saw you standing framed by the doorway. He couldn’t believe you were there, wearing the exact nightshirt that had haunted him in his dreams. He could see the damp spot on your chest, where your sweat had moistened the cloth and turned it deliciously translucent. Your hair was damp with sweat, all those little wisps of hair had stuck to your forehead like a wreath. The way your chest heaved with each breath sent a sharp ache down his groin. He looked at the suitcase in your hand, and his lips stretched in a sly smile.

“Brought my money back, huh, sugar?”

He manspread his legs on the desk, his crotch as clear as day. He was enjoying the way your eyes grew wide. The bob of your throat as you swallowed nervously sent his mind spinning with images of making you gag around him. He picked his gun and spun it as he regarded you with an arrogant smirk.

You glared at him and threw the suitcase on the table, opening it wide to show him the stacks of money.

“Take this and let Yoongi go.”

He threw his head back with a sigh. He inhaled slowly, closing his eyes. Crossing his heels on the table, he lazily toyed with his gun.

“Oh, baby doll, I wish I could.”

You tensed, electric jolts going haywire in your brain.

“What? What the fuck do you mean?”

“I don’t think I can let him go, baby girl.”

“Fucking take the money and give me my husband, KIM TAEHYUNG!”

He swung his legs off the table, watching you as he swiveled sideways on his chair. Two guards rushed in on hearing your screams. Taehyung blew on the muzzle of his gun with disinterest.

“And what if I won’t?”

You threw your hands up in despair.

“What the fuck more do you want?”

He got up and ambled around the mahogany desk. He precariously sat on the table with one leg on the floor, supporting his weight. He still had the gun in his hand, rubbing it in slow strokes on the side of his pants.

“Ah,” he said, looking beyond you at the guards in the doorway. “There’s no problem here, Wo Bin-ah. You can wait outside.”

In a flash, you spun on your heel to look at Wo Bin, standing there with a rifle. He wasn’t wearing glasses, and he towered over you, his chest puffed up.

“What? Wo Bin? You? You! You!” You lunged at him, arms outstretched in rage. He jabbed your chin with the butt of his rifle, sending shooting pain throughout your skull. Head swimming, you saw his blurred outline walk out of the room.

As you clutched your jaw, there was a deep chuckle behind you.

“Confused, honey?”

You turned and glared at Taehyung.

“What is that.. what is that scum doing here?”

“He works for me.”

“What?!”

“Hmm.” He hummed softly, rubbing his temple with the gun. He took a step towards you. “He’s been with me for years.”

“How- what was he- Where is Yoongi?” There was a sudden panic coursing through your veins. You needed to fetch Yoongi and get out of here.

“You’ll get him if you give me what I want.” He was now talking slow steps towards you.

“I already brought you the money, dickwad assbutt.”

He chuckled again, shaking his head.

“I want you.”

You froze, jaw hanging open.

He drawled lazily. “Min Yoongi is a penniless loser. He has nothing left in the world.” He came nearer. “But you just made me 50 million dollars richer. I have everything. I am so much better than him, sugar”

His eyes blazed at you. “Be mine.”

He reached out and tugged at your coat, brushing his fingers against the fabric. When you didn’t move, he circled you and stood behind you. Ghosting his arm around your waist, he spooned you from behind. He bent slightly to take a whiff of your hair. Mmm. Berries. The movement thrust his entire body snug against you.

His hands were reaching your chest, almost groping you. Suddenly, you were aware of a hard bulge pressing against you.

“NO,” you shouted shrilly at the top of your lungs, wriggling vigorously to get out of his grip. His arm tightened around your midsection and you scratched and clawed at his flesh until he hissed and released you. You pushed off his chest, screaming. His fingers clawed at the air and found your coat, holding you back as you tried to run. He held on to your coat in a vice-like grip, not allowing you to advance. With a wild shrug, you got out of the coat, catapulting to the door in the momentum. Without looking back, you ran out as if your head were on fire.

Taehyung spat out on seeing the angry red nail marks on his arms. He shouted to his men, commanding them to run after you. He would not let you get away. He ran out like a madman, slamming himself against the balcony when he saw your figure darting across the lawns. The men were chasing you, but you were running like the wind. He gritted his teeth, seeing you jump across the hedges like a hare.

He roared to a guy, shouting at him to get his car. He was going to get you, no matter what.

*****

You ran faster than you had ever run in your life. The adrenaline pushed your limits, sending you blazing through the boulevard. You cut across lanes, doing your best to not go down the obvious route. It had been almost half an hour on the run before your lungs gave out. You squinted your eyes, making out the towers of a suspension bridge that stretched over the sea, and you knew where to go.

You were thoroughly spent when you wheezed and stumbled to the bridge. The cars were whirring past, oblivious to the skimpily clad figure trudging along the bridge. It was illegal to walk on the bridge’s deck, you knew, but you didn’t care. It would be lucky for you to get into prison, at least you would be safe there. Reaching the hard left of the bridge, you gripped the railing and peered down.

The sea was lapping at the visible parts of the bridge’s foundations. The water looked frightening, stretching out in such a vast expanse that made you feel insignificant. You looked around. Cars were still moving back and forth, no one seemed to have seen you loitering on the bridge. There was no time to lose.

Throwing your leg over the railing, you hoisted yourself on the suspender cables that had the lowest elevation. You kicked your feet off the railing, resolving to not look down at the deep, deep sea splashing around down beneath. A sick panic climbed up from the pit of your stomach as you dangled from the railing, with nothing to support you but your hands. It was so hard to hold on to the metal, the afternoon sun had heated it to scalding point. Pain shot up your shoulder joints, causing you to wince in agony. The three-day starvation was quickly catching up, and you felt like you were going to pass out.

There was immediate death beckoning to you from below. The drop itself would kill you. A vague newspaper fragment floated to your mind’s eye. There had been a passage once on the newspaper about this bridge, and you knew this one was 75 feet high. Sweat rolled down your forehead, forming fat beads on your eyelashes. No, you could not let go, you would plummet to your death. The drops of sweat flowed into your eyes, stinging them and causing you to curse out loud. You had to get a move on before your arms gave out.

A few feet away, there was a small platform jutting out from under the deck of the bridge. Blinking away the salty drops blurring your vision, you swung your arm out to catch the next rail. Oh God, was it difficult. Fuck those action heroes who did it above safety nets and made it look easy as pie. You were sure your arms would tear off from all the strain. Muttering a fluent string of curse words, you heaved your body from rail to rail, never looking down.

It felt like ages before you reached the damned platform. It was made of metal, and you squealed in pain as it scorched your bottom. The thin pajamas were not helping either. Biting down on your tongue, you rolled on your bottom, wishing the heat dissipated quickly. The platform was very small, it was probably never intended to provide sanctuary for a human. The strip of metal was long, and you decided to align yourself along the length of it. There was no support on the sides, you could easily roll over and fall into the crashing waves.

You lay still, holding on to the edge of the platform for dear life. The sun was beating down on your face mercilessly. You were sure you’d be sunburnt beyond recognition if you stayed here long enough. A little farther, there were a couple of ships moving slowly against the horizon. You were watching them when you heard cars whiz past the deck, causing the platform to vibrate hard. Closing your eyes, you wondered if any of those cars carried Taehyung or his gang of goons.

*****

Taehyung couldn’t believe he had let you slip that easily. He had moved every piece in the game so carefully. How could he have lost you after so much effort? His men were combing the streets for you, dozens of his cars were patrolling the land. No one had gotten any whiff of you so far. But they would. He knew it was just a matter of hours before you would be back in his arms, nightshirt and all.

As he rode in stony anger, seated in the back of his car, he remembered the first time he had seen you.

Taehyung’s family was not old money, they had no old family ties with the rest of the elite. His father had been a part of the mafia, and the family thrived prosperously. But it still wasn’t enough to grant Taehyung the privileges Yoongi’s family enjoyed. He was invited to a lot of social gatherings, yes, but somehow he was always on a lower rung on the social ladder.

There were many events that Taehyung was excluded from. He and Yoongi never mingled. The tension in the room whenever he was in an elite gathering always made Taehyung queasy. He felt like everyone looked down on him, even if he had as much money as the rest of them. Their stares and whispers served to infuriate him, making him feel deeply resentful towards affluent families like the Min clan.

It was one such night when Taehyung had stormed out of a party hosted by one of Mrs.Min friends. He had felt passively insulted, and he had gone in an attempt to prevent screaming his head off. It had begun to drizzle, and just as he decided to turn back, he saw you.

You were walking towards the crosswalk, a book in hand. You were probably returning from a library. There was a serene vibe about you, and it drew him in completely. He watched as you waited for the light to turn green, turning your head up to feel the rain patter against your forehead. The little curve of your lips as the drops streamed down your face made his heart beat faster. Suddenly you seemed to remember about the book, and hugged it to yourself, covering it with your jacket. He stood rooted to the spot, unmindful of the rain that had begun to wet his clothes. He followed you till you reached your home, and smiled to himself after you closed the door behind you. He was going to get to know you.

It was incredibly easy to follow you around, thanks to your cute obliviousness. He soon found out all your favorite books, restaurants, coffeehouses and pubs. He never got tired of tagging behind you. It was a pleasant feeling to follow you when you flitted like a butterfly before him. Until you drove into the Min house one evening.

Taehyung parked a few blocks outside the gates, watching you each day as you drove in and out that wretched house. He was mad at you for consorting with that family. Every time, he calmed his rage by telling himself that you were just there on business. He would tell you to cut off all business ties with that snobbish family after he started dating you.

It was on a particularly windy night that he waited outside the gates, muttering impatiently under his breath. A storm was brewing, and he chided you in his mind for staying in too long. What would you do if it rained hard? The roads would be slippery, not to mention the low visibility that would threaten your safety. He was too caught up in his worry that he almost missed the sleek black car that sailed out of the gates. Just as he was about to dismiss it thinking it wasn’t your car anyway, he caught a glimpse of the riders. You. In Min Yoongi’s car.

Gripping the steering wheel tight enough to make his fingers numb, he turned on the ignition and tailed Yoongi’s car stealthily. He felt like his nerves could pop from all the rage. That was his woman in that bastard Yoongi’s car! A part of him wanted to see reason. It was raining hard, and you needed to get home. Maybe the Yoongi fellow would drop you at your house and get lost soon.

But all the amiable feelings drained out of his system when he saw Yoongi getting out and following you into the house. Hot angry tears pricked his eyes when you closed the door and locked it behind you. He ground his teeth, looking at his watch every five minutes, hoping to see Yoongi get out. Tough luck, there was no sign of Yoongi leaving in a hurry. He was shaking with anger for a good two hours before the door opened again. That was when he knew he had to destroy Min Yoongi.

Just like he had feared, you fell for that rich snob. He watched you go on dinners with Yoongi, and he knew time was running out. It was a rude shock to him when he found out you were engaged to Yoongi. So soon? God, that slimy wretch Min was moving so fast to secure you. Taehyung had no choice but to witness you grow closer and closer to Yoongi. And before he knew it, you were married. It was the first time in years he drunk himself to oblivion and passed out on the floor of his bar.

*****

Taehyung had been miserable for months after your wedding. He had been invited to the wedding of course, and he had watched another man put a ring on you and claim you as his own. There was a deep void in his heart, so deep that he couldn’t spend one waking moment without thinking of you. He wanted you, he was not going to let the wedding deter him. You had flown out of his reach, but he resolved to get you back. He was going to ruin Min Yoongi. The game had just started.

It was a stroke of luck for Taehyung when Yoongi’s father died and left his son to take care of all the businesses. Taehyung was a smart man, and he pounced on the opportunity to dig Yoongi’s trench. He plotted carefully, weighing his options. Finally, he decided to infiltrate the enemy lines and place a Trojan horse in the Min camp. That was how Wo Bin got to work in the enemy’s company.

Taehyung was proud of Wo Bin. The man was excellent at his job. He meticulously followed Taehyung’s instructions and went on to win Yoongi’s confidence. When Wo Bin completed two successful acquisitions for the Min Corporation, Taehyung knew that the time was ripe.

Slowly and steadily, Wo Bin drained the coffers, striking extravagant deals and sabotaging the company from the inside out. He convinced Yoongi that the deals were futuristic, and no harm was going to befall the company due to them. He could sense that Yoongi was uneasy, but he came up with ridiculously complex theories and shut him up for good. One weekend, when Yoongi was away at Melbourne for a deal, Wo Bin moved in for the kill.

Taehyung made sure that he was the first person who called to console Yoongi when he returned from Melbourne and found himself neck-deep in debt. Taehyung started moving with the utmost caution to secure his traps. He struck up a cordial relationship with Yoongi, calling on him and arranging friendly meetings to 'cheer him up’. That was how Yoongi wound up in a bar with Taehyung, drinking away his sorrows and slurring his words as he told Taehyung of how badly he had been cheated by his manager.

It was not until he made Yoongi sufficiently drunk that Taehyung turned on his smooth charm. He buttered up to the man, gushing on how he wished to help. He was fishing for a reaction and Yoongi promptly gave him one.

“Really? You- you will lend me money to settle off my investors?”

Taehyung smiled smoothly, turning his glass in his hand. God, the man was so gullible.

“Sure. If that’s what you want.”

“I can’t believe this. 5 million dollars? Are you sure?”

“Hey, it’s just a few millions. The important thing is that I’m getting to help you out.” He struggled to keep the victorious smirk off his face as Yoongi fell for it hard. This was going perfectly according to plan.

So Yoongi borrowed the first 5 million from Taehyung. But to his surprise, it was becoming increasingly difficult to settle all his investors. The prices kept climbing up, and within no time he found himself borrowing 5 million more. And then the 5 million turned into 10 million and he felt like it was just in a blink of an eye that his total loan amounted to 50 million.

Taehyung had finally trapped Yoongi for good. As all the memories flashed in his mind, Taehyung grinned to himself. He had succeeded in reducing his enemy to dust. And he would soon have his reward: You.

*****

You lay terribly cramped on the platform, unable to move in fear of falling down. There were sure to be sunburn on your face. The fingers that had held on to the sides of the platform were now numb and senseless. You watched the sky turn orange, pink and purple, the colors amplified by the sea. Finally, the sky wore a deep blue cloak and stars came out twinkling. A chill breeze picked up salt from the sea and blew around you, smelling like fish and seaweed. The coldness wrapped around you like a blanket, engulfing you in the overwhelming smell of the sea. You could almost taste the salt in the air. There was a ship below which looked spectacular, decked in lights. The lights made you feel warm, and you kept wondering about all the lucky people who would be in that bright, cheerful ship.

You didn’t know when you had fallen asleep. But dawn was beginning to break according to the hues of the sky. You woke with a jolt when you dreamt of falling, and it was in sheer horror that you watched your slipper drop down the platform. You peeked over the edge and saw your slipper hurtling down. It became a speck as it touched the water, and a chill ran up your back when you saw the faint ripples that swallowed it and became calm again. You had to get out of there.

Where could you go? You had no home. Taehyung probably had men at the hotel you had stayed at previously. Yoongi still was in danger. You smelt like rotten fish. God, you had to wash up. The salt in the air had made your skin annoyingly sticky. The sun would soon be up, cars would start moving, and soon the platform would heat up again. Getting up and fighting the killer cramps in your legs, you held on to the suspender cables. Balancing your weight on the tips of your toes, you scanned the deck. There was very little traffic.

Making sure to grab the cables, you jumped up and caught hold of a rail. Good. Now all you had to do was pull yourself up. Easier said than done. After 30 minutes of cussing and panting, your feet were on the deck again.

This side of the city was clearly under construction. It was probably noon, but heavy rain clouds were gathering above you. As you jogged on, you could see trenches dug out and sealed off with construction tape, probably for road works. Some of them were pretty big and connected to successive trenches, almost like a muddy subway along the road. You were too absorbed in jogging to see a car tailing you. In a couple of minutes, two more cars joined it. The first drops of rain fell, and you decided to cut across the alleyways and wait out the rain.

Just as you turned and entered a lane, you ran smack into a car. The hood was hot, and you leaped back. The headlights blinked at you through the sheets of rain.

“Sorry. My bad.”

You attempted to walk around when you saw three cars blocking your path from the back. They slowly receded to a distance and blinked their lights and you turned again to see someone stepping out from the car before you. Him.

“Well, quite the chase, baby doll.”

He draped his arm over the door, watching you. The rain made your shirt transparent, causing it to stick to your body in the most delicious ways. The cold had made your nipples harden, and the nubs were poking against the shirt. His mind went into a frenzy as he took in the way the raindrops beaded on your face.

“Let’s go home now.” He advanced towards you, extending his arm.

“No.”

“Now now, baby girl, it is useless to keep resisting.”

“I will resist until I die.” Tears mixed with the rain, flowing down your face in torrents.

“We have all the time in the world for that.”

He pulled you against him, sniffing your hair loudly, making you cringe. With a harsh shove, he sent you flying into the car.

Your wet clothes were ruining his car, but to hell with that. He had found you. Reaching over a slender finger, he clicked the lock on your side of the door in place. The outline of your body was still visible through the sheer clothes, making his mouth water. God, was he going to have fun with you.

You had no way of escaping. The door was locked and the car was zooming past the trenches. Your eyes wandered to Taehyung’s side. And then you saw it. His side was unlocked. But how to get over there? Unless… ugh. But that was the only way to do it.

It was a surprise to Taehyung when you slid closer to him, face stony. He was even more surprised when you threw a hand over his lean, firm thigh. When you threw a leg over him and made a move as if to straddle him, his eyebrows shot up. Your eyes were closed, so he could not read the expression on your face. The wet clothes soaked through his pants and gave him gooseflesh. Eyes still closed, you slowly rutted against him, holding on to both his shoulders. Oh, Sweet God, how hot you looked, grinding against him, hair plastered against your forehead and water dripping from the ends of your locks onto his shirt. A sharp pang of want shot through the length of his dick and he moaned out loud. Before he knew it, you were gone.

As soon as he had closed his eyes with a moan, you had clicked his door open and jumped out, rolling on the muddy sloshy road.

When he found out and yelled to the driver to stop, he was too late. You were nowhere to be found. The beating rain made it harder to see. Muddy rivulets were running everywhere, dark brown and dirty. His body trembled in murderous rage on realizing that you had deceived him. Bitch. He pulled out a glinting object from his coat pocket. He gritted his teeth as he twirled your wedding ring in his fingers. The diamond sparkled and glinted at him as if laughing at his folly. He could almost shoot himself for being so foolish as to believe your little stunt. When Kim Taehyung flew out of his car, he was fit to murder.

*****

It was fortunate that there was no proper road where you had fallen. You had quickly rolled into a trench and stayed there. From your vantage point, you could see the trench extending on either way like a mini subway. You couldn’t stay there; the goons might check out the trenches too. So, with your head lowered, you crawled forward, palms splashing in the mud and splattering bright brown stains all over your clothes.

A good many yard later, the trenches grew deeper, meaning that you could now stand and still not be visible by anyone who wasn’t looking into the trenches. But by now, gravity had found its way and all the runoff from the rain was pouring into the dugout pits. As you walked further, you found with growing alarm that the water level was almost to your knees and still rising. The walking turned into wading, and the water never ceased flowing into the pits. A few blocks farther, the pits came to an abrupt end. There was no way to move forward. And when you turned back, there was no way to go back either.

The open tunnel was filling fast, and the muddy walls looked like they were going to collapse and fall in, burying you alive. The road was a few feet above your head, there was no way you could jump out of this muddy maze. The water was now up to your chest. So, this was it. This was how you were going to die. Drowned in a trench, muddied beyond recognition. But hey, better than being ravaged and killed by Taehyung.

Arms outstretched, you fumbled blindly around, even as your chin dipped in the water. Just a few more minutes and you’d drown. Helplessness made you wilder, and suddenly your fingers found purchase at a rock jutting out of the mud. Stepping on it, you heaved your weight on it, launching yourself a couple of inches upwards. Okay great, your chin was out of the water. But it soon would be in the water again. Shifting all your weight on one foot, you swung the other foot hard at the crude wall on your side. No harm in seeing if you could get out. It might fall in, but you would die either way.

On the third hit, your foot lodged well into the wall. Moment of truth. You shifted your weight to the foot on the wall and heaved up. When you opened your eyes again, you were still alive, the wall supporting your body and not crumbling as you had feared. One more swing. Another. Another. In a few minutes, you were lying on the mud outside the trenches, spitting out dirt and sputtering. There was a dump truck some feet away that looked deserted. Carefully scanning the path for any suspected goons, you hurried to the truck, crawling underneath, tucking yourself there and hoping to stay hidden till the rain stopped.

From under the truck, you could see a couple of cars whizzing past on the dirt road along the trenches. Suddenly, one of them stopped and three guys got out. They walked the length of the road and turned to leave when a guy abruptly turned and peeped into the flooded trench. The howling wind made it unable to clearly hear his voice, and you could only catch “… would have drowned if she had.” The men shrugged and walked back to the car, disappearing from view a couple minutes later.

There was only blank silence in your head as you lay under the truck. There were no thoughts, your mind was completely numb. Too much had happened in too little time, so your mind just blocked all the emotions out. Every part of your body screamed in agony. Damage was a sure thing if you threw yourself out of a speeding car. Throw in a muddy adventure with a near-death experience and you had one hell of a pain cocktail. The rain started to grow lighter, and soon you had to get going again. But where to? Damn the pounding headache that kicked in to add to your misery. Where could you go?

*****

Jung Hoseok had been stirring his coffee and looking out the window for a long time. He liked the rain, but only when he was not getting wet in it. The street looked deserted, everyone was probably huddled around the fire in their homes, sipping hot drinks. He turned to his wife Bo Na, who was reading a book.

“Leaves on the trees outside are all clean and green.”

She nodded, too engrossed in her book to comment. He looked out again. “Seems like they all had a shower and dressed up fresh.” She nodded again.

“I married an idiot.”

She almost nodded, caught herself and scowled, hitting him with the book. He laughed, pulling the book playfully.

“I wanted to check if you were paying attention, hon.” He was still laughing when he looked outside again, and the smile slowly faded.

“What is it, Hobi? What do you see?” His wife was now paying him attention.

“There’s a person all muddied up, walking down the street. Poor bugger. Homeless, probably.”

“What?” His wife stood up and craned her head to see better. “Oh yes, poor thing.”

Hoseok looked at the figure as it drew closer and suddenly stood up, toppling his coffee.

“Holy shit. That’s Y/N!”

He rushed to the door, yanking it open to reveal a figure completely caked with mud, with hair matted and dried up in brown clumps.

As soon as the door opened, you fell forward, sagging against him bodily, effectively passing out.

It was eighteen hours later that you opened your eyes. You were in bed, and a dull ache in your head made you wince. When you tried to turn, a jolting pain shot through your arm, startling you. And then all the memories came flooding back. You shot up in bed, looking down at yourself. Everything was clean, your skin, palms, clothes, feet, everything. The pajamas were not yours, they were baby blue, not the soiled mess you had been wearing before. There were Band-Aids on your arms, and you smelled fresh. Your hair felt soft and mud-free and you caught the familiar whiff of coconuts. Bo Na’s shampoo.

There was a pitcher of water on the bedside table. Just as you leaned over to reach it, a man came bounding inside, crushing you in a hug.

“Y/N! You scared me shitless! Thank God!”

“Hobi,” you managed to whisper, “How long was I out?”

“18 hours. What the hell were you doing, digging a tunnel to China?”

“Hobi - I …” you paused, lowering your head. “I’m hungry. Starving.”

“Oh yes, wait a sec. Let me get you something hot.”

When he returned, Bo Na was with him, a worried look on her face. Both of them wisely held their silence as you gobbled up all the pasta ravenously. When you were done, you fell back on the pillows, sighing contentedly. But guilt immediately set in, chilling your heart. Yoongi. Would he be starving? Would those bastards have provided him food? Water? Involuntary tears welled up and rolled down your cheeks.

“Hey,” Hoseok advanced, flicking a tear away with his finger. “What is it? What happened?”

And you told your friends what had happened, not leaving out a single detail. They listened with eyes that grew wider and wider in shock. Your voice caught several times, and Hoseok sat beside you, rubbing small circles on your back. When you finished, Bo Na’s mouth was set in a straight line.

“The sick bastard.”

She reached out and took your hand, squeezing it. “We will find Yoongi, Y/N. Let us go to the police.”

Hoseok shook his head. “There’s no proof to show that Taehyung did everything Y/N just said. No offense Y/N, I believe you completely. But the police might not. There’s no proof.”

“So?” Bo Na crossed her arms. “So, what else can we do? She already paid him back.”

“No proof of that either.”

You sat up, interjecting them. “But Bong Ju is a witness. He knows I went to Taehyung and paid the money back.”

“That’s right. So, what do we do now?”

Your forehead creased in thought. “Maybe… I’ll go to him and ask him what we should do? He might suggest something.”

“That’s like relying on crumbs, Y/N. No solid plan.” Hoseok stared into your eyes with frank honesty.

“I know, Hobi. But we can’t go to the police. Taehyung might seriously injure Yoongi if he knew we went to the police.”

“True, again. Well, in that case, let’s go to Bong Ju’s. I’ll drive you there.”

“That might risk your life, Hobi.”

“No probs. You are my best friend. Now come on, get dressed. Bo Na, lend some clothes to Y/N, honey.”

*****

You didn’t have your phone to look up Bong Ju’s number. You found him on the yellow pages and called ahead to let him know. When you turned to hand back the phone to Hoseok, he looked at you quizzically.

“What was that for?”

“What was what?”

He sighed. “Why call him? You know thugs are scouring the place to find you.”

You bit your lip. “I wanted to make sure he was at his place. Didn’t want to risk your neck twice in case he wasn’t.”

“Right.” Your friend still shook his head and went to the door. “Let’s go Y/N.”

When the car pulled up outside Bong Ju’s house, you had a sudden bout of anxiety. Would there be an ambush? You weren’t even sure if Bong Ju was genuine after all. You stepped out, whispering to Hoseok to wait down the street.

“I’ll be back in a bit.”

He nodded and eased the car down the road, and you turned to look at the house. As you took a step forward, you caught a movement out of the corner of your eye. The whole street was deserted, despite it being a fine day. Something felt odd. Maybe you should turn back? What you saw next made up your mind.

The window overlooking the street was open, and there were shadows on the wall of the room. Several round ones, like human heads. And one distinct one. A gun. Time to get the hell out of the place. You turned on your heel and pelted down the street, hearing a loud crash behind you as the door swung open. Burly guys ran out, hot on your heels. Shit, how much more running could you do?

You raced to the car, but there was no Hoseok in it.

“HOSEOK??” you screamed at the top of your lungs.

The guys were closer now, you had to make a run for it. Where was Hobi? You jumped in and searched for the keys. They were gone. “Shit, shit, shit. Not now” you were boiling with rage. Where the hell was Hoseok? A guy reached the car door and thrust his hand at you. Anger made you braver than ever, and you bit his arm with all your might. Kicking the door open and hitting his groin with a hard kick, you pushed him aside and fled down the street. By then, you were familiar with fleeing successfully. Taking detours through alleys and narrow lanes, you threw the guys off your scent and hid out in an apartment’s parking lot for some time, just to make sure.

*****

You had to take elaborate round-about lanes to go back to Hoseok’s. Taehyung’s stupid sons of bitches were everywhere, cropping up like mushrooms. Maybe your friend had already returned home. But Hoseok’s car was not in the garage. He had not come back. At least his car had not.

Maybe he had called Bo Na and informed her of his whereabouts. As you stepped in, the carpet muffling your footfalls, you heard Bo Na sobbing into the phone.

“I will send - I will send her.” There was a pause to accommodate a violent fit of sobs. “Please let him go.” A longer pause. “No no no, have her, take her, do whatever you want. Just give me my Hoseok back.”

You stood rooted to the spot, stunned. She sobbed and pleaded, emphasizing how much Hoseok meant to her. To be precise, how less you meant to her. With a final nod that the caller would never see, she hung up and turned to see you staring at her, openmouthed.

“Y/N! I - I never meant…”

“Save your breath, Bo Na.” You cast a hard glare at her. But inwardly you were shriveling up with guilt. It was true that Hoseok was in danger because of you. That was a hard fact. When you spoke again, your voice was barely a whisper.

“I’m sorry I inconvenienced both of you. And I’m sorry Hobi is in trouble because of me.” You wiped the corner of your eyes. “I will go to Taehyung. I’m sorry for all this. You will never see me again.”

“Y/N, it’s not like that -”

“It’s alright. I will get going now.” You turned and made for the door, and you had cleared the doorway when she ran up behind you and clutched your arm.

“Y/N, please. Please listen to me. I’m sorry.” She pulled your arm again. “Let me help you.”

“You’ve helped me enough, Bo Na.” As you tried to shrug her off, she held her ground and hissed angrily.

“Shut UP! Fucking shut up and listen, okay?” She loosened her grip, exhaling slowly. “I talked to one of my friends who knows someone who works for Taehyung. There’s no solid proof but it seems like Yoongi is not in Taehyung’s mansion right now. He’s somewhere else, in one of Taehyung’s luxury cottages. I got the general description of the place without asking the address straight out and raising suspicion.”

There was no word to describe your feelings, so you grasped her by the shoulders and blinked away tears. “Tell me more.”

She gave you a small note on which she had scrawled her friend’s description. “Don’t go to Taehyung’s. He will never take you to Yoongi. Go to the cottage.”

You nodded, staring at the paper in your hand.

Her voice broke again, and she whispered again.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. I could never apologize enough. But wait, let me get you something.” She ran off and returned with a drawstring bag. “I’ve packed a flashlight, knife and a lighter in here. Take my car.”

She held out the bag, and you accepted it wordlessly. She tossed her keys, nodding at you in silence. With a hug, you turned and walked out.

*****

It wasn’t difficult to find Taehyung’s cottage. But getting in would be a whole other story. There were armed guys outside the gates, and it was not a quaint little place you had imagined it to be. The building was massive, almost the same size as his mansion, the only difference being more trees and shrubs on the grounds. It most certainly could be called a chateau. The sun was casting long shadows, it would soon be twilight. You decided it would be easier to wait and slink in the shadows after darkness fell.

While you waited in the car, you formed a mental image of how you were going to get in. There was barbed fencing on the walls, but whatever, you could scale them. Something had changed you. Jumping over fences and tackling armed guys was completely out of your league. But you found yourself not scared in the least. The man you loved was trapped in there. Your best friend was held somewhere too. Nothing would scare you off.

It was a full moon that shone down at you when you scaled the wall, silently cursing as the barbs tore through Bo Na’s jeans and drew blood. The drop from the wall was equally efficient in drawing more curses as you limped into the shadows. Once positioned in the shadows, you slowly slunk from tree to tree, staying in the shadows and moving whenever the coast was clear. Your adrenaline made your vision crystal clear; every sense was on high alert. Hands trembling, you scaled a wall again and landed on the corridor of the second floor with a soft thud.

Digging out the flashlight, you gripped it without turning it on. Yoongi had to be somewhere dark. Maybe this place had a basement. If you ever had a captive, you would surely have him tied up in the basement. Trying to make the least sound possible, you softly padded down the stairs until there were no more steps. But this place was no basement. It was only an empty dark space with no rooms, only pillars. Just as you turned to go back up, your foot hit a hard metal object on the floor, and you had to clamp your mouth shut to avoid screaming. You knelt down to inspect, running your fingers on the floor. It was a trap door.

So, there was a basement. But there should be another entrance to the basement, you were sure. Taehyung the high-and-mighty would not prefer jumping down a trap door. An entrance had to be inside the cottage itself, from where anyone could get in. Well, in that case, maybe there wouldn’t be guards guarding the trap door. It was probable they were posted near the other entrance. It would be an advantage for you. The door was a heavy bitch that refused to budge. Your ears buzzed with the effort as you heaved it up, panting and wheezing. You peered down and saw a dim light down below, and cracked marble flooring. There was no ladder to climb down.

It was a gamble to jump down. There might be someone there, who might see or hear you. There was also the light to be wary of. Lying down, you crawled and balanced yourself on your arms till you could hang your head down the entrance. There was no one as far as you could see. It was a tough call, but you decided to jump.

The sound of your shoes hitting the marble was like a gunshot, at least to you it sounded loud enough. You ran like the wind and ducked in a corner, waiting to see if someone had heard you. The basement had a marble corridor that outlined four rooms. The doors were all shut, and a single worn-out light illuminated the whole area. The steps leading down to the basement was at the very end of the corridor, they probably led up to some unused room in the cottage. Your worry was none of these. The doors. Yoongi was behind one of them. But there were four. What if you opened the wrong door?

A quick sweep of your eyes told you there were no guards around. At least for the moment. With a beating heart, you raced through the corridor, having a quick look at all the doors and reaching the stairs at the end. You crouched under the staircase, revisiting all four doors in your mind. Two had been unbolted, so they could be eliminated. The door closest to the stairs would probably be the one. It was easier to reach from the stairs, and the bolt had looked like it had been oiled recently. You decided to risk it and open that one.

*****

Taehyung was generous with his guys; he took good care of them. It made his goons like working for him. They were unfazed by his unscrupulous deeds. Hell, he was a rich bastard who paid them well. His guys were loyal to him and were ready to move Heaven and Earth to get him what he wanted. And now he wanted you.

Taehyung’s guards were not picked easily. They were former soldiers, dishonorably discharged army men, martial artists and such. Only the best of the bad lot served him. They were already fuming that a woman had outrun them not once but thrice. They had their best men combing the county for you. And the best gunmen patrolled the corridors of the cottage.

One such guard had just finished his patrol on the first floor. He methodically went down the stairs, even if he knew there might be no one down there. He stopped in his tracks when he saw a dull light cutting through the darkness. The trap door was open.

*****

It was incredibly dark inside the room. There was an old musty smell that slapped your face as soon as you opened the door. You could not make out anything in the darkness. Should you risk using the flashlight? Just as you weighed the options, a faint clink of metal on metal reached your ears. It sounded like a metal chain. Restraints? Your heart skipped a beat and you punched on the flashlight. The bright beam illuminated a long chain of metal. You ran the beam along the chain and stopped when it hit a figure curled up in a ball.

“Yoongi?”

Your whisper caused the figure to move, and the person sat up, facing the opposite direction as the chains clinked with his movements. It was Yoongi. It was your husband. You ran towards him, a sob catching in your throat. There was a muffled mumble that sounded like your name. You raced to him, slamming onto his back in a tight hug. He was handcuffed, a gag was muffling him, and there was blindfold in place, obscuring his sight.

“Baby, baby,” you sobbed, tearing at the cloth and freeing his eyes.

The gag went flying too, as your fingers gripped it and yanked it hard. You draped yourself on his back, hugging his neck like a koala. He winced in pain, and you drew back in horror.

“Baby, I’m sorry,” you crooned, squatting before him and taking in his face.

There were ugly black bruises around his eyes and more fresh purple ones along his cheek. His shirt had dried blood stains on it, and you lifted it gently to inspect his abdomen. There were bruises all over him, fresh and old, in varying colors ranging from blue to black. Your eyes fell on the metal chains and then your heart sank. Bo Na had anticipated ropes and had armed you with a knife. But these were metal. You couldn’t cut through metal with a knife. You leaned over and nuzzled your forehead against Yoongi’s.

“I’m sorry baby. I - I thought I could save you.” You sobbed out a bitter laugh. “At least I am with you. I let you down.”

He shook his head, wincing as he did so.

“No.” His voice was raspy. “I failed you. I was a fool. I couldn’t,” his face contorted in pain, “-I couldn’t protect you.”

You set the flashlight down, pulling him gently towards you and cradling him against your bosom.

“No honey, don’t say that. I love you, baby.” His face felt so bony. “God, they’ve starved you.”

You leaned in to kiss him, and you were gently brushing his lips when the light suddenly came on, blinding you and flooding the room with radiance. A man stood framed in the doorway, looking at you with cruel eyes. A slow grin spread over his features as he took in your startled eyes. Without a word, he stepped back, closed the door and bolted it, trapping you in with Yoongi.

*****

The door closed behind the guard, leaving Yoongi and you stunned. There was a sound of metal dropping on marble. And the next thing you saw was wisps of some vapor seeping into the room, curling around, the fine mist clearly visible in flashlight’s beam. The vapor grew in volume, oppressing the air around you and making you dizzy. And that was the last thing you remembered seeing before collapsing into unconsciousness.

When you came to, you were in a different room. A bright one. Your vision was hazy, and your mind was still groggy. You could feel your body, there were no ropes or restraints. Gingerly supporting yourself on your arms, you tried to sit upright. The sudden movement gave you a terrible headrush, and the room started spinning.

“Slowly, my princess.”

That voice. That damned deep voice again. You snapped your head to the side to see Kim Taehyung standing there in a full black suit, leaning casually against a glass wall. As your vision cleared, you saw that the glass was a partition. You jumped up and pounded on the glass. There, on the other side of the glass was Yoongi, head bowed and hands restrained. A long chain was wound around his waist, and the other end was attached firmly to a loop embedded in the wall.

Taehyung looked like he was enjoying himself.

“You came for me.”

You gritted your teeth in anger and snapped, “I came for Yoongi.”

“Yoongi! Yoongi!” You yelled yourself hoarse, balling your fists and hitting the glass. But he didn’t look up. Fear crawled all over you, and you shouted even louder.

“He won’t hear you, love. The glass is soundproof.” Taehyung did not move a muscle. “Maybe you’d like if I made him look your way?”

You did not answer, lips pursing up and trembling as sobs threatened to tear out of your body.

“Well, use your words, sugar.”

“Please, please just…”

He looked down at his shoes, bored. “Please what?”

Tears blurred your vision again. “Please let him go.”

“For what in return?”

“I - I gave you the money.”

“Oh, for God’s sakes, Y/N. I don’t care about the money.”

“But… but you wanted…”

“Yeah yeah but I got more than twice my money back. You are a great borrower.”

“What?” You wished he wouldn’t talk in circles. “What do you mean?”

“Who do you think gave you the mortgage on all your estates? Your house?” He paused for dramatic effect and reached into his coat pocket, dangling his trump card with a smirk. “Who bought your ring?”

You gasped, your lips forming an O, completely unable to believe it. Kim Taehyung got you to pledge all of your worldly possessions to him, and took the money you made from pledging it too? How cruel and twisted could a man be?

He enjoyed the look on your face, letting you work out things in your head before speaking. As you stood there stunned, he typed something on his phone. In a few seconds, the door on Yoongi’s side opened, and a guy came in. He landed a swift kick on Yoongi’s middle, waking him up from unconsciousness. There were two more kicks, and then the guy went out and closed the door behind him.

You watched Yoongi raise his head and take in the surroundings. Then his eyes landed on you. He instinctively rushed to move to the glass, but the chain around his waist jerked him back, making him bend over in pain.

Taehyung didn’t want Yoongi stealing his thunder. He cleared his voice, keeping it smooth and silky.

“You know, you made it so easy for me. Bong Ju told me it was a piece of cake to get you to mortgage all the property. Pity you wouldn’t agree to mortgage yourself though.”

“Bong Ju? He’s your man too? You bastard!”

The man simply chuckled. He dug his hands into the pockets of his pants.

“The important thing you have to consider now is,” he walked a couple of steps towards you, whispering, “I bought you out.”

He paused as he swung to take a look at poor Yoongi, still fighting the chains and grimacing in pain.

“You have nothing in the world, nothing except that loser over there. And I’ll take care of that too. But trust me, you won’t be orphaned. You’ll be mine. You’ll be a queen.”

There was nothing left to do except beg. You knelt down, tears streaming down your cheeks. “Please, please just let him go, Taehyung.”

His eyes flickered and he swallowed thickly. “Oh, I love it when you say my name.”

You stayed down on your knees, clasping your palms together as if in prayer. “Please don’t do this, Taehyung. Hoseok and Yoongi did nothing to deserve this.”

He snorted. “Hoseok? Oh, that bastard is already home. And as for him,” his eyes swung at Yoongi with venom, “He has done a lot to deserve this. He stole you from me. He married you and gave you his name.” The nerve running down the middle of his forehead almost popped in his murderous rage. “I could kill him for that.”

“Please, Taehyung. I’ll never cross your path again. Please stop this. I love him, I love Yoongi.”

“SHUT UP!” His voice made you jump, as the veins of his throat stood out due to the exertion. “I had him alive for so long as leverage, to draw you here. But I don’t need him anymore.”

“But- but”

“Enough of this chit-chat. Get here, tell me you’ll be mine.”

“No.” You stood up, furiously brushing the tears from your cheeks. “I’d rather be dead.”

You took a weak karate stance, it was hopeless, but you were not going to give up. He feigned surprise, crossing his hand over his heart.

“Oh, darling. How cute you are!” He came closer, clasping your hands in his. “Don’t be naive. Let me give you a tip.” He pulled you closer, pointing his finger at the tied-up Yoongi.

“Look at his forehead. Look closely.”

Your breath hitched in your throat when you saw what Taehyung pointed at. It was a red laser dot on Yoongi’s forehead, it was certainly from a gun’s laser sight. But there was no one else in the room apart from you, Yoongi and Taehyung. Who was aiming at Yoongi?

Taehyung loved the mix of fear and confusion on your face. He pulled you snug against him, rutting his hips slowly as your husband’s mouth moved in silent screams from the other side of the glass. The sounds were completely blocked by the glass, and Yoongi’s face turned red as he yelled himself hoarse.

Taehyung enjoyed this little show. He was going to claim you before Yoongi. He was going to show that bastard who owned you. All those times his family was insulted in social gatherings came tumbling back, making him lose his mind. Min Yoongi was going to die a loser, knowing that his wife was claimed by his rival.

Yoongi started crying, trying his best to pull himself closer to the glass. His face was covered in tears, wet and red from all the struggle. He closed his eyes and pulled himself forward, trying hard to stop the chain from crushing his midsection. You could almost hear him groan in pain, teeth bared as he charged towards the glass, hitting his palms against it in helpless anger.

The hand around your waist tightened. “Poor boy. Look at him strain. I think he deserves to see a good show before dying, don’t you?”

Your voice cracked down to a whisper. “Please don’t do this, Taehyung.”

“Wow, you sound so sexy with my name rolling off your tongue.”

He pushed you against the glass so Yoongi could see you closer. Your husband could not stand up, not without the chain breaking his ribs. He remained crouched, hands against the glass and eyes pleading, hot tears streaming down. The glass was the only wall that separated Yoongi and you.

Taehyung pushed himself against you, trapping you between his body and the glass.

“Someone brought a knife in a rucksack, hmm?” His hot breath fanned the shell of your ear. Your eyes were looking down, solely focused on the man who was on the other side of the glass. A strong leg pushed your knees apart, grazing your core. “Naughty little girl.”

“Taeh-”

“Shhh.” He grabbed a fistful of hair, sniffing it with deep breaths. “You don’t want him to die, do you?” His hot tongue licked a line along your jaw. “Then stay quiet.”

His large hands roamed your upper body, finding purchase on your breasts, gently kneading them as he moaned in lust. The glass vibrated against your body, as Yoongi beat against it, mouth moving in what clearly were angry expletives. This was the worst kind of torture a man could ever be subjected through, and you wanted to die and be gone before Taehyung went any further.

Fresh hot tears rolled down your closed eyelids when you felt the bulge pressing against your back as the man ground his hips against you. His hands continued kneading the soft flesh, and he twisted the nubs of your nipples, making you gasp and keen into his chest. He trailed soft butterfly kisses on your shoulder blades, one hand reaching between your legs and cupping your hot clothed core.

“Please, please don’t do this to Yoongi.” Your voice was heavily impacted by the sobs that racked your body.

“Oh baby,” he kissed your shoulder as he murmured, “you need privacy?” His cupped hand massaged your core, making you tremble. “This is the last he’ll see of you. Do you really want to cut that time short?”

“N-No.”

“Then just be a good girl and stop talking.” His hand gripped the zipper of your jeans, and you crouched down instinctively, delaying it as much as possible. He laughed lightly. Your crouched position was in level with Yoongi’s tired body on the other side.

“Want to save his neck some pain? I’m game.”

He knelt down, pushing his body against yours, spreading your body flush against the glass. Yoongi looked so miserable that you just couldn’t face him. The laser dot was still very much in place on his forehead. Taehyung tried prying your legs apart, but you just wouldn’t budge.

“Y/N, honey, I would love more foreplay. But not now, just open your legs.”

You didn’t reply. Nor did you move. A violent push sent your head banging against the glass, and two very strong hands dragged your jeans down, ripping the zipper open in the process. Yoongi threw himself at the glass, face utterly contorted in pain, the chain taut as it cut against his flesh.

Taehyung’s hands mercilessly tore the denim away from your legs, the big palms kneading the flesh of your bottom. You pressed your forehead against the glass, looking defeatedly at your husband crying on the other side.

Taehyung was practically salivating at having you in his grasp. This was an encounter he would never forget. His cheeks flushed at the sight of your bare legs and rotund butt. The white underwear was simple, but to him, it was incredibly hot. The fact that Yoongi was just on the other side, watching all of it in humiliation made him heady with lust. He dug a finger under the waistband and ripped the underwear off. You were wriggling far too much for his liking. He thrust an arm against the back of your neck, pinning your head in position, as he took in the view. He licked his lips and aligned his hips so he was spooning you. He was aching to be inside you already. The glass was made of special reinforced material, and he smirked at Yoongi lazily as the crying man pounded against the glass, pleading him to stop.

You had no choice but to stay put. You had to distract your mind from what Taehyung was doing. Your eyes focused on the red dot on Yoongi’s forehead. You just could not look Yoongi in the eye. Not when he was crying and screaming what looked like your name from the movement of his lips. You just wished it would be over soon.

There was the unmistakable sound of fingers unbuckling a belt. And then the sound of a zipper being pulled down. Within seconds, you could feel hot muscle pressed against your back. You were amazed that you still hadn’t shriveled up and died. The hand against your neck was removed. Just as quickly, you were pulled back, dragged by the waist and pushed down on all fours. You tried to keep your hips flat against the marble, but a sharp volley of slaps rained down upon your butt before your hips were forced into position.

Taehyung’s grip on your hips were as tight and hard as iron. You tried raising your body, only to be pushed down again with brutal force. Losing no time, Taehyung rammed himself inside you. He had been hard for so long, and the relief as he plunged into you drew a feral moan deep from his chest. You were too tight, and he grabbed your hair as he hissed at you.

“Fucking let me in, Y/N.”

He received no reply, not that he expected one. He could sense your body heaving, as strong sobs shook your entire being. He saw you raise your head a teeny bit, just to look at Yoongi in dismay. He picked up his pace, sending your head banging against the glass as he dove into you with each snap of his hips. He maintained an unforgiving pace, punctuating his thrusts with moans that almost chilled your blood.

“See how well I fit you, Y/N? You were made for me, baby.”

You had to say it. You couldn’t take it anymore. You had been waiting for Yoongi to be the first one to know. But it had to be said now. It couldn’t wait longer.

“I’m pregnant.” Your whisper came out sounding incredibly hoarse.

Taehyung’s hips stilled. There was a heavy silence, Yoongi’s hands beating the glass was the only mild noise in the otherwise quiet room.

“What?”

“I’m - carrying Yoongi’s baby.”

Taehyung’s jaw clenched. “Does he know?”

“I haven’t yet-” A big hand clamped your mouth shut as he hissed urgently in your ear.

“He shouldn’t.”

You remained silent, and he started thrusting more viciously.

He punctuated each word he spoke with a thrust. “Do.you.understand?”

You had to tell Yoongi. You knew that. Taehyung might kill Yoongi anytime. You did not know what to do. Should you die too? But if you did, the only other living piece of Yoongi would die with you. Whichever way this went, Yoongi had to know.

Taehyung was watching you as he plunged himself into you. Yoongi should never know about the baby. He should die a loser. He had to make sure it remained that way. He saw the red bleary eyes of the man opposite him. He read defeat clearly in those eyes. That should not change.

You tried to make eye contact with your husband. It was incredibly mortifying to look at him as another man pounded into you. But you had to convey the message. You had meant to tell him previously, but you had been unexpectedly gassed and knocked out cold. As soon as you saw him looking at you, your heart broke into a million pieces. The man staring at you was not your husband. He was just a shell of the man he had been. All the light had gone from his eyes. He was in a way already dead.

You mouthed the words urgently, but he just stared at you blankly.

“Baby, focus.” You prayed that he could make out the words. “I’m.” You pointed at yourself. “Pregnant.”

He still looked blank, there was no recognition. Taehyung was still going at it, and you decided to hazard a mime by pointing at your belly.

Just as your hands pointed to your belly and Yoongi’s eyebrows shot up, there was a splash of red all over the glass. You recoiled in fright, confused and scared. And then you saw. The red trickled down the glass, clearing the field to reveal a sight that would be burned into your memory forever. Taehyung finished with a long drawn out moan, spilling himself inside you. His lips curled in a sick smirk. His sniper certainly deserved a raise. And a bonus.

*****

Three years later

You had grown to be scared of the bedroom. Not only because of the things Taehyung did to you but also because of the nightmares. It was always the same horrible image of Yoongi’s bloodied face maimed beyond recognition. The blood splatters on the glass. The vacant eyes and the raised eyebrows that had stilled forever. It came back to haunt you every night, there was absolutely nothing that could erase it from your mind.

Every night was a battle. The bedroom made your heart wilt, it left you scared of sleeping. Every time your head hit the pillow, it made your chest tighten and burn like it was on fire. Just the thought of the approaching nightfall made your evenings anxious and dismal. It had been three years already, but you still half-expected Yoongi to come back and hug you, quoting Woolf in your ears in the softest of whispers. The only little part of Yoongi that was still alive was your daughter. Your baby girl made with the love that overflowed between Yoongi and you.

Taehyung had originally intended to destroy the baby. He did not want that man’s child growing up in his house. Those eyes and dark hair reminded him of his enemy every time he saw the child. He did not care for the girl; she was just a nuisance for him. But he knew that she was the only thread tying you to the world. If he snapped it, he might have to lose you too. So, he gritted his teeth and bore it, trying his best to steer clear of your daughter.

He had married you and given you his name. It was forced, of course, you had had no say in it. But much to his chagrin, the little bastard girl did not take his name. You had flat out refused to give her his surname. She remained the only Min in your world, the only little comfort in your otherwise horrible life.

It made your skin crawl whenever you felt Taehyung’s touch on you. It kept reminding you of the first time he took you in that room, letting your husband watch in humiliation. You could never ever forgive Taehyung for that.

Taehyung’s patience was wearing thin. He had let you keep that little horror, the mini version of Yoongi he so despised. He had given you ample time to get adjusted to him. What more was he expected to do? Just watching you tend to your daughter made him boil in rage. It was his child that you should be tending to. He was at a loss to understand how you still were not with his child, after all his efforts and precautions. He badly wanted to trap you and make you finally his. What better than a child to seal the deal?

*****

It was a cold winter morning. The lake near Taehyung’s winter villa had frozen and become a sheet of hard ice. The ice hadn’t properly frozen yet, there were still brittle patches of ice on the lake. You had made sure to lock the doors so your daughter wouldn’t wander out. You were in the process of baking some cookies for her when you heard Taehyung, your husband, shouting for you.

“Y/N!”

The sound came from the bedroom. Untying your apron and wiping your hands, you walked automatically in the direction of his voice. Ignoring him would only result in punishments, and you weren’t in the mood for them. These days, he had also started spanking your daughter if you didn’t toe the line.

The familiar tightening of your chest made your breath catch as you entered the bedroom. You stood there in complete shock, eyes wide and jaw hanging. The whole closet had been rummaged; all the clothes were strewn on the floor. Your eyes wandered along the strewn things on the floor until they stopped on finding what they had been scared to find. Your heart started beating fast, you were sure you were going to be sick.

Lying on the floor was an old shoebox, the contents of it scattered around. You had used it to keep little odds and ends, but the main object that you had hidden in it was missing.

“Searching for something?”

Taehyung held his hand out, rattling the pills in the little pillbox. His eyes were fiery, he looked like he was about to snap. Taehyung had two distinct tempers. One was the hot rage that would make him scream, hit you, overturn tables and break everything around him. The other was a cold mean streak, the one that made him plot so vehemently for the downfall of the entire Min clan. You were fearful and frightened, at a loss to know which side of him was going to pounce on you.

He stepped towards you slowly, eyes glinting murderously.

“Three years. Three years I’ve tried and you’ve just been taking these behind my back?”

He threw the pillbox down, sending it ricocheting off the floor.

“You think I’m a fool, Y/N?” His voice was rising to a dangerously high pitch. “You had the nerve to do this? After I let you keep that - that bastard’s child?”

One thing Taehyung had accomplished in three years was making your mouth never dare to answer him back. You stood motionless, unable to get a word out. You had been so sure that he wouldn’t find those birth control pills. You had hidden them successfully for so long. How could this happen?

“You answer me right now, bitch!”

His large fingers closed around your throat, threatening to choke you.

“I- I won’t carry your child.” The hold around your throat grew tighter.

“Oh, you won’t?” He raised his eyebrows in mock surprise.

“I’d rather die than have your child.”

His hands left your neck abruptly as if he had touched something disgusting. There was a mean glint in his eyes as he stepped back and stared at you without breaking eye contact.

“We’ll see about that.”

He stormed out of the room. leaving you standing amid all the mess on the floor.

*****

You were back in the kitchen, fuming at Taehyung’s audacity in asking you to have his child. Who did he think you were? It was only because of your daughter that you suffered his existence around you. You had thought of poisoning him numerous times. But the clever bastard had made sure that you would have not a penny to your name if he died before you. You couldn’t be on the streets, not with Min Yoongi’s daughter. No. A good chunk of Taehyung’s money was what he conned and acquired from the Min family. It was your money, and your daughter’s. You just had to put up with him until you found a way out of all the mess.

You were whisking eggs, muttering to yourself furiously, thinking about what would happen later with Taehyung. He would surely give you hell. It made you tremble with anger. Just then, you thought you heard something. You looked out of the window, hearing the far-off voices of Taehyung and your daughter carrying through the wind. You couldn’t see from the kitchen window, and you hurried to the porch to see.

There, walking on the frozen lake with your little daughter by his side, was Taehyung. He was laughing and smiling down at her, letting her swirl around as she held his fingers. He was leading her to the middle of the lake. The part which hadn’t frozen over completely. The part which had a thin sheet of brittle ice.

“No!” You raced out of the house, not minding the cold air biting your bare arms. “Min Ha Neul! No, no! Come back!”

Ha Neul giggled on seeing you. She probably thought you were running to play with her too. She felt Taehyung tugging at her sleeve gently, and she followed him closer to the thin expanse of ice.

You pelted down the snow at full speed, shouting at your daughter to get away from the ice. Before you could reach her, it happened. Ha Neul was standing on the ice one moment, and gone the next. The ice cracked around her feet, plunging her into the horribly cold water.

“No! Baby!” You tripped on the slippery ice and fell, your leg suffering a nasty twist in the process. You couldn’t move, and you lay on the ice, pain shooting up your ankle. Your shouts were hysterical.

“Taehyung! Please! I’ll do anything! Please!”

The man had crossed his arms, standing away from the deep icy crater. When he heard your scream, his mouth twisted in a sweet smile.

“Are you sure?”

“God, just please get her out! I’ll do anything, I promise.”

There was a splash, and Taehyung disappeared too. You dragged your leg and crawled towards the hole he had jumped through. Within seconds, he returned, carrying an unconscious Ha Neul in his arms. He looked at you and flashed you a sickly-sweet smile. He had gotten his way.

*****

“Ready?”

Taehyung was lying on his side, hand supporting his head as he looked at you from the bed. His face betrayed no sign of depravity. He looked angelic, bangs brushing his brows as he eyed you eagerly. He was wearing his boxy smile, so bright and joyful that no one could ever guess what a monster he really was.

You were standing a little farther from him, near the little wastebasket in your bedroom. You had been completely defeated. There was no point in rebelling against him. You nodded wearily.

“Do it then.”

Your eyes welled up as you opened the pillbox in your hands, emptying all the pills into the wastebasket. You idly watched all the pills fall in slow motion, it felt like they were taking away your dignity with them. Finally, you tossed the box in, turning to Taehyung and holding up your empty hands.

His smile grew even wider. He stretched his hand out, extending it to you.

“Come here, baby”

You walked into his arms, and he pulled you onto him in a tight embrace. With a deep satisfied sniff, he inhaled the smell of your hair. His palms rubbed soft circles on your back.

“We’re going to have such beautiful babies, darling.”

[ragingpancake]

Times Like These - Ch. 5

Instead of getting better, John only seemed to be getting worse. The headaches were unrelenting, bad enough that more than once, they’d had him sobbing in Teyla’s arms while she stroked his back and whispered comforting words in his ear, trying to ease his pain. When they’d switched out, Ronon replacing Teyla, he’d tried to distract John with stories of Sateda and when that didn’t work, he’d gathered him up, tucked him against his chest and hummed quietly until he fell into a fitful sleep. Rodney, however, stays conspicuously absent. It’s not that he doesn’t want to be there, because he does. Okay, he doesn’t because he hates the infirmary and because John is still Tiny Sheppard, but he does, because… well, because it’s John. But with each passing day, the headaches grow in intensity and Rodney is terrified that if he doesn’t find a way to fix this now, when he does figure it out (and he will, eventually), it’ll be too late. “Rodney.” Her voice startles him and he jerks so violently that he very nearly sends the coffee he’s hardly touched crashing to the floor. He curses loudly and glances up at Teyla almost contritely even though he knows she’s heard worse. “How is he?” He asks and if he feels a little guilty for not going down there himself… well. He just can’t. He’s more useful here, continuing to pour over the database, searching for schematics that’ll allow him to rebuild the damn device or something, anything that he can use to fix John.

“He continues to ask for you,” Teyla says as she comes closer, peering over his shoulder at his laptop. She’s one of the only people he doesn’t mind like this, that he doesn’t try to shoo away, instead turning to computer so she can better see his screen. “Have you found anything?” “Nothing,” he says. “Absolutely nothing, which doesn’t mean anything because the data base is so large and I know there has to be something here, I just--.” There are a million other things that need his attention. There are simulations he needs to run to check for inconsistencies in the power grid to the newly cleared tower on the far west side of the city and there are still strange, intermittent energy readings from different places within the city that he’s delegated Zelenka to because this… this is all he can focus on. “He understands though, right?” Rodney asks, almost hesitantly. “Why I’m not there, I mean.” “I believe so, yes.” She’s quiet for a moment as Rodney taps away. “His headaches are growing worse, Rodney. Each one more painful than the last.” Rodney’s fingers go still. “Ronon and I do not know what to do to comfort him and the medicine Doctor Beckett gives him seems to wear off quickly. I must confess, I do not believe I have ever felt so helpless before.” Something twists in Rodney’s chest and he nods. “Yeah,” he mutters. “Trust me, I know how you feel.” Teyla nods and lifts her hand to rest it against Rodney’s shoulder, squeezing gently. “I must get back to relieve Ronon.” “Teyla,” Rodney calls as the doors slide open and from the corner of his eye, he can see her pause, but he resolutely does not look at her. “Tell him… tell him that I’m going to fix this, okay?” “He already knows. As do we all.” ---- It's sometime after midnight when Rodney steps into the infirmary, laptop tucked under one arm, coffee gripped in the other. It’s quiet tonight, empty save for the lone patient all the way down at the end, the one curled up on his, fingers gripping the leather of Ronon’s pants as the giant pets through his hair. Ronon’s head is tipped back, eyes closed, but as Rodney grows closer, he speaks. “About time you showed up.” “Yes, well,” Rodney says, trying to ignore the light sheen of sweat on John’s face and the rosy cheeks against otherwise pale skin. “…how is he?” “Sick,” Ronon answers. “Scared. Says she’s mad at him.” “… she?” “The city.” At his side, John shifts fitfully, snuffling his nose against Ronon’s leg as Rodney considers, lips turned down in a frown. “What do you mean?” “Dunno,” Ronon says with a shrug, and Rodney knows that the other has never felt it, the way the city thrums beneath them. But he has, courtesy of Carson’s gene therapy and while he always knows it’s there, he always feels it most when he’s with John. There’s no way the city would ever be angry with him, assuming, you know, sentient were with a thing (and Rodney’s not discounting that, he just doesn’t quite have enough proof yet to know for certain), because John Sheppard is the only one she well and truly lights up for. Huh. “Well,” Rodney says and he gestures behind him like he intends to go. “I should--.” “You should stay,” Ronon says instead, eyes still closed. “He’d want you to.” Rodney never could say no where John was concerned but he doesn’t sleep. He can’t, and his eyes burn from the hours, the days he’s spent trying to decipher and decode various parts of the database. There are so many things he’s been neglecting in the pursuit the knowledge of how to fix John and it’s with that thought that he switches over to the main power system to see how Zelenka’s coming along with the data on the unexpected power surges. What he finds makes him curse. He stands quickly, untouched coffee and a quizzical look on Ronon’s face left behind as he hurries to the main control room, bodily moving Amelia out of the way as he sits down, fingers flying over the controls. He lifts his hand, tapping his comm. “McKay to Weir and Zelenka, come in.” “Zelenka here.” “Go ahead, Rodney,” Elizabeth says,

voice thick with sleep. “I need you two to the control room immediately. We might have a problem.”

[laurenwritesfics]

Apologies for the month-long wait! It's finally time for the next chapter!

Read the previous chapter HERE. Read the full series on AO3.

CHAPTER FOUR: FOUND

Frank’s grip on the steering wheel tightened. He let out a long huff before slapping the dashboard, his eyes coming back into focus, the sight of the car hood crumpled against a guard rail jolting him into sobriety. Turning his head, he followed the tire marks to the center of the road, where the other car had swerved. He had just enough room to squeeze himself out the door, after which he attempted to get the other driver’s attention with a concerned wave. No response.

Walking forward, squinting in the glare of the headlights, the tightness in his chest subsided when he saw the woman behind the wheel, unhurt and breathing heavily. She was clearly just as shaken up as he was. With a light tap of a knuckle against the glass, he encouraged her to open the window. Their eyes met. There was no anger in them, only the softness that comes before an apology. Frank beat her to the punch.

“Fuck, I’m so sorry. Are you okay?” He scratched the back of his neck nervously.

“I’m fine. I’m sorry too, I should’ve noticed you sooner.”

“You had your lights on. I didn’t. It’s my fault. Do you want me to call an ambulance? I wanna do something.” There was a hint of panic in his tone.

“It’s fine, really. I appreciate it, though.” She gave him a small smile and Frank stepped back as she got out the car.

“At the very least I should give you my details, y’know, for insurance purposes.” He fumbled in his pockets for a non-existent pen. Then he pulled out his phone.

“No problem.” The woman unlocked her phone, pulling up her contacts. “My house isn’t too far from here so I guess it could have been worse, right? We’re not stranded out in the middle of nowhere.”

“I guess you’re right,” Frank shook his head lightly in agreement “so what name am I putting in here?”

“Lucy Montgomery.”

Frank tapped out her name and then shook her hand. “Frank Adler. If you need someone to look at the car, I’m actually a mechanic – I could save you a couple hundred bucks.”

Lucy tilted her head skeptically. “If I had a couple hundred bucks for every time a guy said something like that…”

“It’s true, I swear. Look,” Frank scrolled through pictures of his workshop until he reached a picture of the Celestia “this is what I’m currently working on.”

Lucy crossed her arms and scrunched her lips. “Okay, I’ll admit that’s kinda impressive. Do you do this all by yourself?”

“Yeah. This one’s for a dentist in Coral Gables, so if you don’t want me to fix up your car I’ll happily pay for everything.” He was half-joking.

“Nice to see chivalry isn’t dead.” Lucy quipped. “So how come you were out here in the dark anyway?”

Frank was leaning against the roof of Lucy’s car, one hand on his hip. “My niece’s cat went missing. Then she did too. I’ve been out looking for both of them all day.”

“Oh shit, I’m sorry. Kids are impulsive like that aren’t they?”

“You got that right. Mary’s obsessed with Fred. He’s the only friend she’s got.”

“Anything I can do to help?”

“I don’t wanna put this on you-“ he started, but Lucy cut in.

“No, you offered to help me, so I’m doing the same. Do you have a picture of her?”

Frank nodded, tilting the phone towards Lucy. “She’s a real smart kid. I don’t think she’s lost, just angry.”

“I get that. I’ll keep a lookout and let you know if I see anything.”

“Thanks.” Frank pushed off the side of the car and moved around to the hood. “Y’know I could look at this right now. Probably get you back on the road before FDOT. And I’m offering friends discount…” he wiggled his eyebrows playfully.

“What is that exactly?”

“Usually half off. But for you, no charge. This time anyway.”

“This time? Are you planning on crashing into me again?”

“Not at all. I just mean I can do a better job for less, if you want me to.”

“Huh,” Lucy clicked her tongue “well if you say we’re friends, then I can’t pass it up.”

“For insurance purposes, obviously.”

“Obviously.”

They grinned at each other, then Frank popped the hood and began his inspection.

“You got somebody you can call at home? Just in case I’ve gotta take this into the shop.”

“I’ll figure it out. It looks like you know what you’re doing, so I’m not worried about that right now.”

“So you trust a stranger?” Frank feigned shock.

“I thought we were friends? Friends trust each other.”

“Good to hear.” He paced along the side and crouched to inspect a dent near one of the tail lights. “Looks like we caught each other at the back here. I can bang that right out. No problem. What d’ya say? It’s the least I can do.”

Lucy’s eyes darted from the road to Frank. “The Road Ranger’s here. I think he’s gonna want to take care of it.”

Unbeknownst to Frank, Lucy had called roadside assistance the moment the accident had happened. They rolled up alongside a police cruiser, and both the Road Ranger and an officer walked over. They stopped at Frank’s car first. Frank got up and headed over, ready to negotiate. But there are only so many times the line ‘it’s okay, I’m a mechanic’ can get you out of trouble. Of the two of them, Frank’s car was the only one that wasn’t fit for the road. He was the one who had to find another way home.

As his car was getting inspected, he dialed, first tapping out a text to a friend who took no time at all to offer to take care of Frank’s car. For now, there was no more he could do.

“Hey Roberta, got into a bit of trouble. Can you come pick me up?”

Roberta didn’t ask what kind of trouble he meant. She agreed right away.

Perched on the guard rail, Frank tossed his phone back and forth in his hands as he waited. He cast a glance over at Lucy, who was giving a statement about the accident. It surprised Frank how quickly she walked away. He hoped she hadn’t decided to take the blame.

“Are you sure you don’t wanna ride with us?”

“Us?” Lucy’s eyes narrowed curiously.

“My neighbor Roberta. She looks after Mary a lot. She’s great. I don’t know what I’d do without her sometimes.”

“That’s so nice, I’m glad there’s someone you can call on for support. It must be tough being just the two of you.”

Frank sighed. “It can be. But Mary’s like a little old woman in a kid’s body. She’s so wise, resilient, Diane did a great job bringing her up.” There was a tinge of melancholy in his voice.

Lucy sat beside him. “Diane?” She attempted to meet his gaze. “Oh, God, I shouldn’t-” she stuttered “if I’ve overstepped….you don’t have to talk about it.”

Frank shook his head. “No, it’s okay. Diane was my sister. She died.” This was all he could bring himself to say. Lucy wasn’t prying, but the wound left by Frank’s grief was still too fresh, and a sharp pang of sadness shot through him at the thought of exposing it. He slipped his phone back into his pocket and wrung his hands together, head bowed a little.

“I’m so sorry. Mary sounds like a wonderful little girl, so I imagine Diane was just as wonderful.” Lucy laid a hand on Frank’s shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze.

“She was.”

Their eyes finally met. They sat in comfortable silence for a few long minutes before the glare of headlights grew brighter. Roberta pulled up and Frank stood, eyes flitting over to the Road Ranger.

“I guess this is you?” Lucy gestured to the car and then shoved her hands in her pockets as the evening breeze tickled her exposed skin.

“Last chance if you want a ride.”

She hesitated for a moment and then turned on her heels. “Let me go talk to the Road Ranger. I’ll be back in a minute.”

Roberta’s window slid down. “I went out for a drive to the beach and found a pearl…” Roberta pointed to the back seat.

Frank leaned in and saw Mary, slumped and frowning. He pushed back, laid his head on the cool window frame and muttered “Thank fuck.”

For once, Mary didn’t chastise Frank and demand a dollar. She sat up straight, gripping the top of Roberta’s seat as Lucy approached the car.

Frank opened the passenger door, stretching across to open the other for Lucy.

“This had better be a real good story, kiddo.”

“I don’t wanna talk about it anymore.” Mary stared absently through the window at the trees that billowed softly in the wind. “Can we just go home?”

“We sure can. We just have to drop this lady home first.” Frank adjusted the overhead mirror to give Lucy a reassuring smile. She smiled back and adjusted her seat belt.

Mary scanned her face. “Did you hit Uncle Frank’s car or did he hit you?”

Roberta stifled a laugh.

“Neither. We both swerved. Unfortunately Frank was the one who took a hit, but we’re fine.”

Roberta pressed her lips into a concerned line. “I think you should both get checked out at the hospital. Don’t wanna take any chances.”

“If anything changes, I’ll go there tomorrow.” Frank patted Roberta’s hand. “Don’t worry about it.”

“I’m not hurt, just a little shaken up. I’ll be fine after I’ve rested.” Lucy reassured her.

“If you’re sure…” Roberta gave them both a stern look. She was acting like a mother again. “Where am I taking you?”

“I live over on Jackson. It’s not too far, just past the library.”

“Uh-oh, she said library.” Roberta quipped, noticing the way Mary perked up a little. “This one loves books.”

“Y’know,” Lucy looked across at Mary “I work at the library, so if you wanna stop by sometime I can recommend some really cool books.” She caught Frank’s eye in the mirror. “We have a kids group every Saturday.”

Mary winced at the word. “I’m not a kid. I’m just me.”

“Hey, watch your tone,” Roberta admonished “this lady’s being nice.”

“Sorry.” Mary mumbled.

“It’s okay.” Lucy twisted slightly to face her. “I get it, I’m a stranger, it’s weird. You don’t have to come if you don’t want to.”

“It’s a nice thought, so thank you.” Frank reached over to tap Mary’s leg. “Mary, what do you say?”

“Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome. And it’s nice to meet the girl I’ve heard so much about.”

Mary cocked her head. “Really?”

“Yeah, Frank told me all about how awesome you are – and brave – you must really love your cat to go out looking for him for days on end like that.”

“Uncle Frank told you about Fred?”

“He did. Wanna tell me a little more about him?”

“He only has one eye and he’s my best friend.” Mary said matter-of-factly. Frank coughed loudly. “Okay, Roberta and Uncle Frank are pretty cool too I guess.”

“Seems like it.” Lucy chuckled. The library passed them by and Lucy directed Roberta down Jackson Road. “Alrighty, this is me. Thank you so much for doing this.”

“No problem.” Frank and Roberta said in unison.

“It was nice meeting you, Mary. And you too, Roberta.” She got out and proffered a hand. “If I need any help with the car I’ll be sure to give you a call.”

With a brief handshake and a bright wave, the hectic night was finally over.

Permanent taglist: @hiddelstannerbarnes @redlipstickandblacktea @just-one-ordinary-fangirl @optimistic-dinosaur-nacho @djeniiscorner @its-tortle @k347 @iguessweallcrazyithinktho @cevansfics @capchrisevaans @hawkeyeandthewintersoldier @musette22 @mcubabydotcom @worksby-d @chuckbass-love @bluemusickid @fallinforevans @hellobeautworld @katiew1973 @just-dreaming-marvel @disaster-dean @rebthom89 @navybrat817​ @just-dreaming-marvel-2​ @denisemarieangelina​ @thesecretlifeofdaydreamss​ @brattycherubwrites​ @cherrychris​ @celestialbarnes​​ @the-iceni-bitch​ @caplanbuckybarnes​​ @caplanreads​​ @autumnrose40​ @patzammit​ @hevans-angel​​ @elvenfforestydd​ @harrysthiccthighss​ @cherry-gemz​​ @brattycherub​ @brattycherubwrites​ @angrybirdcr @hlkwrites @stargazingfangirl18 @buckybarnes101 @bigsisromanoff @cloudystevie @steebsbabygirl @divine-mistake @foodieforthoughts @thetaoofzoe

[arvandus]

Touch Pt 7

Pairing: Dabi x Fem!Reader

WARNINGS: 18+ only please!  Drug abuse/withdrawal, adult language/themes, heavy angst, past trauma/abuse, anxiety/panic attacks, PTSD, fluff, pining, slow burn, eventual emotional SMUT. *please pay attention to the chapter tags as these warnings will apply at different times*

Synopsis: When you first joined the LOV to lend your healing quirk, Dabi  terrified you.  Not interested in attachments, he wanted to keep it  that way.  That is, until he needs your help. (Slow burn, soft Dabi).

Chapter warning: Another long chapter everyone!  Thanks so much for your patience. Trigger warnings: emotional numbness, sensory overload, PTSD-like symptoms (anxiety, fear, nighmares/flashbacks).

Recommended Chapter Song: Paralyzed by NF

Part 1   Part 6

Artwork credit to @hellowon31 on Twitter (https://twitter.com/hellowon31)

Part 7 – Aftermath

Dabi woke from a dreamless sleep, his body stiff.  Disorientation fogged his mind as he tried to place where he was, his eyes bleary.  The view of his window, the dark curtains hanging with a heavy stillness, came into focus as his blurred vision dissipated.  The angle of them seemed… off.  He turned his head slightly, the metal frame of his bed level with his gaze.

He sat up, his hand cradling his head, as he took in his surroundings.  He was on the floor, a pillow behind him where his head had rested.  His blanket was a messy heap next to him.  He had no recollection of how he ended up there.

Dabi stared around his room, noting the time of day from the light through the window – mid-afternoon. There were items scattered around his room.  Water bottles everywhere, a box of crackers on his nightstand, a ripe banana on his desk that was covered in little brown spots, and cans of soup.

Hunger hit Dabi like a truck, the need for food primal.  He pushed himself up off the floor and opened one of the cans of soup, drinking straight from the container.  It was lukewarm, but it didn’t matter.  He followed it up with the banana, gone in a matter of seconds.  There was no joy in the food; just a basic need to quell the emptiness in his gut. He grabbed a water bottle and quenched his thirst

Then, he sat on the edge of his bed, and did… nothing.  His eyes stared ahead in a dead gaze.

Time lost its meaning. Existence meant nothing.  He sat, unmoving, his mind frozen, thoughts empty. 

Minutes passed into hours.

It wasn’t until dusk began to fall that something began to shift in him.    Awareness slowly crept on him, his consciousness dragged out of a grey bog.  Time gradually returned, and a single thought surfaced in his mind.

Something was wrong. Something was… missing, but he couldn’t place it.

He looked around his room with empty eyes, seeing everything but observing nothing.  It was his room.  He knew that.  But nothing in it mattered.

He stared at the box of crackers on his nightstand.

Something… happened.  Last night. He tried to recall what it was.  Half-formed images floated to the surface of his mind, hazy and blurred.  Pills swirling down a toilet, a lake dock, sitting on the floor of his shower, your face.

He looked down at his clothes.  Was this what he was wearing before?  It didn’t seem right.

More images drifted to the surface. His bathroom door framed in yellow light.  A water bottle. Your hands.  It was like having mismatching puzzle pieces, with half of the box missing.  Nothing quite fit together, and he couldn’t remember what the picture looked like.

Before he could dwell on them, deeper, more ingrained images came to his mind.  His mother’s face.  His father’s eyes.  Dabi’s mind paused, focusing on them, waiting for a reaction that never came.  For the first time, they stirred nothing in him.

Realization slowly dawned.

He just didn’t care.

Dabi felt nothing. For anything. He was dead inside, his soul a black void where emotions were supposed to be. Even his rage was silenced – the one thing he never let go of, the one thing that defined him.  But now, he felt not even that.  He had no purpose, no intentions, no motivation.

He sat silently, aware of what was missing, and yet the severity of his predicament eluded him without his emotions to guide him.  His mind was intact, but it was a barren wasteland, devoid of color and meaning.  Thoughts still ran through his mind, but they were only facts, script on a page.  Perhaps he should be concerned. Or maybe even elated, no longer weighed down by his demons. But instead, he felt what could only be described as a gaping maw of emptiness.  He could feel the pull of it, a heavy gravity that needed to be filled with something he didn’t have and couldn’t find.

Why?  Why was he not feeling anything?

Had he finally gone insane? His mind so broken that he’d officially shut down?  He’d gone through withdrawal before, but nothing as severe as last night.  But even despite all he’d been through, he’d never been able to completely turn off his feelings like this, especially without drugs.

No, this was something else entirely.

Dabi sat there in silence, taking in every sensation, every aspect of his physical self.  It had been probably over twelve hours since he threw up the pills he stole.  He should still be struggling with the pain of his scars and the withdrawal.  But there was nothing.  There was no pain at all.  He stared at his hand as his eyes followed the staples along the bottom of his palm.  A vague memory of your fingers brushing along his skin drifted up from the cloudy depths. The faint echo of your voice followed.

‘Let me help you.’

This…emptiness…must have something to do with you.  It was the only explanation that made any sense.  Maybe if he talked to you, perhaps you could explain it to him.  Maybe then he’d understand.  Maybe you could fix it.

Then maybe… this emptiness would go away.

But Dabi couldn’t find the motivation to get up.  Instead, he stayed rooted to his bed, his eyes taking in his surroundings a second time.

His bathroom door was open, and he could see the toilet and sink from where he sat.  Flashes of memory flitted through his mind before he could barely register them.  The sight of the toilet bowl filling his vision, partially dissolved pills floating in yellow bile.  Pills falling from his cupped hands, clattering across the floor.  The memory of sitting on his shower floor returned, this time accompanied by the sound of someone humming.

So many broken pieces…

He spotted the hamper, filled with dirty towels; some of them weren’t his.  Another memory trickled forth, clearer this time – sitting on the toilet, a towel over his shoulders while someone – no, you – dried his hair for him.

‘I won’t look.’

Another piece of the puzzle. But where did it fit in the twisted, spotty timeline of last night? It must have been after the shower.  And the humming… did you sing to him?  Or was that part a dream?  Some of them had to have been dreams, or maybe hallucinations. His mother, for example, wearing a white dress.  His mind began sorting fact from fiction, and slowly the story started to take shape.  The vomiting was first; he had stolen your pills. That much he could remember – it was the clearest.  Then came… the shower, perhaps.  Then you must have dressed him and treated his scars.  What happened after that? He couldn’t seem to remember.  All that kept coming to mind was his father’s eyes.

Dabi sat with the stillness of a statue while his mind continued to dissect what he remembered, his original plan of seeking you out momentarily forgotten.  The more he thought about it, the more he realized – you were there through everything.  You were there for the vomiting. You had showered him, dried him, and dressed him. You cleaned up after him, and made sure food and water were brought in for him.  You even used your quirk to help with his pain.  Each piece of the puzzle somehow connected back to you. You were there for every moment, every step.

You never gave up on him.

Something deep within him began to stir, a part of himself that was normally kept under lock and key by the dark parts of himself.  It was something he had very little experience with, an emotion that hadn’t seen the light of day since he was a young boy.  A… warmth.  It came slowly, timidly, barely recognizable at first, disguised as a gentle ease in the set of his shoulders and the smallest curve of his stoic lips. 

Whatever you had done with your quirk was starting to wear off.  Dabi was starting to feel again.

The warmth trickled in, the only thing that could fill that empty chasm in himself, and he clung to it in desperate need. Life was beginning to have meaning again… he had meaning. Before, nothing mattered.  Now, everything mattered.

When was the last time someone had looked out for him so selflessly the way that you did?  How long were you with him?  The entire night?  His mind played over the memories of you that he could recall.  You were gentle.  You were patient.  You stayed because you cared and because despite what he’d done, you knew that he needed you.

The warmth continued to grow, bringing a sense of safety that he didn’t know was absent before.  It settled itself comfortably upon his heart like a dove, as if it had always belonged there, the soft gentleness of it stunning him to the point of breathlessness. 

For the first time in forever, he felt… loved.

The trickle became a stream, and the stream became a river. His heart tightened, his breaths coming out in heavy gasps.  He was so consumed by the impact of what he felt, that it wasn’t until he felt the droplets falling onto the backs of his palms that he realized he was crying.  He welcomed it, letting the waves crash over him, the turbulent force of this single emotion reaching every dark crevice that ever existed in his labyrinthine heart.  It consumed him in its purity, unfettered by the darkness that normally lurked in his soul.

A heavy need forced itself to the forefront of his mind, to seek out the source of this emotion, the reason for its existence.  He knew it instantly – it was you.  He wanted to see you, to be in your presence and hear your voice.  He wanted to see you smile.  He wanted to feel your touch, not for your quirk, but simply to feel the softness of your hands, to feel wanted, to know that he was worth touching.  He wanted to touch you too, to wrap his arms around you and feel your warmth, to press his forehead against yours and…

Dabi hesitated, his heart pounding wildly in his chest as his tears dried on his cheeks.  What is this??

He wanted….

He wanted you.

When did that happen?

Had it always been there, lurking, going unnoticed in the noise inside his head?  Or was this new, something bred from a single night of hardship and selfless dedication?

In that moment, it didn’t matter.  Dabi stood up from his bed.  He needed to see you, to talk to you.  What would he say?  For the first time, he didn’t know, words failing him for an emotion he’d never felt before.

Something on the floor under the edge of his bed caught his eye.  It was just barely visible, but he noticed it immediately, its whiteness contrasting with his dark wood flooring.  He bent down and picked it up, staring at the item. It was a white pill bottle, medication for insomnia.

A new memory – the sound of items falling onto the floor, crashing and clattering loudly.

Did you spill your bag last night? 

‘You just want to keep the pills for yourself.’

Dabi froze, his eyes wide. That was his voice.  Did he say that to you? The words were sharp, dripping with contempt and barely contained rage.  It was a jarring contrast to what he was feeling now.

He dropped the pill bottle as if it burned him.  It clattered loudly on the floor, and the sound of it rattled loose another piece of the puzzle.

‘where did you put it??’

His voice again.  Demanding.  Angry. Threatening.  He saw your face, exhausted, wet tears on your cheeks, eyes wide with fear.

What had he done??

Something snapped inside himself, a realization.  Nausea washed over him, sinking deep into the pit of his stomach.  It flooded the warmth he had felt before, tainting it.

Shame.

Shame at how his addiction controlled him; shame that you had to suffer because of him; shame at his affection for you, as if he had any right after what he did.  It began to consume him, morphing into a towering black cloud of guilt, its dark shadow beckoning other emotions from the depths like haunting creatures.

Dabi grabbed his head in his hands and collapsed to the floor on his knees as more emotions were set free, released by your fading quirk like guard dogs freed of their chains. The emotions came and trampled over him with sharp claws and heavy paws.  With jagged teeth, they ripped apart at the happiness he had felt minutes prior and tore into his vulnerability.

Humiliation. 

Humiliation that you had to baby him, wash him and dress him like an infant, and scold him like a child.  Humiliation that he needed you simply because he wasn’t able to handle this on his own.

Disgust.

Disgust with his lack of self-control, disgust with his own fragility.  Disgust at his feelings towards you, and the vulnerability they opened up in him, a vulnerability he couldn’t afford and didn’t want. He had cried just minutes before, overcome by emotion and all because of you.  He didn’t even know he had the capacity for tears anymore.  He recoiled from it, a sour taste in his mouth. 

Finally, anger.

Anger at your sacrificial ways, at how willing you were to put yourself in harm’s way for a man you didn’t know, a man who didn’t deserve it.  Anger at himself for giving in to your kindness and letting you get close. And anger… anger at everything. This fucked up situation, his fucked-up life, his fucked-up family and the fucked-up world they were all a part of. His mind rolled over the dark thoughts like a hard candy melting on the tongue.  It was bittersweet.  Tainted.

Addicting.

Even as the sinister emotions destroyed him, he welcomed it, embracing them for their familiarity, donning them like an old suit made just for him.

Dabi was himself again.

His eyes roamed around his room, taking it all in – the food on the desk, the makeshift bed, the pile of towels in his hamper, the abandoned white pill bottle on the floor.  You were everywhere he looked. Now, all he could think about when he thought of you was that last and final memory he could recall - your exhausted, scared, crying face – and all he could feel was the maelstrom of negative emotions tied together by the thick chain of guilt.  It weighed heavily on the newfound feeling of affection that hummed stubbornly under his skin, ever present.

Dabi closed his eyes against it.

He had to get out of here, far away from the presence of you and the cage of memories. He needed to clear his head so he could think.  He quickly stood up and dressed himself, before grabbing his coat from the back of his chair and rushing out of his bedroom.  He shrugged it on as he passed your door, forcing himself to keep his eyes in front of him.  

His feet carried him down the indoor stairwell, old and reeking of piss.  His boots pounded quickly down each step until he came out into the old lounge and bar, the only common space for the old, run-down hotel building. There, the other League members sat, watching the news over a game of cards.

Shigaraki glanced up at him as he entered.  “You look like shit.”

“Fuck you too.” Dabi replied.

Twice chimed in.  “Shouldn’t you be in bed??  We don’t want your germs!”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Dabi grumbled, halting briefly as he grabbed an energy drink from the fridge.

“You were sick as a dog last night.” Mr. Compress explained.

“Yeah. We all heard you.” Spinner chimed in. Magne and Twice nodded in agreement.

Dabi scoffed. “I’m fine.” He opened the can and took a swig.

Toga stood up and got uncomfortably close into Dabi’s personal space, feeling his forehead with her hand.  “Are you sure?  Y/N said you had the flu.”

Dabi felt annoyance bubble in his veins at the invasion. “Yeah, you know what, I am feeling a little nauseous.  I think I might throw up.”

Toga visibly paled and instantly backed away; she hated vomit. 

“Hey!” Spinner interjected. “Take it somewhere else!  You already got Y/N sick, we don’t need you spreading it to the rest of us.”

“What?” Dabi demanded.

Toga returned to her seat at the table.  “She hasn’t come out of her room all day.  I texted her to see if she was okay and she said she was sick too.”

Magne folded her cards down on the table and peered at Dabi over her sunglasses.  “You two sure have been spending a lot of time together…”

“What is this, high school? She’s been helping me with an injury I got on the job.” Dabi replied.  “No different from the rest of you.”

Magne reclined in her seat and took a sip from her glass. “I think she has a crush on you.  She gets flustered every time I bring you up.”

“Ew! On Dabi??” Toga scrunched up her nose. 

“What’s the matter, Toga? Jealous?” Dabi mocked.

“Why would I be jealous when I have Izuku and Ochako?” Toga said with a dreamy sigh. 

Dabi rolled his eyes at her. She was completely delusional.

Dabi’s scars on his ankles began to itch and burn.  While the others wasted his precious time with their blathering, your quirk was gradually wearing off.  It’d only be a matter of time before he’d have to come seek you out again for your help. He clenched his jaw, feeling his teeth grind from the pressure.  It was the last thing he wanted.

“I’m outta here. I got better shit to do than listen to your shitty gossip.” Dabi commented as he made his way towards the back entrance.

“Keep a low profile.” Shigaraki ordered.  “We’ve got a meeting with the Shie Hassaikai coming up soon.  We don’t want to draw unwanted attention to ourselves.”

Dabi didn’t even bother to turn around as he gave a half-assed wave, the door closing behind him.

“Someone’s a little touchy…” Mr. Compress commented in amusement.

Magne let loose a huge grin. “He didn’t deny it.”

“Deny what?” Twice asked.

“That she has a crush on him.”

“Aww, do you think he likes her back?” Toga asked dreamily.  “That’d be so sweet.”

“The man could use a little love in his life.” Twice chimed in.  “He should totally hit that.”

“Dabi doesn’t like anyone but himself.” Compress commented.

“Nah, he��s just super committed to Stain’s mission.  The man’s got dedication.  I respect that.” Spinner replied.

“Of course you do.” Compress replied.

“Hey, what’s that supposed to mean??” Spinner demanded.

“You’re the biggest Stain fanboy I know.”

While the others continued to bicker and laugh, Shigaraki stared at the back door in silence.

 ------

Dabi inhaled a deep breath of cool air as soon as he stepped out of the building.  He hadn’t bothered to don a hoodie this time, since it wouldn’t make much difference for this seedy, poor neighborhood.  Heroes rarely patrolled here, and the ones who were assigned to this area were lower level heroes and newbies.  It was a steppingstone towards more “respectable” hero work, where the neighborhoods were less impoverished, and more money could be made.

Dabi let his feet carry him down the sidewalk, sticking to smaller side streets and dark alleyways. He didn’t care where he went, only that he needed to move his body; anything to distract from the creeping fade of your quirk while he dealt with the whirlwind of thoughts in his increasingly aching head.

Magne’s teasing words floated in his head, bouncing around like mosquito that needed to be squashed.

You had a crush on him.

Dabi hated how the words made his heart pound faster, the suggestion blossoming the smallest seed of hope in his chest.  Dabi crushed it with a scoff.  That might have been true before, but after what transpired last night, he wouldn’t be surprised if you slammed the door in his face.

The energy drink in Dabi’s hand lost its flavor, and he chucked it into the nearest trashcan. 

It was for the best.  He didn’t need any attachments, especially now that he’d finally managed to find a place where he dreams could finally be realized.  The last thing he wanted was to be diverted by something he couldn’t have; and even if he could have it (yeah fucking right), it wouldn’t last.  What would be the fucking point?

That was what he tried to tell himself, but the thoughts rang with an empty hollowness.  Instead, the only response he could find was the itchy discomfort of guilt mingling with his desire to be near you.  It filled him with a painful longing that he couldn’t control, not without his drugs to numb them.  The more he tried to ignore it, the more it nagged at him until a new emotion began to creep out of hiding.

Fear. 

Fear at losing you.

Dabi nearly faltered in his steps.

Lose you?  He never even had you to begin with.

There was no undoing what he’d done; he’d hurt you, that much he was sure.  He’d stolen from you and spewed his anger at you… and that was just from what he could remember.

A new fear, heavier and darker, blossomed like fire in his gut as his mind focused on that single thought.

What he could remember…

How far did he go?

Toga’s voice played in his mind.  ‘She hasn’t come out of her room all day.’

He knew you weren’t sick, because he wasn’t sick.  So, if you truly refused to come out of your room, was it because you were just exhausted? Or were you scared of running into him?  Were you tucked away in your room, nursing wounds that he was responsible for, wounds that others could see? 

Did he hit you? Burn you? The uncertainty made Dabi’s blood run cold. He didn’t know.  He couldn’t remember. 

Dabi knew he wasn’t a good person.  He walked a thin line between ruthless vengeance and vigilante justice, casting judgment on others and killing without shame.  He was fueled by his anger, keeping it in check by the thinnest of morality – don’t hurt children. 

Even when the Vanguard attacked the training camp, he never directly hurt any of the kids, even if they were training to become heroes.  Sure, he led others with more violent tendencies than his own, but that wasn’t his responsibility, right? He focused his efforts on distracting the teachers so they could get their targets.

Dabi gave himself a dry scoff.  Who was he kidding… if push came to shove, he would kill them; sure they were technically kids still, but they were swiftly entering adulthood, and just as responsible for the choices they made as he was at that age. They chose to be a part of that life; auditioned for it, even.

But children?  Small kids, who had yet to figure out the world?  He drew his line there.

Don’t kill kids.  But everyone else… everyone else was fair game, because everyone was guilty. Everyone had their hand to play in supporting the lie that was hero society and the damage it wrought – they were all culpable.

But you were different, right?  You weren’t a part of hero society, not anymore. That’s why you were with the League. So, you should have been safe.  But if his rage became unchained, his delicate moral center muted by desperation and pain, then there was no telling what he would do.  He already knew he had that capacity for violence.  It had never bothered him before, not once. 

Not until now. Now, it scared him.

Too many missing pieces.

He knew his rage was a wild beast and wasn’t easily tamed, yet he saw no evidence of its destruction.  On the contrary, he’d woken up on his floor with a pillow under his head.  Nothing in his room was burned, and even more telling was the fact that whatever had transpired, you’d somehow managed to make sure he was comfortable, tidied up his space a little bit, and collected your things.  If he was that angry, that desperate, how did you manage to calm him down?

Maybe you had knocked him out before he reached that point.  He wasn’t sure… he couldn’t feel any lumps or bruises on his head, but then again, your quirk was still in effect.  Or maybe you’d used your quirk somehow.  Could it even be used for that?

Or maybe it never happened at all… maybe those things he said to you weren’t real, and that image of you that was ingrained in his mind was nothing more than a nightmare.  He could only hope...

One thing was certain…

You’d stayed.  You stayed until he was unconscious, only leaving when you knew he was safe from himself.  If he really had hurt you like he’d feared, the evidence he woke up to would have shown a different story.  But there was nothing, no indication of violence.  The slightest bit of relief washed over him.  Maybe he wasn’t a complete monster after all.  Still, he wanted to see you, just to be sure.  He needed to make sure you were alright.

This brought forth a fear of a different kind. He was now painfully aware of how much he cared for you, and it scared him.  Agony was slowly creeping over his body, his legs now burning and stinging as if covered in fire ants, yet all he could think about was whether or not you were okay.  He could tolerate the physical pain, at least for the moment. What he couldn’t tolerate was the cyclone of emotions that stirred in him, some of them new, some of them old. Some of them about you, some of them about him… and some… some of them about his family.  After all, when was the last time he felt cared for?

Dabi didn’t want to think about it.  All he wanted was to tune it all out like he’d done for years.  Except this time, tuning them out was proving to be especially difficult.  Dabi normally had his drugs to help him with that part; they let him float in an almost euphoric numbness, letting only the most powerful of emotions through, most typically anger, but sometimes glee, particularly if he was finding his work especially satisfying.  This time though, he was on his own, with your quickly fading quirk and his own self-control his only tools.

A new wave of pain began to overtake him as he began to feel the pain of his scars along his sides. He faltered for a moment, ducking into an alleyway to clutch his core with his arms, as he sucked in sharp breaths through his clenched teeth.  His muscles began to ache as well. 

He was already out and about.  Maybe he could find someone during his walk… a dealer.  The streets were rife with them at this hour.  There had to be something out there that would be strong enough to fix his predicament, right?  Something that didn’t involve you.

The idea died as quickly as it had sprung up.  Dabi had already betrayed your trust once.  Doing so again, after all you’d done for him, would be the nail in the coffin. He was desperate, but not that desperate.

Not yet, at least.  If he took too long getting back to you, then that could easily change.

He was running out of time. He’d have to go back soon, but he didn’t want to, not yet.  He didn’t want to show up at your door, with only weak apologies in one hand and shame in the other, pitiful gifts compared to what you’d given him.  He was shitty with words when they really mattered, and he knew there was nothing he could say or do that could remedy the damage he’d done.  But he needed you, and deep down, despite the conflicting emotions he struggled with, he cared what you thought about him – a fact that wasn’t easy for him to recognize let alone admit to himself.  He wanted you to know that even though he was an asshole, even if you might not want to have anything more to do with him, he was still grateful for what you’d done.

Dabi needed to find a solution.  He wouldn’t return without one. 

 ------

You felt like crap. Exhaustion pulled at you from every angle, your body weak.  At least your scar no longer hurt.  Sleep had descended on you quickly, but it was anything but restful; the pain of your scar had made you drift in and out of consciousness, with no relief to be found. When you did sleep, the pain brought forth confusing nightmares made of mixed memories.  Two pairs of angry, ocean blues eyes haunted you in your dreams, melding together into a single menacing glare, burning you from the inside out.  Orange flames licked at your skin, and you had woken up panting, covered in sweat.  Nausea washed over you, forcing you from your bed to throw up in the bathroom, your body wracked with shivers.

The rest of the day was spent in and out of bed, trying to rest and forget everything but not being able to.  Nausea gave way to hunger, but you couldn’t bring yourself to leave your room.  Your nightmares were too fresh in your brain, and you were afraid of running into Dabi, to see his blue eyes and see someone else, an angry, harsh face wreathed in flame and red hair.  Instead, you ate the granola bar that had been in your bag and drank the bottled water you always had on hand.  It helped for a little while, and you lingered in your room, answering your texts from Toga on your phone and trying to find something, anything to distract you.  You knew it’d only be a matter of time before Dabi came to knock on your door needing your help, and you didn’t want your trauma to get in the way of helping him, not after all you’d been through.

Of course, that was even if he decided to come to you anymore.  There was no telling how much he remembered or what he thought or felt.  You had heard his door open and close earlier in the day, heard the sound of his quick footsteps pass your door.  Your heart had pounded in trepidation, afraid he’d come to you before you were ready, and you couldn’t help but feel somewhat ashamed at being scared of him.

You didn’t want to fear him, but you did.  You had found yourself in the crosshairs of his anger last night, and for the briefest of moments you were genuinely afraid for your safety.  Your hands rubbed at where he had grabbed you.  There were no bruises thankfully, but you could feel the ache where his fingers had wrapped around your arms and squeezed. 

A part of you was angry, too.  Angry that Dabi had let himself get to that point, angry that he had lost control. You tried not to be – you knew you couldn’t really understand the level of suffering he was going through, and he quite literally wasn’t in his right mind when it happened.  But you couldn’t help it; you felt wronged.  You’d given so much of yourself, and each step of the way you were either met with betrayal, resistance, or anger.

Your anger wasn’t just with him, though; it was with yourself.  Why did you even let yourself get wrapped up in this?  Treating his wound is one thing; but helping him with his addiction?

You sighed.  The answer was simple: you hated to see him suffer.

Maybe it was your savior complex.  Or maybe it was the unspoken attraction you had for him. It wasn’t just physical… that part was obvious.  But there was more to him, a complexity beneath his cocky, sarcastic exterior that kept pulling you in like a moth to the flame. You could see it in his eyes when he had moments of silence, moments when he thought you weren’t looking or thought you couldn’t read his body language.  He was guarded and isolated, fueled by a motivation that was slowly destroying him. And yet… for whatever reason, he had decided to trust you, to accept your help and let you in, to help guide him through something incredibly personal.  Perhaps it was just out of desperation; it wasn’t like he had a lot of options.  But you couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something more to it.

Maybe Dabi was lonely.

Your anger slowly reduced from a boil to a simmer.  This wasn’t over; you couldn’t turn your back on him, not after all you’d both been through, not after he put his trust in you. You knew that if he knocked on your door that you’d answer it.

The fear, however… the fear lingered.  You still had to see if tonight was any better, if the hybrid treatment of your quirk and your meds were enough to help him endure his suffering until he got what he really needed.  What if it didn’t work?  Your stomach dropped at the thought.  You couldn’t survive another night like last night.  You knew you couldn’t.  Not with your own trauma lurking over your shoulder and your inability to fall back on your own medications to help you through it.  You were a giving person, but even you had your limits.

It wasn’t until dark blue dusk quickly began to surrender to evening that you finally decided to brave the confines of your room.  Your stomach was eating a hole in itself, and you knew your body needed energy if you were going to treat Dabi again tonight.

You pulled yourself out of your bed, slipping your feet into your slippers before making your way to the door.  You opened it up and nearly jumped out of your skin as Dabi’s unexpected presence filled your exit, one hand stretched out to knock, the other holding a white plastic bag that smelled suspiciously of food.

Your eyes locked with his instantly, and for the briefest of moments, the fear you had been trying to bury sprung forth, freezing you in place.  His eyes really did look like Endeavor’s.  How had you never noticed it before?  It was almost uncanny.  But before you could dwell on it further, Dabi’s voice cut through your mind.

“Hey.” He said. It was just a single word, but something in his tone made it lasso around your soul and pulled you back to the present.  It didn’t hold its usual taunt, and the anger that you’d heard last night was now complete absent.  If anything, he sounded… contrite.  Fear melted away for the moment, slithering into the back of your mind like a snake where it planned to make a home for itself.

“Hey.” You replied, lowering your eyes to focus on the details of his jacket.  Anything to not look him in the eyes again, at least not yet.  The cerulean blueness of them was too intense. 

Dabi noticed instantly, of course, and even though he expected as much, he was surprised at how much it stung him.  “I brought ramen.” He stated, holding up the bag as evidence.

Ramen.  Of all the things he decided to bring you.  The humor of it wasn’t lost on you, and you could feel your wariness melt away slightly, replaced by warm amusement.  It was a peace offering.  It obviously wouldn’t fix everything, but it was a start, and oddly perfect.

A small smile teased the corners of your mouth.  “Thanks.” You replied.

Dabi’s breath caught in his throat at the sight, a wave of hope and relief hitting him unexpectedly. The strength of the emotions caught him by surprise, and he tried to tamp them down.  Damn, he really did miss his drugs.  Everything was so much more… sensitive right now.

An awkward silence fell over the two of you as you continued your standoff in the doorway, before Dabi finally spoke.  “Can I come in?”

“Yeah.” You replied with a hesitant breath and opened the door enough for him to enter. You gave him a wide berth, avoiding contact even as your heart pounded in your chest. Dabi was in your room.  Again.  This time though, it felt completely different.  He seemed different.  And you knew you were different too.  You’d lost some of your warmth, your openness. 

He entered your room and seemed… lost, which was so uncharacteristic of him.  Dabi never looked lost about anything.  He always carried himself with a casual confidence that you envied.  Before, he would have easily found a spot for himself, kicking his feet up intrusively on your furniture and fixing you with a cocky, lazy grin.  This time though, there was none of that.  You couldn’t help but feel guilty as you watched him stand awkwardly in your space, unsure of where to sit or what to do.  Once again, you couldn’t help but wonder how much he remembered from the night before.

“Here,” you offered, shoving aside the pile of papers and books on your desk to make room for the bag in his hand.  He set the item down on the surface and began to untie it. You bravely moved to stand next to him, watching as he took out the chopsticks and the napkins.  You were close enough to smell the broth in the containers, making your mouth water and your stomach rumble.  Loudly.

“Hungry?” he teased as he kept his eyes trained on the bag.

“I haven’t really eaten all day.” You confessed.

“I know.” He replied.

“You do?”

“Toga told me.”

“Oh.”  You watched as he took out the containers, setting one of them in front of you with chopsticks and napkins set on top of the lid. “What kind did you get me?”

He peered at you with keen amusement. “The same kind you got me.”

“That’s fair.” You replied as you opened the lid, the steam caressing your face.  You opened your chopsticks and were about to dig in, when Dabi pulled out a third rectangular container from the bag and opened it. “You got gyoza too?”

“And mochi.” He replied.

You stared at him for the first time, and his eyes locked with yours.  This time, no fear came forth.  Instead, you felt surprised.  His eyes, usually dulled by his drugs, were now lively and swimming with emotions. He seemed… guilty. Ashamed.  He genuinely felt bad.  Some of the anger you had stored in your veins slowly began to evaporate.  So, the man had a conscience after all.  Not that you ever really doubted it, but you were glad to see he cared; and not just that… he was showing that he cared.

You gave him a soft smile. “Thanks, Dabi.  I love mochi.”

He blinked at you but kept his expression neutral before averting his eyes back to his container. “I didn’t get any drinks.” He said.

“That’s okay.” You replied.

Dabi took the mochi and the gyoza and placed them on your nightstand before making himself comfortable in your desk chair next to your bed, slurping up his noodles with his chopsticks.  You joined him, sitting comfortably on your bed while you blew on your noodles before eating them.

The two of you ate in silence, the sound of your mutual enjoyment of the shared meal filling the room. It was a heavy silence, filled with unspoken words and awkward glances. You watched Dabi as closely as you could without being invasive.  He was showing the telltale signs of pain again – back hunched, a sheen of sweat across his brow, his hand clutching his chopsticks with enough tension to show the tendons in his fingers.  But he hadn’t said anything about it yet.  He was withholding, choosing to share this meal with you instead.  You wondered why.   Was he trying to give you time to adjust to his presence, aware that you were on edge with him? Or was he scared, afraid that if he asked for your help that you’d deny him?  Or maybe he didn’t even want your help; maybe he planned to try to rough it out on his own.

Yeah, you weren’t going to let that be an option.

Despite your curious thoughts, it wasn’t until you finished your mochi and had cleared the empty containers off of your nightstand and back onto your desk, that the silence was finally broken.

“So…” you started. “How are you feeling?”  You knew it was a loaded question.  He knew it, too – you could see it in how his eyes caught yours and darted away again.

“Fine.” He replied.

“Is that why you’re sweating?” You countered.  “Please don’t lie to me, Dabi.  I deserve that much.”

He was silent for a moment, his jaw muscle twitching with tension, before he finally answered. “Everything hurts.”

“Everything?”

“Everything.”

You weren’t sure if he was being literal or not.  Had your quirk worn off completely?  Or were there still traces of it left, a frayed, tattered rope his only lifeline from falling full force into his withdrawal again? 

You didn’t want to wait and find out.

“Well, let’s take care of that.” You said lightheartedly, even as your heart raced with anxiety.  What if you weren’t ready?  Was your body recharged enough to be up to the task? The pain would be back, you knew that much.  And what if you failed?  

Dabi sat silently for a moment, unmoving, his mind clouded in anger as he stared at you.  He could see the fear in your eyes, plain as day, even as your tone remained casual.  He was angry at your selflessness, angry that he couldn’t say no to you.   Because even though he wanted to deny your help, he knew he couldn’t.  Pain was coursing through his body now, unrelenting, and all he wanted was for it to stop before it tore him apart, stitch by stitch.  You had everything he needed to get him through this. 

He needed you. He needed you, and it grated on him, because he knew he was a burden, even though you would never say so.  You were kind and giving, almost to a fault, and he was a selfish bastard who didn’t have the strength to cut you free and face this alone.

He looked away, defeated. “What do you need me to do?”

“Take off your shirt. I need to change your bandage anyway, and I’m going to use my quirk to numb your scars.”

He did as you said, removing his jacket and draping across the back of your chair.  The shirt followed as he slowly, painfully, pulled it off over his head.

“I won’t be able to do much for the rest of your body… but I’m hoping my drugs will be able to help with that.  The rest will be up to you.” You explained.  Dabi gave a small nod in understanding.

You had him sit on your bed where you could more easily navigate around him.  Numbing his back and changing the bandages was the easy part. It was familiar and it brought back memories of a simpler time.  Had it really only been a few days since you started treating him?  It felt like ages.

There was no conversation as you worked, Dabi in too much pain to say much of anything, and you… well, you were doing your best to hold yourself together.  You’d finished the bandaging, and now you were running your hands along his shoulder blades, your quirk seeping deep into his muscles.  Already, you could feel your senses once again begin to sharpen.  You moved your hands down the scar on his side, numbing what you could reach, the rest of it disappearing beneath his pants.  Your own scar started to itch, and the writhing snake of fear slunk out of its den, hissing a warning

You did your best to push it away.  You weren’t at your limit yet.  You could keep going.  ‘It’s okay. I’ll be okay…’

You adjusted your position until you were sitting in front of him on the plush comforter of your bed. He waited, blue eyes watching you in silence.  You were going to start at his hands and move up his arms like you had done before.  You stared at the staples on his hands, willing yourself to move, to reach out and touch him.

But you couldn’t.  You were frozen as your heart began to pound in your chest like a drum and the memories began to flood back.  The exhaustion, the nightmares, the pain… You were caught in the event horizon of your fear, unable to break free of its hold.

You couldn’t do this. You weren’t ready, you weren’t strong enough. You…

“Hey.”

Dabi’s hand covered yours, and you realized your hand was shaking.  His long fingers curled around your palm gently, and you stared at the connection, focusing on the warmth of his touch.  Your heartrate began to slow, and you watched as your fingers slowly curled around his in response.

“It’s okay.” He said. His tone sounded… tender.

You looked up, your eyes locking with his.  Sea blue stared back at you, open and raw, and suddenly you were trapped in his gaze.  You could see it – the concern, the hurt… the anger; a storm of emotions surging beneath the surface of his neutral expression. Guilt gnawed at you and you looked away.

“I-I’m sorry.” You whispered.

Dabi let go of your hand, and it felt like a great wall had been thrown between the two of you, unscalable.

“It’s fine.” He said, his tone now as neutral as his expression.

“No, it’s not.” You sighed guiltily.  You clasped your hands together, missing his warmth. 

Dabi watched the gesture, longing creeping into his chest like an unwelcome guest.  He clenched his own empty hands into fists and shifted his position until he was half turned from you.  Maybe if he didn’t look at you, all of this would be easier.

Dabi leaned forward with his elbows on his knees and stared at the floor in contempt. “You don’t have to do this.” He said, even as his body screamed for more of your touch, to be freed from the agony he was feeling.

“Yeah I do.” You replied.

Something in Dabi snapped. “Stop it.  Stop being so fucking nice.”

You froze at the harshness of his tone, and you could feel your heart begin to pound again.  You wrapped your arms around yourself protectively, your hands covering where he had grabbed you the night before.

“Don’t do that.” You begged. The quiver in your voice made Dabi look at you again, and he was shocked to see your eyes brimming with unshed tears. “Don’t be angry.

Dabi stared at you as he recalled what he had said to you last night in his withdrawal-induced rage. Looks like it wasn’t a hallucination after all.  He looked away ashamed, unable to bear the sight of you scared of him.  He took a slow breath and spoke calmly.  “I’m not angry.  I just don’t understand why this is so important to you.”

A long moment of silence passed as he listened to the shuffling sound of you drying your eyes with your hands and take a steady breath.  Each sound drove his guilt deeper and deeper into him like a splinter that would never leave.  He really was a piece of shit.

Your voice broke through his self-loathing, the quiver in it gone.  He couldn’t bring himself to look at you just yet, but he listened.  “If I give up now, then everything we went through would be for nothing.” You explained.  “And I made a promise to myself that I’d never give up.”

“Give up on what?” the words fell from Dabi’s mouth before he could stop them, hope sneaking past his lips without his permission. He regretted it instantly, but even so, he waited, hanging onto the moment, ready to drink in every word.  He wanted to hear it – to hear why you were trying so damn hard to help him.

He nearly jerked in surprise when he felt your hand take his, his eyes returning to watch you.

“Give up on you.” You replied. 

Your eyes glanced up to look at him before bashfully ducking away beneath your lashes.  Dabi felt his chest constrict and suddenly the moment took on a surrealness as a lightheadedness overtook him.  Slowly, gently, you turned his hand until the palm was facing up and began to trace your fingers along his staples.  Immediately he could feel the coolness of your quirk begin to seep into him as his chest pounded with such force that he was sure you could feel it through the veins in his wrist.

“So…” you continued.  “Let me do this.  Please.”

He stared at you, caught in breathlessness, as you returned to numbing his scars along his hand and up his arm.  He had no response as the power of your words washed over him, fulfilling a need in him he had never bothered to pursue. How could he deny you and your gift after something like that?  To do so would be an insult.

Silence blanketed the room, both of you lost in thought as you continued to work.  Your sensitivity gradually increased as you completed one arm and then moved onto the other.  The scar on your back began to transition from an itch to a stinging sensation, and you set your mouth in a thin line.  You needed a distraction.  But before you could open your mouth to start a conversation, Dabi spoke.

“Did I… hurt you?” he asked.

Out of all of the things you expected him to ask, that was definitely not it.  The question shocked you so thoroughly, that your eyes shot up to look at him as your hands stopped in their administrations.  He wasn’t looking at you; instead, his eyes seemed unfocused and in pain.  He seemed slightly worse off than a moment ago, and a sense of urgency began to surge in you.

“What do you mean?” you replied cautiously, as your hands began to move again.  Up the arm, to the shoulder.  The collarbone would be next, then his neck…

“Last night.” He clarified, as his eyes focused and looked at you.  There was still alertness in their depths, and it gave you the slightest bit of relief; you weren’t losing him just yet.

You paused for a moment, pursing your lips.  You needed to tread carefully here.  “What do you remember?”

“Not much.” He admitted. Dabi tilted his chin up slightly to give you easier access to his collarbone as he trained his gaze over your shoulder. “I know I threw up.  A lot.  And I told you to leave, which you didn’t.”

“You’re welcome.” You teased.

“I think I remember you using your quirk on my scars… just like this.”

You waited for him to say more, but he didn’t.  “Anything else?” you prodded, as your hands moved along his shoulders.

Dabi narrowed his eyes in annoyance.  He grabbed your wrists in a gentle yet firm grip, halting your touch before it reached his neck.  “You’re avoiding my question.”

You froze, realizing you’d been caught, and you could feel your body flush hot with embarrassment. You eased out of his personal space slightly, and he released his hold on you.

You began to speak, choosing your words wisely.  “You did say some harsh things.  You wanted my pills and you were mad that I wouldn’t give them to you.”

Dabi stared at you for a long moment, watching your body language closely as you once again wrapped your arms around yourself protectively.  There it was – just like before.  “Anything else?” he asked, as he stared at your posture.

You wavered, but his words cut through your hesitation.  “No lying.” He said.  “I deserve that much.”  Just like that, your own words were thrown back at you.  You lowered your arms slowly.

“You… grabbed me.” You answered. You glanced up to check his face and were met with a neutral expression. “You were trying to leave but I got in your way to stop you, and you grabbed my arms to try to move me.”

Dabi’s face was an emotionless mask.  “…anything else?”

“That’s it. You stopped yourself, and I helped you by knocking you out with my quirk.”  You couldn’t bring yourself to say more than that.  If he didn’t remember breaking down into a crying mess in front of you, then you wanted to keep it that way. 

Dabi didn’t know whether to feel relief or shame.  The two emotions warred within himself.  On one hand, he was relieved that he’d caused no serious injury to you and that he hadn’t lashed out purely out of rage, with the intent to hurt.  On the other hand, the fact that he had forcefully grabbed you melded with the mental picture that haunted him of your fear-stricken, tear-stained face. That combined with the nasty words he had yelled at you… it was no wonder you were afraid of him when he first showed up, and especially why you reacted the way you did when he got frustrated earlier.

A wave of pain washed over him and he hunched over, gritting his teeth against it.  It felt like wildfire, washing over every part of him except for those you had touched, leaving an aching chill in its wake.  His head was beginning to pound unbearably, as nausea made his gut roil.  Gradually, the symptoms subsided enough that he could straighten himself back up.  But his head felt slightly foggier than before, the throbbing ache lingering, and he couldn’t get the image of your terrified expression out of his mind.

“Are okay?” you asked, your voice forcing away the image like a gust of wind upon sand.

Dabi looked up at you, grounding himself in your eyes.  The room around him slowly sharpened back into focus.  “I’m fine.”

“Where did it hurt?” you questioned, hoping maybe it was something you could treat.

“Everywhere.”  Immediately he could see the crestfallen expression on your face, and he struggled to correct it.  “Don’t worry about it, I can handle it.  Just… keep doing what you’re doing.”

“Is it helping?” you asked, your tone hopeful.

“Yeah.” Dabi replied.  “It’s helping.”

“No lying?”

“No lying.” 

You returned to where you left off, your hands now on his neck as your delicate touch sent shivers down his spine and goosebumps along his unmarred skin.  Your hands moved from his neck to his jawline, slowly tracing the angle of his jaw to his scarred ears.  His face would be next – his cheeks, his eyes… his mouth.  Your heart began to pound wildly like the running of wild horses, and you could feel yourself start to falter in nervous anticipation.  But as soon as your hands cupped his cheeks, Dabi’s hands covered yours, halting their advance. 

“I’m sorry.” He said, his troubled eyes downcast.

A soft smile formed on your lips.  “You’re forgiven.” You replied.

You returned to cupping his face, palms across his cheeks and thumbs on the scars under his eyes. You let your quirk flow in a gentle trickle, careful not to go too deep.  But you lingered, dulling the ache behind his eyes and beneath his temples. Dabi felt his headache recede slightly, the throbbing now reduced to a dull hum.

Surprise filtered through him as his thoughts came through slightly clearer.  “You didn’t have to do that.” he said.

“I know.” You replied. “But it helps, doesn’t it?”

Dabi didn’t respond.  Instead, he stared at you while he struggled to wrangle his emotions.  He’d come here with the intention of making sure you were okay and getting the treatment he needed, while keeping his feelings in check.  He knew he couldn’t dismantle them completely, but he could try to build a wall against them, muffling their presence under the weight of his darker emotions.  But the longer he stayed here and talked to you, the worse it got.  Any sense of control he thought he had was a joke. His wall was flimsy against your gentle assault, the watchdogs of his soul chained and muzzled.

He hadn’t even intended to apologize a moment ago; he couldn’t remember the last time he’d uttered those words.  He had always viewed apologies as useless, an empty afterthought after the damage was already done. But this time the words had stuck in his throat, threatening to suffocate him if he didn’t release them.  And, as you did with all things, you met those words with compassion and understanding.

Dabi drifted out of his heavy thoughts when he noticed the absence of your touch.  You sat before him, a slight sheen of sweat along your brow and your eyes unfocused.

You were starting to reach your limit, the light in your room too bright, your clothes scratchy on your skin.  The pain in your back was growing ever worse. You could tolerate it, but it definitely hurt now, and you could feel that familiar precipice approaching.  You had managed to tackle every scar on his body except for his legs.  Did you have enough in you to finish the job? You honestly weren’t sure.  You should have gotten more sleep, eaten sooner… maybe then you’d have more in you to give.

Apprehension of a different kind suddenly crashed through your thoughts.  He was wearing pants.  He’d have to remove them to let you treat him. 

He was already sitting in front of you shirtless, and your mouth suddenly felt dry at the idea of another article of clothing missing from him. This was entirely different compared to last night… he was much more cognizant now.

You were snapped out of your thoughts when Dabi began to pull his shirt back on, signaling the end of the session.  Even so, you pushed your own inhibition aside.  “Do you need anything else?” you asked.  “What about your legs?”

“It’s fine.” Dabi replied. “You’ve done enough.”

You hoped that he was right. Something crucial nagged at the back of your mind until suddenly, you remembered.  “I still need to give you those meds.  You can start taking them again, now that we’re back on schedule.”

You realized, however, that the pills were still hidden in your closet.  You chewed your lower lip; he obviously couldn’t see where you kept them. You knew better now.

“Um… I’m gonna to need you to step outside for a second, though.”

Dabi raised a curious eyebrow.  “You hid them?”

“I did.”

“Wise move.”  He got up from his spot on your bed and quietly stepped outside your room, closing the door behind him.  You tried to move as quickly as your body would allow.  You reached up to retrieve your duffle bag, your back screaming at the motion as your shirt rubbed against your scar.  Your eyes began to water reactively, but you gritted your teeth and forced them back.

Soon the pills were out of their hiding place, the duffle bag back at the top of your closet, and hopefully Dabi would be none the wiser.  You opened your door to find him leaning against the wall to your left.  He turned to face you, making no motion to enter your space again.  You were grateful… you felt exhausted, your body at its limit, and you didn’t want him to see how much pain you were really in.

You handed him three pills, like before, placing them in his palm.  He stared at them, both hating them and wanting them.  “Thanks.” He said simply.

“Do you… do you want me to stay with you tonight?” you ventured.

Dabi’s eyes shot up to stare at you, and you couldn’t mistake the slight bit of color that returned to his cheeks.  “What?”

“In case you have a rough night again.  Do you want me to stay and make sure you’ll be alright?” even as you asked, you began mentally kicking yourself; what more could you possibly do for him in your current state?  Still, you wanted to extend the offer, even just to let him know that he wasn’t alone if things got too tough.

He stared at you for a moment, mouth slightly open before he composed himself and looked back down at the pills in his hand.  “No.  I’ll be fine.”

You were learning quickly that that phrase in Dabi-speak meant ‘I’m going to suffer horribly but I’ll figure it out on my own.’  You sighed at his stubbornness, but at the same time, deep down, you felt relieved. Maybe tomorrow would be better, once you got some real sleep.

“Okay.” You replied.  “But you know I’m here if you need me.”

“I know.” He replied, as he pocketed the pills.  It was the first time he didn’t take them as soon as you handed them to him.

“Okay.  Well, good night then.”

“Good night.”

____________________________________________________

 Part 8

____________________________________________________

Taglist (always open!):

@lemonfvck @vs-redemption @inanabsentia  @sheedaabee  @toshiuwuu  @marydragneell  @chillinwithmybakubros  @genuinelytodorokisbitch  @sam-i-am-1025  @redflannel  @axerrri  @necccomancy  @miadraws0  @hot-pocket01  @hopelessdisasterr  @dummythiccwitch  @villainsdeku  @aquzairus  @officialtrashbusiness  @hemdem018  @purplesweethart​  @ghost-of-todoroki    @lysawayne​  @udontneedtokno​ @citrussaurus @littleladdty  @starsforannie​ @zunmieh-blog​ @mae-rd​ @mrsreina​ @ohh-takuuu​ @ih8beefnoodles​ @kellyyween​ @jojoniles​​ @steale24​  @peach-tea-0  @orenjineki​ @diobrandoatemykids @minionsexuall @liitlesushi

[mattzerella-sticks]

Buddies, 7.3k words, T, (pre-Eddie/Buck, gay!Eddie, coming out)

(ao3)

After Eddie was shot, there were two big things he had to deal with - recovery, and the near-death realization that he was gay. The latter of which proved more difficult of the two. But as his recovery was aided by a physical therapist, Eddie also found someone to help him come to terms with his sexuality and find acceptance. Eddie wouldn't know where he'd be if Michael hadn't taken him under his wing.

However, the consequences of a failed date - encouraged by Michael - lead to something Eddie didn't think he'd be facing so soon. Coming out to his teammates. Will Eddie find the strength within himself to push through his fears? It shouldn't be too hard... right?

           It’s too stifling for a fall morning in Los Angeles, Eddie thought, as he hopped out of the fire engine and sweat immediately dampened the collar of his jacket. He tugged on the fabric, huffing a tired breath through clenched teeth as he trotted after his teammates. Eddie soon fell into step beside Buck as Bobby began directing them where they were needed along the highway pileup. “Hen, Chim, attend to the drivers who are already outside their vehicles,” Bobby ordered, waving at the few bystanders leaning against cars and cradling different parts of their body, like arms and heads and one visibly bloody side with blood leaking through pale fingertips. Hen and Chimney immediately hurried there before the woman fainted from blood loss. Then, Bobby points at the two smoking cars fused together feet away. “Buck, Eddie, I want you to check on the drivers in each car and assess the damage. If you can get the occupants out safely, you have permission to do so.”

           They nodded, Buck’s face stretching with a grin as he locked eyes with Eddie. “We got this, don’t we Eds?”

           Eddie’s heart skipped at the nickname, and he blamed it on the weather. He blamed the warmth pooling in his cheeks, no doubt tinting his cheeks, on that, too. “Course we do.” He followed Buck towards the wreckage, asking, “Which one are you checking?”

           “I’ll handle the Corvette,” Buck said, “always wanted to have my hands on one, anyway.”

           “Guess that leaves me with the mini-van…”

           Buck shrugged, splitting off wordlessly to inspect the red sports car that, in this moment, resembled an empty beer can littering the floor of a house party. You get what you pay for, in the end. Eddie stifled his giggle, sobering to a more serious expression as he rounds the other, less-damaged, car. He found a young girl behind the wheel, staring straight ahead while white knuckling the steering wheel. An older woman sat in the passenger seat, knocked unconscious by the collision. He wasn’t worried too much, however, aware of the deflated air bags blanketing their laps. Eddie knocked on the door, “LAFD! Are you able to lower the window?”

           He startled the driver from her trance, shaky hands finally releasing the wheel and whipping to her face. She sobbed through her hands, a muffled sound that tugged on Eddie’s heartstrings.

           Eddie knocked again, softer, until she looked at him. He tapped the window slowly, “Can you lower this?”

           She choked on a breath, chest heaving underneath her safety strap as she did what Eddie asked.

           “Hey,” he began, reaching inside to click the safety off, “my name is Eddie Diaz. What’s yours?”

           “Ol-Olivia…” she stuttered, wiping at tears that continued to fall no matter how hard she scrubbed her eyes, “I’m… oh God, I’m so sorry.”

           Eddie unbuckled her seatbelt, checking for any cuts or abrasions because of it. The skin around her neck seemed red and tender from impact, a possible burn, but that was the extent of the damage there. “It’s okay,” he assured her, cradling Olivia’s head in his hands to better assess her injuries. There were scrapes and bruises there, dried blood crusting around her nose. Nothing that screamed ‘emergency’. “Why don’t you tell me what happened?”

           She sucked in a deep breath, then launched into her story. Eddie listened, running through a mental checklist while she rambled. “I’d gotten my learner’s permit a few months ago,” Olivia explained, “and I’m supposed to go for my driving test in a few months, for my birthday. In the meantime, I’ve been practicing all I can and I… and I thought I was ready for the highway. I mean, it’s not parallel parking, so I thought it couldn’t be that hard. But my mom thought I wasn’t ready and I… I didn’t listen and – oh, oh no! My mom -!”

           “Is okay,” he told Olivia, keeping her eyes on him and preventing any further sudden movement. “I promise.” Eddie surreptitiously scanned Olivia’s mother between beats of her story, noting the subtle rise and fall of her chest. “Is that how you got into the accident? Fighting with your mom?”

           “Well, partly,” Olivia explained, “I…” She hesitated, biting her lip and causing a few more blood droplets to leak past the cut there. Eddie waited, running his hands below the dashboard to check for any strain or damage from the crash that might make extraction difficult. There wasn’t any he felt. “It’s so embarrassing,” she muttered.

           “It’s okay,” Eddie said, smiling, “You wouldn’t believe the kind of calls me and my team have rushed to. I’m sure whatever happened can’t be as embarrassing as a woman stuck in a window because she tried throwing her poop out when the toilet wouldn’t flush.”

           That encouraged a tiny laugh from Olivia, and soon her earlier nerves from the crash disappeared. “I guess…” she sighed, dabbing at drying tear stains with her hoodie sleeve, “I was doing an okay job driving. Better than either I or my mom figured. But then this huge truck barreled by in such a rush that it shook the car and I freaked. I started screaming, and so did my mom, and I didn’t notice that we started drifting and… ugh, I felt like Cher, y’know? From that movie Clueless?”

           Eddie blinked at her. “You know what Clueless is?”

           “It’s a good movie,” she defended, “Plus that’s like… peak Paul Rudd. Although current Paul Rudd is also peak Paul Rudd… he’s really cute for an old guy.”

           He mostly agreed with her, only offended by her closing remark. Paul Rudd isn’t old.

           Paul’s ageless.

           Eddie stood at his full height, backing away to give Olivia space. “You think you can step out of this vehicle on your own?” She shifted, slowly freeing one leg and then the other. Olivia tried exiting, except stumbled after the second foot left the car. Eddie caught her, easing her to the ground. From the corner of his eye, he saw Hen and Chimney approach. “You’re very lucky Olivia,” he said, “you had a great car that shielded you and your mom from some pretty serious damage. My friends are gonna help you two out now. You don’t have to tell them everything, but be sure to answer all their questions and if there’s any pain, okay?”

           “Okay.”

           “Good.” Eddie rose to greet Hen and Chimney, quickly combing through all he learned during his short time with Olivia, stressing the most important pieces of information. “I still have to get her mother out of the passenger side,” he said, jerking his thumb at the car, “once I do that I can carry her to the ambulance so you can do your thing –“

           “Sorry Eddie,” Bobby interrupted, clapping him on the shoulder, “I’m gonna need your help with the other driver.”

           “That bad?”

           “It’s an older car, made with metal instead of plastic,” he said, “guy’s wedged in there pretty tight, cut up, too. And there’s a glass shard running right into his shoulder blade.” Bobby turned to Hen and Chimney, “Once you’re done here we’ll need you on standby to help us. No telling how much blood he’s lost so far, or if there’s any trauma below his waist.”

           “No problem Cap,” Chimney said, “We’re almost done here. Hen, why don’t you go with Eddie and Bobby while I see to Olivia’s mom?”

           “Sounds like a plan to me.”

           “Great,” Bobby led them to the other side of the wreckage, Buck absent from the scene. “He’s getting the jaws,” he told Eddie and Hen. Then, once they’ve reached the Corvette’s driver’s side, Bobby yelled into the open, broken, window, “Sir? Sir, can you hear me? Are you still with us?”

           The man groaned a few indecipherable syllables Eddie couldn’t hope to piece together. He exchanged a short glance with Hen, who appeared similarly unsure. Bobby, meanwhile, continued his one-sided conversation as they waited for Buck to arrive with the jaws.

           “Coming in hot!” he yelled, lugging the jaws over his shoulders, “Where you want me, Cap?”

           “Let’s start with the door,” he motioned Buck closer, pointing at the hinge. “Eddie, grab the middle. I’ll get this side. When Buck snips this free, we’ll gently lower it down and let Hen get in there.”

           “Copy that.” Eddie readied himself, crouching into position. He laid his hands atop the car door, small glass shards crunching under his gloves as his fingers curled. Buck and Bobby talked over his head, working to line up the jaws correctly. During this, Eddie chanced a peek inside at the driver.

           The face he saw, staring back at him, nearly knocked him off his feet.

           Fitting, as that was how it felt when Michael showed him his picture while convincing Eddie to go on a blind date.

           “He works with David at the hospital,” Michael told him, passing his phone over so Eddie would see what David’s co-worker, Dr. Brendan Carmichael, looked like. In the picture Michael found, a selfie from Instagram, Eddie learned more than he needed. That beside the bright, orange hair and freckles splattered across his face like someone flicked a paintbrush over his skin, he also maintained a very strict gym regimen which kept his abs in perfect condition. Eddie’s thumb hovered over the midsection Brendan revealed, careful not to like it on Michael’s account. “He broke up with his last boyfriend a few months ago, and only recently started talking about dating again,” he continued, Eddie tearing his gaze away from the phone to better listen, “David mentioned you, how you were wanting to date again, too, and Brendan’s interested in setting something up. Only question is… are you?”

           It was something Eddie was working himself up to. After breaking things off with Ana during his recovery, and Buck’s focus divided further because of Taylor, Eddie found periods where he was all alone with only his thoughts as company. Because of this, it was harder and harder for him to ignore certain stuff he’d pushed to the back of his mind and crammed into a tiny closet. Namely, his utter sexual indifference to women.

           Almost dying for the umpteenth time put Eddie’s life into perspective.

           He wouldn’t know if the next near-death call might finally succeed where others hadn’t, and Eddie realized how awful it’d be to go without following his heart.

           So he followed it all the way to Michael’s. Eddie knocked on his door late one evening, a fifth of whiskey in his veins dulling the voices shouting how this was stupid, how he and Michael were acquaintances at best and strangers at worst. Then, once Michael invited him inside his empty apartment, Eddie vomited his epiphanies until Michael set his shaking frame down on the couch and forced a glass of water down his throat.

           Since then, Michael had taken on the role as Eddie’s gay sponsor. Michael guided Eddie to a point where he could see his reflection and say ‘gay’ while smiling. He also pushed at the fear that still clung to Eddie, urging him to experience new things, like with this blind-date.

           “I don’t know,” he said, “he does look… really, really nice.” Admitting that never felt like pulling teeth with pliers anymore, thanks to Michael. “I’m just… not sure.”

           “What aren’t you sure about?”

           “I don’t know,” he shrugged, “I… I guess it’s nerves. I’ve never done this before, you know. Is there anything I should know? That makes it different than a date with a woman?”

           Michael shot him a flat look, snatching his phone back. “A date is a date. There’s nothing different about it because it’s with another man. Well… except for when the check comes, and you have to bare-knuckle brawl in the kitchen to decide who gets to pay.” Eddie returned the favor, brows leveling at his friend. Michael chuckled, “Seriously, it’s nothing you need to work yourself up about. Go into it like it was any other date. You’ll have fun – and I’m not laying it on. Brendan is a great guy, from what I’ve heard. He’s got charm and face, which is rare. You don’t find men like us in the wild every day.”

           “Men like us?” Eddie parroted, cheeks straining as he fought against the smile threatening to appear.

           “Me,” Michael clarified, grinning freely, “And Chris Hemsworth. That’s it though.”

           “And this Brendan guy,” Eddie added, “if what you’re saying is true.”

           It wasn’t, unfortunately.

           The night started with Brendan arriving late to the restaurant he chose because of its proximity to the hospital, and only further plummeted as it went on. Brendan criticized his choice in dinner, goading him into ordering an even pricier dish that Eddie hadn’t even wanted. Which Eddie then paid for, although he almost was stuck with the entire bill as Brendan assumed Eddie would cover it. It almost made Eddie reconsider Michael’s earlier crack about brawling. And if that wasn’t bad enough, Brendan’s personality rubbed Eddie the wrong way. He was dismissive of Eddie’s career, unsubtly scrolled through his phone during parts of the evening, and seemed entirely uninterested in Christopher to the point that Brendan interrupted any story about him with an unconnected anecdote, derailing the entire conversation. As the waiter left with their credit cards, all Eddie wanted was to put this date in the rearview behind him.

           Except Brendan’s phone died during dessert, and he didn’t drive himself. “If you could give me a ride?” Brendan suggested, slipping a hand behind Eddie’s button-down and petting his chest, “I’d be very grateful…”

           Eddie wished he could say he drove Brendan home without anything happening, that he was a stronger man. But Eddie gave in to curious temptation. He let Brendan guide him to his apartment bed instead of racing back home to fall asleep in an empty house, Christopher staying over at Michael’s with Harry.

           They jerked each other off in the end; a slight comfort over oral and miles above anal. Once Eddie came, he feigned exhaustion and settled in for a sleepless night. He laid in wait for the morning, where he snuck out of Brendan’s apartment as the rising sun filtered past drawn curtains without a word to his date. Eddie did leave a note, promising he would call soon.

           He hadn’t and had no plan to, either.

           Still, here Brendan was.

           “Cutting in three, guys,” Buck yelled. He proceeded to count down; on one, Eddie heard the snip from the jaws and belatedly realized he needed to move. Bobby swung a second before Eddie, and the momentum of the door made Eddie stumble in his haste to lift the door.

           “Eddie,” Bobby huffed, “You good?”

           “Yeah… yeah,” he nodded, dropping the door on the street at the same time Bobby did. “No need to worry about me.”

           Bobby didn’t believe him, but he stopped questioning Eddie in favor of looming over Hen’s shoulder as she worked on Brendan. Buck leaned against the roof, head ducked inside the cabin, too. Eddie stood apart from the scene as an outlier. He wasn’t sure if it was good to approach. Although, being fully removed meant he wouldn’t know what the other man might say in his condition.

           Only three people knew of his sexuality – Michael, David, and Brendan. Eddie wasn’t ready for that circle to expand.

           Eddie returned, joining the others. He entered to hear Hen finish her line of questioning, her last question prompting Brendan to speak. “The wound on my shoulder is superficial,” he said, gaze unwavering on the side of Eddie’s face. He felt the weight of it, Eddie turned to watch his co-workers instead of Brendan. Bobby’s focus didn’t waver from the crushed dashboard in Brendan’s lap, prodding it in different areas. Buck kept glancing between Eddie and Brendan. “It’s deep, but a clean cut. You can get to that later, because I’m pretty sure there’s something digging into my leg close to my femoral artery.”

           “We’ll get right to it, then,” Hen assured him, “Sounds like you know your stuff, though. You a doctor?”

           Eddie bit his tongue, swallowing his instinctual reply. “Yeah,” Brendan said, “I’m a doctor.”

           “Then that saves us some time.” Hen reached into her bag for a neck brace, placing it around Brendan’s neck while Bobby muttered something to Buck. Buck’s eyes flicked to his briefly before he jogged towards the fire truck. “We’ll have you out of here in no time. Can you tell me where you were headed?”

           “To lunch,” Brendan told her, “We had to push a surgery back a day, and my next one wasn’t until two so I… I thought I’d treat myself to something nice. I already had back-to-back operations this entire morning.”

           “What were they?”

           “Tumor removals,” he explained, “in the brain. Real delicate work. I’ve probably performed over a hundred by now, but I still can’t shake the jitters each time I enter the theater…” Eddie grimaced, hiding it behind his jacket collar. Yes, he knew about Brendan’s job. Hearing it in this context, on the field and not in a dimly lit restaurant, hit differently; like he cared about his patients and didn’t use his position as a point of status. This was not the Brendan he remembered. Regret churned in Eddie’s gut, mixing with the shame and embarrassment already present.

           “I know what you mean,” Hen smiled. She rubbed around the shoulder wound, cleaning it of dried blood to better inspect it. “You can have it all down to a formula, but you will never be sure what might happen when the time comes.”

           “Exactly.”

           Buck hurried back with new tools in hands. He handed a saw to Bobby, “Where do you want me?”

           “Other side,” Bobby said. He tapped Hen on the shoulder, silently urging her off Brendan. “Sir,” he started, “we’re going to be cutting the dashboard off shortly. Don’t be afraid to talk or shout if you feel any pain, okay?”

           “I understand.”

           “I’ll remove the wheel, first,” Bobby said, slipping a pair of goggles on, “don’t move.” He powered the saw on and, in seconds, removed the wheel. Brendan sagged somewhat, breathing stilted and ragged. “Are you okay?”

           “Yeah...” He coughed, “Think my ribs might be bruised, possibly broken. I don’t… I think that’s it. Not sure.”

           “You’re talking, so that’s a good sign.” Hen felt around his chest, then held her stethoscope to hear his lungs. “Nothing out of the ordinary here, Cap. Carry on.”

           Bobby, and Buck now, brought their saws to the dashboard and continued cutting. Hen waited, kneeling, holding a bottle of solution and gauze for when it was her turn again. Meanwhile, Eddie uselessly hovered near her. There wasn’t much for him to do.

           That wasn’t true for long.

           Suddenly he was very much needed, Bobby calling for him and motioning Eddie with the saw. He tripped over his feet, “Coming! Coming!” Rushing to help Bobby remove the dashboard that, along with the glass shard, pinned Brendan to his seat. In doing this, Eddie glimpsed the red-stained leather under his leg. “Hen!” he said, “All you.”

           Hen filled the space where the dashboard had been, attending to Brendan’s wound with practiced speed. As Eddie and Bobby returned, she fixed the tourniquet around his thigh and was partway done with wrapping his leg with gauze. And when Buck sidled towards them, she began removing the glass shard in his shoulder. It was much longer than a passing glance would make you believe. “Yikes,” Buck muttered, “You ever think a windshield could do that?”

           “Old cars like these?” Bobby replied, “Anything’s possible.”

           “He’s good for removal!” Hen yelled over her shoulder, kicking her bag a few feet back. She stands, dusting off her knees, “I’ll go get Chimney and the stretcher, be ready to help us set him down once we’re here.”

           “Buck and Eddie’ll handle that,” Bobby said, “I’m gonna do a final sweep of the area, make sure we didn’t miss anything. Copy?”

           “Understood.” Buck knocked shoulders with Eddie, nodding at the car, “Let’s go get the doctor ready for his ride back to work.”

           Eddie bit his cheek, letting silence give a better response than he could at the moment. If Buck found it odd, like Bobby, he didn’t comment on it. They walked to Brendan’s car again, Eddie going through the motions to get him ready for transit. In that short span of seconds, Eddie hoped his luck might keep his secret safe. That Brendan wouldn’t mention their date.

           He knelt down, waiting for Buck’s signal to lift his legs, when he made the mistake of finally meeting Brendan’s stare. Brendan offered him a tired smile. “This is so not how I expected we’d meet again.”

           …Shit.

           Buck stilled, his hands falling to their sides as he looked to Eddie. “You two know each other?”

           Brendan sighed in the affirmative. “Very intimately.”

           “What…” Buck’s face screwed itself into an expression of confusion, the rainbow wheel in his mind spinning endlessly while he processed Brendan’s innuendo.

           Eddie pounced to fill the awkward silence. “We hung out, once,” he told Buck, “Like, a few days ago, I think? Super casual…”

           “Oh –“

           “Oh,” Brendan interjected, darker than earlier. He coughed, voice straining from the force of it, but he wasn’t deterred. “Oh, really? Hanging out… that’s what you’re calling it?”

           “Uh…” Eddie, taken aback by such an unexpected call out, couldn’t produce more than a few mumbled phrases that didn’t move beyond one syllable nor, when strung together, were comprehensible. Instead he glanced between Brendan and Buck, wasting precious time with silence.

           Brendan, however, formed complete sentences. “So tell me… since I have you, were you even planning on hanging out with me again, or do you leave all your buddies notes like that?”

           In his anger, Brendan shifted and started angling himself towards Eddie. Buck snapped out of his stupor enough to lay a calming hand on Brendan’s shoulder, “Hey! Hey… sir, you need to keep still until we move you.”

           “Sorry, sorry…” Brendan relaxed, albeit his glare was still focused on Eddie. Eddie flinched under the weight of it.

           “I…” Eddie tried, very aware of the sound behind him, of wheels rolling over gravel and measured footsteps. “I was trying to be nice?”

           “Nice?” Brendan spat, “Fuck you, Eddie.”

           “Eddie,” Buck inched closer, drawing Eddie’s gaze from Brendan to him. He spoke softly, like Eddie were one of the many victims they attended to during their careers. Eddie also noted the sharp steeple Buck’s brows, drawn together as if he already filled in the missing gaps of Eddie and Brendan’s story. Shit. “Why don’t you let us handle this?”

           “I…” Eddie found breathing as hard as speaking, managing enough foresight to sharply nod before standing and striding away from Brendan’s car. He passed a curious, concerned Bobby, but ignored his calls. Eddie kept himself tightly wound all the way to the engine. Once he entered, he fell apart. Eddie’s vision blurred, his lungs couldn’t hold enough air, and he melted inside his uniform. All he was able to do before completely shutting down was shoot a quick message to Michael.

           Brendn in acidnt fine but h outd me what do

           Eddie’s grip on his phone tightened considerably when he heard the engine doors open again. Buck slid inside, not meeting Eddie’s wide, panicked stare. There were more doors opening, Bobby and other firefighters climbing aboard. “Hen and Chim are taking that guy to the hospital,” Buck said, “Our work here’s done.” He paused, gnawing on his lip, considering saying more while Bobby slowly pulled them onto the road. “What he said…”

           He missed the rest of Buck’s question. His voice dulled as a sharp ringing in Eddie’s head blocked out every sound around him. Eddie sunk into it, comforted in the simpleness of the noise. He pressed himself against the window, arms crossed over his chest, and watched the scenery blur during their drive to the station.

           Then, when they arrived, Eddie flung the door open and his puddled mass in a jacket spilled free of the engine. He stripped off his uniform in a record-setting pace. And, as he finished, Eddie saw Buck steadily approach, Bobby like a shadow behind him. Both wore similar expressions that warned Eddie of conversations he was not ready for. Because of that, Eddie did something he regret. A course of action so damning it spoke louder than any mangled defense he might put together.

           He hid.

           “Stupid… stupid…” Eddie whacked his phone across his temple, curled into a tight ball outside the building. He snuck through a door in the back, smart enough to not go far but knowing that it’s so rare anyone used this area. It was set aside for the firefighters who smoked, Chimney explained. Those were always a small contingent, never more than one or two per squad. As the years went by, numbers dwindled, and a smoking firefighter became an endangered species. Now, hardly anyone uses this tiny alley that separates the fire house from its adjoining building. Except for Eddie. “I can’t believe I could have such shitty luck…”

           He went to hit himself with his phone again, but a shrill ping cut into his spiraling. Eddie checked his messages – Can I call? It was Michael. He texted back a thumbs up he didn’t mean. Soon his phone shook in his hands.

           Eddie answered, “Hey…”

           “Hi Eddie,” Michael said, tone soft like Buck’s back at the scene. He hated it. Eddie hated how much he wilted because of it, how his nerves started inching away from the edge at the gentle, implied coaxing. “How are you feeling?”

           Eddie barked a short, nasty laugh, wiping beads of sweat off his forehead. “I feel like I’m about to burst into flames.”

           “If you do, at least you’re around people who’ll know what to do.”

           “What if I don’t want them to save me,” Eddie groused, “should I make a break for it before the first spark catches?”

           “Like they wouldn’t race after you…” Michael’s voice trailed, clearly tiptoeing around the words he chose next. “So,” he said, “you ran into Brendan again today?”

           Eddie snorted. “More like some kid ran into his car…” He growled, kneading at his eye with the heel of his hand. “I can’t believe what happened, and how I… how I froze like that. Seriously, what were the odds?”

           “Pretty fucking low,” Michael told him, “But that’s exactly what it was, shit luck. There’s nothing you could have done to not have what happened, happened.”

           “That’s not true,” he sighed, “I could have not gone on that date with him. Or, at least, not let him talk me into his bed.”

           “He’s a charmer.”

           “I had nothing better going on,” Eddie said. He played his words back in his head, silently cursing how brusque they sounded. Was he really the bad guy in this scenario? Brendan hadn’t seem interested in a relationship during their dinner, and Eddie thought his own feelings were on display, too. Buck always said his poker face had more cracks in it than a busted sidewalk. Maybe the note was unnecessary, he can concede. Eddie can’t rewrite history and destroy it, though. “Besides,” he continued, swatting those past regrets away like flies, “Brendan wasn’t all that charming when he outed me, on top of cursing me out in front of the 118.”

           “Man was in a car accident,” Michael reminded Eddie, “He probably had more to worry about than decorum.” Michael coughed across the line, clearing his throat. “That doesn’t excuse what he did.”

           “Yeah,” he said, “I thought it was, like, gay brotherhood that you’re not supposed to out another gay person… or whatever.”

           “I… don’t think he knew. That you weren’t out…” Michael hummed, the noise rattling inside Eddie’s chest. “You’re right, in a way. Any decent gay person wouldn’t out a person before they’re ready. I can’t remember if Derek mentioned your… situation, when setting up the date. I can text him but, Eddie –“ Michael’s sigh caused the line to crackle and break, Eddie shivering as it hit his ear “– Eddie, Brendan and what he might and might not have known isn’t important, isn’t why I called.” Eddie knew. Of course, he knew. “What are you planning on doing next?”

           “That depends,” Eddie mumbled. His free hand tugged on his laces, loosening them slowly. “Do you want to hear what I want to do, or what I’m going to do.”

           “What do you want to do?”

           “Fake mine and Chris’s deaths,” he told Michael, “Start over somewhere new. Maybe on the East Coast, in a small fishing village where I can be a lighthouse keeper and never have to see another person ever again. Just me and Chris and the sea, until Chris leaves or I grow old and die. Whichever happens first.”

           “That’s… dark.” Michael said, “And oddly specific.”

           Eddie shrugged, “I watched the Lighthouse last night. Robert Pattinson jerked it to some mermaid doodle in it. Like… I could do that. Survive off of doodles of hunky mermen, or sailors. Hunky mermen getting it on with sailors… God knows the real thing didn’t work out.”

           “You don’t mean that.”

           “Well, what else can I do?”

           “You can go inside and talk to your friends,” Michael reasoned, “Your team who cares about you, and are most definitely worried because of what happened and how it affected you. Your family, who is ready to accept you for who you are as they always will. But first, you need to trust them and let them in to see who that is.”

           When Michael explained it, the obvious choice also seemed to be the easiest. The tiny seed of doubt, however, planted once Eddie accepted his heart’s leanings and blossomed into a strange bushel of roses with thorny roots strangling his chest, would not let him be. It poisoned his rationality, shredding any confidence Eddie built. “I trust them with my life,” he wondered, speaking barely above a whisper, “why is it so hard to trust them with this? Is it just me?”

           “It’s not you, Eddie,” Michael said. His voice thundered with conviction, startling Eddie. “Believe me, you aren’t the first gay man to feel this way and, unfortunately, you won’t be the last.”

           He sniffed, a wet chuckle escaping past his lips in a raspy breath. “That sucks.”

           “It sure does,” Michael agreed.

           “Does it ever go away?” he asked, “Or… get easier?”

           “I… it’s not a cut-and-dry answer,” he told Eddie, “In some cases, yes. Others… no. It’s situational.” Eddie found this answer unsatisfying. He wasn’t the only one. “Listen,” Michael said, “this might seem scary now, but I, uh – remember that first night. That night you came to my place and confided in me. What did you say?”

           “That I was gay.”

           “Yes…” Michael sucked in a deep breath, hissing his next thought so pointedly it cut through those pesky roots. “Now, imagine you’re me, saying what you said to me, but instead of saying it to me you were saying it to my lovely ex-wife who, at the time, was still my wife, and all this after we’re both a few glasses of wine deep and the kids are asleep.”

           Michael’s past helped put Eddie’s own troubles in perspective. He mentioned as such to him.

           “I don’t want to come off like ‘I had worse’ blah blah,” Michael said, “My point is – you see how good the relationship between Athena and I is. She could have easily kicked me out and then never spoken to me again. But she didn’t. She had every reason to hate me, but she didn’t. Athena loved me when she thought I was straight and continued after learning I was gay. It’s a different sort of love now, and yes, it might have wavered at times, but she stuck by my side like I stuck to hers. Yes, I was scared to tell her, just like you were when you came and told me. Just like you are now. But because I pushed through my fear, I freed us both from being unhappy. Her and Bobby… me and Derek… neither would have happened if I decided to keep my feelings to myself.”

           “Yeah… your life did change…” Eddie rested his head against his knees, remnants of adrenaline from earlier fully fading leaving an exhaustion that set deep into his bones. “I guess that’s what I’m really afraid of. How… acknowledging who I really am, and owning it, how everything will change after.”

           “Eddie, will being gay affect your job?”

           “What?” Eddie yelped, head rising again, neck aching from the whiplash Michael’s unrelated question caused. “No –“

           “Will you being out really make you a completely different, unrecognizable person?”

           “Uh… I – I don’t… no?”

           “Then it sounds like nothing will actually change.” Michael’s tone relaxed and, finally, Eddie let himself do the same. The other man’s speech wrapped around him like a warm blanket. “You didn’t wake up one morning and decide to be gay. It’s something that’s always been a part of you. It’s been there during every call you went out on. You’ll still be Eddie… just a happier Eddie, because you’re allowing yourself to be happy and honest with who you are. That’s what’s important here. Coming out isn’t about other people, it’s about you. You, opening yourself to others to see this part of you, and letting them share in the joy of who you are. And the 118, your friends, will still love you because this… this gay Eddie you have in your mind, is just Eddie. That’s it.”

           Eddie didn’t cry. He wouldn’t be able to hide it, once he went back inside to confront his friends. If they asked, Eddie might mumble a few broken words about allergies then move on. Because he didn’t let his tears fall. “Thanks, Michael,” Eddie said, “I… I’m really grateful for you, being my friend. And that you didn’t turn me away like you should have done when I showed up at your apartment.”

           “I was less afraid of what you’d do,” Michael laughed, “and more afraid what you might do if I didn’t.”

           They ended the call soon enough, with Eddie exchanging a few final pleasantries while Michael’s goodbye was laced with encouragement.

           Eddie stood, riding the aches of pain that came from unfurling his back out of the tight coil he forced it into. He stretched his arms, pointed high towards the sky. Eddie leaned onto his toes, and even lifted his face to better feel the sun shining above.

           Much too warm for fall.

           Despite the heat and his fears, Eddie returned to the firehouse. He slowly crept inside, alert, gaze bouncing around for a sign of his friends. When he didn’t find them on the first floor, not hovering by the truck and newly returned ambulance or biding time in the gym, Eddie passed faceless co-workers on his way to the stairs. Each step Eddie took sounded like beats from a heavy drum, sounding a funeral march. Eddie kept up the tempo.

           As he climbed higher, his head peeked out and Eddie caught a glimpse of the second floor. Like always, his eyes were drawn immediately to Buck. He, along with Bobby, Hen, and Chim, were huddled around the kitchen island. Eddie watched them converse quietly, briefly, the discussion cutting off because Buck, the one currently speaking, turned and saw Eddie. Buck straightened, body taut and tense like Christopher got after Eddie caught him misbehaving. Eddie wasn’t foolish enough to think they were talking about anything other than him. Buck’s face flickers, flipping through emotions like pages in a book too fast so Eddie can’t read. It settled on a steely façade of determination, Buck readying to move. Before he can, Bobby stopped Buck with one hand on his shoulder. He understood.

           Let Eddie come to them.

           He did, slowly, at his own pace. Eddie settled between Hen and Chimney, both firefighters creating a space for him.

           There’s a beat of silence, the air above the kitchen island so weighty Eddie’s shoulders drooped. He fought against it, taking a deep breath. “Hey.”

           “Eddie,” Bobby spoke first, “how are you doing?”

           Michael advised honesty. That’s what Eddie gave. “I’m a little scared,” he admitted with a laugh, staring intently at a divot in the island’s counter, and how his finger repeatedly traced it. “Okay. A lot of scared.”

           “We’re here for you Eddie,” Bobby said, “Whatever it is.” On either side, his friends reached for him. Hen laid her hand over Eddie’s, crushing it in a loving grip, while Chimney soothingly rubbed his back. Eddie glanced at the men in front of him, Bobby looking encouraging at him while Buck…

           Eddie still can’t decipher what it is Buck tries to show.

           If he thought about it too long, he’d lose all the confidence he gathered to arrive at this point. Eddie swallowed past the lump in his throat, attempting to smile. “Thank you,” he said, “really.” Then, without fanfare, Eddie shrugged and told his friends, “I’m gay.”

           Like that, the next breath Eddie took felt lighter. It was unbelievable. No one said anything, but their love and acceptance were visible in other ways. Eddie was almost brought to tears because of them. He reigned his emotions in, maintaining control. If they stayed like this, however, he’s sure to break.

           Eddie cleared his throat, “That’s all. So if we could…”

           “Not so fast,” Chimney said, smirk tainting their tender moment. His hand slunk across Eddie’s back to his shoulder, clamping down and chaining Eddie there at his side. “There’s still the doctor of it all that’s been unaccounted for…”

           “Chim,” Bobby warned lightly, trying his best to play boss.

           Hen waved him off. “Eddie should have his chance to explain,” she argued, “tell us his side of the story. Lord knows Chim and I got an earful about what that man thought of you, Eddie. Filled the entire drive from the wreck to the hospital.”

           “He had a lot of opinions,” Chimney added.

           Eddie sighed. He expected they might have questions, especially about Brendan. He wasn’t unprepared for this. “I went on one date with the man,” he explained, “something Michael set up –“

           “Michael?” Bobby interrupted, tapping his chest, “My Michael?”

           “He’s not just your friend,” Eddie said, “He… he’s been helping me deal with… with all this. This… being gay, stuff.” He shifted, bending forward to press his chest on the counter. “It was Michael’s idea I go on a date with Brendan, sort of like practice. To get more comfortable being… out, in public, with another man. Personally, I didn’t think the date was that special. Brendan was… he had a lot of personality.”

           “Sure was flexing that… personality, despite all those injuries,” Hen agreed, “Kept going on about this – this note you wrote? What was that about?” Hen might have asked coyly, but it was obvious to Eddie she knew.

           He still answered her. “I was going for nice,” he muttered, “I didn’t want to up and abandon him after we… after he invited me over for the night, and we…” They were at work. Eddie couldn’t say more.

           Nothing else needed saying. Even Buck understood, if his rapidly flushing cheeks meant anything. “Oh,” he said, “so you and him… you two…” His pointer fingers on either hand were extended, slapping each other with wide sweeps.

           Hen choked on a snort, shoving Buck’s hands apart. “They weren’t sword-fighting, Buck.”

           “Yeah, I knew that…” Because of his bashful pout, followed by Buck tucking his head into his chest, Eddie didn’t buy his excuse.

           “Okay,” Bobby steered the conversation elsewhere, “besides us and… Michael… have you told anyone else?”

           Eddie shook his head. “Really?” Buck asked, “Not even Chris?”

           “Especially not Chris…” Some of that earlier fear returned, roosting in his chest like a bird returned north from winter. “I never… I don’t know how I would explain it to him or… how much I would have to explain? Like, if I was a single dad from the start, I’m sure it would be easier. But most of his memories are with me and his mom, and I – I haven’t figured out a way to tell him while also not invalidating mine and Shannon’s marriage, y’know?” Eddie agonized over that near constantly. He loved Shannon, truly, and wanted their marriage to work despite not being attracted to her in the way that mattered. Christopher needed her in his life. If that meant Eddie gave Shannon what she wanted, what Eddie pretended he wanted to, it would have been worth it.

           But, in the end, she still went ahead with the divorce. Shannon was more perceptive than he ever gave her credit for.

           “And then there’s the Ana of it all…” Eddie threw out, offhandedly.

           “Wait,” Buck said, “was that why you broke it off with her? When you told me…”

           Eddie’s breath hitched slightly, and he drummed his fingers against the counterspace. “No,” he said, “I… I didn’t have the realization then. I meant it, about us not clicking and… her being another try at giving Chris a mom. Although, being gay would definitely have played a factor in us not clicking.”

           “That’s for sure.”

           Another wave of silence washed over them, this the most awkward of them all. “If that’s it for questions…” Eddie extricated himself from the group, final shreds of adrenaline fading and leaving him exhausted. His mind already set a course for the bunks, planning a lengthy nap as a reward for his vulnerability.

           “Of course,” Bobby rounded the island, moving closer to Eddie. Buck was on his heels, but hung back on the fringes of the group, a few inches behind Hen and Chimney. “I want you to know how proud I am of you, though. I can’t imagine any of what you had to deal with was easy, and if you need anything from us – keeping this information to ourselves or whatever… let us know. We’ll follow your lead.” He then opened himself for a hug, giving Eddie the option to accept or refuse.

           Eddie sagged into Bobby’s embrace, grateful. “Thank you.” Hen and Chimney joined them, squeezing Eddie tighter and tighter. Only Buck kept his distance. Eddie opened his eyes and noticed the younger man watching them, a glint in his eye that struck Eddie’s nerve. Once the others released him, Eddie confronted Buck. “Hey, are you…”

           “Hmm?” Buck blinked, and what Eddie saw earlier disappeared. It vanished like it never existed. Maybe Eddie imagined it? Regardless, Buck smiled in his usual, too-large-for-his-face way and swept Eddie in a giant hug of his own. “I’m proud, too,” he whispered, “And what Bobby said goes double for me. Anything you need, ask… and I’ll be there.”

           Eddie caught himself before he spoke without thinking. Instead, he returned the hug. He rested his cheek against Buck’s shoulder, humming in acknowledgment of Buck’s promise.

           Buck would do anything for Eddie, as much as he would do anything for Christopher.

           Anything… except what Eddie truly desired from him.

           While baring his soul to the group about his sexuality was one matter, confessing to all his secrets was an entirely different sort he hadn’t felt ready for. He doubted he ever will be. Because if he told Buck the reason why he stopped running from the truth, why he couldn’t deny his feelings after being content in doing so for years, Eddie feared Buck would prove the sickening voices in his head right by leaving him.

           Really, Eddie thought, what else was there to do when you learn your best friend is in love with you?

           So he ignored how Buck’s touch skimmed his lower back, the gentle swaying dance they began by hugging longer than necessary, and, as they drew apart, the struck-match feeling of Buck’s lips brushing the outer edge of his ear.

           There was nothing to read into, he reminded himself. He and Buck were friends. Best friends. Best buddies. Buck had Taylor, and Eddie…

           Eddie had hope. Hope, emboldened by his bout of honesty, that there will come a day he found a man he truly loved to share his life with.

           Even if they weren’t Buck.

[yandere-daydreams]

hello yes i am a basic bitch when it comes to obey me and i would sell part of my soul for anything mammon. i just... love him. thank u

What an unfortunate choice of phrasing! Otome refuses to tell me all those sweet, sweet world-building details about pacts and magic and such, so I will continue making up the rules as I see fit until the Shall We Date Gods descend to personally correct me. Assume this Darling is just a normal human, too, rather than the MC. We all need a little witchcraft, sometimes.

Title: An Agreement.

TW: Blood, Blasphemy and Non-Graphic Violence. 

~

“I want a safety net.”

It was one of those phrases that sounded better in your head than it did out loud. You’d been repeating it to yourself all day, all week, the wording changing from time to time, but never straying from the soul of the statement. You’d liked the ring of it, how simple it seemed and how general it was, and yet, you couldn’t help but cringe as Mammon raised an eyebrow, your focus reflexively dropping from his face to one of the many, many candles littered around your apartment’s bedroom. The ritual hadn’t forbid normal lights or included anything about the pentagram your demonic guest was currently standing on, but they’d felt right, a few hours ago. Now, it just felt like you were a teenager telling ghost-stories at a sleepover, a flashlight still clutched in one hand.

It was a sleepover Mammon had chosen to attend, though.

His presence alone was enough to spur you on.

“You’ll have to be more specific, sweetheart.” His voice was steady, unfaltering. You had a feeling he wanted to draw this out much longer than you cared to. “I don’t deal in ‘safety nets’.”

“You know what I mean,” You mumbled, attempting to keep your tone as authoritative as his. It felt over-dramatic, too ominous to be taken seriously, and you tried to make up for your weakness by pushing yourself to your feet as you continued. “I don’t want to worry about money. I’ve spent too much time thinking about that kind of thing already, and I can’t afford basic maintenance to be an obstacle.” You paused, for a moment, crossing your arms. The last thing you wanted to come off as was unsure. “I need insurance.”

“Ah, the human can’t take care of itself?” He didn’t try to hide his mocking lilt, an unsubtle drawl that undeniably meant your greatest wish was little more than child’s play to the demon. You could only be thankful that ‘painfully doable’ was better than ‘impossible’. “I shouldn’t be surprised. I’ve been watching your kind for thousands of years, and every one of ‘em is more breakable than the last. ‘s not my problem, though. What do I get out of it?”

You swallowed, dryly. “My soul.”

Mammon didn’t argue. He stared, scanning over your still form and taking in what there was to take in, his dissatisfaction obvious in everything from his shifting, disgruntled posture to the scowl pressed into his lips, downturned and disapproving. But, your offer was accepted with a curt nod, and stiffly, you stuck out a hand, the action much less composed than you’d hoped for it to be. Mammon took a second to evaluate the offer, a low chuckling rolling from his lips as he finished. You didn’t have to guess which conclusion he reached, not when he was so quick to declare it. “That ain’t gonna cut it.”

Before you could ask what he meant, a taloned fist was clamped around your wrist, jerking you forward and letting you stumble into his outstretched arms as he pulled you into his chest, pinning you against him, his mouth crashing into yours. The gesture wasn’t prim or professional, it was rough, violent, fangs tearing into your lower lip and creating a jagged, bloody line, its metallic taste following a second later. He dropped your wrist in favor of entangling his fingers in your hair, only pulling back to add his own donation, a hole soon punctured in the side of his tongue and his warm, black blood left to mix with yours, the congealed combination soon dripping from the unattended corner of your mouth. Mammon grunted, the wordless noise further stifled by your proximity, or lack thereof, rather, and without warning, a warmth filled your chest, then drained all-too-abruptly. An awareness, then the realization that something that belonged to you no longer did. An absence of something that couldn’t be absent.

You were aware that there’d be side-effects, and yet, you weren’t prepared when your knees began to buckle, when an exhaustion too cold and too thorough took the place of what you’d lost, leaving you too tired to tolerate Mammon and the bitterness now coating your tongue. He seemed more than content to go on, but with a shove to his chest and a heel driven into his foot, his face was buried in the crook of your neck, biting at the skin of your collarbone, attacking it. “Stop,” You demanded, although it came out more like a particularly passionate suggestion. “You’ve gotten your part, now I want mine. I don’t care how you do it, as long as I--”

“As long as you’re safe, and happy, and you get to sit on your lazy ass all day without starving to death.” You felt your shoulders square, your body go tense, but Mammon was grinning before you could deny it, your candles suddenly not nearly enough to keep the room from darkening. “I’ve been around your kind enough to know that, I’ve been watching you long enough to know that. I’m not the brightest, but I can catch your drift.” His back straightened, Mammon rising to his full height for the first time since you summoned him. He let go of your hair, but you didn’t dare struggle. Not when he suddenly seemed so much bigger than you. “Aw, the poor thing’s scared, isn't it? Tell me, which one’s worse? Worrying about a little trouble further down the line, or the big, bad demon you called to ease your mind?”

“That’s not your place to ask.” You winced as a pair of pointed canines tore through flesh and muscle, rooting themselves below your jugular before pulling themselves free, the latter bringing tears to your eyes. The pain was hot, spiking and searing throughout the process, but if Mammon cared, he didn’t feel the need to show it, only moving on to search for his next target as you went on. “We had an agreement. You don’t get to tell me what I want.”

“An agreement…” He muttered, his smirk pressing into your neck. “Don’t worry about that, baby. I’m gonna take real good care of you, once I’m done here.”

It didn’t take a genius to understand what he was saying, and you reacted appropriately, kicking and clawing and moving to yell, before anything you could’ve said was silenced by a breathy, unabashed laugh, as self-satisfied as it was insidious. “Where?” You spat, if only to hear something besides Mammon. “I want to know where I’m going, or I’m not taking a step.

Mammon only smiled, squeezing your hip playfully. You shuddered, but he couldn’t have cared if he tried.

“We’re going home.”

[kyberphilosopher]

Hᴀɴᴅs

[Fluff Version] 

With the loss of Anakin’s hand, someone has to help him out until he gets a replacement.

Word Count: 2201

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.☆.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

The hand is the most frequently symbolized part of the human body. ... According to Aristotle, the hand is the "tool of tools." In general it is strength, power and protection. However, it can just as easily mean generosity, hospitality and stability; ‘lend a hand’.”

Anakin was the most powerful Jedi ever. There was no use in hiding it or sugarcoating it- every body in the Jedi Order completely understood this concept. 

Anakin Skywalker was young, talented, and capable of many things. To anyone’s standards, he was charming and handsome. He always managed to find a way out of the most unpredictable and outrageous situations, even with all odds stacked against him. You could personally vouch for the latter. You had been at the battle of Geonosis, after all. 

But something changed after that day. Once Anakin had lost his right hand from the forearm down, his confidence was shaken. He was going to get a mechanical one to replace what he had lost, but it would never be the same. It would never be organic or real, or able to get past security customs. 

You and Anakin were never especially close or anything. A polite ‘hello’ here and there, light smiles, and warm energy was really all that was between the two of you. Despite this, you could easily sense the despair that loomed in the young man’s heart. He had missed the feeling of a tingling palm and numb fingers and picking at his nails. It was damaging his pride to be without something so unimpressive, and to have lost it in such a foolish way. To Anakin Skywalker, losing a hand meant losing his strength, his dignity, and his power. 

And since it would take a few days to have the mechanical hand for him ready and running, it only made matters worse. Now, he had begun to feel embarrassed. The young man now walked the halls of the temple with his cloak sleeves draping over his wrists in an attempt to hide the one that was absent. His head hung low to avoid eye contact, and his padawan braid seemed to have much more weight than before. 

While Obi-Wan surely would’ve done something if not for the oncoming war which demanded his attention, nobody else made an attempt to comfort the boy. You couldn’t explain why it made you feel so unhappy. Maybe it was because Anakin’s eyes seemed to lack the spark of charisma that they once had, or that you could see when he would go to reach for something and be confused when no fingers would stretch out. 

“What are you looking at?” Anakin asked. Looking up from the text he was studying, he met your eyes with his full lips slightly upturned. 

“Nothing,” you responded quickly. In truth, you had been too caught up in your thoughts to even realize that your orbs were glued to him. Despite looking back down to your book, your focus on the Skywalker did not waver. 

You peeked back up at the young man curiously. For a single second, his blue eyes glimmered and a grin fell over his face. “Okay,” he said, shaking his head charmingly. Then he went back to studying something too. 

                                     ◇─◇──◇─────◇──◇─◇

The next day, you showed kindness in the form of impulse. 

You saw Anakin in the library. His dark cloak was hanging off his shoulders loosely, his head back while he looked up at something. It wasn’t out of his reach by any means, but the way his right shoulder was positioned told you the whole story. 

The man had forgotten about his predicament yet again, and went to reach for a text with his right hand. 

You quickened your pace, drawing nearer and nearer to him. You hadn’t even really considered the meaning behind what you were about to do. It didn’t seem like such a big deal, but it was. Both you and Anakin would come to realize that. 

“Here, let me get that for you,” you said. Standing on your tip-toes, your finger tips scraped against the book the man had gone to reach for. You were not nearly as tall as Anakin, but you managed to pull the text out from the bottom. Then you held it out for him with both hands. 

Anakin’s eyes looked like stars. He could remember very few times when someone had shown him such a kindness, especially from someone he didn’t really know. Now, he found himself studying your eyes with his head dipped lightly, like a silent prayer that this wasn’t just a part of his imagination. “Thank you,” he said after a moment. His good hand reached up and took the text from your palms, and then sandwiched it between his forearm and his chest. 

“No problem,” you told him sincerely. 

You felt very close to him in that minute. Like you could feel his energy radiating off of him, and Anakin had suddenly become a magnet. Still, you pulled yourself away and proceeded to your table in the next section of the library, unaware that Anakin had his eyes trained on your back. 

There were two more occasions that you helped the one handed man. 

                                     ◇─◇──◇─────◇──◇─◇

The second time was a few days after the first, this time in the training rooms. 

Anakin had always been right handed, but now he couldn’t say that anymore. He only had one hand to ‘be’. It was exceptionally difficult and frustrating to deal with, and every time the man would drop his staff, a fit of anguish and shame would bubble inside his stomach. He would swallow in an attempt to keep it down, but it was ever-growing and unending. Anakin truly could not wait for his robotic arm to be ready for him so that this cycle could end. 

The wooden staff clattered to the floor clumsily. His sweaty palm felt red from clutching it so hard, even though it hadn’t ended up mattering. He almost wanted to reach his right arm to his forehead in an attempt to wipe away the perspiration, but that wouldn’t have mattered either. 

Anakin’s heart sunk to his stomach. He had done this to himself. Perhaps this was why Obi-Wan had not seen him in a while- he was ashamed of what his padawan had done. The thought made Anakin feel even more sick. His brows furrowed together in discomfort and a swirl of emotions. 

The sound of a door closing pulled him out of his thoughts. Light briefly entered and left the room, and a form came through the way. 

“Anakin...” you said softly. Standing still in your place, you observed the scene. The training staff Anakin had been working with was on the ground, and his left hand was balled into a tight and angry fist. When he turned to face you, he was heaving with exhaustion and anguish alike. Had he thrown the staff down in his anger? Had it fallen from his one good hand?

“If you’re going to make fun of me I’d advise you to leave,” said Anakin, his breathing heavy. He hadn’t meant to say that to you, but sometimes he just got so clouded with frustration and his own thoughts that he couldn’t stop his words from falling out like poison. Obi-Wan could testify to that. 

“I’m not going to make fun of you,” you promised. Taking a few careful steps forward, you watched his jaw click. Anakin’s blue eyes fell back to the floor.

“Every time I try to use my hand, it fails me!” Anakin confessed angrily. “It’s supposed to serve me, and I can’t even control it! It’s all my fault.”

Your eyebrows knit themselves together. “It’s not your fault. Count Dooku was the one who did it.”

“But I’m the one who went after him!” Anakin snapped. “It was all my fault!”

Anakin’s breathing had become more rapid than before. You could feel his anger rising inside of him like a giant bubble, threatening to boil over and explode inside of him. It should’ve scared you, but you understood completely. It’s difficult to push emotions away, whether you’re a Jedi or not. 

“Here,” you tell him. Another act of kindness without thinking about it. 

You take the wooden pole from the ground and place it back in Anakin’s awaiting hand. He’s too tired to fight with you about it, instead looking around the room, silently seething. You come around behind the man, pressing your chest against his back. With your right hand, you grip the other side of the staff. Your fingers against Anakin’s, your breasts pressed up against him in a non sexual way- it was incredibly intimate. No- not intimate. This was loving, caring, a kind of love that would’ve been hard to define. 

Looking down at the staff, Anakin could pretend that he had both his hands now. One of them was yours of course, but from this view, it looked like his own. Only smaller and daintier and not as calloused. 

“Hold it steady,” you instructed softly. You pushed your arm forward slowly, the Skywalker following your lead. The jab that ensued was clean, and did not result in anything falling to the floor. “Got it?”

“I think so,” Anakin replied. His voice sounded so much calmer now. 

With a faint smile, you let your hand go. Anakin stabbed the pole forward with his left hand again viciously. When it didn’t clamber out of his sweaty palm, his confidence grew too much. Like Icarus, he was flying too close to the sun and would crash into the ocean waves below. The next thrust he gave, the stick slipped from his hand clumsily, and his fingers weren’t coordinated enough to catch it. 

The bubble of anger was growing again. 

“It’s okay,” you soothed immediately. “Here, let’s try again.”

                                     ◇─◇──◇─────◇──◇─◇

The third time was the time that stood out to Anakin the most out of the three, and that truly meant something. 

Outside the Jedi temple, Anakin could see the sun setting on the horizon. The skyscrapers of the city created shadows against the orange sky. Above, the only visible shades were those of rose pinks and lemon yellows. Beyond that, the night sky was fading into dark plums with little white freckles- stars he wanted to visit. 

He’d be marrying Padme and losing his padawan braid soon. Things would be looking up. So why did he now feel so lost? Was it the prospect of the war in the next few years? Was it the differing weights in his shoulders? The frustration that Master Windu tended to force upon him? Whatever it was, he was filled with something somber and heavy. 

You were the one who lifted that weight for him. 

“How did I know I’d find you here?” 

Anakin didn’t have to turn around to identify you. 

“I come here often,” he says. If he had another five fingers, all ten of them would be twiddling together. “I enjoy being alone.”

You look him up and down. Even turned away from you, he seemed so much more solid than anyone else. You couldn’t explain why. “I have something for you.” Taking a step forward, you run a thumb against the black box in your hands. 

Anakin turned around to look at you. You knew you had gotten his attention- who didn’t love presents? But against the setting sun of Coruscant and the religious steps of the temple, it seemed Anakin was the one you had stolen your gaze. Everything about the image in front of you was inexplicably perfect, and you found that you were filled with some type of feeling that you should not have.

“Can I see it?” the man asked. For the first time in a while, he smiled ever so slightly, but this time he meant it. 

One of your hands reached around and lifted the lid of the box up. You took a few slow steps forward so that Anakin could see inside. Your head dipped slightly, curious to see his reaction. 

Anakin was at a loss for words. Inside, fitted snug and secure, was a silver skeleton. Not an entire skeleton, of course, but a wrist and hand. The sun glinted off of it stunningly. Everything about it was perfect and unique. Even if Anakin wanted to cover it somehow, gloves would easily fit over it. 

“What do you think?” you ask curiously. 

“It’s amazing,” he said. His eyes ran over the mechanism greedily. “Will it work as well as a real one?”

“I’m sure there will be a learning period,” you answered honestly. “I’m sure you’ll get used to it though.”

Anakin looked up at you, charismatic smirk finally appearing on his features. “So how does it feel to hold my hand?” he wondered aloud. The comment made something stir in you, and although it was risky, it was also short lived. Anakin frowned and lowered his eyes sadly. “The monstrous one I mean.”

“I like it,” you told him. “I like your hands. The both of them.”

Anakin met your orbs then. You locked into a soft but intimate stare. 

You couldn’t say how long you stood there. You didn’t even know if you could define what was happening. All you know is that the both of you stood on the steps of the temple, the sun setting behind your forms as the box stayed open between your fingers, containing Anakin’s new and beautiful hand. 

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.☆.*｡･ﾟ✫*. 

Taglist: @omg-we-really-doo​ @anakinswhore​

I hope this satisfies your need for fluff, even though you can see plenty of angst if you squint

Credit to my friend S for the prompt, she is amazing.